Bendigo Shafter (1979) Read Online Free Page A

side of his mouth. The young buck wants to keep Mae and kill the young uns, but the old man doesn't like it. He says the Shoshone are friends to the white man. He's right about that, but there's more to this argument than a body can see at first glimpse. I think the old man wants to take that young buck down a peg. Gettin' too big for his britches.
    My eyes had never left that young warrior. He was mad as a trapped catamount and ready to pitch in and go to fighting.
    Tell them we are friends, Ethan, and tell them to come when the snow leaves and trade with us. Tell them to bring their furs, hides, or whatever. And thank them for saving the young ones from the snow. Tell them when they come in the spring we will have presents for them. Sackett, he talked for a while, but before the old man could reply that young buck busted in with a furious harangue, gesturing now and again toward the other lodges, like he was about to go for help.
    We'd best take the youngsters and light out, I suggested. This shapes up to trouble.
    Ethan never turned his head. Mae, get up and come over here and bring the young uns with you.
    When that young buck saw what was happening he started to yell, and I belted him in the stomach with my fist. When he doubled over I sledged him across the skull with my gun barrel.
    Not one of the others so much as moved, but the old man said something I didn't catch. They didn't seem much upset by what had happened.
    Ethan took out his tobacco sack and passed it to the old man, with a gesture implying it was to be shared with the others. Me, I took out my Shafter-made axe, the best there is, and handed it to the old man.
    Friend, I said. Then indicating the axe I said, It is a medicine axe, made from iron from the skies.
    The youngsters first, Ethan said, then you.
    I'm holding the gun. You go ahead of me.
    We floundered through the snow, which was growing deeper by the moment, and made slow time until we got to the crest of the ridge. My heart was pumping heavily when we topped out, and far off, behind us, we heard shouts.
    Ethan led the way, but not toward home. With the youngsters to see to we were in no shape to tackle a trip home through the night and the storm. So Ethan took us into a hollow downwind of the Indians. It was a place gouged out by the fall of two pines whose roots had torn up great masses of earth that clung to a frozen spider web of roots.
    When Ethan waded into the hollow he was shoulder-deep, but he floundered around, tramping down the snow. When I saw what he was about, I helped. We tramped down an area five or six feet across, but with snow walls five feet high facing the triangle made by the roots, it was all of eight feet high.
    Scooping out a hollow big enough for the kids in one snow wall, I packed the snow tight with my hands.
    Ethan found some heavy, broken limbs with which he made a platform for our fire, then he dug under the fallen trees for broken twigs and bark. Soon we had a small fire going, using the mass of earth and roots for a reflector.
    We broke off evergreen branches and made a roof across the corner of our hole, and with the falling snow to cover it we soon had a snug snowhouse.
    We were much too close to the Shoshone camp, and it was a worrisome thing to be without rifles. We had six-shooters, and each of us carried a spare loaded cylinder to be slipped into place if we emptied our guns.
    Ann fell asleep in my arms, and Mae put her head on my shoulder, snuggling closer, I thought, than need be. Ethan fixed a bough bed for Lenny Sampson, and he was off to sleep, a mighty tired little boy.
    Ethan looked across the fire at me. We got us a family, Bendigo. Likely the only one I'll ever have.
    You've got no kin?
    He added sticks to the fire. I've kin-folk aplenty, although I don't recall seeing any of them for years. One was a mountain man like me, a Sackett from the Cumberland River country of Tennessee. Ran into him at a rendezvous on the Green.
    I don't lack for kin-folk.