Fair Land, Fair Land (4 page)

Summers reined toward the point. The wagons had been
put where no chance traveler was likely to see them. The tongues were
lashed up so's to keep the ends off the ground. The wheels were
chalked.

"
Tidy job," Summers said.

"Mack seen to that."

"
Good man, Mack is."

"
Right. But goddamn sober-sided. We wouldn't
have got this far, though, but for him."

They moved on.

The sun was warm now, and the sky clear, though he
had to look up to see it on account of the trees. Not like the plains
where the eye could look at the far edges of the world, where
distance danced on the slopes of buttes that might live just in the
mind, where wild grasses waved in the wind. Mountains were all right
unless they shouldered a man. Trees were all right unless they
crowded him.

At early dusk they made camp where water was. Summers
put rope hobbles on Feather, knowing if any of the horses tried to
backtrack Feather would lead them. For good measure he hung a bell
around Feather's neck.

He built a fire then, while Higgins chunked up the
meat and threw it in a pot half-filled with water.

"
Them steaks got pretty dry," he explained.
"Hope you don't mind a stew? I sneaked away with some salt."

"
Nope," Summers answered. "Takes
longer, though."

"
What have we got but time?"

Sure. They had time, all the time that was granted
them, which no man could tally ahead. So take it easy. Quit fretting.
One day he would meet up with Boone Caudill, who had been his friend.
What then? Something. Nothing. What the hell? At least he didn't have
to worry about money, success and how the crop grew. Just watch the
pot.

Higgins put the pot on the fire and sat down. He was
trying to get used to a seat on the ground, Summers knew. "We
goin' to climb up into the Blue Mountains, Dick?"

"
Don't figure on it. At the Blues we leave the
Oregon Trail, bound north of it."

"Then where?"

"
Over the Bitter Roots, over the Rockies and so
to the plains."

"
Way I've heerd it, that would put us in
Blackfoot country."

"
Yup."

"
Whatever you say," Higgins said. He
stirred the pot with a stick. "I got it in my head you're
fightin' shy of people. Ain't it so?"

"For now, anyhow."

"
You got somethin' against "em?"

"Just get tired of 'em in time. They spoil
things."

"
Like what?"

"
Like ways of livin'. Look. The Indians had
fixed things pretty nice. They killed just what they had to. They
didn't count up what they had unless it was stole horses, which all
of them stole when they could. They didn't have any idea of markin'
off a piece of ground and sayin', ‘This is mine.' The land belonged
to all of 'em."

"
Yeah?"

"
Then along came the white man. He wanted furs.
He wanted land. And for trade he brought along whiskey or what passed
for it."

"
I guess you couldn't blame him, except for the
firewater."

The pot was beginning to boil.

"
It's a way of things, and I was some part of
it, trappin' beavers, findin' trails for others to follow, havin' one
hell of a time without thinkin'."

Summers went silent, not knowing how to go on,
feeling guilt in him. Higgins got up and poked at the fire, putting
some fresh wood on.

"
That don't argue that you got much against
people," Higgins said.

"
No. It's natural. What gets me is there's so
many white people, more and more all the time. And the more there
are, the pushier they get."

"
You ain't goin' to change that, long as
fuckin's so popular."

"
I got nothin' against it."

"
Me, neither, but it's what it leads to, what
comes after. That's what you're sayin'."

"
I reckon so."

They fell silent. Summers was just as glad to let the
matter lie there. He wasn't good at explaining things, even to
himself, he thought. It was the goodbyes that ate at him, the
goodbyes to what was, the coming goodbyes to even what now was. They
ate before the stew was tender, gobbling it down nonetheless, and sat
down by what was left of the fire.

By and by Higgins asked, "Dick, you been around.
None of my business, but did you leave any young'ns around?"

"
Not to my knowin'."

"
I sired me a woods colt once, but it died bein'
born. I wanted to marry that girl. I did for a fact. But she took up
with a circuit-ridin' preacher. Pleased my maw all to hell. Out of
sin into the arms of the Lord. That's what she said, not knowin' that
the preacher was a bed-pounder, too."

"
A heap of 'em are."

"
Like you maybe made out, my maw was hell on
religion. That's how come I got my first name."

"
I never heerd it."

"
I never tolt you, but, by God, if it ain't
Hezekiah."

Summers had to laugh. "Hezekiah Higgins. Takes
some breath to say."

"
Now just forgit it, huh?"

"
Sure, Hig."

Looking up, Summers could see stars, but not at the
sides, at the sides only tall trees, the trees boxing him in. Not too
long, though. Not forever. "Hig," he said, "you feel
like playin' your fiddle a little?"

"
Sure thing."

Higgins went to a pack and got it and the bow out. He
had to tune up and rosin the bow before playing.

"
No jiggety stuff, please, Hig, and no holler
music. Just somethin' easy."

With the fiddle under his chin Higgins said, "Call
me crazy, Dick, but I make up songs for myself. Ridin' along I
thought up one that fits you and maybe me, too. Want to hear it?"

"
Play away."
 

The country's my mistress.
Why
need me a wife?
My country's my mistress.
I lead a free life.

The music waved to the edge of silence. Out of Hig's
broken mouth came a voice that was clean and pure and fetching.

No one to nag me.
I
just go along.
No one to nag me
So
join me in song.
O-do-lee, o-do-lay,
o-do-lee, o-do-lay.
My country's my mistress.
Why need me a wife?

6

TWAS THE EDGE of dusk when they rode down to the
smoother water of the Dalles and the Deschutes River. Where all had
been bustle and worry and wagons just a spell ago, there were now
only a few cast-off wagons, some past repair, and the odds-and-ends
leavings of travelers bound down the river. There were, to boot, a
canoe and a couple of rowboats, one water-logged, on the river's lip
and a couple of cabins on the bank.

It beat hell, Higgins thought, how things could
change, how folks could come and go, leaving behind them as junk what
they had prized once, like a cherry chest there was no cargo space
for, like a rusted anvil not worth more sweat. And where were the
horses and cattle that the owners had worried about? One cabin looked
empty and deserted, but the other might have something in it besides
mice. It had a hitch rack in front of it and a slab lean-to at one
side. They tied up.

"
My butt's bounced enough for one day,"
Higgins said, getting off his horse. He had to hang on to the saddle
horn for a minute to ease his legs.

"
We'll see what's inside," Summers
answered. "A drink would go good." But for an instant he
stood there, considering. "Seems to me these cabins was just
going up when we took off."

"
I didn't take notice."

The door opened before they reached it, and a voice
said, "Welcome, y'all." Dark as it was getting to be,
Higgins could still see a chesty man, half bald, who wore an
unbuttoned town vest. He showed them in, saying, "Best hold up
until I can make some light." His shape moved to a mud-and-stick
fireplace where a fire flickered. He put a twig in it until it caught
and then lighted the wicks of a couple of oil lamps without chimneys.

"Now move up, gents. Place ain't too tidy, you
can see. I was just fixin' to neat up when you showed."

As Higgins" eyes adjusted, he saw that the cabin
had been divided. In the half they entered there was a bar made out
of half a log with three stools in front of it. The floor was dirt.

"
Stand up or sit down, whichever pleases you,"
the man said.

"
Nice day today. Faired off good. But I look for
it to rain tomorrow. Somethin' tells me it's fixin' to."

"
First time I've heerd your kind of talk in a
coon's age," Higgins said, meaning to be pleasant.

"
Southern mountains, ain't it?

That where you hail from?"

The man stiffened and gave him a long look. "What
business is it of yours?"

"
Can't a man ask a question?"

The man pushed up against the bar, his face set.
"Makin' fun, huh? I'll tell you no one puts Joe Newton down."

Higgins cussed himself. He knew as well as anybody
that mountaineers took offense when no offense was meant, they were
so goddamn face-proud.

Before he could reply, Summers said, "Mister, we
don't care shit where you're from or how you palaver. That don't
matter one good goddamn. You got any whiskey? Just tell me that."

Summers hadn't raised his voice, but there was a tone
in it that set the man back. So did his eyes.

The man said, "It's just, well, I got my pride."

"
Good for you. My pardner was just tryin' to be
friendly. No cause to get your dander up."

"
All right. I got whiskey. Comes high, so I warn
you."

Summers put a gold piece on the bar. It came, Higgins
knew, from his pay as a guide. No greenbacks. Just honest coin.

Newton reached behind him and got two mugs and a jug.

"
This is s'posed to come from Kentucky, but you
never know. It's prime stuff, I swear." He poured good measure.
It was then he took note of the gold piece. He looked at it, hefted
it. "Jesus Christopher," he said, "you expect me to
make change for that?"

"
Could be you got some fixin's we want."

"
Could be. Like what?"

"
No business talk till the liquor says yes."

"
Sure. Take your time."

Higgins could feel the warmth of the whiskey in his
belly. He wasn't much of a drammer, but once in a while a drink went
good. He drained his glass.

"
Fill 'em up again," Summers said. "Have
one yourself."

"
That's kindly," Newton said and reached
for the jug and another glass.

Higgins thought he could speak again without roiling
the man. "None of my business, but I'm askin' myself how you
make out. For grub, I mean. Meat."

Newton took a swallow of whiskey and licked his lips.
"That's a fair question, and I'll tell you it's not as hard as a
man might think. Fish, for instance."

"Salmon, huh?"

"
Durin' the run. But a man gets mighty tired of
salmon."

"
Strike up the band. I'll beat the big drum."

"
Amen. I put out set lines for sturgeon. Some of
them are Christly big and break my lines. I got one down in brine now
that must have weighed nigh onto sixty pounds. Makes a nice change."

"
All the same, it's not red meat."

"
You'd be surprised, now all them pilgrims have
left. Once in a while now a mule deer — I call 'em jackass deer on
account of the ears — it kind of strolls by. I killed me one
yesterday. Reminds me. You men crave some good eats?"

"
I'm thinkin' so," Summers answered. "Pour
another, friend, your own self included."

Before he took hold of the jug, the man added, "I
can give you some good stuff, right off the loin. My woman — she's
a Cayuse — pounds chokecherries fine, pits and all, and throws in
some seasonin', like wild sage, I guess, and makes a sauce that I
call mighty fine."

Touchy or not, Newton was from the Appalachian
country, Higgins knew. The words he used and the nosy twang gave him
away. Not that it made any difference.

"
Might be you'll have company," Newton went
on. "That is if you don't object to some warwhoop."

"
Long as he don't hanker for scalps,"
Summers told him.

"
Nothin' like that. He's kind of a preacher, I
reckon, missionary-like. But his religion ain't wore so sore that he
won't take a drink."

"
Preachers I know like a dram so's to put more
hell in their warnin's," Higgins said.

"
He's half French to my notion. You know how
those Frenchies are, always makin' up to squaws." He grinned
suddenly, maybe thinking of himself. "Not that most don't."