Chapter 20: Relapse and Reunion

 

By morning the storm had passed. Mac ached from his exertion the previous day. His head hurt, and he coughed uncontrollably.

“Mac, you’re sick again!” Jenny said as soon as she saw him.

“Just a cold.”

She touched his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ll be fine.” He tried to go hitch the oxen, but his head spun and he had to sit, cursing himself.

Jenny brought Doc to their wagon. “Look,” she said, waving her hand at Mac. “He won’t rest.” She stood, hand on her belly, while the doctor examined Mac.

“It ain’t cholera,” Doc said when he was finished. “You got a chill, I expect.”

“I’m driving today,” Jenny announced, her chin stuck in the air.

Irritated by her interference, Mac glared. “All right, you hitch up. See how much you can do without me.”

Doc Tuller chuckled as he left. “You two are married, for sure. Let her have her way, Mac. Won’t hurt you to lose a spat.”

Mac watched Jenny struggle to lift the heavy yokes onto the oxen’s necks, then she smiled brightly when Zeke rushed to her aid.

Zeke frowned at him.

“She wouldn’t let me help.” Mac knew he sounded surly, but the sight of Zeke assisting Jenny made him furious.

Mac rode in the wagon that morning, not talking. Jenny stayed silent as well.

“Look!” she said much later, pointing out a tall spire of rock on the horizon. “What’s that?”

He peered out. “Chimney Rock. Frémont wrote about it. Must be three hundred feet high.” The tower’s base was wide, but it rose above the plain to a thin shaft like the stone ruins of an ancient building.

Mac tried to watch the red clay tower grow closer. But his eyelids drooped, and he lay back on his pallet. The heat and dust lulled him into a stupor as the wagon bumped along.

When they stopped, Mac’s head throbbed. Through a daze, he heard Jenny say, “I can’t wake him up.” He tried to sit, but a fit of coughing made him gasp.

Doc pushed him down. “Water and soup. Nothing more. Sweat the fever out of him.” The doctor piled Jenny’s buffalo robe on top of the blanket already covering Mac.

After slurping some soup, Mac slept again. In late afternoon he awoke soaked in sweat, but feeling better. He looked outside. They were now beside Chimney Rock.

“Are we stopping?” he asked when the wagon came to a halt.

“Yes,” Jenny said. “Joel’s here. He found Captain Pershing and came back. He and Zeke are talking now.”

Shivering, Mac pulled himself out of the wagon and drew his coat close. His head still pulsed and his legs were unsteady, but he joined Doc and the Pershing brothers.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“The rest of the company is only a day ahead,” Joel said. “They had sickness, too. Two children died. I stayed there two days to help out. They’re waiting under Scott’s Bluff.” He pointed at a massive cliff barely visible in the distance.

“We’ll push forward tomorrow,” Zeke said. “Can you make it?” he asked Mac.

“I’ll have to. We need to catch up.”

Doc touched Mac’s neck. “Fever’s gone. You chilled?”

Mac pulled away. “I’m better than I was.”

He wrote in a shaky hand before bed:

 

June 3, 1847. Sick again. Our company is a day away, and we must reach them. Wish I could ride Valiente on these curious plains. Rocks the size of castles. Chimney Rock like a stovepipe standing above burnt ruins.

In the morning Mac’s ribs and back hurt from coughing, but he rounded up the oxen and yoked them. One beast favored its front right leg.

“Jenny, how long has this ox’s hoof been bad?”

Jenny looked up from cooking breakfast. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Must be cracked. He can’t pull today. I’ll have to ride Valiente and herd the pair again.”

“I can drive,” Jenny said. “But can you ride?”

“I’ll be all right.” Despite the cool morning, fair skies offered a good day for travel. All he had to do was stay on Valiente’s back.

His muscles ached with every step Valiente took. The loose oxen plodded ahead of him, staying close to the wagons all morning. Now that he could see the land they passed through, he understood why the ox had gone lame. The ground was alkaline powder—ready to grind itself into any crevice in a poor animal’s hoof. Clouds of dust and grit billowed around the teams and wagons. Even the handkerchief over his face didn’t cut the grimy taste in his mouth.

Chimney Rock still towered behind them, and other large formations rose on the plains to the south. They traveled through a wide valley with the silver ribbon of the North Platte to their right. The river was so calm he couldn’t tell which way the current flowed, but he could see the ground rising gently to the west ahead of them.

By midafternoon Scott’s Bluff loomed nearby, large as a fortress, a high steep crag with a few scraggly trees like sentries sitting on top.

“Why’s it called Scott’s Bluff?” Jenny asked. He now rode in the wagon beside her, trying not to cough, while Zeke herded the loose oxen.

“Man named Scott died there, I’m told. His companions deserted him. That’s all I know.”

The wagons rolled in shadows when the sun descended behind the massive cliff. Zeke raced ahead to find their company.

When they found the Pershing group under Scott’s Bluff, Jenny jumped off the bench. “I’m going to find Esther,” she called over her shoulder.

Head pounding, Mac clambered down. While he unhitched the team, Captain Pershing strolled over, thumbs tucked inside his suspenders. “Hear you’re still sick.”

“I’m not dead, so I guess I’m fortunate.”

Pershing nodded. “Our group lost two children to cholera. Others sick, too. And no doctor.” Mac freed his last yoke of oxen, and Pershing picked up the wagon tongue and chained it to the wagon in front of Mac’s. “Guess we’ve all seen the elephant by now.”

“Seen the elephant?” Mac hadn’t heard that expression before.

“Seen how big a challenge we got ourselves up against. Sickness and death. Perilous storms and barren land. Ain’t much a man can do against the elephant.”

“Right now, I couldn’t conquer a flea.”

Pershing snorted. “Can you handle Abercrombie?”

“He still causing trouble?”

“He’ll cause trouble till the day he dies. Kills more’n we need. Spouts off ’bout everything. Bellyaches about the pace. Thinks he knows more’n anybody else.”

Mac shrugged. “He’ll never change.”

Pershing clapped him on the back. “You rest up, son. We’re meeting tonight. Reorganizing our platoons, now we got fewer men. Make sure you’re there.”

The men met by Pershing’s campfire that evening. A whiskey bottle passed from hand to hand. The alcohol flashed from Mac’s gut to his head. At least it warmed his bones.

“Don’t see no need to change,” Abercrombie said, taking a swig when the bottle came to him.

“Some platoons are down two men. Others at full strength.” Pershing’s voice was mild, despite Abercrombie’s belligerence. “We can come down a platoon. Put a wagon without a man in each group. Assign each a single man to help out.”

“Who’ll want to switch platoons this far in?” Abercrombie argued. “I ain’t giving up mine.”

“No one asked you to,” Pershing said.

“I don’t mind,” Mercer said, leaning on the crutch he still used after breaking his ankle at Windlass Hill. “Divvy up my group. I’ll go with McDougall, if no one cares.”

Pershing assigned the families in Mercer’s platoon to other sergeants, then raised his hat. “Don’t leave yet,” he said. “Need a young man without a wagon assigned to each platoon.”

“Give ’em a choice,” Doc Tuller said. “They’re grown enough.”

Zeke said, “I’ll stay with McDougall. I been helping him already.”

Daniel looked disappointed. The Pershing wagons were in Mac’s platoon, and Mac thought Daniel probably wanted to spend time with Esther.

“Son, you’re with me,” Samuel Abercrombie announced.

Daniel shrugged.

Joel joined the Baker platoon, and another young man was assigned to Hewitt.

“How ’bout provisions?” Pershing asked. “Hear tell some folks are low on food.”

“We’re moving too slow,” Abercrombie muttered. Others murmured in agreement.

“We’re a week out from Laramie,” Pershing said. “Maybe a day less if we push hard. Can we make it on what we got?”

“What if we can’t?” Mercer asked.

“A man named Robidoux has a trading post nearby. But it’s out of the way. We can press on to Laramie or go see Robidoux.”

“Laramie,” Abercrombie said. “I got enough for a week.”

“Some families can’t move that fast,” Doc said. “We still got sick folks.” He looked at Mac as he spoke.

“We can make it,” Mac said.

“Or split up again.” Abercrombie spat on the ground.

“We ain’t splitting up again on my watch,” Pershing said, frowning at Abercrombie. “We didn’t move any faster. Caused worry we didn’t need. My mistake. I won’t make it again.”

Abercrombie mumbled under his breath as he stalked toward his wagon.