“There is game beyond the mountains?”
He described the deer, fox, bear, lion, buffalo.
For two days more we traded, bringing out a few things each time, trading with
care. Our stack of furs grew, and even Rufisco was feeling good. On the fourth
day our English goods were gone, and we packed our furs into a canoe.
“We go now, for more goods,” I said. “We will come again to trade.”
“Killers there,” Potaka pointed downstream. “You go by night.”
The whole village was down at the shore to wave good-bye, and when our canoe
rounded a bend and they were lost to sight, Rufisco grunted, then said, “You
were right. But who knows how it will be next time?”
“We have made a profit,” I said quietly. “We have rich furs, but it is a
beginning only.”
“Aye,” Rufisco agreed, “the furs are good. Such furs I have not seen except
Russian. But you do not have them in a market, my friend. There is a long river
before us, and at the end of the river a large ocean and maybe Nick Bardle!”
“You think he is waiting for us?”
“Waiting and trading, and such men make no friends for the white man. He’ll be
waiting, searching. He will go first to the shore. He will talk to the Indians,
seek out those who have seen us or found some sign of our going, then he will
study the rivers … and how many can there be? Three? Four, perhaps? Not so
many that he cannot watch.
“If we do not come soon, he will know we are dead, if we do come he will make
sure we are dead. The problem is not so difficult, eh?
“You say, ‘It is a big country, how can he find us?’ But I say it is easy to
find us. It is not a big country when there are white men in a boat. In all this
country there can be but one boat with white men, perhaps but one boat with a
sail. So he will find us.”
“You are a pessimist,” I grumbled, yet some of my complacency was gone. There
was truth in what he said.
“A pessimist,” Rufisco agreed, “but no fool.”
“We will enter our hiding place at night,” I said. “Of that we must be sure. We
will cache our furs there, get more trade goods, and be off once more.”
“But not to Potaka’s people,” Sakim suggested. “We have the best of their furs.”
That was another thing I had not considered. Who next? And where? I must prepare
and plan.
We eased downstream, making good time with the current, and slipped from the
narrow waters of the Eno stream into the main current of the larger river up
which we had come. We saw no one.
Later in the day, under the drooping branches of a tree on the shore of a small
island, we fed ourselves. Ashore, we gathered some grapes, drank from a small
spring, and waited out the remainder of the day. Only when it was full dark did
we slip away from our moorings, and slide down stream with the current. Midnight
was long past when we saw the loom of our rocks.
All was quiet and still. For a moment after we glided into the inner channel we
sat very still, listening. There was the lap of water against our hull …
nothing more.
At daybreak we were awake and moved our furs ashore, restocking the gig with
trade goods, taking the same amount as before. Yet we did not at once move out.
We lay about resting, mending clothes, preparing for what lay ahead. And I
busied my hands with making a bow and arrows.
For three days we rested, doing the small chores, the mending and fixing that
needed being done, and each day, several times each day, one of us climbed on
top and climbed a tree. We saw no sign of the Jolly Jack, nor of any other ship
on the sound. On the fourth day I killed a fair-sized buck with my bow. We
butchered it, and began drying the meat. On the fifth day I killed again,
another buck, smaller and younger.
We sorted and repacked our skins. They were fox, mink, otter, beaver and
muskrat.
On the fifth night, well after dark, we eased from our hideout and started
upstream once more. This time we went not so far, turning left up the river we
had passed en route to Potaka’s people. We traveled up this river some distance
and, seeing the smoke of a village in the light of the moon, we turned toward
the shore. When we were quite close in we stopped, dropped our anchor and lay
offshore in such wise that if the natives appeared warlike we could up our
anchor and sail and go quickly hence.
Then, while Sakim and I slept, Rufisco watched. And when dawn was close, he
slept and remained on watch. Then all of us saw the village awaken, saw them see
us and heard their alarmed cries. Soon a number of warriors were coming toward
the shore. I had made ready a fishing line and now I threw it into the water and
sat placidly, fishing.
They came to the water’s edge and shouted at us, and I lifted a hand, then
motioned to the fishing line. After a moment the nibble I had became a bite, and
I swiftly pulled in a good-sized fish.
I held up the big fish, then rubbed my stomach, and several Indians chuckled. I
made signs to ask if I might come ashore.
They motioned for me to come, so guiding the gig in close, after heaving up the
anchor, I let it drift close, keeping an eye that she did not ground. I dropped
the anchor again, bade Sakim and Rufisco cover me, and went ashore.
My eyes went quickly over them. Only a few were armed, those who happened to be
when our boat was seen. But all wore knives, most of them chipped obsidian. I
saw but one steel knife among them, obviously old, and quite rusted.
Soon my companions were also ashore. This village was not so prosperous as
Potaka’s, yet well situated, and the Indians were friendly. We ate with them,
talked of trails with sign language, and we traded. We saw numerous scalps, some
of them quite fresh, and learned they had recently returned from a war party far
to the north. One of the Indians, named Nikonha, had a few words of English.
With words, sign language and a twig in the sand, we managed to converse. He was
quick to perceive, and when he asked how we had come, I drew him a quick sketch
of the ship.
He nodded quickly, then pointed eastward toward the shore.
He had seen the pinnace, he assured me, two suns past at a river-mouth. The
pinnace was in the river, concealed in a bight near the south shore.
“Sakim,” I spoke quietly, not to warn the Indians that anything was amiss, “this
one has seen the Jack.”
“Laying for us,” Rufisco said.
We continued to trade.
I had put forward a handsome hunting knife when suddenly a big hand shot out and
grasped it.
I looked up from where I sat into the eyes of a squatting Indian. He was a big
fellow, very muscular, with a scar on his cheekbone. There was no friendliness
in his eyes. “No trade,” he said. “You give.”
“Trade,” I replied quietly, staring right back at him.
He grunted. “No trade,” he repeated, and then he said, “I take.”
The other Indians stood about, watching.
“Trade,” I replied.
He started to sheath the knife but my hand grasped his wrist. “Trade,” I said
quietly, and my grip tightened.
He tried to lift his hand but could not. I saw the surprise, almost shock in his
eyes. He tugged but his hand, grasping the knife, could not budge.
Angry blood flushed his face, but he could not move his hand. He tried to exert
the strength of his thighs to lift it, but I held tight, not moving,
undisturbed.
“Trade?” I asked quietly.
“Trade,” he said sullenly.
Chapter 11
Through the dark waters the gig glided smoothly. Sakim was in the bow.
Our sail was furled as we wished to offer no silhouette to be seen from the
shore. We were loaded to the gunwhales with furs, excellent furs, though perhaps
not of the quality of our first load.
None of us had any illusions about what would happen if Bardle discovered our
whereabouts, so we approached our base in the rocks with great caution.
It had began to rain, a soft, drizzling rain. We huddled in our boat, edging in
toward shore. The rocks loomed before us, barely visible, like the shore. We
touched the water with our oars.
Working in closer, ghostlike, we ran our gig up into the sand. Sakim got out to