Chapter 64: Along the Burnt River

 

September 3, 1847. Camped above the Burnt, with three more days of desert until we reach the Powder. Jenny suffers dreadfully in the heat.

 

Mac wrote late Friday night, while his fellow travelers slept. The dim, flickering light of the fire suited his mood. One moment he was confident he could lead the company through the wilderness, the next he despaired of surviving one more day in the unforgiving land.

Abercrombie’s hunting party had only shot one deer and a few birds. The company had food for maybe two days. And it was three days to the Powder River valley.

Mac slept little that night, unable to shake his doubts. In the morning, tired and tense, he wished they had real coffee or tea, instead of the bitter mountain grape they brewed as a substitute.

Jenny looked better. But another day of riding on the hot wagon seat or under the stifling canvas cover could bring on more illness from the heat.

“Would you like to ride Poulette?” he asked.

She sighed. “Horseback wearies me, too.”

“Try it. Get away from the dust of the trail.”

Jenny gazed at the hills. “I wish there were a breeze.”

Mac saddled the mare and helped Jenny step from a barrel onto Poulette’s back. “Don’t try to dismount by yourself. Get someone to help.”

Mac strode off to line up the wagons. He would have to stay near his team while Jenny rode ahead. Maybe Abercrombie would lead the wagons, though he tended to ride too far in front.

“Will you lead today?” he asked Abercrombie, who was mounted and ready to go.

“Was thinking I’d hunt some more.” Abercrombie pressed his hat down on his head. “My family’s scraping the bottom of our barrels.”

“We all are,” Mac said. “What if Daniel leads?”

“Taking him with me.”

“Douglass?” Mac knew Abercrombie’s older son usually drove their wagons.

“Him, too.”

“Then I’ll get Pershing.” Mac turned on his heel.

“Wait a minute.” Abercrombie wheeled his horse beside Mac. “If you need me, I’ll lead.”

“Need you to stay close, help those behind you. If you can’t, I’ll get Pershing.”

Abercrombie spat. “I’ll stay. Douglass and Daniel can hunt by themselves.”

“Thank you,” Mac said through his teeth. “Watch for the women and children out riding. Don’t let them get too far ahead.”

“Well, which is it?” Abercrombie asked. “Do I watch those ahead, or those behind?”

“Just keep us all together, not strung out in these hills.”

“Where’ll you be?”

“I’ll be here,” Mac said. “I’m tending our wagon today. Jenny needs a break.”

“Feeling poorly, is she?”

Mac couldn’t tell if Abercrombie’s question was solicitous or sneering. “Her confinement’s close.” With that, Mac left Abercrombie, got the wagons moving, and returned to his own at the rear of the train.

Several times during the morning they stopped to double up teams to climb a difficult hill. It took a minimum of eight oxen to pull a wagon. The descents proved equally challenging. They hitched three yoke of oxen behind to prevent runaways, with only one pair in front to steer.

Most animals were weak from the months of hard labor and sparse grass. The oxen fared better than the mules, but all the beasts were thin. Many had sores where harnesses and yokes chafed, and some had split hooves. But they could not rest in this harsh land.

In addition to climbing hills, the travelers twisted through ravines and splashed through muddy creeks. Though the damp was welcome, the mud was no easier for the teams to traverse.

At noon Mac halted the company and found Jenny. They were high in the mountains, with jagged peaks all around. Trees were few, mostly juniper. They had ascended far enough to leave the sagebrush behind—only a little dry grass clung between the rocks.

Mac guided Poulette next to a stone so Jenny could dismount. “How are you?” he asked.

Jenny’s face was flushed, with white patches around her lips. “Fine,” she said.

“Tired?”

“A little.”

“You’d best spend the afternoon in the wagon.”

She sighed, but nodded. “I’ll get dinner ready.”

“What do we have?”

Jenny wrinkled her nose. “Just venison. Unless anyone shot something else today.”

“Not yet.”

No sign of the hunting party. Abercrombie boasted his sons must have found a bear.

Franklin Pershing sat at his wagons with Noah and Jonah, while Rachel fried venison hash. “How’s the family, Rachel?” Mac asked.

The girl nodded. “Fine, sir.”

Rachel was a good girl, Mac thought, but young to handle the whole Pershing brood. They needed Esther. Maybe he shouldn’t rely on Zeke and Joel for scouting so much. Maybe he should send their father—make use of the former Army man’s talents and let Zeke or Joel help with the children. “Need me to keep Zeke or Joel here tomorrow?” he asked, not sure if he was asking Pershing or Rachel.

Rachel shook her head. “No, Mr. McDougall.” She reddened and glanced at her father. “I mean, Captain McDougall.”

Mac ignored the girl’s confusion, said goodbye, and continued his rounds. At the doctor’s wagon, Mrs. Tuller offered him two biscuits. “Take one to Jenny,” she said. “She needs to keep her strength up, and she says venison don’t sit well with her.”

Doc harrumphed. “Girl’s going to have a hard time,” he said.

Mac’s stomach spasmed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t scare the young man, Doctor,” Mrs. Tuller said.

“Hips aren’t ready for childbirth,” the doctor said. “What is she—fourteen, maybe fifteen? Wish you young fools would wait to marry.”

“Now, Doctor,” said his wife. “You go on, Captain McDougall. You tell Jenny I’ll ride with her this afternoon.”

Mac smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Tuller. If you stay with Jenny, I’ll go find the scouts. Haven’t seen Zeke or Joel since dawn.” Maybe they had lost the trail. Or run into a band of Indians.

Mac took the biscuits to Jenny. “Here,” he said, handing both to her. “From Mrs. Tuller. She’ll ride with you this afternoon.”

“Don’t you want one?”

“Ate one earlier,” he lied.

Jenny ate, they rinsed off the dishes, and Mac helped her onto the wagon bench. “Don’t you think you should lie down?” he asked.

“I’ll try sitting for a while. Talk with Mrs. Tuller.”

Mac frowned, but left when Mrs. Tuller arrived. He took Valiente ahead of the wagons, stopping to tell Abercrombie he was looking for the scouts.

“Trail’s marked, so those fool Pershing lads have been here,” Abercrombie said. “But I ain’t seen hide nor hair of ’em all day.”

“I won’t go more than a few miles ahead,” Mac said. “If I lose the trail, I’ll be back.”

Abercrombie snorted. “May be back soon.”

“Any sign of your sons?” Mac asked, ignoring the snide remark.

“Naw,” Abercrombie said. “Probably found a herd of deer. Or a bear. Takes time to butcher and pack a large carcass. We’ll eat well tonight.”

“Hope so,” Mac said, and rode on ahead.

Jagged peaks loomed over the valley. After about a mile, Mac saw fresh signs along the trail. Dirt pitted where rocks had been dug out for trail markers. A ring of blackened stones, still warm. He rode Valiente to the crest of a hill and shouted. He might draw Indians, but more likely Zeke or Joel was nearby.

“Halloo!” His shout was returned.

After a couple more shouts back and forth, Zeke appeared.

“What’d you find?” Mac asked.

“Trail’s rough,” Zeke said. “You’d think following the Burnt would be easy, but sometimes we have to stay in the valley, sometimes move to the hills above the water.”

“Want to trade duty tomorrow?” Mac grinned. “You can deal with Abercrombie instead.”

Zeke laughed. “We got one more ridge to get over, then the valley widens. We can camp there tonight.”

Mac returned to the wagons to pass along Zeke’s report.

“How’s Jenny?” he asked Mrs. Tuller.

“Sleeping, I think. She got in back an hour ago.”

“I’m awake,” Jenny said, poking her head forward over the wagon bench.

“We’re almost to our camp for the night,” Mac said. “Another hour or so.”

“Can’t hardly think for the bumping and squeaking,” Jenny said. “Someone’s axle.”

“The Baker wagon,” Mrs. Tuller said. “Been like that all afternoon.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mac said. He found Josiah Baker, whose wagon screeched with every turn of the wheels.

“Front axle needs grease,” Baker said, pulling on his mustache. “But worse’n that, look at the rim. Near to falling off.”

Mac inspected the wheel. The iron tire was separating from the wooden wheel, which had dried and cracked. “Can you work with Tanner tonight to fix it?”

Baker nodded. “If we stop early enough. Got to unload the wagon to take the wheel off.”

Mac sought out Tanner and told him about the Baker wagon.

“Hope it don’t need no iron work,” Tanner said. “Can’t build a hot fire, less’n we lay by a day.”

Mac shook his head. “Can’t stop. See if you can patch it, make it last until we reach the Powder. Pershing says there’s a nice valley there. But it’s another couple days.”

They descended a hill, and Zeke rode to meet them. “Camp’s straight ahead,” he said.

That evening Mac was bone tired. But after supper, he roamed the camp and talked to Baker and Tanner. They’d greased Baker’s axle.

“Have to hope the tire stays on,” Tanner said, shaking his head. “Don’t hit no rocks, Mr. Baker.”

The hunters returned. Contrary to Abercrombie’s predictions, his sons had found little game. A single deer to feed the entire camp. It might have to make do until they reached the Powder.

As the twilight darkened, Mac discussed the route to the Powder with Pershing. “Should make it in two days, if we don’t have any problems,” Pershing said.

Finally, Mac could return to his own wagon. Jenny was already asleep. He pulled out his journal and wrote:

 

September 4, 1847. Hard day along the Burnt. Wagons and teams are weakening.