they changed it for him.
'When those outsiders began to come in with their newfangled way of surveyin', his ma sent for him to come home. She seen trouble comin'.
'I ain't sure he's the right man for it.
He's a thoughtful young feller. Seems reasonable. Been through here a time or two.
'Now away out west, the way you're a-goin', there's a man named Dumont, Gabriel Dumont. Captain of the buffalo hunts! Those m`etis would follow him through hell! Good man!
A great man! Reminds me of that poem, writ by a man named Gray, somethin' in it about 'Cromwells guiltless of their country's blood' or some such thing. Well, I seen a few in my lifetime! Men who had greatness but no chance to show it elsewhere than here! I seen 'em!
I seen a passel of them!' Nolan glanced at him again. 'You ever hear of Frog Town? Well, you fight shy of it. Rob you. Cheat you. Knock you in the head or knife you. That's a bad lot. Sometimes the steamer starts from there, dependin' on how high the water is.
'Steamboatin' on the Red ain't like the Mississippi. Mean. Mean an' cantankerous, that's what it is. River's too high some of the time, too low most of the time, and filled with sawyers, driftin' logs, and sandbars. No fit river for man or beast.' 'But it flows north?' 'That it does! That it does!' Nolan put a hand on his sleeve. 'Here she comes now, that Molrone girl. Say, is she the pretty one! If I was single--to was Orrin turned toward her, smiling. She looked up at him. 'Oh! Mr. Sackett!
I am so glad you are here! They say we must go from here by oxcart, and I was wondering if--?' 'You can go with us. We would have it no other way.
And we shall leave tomorrow morning, early.' 'I'll be ready.' He paused. 'The offer includes Mrs.
McCann.' 'You want her,' Nolan whispered, 'you'd better act fast, young feller! She's too durned pretty to be about for long!' There was a pause, and Nolan pulled his hat brim down and started around the counter. 'Don't envy you, young feller. Not one bit! You got a long road to travel, an' it can be mean. Oh, there's folks done it! Palliser done it, the Earl of Southesk, he done it, and, of course, folks like David Thompson, Alexander Henry, and their like, but the Sioux weren't around then, an' there wasn't all this trouble with the m`etis--' 'But you said Riel was a reasonable man?' 'I did, an' I still say it. Trouble is, both them and the army will need grub, they will need rifles and ammunition, and you'll have 'em--if you're lucky.' 'You made a reference to Gavin?' 'I said nothing. Only'--he paused--'I like a careful man. I always did like a careful man, and you shape up like such. I said nothing else.
Nothing a-tall!' He started for the door, then turned and came back. 'You get smart, young feller. You latch on to that girl. You'll travel a weary mile before you see her kind again. Ain't only she's pretty, she's game. She's got gumption!
That's my kinda woman, boy. That there's my kinda woman!'
Chapter VIII
It was cold and dark when he opened his eyes, holding himself still for a long minute, just to listen. There were subdued rustles from the next room where the women were, so they were already astir.
Rising, he bathed lightly and swiftly, then pulled on his pants and boots and began stropping his razor. The vague light in the room was sufficient until he wished to shave; then he lighted the coal-oil lamp. He shaved with care, and as he shaved, he considered the situation.
With luck they would be aboard the International before sundown, and if they hoped to miss the mosquitoes, they must be. Once aboard, he must settle down to some serious thinking, as well as the planning of his every move once he reached Fort Garry.
He rinsed his razor, stropped it once more for the final touch-up, thinking as he did so. It was a foolhardy venture at best, something not to be considered had not a Sackett been in trouble.
You can expect Higginses.
To any Sackett the phrase indicated trouble, but from whom? And why?
Folding his razor, he put it away in its case with his brush and soap, then completed dressing. He rolled his blankets, including his spare pistol, then put out the light.
Taking up his rifle, he stepped to the door, opening it a crack. The air was cool, and he inhaled deeply, waiting and listening.
The small lobby was empty and still. There was no one at the desk. Sitting near the door was a valise that belonged to Kyle Gavin, but the man himself was nowhere about.
As he put his things down near the door, he noticed part of a torn sticker on the valise ... toria. He straightened up, considering that.
Victoria, B.c.? It could be.
So? Gavin could easily have been there. He was a widely traveled man.
Yet when they had talked of British Columbia, he had offered no information on the area, nor had he mentioned visiting there. Why had Nolan warned him against Gavin? Or about him?
He was opening the door to step outside when he heard a click of heels on the board floor and turned. Devnet Molrone looked fresh and lovely, as though she had not traveled a mile.
'The cart is coming,' he said. Even as he spoke, it was pulling up at the door. He was surprised, although he should not have been. He had never seen a Red River cart before, although he had heard of them.
Each cart was about six feet long and three wide; the bottom was of one-inch boards; the wheels were seven and a half feet in diameter.
The hubs were ten inches across and bored to receive an axle of split oak. The wood used was oak throughout. Each cart was drawn by a single horse and would carry approximately four hundred pounds.
No nails were used. Oak pins and rawhide bindings held it all together.
Kyle Gavin followed the cart and gestured to the driver. 'Baptiste, who will drive for us. The ladies will ride in the cart. You and I'--Gavin glanced at Orrin--'will ride horseback. You do not mind?' Orrin Sackett shrugged. 'I prefer to ride. I always feel better on a horse.' Orrin threw his gear into the cart, then placed Devnet's valise and a small trunk in the wagon. Mary McCann had only a valise.
The ungreased axle groaned as they moved out, Kyle Gavin leading off. Orrin slid his rifle into the boot and swung into the saddle.
The sun was not yet up when they moved out, heading north, parallel to the Red River. There was no sign of the Stampers. As the cart was lightly loaded, they moved out at a good pace.
There was no time for conversation but the route was plain before them. At noon, they pulled up under a wide-spreading elm, and Baptiste set about preparing a meal while the horse, after being watered, was picketed on the thick green grass.
Orrin sat down under the elm's shade, removed his hat, and mopped his brow, his rifle across his lap. His eyes looked off toward the west. 'What's over there?' he asked.
Baptiste shrugged a shoulder. 'Sand, much sand.
Once a sea, I t'ink. Maybe so. Great hills of sand.' 'Do you know Riel?' 'Aye, I know him. He is good man-- great man. He speaks what we t'ink.' He gestured. 'We, the m`etis, our home is here. We live our lives on this land. All the time we work. We trap that' fur for Hudson's Bay Company. We have our homes, we raise our children, then the Comp'ny goes away.
'It iss here--poof! It iss gone! Then come others, strangers who say we have nothing. They will take our homes. Long ago we call upon Louis Riel, the father. He speaks for us.
Now we call upon the son.' 'I wish him luck,' Orrin said.
Baptiste glanced at him slyly. 'You do not come for land? Some mans say Yankees come with army. Many mans.' 'That's foolish talk,' Orrin replied brusquely. 'We've problems of our own without interfering in yours. There are always some folks who make such talk for their own purposes, but the American people wouldn't stand for it.' He squinted his eyes toward the river, frowning a little. Had he seen a movement over there? 'As for me, I'm going to buy a couple of carts and go west to help my brothers with a cattle drive.' Orrin leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. It was cool and pleasant in the shade of the old elm. Kyle Gavin lay only a few yards away, his head pillowed on his saddle. Devnet, also in the shade, was fanning herself with her hat. He liked the way the sun brought out the tinge of red in her hair.
He liked women, and that might be his trouble. A good judge of men, he had proved a poor judge of women in his first attempt, a very poor judge. Yet what was he doing here, anyway?
