Far as the Eye Can See Read Online Free Page B
Author: Robert Bausch
longer, then they move on.”
“What is that smell?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a small bend in the stream on our left, where water seemed to dig into the embankment. “It’s where they shit and piss. As long as the wind stays right, they tolerate it. When it shifts and it gets too bad, they move.”
It was really bad. “Jesus,” I said.
“Or if they’re following buffalo. That gets ’em going too.”
“I think it was the smell this time.”
“If there’s good hunting, they won’t move far. They’re probably a few miles up one fork of this river or the other.”
“Which way we going?”
“Well, I’m going to see if I can’t figure out where they went. I’d like to take the opposite way if I can.” He looked at Big Tree. The big Indian nodded and got on his horse and rode on ahead until he was out of sight.
“Where’s he going?” I asked.
“He’ll let us know what’s up ahead a long way.”
I got back up on Cricket and Theo went to his wagon and spoke to the folks there. Theo come back on one of his horses. “There’s probably only ten or twenty braves,” he said. He talked real slow because we was in danger and he wanted to be absolutely clear about what we had to do. I thought I was done with war, but this was just like it. We was at war and moving in enemy country. And that ain’t no first impression, neither. It’s how it was the whole time I was in the big West except you never really known who the enemy was: it could be white men or any number of different kinds of Indian.
Theo rode by me, studying the ground. I said, “Mind if I tag along?”
He didn’t say yes or no. I turned Cricket and followed him. We didn’t get far. A few yards up the path by the river on our right, he stopped. He seemed to be smelling the air with that little button nose, but then he got down off his horse and walked a little further.
“No,” he said. “They didn’t come this way.” This seemed to make him happy. He swung back up on his horse and started back to the wagons. I stayed right where I was and waited for them. Before long the wagons groaned and creaked down the hill toward me. Theo was up on his wagon again and one of his oldest boys was riding on the horse.
I realized Theo wanted to follow that arm of the river as quietly as we could, but eight wagons and all them horses and mules can make a hell of a lot of noise. The path was rocky in places and those wagons sounded like some great animal was pushing a house along the ground. Even so, I moved closer and closer to the wagons. I didn’t want to be too far out there alone, and yet I found it hard to be in amongst all that noise too. It was getting dark. We’d have to stop soon.
Theo’s wife spoke low to him. He nodded, staring straight ahead. Far ahead of us was nothing I could see. The path leveled out and moved along the gash of the river that wound its way a little to the northwest. We’d have to cross it eventually. Far to our left was the other arm of the river, which run in front of what looked like a great, dark forest. We was in the middle of what folks called “breaks,” which is flat prairie marred every few hundred yards by twisted rivers and rolling hills and ravines.
When we finally stopped, on high ground about a half mile from the river, we circled the wagons and built a couple of campfires. Theo left the horses tied to the wagons, ready to roll if we had to. I tethered Cricket to one of the wagons and got my pack roll off and settled in by one of the fires.
Joe Crane and Preston, the two fellows who was traveling without a family, come along carrying their rifles and sat down next to me. Preston had a cup in his hand: I known both of them wanted some of my whiskey. I didn’t mind sharing it. They was sure a odd pair. Joe Crane was bald and round, not more than five feet tall. His face looked like it was etched in wire—thin lips, thin brows, a long skinny nose. His friend Preston was a foot taller. He
“What is that smell?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a small bend in the stream on our left, where water seemed to dig into the embankment. “It’s where they shit and piss. As long as the wind stays right, they tolerate it. When it shifts and it gets too bad, they move.”
It was really bad. “Jesus,” I said.
“Or if they’re following buffalo. That gets ’em going too.”
“I think it was the smell this time.”
“If there’s good hunting, they won’t move far. They’re probably a few miles up one fork of this river or the other.”
“Which way we going?”
“Well, I’m going to see if I can’t figure out where they went. I’d like to take the opposite way if I can.” He looked at Big Tree. The big Indian nodded and got on his horse and rode on ahead until he was out of sight.
“Where’s he going?” I asked.
“He’ll let us know what’s up ahead a long way.”
I got back up on Cricket and Theo went to his wagon and spoke to the folks there. Theo come back on one of his horses. “There’s probably only ten or twenty braves,” he said. He talked real slow because we was in danger and he wanted to be absolutely clear about what we had to do. I thought I was done with war, but this was just like it. We was at war and moving in enemy country. And that ain’t no first impression, neither. It’s how it was the whole time I was in the big West except you never really known who the enemy was: it could be white men or any number of different kinds of Indian.
Theo rode by me, studying the ground. I said, “Mind if I tag along?”
He didn’t say yes or no. I turned Cricket and followed him. We didn’t get far. A few yards up the path by the river on our right, he stopped. He seemed to be smelling the air with that little button nose, but then he got down off his horse and walked a little further.
“No,” he said. “They didn’t come this way.” This seemed to make him happy. He swung back up on his horse and started back to the wagons. I stayed right where I was and waited for them. Before long the wagons groaned and creaked down the hill toward me. Theo was up on his wagon again and one of his oldest boys was riding on the horse.
I realized Theo wanted to follow that arm of the river as quietly as we could, but eight wagons and all them horses and mules can make a hell of a lot of noise. The path was rocky in places and those wagons sounded like some great animal was pushing a house along the ground. Even so, I moved closer and closer to the wagons. I didn’t want to be too far out there alone, and yet I found it hard to be in amongst all that noise too. It was getting dark. We’d have to stop soon.
Theo’s wife spoke low to him. He nodded, staring straight ahead. Far ahead of us was nothing I could see. The path leveled out and moved along the gash of the river that wound its way a little to the northwest. We’d have to cross it eventually. Far to our left was the other arm of the river, which run in front of what looked like a great, dark forest. We was in the middle of what folks called “breaks,” which is flat prairie marred every few hundred yards by twisted rivers and rolling hills and ravines.
When we finally stopped, on high ground about a half mile from the river, we circled the wagons and built a couple of campfires. Theo left the horses tied to the wagons, ready to roll if we had to. I tethered Cricket to one of the wagons and got my pack roll off and settled in by one of the fires.
Joe Crane and Preston, the two fellows who was traveling without a family, come along carrying their rifles and sat down next to me. Preston had a cup in his hand: I known both of them wanted some of my whiskey. I didn’t mind sharing it. They was sure a odd pair. Joe Crane was bald and round, not more than five feet tall. His face looked like it was etched in wire—thin lips, thin brows, a long skinny nose. His friend Preston was a foot taller. He