Talley explained briefly. We all felt sorry, not for ourselves, because we had lost nothing, but for her, who had lost everything.
We had come west after fur, at least most of us had. Why I had come I did not yet know.
To run away from something? From everything? To change myself? Or to return to a lost boyhood?
“The joke’s on him,” Shanagan said, “that white-faced spalpeen from Mexico. After all, we did come after fur, and we can still get fur.
He’s got nothin’ facin’ him but a long ride back.” “But he doesn’t know that,” Ebitt replied gently. “He doesn’t know, and he’d never believe it. He’d think we were lying. And you remember what he said… he’d kill us all … trying to make us tell what we don’t know.” We looked at each other across the fire. The hope of treasure was gone; the long march to the Mandan villages remained. Nothing was solved.
And somewhere on our back trail, Rafen Falvey was riding.
CHAPTER 14
We sat about our fire feeling very glum indeed, not for ourselves, for we had little to lose, but for Lucinda, for whom we’d all come to feel a great affection.
In a difficult and desperate situation, she had not complained. She had ridden with the best of us, she had calmly made do with what was available, she had said nothing about the food, nor had she asked any special privileges.
Suddenly angry, I looked over at Degory Kemble. “Damn it, Deg, we’ve got to do something! The stuff was hidden, and with information as poor as that, I doubt if anything has been found.” “How far from that promontory back there?” Talley asked.
“A day’s ride,” she said.
“And that might be anything from twelve to thirty miles, depending on their horses, their anxiety, and what they figured to do.” “It would be nearer the lesser figure,” Cusbe Ebitt replied. “Think now… they had the treasure with them. Indians were already with them or closing in. We cannot be sure of just what the situation was after so long a time, yet they must have been pushed to let go of the treasure at all.
“Think of it now. They wanted to get away to the French colonies where they could return to Europe and live in style in Paris or London or Rome. They didn’t want to bury that treasure.
“So they would have moved slowly, I think. They would have been looking for a place, something that offered a camp… a good reason for stopping… and something that offered some kind of a marker. Something more than we’ve been told.” “But I’ve told you all I know!” Lucinda protested.
Solomon Talley nodded his head. “I think you have. That doesn’t mean there was nothing more. It’s likely there was something they reserved for themselves, some knowledge they held back.” “My guess is that we’re within five miles of it right now,” Isaac said.
Firelight flickered against the dark spruces and the white trunks of the aspen. They were some of the largest aspen I had seen, for the aspen grows in thick stands, grows tall and straight. It is a tree that likes the sun, needs the sun, and it is one of the first to grow across burns where fire has swept. It grows up, grows tall, and then under its cover the spruce begins to grow, sheltered and protected by the aspen. Yet as the spruce grow taller, the aspen tend to die out, until after many years the aspen are gone and a thick stand of spruce remains.
One of the most beautiful trees anywhere, it is not a good timber tree, for it rots from the heart out. Now with winter coming on, the aspen had already turned to gold. The earth where we were to sleep was inches deep with the golden leaves… treasure enough for me.
Rising from the fire, I gathered leaves and heaped them into a place for Lucinda to lie, then bunched leaves for myself. I was restless and wakeful. Deliberately we had allowed our fire to burn down to coals. We fed it some knots and chunks lying about, but such as would smoulder and burn but would make no bright flame.
Bob Sandy’s leg was bothering him. We had treated it as best we could, and though it was but a flesh wound, it was painful and his leg was stiff.
He was first to sleep, then Ebitt.
Heath was standing the first watch, and was already on the slope below us. Kemble and Talley both turned in, and then Jorge Ulibarri, after finding there was nothing he could do for Lucinda, went to sleep well back in the stand of aspen. Davy Shanagan lay under a spruce, out of sight from but within sight of the fire.
“Why do they call you Scholar?” she asked suddenly.
I shrugged. “It began as a joke, but I was a teacher briefly. A restless one, I’ll admit. Research I liked, teaching I liked also, but I’ve done a bit of writing, and studied law somewhat. To be frank, I’ve not fallen into a settled pattern. You see, as a boy I lived much in the woods. The wilderness left its mark on me, and I would find myself longing for the dark paths among the trees again.” “And now what?” she asked.
“Who knows? I doubt if I’ll ever go back to what I was. Of course, there’s much to be learned. I’m tempted to travel, to explore more of the ancient civilizations in Asia. Or here, for that matter. Too little is known about what happened here before the white man came.” “You’re not married?” “My wife is dead. It was then I cast off my ties to all I’d been.” I got up.
“You’d better rest. Tomorrow won’t be easy.” She went to her bed, but I did not go to mine.
There was no sleep in me, and I knew not why.
Something was disturbing me, and in my restlessness I went to where Heath stood guard.
“You, is it? There’s nothing… yet. But I don’t like the feel of the night.” “Nor I.” Our backs were to the stand of aspen. The leaves whispered gently around us. The moon was rising, throwing all about into stark relief. The white trunks of the trees were like Grecian pillars.
I put my hand on one.
“They’re self-pruning,” I said. “Their early branches fall away when they grow tall.” “These are thick,” Heath said. “Most aspen are more slender.” “These are a hundred years old or older,” I said, “and they rarely grow to two hundred.
very rarely.” He turned his face toward me. “Chantry, I was thinking of what you said earlier, that the aspen grows over old burns. And it was a burn she spoke of. Do you suppose it could be covered by aspen?” “I’ll be damned. Heath, you’re probably right. By now that slope would be covered by spruce, with few aspen left, if any.
“Or those left would be very old… like these.” We stood silent, thinking the same thought, that we might even now be standing among those trees, with the blue black cliff beneath us and the rock with the streak of quartz opposite.
“It’s too much to expect,” I said, “but Heath, do you keep watch. I’m going to see what the slope above us is like.” “Do that.” He spat into the leaves. “I have a feeling about this place. Tonight when you talked of the aspen, I kept thinking of how it looked when we rode up here.” Turning, I skirted the aspen and went up through the gloomy avenues of the spruce. In the moonlight the aspen were beyond belief, the still white trunks, the gently wavering golden leaves.
they possessed a magic of their own and it was no wonder so many animals and birds loved them.
I climbed steadily, working my way along, carrying the Ferguson rifle in my right hand. The climb was often so steep I had to pull myself from tree to tree, using handholds on the branches.
Suddenly I was there, out in the open above the aspen, above the spruce, above everything. For this was timberline.
Turning, I looked around me. Up here I could see the moon. The sky was impossibly clear, bathing the forest below in misty golden light.
Not the mist of cloud or dampness, but of moonlight among the trees. Behind me bulked the vastness of the mountain, below the steep hillside, the shimmering pool of the aspen, and beyond, on the far side of the valley bottom an escarpment.
an ancient fault at the edge of the rugged tableland that lay beyond.
Of the valley itself I could see nothing. All was deep in shadow down there. For a moment I stood, lost in the impossible beauty of the scene, and then I turned to look at the steep slope behind me.