Dreams of Eagles Read online

  “This ain’t no Injun,” Sparks grumbled.

  Despite himself, and he was immediately irritated at himself for doing so, Jamie twisted in the saddle and looked behind him. He could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Now, Sparks,” Preacher said. “Don’t you be tryin’ to spook me and Jamie. We got to make camp shortly ’cause the night is fast upon us.”

  “I ain’t tryin’ to spook nobody,” Sparks insisted. “But something is damn shore followin’ us. I been feelin’ it in my guts all day. Started last night. But I was loathe to say anything about it.”

  “It’s your imagination, Sparks,” Jamie said.

  “Tain’t no such of a thing, neither,” Sparks said sullenly.

  “Looks pretty good up ahead, Jamie,” Preacher said. “I’ll scout it out. I’m gettin’ hungry around my mouth and that deer you kilt earlier today ain’t gettin’ no tenderer.”

  Camp made and the venison cooking, the men settled in for the night. But Sparks kept looking nervously around him. Preacher was amused by the man’s antics and so was Jamie.

  “Laugh,” Sparks told them. “But I tell you both that something is out there.”

  “Shore there is,” Preacher replied. “They’s grizzlies by the hundreds, wolves and panthers by the thousands, and all sorts of other critters. Relax, Sparks. We got a warm fire, plenty to eat, and good company. Life can’t get no better than this.”

  But while Jamie and Preacher slept soundly that night, Sparks was up every hour, walking around the camp, stopping to listen to the darkness. A little before dawn split the sky, Sparks managed to sleep a couple of hours. But he was the first one up and had coffee made and meat sizzling before the others opened their eyes.

  “Sasquatch didn’t come and tote you off, huh, Sparks?” Preacher questioned with a grin.

  “Very funny,” Sparks said sourly.

  The camp had been set up in a tiny clearing, the lushness of deep timber all around them. Preacher was sitting with his back to a tree, Jamie sitting across the fire from him. Sparks had gotten up to walk once more around the camp as the men waited for full light before heading west. They were already saddled up and packed and ready to go.

  Preacher was gnawing on a piece of meat and Jamie was enjoying a cup of coffee when Preacher felt someone tap him on the shoulder. “What do you want, Sparks?”

  The tap came again. Heavier this time.

  “Huh?” Sparks called from across the clearing.

  “I said what do you want? You tapped me twicet on the shoulder.”

  “How the hell could I tap you on the shoulder when I’m twenty-five feet away lookin’ at you?”

  Preacher froze where he sat, the meat on a stick forgotten. Two seconds later, the camp erupted in activity and thirty seconds later the men were in the saddle, heading west.

  Had they looked behind them, they would have seen a Nez Perce named Night Stalker bent over in the clearing, convulsed with laughter. Preacher had played a trick on him several years back, and when Night Stalker picked up their trail the day before, he thought this would be a fine time to return the favor. Night Stalker sat down where Preacher had been sitting, for the spot was warm, and ate the venison. This was going to be a good story to tell around the fires back at his village. He would get a lot of laughs for pulling this trick.

  Night Stalker stopped chuckling when something tapped him on the shoulder. One minute later, Night Stalker was a good quarter of a mile from the clearing and galloping his pony hard.

  Maybe he wouldn’t tell this story after all.

  * * *

  When the three men reached Oregon Territory, Preacher decided to cut south for a trading post and Sparks opted to head north up to the Whitman Mission. Jamie pushed on west. Weeks later, he sat his horse on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean and marveled at the sight. He turned Horse’s head and rode south. He’d check out California—or at least part of it. Weeks later, after talking with a dozen or more trappers and fixing creeks and water holes firmly in his mind, he decided to head on back to the valley and Kate. This time, he vowed, he would stay put. Jamie had no way of knowing, but staying put was not in the cards for him.

  Jamie resupplied and headed back, riding east, straight across the center of what would someday become Nevada, crossing mountain ranges and desert, memorizing everything he saw.

  It was late spring when Jamie topped the ridge that led to the valley. Everything was as he had left it, nearly a year ago, except for two new cabins. He sat his horse and watched as a tall young man rode up to meet him—Jamie Ian. Good Lord! but the boy had grown. Jamie quickly did a little figuring. His oldest son was nearabouts sixteen years old.

  Father and son stayed in their saddles and stared at each other for a few moments. Jamie finally broke the silence. “Son. How’s your mother?”

  “Fine, Pa. She’s been lookin’ to the west most every day, waitin’ on you.”

  “Well, I’m home now, boy. And home is where I intend to stay.”

  “Ma’ll be pleased to hear that,” Ian said drily.

  Jamie ignored the sarcasm and asked, “Any word from Andrew and Rosanna?”

  “Two letters. Grandpa brought one, and a trapper name of Nighthawk brought the other. Ma got your letter and was some thrilled about it.”

  “Two new cabins down yonder.”

  “Settlers come in and asked if they could stay. Mister Sam, he said he reckoned it would be all right, but the final word would have to come from you.”

  “Good people?”

  “Real nice, Pa. Daniel and Marsha Noble and their kids. Wiley and Anne Harper and their children. They got a daughter name of Linda. Me and Linda been sort of sparkin’ some. We think we’ll get married this summer. We was waitin’ on you to come back.”

  Jamie grunted. “Married, huh? What’s your ma have to say about that?”

  “She said she’d wait and talk to you about it.”

  “This girl, how old is she?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Both of you mighty damn young, don’t you think?”

  “Old as you and Ma was.”

  “For a fact, I reckon. But times are changing.” Jamie’s eyes twinkled. “This girl you’re sweet on ... she’s pretty, huh?”

  “Got hair the color of wheat, Pa. Blue eyes. ’Bout the size of Ma.”

  “Well, we’ll talk about it.”

  “Me and Linda is betrothed, Pa. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I didn’t say I was against it, Ian. But we’ll still talk about it. And that’s all there is to that.” Jamie lifted the reins and rode down the grade without looking back.

  Ian came galloping up and grabbed hold of Horse’s reins. Horse almost took his arm off and Ian jerked back just in time. “I’ll fight you, Pa,” the young man said hotly. “Don’t you stand in my way.”

  Jamie kept his composure. He was still very much young enough to remember how hot the blood gets between a boy and a girl when they sparked. “Boy,” Jamie said. “Don’t you ever show temper to me. Not ever again. Your ma and I will talk about this and meet with you and the girl and her parents. I reckon you’re a man all grown up now. And it’s time you settled down and started a family. But don’t you ever bow up to me again. I’ll jerk you out of that saddle and kick your ass from here to Bent’s Fort. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Pa,” Ian said quickly and wisely.

  “Fine.” Jamie reined in close and put a massive arm around his son’s shoulders. “Now, boy. You and this girl ain’t been doin’ no bundlin’, have you?”

  “Pa! No!” Then he grinned. “I tried once, and she like to have took my head off.”

  “She should have. Now, then, before we get to the settlement. Your sister was makin’ goo-goo eyes at William and Lydia’s oldest boy, Bill, when I left. What’s going on there?”

  “They sorta want to get married, too.”

  Jamie grinned. “Winter nights, they do get long, don’t they, boy?”

  “Pa!
”

  Jamie reached out and dug a thumb into the boy’s ribs, and laughing, father and son rode down to the settlement side by side.

  The Nobles and the Harpers had all heard of Jamie Ian MacCallister and his exploits, but none of them were prepared for the big man who swung down from the huge mean-eyed stallion and swept up Kate in his massive arms and kissed her lustily right in front of God and everybody. Then damned if he didn’t kiss her again and pat her on the butt. Kate slapped his hand away, but not too hard. It was obvious to all that the two were very much in love and always would be.

  Jamie shook hands with the men and kissed all the ladies and greeted all the kids, while the Harper and Noble families and their broods hung back, not really knowing what to expect from this mountain of a man.

  But Jamie soon put them at ease. An eatin’ on the grounds was planned for that evening, and Jamie and Kate disappeared into their cabin, while Jamie Ian and Ellen Kathleen made certain the kids stayed out.

  “How come?” the younger ones demanded.

  “I’ll explain when you’re older,” Ellen Kathleen said.

  Jamie and Kate’s first born were all grown up.

  * * *

  It was quite a feast. There was fried chicken, venison, pork roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, hot fresh bread, and plenty of dried apple pie. It was quite a gathering for the settlement now had fifty-nine people in it, a very respectable number. Many established towns back east didn’t have that many residents. Jamie and Kate had spoken with the girl’s parents late that afternoon—after they had reacquainted themselves a couple of times first—and all had agreed that their children could marry. But not until cabins were raised and furniture was made—especially beds. Ian and Linda and Ellen Kathleen and Bill all blushed furiously at that.

  Somebody brought out a jug and all the men had a drink. What the men didn’t know was that the ladies had made several gallons of wine the past summer and were doing their own toasting back of the cabin. Ladies simply did not do much imbibing of hard liquor back in 1843.

  That the men knew about.

  Seventeen

  The double wedding was planned for June, which would give the ladies time to sew up wedding dresses and Jamie time to melt and mold four gold wedding bands for the kids. Sam was astonished when Jamie finally took him into his confidence and showed him his vein.

  “Jamie!” the older man exclaimed. “Do you know what this means?”

  “It means that none of my family will ever want for anything they really need. And that’s all it means. Sam, mountain men have known of gold in these mountains for years. We just don’t want a bunch of pilgrims swarming in here, that’s all.”

  “But Jamie, this country would grow and expand with businesses and people and churches if this was known.”

  “And the Indians aren’t ready for that, Sam. Settlers will be along soon enough. Then the Indians will fight and they’ll die and the survivors will be put on reservations to rot. Let’s give them a little more time.”

  “I will never understand your love for the Indians, Jamie.”

  “They’re free, Sam. But they won’t be for long.”

  Jamie decided to ride to Bent’s Fort for supplies and for once, Jamie Ian did not pester him to go along. The boy was so much in love he was walking into trees. Swede, Wells, and Sam opted to go, and they pulled out one warm morning in late spring, trailing a long string of pack mules and horses, for the settlement had grown so that many more supplies were needed to sustain the group.

  “You really crossed barren deserts, Jamie?” Wells asked.

  “I’ll say I did. Me and Horse.”

  Horse was out to pasture for a long rest and to breed with some selected mares. Jamie was riding the big appaloosa, Thunder, and the stallion was ready for the trail and showed it. When Jamie would let him, he pranced, head held high and mean eyes taking in all that lay before him.

  “And the ocean is vast?” Wells asked.

  “Like nothing I had seen before. Just rolled on endlessly. It sort of held you in its power. The longer you looked at it the stronger it held on to you.”

  “I’d like to see it,” the black man said, then grinned. “But to tell the truth, I’m content to be livin’ as a free man.”

  Stories about the valley where Jamie and the others had settled had spread back east; many folks had taken a notion to settle there, but it wasn’t easy to do so. The difficulty was twofold: the valley was very hard to find, and those who were already there were being very selective about who settled in the valley. Half a dozen families had rolled in over the years and after looking them over and talking among themselves, the newcomers had been told to keep on traveling.

  Some of those had professed a dislike for negroes; others had looked down their noses at Mexicans. In MacCallister’s valley, as it was now called, the color of a man’s skin went unnoticed; it was the man himself who counted. Some westward movers had been white trash, shiftless rawhiders who would forever be expecting something for nothing, constantly whining about one thing or the other. They were called rawhiders because when they patched something, they used rawhide to hold it together for the moment, instead of taking the time to repair it to last.

  A few had taken umbrage at being told to move on. But one look into Jamie’s cold eyes was usually all it took to get them going. Only one man had elected to fight. He had been buried among the others in what the kids had started calling “Outlaw Acres.” The adults had attempted to stop that but to no avail. They had finally given up and Outlaw Acres remained the name of the final resting place for those who chose to live by the outlaw code.

  * * *

  Back in the States, 1843 saw other changes and events. The Oregon Bill passed the Senate, but the bill to encourage migration to the Northwest died in the House. A thousand pioneers left Elm Grove, Missouri, bound for Oregon. John Fremont and his friend and guide Kit Carson started their second expedition. Jamie was asked to go along and politely refused. A shaky truce was declared between Mexico and the Republic of Texas. A convention in Ohio adopted a resolution to make 54-40 the American line for the Oregon Territory, thereby pushing the boundaries to take in what would someday be Washington State. Washington, D.C. started to show interest in annexing Texas, but Sam Houston was opposed to it. James Bridger opened Fort Bridger on a fork of the Green River in southwest Wyoming.

  * * *

  But those in the long and lush and peaceful valley would know little of these events until long afterward. The newspapers and the few magazines they read were months old by the time they reached Bent’s Fort; another few months old before they reached MacCallister’s Valley. The settlers there were content; they enjoyed news of the outside, but it didn’t really affect them. They felt insulated from outside events. The Indians in the area were their friends; they visited each other and traded back and forth. They learned from one another, with neither side making any effort to change the way of the other . . . no matter how strange they might have seemed.

  * * *

  On the trek to Bent’s Fort, the men saw only a few Indians, and they were friendly—and not just because of the reputation of Man Who Is Not Afraid, also called lately, Bear Killer. The Indians in the area had seen, over the years, that those who settled in the valley respected the land. Unlike most whites, they hunted only for food and, again unlike most whites, used all of the animal that was useable. There were many other little things that did not go unnoticed by the Indians.

  A day from the fort, Jamie was ranging far out ahead when he spotted a small band of Cheyenne. Jamie knew he spotted them only because they wanted him to spot them. He rode over to the band and made the sign of peace and friend.

  “Bear Killer,” the leader said, after signaling peace and friend. “All is well with you?”

  “Life is good and all my family and friends are well. How are things in your village?”

  “Very fine. Hunting is good and sickness has stayed away. We are returning from the walled fort
and we have news. No time to sit and smoke and that saddens me.”

  “As it also saddens me,” Jamie replied. “For Dark Hand is a good friend. We must hunt together sometime.”

  “It would be an honor. Bear Killer, there are many men at the fort who ask quiet questions about you. They are not good men, I think. They smell very bad and seem to not like to bathe their bodies. They all have sneaky ways and shifty eyes.”

  Contrary to what has been written by a number of people, most Indian tribes maintained very strict hygienic practices, often times breaking the winter’s ice daily to bathe. Only a few tribes chose to live in filth and they were looked down upon by the other tribes and associating with them was strictly taboo.

  “I have heard the names Sax-on and Big-ers mentioned several times,” Dark Hand concluded. “They are enemies of yours, Bear Killer?”

  “Yes. Old enemies.”

  Dark Hand shrugged. “Then the answer is simple. We shall wait here with you and when the smelly white men come, we shall kill them.”

  Jamie knew that he had to answer that very wisely, for to refuse outright would be a great insult. “Your offer is much appreciated, but I think it would be unwise for you to involve yourself in this, Dark Hand. For if just one of the smelly white men got away, then the alarm would be sounded against all Indians in the area.”

  “Ummmm,” Dark Hand said. “Yes. You are right. Bear Killer is wise beyond his years. And kind, too, for putting our safety over that of his own.” He looked at the long string of mules and horses. “Your village is growing, yes?”

  “Yes. And there is to be a wedding in two moons. My oldest son and the daughter of a friend.”

  “They have my blessing,” the Cheyenne said. “May they have strong, brave sons and beautiful and obedient daughters. Ahhh,” he sighed. “This younger generation now. No respect for their elders. I tell you, Bear Killer, I don’t know what is going to become of them.” He lifted his painted hand. “We go!”

  Jamie rode back to the others. “Trouble?” Swede asked.

  “Not from them. Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”