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Riding in the wet was always an awful feeling. Erin was just glad the storm didn’t increase to the point where they would be forced to stop the wagons, shelter inside them, and wait it out. Today, she was wearing a slicker, an oiled poncho that kept the rain off her regular clothes. Tabitha, and later Theodore, sat on the horse under the poncho as the rain poured down. The animals didn’t mind the rain much. They plodded along, disregarding it, but when wind, lightening, or thunder threatened, that scared them. Erin always worried about being out on these plains. She’d never seen the like of no trees and no bushes. There was nothing but tall grass for miles around. That meant when she was on her horse she was the highest thing around, and she worried that the lightening would strike.
Erin knew that Wallace had an idea where they were. She couldn’t have told anyone exactly where they were. It was a worrisome thing to put all her faith in a man who had taken money for her family to travel with him. It was a lot of trust, and while she felt he was an honest man, she hadn’t liked some of his lieutenants or the way they treated people. She’d noticed a shift in the way people were treating her now. Was it because she had given that man a bloody nose or because she’d gone after the cattle and fought Indians?
Over the next few days, they came to what Wallace told them was the Platte River. This meant they were in a place they called Nebraska. It didn’t look much different than Kansas, but it was flatter, and the grasses were not nearly as long or lush except in the valleys. The river was different...shallower. There was no way anyone could navigate that river in a boat. It had many channels and islands. A person could walk across it, and the wagons had no trouble crossing. The water from the river was silty and didn’t taste good. They had to let the water settle in their buckets, so much of the mud would drop to the bottom. Erin didn’t want to fill the water barrels with silt since it would be too hard to get out of the bottoms.
They were heading along the Platte, almost due west now. It was easier travel for the train. There were also large herds of buffalo the travelers could shoot for meat. Wallace and his men kept them supplied with fresh meat, parceling it out to the settlers.
“Unless you’ve hunted before, I don’t want you shooting off your rifles,” he warned a few of the settlers who wanted to hunt as well. The memory of what happened with poor Marty was on everyone’s consciousness. Still, the hunters brought back enough that they were able to build up their supplies of jerky. Erin and Molly had exchanged looks about that directive. They still had sacks of their own jerky they’d dried out in Ohio before the trip and packed deep in the wagon along with dried fruit and other supplies.
One of the bad things was, there were absolutely no trees to burn. And grass didn’t last, although someone suggested hay twists, which they showed others how to make. They burned hot and fast and were a good alternative. They mainly used dried cow or buffalo chips now. These burned fast in a breeze, but it would take two or three bushels to prepare one meal.
When the Platte dipped south they found they were headed for a place called Fort Kearney. It was relatively new and the first place on the trail where they could buy emergency supplies, do repairs, and get medical help. It was so poorly constructed that snakes and other varmints could easily slip in and out of the holes in the walls that seemed to be under construction. They were going to spend two days there for the settlers to take a breather before continuing with their journey. Erin took the chance to let their poultry run out of their cages while she did some necessary repairs and the children replaced the nests. Later, they enticed them back with food.
“Those look like some mighty tasty ducks,” someone commented as they were gathering them up with the dog’s help, preparing to put them back in the cages.
“I’m sure they will be, someday. Right now, they are our seed stock,” Erin asserted stoutly as she cornered one and gently caught it, working to place it in the cage despite its flapping wings. She’d wondered at people’s propensity for thinking everything she had brought was community property or she might be willing to give away her stock. Rarely did they talk about trade or payment.
Still, the break was welcome. The children and dogs ran about in freedom they hadn’t had out on the open prairie as they traveled. Erin took the time to mend some harnesses, tighten the wagon springs, and check that everything was in working order. She wished she could have gotten out her anvil and done some brisk business. From what she could see, others were getting shoes tightened and other smithy work.
“My, isn’t this grand land?” Mrs. Chaffin commented as they all took the time to work on their wagons. It almost felt like a holiday.
Erin looked at the seemingly endless prairie and had to agree. It was a grand land. She couldn’t see it staying empty forever, and although she didn’t agree with many of the settlers that the Indians were wasting it, she also didn’t agree with those who had written that it was The Great American Desert. She wasn’t sure what they were heading into, but they had been warned that it was going to get more difficult. One family had chosen to stay at the fort, looking for someone heading back east rather than going on. Between the stampede, the Indians, and the deaths, they were frightened. Some of the settlers were talking about going on to California instead of Oregon, and Erin had discussed that with Molly.
“We’ve always talked of going to Oregon to settle,” Molly pointed out.
“They say that California is richer and has more land,” she answered.
“I say we stick with what we already planned. Either way, we have mountains to cross and rivers to ford,” she said in a practical tone. They’d all heard both sides of the arguments for the two places.
In the end, they decided to stay with their original plan and not be swayed by the talk of riches in California. It sounded like a place they would both like to see someday, but Oregon was where they planned on settling, where they planned on raising their fine family.
Erin looked at the children, who were enjoying the time at the fort with others their own age, running about. It had gotten warm enough that they needn’t be bundled up during the day any longer. Night was another story, but seeing them run and play, getting warm from their exertions, did her heart good. She didn’t like that they had so much work to do as they traveled, but it was necessary to keep them and their animals in good shape. Erin and Molly both took the time to brush and clean up their animals, the oxen and the horses receiving the most attention. People were surprised when she brought Billy in for his grooming, but the big bull sighed blissfully at the attention, closing his eyes as she brushed out his coat before she returned him to his herd. No one else could approach him like Erin. He defended his cows as only a herd bull could, with plenty of snorting, rattling of his horns, and charging, if anyone or anything threatened them. He was a big son of a gun and dangerous. Some of the settlers flat out didn’t like helping to herd the animals because of his ornery disposition, so they were shocked to see him act gentle towards Erin.
“You selling those pups?” one of the soldiers asked, seeing the gangly pups playing with the children.
“Yes,” Molly answered from where she was boiling some of their clothes while she had a chance. There were no clotheslines, but Erin had strung a rope from the tall wagon to a nearby building, so she could dry out their clean clothes.
“How much you asking?”
“My husband said two bits per pup,” she responded, waiting for the inevitable gasp of surprise over the expense.
“They’s good pups. I seen their parents. I’d like to buy one for the fort, if I may,” he answered respectfully, fishing in his trousers for the quarter she was asking. It was apparent he didn’t find the price too high for the pup out here where things like that were scarce.
Molly was sad to see one of the pups go. The children would be so upset, but they would have one less mouth to feed, and that was what they were selling. She let the soldier pick out which pup he wanted and carry it away, making sure that Queenie and King were otherwise distracted, so they wouldn’t object.
“Ma, why’d you let him take Charlie?” Tommy asked, the first to see him carry the pup away. He sounded like he was going to cry.
“We have enough with the kittens and the cats and the other animals,” she told him as she got back to cleaning clothes. “Your pa has enough to feed us all,” she reminded him.
Erin came back from the trading post after picking up the few supplies Molly had written down. Her arms were full, and she was smiling as she saw the children playing.
“Pa! Ma got rid of one of the pups,” Tommy told her, obviously upset.
“Well, I know you will miss him, but hopefully, he has gone to a good home. You will have more someday. I’m sure King and Queenie will have another batch of pups someday.”
“They will?” he asked in wonderment, having never thought of that. Now, he was totally distracted from the missing pup by the thought of new puppies.
“Yup, I’m sure of it.” She began to put down the supplies next to where Molly was standing. “You want these here or in the wagon right away?” she asked her wife.
“Both,” she responded, laughing at Erin and the way she had distracted what could have been a very upset little boy. Together they went through the supplies, putting some away and leaving others out for immediate use while they camped near the fort. “Here’s the money for the pup,” she said, trying to give Erin the quarter.
“Keep it to buy supplies when we get to the next fort. I’m sure their prices will be as outrageous as these were.”
“That’s when the train will split and some will be going on to California. We will go on to Oregon?” she confirmed, almost as though they hadn’t made their decision.
“Yep, we’ll continue on up through Wyoming territory and Idaho into Oregon,” she answered. She wondered how long that would take. It didn’t sound easy.
“I just want to be settled before winter sets in. I heard some talk, and they say the winters out here are terrible,” she shivered slightly as she rubbed her arms, looking up into the blue, blue sky as though it would send snow.
Since it was only spring, and they had just started leaving off their coats, it was hard to imagine winter, but they had several months travel ahead of them. They’d all been warned when they left the Platte and started up on the North Platte that the trails would become worse, harder on the stock and on the settlers traveling them.
“I don’t think I’d like going across that there Utah I heard them tell about. Too much real desert,” Erin commented as she put some of the packages in the day box. It was a box they used every single time they stopped to make camp, which contained cooking supplies.
“Ma, you sold Charlie?” Theo came running up to inquire. She could see Tommy had told his big brother the news.
“Yes, and I’d sell the other one too, if I could,” she told the boy firmly. They weren’t just pets, they were working dogs. “Your pa says there will be more someday too. King and Queenie could have another litter.” There, the idea that there would be more puppies should give the children enough things to talk about. They had already had a couple settlers inquire about the kittens, many having seen the cats climb down from their wagon and also hearing about the kittens from the children. They were almost ready to leave their parents, and Molly would be glad to get them out of the wagon box. Not only did they make messes along with the children, but there were just too many in such an enclosed space. Fortunately, the parent cats had taught them to climb out of the wagon, sometimes even lifting them in and out, and their messes weren’t of the bowel type anymore. Instead, their play created its own mess. As the kittens were often egged on by the children, Molly had her work cut out for her. Fortunately, she had an understanding husband, who frequently helped or did the clean-up herself.
Some of the settlers had wanted to stay at the fort longer. Many were anxious to get where they were going, knowing how long a trip it was and not willing to be caught by the snows. The Rocky Mountains sounded dangerous and ominous as the trappers and others traveling with them told their tales. Erin, having heard about the Blue Mountains of Oregon, saved her worry for them. Right now, she just wanted to get Molly, their children, and the stock safely across the plains. According to some, they’d been lucky to have only one brush with Indians.
“It’s a matter of supply and demand,” one man contended, speaking freely among the other men. He wouldn’t have been so open if he knew women were listening. Erin stood there equally with the men. “Them savages ain’t got some of the things we have. You take this here iron skillet. They ain’t got no way to make such a thing, and the iron is like magic to them. So, they covet what we got in them there wagons, and it’s tradition for them to raid their enemies for what they don’t got.”
Erin found that by keeping her mouth shut and not contributing too much of her own knowledge or observations, she learned a helluva lot more than she would have otherwise. Telling anyone what she knew, or showing her lack of knowledge thereof, seemed to make people form opinions, whether they were true or not.
The days took on a sameness as they traveled the length of Nebraska along the Platte. The outriders reminded the settlers to keep alert, not to trust the seemingly innocent prairie. There were Indians out there, and they were hunting for buffalo and looking to raid the wagon trains. Just because they had been raided once, didn’t mean another party of Indians, another tribe, wouldn’t raid them too.
“They Sioux?” one settler asked as he rode the drag behind the herd, looking around frequently and not so intent on the animals they were guarding.
“Where?” Erin asked, frowning in confusion.
“Them Indians we fought with in Kansas. You traded what you took from them?” he reminded her as though she didn’t know what he was talking about.
Erin didn’t realize her business was being observed so closely by other members of the wagon train. It was, after all, her business. She had traded some of what she had gathered for the saddle she was now using to sit on the stallion. The children were herding the flock of sheep and riding the now healed mare using the other saddle. They couldn’t lift it onto the back of the horse themselves, but at least they weren’t riding on just a saddle blanket anymore. She’d traded the rest of the Indian knives and things at the fort, glad to get rid of it since it had been involved with death. “No, according to Wallace and his men they were Cheyenne,” she informed the nosy man, wondering why she even bothered to answer.
“How’d they know? They look at the dead? I thought the Indians took off with most of their dead?”
“Moccasins,” she replied shortly, taking a chance to take a bite of the jerky that Molly had taken out of the sack just that day. It had a fine, smoky flavor they had gotten in the meat back in Ohio. It seemed years ago since they had smoked the meat for this trip.
“Moccasins?” the man asked, clearly not understanding.
Talking around the meat she was chewing on, her mouth watering at the rich flavor, she answered, “Each tribe has its own pattern and decorations. They can tell from what they were wearing or how they decorate their things.”
The man nodded, finally understanding and willing to talk some more. It was boring riding the drag behind their stock, and Erin rode off to hurry along some lagging cattle, effectively cutting off further conversation. She took up the new bandana Molly had made for her out of bright red cloth, so she could cover her mouth and nose from the dust. Many was the day she’d return to their wagon and have a line of dirt across her face where it hadn’t been covered.
On a good day, the wagons made twenty miles. Most days were as slow as twelve or fourteen. Molly realized not everyone was as well set up as their family, and she generously used her horses and even her oxen to help pull others out of the deep mud that the rains caused. Seeing the damage to wheels and wagons, she was grateful for the knowledge she had gained from her brother for repairing their own. A broken wagon couldn’t be repaired very easily. One family already had to remake their wagon using only two wheels, half the box, and half their supplies. Others had either purchased or generously offered space in their own wagons for the family that was now basically on foot but still planning to continue the journey. If they didn’t have enough food, they would have starved. Wallace had threatened to leave some of the settlers at the next fort. Repairs as they went along were part of the long journey. Many used wooden parts when they didn’t have iron, if they had the tools. Hammers, saws, augers, and even gimlets could do a lot of repairs, at least jury-rigging things until they came to the next fort.
The river split into what they called the North Platte, and their wagon train continued along this fork.
“Do you think the rivers are all like that?” Molly asked one evening as they settled in before heading to the tent to sleep. They were traveling longer stretches, and everyone could feel it, but the days were longer, and Wallace knew everyone was trail broke and able to handle it.
She looked at the North Platte. It was also shallow and frequently had islands and channels in it that simply made it impossible for even a canoe to effectively travel on it. The islands had brush on them, and the settlers had learned to take wood where they could get it for their fuel.
“Gots to worry about silt though,” another of the former mountain men traveling with them warned. “It’s like what they call quicksand, and it’ll grab ya. You think you’re on solid ground and that silt will start suckin’ you in. Getting out, you will leave yer moccasin or boot behind, if we can get you out.”
Erin kept the children away, but she learned from one of the mountain men how to get cleaner water by setting up a small dam of rocks, letting the water fill it, and then scooping out the water with their buckets, so there was less silt. Letting the buckets sit for a while before pouring them and not completely emptying the buckets in their barrels meant they didn’t carry the heavy silt in their barrels.
As they approached Fort Laramie, many of the settlers breathed a sigh of relief. This was the make or break point. They were one third of the way through their trip—about six hundred and fifty miles—and it had been a long trek so far. Some, like the Herriots, had come much farther from back east. They were now in the territory of what would become Wyoming someday. Right now, it was considered part of the Nebraska Territory, a large mass of land, and no one had any real idea of its vast scope. As they left Nebraska and approached Wyoming, the land had become more arid, the grasses shorter, and the odd land masses frightening to those used to trees and such growth from back east. Chimney Rock and Scott’s Bluff made a distinct impression and were talked about for days. Chimney Rock stood like a sentinel, pointing at the heavens, and those more religious than others took it as a sign. Scott’s Bluff made travel in that area impossible with its rocky embankments and sudden cutoffs caused by the rain. The trail they took swung away from the bluff. It was cut oddly in the middle and some said there was a trail through it, but it wasn’t made for Conestoga wagons. Still, the settlers trudged on the trail cut out by wagons and traders before them.
The fort itself wasn’t much yet. It was very primitive in its construction and appearance, and it was rough, made of mud and sticks and built originally by trappers. It had a square enclosure surrounded by the walls of brick made mostly from mud and sticks and grass. The tall walls already had cracks. Mountain men told of the hot sun that baked the mud to make the bricks that went into the walls and how the hot air then sucked all the moisture out of the bricks. Indians came to trade their furs for white man’s things they couldn’t get anywhere else. There were a few Mexicans hanging about too, the first that many had seen. Some compared the Mexican’s dark complexions to the Indians’.