Boone's Lick

G.T. and I exchanged looks--even Neva threw back a glance. What was Uncle Seth going to think now? Ma had already invited an Indian to make the trip with us, and now she was inviting a priest. "You're a kind woman, madame," the priest said. "I would enjoy a boat trip at least as far as the mouth of the Platte. Then I expect I had better walk the Holy Road."

"What Holy Road?" Aunt Rosie asked. "I didn't know there were any roads in that part of the coun- try."

"Some call it the Oregon Trail," the priest said. "But the native peoples, which would be the Sioux and the Cheye

"I've heard my husband say that," Ma said. "Have you met him, Father?

Dick Cecil. He's a wagoneer."

"No, I haven't," the priest said. "But if he's a wagon-driving man you'll probably find him in Wyoming. They've put up three new forts, which is foolish--I don't think the Indians will tolerate it-- but there's plenty of work for wagoners in that part of the country, servicing those forts."

"Good--I need to find Dick Cecil quick," Ma said. "Introduce yourselves to the father, children--and you too, Rosie. If we're going to be traveling together we need to get the names straight."

When the big priest smiled it was like sunlight shining through a haystack: his whole beard moved, and he had a lot of beard. We all said our names, and Rosie held up baby Marcy who immediately grabbed a fistful of that beard. Marcy didn't want to turn loose, either--Rosie had to pry her fingers off it.

"My name is Emile Villegagnon," the priest said, rolling the sound out.

"That's easy for a Frenchman, but I've found it's too much for the American tongue so I'm just Pere Villy to most people."

"Smart thinking," Granpa said. "A man could choke himself trying to say a name like yours."

61

G.T. and Neva and I were nervous about what Uncle Seth would think when he came back to the wagon and saw a big priest with a brown robe sitting on the wagon seat beside Ma. Uncle Seth was apt to get testy when he wasn't allowed to control the pla

In spite of his vow to walk the earth Father Villy sat on the wagon seat and chatted with Ma the whole afternoon. The rocking of the wagon was so restful that I dozed, much of the time. If anybody kept a lookout it was G.T, who still had bears on his mind.

"I think you may have run Seth off for good," Aunt Rosie said, as we were pulling into Glasgow-- most of the town was on a bluff, with the dock down below, on the river.

"Who is Seth?" the priest asked.

"Her brother-in-law. She just run him off with her sass," Granpa informed him. He seemed to be more and more set against Ma--maybe it was because she wouldn't stop for his naps.

"I expect Seth will be at the docks, waiting for us," Ma said. "I hope Mr. Seven Days is with him."

"You wouldn't be speaking of Charlie Seven Days, would you?" the priest asked.

"Why, yes--we met him this morning," Ma said. "I asked him to come with us. Do you know him?" "Since he was a boy," Father Villy said. "I taught him his letters, in a little school I ran for a while up at Fort Union--

that's where the Yellowstone River comes into the Missouri."

"I would as soon swallow ice as wade in the Yellowstone," Granpa said.

"They say it's a mighty cold river."

"Chill, yes," Father Villy said. "The fact is I gave Charlie his name.

When I explained that the Lord made the world in six days and rested on the seventh he decided to call himself Charlie Seven Days. He has a Shoshone name too, of course, but that one's even harder on the tongue than mine. I think it had something to do with the sound a beaver makes when it slaps its tail on the water. It's a sound you won't hear too often now. They've about trapped out the beaver."

By the time we came to the docks the sun seemed to be setting right into the river, upstream where it curved to the west.

"I hear fiddling, and some fool's blowing on a jug," Granpa said.

Granpa Crackenthorpe was right, for once. There was a flatboat tied up at the docks, with several jolly boatmen doing a dance on the deck. Besides the fiddle and the jug, a ski

62

Ma was watching Uncle Seth dance on the river-boat.

"Drunk--he's missing his steps," Ma said. "You fools who thought I ran him off don't know Seth like I do. I couldn't run him off if I tried."

To my astonishment, before the wagon was even fully stopped, Ma put me in charge of the mules and skipped up on deck herself, to dance with Uncle Seth. Aunt Rosie looked a little pouty at that development.

"Mary Margaret has always got her way--except maybe with Dick," she said.

It wasn't a minute later that she stuck Marcy in my arms and jumped down herself--before you could say Jack Sprat she was on deck too, dancing with Father Villy. For a big man who had stepped on tacks earlier in the day he seemed to be light on his feet. After the first fiddler quit--to cut himself a chaw of tobacco--Granpa saw his chance and began to saw away on his fiddle. Next thing I knew the dancers had switched partners--

Ma was dancing with the priest and Aunt Rosie with Uncle Seth.

G.T. saw a big snapping turtle resting on the bank and decided to go and harass it--G.T. hated snapping turtles. But then Charlie Seven Days strolled over and persuaded him to leave it alone. He talked to the big turtle as if it were a dog and the snapper picked itself up and waddled back into the river.

In a while the moon came up and made the water silvery. Neva had jumped on the boat by this time--she was dancing with herself. If Uncle Seth was drunk, I couldn't tell it: he and Ma were swirling all over the deck.

Aunt Rosie and Father Villy weren't doing badly, either.

The only people left in the wagon were Marcy and myself--and Marcy didn't particularly like me. She had a sullen look on her face, as if she were just daring me to do something that would make her cry. I would have liked to be on the boat with the dancers. Uncle Seth had worn out, but not Ma--she was dancing with one of the boatmen. But I knew it was my duty to stay with the mules.

Uncle Seth finally saw me in the wagon, looking left out, because he strolled over and took Marcy, who immediately began to bubble and coo.

"Go stomp around a little, Shay, before the fiddlers wear out," he said.

"I'll tote this baby for a while."

Aunt Rosie grabbed my arm the minute I stepped onto the boat, and danced with me until the fiddlers quit. I got my feet tangled up two or three times, which just made her chuckle.

"I don't know that you're going to be much of a ladies' man, Shay," she said. "That's what I like about you."

The jug man and the ski