Moontrap - Don Berry (32 page)

It was a walk of perhaps two miles or more from the
point they had left the skiff, just below the Oregon City falls.
There was a well-defined foot-trail along the bank for the better
part of the way, and the going was fast. When the four men turned in
at the Twality, they were abruptly slowed by the thick brush and soon
abandoned the bank entirely, to wade up the middle of the stream.

"
Goddamn it, Meek," Monday said. "You
sure you know where you're goin'?"

"Hell yes, I know," Meek said impatiently.
"I been savin' it. Don't y' trust me?"

"
Wagh!
"
Webb snorted. "I recollect one time I follered you up t' the
Snake—"

"That was different. We was lost, then."

"We sure as hell was, an' you didn't help none,
neither. 'Foller me,' y' said, real cheerful. 'I know a shortcut,' y'
said. Took us four and a half days t' get a half-mile from where we
was."

Meek shrugged. "Ain't nobody perfect. All I got
t' say, you niggers sure don't want a drink very bad."

"
Drinking I am for," Devaux said. "All
this walking I am against."

"
Well, she's just a couple hundred yards now,"
Mek said. "You want to go or not?"

"
Lead on, Marshal," Monday said grimly.

"An' if'n it ain't there," Webb said
calmly, "best take a good holt on y'r topknot, boy."

Monday stopped suddenly, the water swirling around
his calves.

"Listen," he said. "We oughtn't t'
make so much noise, we're like t' get shot."

"Naw," Meek said. "Nigger as runs it,
he's in town. I looked."

"Politickin', by god!" Webb said
admiringly.

"
Oh, I got a hair o' the black bear to me, if it
comes t' that," Meek said modestly.

"
Me," Devaux said, "I esteem you both.
Can we go now?"

When they broached the little clearing a few minutes
later they were suddenly assailed by the odor of sour mash. The
clearing was tiny, not more than fifteen or twenty feet in diameter,
and in the center stood the distilling apparatus, the big vat raised
above the fire site, the brightly glinting worm of copper tubing.

"Right pretty," Webb said admiringly.
"Right pretty." He began to prowl around the edge of the
clearing, poking into the brush with the butt of his rifle, looking
for the stored whisky.

There was a loud, dull clang as he connected with a
huge camp kettle, but to everybody's disappointment it was empty.
Monday finally found the whisky itself, cached in a burned-out stump
on the side opposite the river. "Hooraw, coons!" he said
happily, hoisting a bottle. "We're in business."

Monday clamped his teeth down on the protruding cork
and tugged it loose. He took a swallow of the water-clear liquid and
gasped.

"
Whoo!"

When the bottle had gone around the circle once it
was half emptied. The pressure of haste gone now, the four men
squatted on the ground and contemplated the label-less container.

"
Is not whisky, that," Devaux said. "Is
merely alcohol."

"Well, hell," Monday said contentedly. "We
c'n make whisky out of 'er if it comes t' that."

"Waste o' time an' tobacco," Webb grumbled.
"Gimme that there bottle if'n y're so damn particular. Alcohol's
good enough f'r this nigger."

"No, Rainy's right," Meek said. "It
ain't fittin' to be drinkin' plain alcohol on Independence Day. We
ought t' have honest-t'-christ whisky."

"This nigger's against the whole thing,"
Webb said menacingly.

"
Well," Monday said reasonably, "this
here's a democracy, ain't it? An' the Fourth o' July t' boot? Let's
vote on 'er."

Webb stood up defiantly. "I ain't votin' on
nothin', y'dungheads. One nigger with brains is more like t' be right
than three without. Y're just gangin' up on me is all."

"That's what democracy means," Monday said.
He glanced over at Meek, and the marshal gently put the bottle down
on the ground.

"I vote f'r whisky," Meek said, keeping his
eyes on Webb.

"Me too," Monday said.

Devaux had sneaked the bottle when Meek put it down
and said nothing for a moment. When he found his voice he said, "
Et
moi
." He blinked unhappily.

"
Whisky it is," Meek said, and launched
himself from his squatting position in a long dive that caught Webb
just as he was standing, throwing the old man to the ground. Monday
was right after him, grabbing Webb's knife hand and slamming it on
the ground. He threw all his two hundred pounds against Webb's
shoulder, pinning it to the dirt while Meek struggled with the other.
Webb's legs flailed frantically in the air as he struggled, but the
weight of the other two held his shoulders pinned tightly. Devaux
watched interestedly then drained the last of the bottle and stood
up. "Is terrible drinking, that. You will thank us in a minute."

"
Get the hell out o' here," Webb snarled,
"I'll kick y'r balls off."

"Me, I have no envy to be kicked like that. I
come around to the other end." Reaching carefully over Webb's
immobile shoulders, he probed in the old man's shirt and pulled out
his tobacco pouch. "
Le voila
,
" he said.

Turning quickly he dragged the big kettle out of the
brush and emptied the tobacco into it. He got another bottle from the
burned-out stump, yanked the cork, and poured the contents
ceremonially into the kettle, on the tobacco.

The act having been accomplished. Webb seemed to lose
his energy.

"
You
bastards
,"
he said miserably. "You lousy, dunghead. tobacco-stealin'
bastards!"

Meek let go Webb's shoulder and jumped back, but the
old man did nothing. He sat up, cursing, but made no motion to
attack.

"
What d'y'know," Meek said, marveling. "We
busted his little spirit."

"This nigger'll bust y'r little ass one o' these
days," Webb muttered, rubbing his shoulder.

Devaux was methodically opening all the bottles
stored in the tree trunk and emptying them into the kettle. Gradually
the clear liquid took on a brownish stain from the tobacco.

Monday came over and looked into the kettle. "Stir
it up a little bit," he said.

"Friend of me," Devaux said patiently,
"then the tobacco goes all over."

Monday shrugged. "Anyways, I think y'ought t'
stir it. It ain't darkening up very fast."

"There is not much tobacco," Devaux said.

Webb hoisted himself to his feet. "Y'mean you
dungheads ain't going t'put nothin' in? Y'call that
fair
?
"

"
Who said anythin' about fair?" Meek asked
curiously. "That's just the way it works. It's a free country,"
he added mysteriously.

"
Free, hell!" Webb spat. "You
dungheads stole my tobacco, that ain't free."

"Free f'r them in the majority." Monday
shrugged. "C'mon, Rainy, hurry up. How's it comin'?"

"
Is a mistake to rush a thing like this,"
Devaux said reprovingly. "Is ver' delicate, whisky-making."
He bent down into the kettle and dipped his tongue in the swirling
liquor.

"What we need," he said, frowning, "we
need a little molasses. Or maybe pepper."

"Well, we ain't got any. This'll do,"
Monday said impatiently.

"
If you are in such a hurry, you should have
voted against the whisky," Devaux said. "Now it has to
age."

"Well, hell," Monday explained, "I
didn't think it was going t' take so damn long. How'd I know you was
going t' get so fancy?"

Devaux shrugged. "Is all equal to me. You want
to drink before is made up proper—is your business."

"Good." Monday grabbed one of the empty
bottles and lowered it into the kettle. He brought it out half full,
with the suggestion of an amber tint. There were flakes of tobacco
floating in it, and if he looked closely he could see the oily little
brown streams diffusing into the whisky.

"
You see?" Devaux said. "Now you
swished up the tobacco."

"
How's she go, hoss?" Meek said, watching
Monday's tentative sip. Monday grimaced, picked something off the tip
ofhis tongue. "Ain't too bad, if'n you avoid the pieces."

"
Wagh!
"
Webb snorted with satisfaction and picked up a bottle.

"
You see, I was right," Devaiut said. "You
should not have swished up the tobacco."

"Still better'n what Billy Sublette used t'
sell," Monday said complacently.

"He used t' cut 'er with water, is why,"
Meek said. "Three t' one for a starter an' more later, when
nobody could see too good."

"
How the hell d'you know?" Webb demanded.
"You was allus the first nigger on the ground, come Rendezvous."

"People used t' tell me later what happened,"
Meek explained.

By this time they had all settled down with their
respective bottles in a tight circle around the kettle.

"Was all different in Hudson's Bay," Devaux
said. "You know, that Ogden, he never allowed any liquor in
camp. Never. He was hard, that one."

"
Was he, now!" Monday said. "Never?"

"
Never," Devaux said. "No cards,
either."

"
Hell, I seen cards a many a time in Nor'west
camps," Webb said.

"
An' liquor too."

"Yes," Devaux admitted. "But he did
not allow them, is what I am saying."

Meek got up and went to the still. looking it over
carefully. "Real nice job, that," he said absently. He
kicked at the vat once, but nothing in particular happened. Finally
he reached up and wrenched the coil of copper tubing loose.

"
You boys want t' hear this here worm sing?"
he asked.

While the others looked on interestedly Meek rummaged
in his pocket, holding the worm down to drain the fluid from it. "God
damn," Monday said morosely. "That's a hell of a waste,
what you're doin' there."

From his pocket Meek brought up a shiny bugle
mouthpiece.

"This here's sort of a loan from the US
government," he said. He pounded the mouthpiece into the opening
of the copper tubing and raised the improvised bugle to his lips. He
blew a long, resonant blast and looked down with a pleased
expression.

"
Wagh!
"
Webb said admiringly. "C'n you play a tune, I mean, c'n y'
change 'er any?"

"No, I don't know how," Meek admitted. "I
used t' do this without any mouthpiece, but sometimes I'd cut my lip
up on the worm, like that."

He blew the horn again. "So I sort o' borrowed
this here mouthpiece from a bugle that was lyin' around." He
blew another long blast.

"Me," said Devaux, "l like violins.
Me, I am amorous of violins." He blinked, getting sad as he
thought about violins.

"
I ain't really amorous o' nothin' but women,"
Monday said. "An' only one o' them." He leaned back on his
elbows and closed his eyes. "Whoo."

"Y'know," Meek said, "I hear there's
two kinds o' alcohol. If'n y' get holt o' the wrong kind, y' go blind
or die or somethin'."

"Y'iggerant dunghead!" Webb snorted. "Y'
believe that?"

"That's just what I heard is all I'm sayin'."

"There's a pack o' lies," Webb said. "Them
preachers invent that kind of idee, just t' scare y', is all."

"Might could be," Meek said. "Never
scared me too much, though."

"That's cause y're too dumb. Y're supposed t' be
worryin' all the time did y' get the right kind o' alcohol, an'
eventually y' quit drinkin' altogether cause o' bein' scared to get
the wrong kind. That's why they make up that kind o' stuff, them."

"
Always somebody tryin' t' scare a man,"
Monday said. "Always somebody that don't allow somethin', like
cards or somethin', or try to scare y'."

"
Here," Meek said, grabbing Monday's
bottle. "You best fill up again. You're gettin' glum."

"No, I ain't gettin' glum. But I get tired o'
people all the time not allowin' stuff, an' tryin' t' scare a man."

"Don't pay no mind t' that kind o' stuff,"
Webb said. "That's all."

"Sometimes y' got to," Monday said. "They's
always somebody on y'r back."

"
Not mine," Webb said complacently.

"That's 'cause y're alone," Monday said.
"It ain't so easy f'r the rest of us." He spat a Heck of
tobacco from the tip of his tongue.

"Don't spit it out," Webb encouraged him.
"Chew it. Anyways, ever'body's alone, whether he likes it 'r
not. Don't y' even know that? Me, I like it."

"That's all right," Monday said. "That's
all right for you t' say."

"I ain't just sayin'. That's the way it is. Y'
got your choice, y' run alone like a man, or y' run with them sheep."
He made a vague gesture in the direction of Oregon City. "Ain't
I right? Meek, ain't I right?"
 
Meek
looked down at the ground. "I don' know," he said.