Chapter 52: Goose Creek to Cauldron Linn

 

August 11, 1847. Today we traveled over desolate land along the Snake. Camped now at Swamp Creek in a wet valley. Mountains to our south, but none visible ahead.

 

Early the next morning Tanner brought fresh trout through the camp. Mac took two as long as his forearm.

“More fish?” Jenny asked. “All we’ve eaten for two days is fish.”

“Would you rather have jerky?” Mac responded. “Trout are fresh.”

Jenny sighed and struggled to get out of her bedroll using just one arm.

“How’s your wrist?” Mac asked.

“Still hurts. Not as bad. I’ll cook, if you clean them.”

“I’ll fry the fish.” Mac held out his hand and helped Jenny to her feet. By the time she returned from the latrine, the fish were almost done.

Jenny put leftover biscuits from Hatty on two plates, and Mac added the fish.

“What a morning,” Mac said. The sky was clear, the dust settled from the day before. “Hope the wind stays calm.”

After breakfast Jenny picked up Poulette’s saddle. “I’m riding today,” she told Mac.

“Give me that.” Mac took the saddle, lifted it onto the mare, and boosted Jenny into the saddle. He didn’t care if she heard him mutter, “Stubborn miss.” She was the most hardheaded woman he’d ever known. “Stay near the wagons.”

Mac hitched the oxen and saddled Valiente. On horseback beside the wagon, he could keep an eye on Jenny and ride after her if she lost control of Poulette. But Jenny didn’t seem to have any trouble holding the mare to a slow walk. She stayed close by, as he had ordered, but far enough away that they didn’t have to talk.

In midmorning Zeke rode up to Mac.

“Where’s Captain Pershing?” Mac asked.

“Scouting.” Zeke wiped his hand across his brow. “Though what there is to scout in this damn country, I don’t know. It’s flat as far as the eye can see.”

They had ridden south from the Snake to avoid ravines and through the morning had crossed only a few small gullies.

“Pa wants to know if folks need meat,” Zeke said. “Goose Creek’s coming up. Good camp, though it makes for a short day. We can hunt this afternoon.”

Mac nodded. “Jenny’s complaining about eating fish all the time. I wouldn’t mind stopping early.”

“Then we’ll stop at the creek,” Zeke said, and rode along the wagons to spread the word.

After the wagons were circled and they’d eaten the noon meal, the hunting party set out. One group rode west, and the other south toward the hills. Mac joined the southbound group.

“Don’t know what we’ll scare up in this heat,” Abercrombie said. “Too hot for any self-respecting deer.”

“I seen some quail,” Pershing said.

They rode all the way to the southern hills through low sagebrush and sand.

“Ho!” one of the hunters called as a deer bounded away.

“Got it!” Abercrombie yelled. He shot, but the deer kept running.

“Damn it, Abercrombie. I was closer,” Dempsey shouted.

“There’s more where that one came from,” Abercrombie said with a shrug. “Probably a whole herd of ’em down in the ravine.”

But the hunters didn’t see any more deer all afternoon. A bevy of quail rose from under the sage, and the men shot several birds. “Not even enough for dinner,” Dempsey grumbled. “Wish I’d had a shot at the deer.”

“Better head back,” Pershing said.

The riders returned to camp about supper time. Jenny looked up hopefully at Mac. “One quail is all,” he told her.

Her face fell, but she said. “We still have Tanner’s fish. I’ll fry it and roast the bird. At least we have plenty of sage and rice to stuff it with.”

As Jenny settled into her bedroll on the ground, Mac wrote:

 

August 12, 1847. Hunted in the hills south of Goose Creek. We must scavenge for food until we reach Fort Boise.

In the morning the company started early to make up for the short distance traveled the day before. They trekked across more desert, again skirting the worst of the ravines by staying away from the Snake.

“We’ll camp near the river tonight,” Pershing said. “Some of the purtiest falls are along this stretch.”

“Is it out of our way?” Abercrombie asked.

“Not far,” Pershing replied. “Snake curves south at Cauldron Linn.”

“What kind of name is that?” Zeke asked his father.

“Scottish,” Pershing said. “Linn means waterfall. Some Scot trapper said the water under the fall churned more’n a witch’s cauldron.”

The travelers camped on the plateau above the falls. “No water here,” Pershing said, “But plenty in the river below.”

The men took buckets down to the Snake to haul water to refill their barrels. When he reached the riverbank, Mac looked downstream at the top of the falls. Where he stood, the river was a wide pool of water. At the end of the pool, high bluffs squeezed the current into a narrow chute.

“Don’t let it fool you, son,” Pershing said, as Mac stepped out on a rock in the pool. “Water’s fast, even here. If’n you slip, you can’t escape the cauldron.”

Mac left his buckets and worked his way along the shore and down the steep hill to the bottom of the falls. There he could see the river rushing in a two-tiered cascade down a thirty-foot drop that ended in boiling froth at the bottom. From this angle, it did look like a witch’s pot.

He retrieved his buckets, then carried them up to camp. After filling the water barrel, he asked Jenny, “Want to see the falls? I found a path down.”

She stood, bracing her back with her hand. “How far is it?”

“Not far. It’s steep, but I’ll help you.”

“I may have to stop,” she warned, but headed toward the river with him. Near the edge she stared down at the water and gasped. “Mon Dieu! How did you get down?”

Mac pointed out the path he’d taken.

She peered down, hands on her hips. “You think I can make it?”

“If you get tired, we’ll turn around,” Mac assured her.

Mac led and Jenny followed. He held his hand out, and she grabbed it at the steeper points in the descent. By the time they reached the water, the late afternoon sun colored the cliffs behind them orange and black and the water a pale gray.

At the bottom Jenny stared at the falls. “It’s so beautiful. And frightening,” she said. “I’m glad we don’t cross the river here.”

“We have about a week more on the Snake before we cross.”

She shuddered.

On the climb back to camp, Jenny led, with Mac behind to break her fall if she slipped. They went slowly, stopping frequently for Jenny to catch her breath. “I made it,” she said, smiling at the top of the bluffs. Her face shone in the glow of the setting sun.

She was a very attractive girl, Mac thought. The kind of girl a man could fall in love with, if he were so inclined. Which he wasn’t, he told himself. Besides, Jenny had no interest in marriage, and neither did he.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.