Wilderness Giant Edition 4 Page 13

  “Hestia Davin,” Shakespeare said.

  “What’s that?” Nate asked, forgetting himself. “From the description Porter gave us, Two Humps met his daughter a few times. You’ll be glad to know she isn’t anything like her pa.”

  “Does Two Humps know why the settlers left?” Nate asked. “Smythe-Barnes had no idea.”

  “It was the point men,” Two Humps answered when the question was relayed. By point men, he referred to the Hudson’s Bay contingent at the fort, a nickname the traders had earned because of the point system used to rate the worth of their trade blankets. “They drove the pretty woman and the others away.”

  Shakespeare translated for Nate, the two mountain men sharing flinty looks.

  Two Humps went on. “I know because I was out hunting with my nephew one time when we saw a line of riders to the south. We went to see who it was, thinking it might be enemies. But it was the pretty woman and her people, leaving. She did not look happy. One of them had learned a little sign. He said the point men would not trade with them, would not sell them goods. He said the point men did not want them here.”

  Nate involuntarily clenched both brawny fists. He recollected how Smythe-Barnes had played the innocent the night before, remembered the HBC man claiming he’d done all in his power to help the settlers out. It had all been a bald-faced lie.

  “Did this man tell you where the pretty woman and the others were going?” Shakespeare asked.

  “No, Wolverine. He did not.” Two Humps scrutinized the two men. “You will try to find them, will you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I am going with you.”

  Shakespeare had been about to make excuses so he could inform Porter of the news. The chief’s offer, like a bolt out of the blue, rooted him in place. “You want to come along?”

  “I do.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “It has been too long since we rode together. I want to do so one more time before I go to meet my ancestors.”

  “These people I am with are not my people. I have put myself under the man who leads them. He is chief, not I. He must make the decision.”

  “Take me to him.”

  Shakespeare could readily imagine how Porter would react; the man despised Indians. But he was loathe to flat-out refuse his friend’s request out of respect for the many grand times they had shared when young men. So he tried another approach. “I have no idea how far we are going, or how long we will be gone.”

  “It will be like the old days when we went where we wanted, when we wanted,” Two Humps recalled fondly.

  “We might go through the country of your enemies.”

  “Since when has an enemy stopped a Nez Percé from doing as he pleased?”

  Shakespeare had one last argument, a statement he bit off before making it. You are not as young as you once were, he almost said, and inwardly laughed at his audacity, for neither was he. “If I cannot change your mind, meet us west of the fort when the sun is straight overhead. We leave soon after.”

  “I will be there.”

  Nate was amazed when he heard, and made no bones about it as they walked back. “Have you gone plumb crazy? You know how Porter feels about Indians. The rivermen hate them even more. They’re likely to try and make wolf meat of your friend.”

  “They’ll try.”

  “I wouldn’t do it if he was someone I’d ridden the mountains with.”

  “Yes, you would.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because we think alike. We know that true friends come few and far between. They’re as rare as hen’s teeth, more valuable than diamonds. A person can go a lifetime and not have more than two or three deep friendships.” Shakespeare hooked a thumb in his belt. “Two Humps and I were like peas in a pod once. I’d do anything for him.”

  “In that case, you can count on me to back you.”

  The Nez Percé village lay close to the east wall of the HBC outpost. As the two trappers rounded the southeast corner, they beheld Cyrus Porter in a heated exchange with Smythe-Barnes. Behind Porter stood Clark, Hughes, and Chavez. Behind the HBC man were the ruffians who had given Winona a hard time.

  Porter was practically raving. Livid, gesturing angrily, his bellows could have been heard in Canada. “—formal protest with my government when I return! You’ll learn that you can’t treat American citizens this way and get away with it!”

  “I am in charge,” Smythe-Barnes sniffed, “and I can do as I damn well please! If I don’t care to sell goods to Americans, that is my prerogative.”

  No one, as yet, had noticed the mountain men. Shakespeare startled everyone by stepping up to Smythe-Barnes and giving the Englishman a shove that sent him tottering into the ruffians.

  “McNair!” cried one, and went for his flintlock.

  Instantly there was a loud metallic click. A pistol had blossomed in Chavez’s hand as if out of thin air. “I would not do that were I you, señor,” he warned, “or you will have a hole in your head the size of a walnut.”

  The Hudson’s Bay men froze, Smythe-Barnes in the act of rising, his knees half bent. “Now hold on, Mex!” he said. “We don’t want any killing!”

  Cyrus Porter turned to McNair. “This son of a bitch has been playing us for fools! When Hughes went to buy supplies yesterday, he was told the sutler was too busy with the Nez Percé and to come back today. They assured him they had plenty of goods on hand and could fill our order.” Porter glared at Smythe-Barnes. “But when we showed up, he told us they had changed their minds and had no intention of selling us a damn thing!”

  “He did the same to your daughter and those settlers,” Shakespeare revealed.

  Porter reacted as if struck. “How do you know?”

  “I know,” was all Shakespeare would say. To identify Two Humps by name might reap dire consequences for the Nez Percé. “My guess is that when the settlers first showed, Smythe-Barnes acted as if he was their friend, led them to believe they could buy all the supplies they needed. That’s why they settled on the Bear instead of going on to the Oregon Country. They figured they could get everything they needed right here.”

  Smythe-Barnes had straightened, his expression defiant. “You’re making idle conjecture,” he snapped.

  “Am I?” Shakespeare sparred. “I’ve been wondering why a bunch of greenhorns set down roots in the middle of nowhere. I knew they had to have a good reason. And they did. They believed they could get everything they needed for their homesteads from your post. They thought they could trust you, that you were a godsend. Little did they know that you were deceiving them.”

  “You have no proof,” Smythe-Barnes said.

  Shakespeare seemed not to hear. “I’m curious. How did you do it? Did you wait until their guide had left and then showed them your true colors, thinking they would have to go on back to the States without someone to show them the way to the Oregon Country? And what happened to their wagons and household goods? They didn’t take them, because I know for a fact they went westward on horseback.”

  “I refuse to dignify your accusation with an answer,” the HBC man said.

  Porter was distraught. He appeared about to hurl himself at the head of the trading post. “In God’s name, why would you do such a thing? There were women in that party! How could you have let them go on without a seasoned guide?”

  Smythe-Barnes smoothed his jacket, saying nothing.

  “I can tell you,” Shakespeare offered. “He did it because he’s British and the settlers were Americans.”

  “So?” Porter said.

  “So sooner or later the two governments will get around to working out who gets the Oregon Country. And the one who has the most settlers living there will have the better claim.”

  Shock made Porter’s mouth drop. “Is that the truth?” he demanded of the Englishman. “You want to discourage Americans from settling there?”

  Smythe-Barnes squared his shoulders. “I don’t have to answer any
of your questions. And I’ll thank you to leave the vicinity of my fort while you still can.”

  “You pompous ass!” Porter roared. Lunging, he seized Smythe-Barnes by the front of the shirt. “Thanks to you, my daughter might be dead!”

  “I had my bloody orders!” Smythe-Barnes roared back.

  It was Nate who pried the two apart before they came to blows. He no sooner held Porter at arm’s length than all the fight drained out of the New Englander and Porter slumped dejectedly.

  “My poor, poor girl,” he mourned.

  “Don’t chalk her off yet,” Shakespeare said. “With a little luck they might have made it by their lonesome. There’s plenty of game, so they wouldn’t have starved if any of them could shoot half straight. And water wouldn’t be a problem once they reached the Columbia.”

  Adam Clark took hold of Porter’s arm and gave it a shake. “Did you hear him? Cheer up, Cy. At least we know she was alive when she left here, which is more than we knew when we left St. Louis.”

  Porter nodded dully, repeating, “My poor, sweet Hetty.”

  “Take him to camp,” Nate advised Clark, and as the shattered father and the hopeful suitor departed, he wheeled on Smythe-Barnes and the ruffians. “The more I hear, the more I suspect that what you did to my wife was done on purpose. If I can ever prove it, I’ll be back, gents. And I’ll come loaded for bear.”

  At a gesture from the indignant Smythe-Barnes, the Hudson’s Bay men marched into Fort Hall. The gate slammed shut behind them, and from within wafted snide laughter.

  “For two cents I’d bum the place to the ground,” Shakespeare muttered.

  “Their government would be outraged. The British might label it as an act of war,” Hughes said, alarmed. “Washington would call for an official inquiry, and we all could find ourselves facing charges.”

  “It was just wishful thinking,” Shakespeare pacified him, then changed the subject. “How bad is our supply situation?”

  “We’re very low on flour, almost as low on salt. And Mr. Porter ran out of oats for his horse. He insists it must have a portion daily.”

  “We can make do without bread and cakes. I’ve lived on a strict meat diet for weeks at a time with no problem. The salt won’t be missed after awhile. As for the horse, it can eat grass like the rest.”

  “I suppose we can get by,” Porter agreed. Shakespeare squinted at the sun. “We have two hours to pack up. So let’s get cracking.”

  Porter had secluded himself in his tent. Shakespeare oversaw their preparations to leave, and he was directing a pair of rivermen in the loading of pack horses when someone hailed him from a corner of the fort. Looking up, he recognized Pearson, the sentry he had spoken to upon their arrival.

  “I’ve got to make this short,” the man said when Shakespeare went over. “Smythe-Barnes would have my head if he knew I was talking to you.” Pearson nervously glanced at the rampart. “I heard about what happened, and I’m mad. It wasn’t right. Not all of us who work for HBC agree with company policy. If I was in charge and not that horses ass, Americans could buy whatever they wanted.”

  “I’m grateful for your honesty.”

  “There’s more,” Pearson said, lowering his voice. “I’ve heard you’re hunting for those settlers from Bear River. One of them mentioned that they were headed for the Willamette Valley. Hope that helps you.”

  “It does,” Shakespeare said, since it eliminated California and saved them a lot of searching. “You were here when they left. Do you know why they went on horseback instead of in their wagons?”

  “Sure. They sold them to Smythe-Barnes, and the oxen that pulled them,” Pearson disclosed. “He swindled those pilgrims good, he did, and made a hefty profit.”

  “How?”

  “It was like this.” Pearson paused. “When they first arrived, he sold them things. A few goods here and there. Then, after Fitzpatrick had gone and they were about to begin building their cabins, Smythe-Barnes told them they weren’t welcome at the fort anymore. It left them stranded and short on supplies.”

  “The bastard,” Shakespeare said.

  “They protested, but there was nothing they could do.” Pearson moved close to the wall. “They claimed they wanted to go back to the States, but they didn’t think they could manage the wagons by themselves, since none of them knew the route well enough to find their way back again. Smythe-Barnes offered them a way out. He bought the wagons and their household goods at pennies on the dollar, then turned around and offered the horses and a few piddling supplies at twice the going rate.”

  “I’m surprised they took him up on the offer. They must have known he was playing them for fools.”

  “They knew, but they had no choice. The Blackfeet were on the prowl. Raven Beak’s bunch. Those greenhorns had to move on or be wiped out.” The Hudson’s Bay man chuckled. “But they had the last laugh. When they’d bought their horses, they headed west, not east. Smythe-Barnes was fit to be tied.”

  All the pieces to the puzzle fit.

  Pearson peeked around the corner. “I’d best be going before I’m spotted. But there’s one last thing you should know.”

  “What?”

  “One of the men in your party is a spy working for the American government.”

  Impressed by the HBC man’s sincerity, Shakespeare had been willing to accept everything, until this. “What bill of goods are you trying to sell me? We’re out to find a missing woman, nothing more.”

  “So you think, McNair,” Pearson said. “But I overheard Smythe-Barnes and Dinkus talking. They never mentioned a name, but they’re certain one of the men with you was sent to spy on British operations in the Oregon Country.” He took a step. “Now I must be off. If you ever make it back this way, we’ll share that drink.”

  “I’m in your debt,” Shakespeare said absently. He was greatly troubled by the news, for it changed everything.

  Pearson touched his hat. “Good luck, mate. I reckon you’ll be needing lots of it before too long.”

  Twelve

  The expedition left Fort Hall without further incident. As they were about to leave, Two Humps arrived, resplendent in his best beaded buckskins, a pair of parfleches hung over the back of his Appaloosa.

  Shakespeare expected a bitter argument when he approached Cyrus Porter. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, “but a friend of mine wants to come along with us, and I told him he could if it’s all right with you.”

  Porter didn’t so much as glance up. He was seated on a stump, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. His face was a study in human misery. “Whatever you want,” he said forlornly.

  It was plain to Shakespeare that all of Porter’s pent-up feelings were finally being let out. He was glad to see it, for it proved Porter did care about his daughter. “We’ll find Hestia,” he pledged. “In a few more months you’ll be together again.”

  “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, McNair?” Porter said, more to himself than to the trapper.

  “What does?”

  “Why do we bother? We raise them, lavish them with everything money can buy. We make great plans for their future, and we do everything in our power to insure they will succeed.” Porter’s head drooped lower. “Then they go and run off with a nobody the first chance they get. Why did I bother all those years? Why is she putting me through this nightmare?”

  Shakespeare held his peace and left. It occurred to him that a selfish disposition and a shallow brain went well together. The more he learned about the father, the more he pitied the daughter. It wasn’t hard to see why she had gone off on her own. There were more ways to smother a person than most realized.

  The expedition stuck to the Snake River for the next stage of the journey. The nights were cool, the days increasingly hot. A wide plain bordered the river on both sides to a distance of twenty to forty miles, and here game was scarce. Nate, often accompanied by Two Humps and Chavez, had to range farther and farther afield to find any.

  Cyrus Port
er gradually recovered from the doldrums. On the third day after leaving Fort Hall, he rode up to McNair and stated bluntly, “Why the hell did you bring an Indian along?”

  “You gave your permission.”

  “You said it was a friend. I assumed he was white.”

  “Two Humps is my friend.” Shakespeare looked at him. “And you can’t blame me for the conclusions you jump to.” He clucked at his horse. “Before you get to acting contrary, keep in mind that if Two Humps can’t tag along, this old coon won’t be going another step.”

  “This is blackmail.”

  “Call it what you like. What’s it to be?”

  Porter puffed out his cheeks like an irate chipmunk, then exhaled so loudly his horse looked back to see what was making so much noise. “Since you leave me no choice, your Indian friend can stay. But he had better not cause us any trouble along the way.”

  “He won’t,” Shakespeare said, and couldn’t resist having some fun by saying, “I just hope you don’t make a liar out of me by not acting your age when he’s around.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I told him you’re the chief of our little caravan. To an Indian, a chief is someone special. Most warriors have to earn the title by proving their courage in battle and showing they care for their people by helping the sick and the poor.” Shakespeare skirted a bush. “Think you would qualify?”

  “For your information, mister, I’ve given more money to charitable causes than you’ve made in your whole life,” Porter stated. “As for my courage, I stood my ground when we were surrounded by Blackfeet, didn’t I?”

  “We were trapped, but I won’t quibble. Just do me a favor and pretend you’re half as noble as Two Humps and I’ll be grateful.”

  “Sometimes, Mr. McNair, you try my patience,” Porter said, and trotted toward Adam Clark.

  Grinning, Shakespeare scanned the southern horizon, then gazed at the mountains rearing to the northwest. They had to reach those mountains swiftly. In the middle of the plain they were too exposed. He hadn’t warned the others yet, but they had new dangers to face now that they had left Blackfoot country behind. Dangers every whit as deadly. He thought of Nate and the other two, off hunting again, and hoped they’d make it back safely.