Into the Savage Country (9 page)

“There are many wondrous sights,” I said.

“Then we should begin at once,” he said.

I considered refusing but could think of no plausible excuse, and so a quarter of an hour later we were mounted and moving down the sloped sides of the bluff to the flatlands at the end of the loop and then back up to the high point on the ridge with the
great gray river meandering far off to the west. Layton did not know the land at all, but after twenty minutes of riding he began to spur his horse ahead of mine. He was a fine rider with that wonderful thoroughbred, but he caused himself much backtracking by assuming he knew our destination when he did not. And yet, despite this annoying quality of riding foolishly ahead when he had no idea where he was going, the dandyish parts of his personality were mostly suppressed while we were away from the settlement. Other, more favorable qualities emerged. There was a steel and strength and grit in Layton that I had not expected and he seemed alive to all the flora and fauna and the muted winter beauty of the prairie. And he did not gab at all as we rode, which surprised me. I thought perhaps his recent hardships had helped to improve his nature. But he did have that damnable quality of wanting to lead when he did not know where he was going. I judged him a capable man, but proud, and with many irritating qualities.

By the time we arrived back at the settlement it was getting dark and Layton said, “I’ll be staying on for a week and then traveling to the trapping regions, where I have business to conduct.”

“What business could there be in the mountains in winter?”

He did not answer directly, but only said, “You’ll know soon enough. Come by tomorrow, Wyeth. We’ll ride again.”

We parted and I started off to tell Alene that Henry Layton had arrived in the settlement with some mysterious “business.” I planned on making it sound haughty and ridiculous, but halfway to her cottage I changed my mind. I knew she’d hear of Layton’s arrival and of his business, but I thought it would not be me who encouraged their meetings. In St. Louis I had seen Layton on her doorstep, and I remembered how Layton had snapped his belt hooks and said his shackles were his own.

I started back to my quarters and when I passed Smitts’s lodging house I saw Layton in the doorway, bent over in imitation of an old or enfeebled man, making all the merchants in the settlement burst out in derisive laughter. I laughed, too, and despite myself, I was glad for Layton’s arrival, if only for the novelty it presented.

The next afternoon as I trotted past Alene’s cottage I saw her knocking icicles off the roof with a piece of wood. It had snowed half a foot the night before and the world was white and sparkling and all shapes were silhouettes against the blinding snow.

“You saw an old friend last night,” she said as I rode up.

“Yes. And by the prints that lead here I know you must have seen him, too.”

“Oh, yes. He graced me with his presence this morning, pretending to come for my benefit, the bereaved widow, but that did not keep him from making his own proposition.”

I held a hand to my cheek. “Did you give him your usual answer?”

“I would have struck him with more than my palm if I had the chance, but he is quicker than others. And his assault was halfhearted at best. He knows what I think of him. He’s a vile man. He ruined Horace on purpose to punish him for our marriage.”

I gave her a skeptical look, as this seemed far-fetched even for Layton.

“Perhaps he simply meant to aid Bailey at a desperate time,” I said.

“It is true he framed it in that way,” Alene said. “But it was an ill-advised scheme and meant to ruin him. I am sure of it, though Horace would never have believed it. He pitied the vile fellow.”

“I can hardly imagine Layton warranted that emotion.”

“Horace knew him in his youth and spoke gravely of a father perpetually engaged in business and a doting, frivolous mother. The poor little prince with all he desired in the world except his father’s approval. Being the petulant creature he is, when Layton realized he would never please his father, he set out to displease him immensely, which he had great success at.”

“I am brimming with compassion for the poor dandy,” I said, and noticed with satisfaction that Alene held laughter.

“Layton had some moderate hardships, to be sure, as have many others,” she said. “But others brave their hardships stoically. Layton seems to have made it his life’s work to take his bile out on the world, which I’m sure you saw yourself. I heard you went riding with him.”

“I have little to complain of on that account. He has a magnificent horse and is a fine rider, though he was constantly spurring ahead when he had no idea where he was going.” Alene laughed at that.

“I don’t believe he’s taken instruction from anyone in his life. Or taken into account another’s sentiments.”

She seemed to be referring to something in particular, and I said, “Did he bring you news of St. Louis?”

“Oh, yes, wonderful missives from Horace’s family. Layton tells me of their meanspirited slander because he thinks it will anger me into shortening my mourning period.”

“Did he tell you the purpose of his journey here?” I asked.

“Business,” she said, mimicking his manner.

“Did he elaborate?”

“Not yet. But he will. Layton is too full of self-regard to keep a secret for long. And he believes any plan of his a monumental development in the world. He is preparing some venture in the
fur trade. There is no other reason for his presence. Do you not agree?”

“I’m sure of it,” I said.

I owed her payment for treated pelts and handed her a lump of coins. It was necessary to step close to hand her the money, and as I did I heard a distant cracking sound. The old hag who lived on the south wing of the infirmary, which was in sight of Alene’s cottage, was knocking snow and icicles from her doorway in an energetic, disapproving manner, casting disparaging glances in our direction.

“You make friends wherever you go, William,” Alene said.

“I don’t know why I oughtn’t be seen as friendly. I am not here on bended knee with roses. Tell her we are engaged in profitable industry.”

“She is under the bewildering impression that there can be no profitable interaction with a trapper.”

“Slander and defamation,” I said.

“She has her opinion.”

“And what is your opinion?” I asked.

“Trappers are admirable men,” she said without hesitation. “Admirable, but who will always put their desire to wander above all else. It is an exciting life for those engaged in the industry, but an unsatisfying one for those left behind.”

“But they are left behind only temporarily,” I pointed out.

“But that temporary absence can stretch to years. I endured that life of waiting as a child. I will not settle for it now that I can choose otherwise.” She said that last part emphatically. I felt she was telling me something and I made a note of it.

“Well, I don’t plan on spending my golden years on a buffalo robe,” I said. “And, anyway, the business cannot last. They say the land will be trapped out in a year or two.”

“They said the same in my father’s time.”

“I do not know what they said in his time, but it is true now,” I said.

The hag was now bashing ice in a basin.

“I am off for the lowlands,” I said. “If I manage to kill a goose I will bring it to you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I won’t know what to do with it otherwise. It will only trouble me if you refuse. I will return later,” I said, and rode off.

All day I ran the implications of that conversation over in my mind. She was critical of Layton—that was certain—but I also noticed that her manner was quicker and livelier that morning than it had been since I’d seen her in St. Louis, and for the first time in the settlement she did not seem like she was in mourning.

If there had been any doubt before, I understood clearly on that day that Layton was there in the settlement for Alene and was my enemy.

Over the next week Layton brought a feeling of liveliness and wicked merriment to the settlement. It was like a piece of St. Louis had been set down in Fort Burnham with all its vividness, glamour, prejudices, and vice. The men would gather around Layton to hear him talk of his business ventures, his pranks, his feuds with various men, and his affairs with women. Men who would not spend a dime on liquor suddenly were paying for Taos Whiskey and cherry brandy. The few women in the settlement put on silk dresses because a gentleman from St. Louis was passing through. Layton seemed to be in secret negotiations with Smitts about something that Smitts appeared very eager to pursue, so I knew it must involve a large sum of money. Layton’s bill
at the lodging house must have made Smitts’s year, as an entire entourage of mule drivers and scouts arrived three days after him. These drivers and packers were always hanging about Layton, laughing loudly at his jests, and gave an undercurrent of menace to the half threats that were sometimes laced in his conversation. One of these mule handlers was the trapper Max Grignon whom I’d first seen tormenting the wounded buffalo at the surround on the day I was injured. I will have the misfortune of speaking of Grignon further. It should suffice for now to say that Grignon was the chief mischief-maker among Layton’s men, and seemed to be involved in underhanded dealings with the local merchants.

Layton’s stay stretched on for two weeks and he entered into every corner of life in the settlements. I admired his energy and enjoyed riding with him, finding his conversation to be consistently lively and engaging, though there was also an undercurrent of unease inside me whenever I was with him, and an unpleasant residue remained after we parted. It was as if I sensed I was being conned, though I could not have said in what way. I found myself resisting him in my mind, a resistance that was strengthened by conversation with Alene, who at least claimed to loathe Layton above all others, though she seemed fascinated by him as well.

On the day before he departed, Layton and I sat across from each other at Smitts’s lodging house, a bottle between us.

“You mean to join a brigade in the spring. Am I right?” he said.

“If I find one that’ll take me,” I said.

“Well, keep your dance card clear. I’ll be back in late winter and we’ll earn our fame and fortune together. Meanwhile, try to look after the widow. She has false ideas about me and will not take assistance if she knows it comes from me. She’ll see the truth in time, but I fear it will be too late to help her. She’s a fine
woman. Better than Bailey deserved, God rest his soul. He was a weak-willed man.”

“Will she get his money?”

“If she had any sense she’d have returned to fight and have it now, but she’s afraid to be seen as profiting off his death and refuses to fight them during the mourning period. Others aren’t so delicate. I will do what I can from here. But try to keep her alive, Wyeth.”

I began to say it was hardly my place to say I would do anything for her, but something in the way he said it—he was genuine—made me say I’d do what she’d allow.

“Well, make her allow you to do more, Wyeth. Don’t be such a scarecrow.”

This was an epithet my father had used.

“I will take your example and not be,” I said, and that stung him.

His temper rose, but he mastered it and smacked his hand on the table.

“Blast it, Wyeth. I will not quarrel with you.” He rapped the table with the butt of his pistol. “Smitts, you blackguard. Our bottle is empty! Are you an innkeeper? Smitts!”

We had two more drinks together and made a lively time of it, and when I went to pay my bill Layton had already paid it. He was good in that way.

As I was passing back through the tavern I saw Layton handing that muttonchopped Grignon a blue envelope that I could see held money.

“Tell her it came from the Baileys and that the envelope was soaked and only the money remained. Don’t mention my name. And leave before she opens it.”

Layton had not said any of this as quietly as he could have,
and later I understood that he wanted all present to understand that he was aiding the widow with money. That was Layton in a nutshell. He could buy you a drink and do a good deed, but he could not do it without others knowing he’d done it.

Layton left the next day and once he was gone I hardly knew what I thought of him. Some men, despite their good deeds, are a drag on the soul and dampen all humor. Layton was the opposite. Though undoubtedly a scoundrel, he made the heart beat faster and filled the air with jesting and wit and the force of his personality, and he carried in his being an undeniable spark of intelligence and life, if not goodness.

As I get older, despite the destruction such men sometimes cause, I value that spark for its own sake.

The crackle and smell of cooked fat dripping into the fire, baked apples with cinnamon, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie, walnuts that had been brought up on the last keelboat, and bread from native flour. With the money from the furs, Alene had repaired her cottage, installing an oven with a crooked pipe going out through the roof. She’d put buffalo robes on the floor and hidden her bed behind sailcloth that she’d arranged artfully into a kind of canopy. After the renovations she’d invited Meeks and me, her two friends in the settlement, for dinner.

Meeks, that garrulous, awkward physician, seemed to have no interest in her as a woman, and filled the conversation with mixed trivialities and private fascinations. At the time I thought of Meeks as an old man, but he was only forty, and I wonder now if he was in love with her, and if he showed his affection through apparent indifference to her appearance and garrulousness that bordered on banality.

“Have you seen the buffalo herds? Magnificent. And the plovers when they flap overhead? I rode out once to see them as they passed the tip of the great loop. It took a full hour for them to go over. Wondrous sight. It darkened the air. And it reminds me. Curious thing. I was out near the native encampment and as I passed I saw our visitor, Henry Layton, conversing with the squaws.”

“I’m sure it was conversing he was up to,” Alene said.