Chapter 24: Toward Red Buttes
Mac rode last on the way back to camp from the rock bridge. Daniel picked out the route, Esther followed, then Jenny. Esther and Daniel flirted, while Mac and Jenny said little.
Jenny worked so hard that Mac forgot how young she was. Only fourteen—little more than a child, no matter what she had endured during her short life. Even so, Esther seemed less mature than Jenny. Jenny never flirted with him, though sometimes she seemed to with Zeke.
Back in camp, Mac examined his oxen’s hooves. The day of rest and grass had helped, but he worried how the animals would survive the constant grit of the trail.
That evening he pulled out his journal:
June 18, 1847. Laid by. Oxen’s hooves are some improved. Rode to a rock bridge, unlike anything I’ve seen before. This country is magnificent to behold.
Saturday the wagons left Horsetail Creek and meandered on the rocky plateau along the Platte River. Mac checked his oxen frequently.
“Your beasts are in better health than most,” Pershing told him.
Mac slapped the last ox on the rump. “We still have a long road ahead.”
“Aye.” Pershing scratched his beard. “I’ve been considering where to cross the Platte.”
“What did the traders say at Laramie?” Mac asked.
“Land’s bad both sides of the river. Don’t know if it makes much difference where we cross. Mormons got a new ferry ’bout two days’ ride from here. Or we can stay on the south bank till Red Buttes.”
“You going to look at the ferry?”
“I’ll take a few scouts tomorrow. Want to go?”
Mac nodded. “If Jenny can manage the wagon.”
“Zeke’s staying with ours. He can watch yours, too. It’ll be you, me and Daniel. Talked Abercrombie into letting the boy go.”
Mac grinned at the captain. “Checking him out as a son-in-law?”
Pershing snorted. “Need to see what he’s made of afore he marries my girl.”
Mac, Daniel, and the captain left at dawn on Sunday. The other travelers would take their Sabbath rest, then follow with the wagons on Monday.
The scouts reached the ferry at sunset, as the sky turned orange and gray. “We’ll camp here. Talk to the Mormons in the morning,” Pershing decided.
“I hear Mormons believe in angels and new Bibles,” Daniel said.
Pershing nodded. “Mighty strange. But what matters is whether they got good boats and a fair price.”
The next morning the three men approached the ferry operators. The landing bustled with wagons and animals—enough emigrants waiting to keep the ferry busy for the next two days. The ferry itself consisted of two dugout canoes about thirty feet long, covered with wooden planks to carry the wagons. The ferryman pulled the unwieldy contraption across the strong current with oars.
“Five dollars a wagon,” a Captain Higbee told Pershing.
“Five dollars!” Captain Pershing exclaimed. “Ain’t no one else charged that much.”
“No other ferries on the North Platte,” Higbee said, shrugging. “Ford the river on your own, if you don’t like my price.”
The scouts watched the ferry operation for an hour and talked to the emigrants in line. The makeshift boat could only handle one wagon at a time, which made for a long wait. “Never thought I’d pay five dollars for a rickety dugout,” one man complained. “It’s robbery.”
“What’s our alternative?” Mac asked.
Pershing rubbed his beard. “We could ride on to Red Buttes, but we won’t get back to the wagons today, like we said.”
“I could go back,” Mac offered. “You and Daniel check the ford. We can meet the wagons here. After you see Red Buttes, we can decide which crossing to use.”
“Hate for you to ride alone.”
Mac shrugged. “Trail’s marked. And I’ll find our wagons by sunset.” He leaned over to whisper with a wink, “Give you a chance to talk to Daniel.”
Pershing agreed, and Mac turned Valiente back east toward their company. He relished the time alone, though he kept an eye on the hills, watching for Indians descending from the ridges. But all he saw was more wagons headed for the ferry.
Mac felt comfortable in this grand country, despite its dangers. He was free, unlike his constricted life in Boston. The work was hard, but if he did it well, other men respected him, as his father and brothers never had.
When the sun was low behind him, Mac found their group already camped for the night. Jenny looked up from cooking and smiled.
Esther was with her. “Where’s Daniel? And Pa?”
“Still reconnoitering. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”
Mac called the other platoon leaders together and explained. “The ferry price is steep. Captain Pershing is scouting the ford at Red Buttes.”
“How much?” Abercrombie asked.
“Five dollars a wagon.”
“Christ Almighty!” Mercer said, stomping his crutch on the ground. “We oughta get rowed to heaven for that price.”
Mac nodded. “If the ford’s manageable, we should take it.”
When the men left Mac’s campsite, Jenny asked, “Is the ferry really too expensive?”
“I have the money,” Mac said, “but a lot of families don’t.”
“Will the ford be safe?” Now he heard the worry in her voice.
“The ferry looked pretty rickety. Ford can’t be any worse.”
After supper, he wrote:
June 21, 1847. Mormon Ferry costs $5/wagon. Too much for some men, but Jenny fears the ford. Hope the current is not too swift.
The wagons reached the ferry Tuesday evening. Pershing and Daniel had staked out a campsite. “It’s a day’s travel to Red Buttes,” Pershing said after the wagons circled. “Ford’s deep. Won’t be easy. We may have to build rafts ourselves. But we won’t have to pay the Mormons.”
For once Abercrombie didn’t object to Pershing’s decision.
Pershing had other news as well. “We rode this afternoon with men from Oregon. Going east to bring their families out next year. Oregon City’ll be a boom town soon.”
“Good thing we’re ahead of the crowd,” Abercrombie said. “Claim our land this fall and have our first crop harvested afore next year’s wagons git there.”
After the meeting ended, Mac couldn’t resist teasing Pershing. “So how’d young Daniel do?”
“Boy’s got a good head on his shoulders. Respectful, too.” Pershing pushed his hat back on his head. “Too bad his father’s such an ornery cuss.”
Jenny was quiet as she and Mac made camp and ate supper. “How bad will the crossing be?” she asked when Mac brought her a bucket of water to wash the dishes.
“Pershing thinks it’s better than the ferry. Maybe no easier, but it won’t take any longer, and it’s free.”
Jenny sighed.
After supper Mac wrote:
June 22, 1847. We head for the Red Buttes ford tomorrow.