Читать книгу B.J. Bayle's Historical Fiction 4-Book Bundle - B.J. Bayle - Страница 24

There was no singing, and the men talked little for the next day and a half, but when they reached the big bend of the Columbia, a cheer went up from every throat. The rough shelter they had built was sighted. Boat Encampment! As they turned to shore, Thompson leaped from the canoe into the knee-deep water and threw up his arms. “It’s done,” he cried. “For twenty-seven years I’ve strived to map this most wondrous of countries from sea to sea and from north to south. My efforts are over.”

They made camp early, and after a search for some sort of message from the missing brigade, Thompson took out his journal and began to write feverishly. Some of the men went hunting, and for the first time in weeks they dined on moose and big, ripe blackberries found in a nearby patch.

Although he had accepted that Dog wouldn’t be alive when he returned, Peter couldn’t rid himself of a glimmer of hope, and he half dreaded the return to their campsite. Thompson, however, had other plans. He was determined to find the brigade. “We’ll leave a message on a tree and one in the shed,” he said, “and paddle a distance up Canoe River. They might not have understood the rough map I sent and by mistake followed the Canoe after they came through the pass.”

As they poled and paddled against the current, Peter felt the beginnings of despair. He had thought he would be happy when this journey came to an end, but now it didn’t matter. Peter had lost Dog, and soon he would lose another friend, for Boulard had spoken often of finding a female to his liking who would cook and sew for him for the rest of his days while he hunted and fished. And what was in store for him? he wondered. Peter tried to find encouragement in Boulard’s promise to ask if the company might use him as a clerk at a post somewhere. He sighed, hoping he would be among strangers who wouldn’t have to be told he had no name.

After three days and almost fifty miles up the Canoe, they camped in the early afternoon to decide whether or not to go on. Thompson admitted he wasn’t sure what they should do. As every man, except Peter, offered an opinion, a canoe appeared with two men in it.“Monsieur!” they called out even before they reached the shore. “Mr. Henry, he waits with the goods. We arrived by horse to find your letter soon after you left.”

Thompson broke into laughter. “By thunder, it didn’t occur to me you’d come by horse.”

It took just a few minutes to break camp and hop into the canoe. The three-day trip they had made up the Canoe River took only a few hours to fly with the current downstream to Boat Encampment.

“You old scoundrel!” the usually quiet William Henry shouted at Thompson as Charles manoeuvred the canoe to shore. “You truly are amazing. I thought I’d find you buried somewhere, but here you are.” As Thompson got out of the canoe, William clapped him on the back. “Have you been to the ocean yet, or have you been paddling around here enjoying the sun?”

Thompson raised his eyebrows. “If you can read, sir, you can see from my note that we’ve reached the Pacific and are on our way back.” He pointed to the bend of the Columbia. “The headwaters of this river are down near where we built Kootenay House.”

William appeared startled, then he laughed. “Are you saying had we known we could have used this route years before?”

Thompson nodded. “And avoided much of the trouble with the Peigans.”

Listening, Peter felt a small wave of happiness. No matter what happened to him, he would always remember that he had been with the explorer who had found an important route to the sea.

The two men moved in the direction of the campfire, Thompson talking enthusiastically until he stopped in mid-sentence. Then, raising his voice, he asked, “And where did you two come from? And how did you get here?”

Peter turned to see Côté and Pareil emerge grinning from one of the tents. “We wished to surprise you,” Côté said. “In one day we no longer suffered malade, and Pareil, here, traded his cap for us to be passengers of a fellow who came by in his canoe.” When the rest of the men finished greeting the two, Côté continued. “He wanted my cap, too, in exchange for taking the dog also, but I offered to help him paddle.”

Peter wasn’t certain he had heard right.Dog? What dog? Côté and Pareil looked at him and grinned widely. Beckoning for Peter to follow, Pareil led him to a stout cottonwood behind his tent where Dog was tied. She leaped to her feet and barked a welcome, her tail wagging crazily. Peter was too stunned to move. She was very thin, but her eyes were bright and her nose appeared to be damp. In a moment Peter was on his knees beside her, petting her roughly, happily realizing she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to like it!

When later he returned to the campfire, Peter saw that the horses had been unloaded and the packs of trade goods stacked in the mapmaker’s canoe. Would they now have to go back down the river to distribute them? Peter wondered. But Thompson had drawn a rough map for William Henry to follow to Spokane House and directions for Finan McDonald to take the goods downstream. To his own men he said, “I’ll ride east over the mountains to get the goods Mr. Henry couldn’t bring. Who will volunteer to stay here and build a stout canoe and, for double the pay, go back downriver with me to Spokane House when I return?”

To Peter’s astonishment, as one man, the entire crew stepped forward. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so himself. The corners of Thompson’s mouth turned up briefly, and he shook his head. “No, Boulard. I prefer that you go beyond the Athabasca post and take care of a matter for me.” He said nothing to Peter.

Two days later Peter was glad to see Young Joseph, their Iroquois guide, appear as they were getting ready to leave. There would be six of them now to lead the horses back through the pass and load them again so once more they could slog through the snow on the return to the Columbia River.