“That’s just a story!” Jimmy said.
“You’re right, it is, but a very, very old story. When I first went to school, my teacher told me all that.”
“Are you going to pine away until you are just a voice?” Jimmy asked.
“Probably not,” I admitted. “I have never met Narcissus.”
“You will,” their mother said. She sat up. “I am Laura Drennan. I hope they aren’t annoying you.”
“You know they aren’t. We don’t have any young-uns where I live, and I miss them.”
“Where is your home?”
“In the mountains of Tennessee. Away back in the hills. We have lots of bears back there.”
“Do they eat people?” Jimmy demanded.
“Not often,” I said, “although I suppose if they got really hungry, they might.”
“You’ve seen a bear? A wild bear? Up close?”
“Several of them. In fact, my uncle is laid up right now because of a fight he had with one. He was without his gun and he disturbed a bear that turned on him.”
Ralph Drennan looked over his shoulder “You mean he fought a bear? Without a gun?”
“He had a knife and later a double-bit ax.” She glanced at Jimmy. “That’s an ax with two blades. He had to fight with what he had, but he killed the bear.”
Ralph glanced at me, unbelieving, then turned back to his driving. There was silence in the wagon. Jimmy was the first to speak. “Did the bear bite him?”
“Several times. He clawed him pretty bad, too. Regal killed the bear, then dragged himself almost home. We found him by the spring when we went for water.”
By midday we were winding along a very rough road through a dense forest, the trees so thick overhead that it was shadowed and still. Ours was the lead wagon, but Ralph Drennan’s team was a good one and they moved steadily on, bumping over logs, squeezing past fallen trees, stopping occasionally to give the horses a breather.
His rifle lay in a corner of the wagon, and it looked to be almost new. I could not see the make of it, but it was a Lancaster rifle, I was sure of that.
“Do you hunt much?” I asked.
He looked over his shoulder. “I have hunted scarcely at all. Not since I was a boy. I have been working in the city,” he added, “and decided there was little future for me there, so we decided to try pioneering. We are going to Kentucky,” he said, “and probably to Missouri.”
We moved on again, and I fell asleep. When I awakened again it was almost dark and the children were asleep; moving carefully, I worked my way to the front of the wagon.
“Want me to spell you?” I asked.
“You can drive a team?” He was amazed.
“Where I come from, ever’body drives,” I said. “I can drive, I can plow, I can do what is necessary.”
“I’d gladly let you,” he admitted, “because I am tired, but I’ve got to find a place to camp.”
“Better do it soon,” I suggested, “or it will be too dark to see where we’re at. Why don’t you catch a nap? I can find a camp.”
He hesitated. “Well, I’ll rest just for a minute.”
I taken the reins and he moved back into the wagon. Glancing up through the trees, I could see he’d already waited too late if a body was to gather firewood and such, so I kept my eyes open. Sure enough, we hadn’t gone two miles when I saw a small clearing near a branch, a small stream that rustled over the rocks, heading for the Ohio and the sea.
Rounding the wagon against the woods on the far side, I brought the team to a halt and showed the other wagons where to turn in. There were just three others, and there was room enough, but barely. Catching a glimpse of some open space, I walked that way and found a small meadow. Others had stopped here before us. Unhitching the team, with Jimmy to help, I led the horses out on the meadow and picketed them there. The others, following me, did likewise.
Laura got down from the wagon with Emily. “Better keep them close,” I advised. “Young-uns get lost in the woods an’ might never be found.”
Taken me only a minute or two to break some sticks, gather some shreds of old bark, and get a fire going. It is surely amazing how a fire cheers folks up. “I’d better wake Ralph up,” Laura suggested.
“Wait until we’ve coffee made,” I said. “He’s put in a long day.”
The others built another fire and we made do between the two. Coffee was boiling when Ralph got down from the wagon. “I’m afraid I just passed out,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“No need,” I said.
He came up to the fire and Laura poured him a cup of coffee.
“Maybe,” I said, “come daybreak you’d let me use that rifle of yours? This here’s game country, and I might get us some meat.”
“You can shoot?”
“A mite,” I said. “I can try.”
11
Come daybreak, I taken that rifle and started off across the meadow. The trees were almighty big, poplars fifteen, sixteen feet around, and red maple almost as big. The soil underfoot was as good as any I’d seen, hundreds of years of leaves falling, decaying, and turning to earth, and big trees struck down by age, wind, or lightning also were decaying and adding to the richness of the soil. This Ohio country was a mighty fine land. Easing through the woods beyond the meadow, I saw another clearing right ahead, and a deer standing there, not more than eighty yards off.
These folks didn’t have much, and we needed the meat, so I fetched him with a neck shot and taken the venison back to camp.
Ralph looked up, surprised. “You got a deer?”
“Small buck,” I said. Then I looked at him. “I aim to pay my way.” I handed back the rifle. “Take good care of it, that’s a fine weapon. I’ll clean it when we get rolling.”
We shared the meat with the other wagons, giving each enough for a meal.
It was slow going there at first, but we hit some open stretches that enabled us to make time. All the time, I kept my eyes ready for Timothy Oats and Elmer. They would be coming along behind, or maybe even waiting for me in Wheeling, where I figured to catch the steamboat.
On the third day I killed four ducks in four shots. Jimmy was with me and he carried two of the ducks back to the wagon. “That’s good shooting,” Ralph admitted. “You were lucky to catch them sitting.”
“She didn’t,” Jimmy said proudly. “They took off from the water and she got one that time. She got the others later, shot ’em on the wing.”
“Flying ducks? With a rifle?”
“Back to home,” I said, “I never had no shotgun there at first. It was shoot ’em with a rifle or forget it.”
Back in the wagon, we sang songs, some of them hymns which we all knew, others the songs we’d learned as youngsters or those they sang in the mountains. Often in the hills folks would put new words to old tunes, or pick up a refrain and work something around it. We sang what songs we had, and made up others as we went along.
Wheeling was built on a bottom along the river, most of the town on one street, with a hill rising behind it. Here, too, there was a ropewalk, some stores, warehouses, and an inn where I found a place to stay the night. There would be a steamboat in the morning, and I’d made up my mind to leave it at Cincinnati and travel across country to home.
When they put me down in front of the inn, I said good-bye to Laura, Ralph, and the youngsters, and I guess we all cried a little bit, sorry to part, with small chance of ever meeting again.
The food was good at the inn, and I waited by the window, watching out for Timothy Oats and Elmer. There was no sign of them, nor was there when I went down to the boat.
I’d recharged my pistols and was ready for whatever. In a shop near the inn I’d found a seamstress who had a sky-blue dress and bonnet that taken my eye, so I bought it. My gray travelin’ dress was lookin’ kind of used up. I also bought from her a travelin’ outfit, somewhat cheaper, but sturdy. I had the feeling I’d need it.
With my carpetbag stuffed, I stood by waitin’ for that boat.
They might be aboard, but I was going to ride it anyway. If they were eager to fetch trouble, I’d not let them yearn for it. So I was standin’ there on the dock when I heard that ol’ whistle blow and saw that steamboat come chug-chuggin’ up to the island.