The weather is mild, yet does us no good. The illness caused by the rancid salmon is grim. We are all of us weak, at times confused. We need rest, food, but will have neither until we find aid.
We thought we heard voices. Followed the sound, fired our rifles, but heard no more. Our futile stumbling through the woods ended at a cliff face.
Only meal today came when we scraped the last moldy lumps of flour from a sack, mixed into paste with river water.
The child yet lives, though its cries grow weaker. It sucks some of the paste from the flour sack, but will perish soon without food. As will we all.
Godsend! Pruitt shot two rabbits, the first we’ve seen since we began travel up the Trail River. It revives us greatly. We ate the meat raw, still warm with life. It is gruesome indeed, but we dripped rabbit blood into the baby’s mouth, so as to give it some small nourishment. It took to it well, sucked the blood from Tillman’s finger. It is, however, a short remedy.
Pruitt argues to turn back, rejoin the others at the Wolverine. Most likely they killed tebay, as we heard gunshots yesterday. But we are too near starvation to make the journey. Our best hope is to find the village. Increasing signs of the Midnooskies?—?tracks along the river, smell of wood smoke.
May ?
I have much to write, but lack the strength. They feed us. We eat. We sleep. We eat again. Pruitt is most ill, so is fed with a wooden spoon.
I am unsure of the date. The past days are dim. Our health returns, to Tillman most quickly. He is already up & about. I try to regain my legs but remain weak.
I cannot bring myself to write of the found infant.
May 12, 1885
I have done my best to count backwards the days, determine a correct date. I believe I am within a day or two.
Now that we recover, I can at last record how we came to this village.
Though advised to the contrary, we reached the fork of the Trail River without seeing any sign of the village. Tillman, however, said he spied campfire smoke up the south fork of the river, so our direction was chosen.
We staggered along the shore of the river, too feeble to make real progress, too muddle-brained to search the nearby forest. My scope was reduced to the ground directly in front of me as I aimed with much difficulty to step over the boulders. We did not speak, although now & then Tillman uttered a word to the baby in his coat.
Pruitt stopped walking, held up a hand. He had heard something.
Voices to the north. Pruitt & I fired off several rounds. Samuelson would have advised more, but I loathed to waste the ammunition that serves as our primary currency. The Midnooskies answered us better; a half dozen shots we heard, although from a great distance away. We decided to stay put in hopes the Indians would seek us out. After some time, we shot two more rounds. An hour or so later, two Midnoosky scouts found us at the river.
Both men were dressed in skin tunics & leggings with very little adornment. One held a small-bore shotgun. Both carried birch bows & quivers of arrows upon their backs. When they spoke, I looked to Tillman for translation.
?—?I can’t understand a word they’re saying, he said.
His voice stirred the baby in his coat, which let out a small whimper. The Indians looked to each other in surprise. The shorter one approached, poked an arrow at the bundle.
Tillman forcefully yanked the arrow away. Their response was quick. The taller Midnoosky brought up his shotgun, aimed it at Tillman’s head. Pruitt moved for his carbine. I put a hand to his arm. For a tense moment, it seemed we were in for a row. Tillman, however, came to his senses. He slowly handed the arrow back to its owner, fletching first, then leaned forwards to show the top of the infant’s head, its small, scrunched face.
Surely it was not what the Indians were expecting to find tucked in the coat of a white soldier. They asked us questions but we could not make out the words.
The one with the shotgun gestured for us to follow them. We could only hope the village was both friendly & near.
The journey was nearly beyond our strength. The Midnooskies led us from river shore to the north, first through shaded woods where the snow has yet to melt, then to the valley wall. The slope that rose before us was so steep as to not allow for anything to grow but shrubs & stunted aspen. Dirt & boulders crumbled down the hillside. It was a climb that in our state would take hours.
?—?I fear I am too weak for this, Pruitt said.
I ordered him to empty his pack. Tillman & I divided the contents between us. Tillman was disgusted to find several books in the bottom of his pack, including one of poetry.
?—?You’ve lugged this up half the country?