A Million Tears (50 page)

They took the last two rooms, each with a double bed, a chest of drawers with a water jug and bowl sitting on top. They discovered there was a bath house out the back where for fifteen cents they could have a hot bath. If one followed the other then it only cost the second five cents for the same water. They each paid fifteen cents. The building was wooden, had a low ceiling, six baths barely big enough to sit in and at one end a large stove to boil water on. The water was carried in by bucket from a well outside.

‘Who would have thought it would be so primitive so close to home?’ Sion asked in wonder, sponging hot water over his head.

‘Heck Sion, it gets a lot worse than this I can tell you. You remember all the stories I told you about down my way . . . Didn’t you believe me?’ Paddy asked in some surprise.

Sion winced. ‘It wasn’t that I disbelieved you, just that I thought you could have been, shall we say . . . using poetic licence?’ He ducked as Paddy threw the soap at him and missed.

‘Poetic licence my foot; like the poetic licence you used to write when you got a story into that useless university paper? Huh, at least I always told the exact truth, not like some of the excuses you made when the football team lost.’

Steve laughed loudly while Bill smiled broadly.

After a meal of black-eye beans and cremated steak they returned to the hotel. In both rooms a similar scene was being enacted.

Sion and Bill looked dubiously at the bed and then at each other. Although they had been sharing a room for three years and seen each other naked many times they had never actually slept in the same bed, even a double one. They both shuffled around it, sat down tentatively and slowly undressed. Once he got his night shirt on Sion quickly slid under the blankets, his back to Bill, almost off the edge. Bill did likewise. They both spent a rough night half hanging out of the bed, their backs carefully to each other. Paddy and Steve spent a similar night. The next morning they were up with the dawn, stiff, tired and short tempered. By eleven o’clock they had bought fresh provisions and were back at the livery stable pestering the old man for the horses.

From the monosyllabic replies it appeared that the horses were still not available and so they hung around for the next hour. At precisely noon the old man got up and went into the stable then reappeared leading four horses and a mule. Biting back their anger they paid for six weeks’ hire plus a deposit of fifty dollars per horse and thirty for the mule. After packing the mule with their stores Paddy led them slowly out of town.

‘I was told in town this path cuts out a few miles of bends and joins up again with the Missouri. So we’ll just follow and see where it gets us.’

They lapsed into silence. Sion gave himself up to the feel of the horse, the sound of the woods and the beauty of the flowers and trees. A sense of well being stole over him. When they stopped on the bank of the river it was nearly sundown. Slowly and achingly they climbed down from their horses.

‘God, I didn’t expect to be so stiff,’ said Paddy. ‘Heck, I could ride before I could walk. That’s what three years at a desk does for you.’

Bill signalled Sion and Sion said: ‘And holidays in New York City.’

Bill was referring to the fact that Paddy had spent his time between semesters at Steve’s home in New York. There had been few opportunities to go horse riding. Steve’s father was a banker and though he owned an imposing mansion with plenty of grounds somehow they never got around to doing anything more than taking a buggy from restaurant to theatre to party.

Paddy grinned at the recollection. ‘Boy, what a place that was. I learned so much. Oh, my blasted back. It’s killing me. Hell, I hope this doesn’t last too long.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Sion, stretching. ‘I ache all over. I’ll go and find some fire wood.’

‘Hang on, Sion,’ said Paddy. ‘Before you do that we need to take care of the horses. They need to be unsaddled, rubbed down and hobbled or tied on a long rope. After that we can think about ourselves.’

‘Okay, point taken. Sorry.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll take care of the mule. After that I think a swim will go down well.’

They were camped on the river’s bank, in a glade. It was quiet, no wind, the only sound was the murmuring of the water and the droning of insects.

After taking care of the horses and gathering firewood, Paddy set three fishing lines twenty yards upstream and then they went swimming. They splashed and fooled around until the sun dipped down behind a far away peak and with the chill getting to them they climbed out, dried and dressed. Paddy went to inspect the lines but found only one three inch trout which he threw back. They lit a fire, cooked beans and bacon, and soon afterwards were rolled up in their blankets. In spite of the hard ground they quickly fell asleep.

Sion woke shivering in the dark, just before the dawn. He lay still for a few moments collecting his thoughts and then stretched his aching body. Awkwardly he rubbed the small of his back where a stone had been digging into him during the night. He felt worse than after a hard football game in his early days at university. He clambered to his feet still half asleep, pulled on his boots and wandered down to the river to wash. The cold water revived him and he set about lighting the fire. To the east the sky was turning a pearl grey colour, there was no wind and it promised to be a very hot day.

With the fire burning brightly he went to check the fishing lines and found two fat, twelve inch trout. They kicked feebly when Sion removed the hooks but he quickly poked his finger into their gills and with a flick of his wrist killed them. He cleaned them on a large flat stone and returned to camp. The others were up by this time and had a pot of coffee going. They all agreed that the fish was the best they had ever eaten in spite of the smoky flavour.

They struck camp and continued along the river bank, heading almost due north. For two days they followed the river, found a place to ford, crossed over and headed west. They were now riding a large plateau, just over fourteen hundred feet above see level, the land undulating with many hills rising another thousand feet. There was plenty of game and they enjoyed the hunt for rabbit, and occasional pheasant and once, a deer. They could see the general lay of the land and the way it sloped gently but persistently upwards. The days were hot and sunny, the skies cloudless. Night times had an edge to them, not cold, just refreshingly cool.

At the Missouri, they found an old man living in a tumbledown shack. He made a precarious living by doing some trapping, selling appalling liquor he distilled himself and taking people across the river. He charged ten cents a person and fifty for each animal. Here, luckily, although deep the water was not too fast. They crossed one horse and rider at a time on a dilapidated wooden raft, with rotten rails against which they were warned not to lean. It rocked alarmingly as the old man pulled them over using a rope they were sure would part any second. Sion went first. He had never been so glad to reach dry land. The others followed and finally Paddy went back for the mule.

Paddy led the animal to the water’s edge, stepped onto the raft and was jerked half off his feet by the reins draped over his right shoulder when the mule dug its feet in. Paddy pulled with all his might but the mule would not budge.

After a few minutes the old man shrugged, walked behind his shack and reappeared carrying two carrots. He fed the mule one and then dangled the other in front of it. Greedily the mule stretched its neck but would not move its feet. After a minute or two of straining it took a reluctant pace forward and the old man stepped back. The mule followed, its fear of the raft forgotten in its greed for the carrot. Once on the raft the old man allowed the mule to reach the carrot while Paddy shoved off and began pulling them across the river. Sion and Steve cheered while the mule stood there, contentedly munching on the carrot as though to say, who’s the fool?

It walked serenely off the other side and Paddy paid the ferryman.

‘Another two bits for the carrots.’

Paddy was about to protest but Steve handed over the money. ‘It was worth it for the laugh we had,’ he said They dragged themselves onto their horses, still chuckling, and slowly headed west.

They cut down towards the south west until they reached a river Paddy said was called the Niobrara, though none of the others had heard of it. They topped a low hill and stopped to rest when in the distance a movement caught their attention.

‘Look, buffalo,’ said Sion, pointing. Sure enough, less than a mile away what appeared to be a family of buffaloes were grazing, though always with one of them looking suspiciously around them.

‘Hmmm,’ said Sion. ‘I don’t really want to kill anything more than we need to eat. I was sorry we killed that deer, because we couldn’t eat it all. I don’t like the idea of killing for say, skins, or the fun of it.’ The others agreed with him.

‘I remember reading the story about the plainsmen,’ said Paddy. ‘About men like Bridger and Crocket. They said that sometimes a herd could take as long as five or six days to walk past them, not stopping, heading for new feeding grounds. Now if there’s fifty in a herd it’s considered a large one.’

The buffalo were looking around, pacing nervously. Suddenly one of the smaller cows broke into an ungainly trot, the others followed and then they started to gallop, in a mad, mindless panic that would bring them closer to the boys and upwind of them.

‘I wonder what caused that?’ asked Steve.

‘Look at the small calf. The one that was by the tree. He’s changing direction. He’s coming straight towards us, not following the others,’ Paddy said.

Bill pointed and signalled Sion. Sion said: ‘A cat. A cougar? Bill thinks it’s a cougar.’

‘What the hell is a cougar doing down here? It isn’t mountainous enough for them, nor are there enough trees for them to hide in,’ said Paddy, thoughtfully.

‘I can see it,’ said Steve. The calf was now only about five hundred yards away. They could see the animal’s fear, in its frantic movements. Heading it off was a sleek, black animal that at first looked like a cougar. As it drew nearer they could see it was a large, wild dog.

Without thinking Sion shucked his rifle from his saddle and broke his horse into a gallop. The others followed, a few seconds behind. The calf, seeing further danger, panicked, staggered and fell heavily onto its shoulder. It scrambled to its feet but now the dog was in position and launched itself into the air, going for the buffalo’s throat.

It was luck when Sion’s snap shot, taken at the gallop, hit the flying dog in the shank and bowled it over. It lay stunned for a second or two and then tried to get up. Sion closed to within fifty yards, fired again and missed. Now the others, still closing, also fired and at least one other shot found its mark. The dog was whimpering pitifully, trying to get to its feet, trying to escape. Sion pulled up in a flurry of dust and steadied his aim. The dog snarled, baring his fangs. Sion fired into the dog’s head, killing it instantly.

They drew around the long haired, inert form. In a sad voice, Steve said, ‘He only wanted to eat.’

‘I bet he was once somebody’s pet,’ said Sion. ‘Probably just got lost and was trying to stay alive. I bet if we had called him he would have come to us knowing we’d have food for him.’

‘You don’t know that, Sion,’ said Paddy. ‘He’d probably reverted back to his wild state, as though he had never known people.’

Without saying another word they wheeled their horses and started west once more, heading back to the river.

After a couple of miles their spirits returned and Sion said, ‘You know, I don’t think I could ever kill anybody. I hate killing animals, think how I’d feel if I had to kill another human. I don’t think I could ever do that.’

‘You could if the circumstances were right,’ said Paddy sagely.

‘How can the circumstances ever be right, to take another life?’ Sion asked.

‘If it’s your life or theirs for one. Or if somebody near and dear to you was threatened, or had been hurt in some way,’ said Paddy.

About to deny it Sion suddenly remembered the night Uncle James had died and how he had been ready to shoot the detective and the Marshal, if necessary. ‘I guess you could be right at that.’

Eventually they reached a marsh stretching back a few miles from the river’s edge. They followed it around, keeping to the firm ground. There were large clumps of a hardy type of bamboo growing and Sion found two lengths, about eight and six feet long which he cut and cleaned of leaves.

‘What do you want with those?’ Steve asked, watching him tie them to the back of the mule.

‘Just an idea I’ve got for a kite. If we find a high enough place I’m going to try something out,’ he said vaguely.

Whenever the opportunity arose, using a spare cotton sheet, Sion worked on his kite. It was one of the most ambitious he had ever fashioned.