Silu Silu was feeling his strength and loped at his favorite gait. The open prairie gave him choices of his own liking. Cortez just pointed him westward along the Missouri River Breaks with only a vague vision of where the quarantine camp was and where his little cave under the rim rock was, but he was certain he would find it.

As the pony carried him almost effortlessly along the prairie, Cortez thought about what he had yet to do. The first thing after visiting his cave and his parents’ grave would be to go on to the Bitterroot Valley and visit Rachel’s parents. They needed to know about their daughter. Then he must go to Lapwai and tell Rehab and Spotted Horse that Samuel died as an honorable warrior trying to stop the soldiers from killing innocent Ni-mi-pu. There was another thing that would be much easier to do, and that was to write in his journals. He would be able to separate each day in his mind and make a history of what had happened. He hadn’t a plan for what he would do with the journals, but he felt that there should be a record, as Captain La Mar had taught him twelve years ago.

The late afternoon sun showed a swath in the grass running more or less north-south. When Cortez reached this area, he saw that the swath was where many wagons and livestock had packed the soil into a trail over a period of time. Now curious, he turned Silu Silu to follow the tracks toward the Missouri River Breaks.

Before the tracks reached the crest of the Breaks, they dropped into a little stream valley that looked familiar. “This is where I was abandoned.” Cortez shouted out, but his pony’s ears only twitched. The crest was where he made his home in a little cave. Now really excited, Cortez left the wagon trail to follow the rim rock.

Leaving Silu Silu at a clump of sagebrush, he walked out onto the rim where the sandstone cap rock looked familiar. The sight below the crest was, however, a startling surprise. Where the quarantine camp had been, a small town now stood, with log cabins and some clapboard buildings. The wooded area where El Oso killed the murderer had been cleared, and some kind of landing wharf built there. The little town had obviously been built for river boats to load and unload. The swath of wagon ruts and tracks were the road used by freighters hauling to the mining camps and towns. Cortez let his eyes study the scene some more and then found the big rock that marked the graves of his Papa and Mama.

Cortez yearned to go immediately to the graves of his parents, but his Indian upbringing made him cautious. He knew nothing about this little town and the people who lived there, or how they would see a rough man still dressed as an Indian.

Looking about some more, Cortez found the narrow crevasse that he had used as a boy to reach his cave. It looked even narrower now, as an adult, but he still managed to squeeze his thin body through the space. The overhanging sandstone cap-rock gave more trouble, and he had to crouch to a near-crawl position to move along the shale bed and into the opening.

It appeared that no one had been in this cave since the day Cortez left with Samuel. As his eyes become accustomed to the dim light, he saw the canvas-wrapped bundles that he had placed into the furthest and driest corner of the cave. They looked untouched. Excited at finding the things left behind, he crawled in on his belly to retrieve them. The things not needed on the trek to the Nez Perce hunting camp would have been a burden.

As Cortez unrolled the first bundle, tears welled in his eyes—Papa’s things, Mama’s things. They were a little dusty, but not even rodents had bothered them. There were clothes and some pieces of jewelry. He remembered making up these bundles in grief. Searching out the one containing Papa’s fine boots and suit jacket, he recalled that he had not been able to dress Papa’s body in those things. He had, in his terrible grief, simply rolled his murdered body in a blanket and tarp before burying him. There had been no funeral.

Pulling off his own moccasins, Cortez sat at the cave opening and tried to pull on the fine leather boots. He had remembered Papa as a big man, but twelve years later, the son was bigger—the boots were much too tight.

The jacket was better. After removing his buckskin shirt, the jacket fit Cortez quite well. He smiled as he remembered trying on this jacket as a boy and how he wondered if he would ever be big enough to fit into his father’s clothes. As he felt the warmth of the coat, a voice seemed to be saying something. It seemed to say, “Look in the pockets. Look in the pockets, Cortez.”

Yes. The inside pockets could have some things that Papa would always have had with him, and his spirit could be telling this to his son. There was a thin leather pouch in which he found the passports and immigration papers for the three Modrables. There was also a leather wallet, in which he found paper currency—two hundred dollars in still crisp bills. With hands shaking with excitement, Cortez spoke out, “I’m no longer destitute.”

Still there was something more in the bottom of both pockets. Cortez had difficulty in pushing his hand clear to the bottom, but when he did he found little hidden pockets, in each of which there were Spanish gold coins. “Papa, you hid those coins well, so they would be used for an emergency or to help the family get started in a land where the future was uncertain.”

Another bundle contained hard heavy objects, Cortez knew that bundle to be medical books, and that discovery reminded Cortez that there were crates somewhere in Fort Benton with more books and instruments and household items. For twelve years the possessions had been only memories of a life that no longer existed. Now, suddenly, Cortez was thrust back into that life.

The feeling of warmth and home that the little cave gave Cortez made him want to stay in this place, at least for the night. This choice made, he wormed his way back out and through the crevasse. Silu Silu had a curious expression as he saw Cortez emerge out of a crack in the ground. “Yes, old friend, I’m here, and we may be home.”

There was no water and little grass for grazing near the rimrock, so Cortez led Silu Silu down to the small stream. Because they were near a town, he tied his pony to a willow bush with a long halter rope. “I know that this isn’t the way I normally do, old friend, but we don’t want the soyapo to think that you are wild.”

Though he had nothing to cook and only a few scraps of dried meat for his supper, he still wasn’t ready to venture into the little soyapo town. Cortez chose to sleep in the cave and listen to the familiar sounds of the river.

When morning came, Cortez tried to decide how he should appear when entering the little town on the river. Looking like an Indian might frighten people, but wearing Papa’s clothes would look even stranger, coming off the prairie on an Indian pony. He decided on the buckskin trousers and shirt, but he combed out his hair and tied it in the back. Changing his hair from Ni-mi-pu to soyapo again brought a moment of sadness for the life that he had lost.

With his growing beard, Cortez looked like a white trapper or trader. “I’ll see how I’m accepted and then change my appearance more, if necessary,” he said to himself.

Both Silu Silu and Cortez felt nervous as they rode into the little river town. A rough sign welcomed them to Carroll, Montana Territory. There was a clapboard hotel advertising rooms and a restaurant. Nearby stood a saloon with a false front nailed over log walls. The road led down to the boat landing. Warehouses lined both sides of the rutted road. A freight wagon was loading at one, but no riverboats were tied up. Several men were walking on the boardwalks between shops. They watched Cortez but didn’t seem alarmed. Tying up Silu Silu, with his Nez Perce saddle, in front of the hotel drew more attention than did Cortez.

A large strong woman met him at the hotel desk with an expression that seems to question his business. “I’d like to have breakfast.” The woman motioned toward the restaurant door, but still had a challenging look, so Cortez added, “I can pay.” He chose a table in a vacant corner, knowing that his many days on the trail had left their signs and smell. Then the remembered odor of freshly baked biscuits floated from the kitchen.

A bleary-eyed man with a dishtowel wrapped about his waist came to his table. “We got potatoes and ham and potatoes with sausage.” This information jolted Cortez into remembering that he still held Jewish beliefs on eating pork.

“I smell biscuits. Can I have a big plate of biscuits with butter and honey?”

The surly hash slinger walked off toward the kitchen. Cortez judged that bad whiskey had robbed the man of any cheerful feelings.

Studying his surroundings, while waiting for breakfast, he saw several men dressed in suits at one table. They were probably miners waiting for a boat to take them back to civilization and their homes. Several army officers occupied a large table. They didn’t seem to take notice of Cortez, but he could overhear their loud conversations. They seem to be discussing the Nez Perce and who should take credit for their defeat. Cortez could have straightened out truth from rumor, but that would draw attention to him, which he did not want to do.

“Cook said that the plate of biscuits would cost two bits,” said the waiter, who held onto the plate as if he didn’t believe that Cortez could pay.

“Take it out of this and bring me a cup of coffee,” Cortez replied, and handed the surprised man a ten-dollar greenback.

As Cortez enjoyed his biscuit breakfast, another man came to his table with his change. He didn’t have the hostile attitude that the woman at the desk and the waiter had shown. The scruffy appearance had obviously aroused suspicions. Cortez smiled to himself, thinking, Should I have appeared in this restaurant yesterday before discovering my father’s wallet, I certainly would have been a beggar. This new visitor to his table seemed to be interested in more than just his errand, so Cortez motioned for him to sit.

The man sat down, while Cortez continued, somewhat rudely, to eat biscuits. Then the man said, “My wife wants to know if you will need a room tonight. Rooms are two dollars a night.”

“I would like to stay,” Cortez told him. “I would like to spend some time visiting some places, but first, I need to find a barber and a bath house.”

The hotel owner then introduced himself with a big grin and told Cortez about all the shops and services in Carroll, with obvious pride.

As Cortez left the hotel entrance, he found the soldiers gathered about his pony. “We want to know where you got this Nez Perce pony and saddle.”

“My horse is my horse.” He told them while looking each in the eye. He felt that saying more than necessary would not be in his interest.

“We’re at war with the Nez Perce Nation, so don’t you get smart with me.”

Cortez turned to that young officer and responded, “I’m an American citizen. I’m not at war with anyone. This fine horse was given to me by a Nez Perce breeder of fine horses for treating the sire of this horse after it was injured. I’ve had this pony since it was weaned. The saddle is made for hunting buffalo.” To offer more might force him into admitting that his heart was still with the Nez Perce.

He untied Silu Silu from the rail and started walking toward the livery stable. The soldiers may not have been satisfied with those answers, but they didn’t seem to know what to do about it. For his pony’s safety and his own benefit, Cortez saw that they must look less like the feared Nez Perce when around white men.

After buying clothes and having a long bath, Cortez sat in the barber’s chair. The barber seemed to have little business and was quite talkative. He cut off most of the hair and started shaving the beard for the first time. Since the long dark whiskers had first started growing, Cortez had been trying to keep them plucked out like most Indians would, but the last months had given little time for that.

The barber was a pleasant, friendly man, and Cortez found himself asking questions about the town of Carroll. Listening to the barber made Cortez quite comfortable, so he told him that this wasn’t his first time in this place, and that he was going to visit the graves of his parents.

That statement put a puzzled look on the barber’s face, so Cortez went on to tell him about the quarantine camp and the cholera and how he was left stranded with his murdered father.

The barber stopped shaving Cortez altogether. His arms hung loose at his sides, and he looked dumbfounded. “So, you are him.” This comment accompanied a look of amazement. “So, you say that you are the boy of the legend. Many of us didn’t know if that story was true.”

Now Cortez was the one surprised. “My name is Cortez Modrables. I know nothing about a legend. How would you know about me?”

“Why, Captain La Mar told us about the terrible cholera onboard his boat and the need to quarantine the sick from the others, and how the well passengers were going to burn his boat if he continued the quarantine. That old man gets tears in his eyes when he tells of leaving you and your father here, so he could save his boat, and how your father was murdered. He knows that you left here to take a wounded Indian boy to his people.”

“So, Captain La Mar still comes here, does he?” Cortez asked.

“Captain La Mar no longer has his own boat, but he pilots other boats up and down this upper part of the Missouri. He often stops here. When he stops, he always goes to the graves of your parents with wild flowers. He will be very glad to see you.”

“I wrote him a letter after I had been taken in by the Nez Perce, telling him what had happened. I hoped that he got it in Fort Benton.”

The barber resumed the shave. “The captain must have gotten it, because he knew that you were with the Nez Perce.”

“I was accepted into the hunting band and taught to become a shaman when they saw that I had helped a wounded Nez Perce boy survive using things that I had learned from my father.”

Clothed, bathed, shaved, and well fed, Cortez headed down along the river bank to the great rock and his parents’ grave. The town of Carroll hadn’t built into that area, except for a small log cabin that looked abandoned. Stepping over to the door, which hung ajar on one leather hinge, Cortez looked in and said hello, but no one answered. A crude bed occupied one wall and a small cast-iron stove and hand-made table sat on the other. Some wooden crates were nailed to the walls for storage. The wooden floor smelled of rat and mice urine. Despite its rundown appearance, Cortez thought that he might try to buy the cabin. It could be made into a winter home.

At the grave site, Cortez stood looking at the place where he had dug the soft soil so as to place Papa’s mutilated body alongside his mother’s coffin. Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled those terrible days. I can still see my father’s slashed throat, despite my efforts to bring up his whole face--happy and smiling at me. I can more easily see my mother’s beautiful face, with her rich black hair and gentle eyes.

Cortez then tried to remember a Jewish prayer that he could say, but the ones that he knew as a thirteen-year-old eluded him. He found it easier to let his mind slip into the Dreamer state. His mind floated toward the spirit world—there to feel his parents. Cortez sensed them like he had never felt their presence before. He saw them standing together, and their faces showed peace. They motioned to him about something. Cortez felt that they were telling him to stay here at the river breaks.

Soon another spirit joined them, and the parents told Cortez that this third spirit was with them. Now! Now! He saw the face of the spirit, and it was the face of Rachel! Rachel, his beautiful wife’s spirit, was with the spirits of his parents. Rachel was trying to tell him something with signs. She was telling Cortez that she wanted him to visit her parents. She also told him that she would always be with him.

The dream vision faded as conscious thoughts took over Cortez’s mind. His eyes opened, and he saw that the place of the graves had sunken--making a slight depression where some wild plants grew. He vowed that he would fill that depression with good soil and plant wild flowers from the prairie to better show where his beloved parents lay.

Feeling along the gray face of the great boulder Cortez found the Star of David that he had scratched into it twelve years before. Below the star, were the names of the wonderful people who lay there. The etchings had been overcome by stains and lichens, so Cortez took out his old clasp knife and scratched away the years of absence.

When Cortez strolled back into the town of Carroll, he felt that something had changed. People smiled at him, and several shook his hand. He found that the talkative barber had gone about telling everyone that he was the returned boy of the quarantine camp legend. Even the stern woman at the hotel smiled warmly and told Cortez that his room was ready.

After he questioned several people, Cortez learned that the town of Carroll was owned by the Double Diamond Company. He also asked about the little cabin near the graves and found that it had been abandoned for some time. No one seemed to know who, if anybody, owned it.

Cortez decided that staying in Carroll might be good. Just a few days’ work on that cabin would make it livable. Then he could leave for the Bitterroot Valley and visit Rachel’s parents. Barring problems or changing his mind, Cortez could be back in Carroll before winter set in.

The friendly barber found Cortez having supper at the hotel and excitedly seated himself at the table. “I’ve been talking to people at the Double Diamond warehouse and they tell me that the stern wheeler, Otter, has been waiting for the fall rains to raise the Missouri enough to make the downriver run.”

Cortez smiled at this news, but wondered why this was so exciting. “I’ve become aware that you have told people who I am, which is fine, but how does your news about the Otter affect me?”

“Well the pilot on the Otter is Captain La Mar, and the Otter plans to stop at Carroll. Won’t Captain La Mar be surprised to find you here?”

This news surprised Cortez. He was startled and didn’t know how he would feel about seeing the Captain. “What day do they expect the Otter to land?”

“I thought you would be surprised. The warehouse people think that they could arrive any time now, since the river is rising from the rain and snow we had.”

The town barber and Cortez talked for a while longer, before Cortez headed for his room. Stopping at the desk, he saw the calendar, which showed the day to be October 15, 1877. Cortez had the urge to write about it in his neglected journal.

It seemed unbelievably strange to be working on an old cabin roof—replacing leaky strips of sod—while only a few days ago, Cortez had been involved in a tragic retreat and sometimes war. People had been dying, starving, and freezing, and while he had tried to do what he could to help, that had been very little. Now he was on this roof with nothing more to do but make this little cabin less leaky.

Cortez heard the unmistakable whistle of a river boat. For some reason, the sound made him feel apprehensive about meeting Captain La Mar after these twelve years, but he still climbed down and washed up. Then for some unknown reason, Cortez put on his buckskin jacket rather than the new wool one to go meet the Otter.

It seemed like the whole town’s population was at the wharf as the little stern wheeler tied up. Cortez could see a man in the wheel house directing the landing and he assumed that the man was Captain La Mar. He also assumed that the town’s people were there to see his reunion with the captain.

After all these years, Cortez had remembered a tall, strong, commanding man with a black beard wearing a dark blue captain’s uniform. That man was now walking down the gangplank. Though wearing the same blue uniform, the man had changed from the figure that Cortez remembered. He was much shorter in stature, his shoulders were rounded, and his back was no longer straight and rigid. White hair poked from under the captain’s cap and streaked the dark beard. The man greeted a few townspeople on the wharf and turned to walk as if on a mission.

Cortez saw that the captain carried a small bouquet of flowers, and he guessed that the mission was his parents’ grave, so he stepped up alongside the captain, causing the man’s pale blue eyes to look up, puzzled. Then the young man said, “Captain La Mar, may I walk with you? I’m Cortez Modrables.”

A shiver seemed to pass through both men and caused them to stop momentarily. Captain La Mar stammered, “Cortez? Cortez Modrables?”

“Yes, Captain, it is Cortez, and I’m very happy to see you again.” Tears welled in the old man’s eyes and the young man’s also. “It has been a very long time, and much has happened.”

Captain La Mar extended a hand for a shake, but then changed to an awkward but warm hug. “Yes. Yes, my boy. It has been a very long time. I think about you every day and about how things could have been different for both of us.”

Cortez saw that the townspeople had gathered around them, some with tears in their eyes. Their story had undoubtedly touched many, but he preferred that the two talk alone. “Captain, lets walk on down to the grave and we can talk some.” The barber started to follow, but someone took his arm, indicating that he should honor the need for privacy.

Cortez felt that he should start the conversation. “I assume that you received the letter I sent from the Gold Creek store.”

“Yes, I got the letter in the fall of 1865. I still worried about you, but saw that there was nothing I could do. You seemed to be certain that living with the Nez Perce would be preferable to living as a white person.”

“I haven’t regretted that choice. I had a good life with the Nez Perce except for the last months and the terrible retreat, with its battles. You have probably read or heard about our troubles and how the army chased us to British North America?”

“You were with Chief Joseph’s tribe?” On hearing this, the captain stopped in his stride, an incredulous look on his face.

“I was with White Bird’s band. We crossed the border, and the band is now with Sitting Bull’s Sioux. Joseph made a treaty with the army, but I’m afraid that he will regret it. There has been much misunderstanding over this whole trouble. If it had not happened, I would still be in Idaho. My wife and my Nez Perce brother would still be living. My life with the Nez Perce was as happy as I could expect. I was taught to be a shaman and learned much about treating sick and wounded people. Using that training, along with what I learned from my father, I have helped many people.”

Captain La Mar studied Cortez’s face with sadness in his eyes, so the younger man went on. “Rachel and I were married for only two days when she was killed by a soldier at the Big Hole battle. Samuel, the Nez Perce boy, who was wounded here trying to save my wyakin from being shot, was also killed there. He was my adopted brother. I buried them both at that battlefield. Now, I must go to the Bitterroot Valley to tell Rachel’s parents about how she died. Samuel’s parents are on the Lapwai Reservation in Idaho. I don’t know if I can go there to see them. I was known to be with White Bird and I might be hanged.”

Cortez stopped his tale as he and the Captain came to the old cabin that he was fixing up. “I am planning to live in this cabin for a while. The people here at Carroll seem to accept me in either buckskins or white men’s clothing.”

At the grave, the two men knelt together, and each said his prayers silently. Cortez was very touched that Captain La Mar had kept up this ritual all these years. Then, standing by the great boulder, the captain reached on top of the sandstone slab, removed the little pile of stones, and took out a folded piece of paper. “This is the last note that I left for you, Cortez” The captain then took another note from his jacket pocket, “and this is the note that I was going to leave for you today.”

Cortez took the notes, read them quickly, and said, “I’ll keep them in my journals. I’m sorry that I worried you all these years. I was surprised to learn that you had told the townspeople about the quarantine camp and me. Most of the time, I was safe and happy. The Nez Perce gave me a family that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. At that time, I didn’t feel that I would survive in the white world without my parents. I know that you would have tried to care for me, Captain, but I would still have been a Jewish boy whenever I ventured into a town. The Nez Perce accepted me despite my white skin and religion. They taught me to have the courage to face anyone.”

As Captain La Mar and Cortez stood there by the great rock, recounting to each other what had happened over the past twelve years, the young man got the strong sense that his Mama and Papa were listening. He could almost see them smiling in satisfaction that they helped bring the two together at this time and place.

While the friends were engrossed in conversation, the weather had been changing. A cold autumn wind was now blowing upriver. This change was observed by Captain La Mar. “I must get back to the boat, Cortez. The Otter is already late in getting downriver. Winter is coming to the upper Missouri, and any more delay wouldn’t sit well with the Otter’s captain.”

As they walked back toward Carroll, Cortez asked, “Do you remember teaching me about keeping logbooks and journals, Captain?”

“Certainly. We were up on the prairie trying desperately to find an herb that would help treat that terrible cholera.”

“Well, I still have the log book that you gave me and have bought several more since. I have kept those journals up to date except for the past two weeks and the last attack by the army. I plan to fill in that gap in the next few days.”

They were nearing the wharf and the Otter. Cortez saw another man pacing the deck wearing a captain’s uniform. Captain La Mar hurried along, but still took time to say, “Cortez. I would like very much to read your journals. They could also be of great interest to others. My address in Saint Louis is on the notes. Please write to me and, if possible, send me copies of your journals. I hope to see you here during next summer’s shipping season.”

Cortez reached out to shake his old friend’s hand, but the Captain reached past the hand to give him a warm embrace. “We will meet again,” Cortez told him, though he couldn’t be certain of that.

Captain La Mar was hardly on board the Otter when the sternwheeler cast off and steamed into the channel. This had been a wondrous day for both Cortez and Captain La Mar. Their friendship had come full circle, with the loose ends tied up here in Carroll.

“Tomorrow I will leave for the Bitterroot Valley,” Cortez announced to the river and to Captain La Mar, who could no longer hear him. “Rachel’s spirit will be there with me.” Simahichen Tim paused again as he looked toward the cliffs where his little cave was in the afternoon shadow. “Samuel’s spirit will meet me in the Big Hole and go with me to Lapwai for my visit with Spotted Horse and Rahab. Modrables, El Oso, the great wyakin will guide me and protect me at Lapwai and will still be with me when it is my time to go to the spirit world.”

THE END