SPIRIT DANCE
Larry Rice
1.
Every summer the Helman clan gathers up at
the lake for a week at what they call the Spirit Dance. There is a cabin
there, but it is mainly used as a kitchen, bathhouse and restroom whenever they
all get together. For cleansing and vision questing, a new sweat lodge is
built. They all sleep outside under the stars or in tents and the communal fire
becomes the sacred source of life and communication. The younger kids romp in
the lake all day when they are not sleeping, their squeals of delight and howls
of outrage skipping across the water like flat rocks to echo off the sheer
cliffs of the opposite shore. Everyone sunbathes, swims, cavorts on skidoos,
fishes, wind surfs, canoes, hikes and explores. . During the daytime there is an
ongoing Scrabble competition within the family that spans four generations. A
river of Welsh blood bearing metaphorical flotsam courses through their veins
en route to the mind (the sandbars come and go as if by magic). Most of them
share a passion for reading, writing, sharing stories, dancing and making music.
They take their words (and Scrabble), seriously. By and large, the Helmans like
to play, explore, learn, create, eat, fish, get high and talk about it.
As is the natural course of such matters, the family and the gathering grows larger every year.
In this family
the lines separating the generations are often blurred. Because of overlapping
values and interests and similar forms of expression there is no generation gap
and much more interaction between adults and children. The attitude of
rebellious, insolent superiority is practically non-existent.. Experimentation,
originality and individualism are encouraged and everyone was allotted an equal
share of dignity and respect. They had all been weaned on the word yes so
self-esteem runs high, but sometimes having nothing to rebel against causes a
different set of problems for the adolescents.
There
is Sioux, Cherokee, Klamath and Crow Indian blood in the family, infusing it
with an intimate relationship with the forces of nature and a disdain for
materialism yet a fascination for finely crafted objects (perhaps it was the
dash of calculating Dutch privateer that engendered a healthy respect for
profit). Add to this a tributary of wandering, hotheaded Irish and you have the
basic recipe for the blood soup of a Helman. Of course, I am speaking
figuratively. It was not just the blood, not that red stuff. It was in the DNA
(dead nuclear ancestors). Generally, the members of the Helman clan can be
characterized as intelligent, creative, ingenious, headstrong, enterprising,
fun loving, spiritual without piety, fiercely independent, slightly pugnacious
and a bit wild - true Americans.
Abel Helman, a
distant relative, founded America Town 150 years ago. Had it not been for his
foresight, courage, vision and greed, America Town might not even exist. The
deep and earthy roots of their pioneer heritage are a robust source of pride
and helps keep them connected to the earth in a society with inorganic
leanings. The Helmans are not snobbish. Modesty is held in high esteem. But the
fact is, they are superior and there is always at least one brilliant mind or
creative genius in each family. They all take it for granted and eventually
come to understand how superior intelligence and abilities can be as much a
stigma as advantage.
One night
following a family feast, after the blood and butter sunset melted into the
dimming shaggy evergreen horizon, a blue mountain chill lay down atop the
temporal luster of dusty-rose tinted water. The bats fluttered like leaves
suffused with spirit and fish made one last, glorious, gasping leap before the
cold, evening shadow spilled like liquid darkness from the forest, down the
banks and across the quicksilver lake. The receptive water, the vigilant
creatures, even the insects heard the hissing of warm air expelled into the
atmosphere, felt the pressure of the encroaching cold of mountain night. But to
the Helmans, night, like death, always seems to come as somewhat of a
surprise. Adults and children alike
were drawn to the surging flames of the big bonfire where sparks capered about
in the air like confused, fiery moths. Soon, voices diminished to an expectant
chunter, for it was story-telling time - what they commonly referred to as a
“tale spin”.
Paw Paw Helman, the current patriarch of the
clan, is a favorite tale spinner. He is also the Pipe Keeper, a lifetime
responsibility and honor handed down from generation to generation. Rather like
the family poet laureate, and more. His tales chill you, warmed you, snared and
scared you, make you think and not think, laugh and cry. Paw Paw's stories are
unforgettable and enduring. So, young and old huddled together as closely as
possible for warmth and security as he stood proudly before them, his thick
silhouette swollen against the backdrop of firelight; full, shoulder length,
snow-white hair fluffed out like goose down. He always stands to tell his
stories, for the essence of Spirit Dance - body language, freedom of gesture
and expression, movement and space - is embodied in every narrative.
He stood before
them now straight and tall at seventy–something years. Experience and wisdom
emanating from his being imparted stamina, setting his jaw with strength and
his eye with calm, fearless confidence. The power of his intelligence
manifested in his robust voice and gesture, gentleness in his whisper,
compassion in his eyes. The depth of his awareness, the subtlety of his
perceptions and a deep understanding of human nature rendered him immune to
lies and subterfuge. He could see right through you…if he wanted to. Whatever
he was or was not, to disrespect him was almost impossible. The children
(which, to him, included just about all of them) held him in awe, for his
stories, his outlook helped mold their thinking and subsequently their futures.
When
the squirming subsided and the last throat had been cleared, after the hush of
expectation gave way to the primal drumming of the sonorous frog chant, he
began with, " As you all know, for
a century and a half, every year our family has this gathering and we call it
the Spirit Dance… " Following a long pause during which he made eye
contact with each and every listener, he continued. " But do you really
know why we call it the Spirit Dance?
Do you know the true story behind it all? " He did not give them time to
respond. “ There’s been some confusion
lately about what the straight scoop is and I’m going to clear this up once and
for all. I was told the story by my grandfather Oliver Helman, who was told it
by his grandfather Travis Helman, who not only heard the story from his
grandfather Grant Helman, but read the original manuscript of the experience
called Spirit Dance, written by
Abel's son Grant as told him by his father, Abel. All of them were pipe
keepers. In fact, the pipe featured in this story is the very one we use today.
“
He
paused again to allow his audience a chance to absorb that complex, essential
prologue while he kicked the fire to life, releasing a flurry of sparks rushing
upward to become stars. Then he added, “ Unfortunately, that manuscript was
destroyed in the fire of eighteen eighty-eight. But I guarantee you, the story
I’m fixing to tell you comes straight
from the horse's mouth. It's been memorized and passed from generation to
generation without embellishment, pipe keeper to pipe keeper. Not all that many
people could read back then you'll have to remember, and communications were
crude to say the least. This is the way true history travels - from person to
person, fire to fire. It’s important never to forget that we are living history
right now. "
Paw
Paw closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them they caught the
firelight with a twinkle. He began the actual tale as usual - with the
traditional family introduction accompanied by Indian sign that had been handed
down through the generations. Then he said respectfully “ The sky (he held his
hands horizontally above his head with the index fingers touching and swung
downward in a curve to each side) is the Father (he thumped his right breast twice
with his right fist and extended his index finger in front of his face). The
Earth (he pointed to the ground and rubbed his thumb and fingers together) is
the Mother (he thumped his left breast twice with a curved half open fist). And
the fire (he held his hand in front of him below his waist and flicked all five
fingers upward) is the Law (he held his hand up to his neck and moved two
fingers straight forward).
Then he took a
deep breath and commenced.
Abel
Helman lookeddown on the rich, gold and green valley enclosed by snowcapped
foothills as far as could be seen and wept.
From the summit on which he stood
beneath the shadow of Pilot Rock, he could also view the shimmering,
white-crested peak that the Indians referred to as Toohigh or Tawiligetah,
meaning Spirit Home. To the northeast another massive, snow capped peak rose to
penetrate the clouds and then another and another. To the north, at the far,
narrow end of the bottle-shaped valley at least thirty miles away, lay a
cluster of dark, basaltic mesas that contrasted sharply with the rest of the
lush, green landscape. Abel registered mentally that these were the Indian
strongholds of which he had heard. The golden hills bordering the east side of
the valley appeared parched, dry and windswept, with but a dusting of snow that
would vanish by midday.
The
promised land; what he and his family had endured so much suffering and
hardship to reach, lay before him undulating dreamlike in the morning sun. He
knelt in the snow and thanked God as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Abel was
a strong man, one of the strongest both physically and in spirit, but he was
not ashamed to weep, especially those rare tears of joy. His big, strong,
callused hands belied what his large, soulful, brown eyes made no attempt to
conceal - compassion, sensitivity and intelligence.
" Abel! Abel! " his wife
Jessica called from the wagon, " it's time to get going, honey. "
" All right, Mama, I'll be
right along, " he said as he wiped at his tears with his neck scarf.
When he removed his hat and wiped the bandana across his head, a chilled breeze fluttered his thinning hair. He plopped his battered, old hat back on his head and looked up at the heavens. " I promise, God, " he prayed, " as sure as I stand here before you. I'll live up to this life you blessed me with. I'll raise my boys right and I'll always do my damn…uh…I'll do my best to be the kind of man you want me to be. That's the least I can do. Thank you, Lord.
Amen. "
On his way back to the wagon train
his friend MacDougal intercepted him. " It's a bloody, long way to the
bottom of this one,
Abel, "
MacDougal said, " If we go down this side straight down we'll have to
slide 'em most of the way. “ MacDougal spat his contempt along with a stream of
tobacco juice into the snow. " Seems to me we'd best be takin’ the ridge
and come down from the other end where it's lower and not s' many trees. "
Abel surveyed the side of the
mountain down which they were going to descend. " Looks like a good place
for a slide. Lot's of big trees to anchor to. Jeffries is the boss. If he says
it's best to go down head first, I guess I will. He's gotten us this far.
"
" By the skin of our teeth,
" MacDougal grumbled. " The real reason is lack of patience. Why rush
it when we can ease it down? Just another needless risk is how I see it. But I'm just a little
breeze compared to the cyclone everybody else is stirrin' up. What’s your opinion, Abel? "
" Mack, we're standing here
because Jeffries has been right more often than wrong. Personally, I'm just
like everybody else. I say the quickest way down is best. One of the things I'm
weary of is the squabbling over every little decision. I vote let's go on down
and get it over with. I've been yearning to stand on my very own piece of God's
green earth and listen to the babble of a fishing stream. I ache clear to the
core of my bones. I want to lay back and not do anything for a while except
play with the kids and eat and…sleep. "
" Well then, so be it, Abel. I
won't change my mind, but I'll go along with the will of everybody else and
pull my weight as usual. It's just not my nature to risk anything for want of
patience. It's not myself or my possessions I'm worried about. It's what sits
in that wagon over there, my family, that matters to me. They're all I have and
all I really want. And we'd best not let down our guard - there's Injuns around
here too, don’t forget.
" I understand, Mack. Relax,
everything's going to work out fine. By tomorrow we'll be down there and none
the worse for the experience. Come here, I want to show you something. "
Abel led Mack back up to the spot
where he had been standing and they both squatted and gazed out at the
magnificent view.
" By tomorrow afternoon, Mack,
We'll be home. There were times there when I actually considered setting up
house along the way and calling it quits. Hardest thing in the world to watch
your children suffer. But we went on because God wanted us to, and with His
help we made it. He gave us a dream for inspiration and faith for strength. And
you know, amigo, this is even better than I could have imagined it. Our own
land, man, think of it, as much as we want to take on. It boggles the mind. No
more wagons to push and pull or dust to eat, no more hunger and harassment. I can't
hardly remember what safety feels like. Home, Mack. What a sweet word. I never fully knew the meaning of the word
before. Home is a place you choose to plant your spirit, not someplace you're
stuck like a stick in the mud. Damn! That valley down there looks good enough
to eat, doesn't it? Ain't life grand, Mack! "
MacDougal took a deep breath of
fresh, mountain air and smiled. Abel's enthusiasm always helped cheer him up.
" Ah, yes. That it is. All in all I have t'agree with you. It's hard to
believe we made it. Caution and vigilance has become a habit we'd best hang
onto, but you’re right, it will feel good
to dig my bare
toes into that rich, valley soil. And it's not a second too soon. Our supplies
are down to the bone. Jeffries has been drivin' so hard we haven't even had
time to hunt proper. "
Abel received the criticism of
Jeffries in silence. He did not like to talk behind people's backs. What he had
to say he said to their faces." I hear tell the Indians around here have
all kinds of stuff, “ he said, “ flour, beans, rice, coffee, even sugar and as
you can see there's no shortage of meat. There's salmon in those creeks, too,
you know. I tell you what, old friend," he lowered his voice to a whisper,
" when we get down there I'll break out that little surprise I been
saving. I got a bottle of the best Kentucky shine that ever exploded in the
mind of a mortal. "
MacDougal tilted his head back and
laughed, fogging the air about his hairy face. He whispered back, "Aye!
Aye! So that's your little surprise is It? If I'd known you were hiding a jug I
would have been harder to put up with than I was. " He punched Abel
playfully in the arm. " You rascal! You must have a will o’ iron, man.
"
Abel smiled. " No, but Jessica
does. "
They stood and Abel put a hand on
his friend's shoulder. " What do you say we go claim our birthright, Mack?
"
" Right, Abel. And that whiskey
is just the inspiration I needed. Guess I'm not as faithful as you. But you'd
best be figurin' on three days if you ask me. We're higher and that's steeper
than you seem to think. "
Abel chuckled. " It's all down
hill from now on, " he said, " all down hill. "
As Abel approached his wagon, a
beat-up, weathered Conestoga with numerous, big patches in its filthy cover,
his twelve year old son came running up to meet him. " Daddy, it's time to
get in line, we're gonna get to go first today, " he said excitedly.
Grant had his father's intelligent,
big, brown eyes. Abel removed his son's weather beaten hat and pushed the
cornsilk hair back off the boy’s forehead. They had truly come to respect one
another over the last few months, whereas, back in St Louis they hardly ever
spoke. He plopped the hat back on his son's head and an arm around the lad’s
shoulder and the two of them walked up to see how Abel’s brother John was doing
with the last minute inspection of the rigs.
John shook his head in disgust.
" We got a loose wheel on the second wagon Abel. Looks good enough to me
to make it down, but you better have a look at it. I don't want the whole
decision on my shoulders. I'd hate to have to fix it now. It'd set us back a
whole day. There's no spares in the whole train. I checked. I didn't notice it
until late last night. "
Abel inspected the wheel and put it
through a couple of quick tests. " Let's take a chance, “ he said as he
wiped his hands on his pants. I think she'll make it. "
Abel's wife, Jessica, parted the
canvas and stuck her head out of the rear of the wagon. She had high cheekbones
and smooth round features suggesting Indian blood. Though a little thick, she
was still a sensuously attractive woman. Moral and physical strength combined
with humility and tenderness to give her features a regal aspect. Despite
enduring a terribly difficult journey, she still managed somehow to remain
relatively neat and clean. Jessica's black eyes shone with love and respect as
she handed Abel the last cup of coffee from their supplies. She was truly an
unselfish woman and believed that to love her man and her family was to love
God.
" Abel, " Jessica said,
" Mister James was asking if he could pull behind us on the slide. One of
his mules is favoring his foreleg and he's worried it might give out. That
could be dangerous. "
" Well, if you see him, tell
him to go ahead and hook up Shyleigh. That's what he's getting at anyway. I
guess we can spare him now that we're so close. "
There was always a lot of confusion
and unexpected hassles as they formed up each morning, especially when they
were in a tight, forest clearing like this. If it was not carefully executed,
some god-awful traffic jams could ensue. Into the din of shouts, orders,
curses, popping whips, bawling animals and the rattle, creak and screech of
wagons, a woman's scream penetrated.
Abel grabbed his rifle and ran to
see what was wrong. When he rounded the Thompson wagon he slid to a halt not
ten feet from a band of seven Indians clustered in the snow-dusted clearing, as
tense as startled deer and just as ready to bolt in seven different directions.
Jeffries, the wagon master, came striding
up. " Don't nobody do nothin’ rash. Lower that rifle Mister Thompson.
Tradin's what they're after. This is a sort of welcoming committee, see. They
probably want to check us out and see if we intend to stick around. We might
oughta let ‘em think we’re just passing through. Say we’re headed north. "
" Why lie to them? " Abel
asked. " They'll find out different soon enough. "
" We can stall’ em until late
spring, " Jeffries said.
" But these people are going to
be our neighbors, " Jessica said.
" Ma'am, to Injuns a neighbor’s
somebody you steal stuff from. "
" And what is a white man,
Mister Jeffries, a liar with no honor? We are making a first impression here
and it could be lasting. "
Jeffries voice was clipped with
curtness. " I'm not concerned with lasting impressions, Mizz. Helman. My
concern is making sure you folks live to see your first crops. But, out of
respect to your feelings, ma'am, I'll try to avoid the
subject. "
Jeffries stepped forward and clasped
his hands in front of him with the back of the left hand down – the symbol for
peace. One of the Indians advanced a tentative step and returned the sign and
then held up both hands and struck them past each other in a semi-circle – the
sign for trade.
Jeffries gesticulated in sign as he
spoke aloud in English so everyone would know what was transpiring. "
Good. We want trade too. "
The Indian spoke in a mixture of
French and broken English as well as sign. " Need sugar, glass, blankets.
"
" Have glass, " Jeffries
said. He assumed they meant mirrors. " No sugar, no blankets. Long trip.
We are very poor (he held up his left index finger and sratched downward on it
with his other index finger – the sign for poor). Trade bag almost empty.
" He turned to Abel and John and muttered, " Damn! We don't have much
to trade them. "
The rest of the wagon train members
were edging closer to the proceedings. Children crowded forward and peered
through the legs of the adults.
" You folks back up, please.
" Jeffries said. " Mitchell, you and Vincent
take a few men
and stake out a watch. There's prob’ly more of ’em out there. "
Jeffries faced the Indian spokesman
again. The Indian pointed to Jeffries' sidearm and asked, " Have guns?
Boo-lets? "
Jeffries' eye twitched noticeably.
He had hoped they would not ask this. Personally, he trusted Indians as far as
he could kick them. He wasn't about to sell the devil firewood.
" No guns or bullets. "
Jeffries said. " Need for long journey. "
The Indians conferred for a moment
and the spokesman again stepped forward, " Need guns…hunt, " the
brave repeated stubbornly.
Jeffries features hardened. "
No guns, chief. "
The Indians huddled again.
The spokesman returned. He made the
sign for fire and cupped his hand and brought it to his mouth meaning water.
Abel grimaced. He was the only one
on the train with any whiskey and he really hated like hell the thought of
giving it up after a year and a half of hoarding it.
Jeffries hesitated a few seconds and
scanned the faces of the men in the crowd, then he turned to the Indian and
said, " Have firewater. We trade. Come. “ He held his left fist out in
front of him and tapped it twice with his right palm. “ We smoke. “ He gestured toward the cook fire and the
crowd parted for them.
The Indians held a quick conference
and the spokesman said in sign, " I smoke. Trade. They stay. "
Jeffries led the young buck to the
smoldering ashes of the morning cook fire where they squatted. He removed a
huge pipe from his inner coat pocket the bowl of which was intricately carved
into the face of a mariner, tapped it on his boot heel and stuffed it with the
dregs of his tobacco. After stoking the pipe, he handed it to the Indian, who
inhaled it deeply, coughed a little and handed the pipe to John Helman.
Mitchell returned and whispered
something in Jeffries' ear. John handed the pipe to Abel, As Abel took a drag,
Jeffries said just above a whisper, " Now Abel, I know you got some corn
liquor hidden away somewhere. I've known you too long to think you'd go
anywhere without it. I'm sorry. I really am, but we 're going to have to haveat
least a jug or we just might not make it to the bottom down there. "
" Dammit, Jim, " Abel
said, " there's only five of them and they got no guns. We don't have to
give them anything. It sets a bad example. "
" Abel, don't be foolish.
There's a lot more where these come from. These are just kids looking to have
some fun. Besides, Mitchell just told me there's a bunch more skulking around
out in the woods. This could get real sticky here any minute. If we were to
kill one of these young bucks, you'd never have a moment's peace in this
valley. I’ve seen things like this get outta hand quicker n’ who flung the
chunk. We still got a chance at diplomacy here. You know I hate to order a
friend around, but we got to have that whiskey. "
" Well, hell, " Abel said
angrily, " it seems to me you might as well give them guns as liquor. I've
been guarding that jug with my life. It's like a kid to me. I haven't allowed
myself to so much as smell it since we left St. Louis. You don't know what
you're asking. Offer them horses. I would just as soon give them Shyleigh if I
have to, but not my shine. "
" We can't spare any horses,
you know that Abel. Now don't be difficult. Go get that whiskey unless you want
a lot of innocent blood on your hands. You willing to risk your future here
over a bottle of moonshine? "
Abel was at a loss. How could he
ever make them understand what this meant to him? It was deep and went back
generations. This was Kentucky corn brewed by his Uncle Buck. Buck is long gone
now and so is the recipe. It was ten years old when he headed west. This is
about family and sacred tradition. It's like the Bible itself to him - thick
with the blood of his ancestors. Besides, he had a prearranged deal with the
Lord. They were going to sit down and get soused together, just he and Jesus.
Now how could he explain that to all these people. The thought of being bamboozled by these punks out of his last
jug of Kentucky Shine made his blood boil. Abel remained sullen and silent as
everyone awaited his next move.
" At least ask them if they'll
take a horse or a cow, " Abel said.
Jeffries and Abel continued to argue
in forceful whispers as the pipe completed its first round. Jeffries reloaded
the pipe, lit it and sent it on its way again, and then asked the Indian reluctantly, " Only one jug of firewater.
How about good horse? "
The Indian frowned and fidgeted
impatiently and shook his head. " No good…Many horses. "
" Well then… how about…"
Jeffries turned and spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Abel, " We
don't have anything else to offer them, Abel. This here's turning into a big
scene. You’re making me look like a fool. Get the damn whiskey. "
Abel was silent for a moment and
then said, " The organ. "
Jessica gasped, along with some of
the other women. " Abel James, you wouldn't! "
" Jessica, it doesn't even
work. "
" It can be fixed. That organ
is for the church. Have you lost your mind?
God would be
disappointed in you. "
Abel flinched. This statement hit
him too close to home. He certainly did not want to let God down. " Oh
well, hell, forget about the organ, " he muttered.
The Indian was clearly offended and
a bit amazed that a woman had insinuated herself into the trading and scowled
at her like she was a talking horse.
" No organ, " Jeffries
said. He tried to convey in sign that the man and his wife could not agree. The
Indian nodded as if he understood, but he did not.
Abel thought of a stalling tactic.
" Let's see what they have to trade. We haven't seen what they have to
trade yet. "
Jeffries shot Abel an impatient
glare and said, " Uhhh…What you trade? “
The spokesman gestured to his
cohorts and said something in his own language. Two of them went into the woods
and returned carrying a large game bag. They set the bag down in the trampled
snow around the fire pit. At the request of the spokesman, the two Indians cut
the rawhide straps securing it shut and emptied the contents out on the ground.
A cry of surprise arose from the wagon
train members who had fudged forward again. There writhing on the ground like a
wounded snake was a beautiful, young Indian woman, bound and gagged. She was
fully clothed and appeared to be unharmed except for the chafing discomfort of
her leather bindings.
Several of the white men
instinctively went for their guns. None of them were going to stand by and see
a woman mistreated, regardless of her color. The Indians took a threatening
step forward and reached for their own weapons..
Jeffries, who was accustomed to this
kind of trade, saw there was a bit of a communication problem and spoke up
quickly. " Hold steady! “ his voice rang out. “You men put those guns
away. This here's a fair and tradable item to these guys. She's not one of
their own. Everybody just stay calm. Abel, get that liquor. Now! "
Abel did not need any more convincing. He hustled off to the wagon
and from beneath some boards in the back removed a wooden crate. He grabbed a
claw hammer and ran back to the trading circle, pried open the crate and took
out a cane wrapped jug and blew it clean of sawdust packing. He held it up and
kissed it and whispered, " Sorry, Jesus, " and handed it over to
Jeffries.
" Untie woman, “Jeffries
signed. “ Firewater yours. "
As soon as the Indians cut her
bindings and sheathed their knives, she turned on them with the fury of a
wildcat, drawing blood from the faces of two of them before they could restrain
her.
" You take! You Take! The
Indian shouted as he struggled to hold onto the woman and sign at the same
time. “
Jeffries smiled and his tobacco
stained teeth flashed yellow in the sunlight. " Well take her Abel. She's
all yours. "
Abel was flabbergasted. " What
are you saying Jeffries? Don't fool around now. Take the woman and let's get
this over with. You made the deal. "
" But it was your possession
that sealed the deal. These Injuns know that as well as you and me. They take
these things seriously. Take the woman so they don't feel insulted. The rules
of the game say you have to take responsibility for what you trade for. "
Jeffries chuckled. " Looks like you bought yourself a wild Injun Abel.
"
Abel stammered.
One of the women spoke up. "
Well, somebody get the poor woman away from the heathen., " A number of
people chimed in their agreement.
" Ohhhhh, all right, "
Abel said. " Give me a hand here John, will you? "
After an embarrassing struggle, Abel
and John were able to forcibly take the woman into their possession and the
Indians grabbed the whiskey and made a hasty retreat into the forest.
Jeffries tried to explain to the
Indian woman that they meant her no harm, but she either could not understand
or would not believe them. She fought them tooth and nail and resisted the
white women even more violently. Finally, they had no recourse but to tie her
up again until they could decide what to do with her.
" Well, you got us into a good
one this time, Jeffries, " Abel said.
Jeffries snorted. " The way I
figure it, I got us out of one. "
" What do we do with her?
"
Jeffries shrugged. " Got me.
All I know is we need to get rolling. Put her in a wagon and we'll deal with
her later. She'll probably come round when she realizes we aren't going to hurt
her or make her a slave. "
" Aye, " Mack said, "
that seems like the only thing we can do. "
" Right, uh-huh. And whose
wagon do we put her in? Mine, I suppose. "
" Well, all the other wagons
are filled to the brim with kids. You're the only one in the train with a
second wagon. I guess you are the most likely ones to carry her. " This
said, Jeffries shrugged and walked away to tend to his duties, leaving Abel and
Mack to deal with the Indian woman.
As they loaded the wriggling,
resisting Indian woman into the second wagon atop some bedrolls Jessica had
spread out, the woman bit Abel on the hand and he let out a howl and danced
around in a circle trying not to cuss in front of Jessica and the children.
Eventually, the wagon train was underway again on the last
leg of its long, arduous journey, but the danger was not over by any means.
Sliding down the mountainside was rough, back breaking, dangerous work. They
had to block the wheels, unharness the teams and lower the wagons by rope the
last couple of miles, tying anchor ropes to the trees. Even the women and
children had to tug at the ropes until they were exhausted and caked with ice
and mud. No one dared ride in the wagons during the descent.
It took three, long,
arduous days to reach the valley floor and they lost a wagon and a mule in the
grueling process, but other than some bruises, rope burns and some mighty sore
backs, everyone made it down safely.
When they pulled out onto level
ground for the first time in weeks and
entered a
vast, flat expanse of green pasture, they immediately circled the wagons and
began shouting their joy and relief. Abel took out his fiddle and started
playing gaily and John joined him with the mouth harp. Mack tuned up his banjo
and went to picking a wild, Irish jig. Except for Jeffries and his men, who
kept a wary eye open for Indians, everybody danced and sang and celebrated all afternoon and long into the night. Then
they collapsed into sleep one by one. Home at last.
The following morning, somewhat
refreshed but still aching from their strenuous descent of the mountain, they
pushed on toward the heart of the valley and made permanent camp. This would be
their center of operations for a while.
Some of them intended to strike out farther up the valley.
Some wanted to be higher up. Most wanted good farmland, but Abel and his
brother had their eye on the timber for their mill. They were first class
millwrights and intended to set up a mill that they had brought along in the
second wagon to supply the needs of the community. However, their hearts were
set on the flash in the streams and rivers, for the brothers shared a secret
passion for gold. Something they never confided in their wives.
The young Indian woman slowly
adapted to life with the whites. Though she could speak no English, she managed
to communicate that she was far from home and had no idea how to find her way
back. She had been kept blindfolded or in the game bag most of the way.
She came to understand that the
whites meant her no harm and she was welcome to live with them. For this she
was very grateful and worked hard to show it. But it was a sense of honor and
duty that brought her running from her tent to greet Abel as he returned from
his daily explorations of the surrounding countryside. She had been following
him around like a puppy for days.
Abel tried to explain to her that
she was not his possession, but she could either not comprehend or would not
accept this. In her estimation, this man had not only traded for her fair and
square, but had saved her from a terrible fate. She was obliged to be his
squaw. The fact that Abel already had a wife was irrelevant to her. Her
obligation had nothing to do with sex unless he demanded it.
She ran up to Abel and literally
prostrated herself at his feet with downcast eyes.
" No, no. Don't do that. Get up
woman. I'm not your master! I'm nothing to you. Will you kindly get out of the
way? "
Undaunted, she followed at a short
distance behind and when he sat down to remove his boots, she ran to assist
him.
" I can do it, dagnabbit,
" he said testily, " get back out of the way. " But she just tried all the harder to get his
boot off. When the boot suddenly slid off his foot, she went flying out the
tent flap and crashed into Jessica and
The women stood and brushed
themselves off. The Indian woman cowered as if she expected to be struck.
Jessica looked coldly at Abel and said,
" No, wait, honey-pie, don't go
off half-cocked. You're jumping to the wrong conclusion, I swear it! " he
called after her.
" Gawldurnit!, " he cried out as he kicked off his other boot.
Just
when everything should be smelling like roses it had the distinct odor of
manure. When he should have been relaxing and taking it a little easier for the
first time in years, his troubles seemed to have intensified. Here he was in
the promised land and everything was going all wrong. Now, for the first time
in years, even Jessica was mad at him.
In a blue huff, he slipped his
moccasins on, grabbed his rifle and stomped off toward the river to clean up
and hopefully cool off, unaware that the Indian woman scurried like a fox from
tree to tree behind him.
The
cold river helped cool him down some. His anger did eventually subside, but not
his despondency. He sat slumped by the river on a big granite rock, clouded
with gloom, not paying near enough attention to his surroundings.
When Abel had worried this one
problem to death, he immediately started in on another one. I guess everybody
has a whole pack full of troubles and sorrows to choose from if they are in the
mood to feel sorry for themselves. Before he knew it, he was gnawing on a whole
head full of losses and difficulties and he started to get angry again. The way
he saw it, it all came down to that young Indian woman. He had come to view her
as a curse.
He looked skyward and prayed
earnestly:
Lord. This is too much for me. I’m
all confused. I got stuck with a woman who follows me around like a dog and I
don't quite know what to do about it. "
While Abel was adrift in self pity
an Indian had ridden up so quietly that Abel was completely unaware of him
until he saw him sitting atop a beautiful pinto pony not thirty yards away
across the river. By the time he saw the Indian and lunged for his rifle up on
the bank, the Indian could have killed him ten times over if that had been his
intention. The Indian remained completely still atop his fine, proud horse.
Abel, feeling a bit foolish, cocked
the rifle but kept it pointed at the ground as they stared at one another. The
communication that passed between them surprised them both. Abel made the sign
for peace.
The Indian said in fairly good English with a strong French accent,
" You have woman. "
Abel eyed him suspiciously, "
So? "
" Want woman. You have. "
" Say what? "
" My woman. You have. Enemy
steal. You have. I buy. "
" Ohhhh. You mean a pretty
little Indian woman about so high, long hair? "
" Oui. Moi buy. "
Abel eased the hammer down slowly
and cradled the gun in his arms. He shook his head and chuckled, and then
laughed aloud.
The Indian's horse pranced sideways and he jerked on the reins.
"
Big joke, monsiuer? "
" In a way, yeah. You see, Me
give. No want woman. "
The Indian stiffened and scowled.
" No want woman? "
" I only bought her to get her
away from your enemy. I already got a good woman and she's all I care to
handle. "
The Indian just stared at him
blankly.
" Me give. Comprevous? "
Abel said with a generous smile.
The Indian was confused. It all
seemed too complex to him. A typical white man deal. " We trade gifts,
" he said with a frown.
" All right, all right,
whatever. Just so long as you take her off my hands. "
The Indian rode into the water and
crouched atop the horses back as it forded the narrow river. When it reached
the bank, he slid to the ground totally dry.
Abel backed away a few paces.
The Indian slapped his chest and
declared, " Riding Wolf. " Then he handed Abel a leather bag the size
of a man's fist.
" My name's Abel, " he said as he eyed the bag.
" A bell, bon ami. " the
Indian said.
Abel opened the pouch and peered
within, careful not to look away from the Indian for too long, and then dumped
some of the contents into his palm. There in the sunlight sparkled some of the
highest-grade gold ore he had ever seen. " Lordy mercy, " he gasped.
" Lordy mercy! " You got yourself a deal, mawnshure. Come on. Let's
go get your woman. "
The Indian woman, who had been
hiding not far away, came running into the clearing and threw herself into the
arms of her lover. Excitedly, she began relating her experiences to him in
their own tongue. Her story ended with kind words for Abel and his family for
taking her in and helping her.
" You are good man, A bell. I
owe you. May Man Above give me a chance to pay. But we go now. Land of
my enemy here. "
As the Indian turned the handsome Pinto to leave, Abel could
not resist calling out, " Wait! "
Riding Wolf stopped and looked back
over his shoulder.
" Look, there might be a little
something you can do that would even things up right quick. "
There was a short silence while the
unblinking Indian waited for Abel to continue.
" Tell me where you got this
gold. “
The Indian considered a moment
before answering. " On mountain. Half day ride. White man hole in
mountain. "
" You mean a mine? "
" Oui. That . "
Abel's eyes lit up. " Take me
there. I'll give you a fine horse. Two horses."
Abel held up the pouch, his eyes pleading.
" Take me to the gold? Is there more? "
" Big danger, " Riding
Wolf said. " Much enemy. Much bad place of dead spirits rising. "
" Have big guns, go at night,
" Abel said. “ What are Dead Spirits Rising? “
Riding Wolf paused again. He felt
obligated to help this white man who had saved his woman. He also wanted to
strike back at his enemies for causing all this trouble in the first place.
Riding Wolf decided he would help.
" OK. I take. Woman stay. Need
horse for woman. "
The woman obediently slid down off
the horse.
Riding Wolf, sensing that this
saddened her, said something to her in their language that made her eyes
brighten as he tenderly stroked her glistening black hair. She melted into the
forest in the direction of the wagon train camp.
" We go now, " Riding Wolf
said.
" Fine. You wait here while I
go get my horse. Understand? Don't go anywhere, now. "
" Hate wait. Go fast. "
" I will. I will. You can bet
on it. Just you wait here. "
" Riding Wolf wait. Get horse,
A bell. "
Abel rushed back to camp to get
Shyleigh. As he was saddling up, Jessica approached. " Abel, honey, "
she said sweetly. “ I'm sorry about this afternoon. I know I can trust you.
"
" Oh that's all right, mama, “
he said distractedly as he hugged her tightly. “I know it's been trying,
us in a couple of days.
"
and by the time he was finished Jessica was
worried and upset again.
After placating her
somewhat, he kissed her goodbye and mounted. Ignoring her protests, he rode
hastily back to where Riding Wolf awaited him. All he could think about was the
heavy pouch of nuggets round his neck warming his heart, and the mine he
imagined was filled with it, as the stoic Indian led him up a narrow deer trail
through the forest.
As they climbed steadily higher
along the path that wound through mighty firs and cedars, the trees began
to thin a little and the underbrush of berries and poison oak and buck brush
became less dense. When they came to a swift stream crusted with a film of edge
ice they turned eastward. Eventually, the conifers gave way to giant black oaks
and madrone interspersed with polished black purple and maroon manzanita where
a fresh layer of snow from the previous night blanketed the open ground.
When the snow clouds began to gather
close and heavy overhead, Abel turned the collar of his coat up around his ears
to ward off the cold wind whipping across a little lake they were skirting.
They rode in snow muffled quiet ensconced in an aura of steamy vapor, secure in the leathery creak and squeak of
Abel's saddle, and Riding Wolf's occasional grunt as he pointed out to Abel the
signs of other humans and animals along the way.
With the setting of the sun, the
temperature dropped rapidly and the forest thinned out to scrub oak and the
ubiquitous buck brush. The knee high grass, glowing like burnished brass in the moonlight, crunched beneath the horses hooves, stirring up a sparkling mist of icy powder. A hundred yards ahead of them was the
tree line, beyond which the terrain became increasingly rocky and forbidding,
dark sheer cliffs loomed gloomily.
Riding Wolf drew rein behind an
immense patch of blackberries and dismounted. " We wait for dark, "
he said. ‘ No talk. " This declared, he threw his blanket over his head, completely
covering himself. Abel hunkered down into his coat, pulled his hat down,
clutched the pouch of gold and warmed himself with dreams of wealth and
prosperity.
For the better part of two hours they waited in the bushes
beneath the cold shadow of the brooding cliffs. Finally, Riding Wolf stood
silently and whispered,
Leaving their horses, they crept
from bush, to rock, to shadow across the open field, Abel aping Riding Wolf's
every move. When they reached the base
of the cliff, the Indian pulled Abel closer and whispered as he pointed upward,
This last statement rocked Abel back
on his heels. He had anticipated sneaking through enemy territory and stealing
some gold. Sneaking up on people and
slitting their throats was not his style. Riding Wolf gave him no time to
object, however. Within seconds he was twenty-feet up the side of the cliff
beckoning for Abel to follow.
" Oh well, " Abel thought
as he began the long climb, " Maybe we won't have to kill anybody. Go with
me, Lord. "
Riding Wolf seemed to know where every handhold was and Abel, who had no great love for heights, dared not look down as they as