took only a few hours to fly with the current downstream to Boat Encampment.
“You old scoundrel!” the usually quiet William Henry shouted at Thompson as Charles manoeuvred the canoe to shore. “You truly are amazing. I thought I’d find you buried somewhere, but here you are.” As Thompson got out of the canoe, William clapped him on the back. “Have you been to the ocean yet, or have you been paddling around here enjoying the sun?”
Thompson raised his eyebrows. “If you can read, sir, you can see from my note that we’ve reached the Pacific and are on our way back.” He pointed to the bend of the Columbia. “The headwaters of this river are down near where we built Kootenay House.”
William appeared startled, then he laughed. “Are you saying had we known we could have used this route years before?”
Thompson nodded. “And avoided much of the trouble with the Peigans.”
Listening, Peter felt a small wave of happiness. No matter what happened to him, he would always remember that he had been with the explorer who had found an important route to the sea.
The two men moved in the direction of the campfire, Thompson talking enthusiastically until he stopped in mid-sentence. Then, raising his voice, he asked, “And where did you two come from? And how did you get here?”
Peter turned to see Côté and Pareil emerge grinning from one of the tents. “We wished to surprise you,” Côté said. “In one day we no longer suffered malade, and Pareil, here, traded his cap for us to be passengers of a fellow who came by in his canoe.” When the rest of the men finished greeting the two, Côté continued. “He wanted my cap, too, in exchange for taking the dog also, but I offered to help him paddle.”
Peter wasn’t certain he had heard right.Dog? What dog? Côté and Pareil looked at him and grinned widely. Beckoning for Peter to follow, Pareil led him to a stout cottonwood behind his tent where Dog was tied. She leaped to her feet and barked a welcome, her tail wagging crazily. Peter was too stunned to move. She was very thin, but her eyes were bright and her nose appeared to be damp. In a moment Peter was on his knees beside her, petting her roughly, happily realizing she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to like it!
When later he returned to the campfire, Peter saw that the horses had been unloaded and the packs of trade goods stacked in the mapmaker’s canoe. Would they now have to go back down the river to distribute them? Peter wondered. But Thompson had drawn a rough map for William Henry to follow to Spokane House and directions for Finan McDonald to take the goods downstream. To his own men he said, “I’ll ride east over the mountains to get the goods Mr. Henry couldn’t bring. Who will volunteer to stay here and build a stout canoe and, for double the pay, go back downriver with me to Spokane House when I return?”
To Peter’s astonishment, as one man, the entire crew stepped forward. After a moment’s hesitation, he did so himself. The corners of Thompson’s mouth turned up briefly, and he shook his head. “No, Boulard. I prefer that you go beyond the Athabasca post and take care of a matter for me.” He said nothing to Peter.
Two days later Peter was glad to see Young Joseph, their Iroquois guide, appear as they were getting ready to leave. There would be six of them now to lead the horses back through the pass and load them again so once more they could slog through the snow on the return to the Columbia River.
CHAPTER 20
The journey through the mountains wasn’t as bad as Peter had expected, though the snow was often up to the bellies of the horses and his snowshoes cut into his feet. Still, there were no rain or snowstorms, and when their rations ran short, they ate less. These hardships were quickly forgotten when they reached William Henry’s snug cabin. Although he wasn’t there, his two men were overjoyed to see Thompson and his companions, for they were bored and hungry for talk. Not interested in hearing tales about their journey, Peter went outside in the fresh air to admire the surroundings.
The light snow of the night before had turned into a thin drizzle of rain, but the clouds were separating now and moving eastward. The air was heady with the scent of damp pine trees, their green tips thrusting high above the smaller gold and orange aspen and birch. With Dog following, Peter walked down to where a lusty stream poured into the shallow Athabasca River and saw a rainbow arc from one mountain to another, painting the snowcaps in iridescent colours. It was so beautiful that he felt he had to share it with Boulard. As he tried to turn and run at the same time, his foot slipped on a rock on the edge of the stream, and he fell. When his head struck, he felt it explode.
It was dark when Peter awoke. Dog was lying on her side, her back pressed against him. Absently, he patted her head, and she sighed contentedly. With his other hand he felt around him. He was on the floor of a cabin wearing a shirt that seemed to come to his knees and was covered by blankets. There was a great ache in his head. Slowly, he began to remember his fall on the rocks. Slowly, he felt his frozen memory start to thaw. Slowly, he began to recall many things.
His lips formed the words, but he made no sound.My name is Adam — Adam Barrett. He rubbed his forehead.I thought when I remembered I would be happy. Why do I have this feeling of dread? The dread mounted as images of a rolling ship forced their way into his mind, and he felt the lashing rain as men cried out in the darkness.
Beside him, Dog leaped to her feet as Peter squeezed his eyes shut and rocked from side to side, trying to blot out the vision. But he couldn’t. It came with the explosion of thunder and a flash of white lightning that hung in the night sky, illuminating the ship and his father crawling toward him on the slippery deck. He felt himself clinging to the rail and stretching his hand into the darkness that followed, but no one was there. And when next the lightning danced across the boiling sea the deck was empty.
Peter turned his face toward the rough log cabin wall. Giving himself up to the pain in his heart, he allowed the tears to come. All the while he cried, Dog whined softly and poked her nose in the back of his neck. When he couldn’t weep anymore, he wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve and allowed the memories to begin again.
I lived in a village in England, and I had a dog — not much like Dog, but it was white, too, and had black spots. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall his mother, but he couldn’t. Peter knew he had been very small when she died. But before that she had given him the puppy. He remembered the puppy growing quickly into a playful friend. Together they often crept into the forbidden woods, for the land belonged to the lord in the manor house. He set snares for rabbits and grouse to supplement the meagre fare on their dinner table.
Peter smiled a little, remembering.I was almost caught once, and would have been, if the path hadn’t been covered with ice. The groundskeeper slipped and fell, but my bare feet kept me up straight. He rubbed his burning eyes in the darkness. His father had been tall and lean and had taught school. It was a small school in a tiny village surrounded by farmland where men worked hard to make the small profits they had to share with the lord. Peter’s throat tightened as he realized that was the reason they had been on the ship. They were sailing to America where his father was to teach in another country school not far from a city called Boston.
Peter opened his eyes. It was half-light now, and someone was moving near the long table. A candle sputtered, and in its glow he spied David Thompson. The mapmaker moved closer and knelt beside Peter. “Are you having a dream, lad?”
Peter shook his head and turned away. His heart ached for his father. A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned back to see understanding in the mapmaker’s eyes.
“You remember then,” he said. When Peter nodded, he sat cross-legged on the floor and placed the candle beside
