Chapter 30: Trouble on the Sweetwater

 

Mac rode Valiente as they detoured around Devil’s Gate. “Can’t take the wagons through the canyon,” Pershing had said. “Riverbank is narrow and full of rocks.” So they crossed the Sweetwater for the first time, drove south of the cliffs and back to the river on the far side of the gap. From there the trail followed the flat, grassy banks of the Sweetwater.

Shortly after they passed Devil’s Gate they came across a fresh grave. “Frederick Richard Fulkerson. July 1, 1847,” Mac read from the board marking the grave. “Just four days ago. He died the day we arrived at Independence Rock.”

Pershing pointed out a notch in a mountain peak ahead of them. “Split Rock,” he said. “We head straight for it. Leads to the pass.”

“Looks like a gun sight,” Hewitt said.

Despite the jagged crests around them, the path toward Split Rock was gentle. They camped near a pool in the Sweetwater created by an old beaver dam.

“Beaver are mostly hunted out,” Pershing said. “Trappers been in these mountains over forty years. Have to go a lot farther west to find ’em now.”

Before turning in that night, Mac sat by the blazing fire and wrote:

 

July 5, 1847. On the Sweetwater beyond Devil’s Gate. Good grass. Travel along the river is easy.

In the morning Mac told Jenny, “We cross the Sweetwater again today. We’ll cross back and forth all the way to the summit.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to stay on the same side?”

“It would add days,” Mac said. “River twists through the valley. Better to keep to a straight path.”

Jenny saddled Poulette. “I’ll ride this morning,” she said. “Esther’s with her mama. She spent last night with the Abercrombies, so she’s taking care of her brothers and sisters today. I may help her this afternoon.”

Mac kept quiet. He’d told Jenny there’d be problems between the Pershings and Abercrombies, and they were starting already.

The wagons rolled along the south bank of the Sweetwater until they were even with Split Rock. That evening, Split Rock behind them, the men discussed the next day’s route.

“Tomorrow’s the hard day,” Pershing said. “Three river crossings in two miles.”

“Can we avoid any of them?” Mac asked, knowing Jenny would be nervous all day.

Pershing pushed his hat back on his forehead. “We could swing wide south. But then we’re in deep sand. Harder on the teams.”

“We should stay near the water,” Abercrombie said. “Better hunting, I reckon.”

Mac didn’t say any more. He would deal with Jenny.

Back at their wagon, he told her, “Pack everything tight. Three crossings tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened. “Three!”

“The Sweetwater twists. No way around it.” No need for her to know about the sandy route. The men had decided.

In the morning he helped her wrap food in oilcloth and tie perishable goods on top of other belongings. “You want to ride in the wagon or on Poulette?” he asked.

“Poulette. At least to start with.”

The sun removed the chill from the early morning air, and riding was pleasant. They reached the first crossing midmorning.

“Stay here while I get the wagon across,” Mac told Jenny. I’ll come back for you.”

The Sweetwater was shallow enough to drive the wagons across, but the snow-fed stream was cold. On horseback, Mac led the oxen to the far side. He sucked in his breath when the icy water splashed him.

“Come on,” he said to Jenny when he returned to her, “You’ll do fine. I’ll ride downstream of you.”

Jenny’s knuckles on the reins and pommel were white. She was silent until her legs hit the cold water. Then she shrieked.

“You can do it,” Mac said, urging Poulette along. Mac kept Valiente beside Poulette until her hooves were on dry ground.

“Go dry off,” he told Jenny. “I’m going back to help others.”

When all the company had crossed the Sweetwater, they rode on briefly, then repeated the crossing two more times that day. They halted after the third crossing.

“Might as well dry out here,” Pershing said.

Mac hadn’t changed clothes between crossings. When the sun dropped below the mountains ahead of them, he felt the bite of cold evening air. He shivered, and Jenny brought him a dry shirt and towel.

“I’ve warmed leftover stew for supper,” she said. “Soda bread, too.”

 

July 7, 1847. Made it through Three Crossing Canyon. Mercer lost a barrel of cornmeal. Teams are exhausted after pulling the wagons through water. I suppose sand would be worse.

 

As he wrote, Mac heard a shout from across the camp. It sounded like Abercrombie. Mac walked over to investigate.

“God damn it! We ain’t stopping!” Abercrombie yelled at Pershing. “I aim to get my family over the mountains afore snowfall.”

“Now look, Abercrombie,” Pershing said, his bearded jaw jutting forward. “We got to keep the company together. Folks is tired. Oxen ’bout dead on their feet.”

“Leave ’em behind, if they can’t keep up, I say,” Abercrombie bellowed, fists clenched. “I’m able. And I’m going on.”

Behind the two men, Esther stood gripping Daniel’s arm. Tears ran down her face. “Stop them, Daniel,” she said.

“Pa—” Daniel said.

“Don’t you ‘Pa’ me,” Abercrombie snarled at his son. “Your new wife needs to learn her place. She’ll go where I say.”

“Pa!” Daniel said again.

“We’re laying by tomorrow, and that’s that.” Pershing stalked toward his campfire.

Esther sobbed into Daniel’s chest. Men argued, some supporting Pershing, some Abercrombie. Mac didn’t want any part of it and headed back to his wagon.

“What’s all the commotion?” Jenny asked.

“Spat between Pershing and Abercrombie,” Mac said. “Pershing says we’re laying by. Abercrombie wants to move on.”

Jenny sighed. “Poor Esther.” She climbed into the wagon.

Doc Tuller wandered over and sat beside Mac. “Got to do something about them two,” he said. He lit his pipe. “Ain’t healthy, them pissing on each other.”

“Pershing’s in charge,” Mac said.

“Only as long as the rest of us let him be.” The doctor puffed on his pipe. “My money’s on Pershing, but some folks agree with Abercrombie.”

“I’m with Pershing. He knows these mountains.” Mac was still glad to be traveling with a man who’d been west with Frémont.

“Abercrombie’s no fool. He’d probably get us through.”

“But at what cost to our teams and families?” Mac shook his head. “We need to stick with Pershing.”