Spirit Pouch (23 page)

"Now, Jared, what could you possible want with an old towel?" she quizzes.

"Well, I don't have my hat," I confess. "I thought maybe I could make a sun guard so my neck and face don't burn.  I would only need it until I could fashion a hat out of straw, or something."  I think my argument is reasonable enough, and that she will go for it, but I still hold my breath waiting for an answer.

"You certainly are a resourceful boy," Elizabeth says with a smile.  "Let me see what  I can find.  But you need to get William to show you how to make a hat from a deerskin when you boys go hunting tomorrow."

Elizabeth dives into the wagon and in a few minutes appears with a well worn dish towel.

"Thank you," I say reaching for the towel.

"Hold on, young man," she says, giving me one of those looks.  "I've got a little stitch of thread left over from darning a sock.  We can just put a couple of stitches in the corners so it will stay on your head.  When you are done with the towel, they will come out easily enough."

I patiently watch as she places one loose stitch, then flops it onto my head.  It fits snugly and seems to be perfect.  "Thanks," I say, trying to be polite.

"Hold on," she gives me that look again.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Elizabeth snatches the towel from my head and snugs the stitch, then she places one more, and snugs it down with a knot.  "There you go.  That ought to work for a day or so."

"Thank you," I say, placing it on my head.  From behind me comes a giggle.  I turn to see Annie.

"You look funny," she says, giggling again.

"Do I look like a girl?" I say laughing.

"Yes," Annie laughs.  "A girl with pink flowers in her hair."

"Well," I say, giving my new hand towel 'hair' a quick tuck with my hand and talking in my best girl voice.  "I think they are cute and very stylish."

"Lets get rolling." Henry bellows.  "Hitch 'em up and let's go."

I walk over to William.  "We've got to get you a hat," he says smiling.

I get a quick lesson on how to hitch the horse to the wagon.  It is not too tough since the harness is still on the horse.  We just attach the steering poles and the lines to the collar, then put a strap around the backend of the horse.  William says that it keeps the wagon from running into the horse when going down hill.  William knows all the names of the harness parts
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, but that is too technical for a first lesson, I guess.

We walk for a couple of hours. I divert from the trail a few times and come back with some firewood. Ty helps me with one log that we can barely carry.

"If you get wood that is too big you will have to chop it up," Henry says when we heft a thick log into the wagon. I only have to be told once. Besides, smaller is so much easier.

After resting for a few minutes near some water trickling across the trail, Henry says, "We've got about two hours until the next stream crossing.  We will go that far and then stop for the night."

With tired feet I stand. My feet and legs want to complain, but I know that Henry will not tolerate any complaining from his boys, and besides that, I am just a guest. So we walk. William trudges next to the horse, guiding it with a gentle nudge from time to time. Ty pushes on the wagon and I pull when the trail gets steep. The oxen are slow, but they are strong and do not need our help.

The warm summer sun starts to hang low in the west when finally we descend into a small comparatively lush valley. I spot the thick line of trees and bushes that grow in green abundance along the small stream, and I glance at Henry.

"After we cross the stream, head for that flat area to the right," he says pointing. "That is where we will set up for the night."

"Can I help build a fire?" Joseph asks, skipping up to his father.

"Yes, and then we need some water from the stream."

"Yay! I get to help with the fire!" Joseph dances off to sing his victory to Annie.

"Jared and Ty," William says quietly, "we will need help with the horse and oxen. They will need their harnesses removed and then they need to be hobbled near the stream in some grass so they can eat."

I nod and Ty replies, "Show us how you want us to do it."

"Ty, you go with George. He will show you how to care for the oxen. Jared, you stick with me."

When we reach the stream, we have to encourage the horse to cross the stream and not stop to drink. With some persuasive tugging we get her going up the opposite bank and then off to the right. William positions the wagon a little south and west of a previously used pit of grey ashes where a small fire had been built several days ago.

"Let's stop the wagon here," Williams says.

My face must have question marks all over it. I want to ask, "Why here? Why not closer to the water? Besides, you are blocking our view of the mountains."

"We don't want the wagon too close to the fire because we have to work around it to cook, and then later we may want to sleep close to the fire to stay warm. Also, there is a slight breeze, and here the wagon may help to block the wind."

"Okay," I answer. I have been camping a lot with our Boy Scout troop, but I never really planned a campsite with wagons before. I don't consider the wind because, in my mind, I am just going to crawl into my tent and zip it up.  Well, I would if I had a tent, that is. I would pitch my tent away from the fire, of course, because I don't want sparks to burn holes in the nylon, and obviously the fire pit has to be clear of brush and trees, that is a given. But this sort of camping is new to me, so I say, "That sounds like good planning," and add, "Why not closer to the water?"

William looks at me like I am nuts, then he patiently explains, "You must not have mosquitoes in Arizona," he begins.

"We do," I say. "But not too many."

"Well, here we have lots of them, and if you are close to water they can be unbearable. Besides mosquitoes, we don't want to attract rats or other vermin."

"I see," I say shaking my head. "Let's just park right here then. I don't much like mosquitoes, either."

I help William unhitch the wagon as George and Ty maneuver the second wagon into a semi circle around the fire pit. Then we remove the harness and hang it over the shafts of the wagon.

Joseph
and Henry waste no time starting a small fire and soon Annie, Elizabeth and Grandma Brettle are working to prepare some food for dinner, using the water that Joseph brought up from the stream.

Henry busies himself pulling a sheet of canvas out, tying two corners to the ox-drawn wagon, and the other two corners to a couple of stakes in the ground.

William pulls a stack of blankets from the wagon and hands them to me.  He takes one look at my questioning face and shakes his head, "This will be our bed tonight."  He lifts a rolled piece of canvas from the wagon.

"Are you going to tie this to the wagon," I ask, quite sure I already know the answer.

"No," William smiles.

"Then why is your father …"

"Have you noticed all the dew on the grass in the mornings?" William asks.

"I… guess… sort of.  Not really."  I am trying to think back.  I haven't really been here very long to notice. 
Sure, in Arizona we get some dew occasionally, but not much, really.

"Well, in the morning your bed will be drenched from dew if you are not covered," William explains.

"So…"

"So, there is not enough canvas for all of us to have one tied to the wagon," William interrupts again.  "Besides, it is too much work.  I'm just going to sleep under the wagon on top of this canvas.  We can pull it over us a little, but the wagon will keep the dew off.  Father does not mind doing extra work for Mother.  Us boys will just sleep under the wagon.  You are welcome to join us."

"Sure… I guess."  I am still trying to process this line of thought when Ty walks up.

"I want to sleep under the wagon," he says.  "Good way to keep the dew off."

"That's what I thought, too" I say quietly, trying to sound as smart as Ty.

William kicks a couple of rocks out of the way and moves some clumps of dirt, then with our help he spreads the canvas under the wagon and folds it over.  "Spread these blankets out in between the layers of canvas and we are done," he says.

I know this technique from Scouts,
I think. 
Only we use a tarp or a large sheet of plastic.

"That should keep us dry and warm," Ty sums it up as if he were reading my thoughts.

"It sure will," William agrees.

Ty laughs, "I could crawl in there right now."

"I suggest you wait," William warns.  "Father likes to have family prayer, and dinner will not be ready for at least a half an hour."

Ty pulls a disappointed face but says, "Okay."

"William," I query, "do you think there are any fish in that stream over there?"

"I'm sure there are," he replies.  "Were you thinking of trying to catch one?"

"The thought crossed my mind," I say hesitantly. 
I've caught a few fish in my day.  But I suppose I shouldn't brag because I didn't exactly bring my fishing pole along.

"Well, good luck with that," William smiles.  "Unless you have claws like a bear it will be tough catching one of those fish.  They are fast and slippery."

"I guess it would be rather challenging without a hook and some line," I admit.

"I made some hooks, once," William smiles.

"Really?" I say in astonishment.

"Yeah, really.  I used an old hat pin.  I held it with pliers," he says, pretending he has a pair in his hand, "and I rolled it around a small twig and made a loop at the other end for the line.  I still have it," he says.

"Wow!  Can I see it?" I ask, smiling.

"Sure." 
William
walks to the wagon and pulls out a small wooden box, removing three small hooks."

"Barb-less hooks," I mumble, inspecting the hand-made work of art.

"What do you mean?" William wrinkles his brow.  "Don't you like them?  It took me hours to fashion them."

"Oh, yes.  I love them," I say quickly.  "It's just that I have seen some hooks with what is called a barb."

"What do you mean?"

"A barb is a tiny backwards point along the shank of the hook so that when a fish gets the hook stuck in it's lip the hook will not come out as easily.  That way the fish can't spit it out."

"I have heard of hooks with barbs," William admits.  "I will have to try to make a barb some time."

"You know, with a little bit of line we could try catching a fish for dinner, or maybe breakfast," I say with enthusiasm.

"I've got line, too," William says.  He goes back to the wagon and produces about twenty feet of line and hands it to me for inspection.

Not exactly monofilament nylon,
I think, fingering the line and letting the thick string
slide between
my fingers.  "Is it strong?" I say finally.  "We wouldn't want the fish to get away with our hook."

"It is pretty tough," William vouches.

"Want to try it out?" I ask.  "If we did get one on the hook we would have to keep tension on the line at all times so that it can't spit the hook out.  I think we could do it though."

"Sure!" William smiles.  "I will go tell Father where we will be."

"Okay," I say.  "I will go catch us a couple of grasshoppers."

William gives me that look.  "Oh, for bait on the hook?"

I nod

"Very clever."  He dances off to inform his father and in a moment he catches up with me carrying the hooks and line.

"I caught one grasshopper," I announce.  "Why don't you tie the line on the hook while I catch one more?" I instruct.

In a minute I get my grasshopper and we head off to the stream.  William is right.  The air is buzzing with flies and mosquitoes.

"You've got to sneak up on the stream so you don't spook the fish," I whisper. 
And you have to hold your mouth just right,
I think, but I don't say that.  I don't want to cause confusion by mixing fishing lore with reality.  I glimpse a hole of calm and relatively deep water and stop several yards away and up stream.

"Hand me the hook," I whisper.  Taking it in my hand I push the grasshopper onto the hook and hope it will stay on long enough to catch a fish.  Together we sneak up to the stream, stepping quietly and moving slowly until we are along the bank.  With a gentle toss I land the string, hook and grasshopper into some fast moving water that leads directly into the pool.  Holding tightly onto the end of the string, we wait… but only for about five seconds and then I see the grasshopper disappear under the water leaving only a circle of ripples expanding outward.

I pull quickly on the string and feel the frantic tug on the other end of the line.  Without hesitating even a second, I start pulling and gathering the line.  The fish jumps and heads the other way.  I keep the line tight.  Switching directions, the fish tries to escape under the bank.  Keeping the line taut I pull the frantically fighting fish to shore, and gently up the shallow bank.