Meriwether struggled, helpless, trying to break free. He was completely under the control of the warrior, and alongside him LaBiche squawked and cursed in a mixture of French, English, and Sioux. The terrified trapper translated in a shout, “Captain, he says that if you do not give his men two pirogues, he will cut our throats. And he will! You have to call to Captain Clark, get him to send the little boats!”
Meriwether knew his partner would temporize, seeking a way to send reinforcements. Clark would never call the warriors’ bluff, but he also knew that losing the pirogues would fatally cripple the expedition as they would not be able to carry nearly so many men or equipment. Maybe he would trade the small boats for now, then chase the hostile warriors down the river and look for a chance to take the pirogues back.
First though, the shaking of the soil and the thunderous footfalls became deafening.
Once, while hunting in the Virginia woods in winter, he had been jolted about by an earthquake—but he knew this was no earthquake, nor the boom of thunder. It was something else, something that sent his captors into a panic. They would not stand still if Clark wanted to delay hostage negotiations.
The warrior leader screamed at LaBiche, and the translator struggled, unable to do anything. Meriwether’s captor held his arms, twisted him around, and he tilted back where he could see the tops of the trees along the river. He was shocked to see the oaks and maples sway, snap, and topple, as though caught in a tornado.
The warriors screamed, LaBiche wailed and prayed in French. Meriwether used the momentary distraction to thrash himself loose, trying to escape. He managed to yank one elbow free, which he brought into his captor’s belly with full force.
The Sioux let out a grunt of shock, and the knife against Meriwether’s throat slipped aside, enough for him to let himself collapse, dropping to the ground and shifting the balance. Rolling, he slid between the two nearest warriors and dropped down the slope of the bank to the river, where he regained his feet and splashed desperately into the water.
Breathless and scared, afraid of being grabbed again at any minute, he heard the Sioux warriors screaming behind him, and then a great disturbance of some titanic creature barging through the thick trees.
LaBiche had also escaped, as the Sioux had far more immediate concerns than their hostages. He also waded into the water, plunging into the sluggish current with a savage expression on his face. He had a cut on his throat, from which blood oozed.
On the river, the other three men who had rowed off in the pirogues shouted at Meriwether and LaBiche, but they also screamed in terror as they pointed toward the bank. Many other shouts came from the large keelboat. As he and the trapper thrashed and swam with all their might, Clark moved the keelboat closer, and both of them reached the side of their vessel as the pirogues also tied up. A frightened-looking Clark leaned over the side of the big boat, extending his arm to Meriwether. “Thanks be to God!”
After climbing aboard while others helped LaBiche over the side, Meriwether stood on the deck dripping water, gulping for air. The translator was pressing a scrap of cloth to his bleeding neck.
But no one else on board bothered to look at the two rescued men. Rather, they gawked at the shore. They cursed and gasped in a motley of languages. Two Irishmen who still clung to papism even after the Sundering stared as they crossed themselves so vigorously they were like to throw their elbows out of joint.
Meriwether looked at the shore and saw carnage. The painted warriors who had only moments ago held the two men captive were flung about, their bodies smashed as whole trees were uprooted. The soil of the riverbank was a mess of mud and blood, as churned as the site of any great battle.
The monster that dealt such destruction was something Meriwether had never seen before nor even imagined. It seemed even bigger than the woolly elephant pictured in the cave drawings. He imagined this thing might have been able to pick up a giant elephant and snap it in two with a single bite.
The beast’s scaly hide was the brown-green of a lizard, and the creature was as tall as the Government House back in St. Louis. Its posture was upright and it stood on a pair of massive legs, balanced on immense clawed feet. Its forearms looked disproportionately small, but as it seized one of the warriors and snapped off his head, the limbs certainly seemed sufficient.
Its head was reptilian, bestial, with a wide-hinged jaw and curved teeth fully the length of Meriwether’s arms. On shore, the beast stomped around, devouring the Sioux until only fragments of human bodies remained on the ground.
Then it turned its gaze toward the river and the keelboat.
“Row!” Meriwether shouted. “Row for your lives!”
His words snapped the men out of their trance, and the long oars went into the water. On shore the reptilian beast let out a bellow louder than thunder. It stomped onto the muddy bank, snorting at the current.
“Row!” Clark added his voice. Before the monster ventured its foot into the murky river, the keelboat was making good speed. The men of the expedition pulled at a frantic clip.
The monster stood on the bank, lifted its bloodstained muzzle, and roared.
“It was a demon from hell!” one of the men wailed.
Clark muttered under his breath. “The Sundering released many forms of magic. And native legends say that giants walked the Earth in ancient days.”
Meriwether found words as he continued to stare at the receding thing. “I don’t think it is from hell. It is too solid and too real. I think it is an antediluvian beast, a creature that we’ve never heard of. By rights, it should have been long dead.” Then he recalled the rotting revenants that had attacked their camp.
Many things were no longer dead, and no longer legends.
Little People
“I heard them talking, while they held us,” LaBiche said. The group of men sat around a fire much farther up the river, as night fell.
Captain Clark had chosen the place to stop after they had gone many miles from the antediluvian monster and the hostile Sioux village. Before bringing others off the keelboat for the night, Meriwether had scouted around the prospective campsite, under the guise of hunting. He’d even shot two antelope, which were now roasting over the fire. He’d seen neither sign of hostile natives, giant reptiles, nor rotting revenants. Even with that reassurance, Meriwether did not allow himself to feel safe.
If that giant beast had decided to track them up the river, bounding along with its immense legs, how long would it take to reach them? It could certainly run faster than the best horse. But they should be able to hear its thundering footfalls announcing its arrival, and so Meriwether listened attentively, ready to decamp and run quickly.
As night gathered around them, the land seemed full of threatening noises.
There could be no defense against a creature that size. It could charge in among them like a full-grown cat into a nest of baby mice. He could only imagine the appetites of such beasts. No wonder the buffalo herds were dying out.
“Those painted warriors wanted us for something,” LaBiche said, his voice hoarse.
Clark snorted. “They wanted to trade hostages for pirogues. Now that I’ve seen that gigantic monster, I don’t even hold it against the poor devils. To save our own womenfolk and children, what would we not do?”
“No, that wasn’t what they really wanted,” LaBiche said, picking something out of his tangled hair as he sniffed the roasting antelope. “That was just a ruse, although they certainly wanted the boats. No, they still intended to abscond with us, so we could be a gift to something they called Canoti, or little people.”
“Little people?” Meriwether asked. “And yet the real danger was a giant lizard.”