Heaven Is a Long Way Off A Novel of the Mountain Men

9780765344847

076534484X

Chapter One They were late arriving, and the last of the sunlight spread red-gold across the summits of the western mountains. A fresh, damp smell lifted up off the river, a promise of a blessing as evening came to the desert. A breeze stirred among the willow branches along the banks. The finger-shaped leaves caught the light of the sun and tossed it, red-gold-green, into the soft evening air. Along the top ridges the cinnamon mountains turned the color of candied apples, and grew amethyst shadows on their lower slopes. The Colorado flexed and muttered on its journey from the mountains to the sea. Sam Morgan looked around. Again he found the desert strange and alluring. He said to himself, What the hell am I doing here? "On the adventure," said Hannibal. Sam's friend had an irritating habit of reading his thoughts. Village leaders were riding out to meet them. It would be impolite to go closer to the village before courtesies were exchanged. Impolite even though these were the Mojave villages, where the fur brigade had spent a couple of weeks last autumn and knew the Indians were friendly. So Sam, Hannibal, and Captain Jedediah Smith sat their mounts in this place. Sam cursed. He squirmed in the saddle, itchy from his own sweat after the long ride. His pet coyote, Coy, sat in the shade of a creosote bush and panted. "There's a sorry piece of the adventure." Sam turned his head. A few paces into the brush three Mojave boys had built a small fire and were torturing horny toads. The biggest boy reached into a hide bag, plucked out a toad, flat and ugly and the size of a palm. The creature had daggerlike spikes all around its head, and it was fighting its captor. The boy laughed and threw the toad onto the fire. Coy barked. The toad skittered out of the fire like a stone hopping across water. The smallest boy snatched the toad up and held it close to his nose. The toad sprouted blood from its eyesSam had seen this trick before. The boy jumped and threw the toad into the air. Another boy snatched the creature on the fly and tossed it onto the fire. The small boy wiped blood off his nose and grinned. The toad came lickety-split out of the flames and slithered under another boy's knee. The boy grabbed the toad coming out the back side. Coy squealed, like a plea for mercy. A picture floated into Sam's minddamnedest thing, he couldn't imagine why. He saw his infant daughter suckling at the breast of Sam's . . . Meadowlark. Dead. He shook his head to make the picture go away. But it stayed right where it was. The biggest boy took the toad from the younger one and dropped it into the flames. This time it first blew itself up big, and then, amazingly, never moved again. Coy growled. Sam started to rein his horse toward the boys. Hannibal put his hand outno. Sam stopped. "What made them like that?" whispered Sam. "A bad one leading good ones," said Hannibal. Sam's eyes asked for help. Sometimes Hannibal knew things. Some of the men called him Mage, short for magician. "Let's go," said Jedediah. Sam handed Paladin's reins to the magician and fell in behind Captain Smith on foot. About fifty yards off several leaders of the tribe waited to meet the trappers, and beyond them on the willow flat Sam could see the brush huts and crop fields of the village. Safety, he thought. Sam took a last glance at the boys. They were still mesmer