Better move quick, he thought and bolted for the river with her curses ringing in his ears, taking the water in a long flat dive just as the sun came over the mountains to the east. Sue was a few steps behind him; he felt a strong slender hand clamp around his ankle, after which she made a determined attempt at drowning him, which was fun. When they'd rolled deep and come up snorting they surfaced, to see Spring Indigo and Perks standing on the bank looking at them. Giernas exchanged a look with her, and they waded toward the shore, mud squelching between their toes. Perks made a halfhearted attempt to dodge, and gave a yelp as the man scooped him up and whirled in a half circle, throwing him five yards out into the slow-flowing stream. The dog landed with a tremendous splash and came up with an enormous sneeze, swimming strongly with his head out of the water. When he turned Indigo was still mock-struggling with Sue.
"You take the arms," he said. "I'll take the feet…"
"No!" A peal of laugher. "No!"
"One-two-heave."
He turned and dived back in himself, swimming deep. The water was clear for a river running through an alluvial plain, very clear once he was away from the bank, and he swam downward until he felt the strong cold hand of the current gripping him. With the young sun bright he could see waving waterweeds below him, and fish by the dozens-a huge sturgeon, some late chinook and steeleye. A river otter came by, pausing to look him directly in the face from about five feet away; he thought he saw it blink in astonishment before it curled about like a living ribbon and arrowed away, sinuous grace until it disappeared upstream.
Turning over on his back he saw the two women swimming by above. Hell of a pleasant sight, he thought, crouching on the bottom and driving for the surface.
By then his lungs were burning, and the first breath was almost agonizingly sweet. Well, so's life, he thought. He had good health, a fine young son, two women who liked him as much as he returned the favor, friends, the prospect of at least modest wealth and a bit of glory when he returned. Yeah, life's been treating me damned good. Life is good. Not being more given to self-examination than most healthy young men his age, the thought struck hard. And here I am, going off to where a bunch of homicidal strangers can shoot holes in me. I must be crazy. He couldn't even be accused of being yellow, not after the way they'd bushwacked the Tartessian patrol. Nobody would think much the less of him if he'd just taken the expedition off to the coast to hide out until the next ship arrived in San Francisco Bay.
Well, there's me, he thought wryly. I would. Hell, okay, I'll be sensible when I'm past thirty.
They swam ashore, passing Jaditwara and Eddie in the other direction; holding hands, this time, so they must be on the up cycle of their on-and-off personal relationship. I wish Eddie would get his act together and settle down, Giernas thought. Everyone knows it's going to happen eventually-except him.
As long as they didn't bring their split-up-make-up-repeat-cycle into business hours, and they didn't, it wasn't really his business as leader of the expedition, and as a friend there were certain things you just couldn't say. Particularly when Eddie had taken to responding with heavy-handed jokes about how lucky Giernas was not to have to pay bridewealth twice…
"Slugabeds!" he said.
They let the slow breeze from the south dry their skins as they ate breakfast-leftover stew from yesterday, and more of the everlasting bannock-bread made from acorn meal-before getting into their buckskins. Spring Indigo brought out a spoon and fed Jared a bit of acorn mush porridge, part of the slow weaning process her people used. The toddler ate a bit, looking a little uncertain at the taste, before making a dive for the faucets. Can't fault his taste, his father thought. He looked around the campsite, one of… Lord, how many? Hundreds. In the eastern forests where the passenger-pigeon flocks wrecked forests with their weight when they landed, on the banks of the Mississippi, through the tall-grass prairies of central Missouri, where he'd intervened in a fight half on impulse and met Spring Indigo, on upland plains where buffalo herds went by for days at the gallop-he'd done the math and had Jaditwara check it and there had to be ten million beasts in that one herd-in the crystalline silences of the Nevada desert nights, by Tahoe and water so clear you could drop in a pebble and watch it fall for five hundred feet, in the Sierras…
Can't say I haven't had a grand trip, he thought. And more to come, a lot more. He hadn't seen the Great Lakes yet, or Texas or Mexico, or a Cuba that was still jungle to the tide's edge, or the Amazon or the Pampas, or… Someday, maybe Africa? And I'd sure like to see a moa somewhere besides a farm, too…
"Okay, let's get going," he said; Spring Indigo hugged him, wordless, as if she were trying to drive herself into his chest, then stepped back with a smile to bring luck. He whirled Jared around in a circle, holding the boy high, listening to his chuckle and cry of Papa! and Fly!, then handed him back.
"Keep the crossbow or the pistols to hand," he said, needlessly. "And always have a couple of the dogs near. Keep a horse saddled, change off so you've got one ready close by day and night."
Spring Indigo nodded: "We will be as safe as can be," she said softly. "Come home with victory."
As he slung his pack into the canoe, Perks started to follow.
"No," he said.
The dog pressed his belly to the ground and looked up pleadingly. Giernas took Jared from his mother's arms and planted him before Perks's nose. "Stay!" he said sternly. "Guard!"
Perks sighed deeply and stood, moving to Indigo's side. Guard the den, the nursing mother, and the cubs while the rest of the pack hunts was reasoning that made perfect sense to a wolf, and to the mastiff side of his ancestry, too. He didn't have to like it, but he'd do it, and see that all the expedition's dogs did, too.
Good soldier, he thought.
That was more than you could say about the local tribesmen. They were tough enough fighting-men, but they had even less discipline than a bunch of Sun People warriors right off the boat from Alba. He could only hope that they thought Peter Giernas's keuthes too strong to gainsay; or his war medicine, or whatever they called it here.
The first problem was to get the boats into the water. A forty-foot log was heavy, even when you'd trimmed the outside and carved out most of the inside to leave a hull between two and three inches thick. The Islanders could have rigged block and tackle gear, but there were times when a hundred strong backs were faster.
"All right," he said, putting his shoulder to the rounded stern of the first dugout. The wood still smelled of balsamlike sap, and of the nut-oil the locals had rubbed into it. "Get ready… heave.'"
It took a while for the Indians to get the idea, but when they did the dugout moved a little with the first shove. Another heave, and it began to surge down the pathway of smooth peeled branches they'd laid. Another, and it gathered speed, rumbling over the soft soil as feet drove ankle deep into mud, then into the water itself with a splash and final triumphant shout. Giernas held his breath for a moment, but the craft floated high and evenly-they'd left enough wood along the keel to balance it nicely. It ran out lightly into the river, then jerked to a stop when the mooring line brought it up. The others came down faster, as if knowing they could do it made everyone push harder.