Rivers West Read Online Free Page A

And where?”
    We slowed our walk and spoke softly.
    â€œIt’s a new town in the West. There was a fort there once, fort Pitt. It’s a place where rivers meet and where they build boats for use on the western waters.”
    â€œWestern waters? The Pacific?”
    â€œNo…the rivers. There are great rivers there, rivers that go in all directions. Do you know the Mississippi?”
    â€œAye, I’ve shipped into New Orleans a time or two. Sure and it’s the greatest river of them all!”
    â€œIt is not. There’s a longer river, far longer, a river that flows into the Mississippi. It’s called the Missouri. It’s a river that stretches far to the west and begins in the Rockies. They’ll be building boats in Pittsburgh to use on the western waters, and I’d have a hand in the building—and in good time, build my own.”
    â€œIf it’s water you want, why not go to sea? There’s places out there, islands and harbors and such, that no man has seen, and many worth seeing again. Why sail a river?”
    â€œAh, but Jambe! This is a different river! The waters flow down from the high peaks, down through roaring canyons. It’s a river nearly three thousand miles long, and who knows what lies at its head or along its banks? I shall build a steamboat, Jambe, a steamboat that will climb its farthest reaches. If you wish to come with me, I can use a partner, but I want no fair-weather friend. If you sign on with me, it’s for the voyage.”
    Jambe was silent. Finally he swore, irritably. “Why not? I’ll come along, John Daniel, if thatis what you call yourself, for I’ve a thought we’ll be safer together.”
    We came up to Macklem then, standing in the road with three others of the past night, the snake-eyed man among them.
    â€œCome along,” he said cheerfully, “there’s safety in numbers, and I hear the Indians can still be dangerous at times, to say nothing of thieving white men.”
    So we went along together, Macklem and myself in the lead, and Jambe-de-Bois falling back to bring up the rear—but in such a position that if any attempt was made upon me he would be first to see a false move and not only warn but aid me. Yet there was a rankling doubt in me, for what did I know of him?
    I was among enemies, yet there was a youthful foolishness and confidence in me that made me believe I could win out even if it came to blows with the lot of them.
    I was stronger than they realized, and a better shot. Still, there was enough good sense in me—despite my vanity—to realize I might get no chance to shoot, nor even to use my strength.
    Gradually, the trees thinned out, farms appeared. Toward evening we saw boys and girls driving cattle home from the pasture. People stopped to watch us go by, and some answered our friendly hails and some did not, yet all stared.
    When we came to an inn, it was not like the hovel where we had stopped before. It was a spacious place, with two floors, glass windows, and a common room where drinks and food were served.
    The proprietor here was a man of dignity, who spoke of politics in a manner that suggested he knew of what he spoke. But I was not sure. Perhaps he was no more than a fat windbag. There were aplenty of them about in that year of 1821.
    Yet the linens were fresh, the floors swept, the food excellently prepared.
    Alone in my room, with the doors locked and the hot water that had been brought for me in the tub, I bathed—the first time since leaving Quebec, and only the second since leaving my home in the Gaspé.
    The open papers I’d taken from the pocket of Captain Foulsham were almost illegible. One was a letter, apparently from a brother. I could make out but little of it, as water had blurred the ink and made it run. The brother lived in London and was urging Captain Foulsham to return.
    And I found his address.
    Seated in my room. I wrote to the address