“I believe I am just the sort of fellow you are looking for, General, sir.” Beckwourth leaned on his rifle, as if to emphasize his familiarity with it.
Mackinaw boats were being loaded for the expedition; open, shallow-drafting boats with a platform on the back. Ashley put his boot on a barrel, rested his elbow on his knee and examined Beckwourth.
“Could be. You look like a sturdy fellow.” He had been appointed his rank in the War of 1812, and the title still stuck now after more than a decade of civilian life.
“I am good with a rifle, and a good tracker,” said Beckwourth.
“I hear you near finished a blacksmithing apprenticeship. Tell me about that.”
“I can shoe a horse or repair a beaver trap, if that is what you mean.”
“I mean, how did that come to such an abrupt end?”
“I get alon
