Dusty Books, Frontier Librarian

Chapter 13

Thaddeus Johnson (No relation)... Teama and Tad... getting and fixing up a wagon... A true carpenter... Godawful 'music' from a saw... Oxen... Teama finds books on the trail... Teama's collection... The Rockies and an interval of bathing... Deer Hunting Teama style... Useful crafts from the deer.

There still had been no takers for Johnson's ad. One could see why, after all he was a Colored man with a Squaw, with a new addition to the family strapped to her back. I think this made Thaddeus Johnson a more responsible citizen, or at least I supposed so at the time. His wife, and he was proud to show me a marriage certificate, which I would not have asked for, but was proffered as a show of good faith, was named "Teama". Their son was called 'Tad'. I think she might have been an Apache, but how little I know would fill many volumes, and I never actually inquired. Sometimes when I tell this tale she is an Indian Princess stolen from her tribe by hostiles and rescued by Thaddeus. It's all very exciting, but untrue. She was not a common woman, with her own quiet dignity, but no princess. She was too rough and ready. Thaddeus was always trying to get her to forget her tribal ways, but she was as stubborn and spirited as a prairie horse and would not change some of her methods, such as the way she carried her offspring. She did seem to love Thaddeus and the baby deeply and did 'civilize' in a few ways. The baby was contented, well cared for, and did take much of her attention. She walked much of the trip, unless she had to ride and thus was proven to be of good hearty stock. How she managed barefoot I'll never know.

Thaddeus proved to be a good companion, and the wife, for that is what she was legally, and no mere squaw, was more a frontiersmen than both of us put together. I told him about my cargo, and it was no concern since they were traveling very light. We decided to split the cost of the wagon, and upon completion of the trip it would become Thaddeus' property in lieu of actual payment for the adventure.

I sealed the deal with $100 in gold. His eyes lit up. I had seen it before. Gold Fever. It didn't diminish my trust in him, but it bore watching. A man so afflicted will make a few mistakes, I know I did and I've had others who had worked for me. It's too bad, but we all are subject to temptation, and some can resist only after dire circumstance.

He had several leads on wagons. We shopped for several days, and finally got the best of a deal from a man who thought Thaddeus to be my slave! I was about to correct him, but Thaddeus asked politely if 'Massa would come and talk to me' and indicated that we might get it cheaper, if we continued the ruse. It was against my better principles, but since it was his idea, I cooperated.

And I must say the road to buying a most magnificent Conestoga Wagon was made easier, since the owner sensed a kindred spirit. In terms that I learned from Thaddeus 'We skinned him right up and proper!' It was sold as-is with a not too strong wagon tongue, which is where the animals are hitched to pull the vehicle. Suppose that is one of the reasons for the price. Thaddeus using his carpentry tools was able to fashion one with the cooperation of a friend of his, who sold us four oxen. We had planned on two, but had saved so much, it was decided to splurge and 'Do it up right'. The friend was a bit suspicious because I was white, so I guess prejudice cuts all ways, doesn't it? Thaddeus silenced him by merely saying he was a friend, which was all the endorsement the seller needed.

Thaddeus at work was like watching a man who had a bond with his tools, more than just mere use. In his hands the axe became a sculptor's knife, the saw a fine instrument of precision, the hammer straight and true. He used each as if they were an extension of his own hands, arms and eye, measuring little and cutting truly.

We loaded up without incident, everything fitting perfectly with room to spare that would come in handy later.

He did play one of his saws with a violin bow, and made the most godawful music with it, all the while totally enraptured in his playing. I'm sure he scared off a lot of small game we could have eaten, but I do think it kept the humans away with such a frightful noise. Indians would have sensed an evil spirit, certainly. But this is a tradition around the campfire, to entertain one another. I read by firelight, and told a few of my tales. Teama cooed to the baby as our fire dwindled lulling he and us off to sleep. It was an eerie sound, too, but calming.

Oxen are implacable creatures, steady and very slow, who will pasture on anything, have a large capacity for water, and an ability to smell it when scarce. Once they led us to a spring, when we hadn't been able to find water for some time. They went slowly, but got us there and drank deeply. We cared for them carefully from the first and they found a good time with us for the bulk of the trip. They never were a problem, except they are not designed by the higher powers for speed or agility. But they would go anywhere you pointed them, up any hill or down any gully, sure footed and serene as the bovine creatures they proved to be. Of course Thaddeus did most of the work with the oxen, as well as all of the driving, and they sensed his sure hand and responded well. The terrain could get tricky with washes and gullies and places where the land dropped off suddenly. Thaddeus' sure hand kept us all in good condition.

After about three weeks we were well clear of civilization following a natural trail created by the leavings of others. Teama with a natural curiousity (sic) would inspect these collections carefully. One day she came up to me with a book! She presented it to me as a gift I was told. Through Thaddeus I told her I would give her 25 cents in silver coin for each book she found. In about 2 days she had enough so that the first barrel we came to, she snagged it and then later another. I had left with 12 barrels and came in with 14, plus a magnificent oak bookcase!

Meanwhile Teama's collection was accumulating with such an assortment of bright gee gaws, and colorful fabric that I am certain I have a notion why Manhattan was bought so cheaply from some other native peoples of a similar persuasion. She also found Thaddeus almost a whole new set of tools, though he preferred his own, many of which he had fashioned himself. None of this stuff, except perhaps for the bookcase, was heavy and took up little room.

Heat was an ever present element across the plains, Teama often covering little tad, who rode along on all her scavenging, sometimes playing with an object she had given him, cooing contentedly. The heat seemed to bother him less than any of us, but he was well cared for. I felt glad to be off the plains, if only that it meant we were that much closer to going back.

The Rockies were almost all the way uphill, and quite tough on the wagon. The tongue though sturdy cracked soundly in a gully. Thaddeus fashioned us a new one out of a felled tree that could have been original equipment in less than a day, pirating the hardware from the broken piece. We were camped next to a river very high up, the water winterlike, but bearable. I decided to wade in a might, and perhaps wash a might more than the scrubbing I get by the campfire. We were next to a pool below a little waterfall that looked like it would be a raging torrent in the Spring runoff. I was a little shaky at first, but this was no Sacramento at high water.

Tad fell into the water, from where he had been laid on a rock. I saw him slip off the edge very suddenly, his little baby blanket left on the rock.

Then I saw his mother, with no modesty at all in the water buck naked, and that the little fellow could be called Tad for another reason, he was a tadpole! He bobbed to the surface, swimming over to his mother just as naturally as if he was indeed going to turn into a frog next spring. She did lower herself in the water to assuage my embarrassment if nothing else, and smiled to show me the child was right as rain. I let my bottom go up under the water and bobbed to the surface. I was wearing my long johns so was not too much a spectacle. This is as close to nude as I like to get outdoors or in. I will only venture into nudity when changing into fresh clothes. I feel it is my contribution to the world's beauty to not show myself in this condition in public.

I heard a noise up where the two were swimming and saw part of our evening meal unceremoniously tossed up on the bank, a nice fat trout no doubt charmed by her, grabbed and flung to the bank. Several more were to follow, and all the while the baby playing in and about the water. His favorite game for some reason was picking up a strip of sapling and raising it high over his head and splashing the water, I suppose to watch the ripples. He would do this whenever we camped by water for some reason.

Teama started to behave strangely. It was a very clear crisp morning. There was something that was upsetting her, and at the same time she had no fear about it. She simply did not have enough English, and we didn't have enough signs to verbalize her needs. I don't know how to describe how she became up there in the mountains. My guess was that her soul was here, that this was home for her in some way. She seemed happy and nervous all at the same time.

It was as if she sensed something we did not catch in the air, or in the cold. And cold it was, not enough to snow but enough to bundle up Little Tad and herself in a large warm blanket. She made it known to Thaddeus that she needed salt. As it happened I had some in the wagon that I supposed to be spoiled, since rain water had gotten into the container and it had crystalized.

When Thaddeus handed this to her, she was most happy, I could see it in her face. She walked over to me and with a sudden movement thumped my chest and made a nodding gesture, which I interpreted as positive. I asked Thaddeus and he replied that this was the sort of gesture to mean 'very good' and at the same time 'wish me luck'. She went to the wagon and rooted around in her collection and retrieved a shiny pie tin. From Thaddeus' wood scraps in the wagon she retrieved what he called a 'two by four' about 4 feet long. She seemed to have her kit ready. She went off without any gesture, or even a grunt.

We were both curious to see what she was going to do. We did not have to shift position to observe, since she chose a spot below us further down the mountain near an outcropping of rock. There was a little flat pan shaped area that might be a water course in wetter weather, and there were several bushes on either side. We watched her for about the next half hour, neither of us realizing what she was doing. The baby on her back was most contented, cooing happily. But what was she preparing for, I wondered?

I saw her take the pie tin and weigh it down with stones, pouring the crystals over them and crushing a bit of the salt with her fingers. Then she held the baby, out if it's blanket for a second, over the pie tin and as if bidden to do so, it made water on the pie tin in a steaming spray. She then came back up to us and gave the baby to Thaddeus, the child's part of the ritual over was my guess. She then gestured in a way that made it clear Thaddeus was to watch the baby.

We decided with the nonverbal method common to husbands and friends that she was best left to her ritual. Thaddeus started to play with the baby, and so did I for a bit.

By chance I glanced down the hill to Teama's little, wait a moment, I thought. It was a sort of duck blind. She had been sitting patiently waiting for her quarry. Then I saw it, a 14 point Buck, who was attracted to the salt. He approached without caution, and started to lick the salt as if a great delicacy, so much so that all of it's attention was fixed on the salt.

A swift move and the beast was lying there senseless. Then dispatched most efficiently. Thaddeus bounded down to the rocks, making sure the beast was dead. I was left to care for the baby, as Thaddeus came up and got the pack mule to haul the deer back up to camp. Our dinner that night was most festive, and with Teama's craft, she made me a hat from the deer's hide, as well as moccasins for all, including the baby. For the hat, following my bedraggled one as a pattern, she fashioned a most incredible creation. It is a most ceremonial hat, best worn to outdoor events because it does have a certain odor that lingers. I do keep it and it looks impressive. The antlers are on the wall even now as I write this. This was a truly memorable event. I have a few other little bags that were made out of the hide of the deer and I keep my most treasured possessions in them. A wonderful bag holds all my memories including this memoir, when I am not writing it.

(Editor's note: There were no antlers found in the cabin. Perhaps he was writing this in his Library? Comments about the bags lead us to conclude the deer hide is the material in which we found Dusty's little treasures.... Seems to fit... RTC)

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