‘I am wondering if you’ve seen a couple friends of ours,’ Charlie said. ‘They would have been heading upriver a few days ago. Two men, one bearded, one not.’
‘Had a good deal of gear with them?’ he said.
‘The one had a red beard.’
‘That’s right. Had a good deal of gear with them. Two mules loaded down with twice what Benny’s carrying.’ He pointed to his mule, Benny, standing next to Tub and Nimble. I did not think a mule could carry any more than what he was.
‘What type of gear?’ I asked.
‘Pans, canvas, rope, timber. All the usual. Only thing strange was they had four twenty-five-gallon casks, two per mule. The redhead said they were filled with wine. Wouldn’t sell me a drop, the miser! I like a drink as much as anyone, but hauling that much into the wild’s just the type of greediness that’ll ruin you. You can work a mule to the point where he won’t ever recover. These two were well on their way, it looked like to me.’
‘Any idea where they were headed?’
‘They were keen to know the location of a beaver dam I told them about. I’d only brought it up as a place they’d want to stay away from, but they had to have every detail.’
‘Where is it?’ asked Charlie.
‘Now you got the same look in your eye they had! And I’ll tell you just what I did them: That stretch isn’t worth your time. Those beavers’ll strip every bit of wood from your camp just as soon as you look away, and whatever you put in the river—a rocker or cradle or anything—is as good as gone. A damned nuisance, is all they are. Hey, that’s a good one! Get it? Dam-ed?’ He suffered a fit of twitches and I poured out my dirt-water into the grass. The moment his fit ceased he spied that my cup was empty and made me another, encouraging me to drink. I held the cup to my mouth, clamping my lip on the edge, thus allowing none of the liquid into my mouth.
Charlie said, ‘If our friends were headed there, we would like to pay them a visit.’
‘Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you. But you’ll know you’re close when you pass a camp of men four or five miles up from here. Do not stop in hopes of making friends, for this group has no interest in socializing. In fact they are downright rude. But no matter. Two miles more, and you’ll see the dam. You can’t miss the thing it’s so big.’ He hefted the kettle to pour himself another cupful of his brew and I noticed he winced at the effort. I asked if he was injured, and he nodded. He had fought an Indian with knives and won, he said, but the Indian had taken a piece out of him, which weakened him, and he had lain beside the corpse for long hours before he could summon the strength to stand. He pulled back his shirt to show us the divot beneath his breast. Its edges were scarring but it was still scabbed at its pit—a nasty wound. I would have put its age at three weeks. ‘Got me a good one, there. I guess I got him better, though.’ He stood away from the fire and returned to Benny, strapping his cup and kettle to the mule’s load.
‘Where is your horse?’ asked Charlie.
‘That’s what I was fighting the Indian about, didn’t I say? He stole away my pal Jesse the one night while I was sleeping. When he came back the next for Benny, I was ready to go. Well, it’s a fine day for walking. And if Old Ben can do it, so should I be able to.’ He tipped his hat to us. ‘Thanks for the company. I’ll raise a drink for you, down in town.’
‘Hope you see all your plans through,’ I told him, and he smiled a crazy smile and said, ‘Heh!’ He turned and walked away, with Benny bringing up the rear. Once he was out of earshot, Charlie asked, ‘What was wrong with the coffee?’ I passed him my cup; he took a tentative sip and discreetly spit it out. His face had no expression. ‘This is dirt,’ he said.
‘I know it is.’
‘The man brews and drinks dirt?’
‘I don’t think he thinks it’s dirt.’
Charlie lifted the cup and took another sip. He pushed this around in his mouth, and again he spit it out. ‘How could he not think it’s dirt?’
I thought of this twitching prospector and the chicken-holding prospector and the dead, headless prospector and said, ‘It would seem to me that the solitude of working in the wilds is not healthy for a man.’ Charlie studied the surrounding forest with a kind of suspicion or mistrust. ‘Let’s move on,’ he said, turning to fold his bedroll.
Tub was looking badly, and I was loath to douse him, as I thought the energy the dousing would expend was energy necessary to get us to the beaver dam. He was breathing hard and would not drink water and I said to Charlie, ‘I believe Tub is dying.’ He gave Tub a brief inspection; he did not say he agreed with me but I could see he did. He said, ‘It is only another few miles, and hopefully we’ll be there long enough that Tub can rest up and regain his strength. Better give him his alcohol, and let’s get started.’ I explained I thought it best to skip the dousing, and this gave Charlie an idea. He fetched a bottle from his saddlebags; his face wore a smile as he showed it to me. ‘Don’t you remember? The tooth doctor’s numbing liquid?’
‘Yes?’ I said, not understanding.
‘Well? How about giving Tub a splash of this prior to the alcohol? Just pour it in and let it sit awhile. It’ll take the edge off that sting, I’ll bet you.’
I was not sure the liquid would be effective without being injected, but I was curious enough that I went along with Charlie and poured a small amount of the medicine into Tub’s eyehole. He started and became stiff, expecting the pain from the alcohol, I thought, but the sting never arrived and he returned to his panting. Now I rushed up and doused him with the alcohol, and again he grew rigid, but he never screamed, he never bucked or urinated, and I was pleased Charlie had thought of it; and he, too, was happy with himself, and he patted Tub’s nose and seemed to genuinely wish him well. At this, we set off upriver. There was an auspicious feeling between us that I hoped we might hold on to.
Chapter 45
The camp south of the beaver dam was a blighted affair, little more than a fire pit and scattered bedrolls, with tools and wood scrap littered randomly in the area. At the edge of the camp stood three rough-looking men, glaring as we came near. They were a filthy group even by prospector standards, their beards matted, faces blackened with soot or mud, their clothing stained and unkempt; everything about them was dark and dingy in fact, save for the color of their eyes, which were a uniform shade of the most striking blue. Brothers, I thought. Two of them held rifles at the ready; the third was armed with pistols in holsters. Charlie called to them, ‘Has any of you seen a pair of men heading north some days ago? One of them bearded, the other not?’ When none among them answered, I said, ‘They had two mules with them, burdened with casks of wine?’ Still no reply. We passed them by and I kept an eye on their movements, for they struck me as the types who might shoot a man in his back. Once they were out of sight, Charlie said, ‘Those were not your typical prospectors.’
‘They were killers,’ I agreed. Likely they were hiding from something in their collective past, making do in the meantime by working the diggings, and judging by their looks they were not having much of a time with it.
Another mile up the river and Tub began hacking and coughing. Through my legs I could feel a hollow dryness rattling his rib cage, and I noticed long tendrils of thick blood dropping from his lips into the river. I reached down and touched his mouth with my palm; when I brought up my hand I saw the blood was black. I showed this to Charlie, who said we were close enough to the dam that we might make a temporary camp and approach Warm and Morris on foot. We dismounted and led the horses into the woods. I found a shady spot for Tub and the moment I removed his saddle he lay down on the ground. I did not think he would get up again, and I was sorrowful for having treated him so poorly. I set out my bowl next to him, filling this with water from my canteen, but he would not drink. I poured out some feed onto the ground but he had no interest in this either, he only lay there panting.