Of Those Who Do Not Belong

By Nicholas George Petryszak

“When spirits are together, they hold hands. Now and here our spirits do this. I know this to be true. Our spirits are together. This has happened. For always, our spirits they do not let go, until there are no more mornings, no more stars and no more grass that the horses may eat.” Words spoken by Wind in Trees.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665510257

Nicholas George Petryszak

Of Those Who Do Not Belong is my first novel and was originally published with Amazon (2019). The revised version has now been published with Authorhouse. Loyalty and Secrecy is my second full-length work of fiction which has also just been published with Authorhouse (2020). As a former university instructor, researcher and administrator, I have also published a number of refereed academic articles, covering a wide array of subject areas in sociology including: the history of social thought, bio-sociology, mass communications, multicultural relationships, and the sociology of sport. Recently retired from my professional career. I am now endeavouring to write full time and have begun my third novel, Full Moon Waning, which I hope to have completed early next year. I live with my family in North Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Apart from writing, I enjoy and gain a great feeling of freedom, by being in the outdoors as much as I can; appreciating the wonders of this earth which we all share.

Book preview

OF THOSE WHO

DO NOT BELONG

NICHOLAS GEORGE PETRYSZAK

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2021 Nicholas George Petryszak. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue

in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/04/2020

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1026-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1025-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

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35

About the Author

Synopsis: A story of a journey, discovery and love. Of a young man from England in search of furs and good fortune in the mid-19th century, in the wilds of northern Canada. Where he comes to understand the land, its people and the spirits which dwell there. Living through terror and death, sadness and friendship, love lost and love regained. Finding in the end, himself and the place where he did not belong and the place where he did.

In their own words, some of the characters in this book, speak of what it is about.

Many of those places I have been, only God has seen and only God lives there. I belong to this land now and it holds my heart and to it, I have given my soul freely. I cannot now take my heart and my soul back from it. This I cannot do. Words spoken by Thomas Elgin.

When spirits are together, they hold hands. Now and here our spirits do this. I know this to be true. Our spirits are together. This has happened. For always, our spirits they do not let go, until there are no more mornings, no more stars and no more grass that the horses may eat. Words spoken by Wind in Trees.

If the spirit of a person, is not connected to the land, they may walk on paths where they should not walk and where they do not belong. Words spoken by Broken Horn.

Priest, know this. I live now with God on this land. This land is the house of God. Here I be together with God for now and for later. I know this to be true. Words spoken by John Standing at Edge of Timber.

Much cruelty dwells in this land. There are some who survive here and live on. There are some who die here and there are those who leave, scarred by that which they have seen and done. Words spoken by Samuel Smith.

Do you not remember England and where you were born and where you grew up? Remember the green grass and the winter rain? Remember the sounds of English voices and of drinking tea from India and eating biscuits made from honey? Words spoken by Elizabeth Toothill.

All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Anything that is real and true is not intended but the world might be a better place if some of it was, especially when it comes to friendship and love.

1

The wind blew through the high grass that swayed and rubbed together, making a noise like rushing water. The aspen trees standing here and there, before the wind. Their leaves, yellow and dry, rustled and quivered and fell to the ground. It was early fall.

On a plateau high above the great river, Thomas sat on his horse, hidden among the trees. The horse was used to standing quietly, making no noise at all; waiting to feel the tug on its reins. It was a hunting horse that was cut from a wild herd, years before and it knew when to be quiet. Now was that time.

Looking into the distance and seeing there, below a cloudless blue sky with neither beginning nor end, four men walking in single file. Not talking, they too were quiet as they moved through the grass.

Thomas watched them as they grew closer. The man walking in front looked forward and the men following behind, looked down at the ground. Their pace was quick. They were going somewhere. Thomas knew that those men, if they wanted, could walk twenty miles in a day.

What he did not know was, who they were. They could be from that country or they could be from over the mountains. They might want to trade and yet again anything could happen. It was hard to say.

Their clothes were simple and had seen better times. They wore old wool coats and moose hide leggings that were stained from smoke and grease. On their feet, high top moccasin wraps. One of them carried a canvas sack that seemed to be full of something. Noticing too the rifles each of them carried, were muskets of the flintlock type that were long and heavy and hard to load. Thinking that they might have traded pelts for them at the fort.

Thomas sat on the horse with the wind in his face, seeing it blowing about the long black hair of those men. In the distance and high above, two ravens called to one another. Reaching towards his coat and unbuttoning it, he placed his hand on the butt of the pistol in his belt.

He whispered to the horse and to himself. They will surely want that of which I have.

He did not have much. For the past months he had been on the land trapping. From this, he had only four beaver and three martin pelts which were tied behind him to the saddle. He did not have sugar, coffee, rum or tobacco. Just some pemmican, a small bag of grease, pistol and rifle, a saddle and his horse. That was it. Nothing to sell or to trade. Nothing to give.

The four men now had stopped walking. All of them knelt down on one knee and leaned against their rifles to rest. The leader spoke to the three other men in their language. The wind carried a few of their words to Thomas’s ears but he did not know what these words meant. For a long time, they spoke among themselves. One of them pulled out a pipe and lighting it, passed it around and no one seemed excited. The wind brought the smell of the tobacco smoke to Thomas and the horse snorted when this smell reached its nose.

Then things changed.

The leader stood up and looked directly over to the trees where Thomas and the horse were. The other three men also got up and then the leader made a sign, holding his arm up in front of him.

It meant in their language. Welcome to this house.

Thomas could see that this man had a pistol in his belt. He did not hold up his arm up to reply to him. Not just yet. Instead, putting his hand into his coat, he cocked the pistol. Then reaching down under his right leg, undoing the leather thong of the rifle scabbard, he slid his hand inside and pulled back the hammer. If he needed, he would have two chances to shoot.

Now, he held his arm up to reply to the men. His other hand, in his coat, on the handle of the pistol. The four men walked towards him and their steps were high, to get through the tall grass.

Thomas moved his horse out from the edge of the trees and stood in the open. Pulling on its reins and moving the horse so that it stood facing the men. This would give him a direct shot at them. If the men chose to shoot at him, they would not be able to hit his horse broadside.

Waiting and watching them approach and hearing their heavy breathing as they moved closer. Seeing too that the hammers of their rifles were cocked.

Thomas whispered to his horse and to himself.

These men are from over the mountains. I know not of them. But I know that they carry trouble here.

The horse listened and snorted as they drew near, not being used to the smell of so many men. Keeping his hand inside his coat, Thomas wondering if he should turn the horse around and ride off. The men were close now and knowing that if he ran with his back to them, they would surely have an easy shot.

Again, he whispered to the horse and to himself. We should have stayed in the trees.

Upon saying this, by then, it was too late.

The men stopped walking and they did not rest their rifles upon the ground. Each man now holding his rifle with two hands out in front. Thomas saw this and the horse did too. He thought again of who these men might be, if they were meat hunters working for the fort or if they were trappers.

Thomas knew such meetings as this were not a problem, but he had heard stories about when they were. Sometimes you could not tell how things would turn out and sometimes, you just had to pray for good results. Now, there was no time for prayer.

The leader of the men spoke to Thomas and his English was broken. Thomas only knew some words in their language.

The man said in English words. Hello to you.

Thomas replied. I too say hello.

The man continued. We know not of you on this land.

Thomas answered. I know not of you.

The man asked. Where you go on this land?

Thomas said back to him.

To the fort and then to the mountains. Far away and to the north.

Thomas pointed to the mountains in the distance and he did not ask them where they were going. The men spoke among themselves and they laughed about something. One man pointed at the pelts tied on the back of Thomas’s saddle.

While pointing to the pelts, the leader said some more words. You pretty thin on beavers.

Thomas smiled and replied.

Yes, not so many. Maybe later in the fall will be better. In those mountains are more beaver than on these flat lands. A man must work hard to find those beavers.

He pointed again to the mountains and at that moment, wishing he was there and not with these men.

The man said some more. Do those mountains welcome you?

Yes, Thomas said. I have been there from before and I shall return to them soon.

The man paused in his questions, asking then another one.

Maybe you have something for us? Tobacco, rum, sweets, something good?

The man smiled at Thomas with his questions, showing his broken teeth.

Thomas shook his head to mean no, and did not take his hand from inside his coat. The horse twitched his ears from hearing so many words. The wind blew and moved the leaves and the grass and cooled his forehead, of the sweat that had come to him, from listening to this man.

Thomas held out his other hand that was not resting on the pistol and he showed an open palm. Then he turned his hand over, which in their language meant that he had nothing.

No, Thomas said and shook his head again.

I have nothing. My pockets are empty. I have been on the Land too long. Having small luck.

The man pointed at the pelts and said.

Maybe you give us pelts. For this we be happy. We need pelts and more things.

Thomas knew then that trouble was coming and it was coming quickly.

No, Thomas replied.

No pelts. I have promised them to others. I would lose trust if I was to give them to you.

The man walked closer towards the rear of the horse to try to pull the furs from the saddle. Thomas tugged on the reins, backing the horse up a few steps. The horse doing this and watching the man at the same time.

Now Thomas spoke loudly. You better stand right there my friend and I will go on my way.

Thomas looking then at what the other men were doing. One of them had his finger on the trigger of his rifle. He backed the horse up again, but the man kept on walking towards him, now holding his rifle pointed.

The man said.

Maybe you get off horse. Then we talk some more.

At the same time, the man slid his finger towards the trigger of his rifle.

Thomas said out loud to the horse, to the man and to the other men. God please help us.

Then quickly taking out his pistol he fired at the man’s head. The man dropped to the ground and his blood splattered on the horse and on Thomas.

Now galloping to where the other three men stood and who watched him with their eyes wide open. The horse running up full speed to the closest of the three men. Thomas pulled his rifle from the scabbard, reined in the horse and fired and the man fell down. All of this happened in a moment.

The two other men pointed their rifles and Thomas rode between them at a gallop, to break up their air. One of the men stumbled to the ground as the horse ran through them and the other man fired his rifle. Thomas, hearing the shot, but not feeling anything enter his body, kept riding the horse hard, away from there, towards the aspen trees that waited.

Once in the trees, stopping to reload the rifle and the pistol. The two men remaining, now lying hidden in the grass, somewhere. The only sounds being of the wind moving the leaves in the trees and of the horse breathing heavy.

Thomas whispered to the horse and to himself.

Maybe they will run off. Or maybe they will keep coming until they kill us. I do not know.

Getting off the horse, tying the reins to a small branch and crouching down. He went off towards the west, hiding among the trees. Loaded pistol in one hand and loaded rifle in the other. Making a wide circle he stepped towards where the men had been. The wind covering the noise of his movements and it too, hiding the sounds of those men who were somewhere ahead of him in the grass.

Reaching the edge of where the trees grew, he stopped and knelt down out of site. In front of him was the open grassland. The grass swaying and bending to the wind and whispering to him of things unknown and of things to come.

He looked about and seeing there only the grass, the mountains far beyond, the sky that was blue and clear and the sun that was warm. High above in that sky were the two ravens calling out again to one another, as ravens do. Somewhere close were those men, crouched down, crawling in the grass and wanting to kill him. Somewhere.

He stayed there for some time, looking, listening and waiting. The horse, which was a small distance behind him in the trees, made a snorting sound that it would make when it was trying to smell something. Thomas knew what the horse smelled. It was those men.

Tucking the pistol into the back of his trousers, he lay down in the grass. Using his elbows to pull himself forward, he crawled back towards the horse. Cradling his rifle in his arms in front of him and trying to be as quiet as he could. After a short while, stopping to listen and hearing the horse snort again. Lifting his head above the height of the tall grass, he saw the two men a short distance away. They were kneeling down and not moving, with their backs towards him and watching his horse.

Knowing what to do and not thinking about it. Knowing then that there was killing to be done. Thomas stood up, pointed his pistol at the first man, shooting him between the shoulder blades and the man fell forward. Dropping the pistol, he aimed his rifle at the second man who was now standing with his rifle at his shoulder. Shooting him high in the chest, the man stumbled backwards and dropped to the ground.

Kneeling down, Thomas reloaded the rifle and pistol, doing this quickly and without thought. Waiting and watching the grass where he had shot the two men, hoping they were dead and that they had not crawled away. The wind blew there and the grass whispered to him.

Waiting for some time more. Standing up and seeing both men lying in the grass, he stepped closer towards them. The first man was without life and the second man had some life left. Hearing him gasping for air and making gurgling noises and choking. The horse nearby that was tied to a tree, snorted at the smell of the blood.

Walking towards the man who still had life and who lay on his back with blood coming from his mouth, staring up at the sky. Thomas looked into his black eyes and he watched the man dying from his bullet. He sighed at the sight of this and pulling out his pistol and pointing it at the man’s head, he shot him.

After that, he spoke to the dead man, to the horse, to the grass and the trees, and to the mountains far away.

Saying. Now it is over. Thank God.

Walking between the two dead men and taking a closer look at them. They were dressed in ragged clothes and their leather moccasins had holes in the bottoms of the soles. Each man carried a knife, made from a steel file that was ground down to an edge and their rifles looked not very much used.

Thomas noticed a canvass sack lying on the ground beside the first dead man. Picking it up and emptying it on the ground. In it was four full bottles of rum, a tobacco pouch, a clay pipe, a bag of pemmican and a small bag of salt. Putting his hand into the bag and licking it from his finger, the first salt he had tasted since the spring.

On the ground there was another bag, which he opened to see what was there. Finding, twelve large gold coins. Placing them in his hand, they felt heavy and solid. English in origin and worth a great deal. Wondering as to where these men had got them.

Not pausing to think about it for too long, he picked up everything from the ground and put it all back into the sack. Carrying the sack and the rifle and walking over to where the horse stood. Patting the horse’s neck gently and speaking to it.

Saying.

Thank you for standing by me this day. I did not want to do all of this killing. Those men should have left us alone. They could not do that. They wanted to take from us, anything we might have. I know this to be true. Now what they have is death.

Securing the sack to the saddle and untying the horse, he mounted and rode over to where the leader of the men lay. Looking down on him and seeing the pistol that was in his belt, he got off the horse and pulled out the pistol to look at it.

He said out loud. I will keep this in case more trouble comes.

The horse snorted at the sound of these words and at the smell of the dead man’s blood.

Getting back on the horse, he headed east towards the valley of the great river that was far below. Knowing he would not reach the fort that day, as the distance was too great and the coming of night was too soon. With this, he would camp somewhere near and travel more the next day. He rode on.

Before darkness came, he made camp in a small circle of aspen trees at the edge of the grassland. Tethering the front legs of the horse with pieces of rope so it might graze. Not wanting it to wander far that night. Wishing to build a fire that would be small and hidden in the trees. He gathered some dry branches the wind had blown down and used flint and steel to light it. Unsaddling the horse and carrying everything over, near the fire. Rolling out his blanket on the grass and placing the saddle and the sack from the dead man on the ground. He lay the rifle and the pistol on the blanket within easy reach.

Standing by the fire, he watched the small flames and the smoke rising towards the sky that was dark now from the night which had come there. Those dead men being on his mind.

About them he spoke aloud, with only the horse there to listen and he said.

This day I have killed men. More men than I had wished. If I had not done so they would have surely finished me. They would not have let me go. Now they lie out there in the grass. Their flesh will feed the wolves. The porcupines will chew on their bones.

Taking the clay pipe from the dead man’s sack, he filled it with tobacco, lit it with an ember from the fire and breathed in the smoke. The horse lifted its head to its smell. Reaching down, picking up one of the bottles of rum and removing the cork with his teeth, he took a long drink.

Then speaking again to the horse, he said.

It is too bad you do not drink. If you did, I would surely share this bottle with you. Out here, in this place, I must drink alone. There are many things I must do alone. That is how it is here. A man is alone while others are wanting him dead.

Taking another drink, he brought out the gold coins and held them and wondered how those men had come to have them. The coins being worth enough to buy much land, a farm, a ranch and even more than that.

Again, talking out loud to the horse and to himself he said.

These coins are stolen and on them there is blood. With those dead men out there, I am now a killer. With these coins in my hand, I am now a thief. In this I be like them and I am no different.

Thinking about this and not saying anything more. From the rum bottle taking another drink and smoking the pipe. Feeling tired and laying down on the blanket, he closed his eyes and he slept.

Above in the night sky there was a rising moon with stars that were spread out in clusters. On the horizon, the northern lights, moving and changing in their colours. In the darkness, a coyote barked and another howled in reply. The wind had ceased and the night was still.

Not so many miles away, four dead men lay in the grass. Nearby a wolf stepped out of the trees, sniffing the air and smelling the blood and the death, walking then towards where the dead men were.

While Thomas slept, he dreamt of places far away and of long ago. Of the family farm in England when he was a boy. Of his two dogs, barking at sheep in the field. Of his mother, weeding the garden by the stone farm house and hearing her call his name.

The fire now was almost out. The horse stood close to Thomas where he lay. As if to watch over him and it looked out into the darkness, dreaming of that which horses can only dream.

2

The morning arrived and the dreams of the man and the horse departed. A frost had come there before first light. Thomas opened his eyes, seeing the moon above, which had not yet fallen and remembering all of the killing from the day before. Closing his eyes to forget, but the memories of this would not go away and could not be forgotten.

Awake now and getting up, Thomas looked about. Close by, the horse was eating grass. Far in the distance and to the north, were the shadows of the mountains with snow upon them. To the west and below, was the valley and the great river that ran through it.

Just then, the horse turned its head towards a small grove of aspen trees not far away. Thomas seeing there beside a tree, standing and not moving, a man, leaning on a stick and holding no gun. The man was not tall and had long black hair which rested on his shoulders. His head was covered by