第24节
nto the boiling
river below.
Half-submerged in the wide shallow waters, they had fused and cooled to
form irregular clusters of giant stepping stones, their jagged edges
worn smooth by the slow-moving, endless flow of the river. Over the
centuries, ash and dirt, settling on the exposed surfaces had provided
a fertile bed for airborne seeds, and debris floating downstream had
become entangled with the rockpiles, forming a ragged gap-toothed weir
thatched with wild grasses and a scattering of trees and bushes whose
trailing roots were draped with river weeds.
Driving what remained of their herd of captured horses into the
tranquil waters upstream of the highest weir, the trio crossed over
into Nebraska. In its early, troubled history, the territory had
proved so unappealing to would-be settlers, it had become known as the
'corridor state'. Thousands of pioneering families passed through it
on the Oregon and Mormon Trails which converged at Fort Kearney then
tracked westwards along the line of the Platte River. The Mormons kept
to the north bank and were later followed by the riders of the Pony
Express; those bound for Oregon stayed on the southern side until the
river split into its main northern and southern tributaries some
two-thirds of the way across Nebraska.
From here, the trails angled north-westwards, each convoy of covered
wagons and handcarts keeping to its chosen side of what was now called
the North Platte on the long haul up towards the high plains of
Wyoming. It was only after they had passed through Caspar and had
turned away from the river that their parallel paths finally came
together at the South Pass through the Rockies before going their
different ways again at Fort Bridget in the south-west corner of the
state.
At this point, those on the Oregon Trail were only just over haft-way
to their final destination, but the Mormons, whose millennial fervour
had roused their more orthodox eastern neighbours to violence, were
close to their journey's end - the great salt lake in whose fertile
valley they were to build the city that would become a monument to
their unshakeable faith in a God who had not only walked the shores of
Galilee but also the plains of North America.
A faith which had not saved them: a monument which the Holocaust had
turned into a tomb.
Steve, Cadillac and Clearwater had been intercepted by Malone some
forty miles east of Kearney, just north of the river near navref Grand
Island. On the fatal afternoon when the Skyhawk had made its strafing
run, Red River had been a hundred and fifty miles south of the
renegade's campsite. Acting under the orders relayed by Wallis - head
of the AMEXICO task force -' Commander James Fargo had kept her rolling
northwards while his aircraft had gone out to pick up Clearwater,
closing the gap between the wagon-train and his second visitor Steve.
After leaving the train and crossing back over on to the north bank of
the shallow river, Steve had retraced the' route taken by the Mormon
leader Brigham-Young 'and his flock of zealots. By the time he caught
up with Malone, the renegades were over a hundred miles west of the
ill-fated campsite and had already passed beyond the fork in the river
at navref North. Platte - a long-vanished city whose name came from
its location on the slim point of land between the convergent
tributaries.
Cadillac knew the place well. It was burned into his memory. He had
journeyed here with Mr Snow and a posse of M'Call Bears led by
Motor-Head. And at the Old One's bidding he had searched for and found
a seeing-stone. A stone full of terrifying images, heavy with blood,
death, sorrow and utter desolation.
This was the Old One's dying place. The memory of that revelation
brought back the crushing weight of guilt and grief the act of
foretelling had !aid upon him. Urging his horse into a gallop, he
pulled ahead of his companions to hide the bitter tears streaming down
his cheeks.
He wanted to distance himself from this dreadful place, but he knew it
had already laid claim to his soul and was content to await his