Authors: J. Fields Jr.
The year before he’d taken a party of fifty-five from
Ohio
to
Oregon
who had picked a rich farmer as their wagonmaster.
Even when they had gotten as far as the
Salt
Lake
he still thought he could buy his way across the country.
Worse, the skunk--Perkins his name was--turned out to be a Mormon hater.
Not that Delacroix knew or even cared much about the Saints' religion, but he did know they would need their help by the time they got far.
Blowhards like Perkins were dangerous on a journey like this and it was asking for disaster to have one in charge.
In spite of the rich Ohioan the scout led them through.
At least he led forty-nine of them through.
Of the six that had died, three probably would have anyway.
Two others had died needlessly and one more had died viciously because of their damnfool captain.
The only real complaint Delacroix had about Metzger was that he let the
Illinois
group join up with them.
Delacroix didn't know anything about treating cholera but he did know it best to keep your distance from any fever or disease.
However, the malady seemed to have passed over them.
He surely hoped so.
One of his bonuses as trailblazer was to be fed at each wagon in turn.
Today he was to eat from the camp of one of the
morte
wagons, the one in which the steamboat mechanic and his woman had died.
He had been watching the boy and the black for signs of cholera. There didn't seem to be any and he did admire the boy's pluck for going on.
The black seemed like he could handle himself in a fix.
All told though, he would rather camp with the redhaired
Hampton
girl.
She seemed a likely wench to take care of a man on a lonely night.
And her breasts!
La Tetons Grand
, he joked to himself and smiled.
#
Leland Metzger was pleased with the train's progress so far. Except for forming up into a U shape with the livestock picketed within its confines, this day's camp was much like any of the previous ones.
He was glad a potentially dangerous panic had been so easily thwarted.
His people settled down after the first talk of the Indian sighting.
The news sent the menfolk scudding to drive the women and children to the wagons.
Now that the task of corralling up was complete the usual routines of the afternoon camp were commencing albeit with an air of nervous anticipation.
While it would have been pleasant to congratulate himself on his own handling of the crisis he knew he was as green as any of the rest.
Visions of a butchering party of savages had raced across his vision when he’d first learned of the nearby Indians.
However, the quiet confidence of the pilot quickly settled his nerves and let him think clearly about what was to be done.
When he accepted the captaincy of the expedition prior to leaving
St. Joseph
it was the reputation and the qualities of the Western guide that had inspired him to service.
He now felt this dangerous journey could be completed.
After all, Delacroix had led three other groups through to
Oregon
City
and they should consider themselves lucky they were able to hire him for the trip.
Although he had heard good things spoken of him in
St. Joseph
, he didn't really know much about him.
He had been told he was the son of a French
voyageur
trapper.
Delacroix told him he had been to
Oregon
and
California
before with
Fremont
in '43.
He sure looked and smelled like a trapper.
It was good luck they had a surgeon amongst their group of farmers, merchants, and clerks.
He guessed he had old Doc Fletcher to thank for that bit of luck.
If he hadn't had all the birthin' and buryin' business in
Monroe
County
sewn up, Doc Bingham would probably still be at home settin’ busted legs.
Home!
That was somewhere ahead of him now in
Oregon
; unless he wanted to consider the wagon he and the missus and their young'uns slept under as his home.
Rough as that might be, it seemed to him better than the shabby rented house they had back in
Monroe
.
Being the constable in
Monroe
hadn't been half bad but the townsfolk sure begrudged him his keep.
Most of his job was keeping drunks off the street and transient scalawags moving on down the road.
It had surely been a thankless job but lately it seemed there were aplenty of other men who wanted it.
Chief amongst these was the cousin of the county sheriff, Bill Archer.
Archer was about to put him out of the job anyway and the hundred dollars in gold he had offered him for an early retirement was all the convincing he needed to move on.
A hundred dollars!
That, and the guff his wife had to take from the wives of the other town officials who didn't think Claire Metzger was quite good enough for their parlors.
Hell, they had been about ready to pack up and git even without the ten gold eagles Bill Archer had slapped down on the constable's scuffed desk that Saturday morning in March.
#
Delacroix wasn't around when Metzger stopped at the Bonner wagon.
"Where's Delacroix?
Ain't you supposed to feed him today?"
"He be on the rise on t'other side of this wagon here.
'Spect he'll come for his supper when he's done Injun watchin', 'Cap', suh," Jubal replied, indicating where with a swing of his head.
Metzger noted Jubal was fixing two sleeping places under the wagon.
True, it was on the ground, but a nigger shouldn't ought to bunk up with a white man, even out here.
People sure got some strange ideas from living across the
Mississippi
in
Illinois
.
Josh stepped around from the other side of the wagon.
One forearm was dusted with flour and held a canning jar dusted white.
"I suspect he'd rather watch for Indians than spend much time down here with us.
I'm hopin' some of Ma's put up peaches with his bacon and potato might friendly him up some."
Josh held up the floured jar.
"Mebbe' you ought to pass some out to the other wagons, too.
I don't see anybody crowding your camp, here," said Metzger.
He paused to see how that set with the boy.
Asking to hook up with them hadn't been received well by the rest of the Missourians.
He had, however, elected to let them come on after Doc Bingham assured him once the cholera had killed whom it might there was no further danger from it cropping up again.
It was like the pox.
After you were once exposed to it you were safe in the future.
Even now he was considering sending the
Hampton
girl back to
Fort
Kearney
with the boy and his nigger as escort.
He couldn't care what the others might say about the arrangement.
As though Josh was reading Metzger's mind the boy spoke up.
"Captain, if there were still cholera about—Jubal and I would both be dead.
The rest'll see so in a few days but I don't expect any of the womenfolk to be bringing over any pies.
I mean to press on, be it with you or alone."
"You all are getting by then?"
"We're gettin by.
Jubal helps fine," Josh answered.
"Now, you be tying off your stock to the wheels tonight.
A picket stake might pull out if there's any excitement.
I'd just hobble that sorrel of yours.
You might need to saddle up right quick like if there's trouble later," Metzger cautioned.
"You spectin trouble later?" Josh asked.
"Just putting careful ahead of wishing, you see," he replied.
"I'll be ready if you need me," Josh said assuredly.
"Good thinking boy.
Now, I've got to see the Frenchy."
As Metzger turned, Delacroix appeared from in front of the wagon.
"Our company's come," he stated evenly.
"Don't raise any call.
They are at the ford and just mean to pass, I'm sure.
Come have a look."
Without waiting for comment he slipped away back the way he had come.
Metzger stepped off after him and Josh, unbidden, followed several paces behind.
As Josh got to the base of the knoll he saw in the failing sunlight that Metzger had taken the spyglass the scout produced and was looking towards the ford about three-fourths of a mile distant.
Using his hat as a shade, Josh could make out four horses in file crossing the whirling river.
The horses were sunk to their chests and seemed to be losing some ground to the frothing current.
Each horse appeared to have a rider lying low on its back.
As the horses emerged from the water onto the sandy bank, he saw two of the animals had swimmers hanging to their tails.
When all were ashore, the two extra swimmers leaped up behind the riders who had swum them across and all six immediately rode off through the knee-high grass.
Metzger peered through the glass until the Indians disappeared behind a low rise.
He handed the glass back to the scout who turned and proffered the telescope to Josh.
"Ever seen an Indian before, boy?
Take a spy through this," the scout offered.
Josh accepted the battered instrument, put it to his eye and scanned about until the party reappeared in the distance.
He had seen Indians before; mostly as they traveled up and down the river on steamboats, probably to trade.
Other than their long hair and dark complexions, the ones he had seen before could as well have been white men.
Close up one could see the medicine bags and beaded ornaments they wore around their necks, often in addition to the cravat a white would wear.
His father had pointed them out as tame Algonquians or Kansa who years before had treated with the government and had taken on the white ways.
When Josh had focused the spyglass he had his first gaze upon wild Indians out in the territories.
The sight more thrilled him than terrified him.
Mounted on calico ponies smaller than the draught horses he was accustomed to, they seemed fleet of foot even under the extra burden half of them bore.
Patched with white and tan, they gracefully carried their riders.
As they emerged suddenly back into view, the Indians' ponies struck off directly across Josh's vista.
The riders were intent upon their course, never even glancing towards the train or the watching men.
Josh was certain they were aware of the emigrant party.
How could anyone miss the wagons and eighty head of livestock?
It was puzzling to Josh why they wouldn't even look over.
Did they hold the whites in such disdain or were they hoping to remain invisible to the surveying eyes.