The following days were uneventful. There was a rising expectation among the group that the remaining travel days would be safe and their dreams of reaching their new homesteads were at hand. Everyone was more sociable at breaks. During the nightly stops, laughter and smiles abounded as they sat in a circle around the fire, drinking coffee and listening to Mr. Dubia’s fiddle music. Spirits were high for everyone except Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser. Mr. Kaiser’s health had deteriorated to the point he couldn’t leave their wagon, forcing Mrs. Kaiser to stay at his side most of the time. People helped whenever they could, but deep down, all knew Mr. Kaiser wouldn’t last much longer.
Days were getting shorter and the nights cooler. To keep on schedule, Captain Willard started their morning travels in the dark and didn’t stop at night until the last glimmer of sunlight.
The people had eaten their evening meal in darkness and were sitting around the campfire drinking coffee when the captain rose and stood in the flickering light. “Folks, listen up,” he called. “We’ve only two more days of travel. We’ll hold our last camp on the trail tomorrow night about ten miles from Flat Peaks, and we’ll complete our journey around noon the following day, so you need to make plans. Folks at Flat Peaks are usually helpful but don’t expect them to have everything laid out for you. You’ve noticed the mornings are chilly even though it warms up by midmorning, but within six weeks, snow will be flying and the temperature will be down in the twenties or even the teens. Your first priorities when we arrive should be to arrange for housing, cut your winter’s supply of wood, and gather enough food to last the winter. Don’t forget your livestock. I’ll be staying around Flat Peaks for a couple of weeks. If you need help, let me know.” The captain answered several questions before excusing himself for the night.
The next morning’s trail had an uphill terrain that ran parallel to the mountains a few miles to the north. Dark-bottomed snow clouds surrounded the mountain tops all morning, but by midday, the clouds cleared, revealing snow along the ridge lines. The air was noticeably thinner, causing the rest stops to be more frequent.
The captain’s warning about having a plan constantly occupied Bart’s mind. He was ashamed of himself for not being prepared. What was he to do? He had enough money to last the winter holed up in a hotel or boarding house, but that was wasteful. He wanted to follow his father’s advice and use the money to invest in the future. He was deep in these thoughts when the captain rode up.
After a few minutes of small talk, the captain asked Bart if he knew what he was going to do, if he had made any plans. Bart was silent. He was embarrassed to tell the captain he had no plans at all. He felt like a wet-behind-the-ears little boy, incapable of making decisions.
They rode on in companionable silence before the captain tried again. “Has Douglas talked to you about staying with them?” he asked in a lackadaisical voice.
“No, sir,” answered Bart. “I don’t want to be a bother to them any longer.”
They rode wordless for another mile or so before the captain broke the silence. “Bart, I promised to take you hunting, so we could continue your shooting lessons. This is the only evening left. Would you like to go?”
Bart and the captain made arrangements to go hunting about two hours before the wagons would reach their evening stop. They hoped to have their kill back to camp in time for a last celebration meal. Bart promised to make the rounds, telling all the wagons of their plan.
It was an hour before sunset when the hunters tied their mounts to a small tree and crept upwind where they hid behind a cluster of trees on a hillside. Their rifles were loaded, but no shells were in the chambers. Bart was taking extra precautions with his gun, and the captain noticed he was wearing his moccasins for quietness.
As they waited amidst some spruce trees, the captain whispered, “This is different from buffalo hunting, Bart. Deer and antelope are very nervous animals. They stay alert at all times, even while they’re eating. Their hearing and eyesight are superior to most animals, including ours. From now on we must be extremely quiet and keep our eyes peeled for any movement. We’ll stay together and signal to each other if we see anything. I believe there’s a meadow over the next hill that’ll be a good place to spot deer.”
As they topped the hill, the captain and Bart signaled simultaneously. Three deer stood in a lush pasture of meadow grass about two hundred yards away. The captain whispered for Bart to load his chamber, take careful aim, and squeeze the trigger.
Bart was nervous. He quietly levered in a shell and steadied his gun against a tree. He was shaking like a leaf and unable to hold the target in his gun sight, so he slowly lowered his gun, trying to get settled. The captain watched the entire ritual unfold but remained silent. Remembering the captain had taken a long breath before pulling the trigger on the buffalo, Bart again put the barrel against the tree, placed the gun sight behind the deer’s front leg, and after taking a long breath, squeezed the trigger; the deer took a few jumps before falling. “You can breathe now,” the captain said with a smile.
The fire was burning, and the roasting spit uprights were in place when the hunters returned. The wagons were circled beside a small grove of pine trees near a rippling stream flowing from the mountains.
The wagon train’s last supper on the trail was prepared against a picturesque sunset of red and orange clouds. By the time the meat was ready, the sunset had been replaced by a heaven full of stars that seemed so close you could almost reach out and touch them. People ate in contented silence. One by one, coffee cups were filled as their thoughts drifted back over the events of the past three months. Bart had imagined the evening would be full of excitement, but instead, people were somewhat subdued. Even the fiddle tunes Mr. Dubia played were slow and a little melancholy.
The captain was standing off by himself when Bart ambled over. “I thought everyone would be pleased and having a good time,” Bart said. “But it seems like they’ve lost their best friend.”
The captain answered, “It’s always like this, Bart. Folks understand and anticipate this separation, but it’s not easy. People in wagon trains learn to depend upon each other. There are always some disagreements, but bonds are built among people traveling together. Tomorrow everybody will scatter to their own destinies. Some will stay around Flat Peaks, but most folks will make their way to places unknown. When folks separate, their stories will diverge. They’ll have to work hard and withstand some very difficult challenges, but most folks will find a way to be happy.”
“Does everyone find their place, Captain?”
“No. Some don’t make it. Some people come for their health, only to die. Some come because of their past, only to have it reappear. Some come to fulfill impossible dreams, only to be disappointed. There are a lot of families who go back East when Western living overwhelms them. I’ll be guiding four wagons back in two weeks. Those who don’t stay, who don’t make it, will be called weak by those who remain, but that’s not fair. The fact they survived the trip west at all makes them strong. Western living is simply not suited for some people.”
“Captain, do you think all of the people in our train will make it?”
After a moment of silent thought, the captain said, “I’m sure they will, Bart, and that includes you. Don’t underestimate yourself. I’ve seen you in action—you’re a stayer. I know you’re young, but I’m sure this country will be a better place because of you. Never give up, Bart. There is always a way ahead if you give a situation your best thought and follow through.”
Bart nodded and then rose and headed for the creek. The captain’s words kept ringing in his mind, “There is always a way ahead.” It matched what his father had told him a short time after he had returned from the war. Two of the three men he admired most had given him this advice, and Mr. Douglas, the third person he admired, would probably give him similar advice in the future.
Nearly an hour passed before Liz found Bart sitting on a log by the creek. They looked at each other for a few seconds and then sat in silence as they watched the glistening moonlight reflect off the rippling water. They had spoken very little to one another since the night Bart had returned from the Indians. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that about dying. I really didn’t mean it,” Liz said. “Will you forgive me, Bart? I’m ashamed of myself for acting that way.”
Bart could tell from the tone of her voice she was sincere. He could also tell she was about to cry, so he hurriedly changed to a lighter subject. “Won’t it be exciting when we get to Flat Peaks, Liz? We’ll all begin a new life filled with adventure. I’m anxious to see the town and meet the folks, aren’t you?”
Liz didn’t answer. Instead, she continued to stare straight ahead. Bart knew she was not interested in small talk and wanted an answer to her question. Did he forgive her? “Liz, look at me,” Bart said rather firmly. She turned to face him with a heartfelt expression. “I know you didn’t mean it, Liz. Of course, I forgive you. How could I hold a grudge against someone that’s been so nice to me? Someone who saved my life?”
“Thank you, Bart.”
“Liz, I know I’ve been an extra burden to you and your folks. You’ve nursed me back to life. You’ve fed me, washed my clothes, and treated me like a family member, and I appreciate that. But you won’t have to worry with me much longer. When we get to Flat Peaks, I’ll find a job and a place to live.”
Liz was stunned—totally speechless.
Bart rose. “It’s time we’re getting back to the camp. Your folks will be worried.”
Liz had all sorts of ideas swirling in her head by the time they reached the wagon. As she stepped up into the wagon for a warmer coat, she whispered to herself, “You’re not leaving us, Bart Carter, not just yet.”