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Authors: Gilbert Morris
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At dawn the canoes were loaded, and Knox stared unbelievingly at Chris, who was standing alone next to the small pile of belongings they had left him. Pulling around a bend, Knox lost sight of the solitary figure, and the tears filled his eyes, blinding him to everything else.
Con was alongside, and he saw the boy bend his head, and he tried to assure him. “Don’t give up on that brother of yours, Knox! I been watchin’ him pretty close, and if he ain’t a first-class trapper, I never seen one. Moves around like a ghost, and that’s about half the secret in Injun country. If’n he keeps his hair, he’ll be a real mountain man.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WHITE INDIAN
Watching the last of the four canoes disappear from sight, Chris was filled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He had to fight an impulse to run after them. Now’s not the time for second thoughts, I guess, he decided. Instead, he set about moving his gear to higher ground. As he picked up his traps and his other gear and entered the thick grove of beech and oak that grew fifty yards away from the river, he mentally mapped out his next move.
He knew his only hope was to keep his presence a secret from the Indians. It was a miracle they hadn’t spotted him already. As he made his way toward the higher ground, the traps jingled, and he was sure he would never make it. From what Con and Frenchie had told him, the Sioux knew this territory better than he knew the back of his hand. Clearly, his chances of survival were small. By white man’s standards he was an adequate woodsman, but he was only visiting this wild country; the Sioux were immersed in it, as a fish is immersed in a stream or lake. If he wanted to survive, he must to do the same—forget everything he knew of “civilization” and join their world.
That would be difficult—just learning the wilderness lore was enough. At the same time, he was motivated by the fact that if the Sioux caught him, all was over. They were notorious for their cruelty to captives; his one firm resolve was to kill himself rather than fall captive to them.
As he went deeper into the wilderness, he grew strangelyelated, less fearful. Must have lost my mind, he grinned as he moved upward through the brush. Probably going to get scalped by the Sioux—and I just don’t seem to be rightly scared. Then again, he always had loved a challenge, reveling in competition with other men, just as he had loved to gamble—and this was the ultimate gamble. Everything was reduced to its simplest elements: live or die. None of society’s subtle pressures were important now. And despite his slender chances of survival, he was suddenly filled with the deepest sense of satisfaction he had ever known.
He buried the traps wrapped in a piece of deerskin he’d gotten from Con, carefully obliterating all signs of digging. Before he left, he took a quick inventory of his gear, including a fine bow and fifteen arrows he’d obtained from Bull Man in exchange for his own pistol. Although he was not an archer, Chris was determined to master this weapon, for here the sound of a pistol shot could very well bring his own death as well as his prey’s.
He picked up his sparse store of supplies and moved farther back from the river, in the direction of the small tributary where he’d seen Con and Knox go to trap the beaver. By noon he had scouted the terrain without catching sight of Indians. So he ate a piece of meat, washed it down with the cold water from the stream, and moved back into the deeper woods. Got to learn to sit still and watch, he thought, and was startled to discover how difficult it was to sit absolutely motionless for thirty minutes. His muscles grew stiff and it was a struggle to prevent involuntary movements. He’d still-hunted squirrels often, and had learned to stand motionless so long that they’d practically run over his boots. But this was different. Now it was not
At dawn the canoes were loaded, and Knox stared unbelievingly at Chris, who was standing alone next to the small pile of belongings they had left him. Pulling around a bend, Knox lost sight of the solitary figure, and the tears filled his eyes, blinding him to everything else.
Con was alongside, and he saw the boy bend his head, and he tried to assure him. “Don’t give up on that brother of yours, Knox! I been watchin’ him pretty close, and if he ain’t a first-class trapper, I never seen one. Moves around like a ghost, and that’s about half the secret in Injun country. If’n he keeps his hair, he’ll be a real mountain man.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WHITE INDIAN
Watching the last of the four canoes disappear from sight, Chris was filled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He had to fight an impulse to run after them. Now’s not the time for second thoughts, I guess, he decided. Instead, he set about moving his gear to higher ground. As he picked up his traps and his other gear and entered the thick grove of beech and oak that grew fifty yards away from the river, he mentally mapped out his next move.
He knew his only hope was to keep his presence a secret from the Indians. It was a miracle they hadn’t spotted him already. As he made his way toward the higher ground, the traps jingled, and he was sure he would never make it. From what Con and Frenchie had told him, the Sioux knew this territory better than he knew the back of his hand. Clearly, his chances of survival were small. By white man’s standards he was an adequate woodsman, but he was only visiting this wild country; the Sioux were immersed in it, as a fish is immersed in a stream or lake. If he wanted to survive, he must to do the same—forget everything he knew of “civilization” and join their world.
That would be difficult—just learning the wilderness lore was enough. At the same time, he was motivated by the fact that if the Sioux caught him, all was over. They were notorious for their cruelty to captives; his one firm resolve was to kill himself rather than fall captive to them.
As he went deeper into the wilderness, he grew strangelyelated, less fearful. Must have lost my mind, he grinned as he moved upward through the brush. Probably going to get scalped by the Sioux—and I just don’t seem to be rightly scared. Then again, he always had loved a challenge, reveling in competition with other men, just as he had loved to gamble—and this was the ultimate gamble. Everything was reduced to its simplest elements: live or die. None of society’s subtle pressures were important now. And despite his slender chances of survival, he was suddenly filled with the deepest sense of satisfaction he had ever known.
He buried the traps wrapped in a piece of deerskin he’d gotten from Con, carefully obliterating all signs of digging. Before he left, he took a quick inventory of his gear, including a fine bow and fifteen arrows he’d obtained from Bull Man in exchange for his own pistol. Although he was not an archer, Chris was determined to master this weapon, for here the sound of a pistol shot could very well bring his own death as well as his prey’s.
He picked up his sparse store of supplies and moved farther back from the river, in the direction of the small tributary where he’d seen Con and Knox go to trap the beaver. By noon he had scouted the terrain without catching sight of Indians. So he ate a piece of meat, washed it down with the cold water from the stream, and moved back into the deeper woods. Got to learn to sit still and watch, he thought, and was startled to discover how difficult it was to sit absolutely motionless for thirty minutes. His muscles grew stiff and it was a struggle to prevent involuntary movements. He’d still-hunted squirrels often, and had learned to stand motionless so long that they’d practically run over his boots. But this was different. Now it was not
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