Читать книгу Shaman's Dream: The Modoc War - Lu Boone's Mattson - Страница 30

“… but if they prevailed, then what would you say?”

Meacham did not often take an ironic view, but Knapp’s question threw him into that mode. “Taking the longest view possible, I would say that it wouldn’t make a particle of difference to any of us.”

Knapp seemed surprised to have gotten an answer he wanted. “Right!” he said. “You’ve got it. We’d all be dead. I think it’s a mistake not to send back to Linkville now. What good are a dozen men to us there?”

Meacham and his agent sat waiting outside the mat sleeping-hut the Modoc women had set up for them the previous night. The sage fire flared up fiercely when more brush was piled on the embers; it roared a while, then sank as quickly down again, letting the cold resume its attack. The Klamath women and McKay had settled into the bed of one of the wagons, their meager blankets and a canvas pulled over them. George Nurse and Gus Horn were holed up somewhere. The drovers were off by themselves at a second fire, which also had been brightening on and off fitfully through the night.

It was hard to say how late it had grown, and Meacham didn’t want to dig for his watch. Between the flurries, the sky would seem to widen out but never quite clear; then it would lower again and the snow would wrap itself once more around them, the little sleety flakes dusting their robes and disappearing into the fire.

“I say it ought to be now,” Knapp said. “If we wait long enough, we might as well save the trouble of sending for anyone.”

The agent shoved back the robe that was covering him and struggled to his feet. He crossed to the far side of the campfire and peered through the dark, off toward the dozen or so lodges that made up the village. As their own fire dimmed, Meacham could see across it to Jack’s big house. Smoke still circled up from the roof-hole, and here and there chinks of light showed through the mat and sod roof. The same sounds of haranguing came across the brittle air, interrupted on and off by shouts of derision. Then they would subside and another voice would take up the monotonous arguing. Once in a while he could make out what sounded like Toby. Under it all came the sound of the kiuks, chanting.

The agent stamped away into the darkness and returned with another armload of brush. The look of disgust was easy enough to read as the flames flashed up once again and he settled back into his blankets.

“How long do you think it would take to get there?” Meacham asked, relenting; then he answered his own question. “Two hours up and back on a fast horse; another hour to get them moving.” Just then one of the drovers heading into the darkness caught his attention, and the superintendent watched him. “In the best of circumstances, if all goes well, we would have them down here in the morning anyway. But you’re right. If something gets fouled up, we would wish we had sent for them tonight. Have it your way, Knapp,” he said, “I give in. Go ahead and send someone now. Tell him to say he’s looking for stray horses if they stop him.”

Knapp was on his feet and headed toward the drovers’ fire before Meacham could reconsider. “But make sure he goes quietly. And make sure he understands: They must come in absolute silence and stop well short of here. Absolute quiet, you hear? See to it. No mistakes.”