Moontrap - Don Berry (18 page)

"Hell, yes, but they all make sense."

"You go by what the hunting chiefs say, and stay
with the village, or you go against them and leave the village. Is
just the same here."

"You think I ought to jump when Thurston says
'Frog.' "

Mary turned to him, then looked down at her hands
folded quietly in her lap. "I think nothing," she said
finally. "I say, you wish to be Shoshone, you must do what the
Shoshone headmen say. You wish to be white, you must do what the
white headmen say."

"Seems like there's a hell of a lot more rules
here, though, an' half of 'em you can't even see. Christ, a man can't
move without worryin' what somebody's going t' think."
 
Mary shrugged. "With the mountain people is
maybe more simple. In the mountains some things are forbidden,
everything else you can do. Here, some things you can do, everything
else is forbidden. Is two different ways to think about laws."

Monday rubbed his forehead. "Hell, I don't know.
It makes me nervous just thinkin' about it."

It was late afternoon, and the sun was already in the
west. Monday realized that Webb and the others had been there talking
almost the whole day, and once again he had avoided Oregon City.
Mentally he shrugged. Tomorrow he would do it, for sure.

"
Mary," he said finally, "would you
like to go stay with Virginia for a little while?"

"My place is here," Mary said. "You
will not eat if I don't remind you."

"
I'll eat," Monday said, annoyed. "Anyways,
that wasn't what I ast you. Does it feel like the baby's comin'
soon?"

"
Yes," Mary said hesitantly. "More all
the time."

"You ain't scared, are you?"

"No. But he is coming faster now. Like when
stones roll downhill, they move slow at first, but very fast near the
end."

"When do you think? "

"Doctor Beth, she says maybe two weeks, maybe
three. Me I think not one week, maybe."

Monday stood up suddenly. "Not a week!" He
abruptly realized the vastness of his ignorance; he had no faint
notion of what was to be done, and a kind of panic grew in him.

"Very fast, now," Mary said quietly.

"
Well—would you like to go and be with
Virginia? Would that be good?"

Mary looked at him for a long time without answering.
At last she said quietly, "Yes, I think."

2

Early in the morning Monday rode over to Swensen's
and borrowed a horse for Mary. By the time he had returned she was
ready to leave, sitting quietly in front of the house in the sun.

"
Where's y'r stuff, Mary?"

"
It is all here." She had a flour sack
filled with her belongings, and Monday realized she'd had the sack
tucked away somewhere for better than six months, waiting for a use
to appear.

"
By god, y' travel light, I'll say that."

"
I need nothing," Mary said.

He helped her mount and they set off. He wouldn't
dare try to bluff his way across the pay ferry, as Meek did, so they
had to go by way of Swensen's. It meant an extra two hours, but there
was no choice. On the way across Swensen grumblingly tried to engage
Monday in a conversation concerning the end of the world, but for
once the big man was having none of it.

He pointed proudly at the swell of Mary's belly and
said, "Peter, old hoss, it's just the beginning of the world for
some."

"Is all a terrible waste of time," Peter
muttered, but he looked at Mary and they smiled at each other.

It was well past noon when the two horses plodded
into Oregon City. The streets were almost deserted, and for a moment
Monday was puzzled.

"
By god," he said suddenly. "It's the
trial, ever'body's at the trial."

Mary nodded. "You want to go, I can go to
Virginia's alone, now."

"No, it don't matter," Monday said. "I
ain't that interested."

Meek's cabin was about fifteen minutes out of the
center of town, a small frame building with two rooms, painted white.
Virginia came to the door to meet them. Behind her were three small
shadows, dark-eyed and curious. Slowly Mary dismounted and walked to
the door, carrying her flour sack. The two women greeted each other
quietly, without emotion.

"
My husband's lodge is open to you,"
Virginia said. She was taller and heavier than Mary. Not, Monday
thought, a likely woman at all. But she had been a good wife to Meek.

"
Your husband honors me," Mary answered.
She shook hands with Virginia. Then, in turn, each of the three
children came forward, silent and wide-eyed, to shake hands.

"
How are y', Virginia," Monday said, taking
her hand. The children all stepped forward again, and he went down
the line, taking each small brown hand in his own gently He grinned
as he stood straight again, reminded strongly of the mountains. He'd
sometimes spent half a morning shaking hands, coming into a strange
village. Men, women, and children lined up for the handshaking, and
with a village of seven or eight hundred it could take quite a while
and be a hell of a strain on a man's wrist.

"
Joe is at the courthouse," Virginia said.
"Many problems today."

"I expect," Monday said. "Thought
maybe I'd drop down myself when we get Mary settled 'n' all."

Virginia shrugged and smiled at him. "Settled
now," she said.

Monday looked at Mary and she smiled, nodding. For
some odd reason Monday felt embarrassed. "Well—" he said
hesitantly.

"You go to the trial now," Mary said. "I
am settled."

"Well, if you're all—I suppose I might as
well. I'll come back after an' see how things are going."

He turned and went back to the horses. "I'll
leave Peter's horse here, all right? In case—in case you might need
him or something."

"All right," Virginia said.

"
Well, take care of yourself, Mary."

Mary nodded and put her sack inside the door.
Virginia came over to him and said, "You not worry about
anything. We take care of each other."

Monday nodded. "Thanks, Virginia."

The Nez Percé woman went back to the porch and she
and Mary started inside. The emotionless reserve of the formal
meeting was gone now, and Virginia chattered like a kingfisher as
they went in the house, her arm around Mary's shoulders.

Monday grinned as he
pulled his horse around and started down toward the center of town
and the courthouse. "Damn squaws," he muttered, smiling to
himself.

***

There was a mutter of raised voices inside the
courthouse as he tied the animal up in front. He pushed open the
door, inadvertently shoving several people out of the way. One of the
lawyers was orating wildly, but Monday couldn't tell whether it was
the defense or prosecution. He was hollering about God and justice
and several abstract principles that could have applied to either
side.

The room was small, and jammed with spectators, and
the sink of humanity was heavy and sour. All the bench seats were
taken, and the stairs leading up to the second story were crowded
with watching Indians.

Meek was up in front of the rail, presumably to keep
order. Monday spotted Webb against the wall to his right, and started
to push his way through the standing crowd.

"
Hooraw, coon," he whispered. "How's
she goin'?"

"Not bad doin's," Webb admitted grudgingly.
"Pretty vast lot o' talkin' goin' on."

Monday let his eyes rove over the center of
attraction. Judge Pratt was listening attentively, leaning forward on
his elbows. The jury box was more or less indifferent. Puzzled,
Monday saw that many of the jurymen had on work clothes, with a
variety of tools poking out of one pocket or another. One of them had
a tool-box on his knees and was rummaging through it, looking for
something.

"What the hell's that?" Monday whispered to
Webb.

"Them's the carpenters was buildin' the gallows
out back," Webb said. "They was makin' a hell of a racket,
an' the judge says, 'Marshal, can't you stop them men from that?'
Meek, he says, 'Why, shore, Judge. Put 'em on the jury.' So that's
what the nigger done." Webb snorted, and the people near him
turned to scowl. He scowled back.

Monday grinned, looking at Meek, who had his legs
stretched out in front of him and was idly scraping his fingernails
with the point of his butcher knife.

The man who was orating now had reached a high point.
". . . in the honest, if mistaken, belief," he shouted,
"that Doctor Whitman was deliberately poisoning the Coynse
people! Gentlemen, I put it to you: these unfortunate Indians acted
out of simple human concern for the welfare of their . . ."

"He better do better'n that," Webb
muttered. "He ain't goin' t' ride no fifty head of horse on a
speech like that."

"Fifty head!" Monday said. "That what
Tamahas is payin'?"

"Fifty head, the iggerant nigger, " Webb
said.

Monday let his breath out slowly. "That's a lot
o' horse," he said softly. He looked at the five prisoners,
huddled together on a bench by themselves, apparently ignoring the
trial. Tamahas himself was obviously scornful of the whole
proceeding—but then, an implacable scorn was the normal set of his
face, so it might be hard to tell, Monday thought.

Webb leaned over to him. "This'n here ain't the
best," he said. "They had some military up there a-rantin'
and a-ravin', an' he busted two glasses o' water 'fore he wore
hisself out."

"
Pretty good speech?"

Webb snorted. "Di'n't know any more law'n the
Injuns. But he was real excitable."

". . . dying of measles and dysentery, sometimes
as many as live a day. Is it any wonder, gentlemen——"

Suddenly from the stairs at the back there came a
terrible wail of anguish. On the stairs one of the Indian women had
stood and begun to tear her clothing, screaming wildly.

Pratt pounded heavily with his gavel. "Marshal,
Marshal, order!"

Meek stood and pushed through the swinging gate of
the center aisle, and Monday lost sight of him for a moment. The
aisle was jammed with people, and Meek was a short man. Monday soon
found he could follow the Marshal's progress by the turmoil as he
plowed his way through the crowd.

Several other Indian women on the stairs began to
howl a death chant for their people already dead and about to die.
The keening wail was uncanny in the crowded room. There was a general
shifting and muttering as the wail grated across the cars of the
spectators.

"Shut that up!" somebody hollered.

"
God damn it, I'm tryin'!" Meek shouted
back. Most of the seated spectators had risen to their feet now,
shifting and pushing to see, and a babble of talk filled the room
under the high wail of the death song.

As Meek reached the end of the aisle, the squaw who
had begun the chant saw him coming. She turned and started to run up
the stairs, screaming. Meek plunged after her, knocking aside several
of the other Indians who had moved in the way. Halfway up the stairs
he dived after the woman, catching her by the ankle.

"Hooraw, coon!" Webb shouted across the
room. "Go it, hoss, go it!"

The courtroom was in complete turmoil now as people
jostled each other in the eagerness to see better, cursing and
shouting. Judge Pratt banged steadily with his gavel. Two of the
lawyers were arguing loudly in front of the bench. The only still
persons in the room were the five prisoners, who watched impassively.

Webb started to pound the butt of his rifle on the
floor rhythmically, adding to the gavel-pounding of the judge. He
laughed and howled with rage alternately, shouting encouragement to
Meek.

The squaw had fallen face forward on the steps when
Meek grabbed her ankle, and was clawing wildly at the wood, still
screaming. Meek hauled at the leg, dragging the woman down the steps
one by one. Suddenly someone shouted, "Hang the damn squaw too!
Hang 'em all!"

Meek stopped suddenly, almost at the base of the
stairs. He looked up with shock. It had all been great fun up to that
point, but now the tone of the crowd changed.

Webb stopped laughing. With an abrupt gesture he
swung his arms to both sides, crashing into the people beside him,
who recoiled from the violence, leaving him room. He flicked open the
pan of his rifle and knelt quickly, yanking the stopper from his
powder horn with his teeth. Monday had started into the crowd,
heading for the first voice of hate that had arisen. He threw himself
forward as though breaking his way through heavy brush, but the
thickness and immovability of the mass of people made it almost
impossible to get through.

He was not halfway there when the enormous roar of
the discharging gun filled the courtroom with thunder. There was a
sudden gasping silence as the crowd turned in shock. Monday's ears
rang loudly with the explosion, but there was no other sound. Almost
rigid with the paralysis of fear and startlement, the crowd turned.