nothing.
“He your friend?” Chickory said out loud.
Another snake near to him raised its head and the tip of its tail moved, rattling lightly.
Chickory put his hand on his knife. The rattlesnake was flicking its tongue but it didn’t bare its fangs or come toward him. After a bit it lost interest and sank back down, coiling so its head was under its body.
Chickory had seen enough. He backed away, glancing behind him and to either side, alert for more serpents.
On the way down he picked up three flat rocks. It was as many as he could carry.
He started for the cabin site.
“I should tell Pa about the snakes,” Chickory said to himself, then shook his head. If he told his pa, his pa would tell his mother, and his mother would forbid him to ever come anywhere near that hill for as long as he drew breath. She was always doing stuff like that, always spoiling his fun. He decided to keep it a secret. He wouldn’t say a word so he could come back whenever he wanted and watch the snakes. He didn’t consider them much of a threat. They were far from the cabins.
He did wonder where they all came from.
The gully appeared. Chickory hadn’t been down in it, but he planned to go once the cabin was done. He had a lot of exploring to do. The valley was filled with animals and sights worth seeing.
Chickory gazed over his shoulder at a high mountain with a block of white at the top. A glacier, it was called. Shakespeare McNair had told him about it, said it was made all of ice and never melted. Claimed, too, that the Worths should stay away from up there, that it was slippery and covered with cracks that once a person fell in, they never got out. McNair also said that now and then he and his wife and the Kings heard strange roars and howls from some sort of creature. That was what McNair called it: a creature. Not an animal. It sounded like another of McNair’s tall tales to Chickory.
Randa was carrying rocks, too. She set hers down and waited as he brought his over.
“Those are good ones. Where did you get them?”
“Off a ways,” Chickory said, with a jerk of his thumb.
“Are there more? I’ll go with you and bring some back.”
“There aren’t any more.”
“You’re lyin’,” Randa said.
If there was one thing Chickory hated it was to be called a liar—even when he was lying. “What makes you say that?”
“I know you. I know how you talk when you lie. Why won’t you tell me where you got them?”
Chickory hesitated. He would love to tell someone and his sister was pretty good at keeping a secret. “If I do, you have to give me your word you won’t say a word to anybody.”
“You have it,” Randa said.
Chickory gave his account, ending with, “That hill is crawlin’ with them. You want to come, you have to be careful.”
“You need to go tell Mr. King.”
“No. Ma will find out, and you know what she’ll do.”
“You have to,” Randa insisted. “Remember that hunt? This could be what Mr. King was lookin’ for.” She pointed. “There he is right there. Go over and tell him or I’ll do it myself.”
Chickory bit off a sharp reply. He was mad. He’d trusted her and she’d betrayed him. Now he wouldn’t get to go watch the snakes whenever he wanted.
“Do it. Now.”
“Just because you are older than me…” Chickory wheeled and walked over to where Nate King and Shakespeare McNair were working on the fireplace. “I brought some rocks,” he announced.
Without looking up Nate said, “We need a lot. Keep looking.”
“Yes, sir.” Chickory stayed where he was.
“Anything else?” McNair asked.
“I just want to thank you both for bein’ so kind to us, and all. If there is ever somethin’ I can do for you, let me know.”
Nate raised his head and chuckled. “You can find more rocks.”
Chickory nodded and walked back to his sister. “There. I told him. He said he’d go have a look later, after he’s done with the cabin.”
“You did the right thing,” Randa said. “I’m proud of you.”
The fireplace took four days to build. It took so long because they had to bring the clay they used for the mortar from a quarter of a mile away.
The men did the digging and piled the clay on a travois; Winona and Blue Water Woman took turns riding the horse that pulled it. They mixed the clay with water and dirt and laid the stones and once the mix dried it was as hard as the stones themselves.
The front door posed a problem. They had no boards or planks. They didn’t have a sawmill to make them either. The alternatives were to split logs and spend tedious hours planing and smoothing or go all the way to Bent’s Fort. Shakespeare struck on a temporary solution. They would get boards at Bent’s on their regular supply trek. In the meantime, the Worths had to make do with Shakespeare’s bedroom door. He took it off its hinges and brought it over and hung it himself. While it was wide enough it wasn’t quite long enough; there was a gap of two inches at the top. When Emala asked why Shakespeare didn’t leave the gap at the bottom, he smiled and said, “So every bug in creation can crawl inside and make itself at home?”
“Lordy, no, I wouldn’t like that,” Emala agreed. “A gap at the top is fine by me.”
“We can’t thank you enough for the use of your door,” Samuel said.
“When we go to Bent’s we’ll have a door made that will fit proper,” Shakespeare promised. “That should be in three weeks or so.”
Samuel patted the wall and beamed. “Our new home,” he said proudly. “Our very own by-God new home.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Emala said. “He saw us safe all the way here. The least you can do is show respect.”
“I am as thankful as I can be,” Samuel replied. He turned to Shakespeare and shook his hand and then to Nate and shook his. “I don’t have the words to say how much this means.”
“What are friends for?” Nate said.
“That’s just it,” Samuel said, and looked away and coughed. “I ain’t never had friends like you two. Not in all my born days.”
Shakespeare launched into a quote. “I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot chose, and to eat no fish.”
“He’s saying he was happy to be of service,” Nate translated.
“What was that about fish?” Emala asked. “Don’t you ever eat it?”
“Personally I like fish now and then so long as it doesn’t taste too fishy.”
“How can fish not taste like fish?”
“You have to excuse him,” Nate said. “He often has no idea what he is talking about.”
Shakespeare snorted.
“May I tell you two gentlemen something?” Samuel said earnestly. “There are times when I have no notion of what you are talkin’ about.”
Winona and Blue Water Woman joined them, and Winona said, “Guess what, husband?”
“You want to take me home and ravish me.”
