Into the Wilderness
Page 72
Dutch Ton stood dumbstruck, considering. "Agatha?"
"Ja, your sister Agatha. She misses you. Oh and the old cow with one horn died."
The trapper nodded absently and sat down on a stool, still staring at the mangled letter.
"And the hay shed burned down but no real trouble, they built a better one. Oh, and the neighbor—"
"Däta," said Anna.
"I'm just reading a letter." He grinned up at her. "Let me."
But Dutch Ton stood up, took the letter from Axel, who was looking a bit disappointed to have his services broken off so abruptly, and tucked the paper into a gap in his coat.
"You see?" asked Axel Metzler of Elizabeth and Anna when the door had closed behind him. "How easy it was?"
"What if he finds somebody to really read it to him someday?" asked Jed.
"Not bloody likely," said Julian with a snort.
"Däta always was a storyteller," said Anna by way of explanation. "Can't stop him once he gets started."
"Well, then," said Julian. "Let's have a story. What have you got to tell, old man?"
Axel sent Julian a narrow and appraising look that made Elizabeth shift uncomfortably, but Julian seemed unperturbed.
"Tell the one about the Bear Dancer," said Jed.
Axel waved a hand dismissively. "Not today."
Elizabeth had been sitting silently and wondering if she dare speak up. She felt the old man's gaze on her, and before she knew how she could say what she wanted to say without arousing Julian's curiosity, she spoke.
"Tell us about Jack Lingo and the Tory Gold."
There was a little silence, and Elizabeth thought he would refuse. He was chewing on the stem of his cold pipe, considering. She dared not look at her brother, or even at Anna. No one could know how interested she was in this story.
"Ja, sure," said Axel finally. "That's a good one. Jack Lingo. Taught me ever thing there was to know about the beaver. Back in '57 it was when I first ran into him. Hard times, girly. Pray to God you never see the like."
With a sigh he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.
"The Mingo were selling scalps to the French and they weren't fussy about where they got 'em, neither. Me and the missus had a little place on the Mohawk back in them days, near Albany, until they burned us out. Oh, ja, hard times. My Gret went to stay by her sister—she was big with this one here—" He jerked his thumb toward Anna, who nodded her approval. "So I think to myself a man has got to have some cash, and I went into the bush, looking for beaver. Down on the Mohawk they was all gone, hunted clean out. But up in the bush I was thinking I can make me some money to start fresh.
"Now I weren't no boy, you know. More than forty, I was then, but green as a stripling. I run into Jack. Good thing, too. The bush ain't kind. No, it'll do the same job to a man as a Mingo war club but not so quick, most of the time. Ever seen what a spring bear can do to a man? Or a painter, dropping out of a tree?
"A painter?" asked Elizabeth, confused but also amused by this image.
"He means a panther," interjected Anna. "Pa! Get onto the Tory Gold! That's the story we want!"
"You'll take the stories I got, missy," Axel said good—naturedly, his great splayed thumb packing down the tobacco in his pipe. "My whole life I'm telling this story, and you know better?"
Anna waved him on impatiently.
"Naja. So. The Frenchies were all over the lake in them days.
Feeling good about things, like they had the whole north woods to tie up in a pretty package and send back to their king. I was up in the bush trying my hand at the beaver and making a fine mess of it when they took old William Henry and turned him inside out."
"Fort William Henry," interjected Jed.
Axel went on as if he hadn't heard him.
"The Frog Eaters and the Mingos made short work on it. Drove the Tories and the militia out and cut 'em to pieces. Now they say it was Montcalm who found the Tory Gold, hid under the floorboards. Don't know what it was doing there. Never in my life have I known a soldier to be paid in gold. I seen a gold guinea coin myself once, a long time later in Albany. I imagine that a thousand of them gold joes in a pile would look to a man a little like heaven. But that Montcalm was an officer and they say a good one. He packed all that gold up and he got together some of his men and he sent it back to Montreal, thinking to send it on to France, I reckon. But that's where he made his mistake."
Axel hunched forward, gesturing to Elizabeth with one knotty finger until she leaned toward him.
"He sent them overland, through the bush. They had the water all tied up, you see, and they could of put that gold on a boat and had it in Montreal in no time. But they set off overland, and that right there was the mistake."
Leaning back, Axel paused to draw on his pipe, looking contemplatively at the ceiling. Elizabeth smiled, recognizing the studied pause of a born storyteller.
"They all went into the bush," he repeated. "And not a man jack of 'em come out again. Nor the gold. Now, this is where the story gets peculiar, like." Axel nursed his pipe once again, staring now at Julian, who had moved up close and sat at attention.
"Jack Lingo was in the bush that day up to no good. Stole more beaver than he ever trapped his self they say, and I ain't gonna disagree. Lazy, you know. Said to me once he spent years paddling the fur route up from Montreal to Grand Portage and back again, and didn't see he should have to work no more. So."
"Ja, your sister Agatha. She misses you. Oh and the old cow with one horn died."
The trapper nodded absently and sat down on a stool, still staring at the mangled letter.
"And the hay shed burned down but no real trouble, they built a better one. Oh, and the neighbor—"
"Däta," said Anna.
"I'm just reading a letter." He grinned up at her. "Let me."
But Dutch Ton stood up, took the letter from Axel, who was looking a bit disappointed to have his services broken off so abruptly, and tucked the paper into a gap in his coat.
"You see?" asked Axel Metzler of Elizabeth and Anna when the door had closed behind him. "How easy it was?"
"What if he finds somebody to really read it to him someday?" asked Jed.
"Not bloody likely," said Julian with a snort.
"Däta always was a storyteller," said Anna by way of explanation. "Can't stop him once he gets started."
"Well, then," said Julian. "Let's have a story. What have you got to tell, old man?"
Axel sent Julian a narrow and appraising look that made Elizabeth shift uncomfortably, but Julian seemed unperturbed.
"Tell the one about the Bear Dancer," said Jed.
Axel waved a hand dismissively. "Not today."
Elizabeth had been sitting silently and wondering if she dare speak up. She felt the old man's gaze on her, and before she knew how she could say what she wanted to say without arousing Julian's curiosity, she spoke.
"Tell us about Jack Lingo and the Tory Gold."
There was a little silence, and Elizabeth thought he would refuse. He was chewing on the stem of his cold pipe, considering. She dared not look at her brother, or even at Anna. No one could know how interested she was in this story.
"Ja, sure," said Axel finally. "That's a good one. Jack Lingo. Taught me ever thing there was to know about the beaver. Back in '57 it was when I first ran into him. Hard times, girly. Pray to God you never see the like."
With a sigh he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.
"The Mingo were selling scalps to the French and they weren't fussy about where they got 'em, neither. Me and the missus had a little place on the Mohawk back in them days, near Albany, until they burned us out. Oh, ja, hard times. My Gret went to stay by her sister—she was big with this one here—" He jerked his thumb toward Anna, who nodded her approval. "So I think to myself a man has got to have some cash, and I went into the bush, looking for beaver. Down on the Mohawk they was all gone, hunted clean out. But up in the bush I was thinking I can make me some money to start fresh.
"Now I weren't no boy, you know. More than forty, I was then, but green as a stripling. I run into Jack. Good thing, too. The bush ain't kind. No, it'll do the same job to a man as a Mingo war club but not so quick, most of the time. Ever seen what a spring bear can do to a man? Or a painter, dropping out of a tree?
"A painter?" asked Elizabeth, confused but also amused by this image.
"He means a panther," interjected Anna. "Pa! Get onto the Tory Gold! That's the story we want!"
"You'll take the stories I got, missy," Axel said good—naturedly, his great splayed thumb packing down the tobacco in his pipe. "My whole life I'm telling this story, and you know better?"
Anna waved him on impatiently.
"Naja. So. The Frenchies were all over the lake in them days.
Feeling good about things, like they had the whole north woods to tie up in a pretty package and send back to their king. I was up in the bush trying my hand at the beaver and making a fine mess of it when they took old William Henry and turned him inside out."
"Fort William Henry," interjected Jed.
Axel went on as if he hadn't heard him.
"The Frog Eaters and the Mingos made short work on it. Drove the Tories and the militia out and cut 'em to pieces. Now they say it was Montcalm who found the Tory Gold, hid under the floorboards. Don't know what it was doing there. Never in my life have I known a soldier to be paid in gold. I seen a gold guinea coin myself once, a long time later in Albany. I imagine that a thousand of them gold joes in a pile would look to a man a little like heaven. But that Montcalm was an officer and they say a good one. He packed all that gold up and he got together some of his men and he sent it back to Montreal, thinking to send it on to France, I reckon. But that's where he made his mistake."
Axel hunched forward, gesturing to Elizabeth with one knotty finger until she leaned toward him.
"He sent them overland, through the bush. They had the water all tied up, you see, and they could of put that gold on a boat and had it in Montreal in no time. But they set off overland, and that right there was the mistake."
Leaning back, Axel paused to draw on his pipe, looking contemplatively at the ceiling. Elizabeth smiled, recognizing the studied pause of a born storyteller.
"They all went into the bush," he repeated. "And not a man jack of 'em come out again. Nor the gold. Now, this is where the story gets peculiar, like." Axel nursed his pipe once again, staring now at Julian, who had moved up close and sat at attention.
"Jack Lingo was in the bush that day up to no good. Stole more beaver than he ever trapped his self they say, and I ain't gonna disagree. Lazy, you know. Said to me once he spent years paddling the fur route up from Montreal to Grand Portage and back again, and didn't see he should have to work no more. So."
