Had he come from New Orleans with them or joined them en route? Or could he have
come upon them in the mountains?
There was a route from Shalako to Santa Fe, certainly traveled by Rivera in
1765, and by Escalante about 1776. There could have been others before
them—perhaps a hundred or more years before them—and any man who knew the
country would know of the old Spanish Trail.
We were on a sort of mesa above the San Juan River. From the timber cut down and
the way things looked the French army had a permanent camp here, with quite a
few horses. Another party of Frenchmen had come in afterwards, and they must
have arrived and departed only a few years before pa and his party came there.
When I mentioned that, Orrin said, “Departed? Maybe.”
Off to one side we found evidence of quite a battle. Old shells were lying
about, and they had to be from a later crowd. When the first bunch was here
there were only muzzle-loaders, and there were signs of some quick defensive
positions thrown up—they might have been wiped out by the Utes.
“Pa was keepin’ that daybook,” I said to Orrin. “He figured somehow to get it to
us, so he must’ve left his mark around here. Maybe some mark only a Sackett
would know.”
“What would that be?” Orrin asked, and he had me there. Nonetheless, I was
looking. It had to be something that would last. We were mere boys then, so we’d
not be hunting for him or coming west until years later. Yet pa was a man given
to considering, and he’d talked about the western lands, had prepared us for
what was to come. He had wandered the west, and he was wishful we would do the
same.
We found nothing a man could tie to. There had been holes dug, some of them by
folks who came later, but none of them looked ambitious. Whether all that gold
was buried in one hole or three, it must have been well dug and well lined.
Whoever was in command had the man power and the will, I was sure of that.
Judging by what I knew of such affairs, it seemed to me they had started to
break up toward the end when one crowd wanted to leave and another wanted to
stay or go by another route. It takes a mighty fine discipline to hold men
together when trouble is creeping up on you. Yet without discipline there is
surely disaster. The best discipline comes from within a man, but you’ll never
get a party of men together where all have it.
This bunch had split, and most of the discipline was in the camp that had the
mountain man. I don’t mean one of those trappers, like pa and Kit Carson or
Bridger—they came later. I mean a man who had lived in the mountains before and
knew how to get along.
“Orrin,” I said, “we’d better be lookin’ down that trail. We’re about to run out
of time.”
“We’ll do it together,” he said. “I wish Tyrel was with us.”
” ‘If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,'” I quoted at him. “A body
shouldn’t heed what might be. He’s got to do with what is.
“There’s a whole lot of mountain here, and you and me packed a rifle over
mountains before either of us was knee-high to a possum. Anyway, it does no good
to pack up an’ run. A body has to stay in there and fight. No matter how many
times you get knocked down you got to keep gettin’ up until the other man
quits.”
“Easier said,” Orrin commented.
“Well, I knew of a man who was defeated by just about everything. He failed in
business back in 1831. He was defeated for the legislature in 1832, failed in
business again in 1833, was elected to the legislature in 1834. His sweetheart
died in 1835. He had a nervous breakdown in 1836, was defeated for speaker in
1838, defeated for land officer in 1843, defeated for Congress in 1843, elected
to Congress in 1846, defeated for reelection in 1848, defeated for the Senate in
1855, defeated for vice-president in 1856, and defeated for the Senate in 1858.”
“I’d of quit,” Orrin said.
“No you wouldn’t. I know you too well. This man didn’t quit either. He was
elected president in 1860.”
“What?”
“Sure. His name was Abraham Lincoln.”
CHAPTER XVII
Our camp was about a mile from Nell’s. She had located not far from Silver
Falls, and we were down creek from her just beyond the beaver ponds.
Tinker was back at camp when Orrin and me dropped down off Treasure Mountain.
“She’s all right,” he told us. “Anybody who’d take after her with that animal
about would be crazy. All the time I was there he watched every move I made and
growled if I got too close to her.”
“She pannin’ today?”
“Some—showing some color, too. Not much, but if she can stay with it in that
cold water she’ll come out with a stake.”
“It’s better than huntin’ that gold. Why, this here mountain must cover
thirty-square miles! There’s no tellin’ where they hid the stuff, and a man
could work his life away and come up empty.”
Orrin filled his cup. “Tell? What do you think we should do? We’ve found no clue
to pa. If you’re right and that other party went west, he might have done the
same, if he got out.”
“He must’ve lived. There’s still a few pages of the daybook covered with
writin’. But what he was wishful of us knowing he’d guard somehow. We’ve got to
read carefully. I say we read what he says, and then we should work that
mountain one time more. You know, pa knew the country west of here. He told us
about time spent on the Dolores River.”
We ate, and then we brewed some fresh coffee. Just as I’d gotten out the daybook
we heard an animal coming and eased back from the firelight.
A voice called out of the darkness, “Hello, the fire! I’m coming in!”
It was Nell Trelawney astride that mule Jacob, with Neb trailing alongside. “I
got lonesome,” she said, “seeing your fire. I decided to come along down.”
“Set down. We’re about to read from pa’s daybook. We’ve got to listen sharp for
a clue.”
… drew my knife and waited. Nobody come. After awhile I crawled out of the
brush, and then I was shamed. That bullet done me no harm. It must have hit
something before me. Anyway, it hit my belt and tomahawk handle, nigh cutting
the belt in two, gouging the handle, and bruising my hipbone.
Nobody was around. I crawled to Pierre and he was still alive. Working in the
dark I got his wounds stopped up with moss and eased him where he lay.
Two days have passed. At daybreak I set both of Pierre’s legs in splints. Doubt
if he will ever walk if he lives. Made a travois with two poles, two buffalo
coats. Put bottoms of coats together, ran the poles through the arms of each
coat, then buttoned the coats and managed to get Pierre on it.
The horses had disappeared, whether taken or driven off I didn’t know. Andre and
Swan had taken all the food but the little I had in my gear, and I’d little to
do with.
Taking up the ends of the two poles, I started out. It was a slow business.
Pierre was hurting and the trail narrow. By nightfall I’d reached the spring
near Windy Pass. I figured to hit the valley of the West Fork of the San Juan
and follow the San Juan.
I am writing this beside the spring at Windy Pass. We have had a little to eat.
Pierre says Andre fears Philip, but shot Pierre not only because of hate, but
because he wished to inherit. “He will be fooled,” Pierre said. “I left all to
Philip.”
We are somewhat sheltered here, but the wind is cold. It has the feel of snow
from the high peaks.
“Is it not late for snow?” Judas asked.
“Not in these mountains. He’s nigh the end of May, but he’s ten thousand feet
up. I’ve seen bad snow storms in the Rockies later than that.”
“We get only a part,” the Tinker said. “He does not say how bad it is. He has
drawn that travois, with a heavy man and all they have, more than six miles in
one day.”
Pa was never one for carryin’ on about his hurts, but he had him a badly bruised
hipbone, and haulin’ the travois must have been a trial for a man of his years,
even one as bull-strong as he was.
Just why pa chose the western route I wasn’t sure—the first of it was easier,