Читать книгу B.J. Bayle's Historical Fiction 4-Book Bundle - B.J. Bayle - Страница 13

They started later than Peter had hoped, making it necessary to camp two nights before reaching the Brazeau River. To save time, instead of following the river they cut across the prairie, and it became too dark to find their way through the new growth of poplar and fir trees that thrust their way up through the charred remains of an old forest. Back at Rocky Mountain House he had tried not to be concerned about David Thompson, but when the wind whistled around the fort at night he wasn’t able to keep his thoughts from the dark and lonely woods where he had left the explorer. He hoped mightily that William Henry had found Thompson.

For Peter the journey had begun badly. He hadn’t given it a second thought when Alexander Henry had announced he was taking three men to hunt with him on his return from taking dogs and horses to Thompson. He wasn’t surprised when most of the men in the fort volunteered to go, for he already knew how much the voyageurs loved to hunt. When he found that one of the men chosen was DuNord, he had no fear that the man would trouble him with Alexander nearby. His worry was for Dog when later DuNord returned to Rocky Mountain House. She had refused to be caught and tied with the other dogs so they could be led away from the comfort of the fort. When he rode away, Peter had glanced back and spotted her sitting in front of the fort, looking after them.

That night it was with a heavy heart that he helped unload the packhorses and took them to water and then fed the tired dogs. Alexander had said they could be turned loose the next day without fear of them returning to the fort. By the time he finished with his chores, the smell of cooking meat reminded Peter how hungry he was himself, but first he turned upstream for a quick wash. Then he halted suddenly. In the light of the autumn moon he saw what appeared to be a wolf lapping water a short distance away. It couldn’t be one of the dogs. They were still tied and noisily eating dried fish not far behind him.

The stiff, damp breeze icing his face told Peter the animal wouldn’t catch his scent, and he slipped behind a short, thick bush to watch. The animal finished taking water and turned to examine its surroundings. Crouching low, it began to creep toward the smell of cooking meat. Peter’s heart leaped in delight. It was Dog!

His first impulse was to jump up and greet her, but instinct cautioned him to stay hidden. He watched as she crept to the small clearing where his companions were seated on logs chewing their supper. She was hungry. Peter moved backwards to where the horses pawed at the wet ground as they searched for feed. Straightening then, he stepped into the light of the fire, chose a tin plate, took a full ladle of meat, and helped himself to a half-dozen of the rock-hard biscuits made by Alexander himself.

The chief trader’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, lad! I’m glad you appreciate my cooking, but I was hoping to have some left for the morning.”

Peter felt every eye upon him, and his face grew warm. “I … I didn’t know. I’ll put some back.”

Alexander laughed. “Oh, go away with you. I was only teasing you. There’s plenty more.”

Peter returned to the shadows and found a flat rock for a seat. He chewed the meat — disappointed it was buffalo again. Peter preferred deer or rabbit. He finished a strip of meat and a biscuit, then rose and called out, “I’m going for water.”

Alexander stood also. “And I’m about to have a last pipe before I bid good-night to the world.”

Dog had left her position at the edge of the bushes and disappeared. Knowing her taste for buffalo, Peter slowly waved a chunk of it in the air as he turned in a full circle. The wind will carry the scent, and she must be starved. He was right. As he completed his circle, he heard a faint sound, and Dog appeared only a few feet away.

“Come along, Dog,” he whispered, dangling the meat from his fingers as he crouched close to the ground. “Come along.”

Hoping Dog would creep near enough to touch, Peter was startled by the flash of black and white that streaked by him. The meat disappeared. He heard a chuckle nearby and turned to find Alexander leaning against a slim poplar tree. “It occurred to me it was a bit odd you fell in love with my biscuits. No one else has.”

To cover his embarrassment Peter said, “I do like them.” He gestured in the direction Dog had fled. “She must be terribly hungry following us all day.”

“And she’ll no doubt follow again tomorrow now that she knows she’ll be fed.” Alexander turned back toward the fire and spoke over his shoulder. “Best leave the rest where she can find it and get to your bed. Sunup will come soon enough.”

They travelled northwest, guided by the weak rays of a sun that appeared infrequently, until they emerged from a particularly dense part of the woods onto a bluff and saw the North Saskatchewan threading its way below. In the distance water tumbled down to meet it.

“That’s the Brazeau, for sure,” Peter said. He turned in his saddle to survey the river as far as he could.

There was no sign of Thompson, but Alexander spotted a thin wisp of smoke coming from a bluff where the river rounded a bend. “Let’s hope that’s either David or the boats. I’ve no wish to begin a hunt for him or for them.”

The smoke was coming from a campfire, and the men of the canoe brigade were sitting around it drying their clothes. Peter saw with happy relief that Thompson was able to jump to his feet and call out a greeting with the rest of the men as the riders approached.

Peter felt a glow of pleasure when Thompson said, “Well done, lad,” before he passed by him to greet Alexander. Thompson reached up to shake the hand of the chief trader. “The men told me of your ruse to get them past the Peigans. I’m grateful for your expertise in deception.”

“You’re welcome, David,” Alexander said as he swung off his horse. “But I’m thinking your plan to follow the Athabasca River into the mountains is foolhardy. Man, winter’s near upon us! You’ll never get through.”

Peter saw Thompson’s face change as he led the chief trader back to the fire. His square chin was set in a familiar stubborn way, though he spoke quietly enough. “I must go now, Alexander. This will be my last effort to find the Columbia and a safe passage to the Pacific. Who knows what may happen if I delay until spring?” He shook his head. “Both my head and my heart tell me I must go now.”

“But, man, you’ve already made it possible for the company to trade west of the mountains,” Alexander protested. “Isn’t it enough that you have three posts there now?”

Peter knew how the mapmaker would answer that question. He had talked of it often enough. The company planned to send one of their ships around to the western edge of the country to where the big river emptied into the ocean. They would collect the furs brought down from the trading posts and take them to China where they could be sold for a large profit.

When Thompson finished explaining, Alexander shook his head. “’Tis naught but nonsense. You know the British Parliament would never agree. They promised exclusive rights to the East India Company to trade with the Chinese.”

This time Thompson’s mouth relaxed in a slight smile. “However, our lacklustre Parliament can’t dictate to the Americans, who are free to trade wherever they choose.” He strode over to his black iron instrument case lying under a tree and extracted a paper. Presenting it to Alexander, he said, “This is an agreement to allow our North West Company to purchase one share of John Jacob Astor’s Pacific Fur Company. Under his banner we can ship our furs to China.”

Alexander’s face wore a frown as he read, and his tone was skeptical. “I hadn’t heard that Astor agreed to this.”

Thompson shrugged, and with a perfectly straight face said, “If the ship he sent around to the mouth of the Columbia arrives before we do, this paper should forestall any attempt they may make to keep us from trading there.”

“David,” Alexander said with an exaggerated effort to appear shocked, “I can’t believe my ears. The most honest, truthful, Bible-reading mapmaker in the North West Company is planning to deceive the men of the Pacific Fur Company by pretending we’re partners with them?”

“You mean the only mapmaker in the North West Company now that Mackenzie and Fraser no longer explore,” Thompson said dryly. “Believe what you will. This has been planned, and I haven’t been specifically told the two companies haven’t agreed, so I may assume I’m right in thinking we’re partners with them.”

Alexander chuckled and clapped Thompson on the shoulder. “You’re a good man for the company, David. Now what delicacies do you have for our supper?”

Spying Vallade, Peter anxiously inquired as to the whereabouts of Boulard, only to be told his friend was gathering more wood for the fire. Peter dismounted then and peered down the trail they had made through the brush. The dogs had been released that morning and had darted back and forth into the woods as they followed, but Dog had kept pace about twenty feet behind Peter. She sat quietly now and watched as he reached into his saddlebag and brought out the chunk of raw meat he had secreted there before they had started in the morning. When he held it out in front of him and began to walk toward her, she sat very still, and Peter thought her tail twitched slightly. Heartened, he moved again, and suddenly she leaped up, head down and hair standing along her spine as she bared her teeth.

A voice spoke behind Peter. “That is a bad one.”

Peter whirled to find DuNord glaring at Dog.

“You … you don’t know anything about her. She’s … she’s only afraid.”

“I know her,” DuNord said, holding out one arm for Peter to see the clear marks of a set of teeth. “I mean to kill her.”

“You … you just try it!” Peter said, hating himself for not being able to control his stammer when he was frightened. “That’s my … my dog.”

DuNord stepped close enough for Peter to smell his sweat-stained buckskins, but Peter refused to back away. As he stared at the menacing face, his heart pounded so loudly he was afraid the man could hear it. Expecting a blow any minute, Peter felt relief wash over him when he heard Boulard’s voice.

“Peter,mon ami!” There was a pause, then Boulard asked, “Is there trouble here?”

DuNord stepped back quickly and stared stonily straight ahead. Looking from Peter to DuNord, Boulard repeated his question.

Peter hesitated. He knew Boulard had the authority to make DuNord leave him alone, but this was his problem to handle. “No,” he said finally. “We were just talking about my dog.”