Treasure Mountain (1972) (16 page)

We studied around but found no sign to identify anything. We went west along the slope. Right above us we could see the trees flagging as they do when the strong winds work on them, and here and there were brown tops on the green trees where the tops had stuck out of the snow and frozen.

My belly was asking questions of me before we spotted the first fort. It was lined-up rocks, tumbled this way and that, but it was clear to see that somebody had forted up here long ago. Not many yards west, we found the other camp, and right away I saw what pa meant.

Whoever built the second camp knew what he was about. He had shaped it for comfort and a good field of fire in all directions. A place had been found where boulders and stunted trees made a partial wall against the prevailing winds, which were indicated by the way the trees flagged. On mountain tops the branches are apt to be all or mostly on one side of a tree, streaming out the way the wind blows.

More time had been taken with this second fort, the rocks had been fitted better, so some of them still sat fixed as they'd been left. It was obvious that, although there'd been a split in the camp, each wanted to have support from the other in case of Indians.

And from all reports, the Indians had come.

We poked around inside the second circle of rocks. We found a button and a broken tinderbox and nothing else that spoke of human habitation.

"The three big caches were probably sunk deep by order of the officer in command, and my guess is they were done damned well," said Orrin. "The army expected to return for them, and they would be buried to be excavated by the army. Those little caches Baston found and the one Pettigrew probably found were buried shallow or hidden in hollows of rocks or trees, somewhere the men who hid them could grab them quick.

"Are you thinking what I am? That Indian or mountain man pa mentioned might have taken that second outfit toward the west."

"Uh-huh." I said. "Two camps like this mean there was trouble, as pa figured, and if they did go west they could have gone south from Pagosa Springs to Santa Fe, or even further west."

We sat silent, considering that. Our thoughts were strangely captured by that mysterious mountain man who was with them. Had the military chosen him as guide?

Had he come from New Orleans with them or joined them en route? Or could he have come upon them in the mountains?

There was a route from Shalako to Santa Fe, certainly traveled by Rivera in 1765, and by Escalante about 1776. There could have been others before them--perhaps a hundred or more years before them--and any man who knew the country would know of the old Spanish Trail.

We were on a sort of mesa above the San Juan River. From the timber cut down and the way things looked the French army had a permanent camp here, with quite a few horses. Another party of Frenchmen had come in afterwards, and they must have arrived and departed only a few years before pa and his party came there.

When I mentioned that, Orrin said, "Departed? Maybe."

Off to one side we found evidence of quite a battle. Old shells were lying about, and they had to be from a later crowd. When the first bunch was here there were only muzzle-loaders, and there were signs of some quick defensive positions thrown up--they might have been wiped out by the Utes.

"Pa was keepin' that daybook," I said to Orrin. "He figured somehow to get it to us, so he must've left his mark around here. Maybe some mark only a Sackett would know."

"What would that be?" Orrin asked, and he had me there. Nonetheless, I was looking. It had to be something that would last. We were mere boys then, so we'd not be hunting for him or coming west until years later. Yet pa was a man given to considering, and he'd talked about the western lands, had prepared us for what was to come. He had wandered the west, and he was wishful we would do the same.

We found nothing a man could tie to. There had been holes dug, some of them by folks who came later, but none of them looked ambitious. Whether all that gold was buried in one hole or three, it must have been well dug and well lined.

Whoever was in command had the man power and the will, I was sure of that.

Judging by what I knew of such affairs, it seemed to me they had started to break up toward the end when one crowd wanted to leave and another wanted to stay or go by another route. It takes a mighty fine discipline to hold men together when trouble is creeping up on you. Yet without discipline there is surely disaster. The best discipline comes from within a man, but you'll never get a party of men together where all have it.

This bunch had split, and most of the discipline was in the camp that had the mountain man. I don't mean one of those trappers, like pa and Kit Carson or Bridger--they came later. I mean a man who had lived in the mountains before and knew how to get along.

"Orrin," I said, "we'd better be lookin' down that trail. We're about to run out of time."

"We'll do it together," he said. "I wish Tyrel was with us."

" 'If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,'" I quoted at him. "A body shouldn't heed what might be. He's got to do with what is.

"There's a whole lot of mountain here, and you and me packed a rifle over mountains before either of us was knee-high to a possum. Anyway, it does no good to pack up an' run. A body has to stay in there and fight. No matter how many times you get knocked down you got to keep gettin' up until the other man quits."

"Easier said," Orrin commented.

"Well, I knew of a man who was defeated by just about everything. He failed in business back in 1831. He was defeated for the legislature in 1832, failed in business again in 1833, was elected to the legislature in 1834. His sweetheart died in 1835. He had a nervous breakdown in 1836, was defeated for speaker in 1838, defeated for land officer in 1843, defeated for Congress in 1843, elected to Congress in 1846, defeated for reelection in 1848, defeated for the Senate in 1855, defeated for vice-president in 1856, and defeated for the Senate in 1858."

"I'd of quit," Orrin said.

"No you wouldn't. I know you too well. This man didn't quit either. He was elected president in 1860."

"What?"

"Sure. His name was Abraham Lincoln."

Chapter
XVII

Our camp was about a mile from Nell's. She had located not far from Silver Falls, and we were down creek from her just beyond the beaver ponds.

Tinker was back at camp when Orrin and me dropped down off Treasure Mountain.

"She's all right," he told us. "Anybody who'd take after her with that animal about would be crazy. All the time I was there he watched every move I made and growled if I got too close to her."

"She pannin' today?"

"Some--showing some color, too. Not much, but if she can stay with it in that cold water she'll come out with a stake."

"It's better than huntin' that gold. Why, this here mountain must cover thirty-square miles! There's no tellin' where they hid the stuff, and a man could work his life away and come up empty."

Orrin filled his cup. "Tell? What do you think we should do? We've found no clue to pa. If you're right and that other party went west, he might have done the same, if he got out."

"He must've lived. There's still a few pages of the daybook covered with writin'. But what he was wishful of us knowing he'd guard somehow. We've got to read carefully. I say we read what he says, and then we should work that mountain one time more. You know, pa knew the country west of here. He told us about time spent on the Dolores River."

We ate, and then we brewed some fresh coffee. Just as I'd gotten out the daybook we heard an animal coming and eased back from the firelight.

A voice called out of the darkness, "Hello, the fire! I'm coming in!"

It was Nell Trelawney astride that mule Jacob, with Neb trailing alongside. "I got lonesome," she said, "seeing your fire. I decided to come along down."

"Set down. We're about to read from pa's daybook. We've got to listen sharp for a clue."

... drew my knife and waited. Nobody come. After awhile I crawled out of the brush, and then I was shamed. That bullet done me no harm. It must have hit something before me. Anyway, it hit my belt and tomahawk handle, nigh cutting the belt in two, gouging the handle, and bruising my hipbone.

Nobody was around. I crawled to Pierre and he was still alive. Working in the dark I got his wounds stopped up with moss and eased him where he lay.

Two days have passed. At daybreak I set both of Pierre's legs in splints. Doubt if he will ever walk if he lives. Made a travois with two poles, two buffalo coats. Put bottoms of coats together, ran the poles through the arms of each coat, then buttoned the coats and managed to get Pierre on it.

The horses had disappeared, whether taken or driven off I didn't know. Andre and Swan had taken all the food but the little I had in my gear, and I'd little to do with.

Taking up the ends of the two poles, I started out. It was a slow business.

Pierre was hurting and the trail narrow. By nightfall I'd reached the spring near Windy Pass. I figured to hit the valley of the West Fork of the San Juan and follow the San Juan.

I am writing this beside the spring at Windy Pass. We have had a little to eat.

Pierre says Andre fears Philip, but shot Pierre not only because of hate, but because he wished to inherit. "He will be fooled," Pierre said. "I left all to Philip."

We are somewhat sheltered here, but the wind is cold. It has the feel of snow from the high peaks.

"Is it not late for snow?" Judas asked.

"Not in these mountains. He's nigh the end of May, but he's ten thousand feet up. I've seen bad snow storms in the Rockies later than that."

"We get only a part," the Tinker said. "He does not say how bad it is. He has drawn that travois, with a heavy man and all they have, more than six miles in one day."

Pa was never one for carryin' on about his hurts, but he had him a badly bruised hipbone, and haulin' the travois must have been a trial for a man of his years, even one as bull-strong as he was.

Just why pa chose the western route I wasn't sure--the first of it was easier, and also Andre and Swan had gone the other way and pa might have thought they'd be lyin' in wait to see if they were followed.

Right below the spring where pa stopped with Pierre, only about two miles away, was the valley of the West Fork of the San Juan, and a lovely valley it was.

I could picture them, Pierre lyin' there suffering in his pain, pa tired as all get-out what with pullin' a load at a high altitude and his hip bothering him and all. I'd had a few badly bruised bones, once from a bullet, another time when a bronc pitched me into some rocks, and the last time when a steer flung his head around and hit me with a horn.

The fire would be flickerin' on their faces, drawn and tired as they were, and right behind them the shadows of rocks and trees.

Orrin took up reading again. He had a better voice than me, and he made a better thing of it.

Pierre is at last asleep, which gives him relief. I have gathered wood for the night and the morning fire. My hip is bothering me, and I'm afraid it will stiffen during the night. I have been thinking much of ma and the boys, wondering if ever they will see these words, if ever they will know what has become of me. They are good boys, and will grow strong and tall. I wish I could be there to see them, but tonight I feel no confidence. A growing thing is in me, not a fear of Andre or of Utes, not even a fear of death, only a fear I shall not see them again.

I was awakened by muttering from Pierre. The man was delirious, and I worried. I looked at him in the fire's red light, and he looked wildly at me and muttered about Philip. I made hot broth and managed to get some of it into him, but he talked wildly of poison, of the death of his father, of some thin red line that ran through the Baston line, and a lot that made no sense to me.

June 2: Camp on the West Fork. Pierre in bad shape. His legs in splints, but nothing more I can do. They are in frightful shape. Several times he has thanked me for staying by him.

June 3: Same place. No more than 15 miles from where we started. Ute tracks, some unshod horses, nothing fresh. I must have fires to heat water. Hot water on his legs seems to ease him somewhat. The coffee is almost gone.

June 4: Pierre is dead! Went to the river for water and returning found him dead, stabbed three times in the heart. It was no Indian, for nothing was taken, not the coffee or the sugar, nor powder or lead.

Andre or Swan? I dare have no fire now. I shall bury Pierre, gather my few things, and take to the woods. I have just seen three of our horses grazing a little way downstream! I believe they will come to me for I always had something for them. I shall go now, and try.

That was the end of it. No more. Pa had gone to try for those horses.

"Nativity Pettigrew," I said. "He had the daybook. How did he come by it?"

"Maybe he was the one who murdered Pierre," the Tinker suggested. "Maybe when your pa went after the horses he came back, stole the book, and took off. You recall what your pa said? Pettigrew suspected him of writing things down? That daybook must have worried him."

"We've got to find that camp. That may be the last lead we get."