HANNIBAL THE CANNIBAL - CHAPTER SIX
SUTTER'S FORT
The room was quiet and solemn. Brief introductions had been made earlier, allowing the eighteen men to get acquainted further once they got started.
There was a Daniel, Edward, George, Mathew, Selem, Riley, Jotham, Reason, and several Johns and Williams
Heyes surveyed the men, trying to study them and get a feel for who they could trust and depend on because there was no way they were making this alone and without help. They were trusting other people with their lives, and Heyes didn't like it one bit. He tried to push his feelings and reservations down deep, hidden by a blank poker face. But his dark brown eyes couldn't hide what he felt.
Denim was changed out for skins and fur from beaver, muskrat, and otters that had been treated with wax and oil. Wool was added to help wick the water away, then wrapped protectively in an oiled garment; anything to protect their vulnerable flesh from the cold and wetness. Moccasins replaced cowboy boots, being warmer and more pliable moving across the frozen snowy terrain.
Heyes watched as Kid pulled two pairs of wool socks on, adding a thick square piece of blanket, before pulling the tall buffalo hair lined moccasins on and lacing them tightly with buckskin strings. Had the situation not been so serious, Heyes would have chuckled at the sight of his partner transformed from a shootist to mountain man.
Kid caught Heyes' expression and fleeting amusement, gave his partner a shrug and nodded his head, acknowledging he felt the same way about his partner's transformation too.
Heyes responded with a slight grin though his concerns about this excursion were growing by the minute. He and Kid were outlaws and the sons of farmers. They had traversed the mountains of Wyoming in the dead of winter. They had forged frozen rivers and sheltered for the night under the precarious protection of pine trees and a blazing campfire but, they had never navigated the Sierra Mountains half buried in feet, not inches, of snow in the middle of winter.
Suicide.
Insanity.
Heyes knew this was very likely a death mission, not only in search of the frozen corpses of the group that had come to be known as the Donner Party, but for themselves as well. And he questioned his partner's understanding of that fact. Kid was certain beyond a doubt that, despite the relentless snow, the subzero temperatures, and a dire lack of supplies, the boy and perhaps others, would be found alive. Heyes was equally certain they would not and held only cautionary optimism that the search party would survive as well.
Before Heyes gathered his clothes, he reached for his familiar black hat, turned it slowly in his hand then reluctantly placed it on the pile. With the clothes and hat balanced in one hand, he grabbed his cowboy boots.
He set them on the counter, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out some money.
"I expect them to be here when I get back."
The man behind the counter paused before he nodded. "Got a name I can put on them?" Mister, he thought, if you make it back it will be a damn miracle.
"Smith. Joshua Smith."
He felt Kid behind him, stepping forward to set his clothes down.
"Jones. Thaddeus Jones."
As they turned in unison away from the counter, Heyes knew this would be his last opportunity to reason with his partner. Sixteen people bustling about the room offered no chance for a quiet moment alone.
A firm grip on the shoulder caught Kid's attention and he turned his head toward his partner. But before Heyes could speak, he could see the determination in Kid's expression.
"Kid."
Kid's gun hand raised open-palmed to the height of his chest.
"I know what you're gonna say Heyes," Kid said in a low voice intended solely for his partner. "And I'm fightin' demons that are tryin' to tell me the same thing. It's no different than the flip of a coin. One of us is gonna be right and one of us is gonna be wrong. Let's just leave it at that."
Heyes' jaw tightened but he let the subject drop knowing there was nothing more to be said. With a heavy sigh, he pushed away from the counter with head down and followed after his partner
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Reed paused to give a quick emotional speech, thanking each man by name for helping and sacrificing.
"Your money…"
A man named John Stark quickly stood up and cut him off before he could continue, "I will go without any reward beyond that derived from the consciousness of doing a good act. I can't speak for the others…" he looked at the other men, who nodded their heads in agreement. "Looks like Mr. Reed should you be needing more supplies…you have the money to do so."
Reed looked at the sea of bobbing heads.
He managed to choke out a heartfelt thank you before going from man to man and giving each a strong handshake.
Heyes reluctantly shook the man's hand. Reed held onto it long enough to say, "I know you have reservations…" He stopped when he saw the man's dark eyes harden, and quickly ended the conversation with a quick, "Thank you and God bless."
Heyes bitterly thought, God better bless us because they were going to need some divine intervention and luck which he had little to no faith in.
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OUTSIDE TRUCKEE LAKE
Shortly after Lewis heard his stepfather leave, there was rapid knocking on the cabin door. He didn't want to answer and pressed himself deeper under the blankets. He has been told repeatedly never to open the door when his stepfather was gone, with the implied threat of violence should he not abide by his wishes. Lewis knew it wasn't because he feared for his adopted son's safety but rather fear that someone would steal his food.
The knocking persisted.
"Lewis. If you are in there it's Mrs Reed. Lewis?"
He poked his head out from under the covers and listened
When he heard the door begin to open, he pulled the blankets back over his head and held his breath.
It could be a trick. Someone to lure him out to be eaten. He shrunk down, trying to make himself undetectable. He heard steps coming closer and closer, as he slammed a hand across his mouth to mute a whimper of fear.
He felt hands pulling away the blankets, as he tried desperately to make himself smaller.
Getting to the last blanket, she gently and slowly pulled it away as Lewis fought to hold on to it
"Lewis. It's me. Margaret Reed" When he continued to struggle she repeated it in the little German she knew. "Ich bin's Margaret"
He slowly raised his head, and cautiously opened his eyes. He snapped them shut when he saw the woman kneeling beside him. It sounded like Mrs. Reed, but she didn't look the same. This woman looked like a witch; gaunt, thin with dark circles around her sunken eyes and wild unkempt hair poking out of the wool scarf wrapped tightly around her head. She no longer looked like the plump kind hearted woman that had befriended him and his mother on the trail. The woman that had secretly taught them English, against his stepfather's wishes, as they walked the seemingly endless miles and miles.
She looked furtively at the door, then back to the small trembling boy. The cabin reeked. A large open kettle boiled slowly, spewing the stench of something God never intended man to eat. White bones were pushed off to the side, some neatly stacked others laying haphazardly on the stained floor boards.
"Are you going to eat me?" Lewis' voice was barely above a whisper.
"Oh child..of course not. But I need to get you out of here. I only learned about your mother." Her eyes filled with sorrow. "Will you come with me?"
She stood up and held her hand out. Lewis hesitated for a long moment, looking at the closed door, before he quickly grabbed her hand. She pulled him to his feet, bent to start gathering his tattered blankets to wrap him in, when with a cry, Lewis pushed the woman aside and reached under the final blanket to grab his mother's broken mirror. He clutched it tightly to his chest. Mrs. Reed quickly shook out each blanket and wrapped them tightly around the young boy, before leading him cautiously out the door.
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SUTTER'S FORT
The caravan of riders began mounting up and each gathered the lead rope to their individual pack mule, laden with supplies and food. It was the start to the ninety mile trek to the stranded immigrants.
Heyes was the last to mount his horse. Slipping his foot into the stirrup, and throwing a leg over his horse signified to Heyes the reality that there was no going back.
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Author's Note…Sorry to readers for the delay between chapters. That was never my intention. And a special thanks to Sis!