Huck Out West(21)

They was also hunting for the fountain a youth which they’d learnt was out here somewheres, and they thought if they could find it, it would do them all a sight of good. Jim he had a vision, they said, that it might be up in the Montana Territory somewheres, and they asked me if I ever heard tell of it out thataway. I hain’t, but I kept quiet, s’posing Jim might be conjuring up visions that could help him try and find his family. I warn’t looking for no such thing myself. I had about the same conviction towards such notions as I had towards prospecting for gold—even if it was there, it warn’t something a body wanted. Them people was forever down on their knees yelping about crossing over out a life’s miserableness, they couldn’t hardly wait, so wanting to put it off with a soak in a water spout seemed like a counterdiction, but I didn’t say so.

In the inbetwixt times, when I warn’t jawing with Jim, I saddled up Jackson and rode out ahead to scout for water and game. I seen a jackrabbit and shot it and took it back and Jim skinned it, but there warn’t many varmints out there volunteering theirselves for Jim’s stews. I was also scouting out for natives, and I seen some, but mostly only in my head. They was hanging from a scaffold, or lying dead or half-dead in their burning tepees, or being lined up and shot for target practice. I couldn’t shake them out no more’n I could Ben Rogers with his skull split open or Dan with his bellyful of arrows.

Though the ride was bumpy, the reverend’s missus mostly kept to her seat on the wagon, setting there on a stack of pillows like the Queen of England, whilst the reverend he got down and walked along with everybody else. He generly took to praying with one or another of his congegration, sometimes with several at the same time; he couldn’t stop himself no more’n Charlie could stop his twitch. Jim says Brother Ezekiel was some sorter Babtis’, and on that account, we never passed a river nor a water hole, where he didn’t push somebody’s face in it. Jim commonly helped him out and sung a few songs and preached a little.

Once when I was walking by their wagon, old Abigail stops me and says like she was scolding me, “You was friends with black slaves?”

“No’m. Only Jim. We rafted down the Big River together. He was running away then, and I was a runaway, too.”

“Well, he’s free now.”

“Yes’m. I’m mighty grateful for what you and the reverend done for him.”

“He says it was you sold him to the Indians. Someone called Mars Tom told him that. Mars Tom told him you was pore and didn’t have no education nor scruples, so a body shouldn’t blame you, and he don’t.”

“It warn’t me who sold him, mum.”

“No, I reckon not.” She smiled politely. “You’re running away from something now.” She don’t say it like she was asking a question, but it was one, just the same.

I was hired to guard the wagon train as well as guide it, so it wouldn’t give her no confidence if I says I was running away from Indians or bandits. Woman troubles was not in my line and I couldn’t say I was running from Pap, because I already told her I was an orphan. Finally, I says I warn’t really running away at all, I was only a hired horse wrangler, but I warn’t happy with the work and I up and left.

“Who was you employed for?”

“Well . . . the army, mum. But I warn’t never a soldier. I warn’t deserting. I was only changing jobs.”

“Did the officers say you could?”

“No’m. I didn’t ask.”

“So they could still come and take you away.”

“Yes’m. But I don’t reckon they’d bother. I ain’t nobody.”

“What was the soldiers doing whilst you was minding the horses?”

“Just army things, mum,” I says.

“Killing Indians?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did you kill any?”

“No’m. I warn’t asked to do that.”

“What was you asked to do?”

I seen I was in a tight place. She was setting me up for trouble with the general. Probably his soldiers was already on the way. She was still staring my way under her white sun-bonnet with her kindly smile pasted on her face like a last judgment. I dug hard for an untroublesome answer, but she warn’t a good audience for stretchers, so finally I just let it out. “He told me to shoot all the Indians’ ponies, mum.”

“Did you do that?”

“No’m. But others done so.”

“That must’ve caused you some trouble.”

“Yes’m.”

“So you left. You felt like it was the righteous thing to do.”

“No’m. I was only scared.”

Even whilst we was talking, I could see them coming, just as I had suspicioned. Three fellows in soldier blue with their brass buttons glinting in the sun. I shot for Jackson, but seen I’d noway reach him and unhitch him in time, so I jumped into an old covered farm wagon to hide out. I could hear them galloping up and asking loud if anyone had seen a scrawny runaway passing by. I was so afraid I couldn’t hardly breathe. “Might a been two of ’em together.”

“Why, yes, we seen one,” the old reverend was saying. “A skinny young chap with a long thin beard. He was right—”

“But that was some miles back and they was both heading t’other way,” says his missus, butting in. “They crossed by and begged for something to eat and drink. They was right hungry, as my husband was about to say. We done our Christian duty by them both and sent them on their way.”