Part 16

Weary at last of walking, he crept into his tent beside Hal, who had been dead to the world from the moment he touched his bed, so sweet is the deep forgetfulness of childhood when “tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” is preparing it for the further endurance of an exacting and ambitious life. But Captain Ranger could not sleep. He arose and faced again the silent horrors of the situation.

The stars twinkled overhead in their usual triumph over disturbing forces; and, slowly fading into the coming twilight, rode the gibbous moon.

In his helplessness the lonely watcher lifted up his voice and prayed.

“I’ve never felt much worry over original sin, O Lord!” he cried, standing with hands uplifted in the chilly air, “but you know I’ve generally been honest. I’ve tried hard to do my duty according to my lights. I didn’t mean to bring my Annie and her babies out here in the wilderness to die; but you understood the conditions, and because you understood, you took my wife away. I rebelled at first, but you helped me to bear it for her sake; and for this, for the first time, I thank you. And now, if you have the love for her children for which she always gave you credit, I am sure that you’ll guide me safely out of this present trouble. And if you do, O Lord, I’ll serve you as long as I live in whatever way you lead. Amen.”

“I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread!”

“Who spoke to me?” he asked, aloud. “Where did that voice come from? I could have sworn it was Annie! No; Annie is dead!”

In a flurry of excitement he peered in all directions, listening eagerly. But in his soul there slowly crept a quiet peace, and with it a sense of security and elation which he could not comprehend; neither could he doubt its reality.

Before him passed, in mental review, the strenuous days of his boyhood, awakening youth, and early manhood. The memory of his mother arose before him, inexpressibly sweet and tender. He thought lovingly of his father, strong in the religious faith of which he had often made a jest. His gentle Annie seemed so near that he could almost reach her. But closer to him than any other seemed the presence of his brother Joseph. What a promising lad he was, and with what joy had the whole family striven to bestow upon him the educational advantages to which none of the others had dared to aspire!

Then passed before him, like scenes in a panorama, the awful pecuniary straits that followed, when the beloved brother fell under the ban of the law.

Then came in review his unexpected meeting with that brother in the wilderness. “Forgive my pride, brutality, and selfishness, O Lord! and by all that’s holy, I’ll make it right with Joe!”

And who shall say that this unique appeal to the great Source of Life was less acceptable to the Infinite than the studied petitions of gowned prelates? whose often conflicting appeals to Jehovah, if answered literally, would plunge the world into confusion and chaos under the diverse demands of the children of men.

His prayer ended, the chilled and worried wanderer returned to his bed and readdressed himself to sleep, this time with such success that when he awoke the sun was riding high in the heavens, and he heard the familiar voice of a train-master, whom he had left in his rear by taking the Green River cut-off, and who had now overtaken him.

“Hello, Captain!” exclaimed the new arrival, striking the wall of the sleeper’s tent with the butt of his heavy ox-whip. “What’s all this I’ve been hearing? Didn’t you get back any of your stampeded cattle?”

“Nary a hoof,” replied the Captain. “I tell you we’re in a mighty bad fix, Harlan.”

“How are you going to get out?”

“Don’t know yet. It’s a ground-hog case, though, I’m bound to make it somehow. Got any cattle to sell?”

“Possibly. Might spare two yoke and an odd steer. Got any money?”

“A few dollars. But I don’t want to get into Oregon dead broke. Can’t you trust a fellow till we reach the settlements?”

“I could if we weren’t running short o’ grub. This journey has cost like the dickens from the start; and it won’t get any cheaper on the home stretch. Every fellow you strike wants money. It wasn’t so in the States.”

“We can swap accommodations if we like, Harlan. I have several bags of jerked buffalo meat.” His voice faltered, as he remembered that this meat had been prepared by the order of his vanished wife. “We laid in a lot of flour and other stuff at our last Utah trading-post; so we’re not short.”

An old-fashioned game of barter and dicker was soon concluded; and Captain Ranger set his men to work, rearranging the wagons and making ready to move on.

XXIX

_IN THE LAND OF DROUTH_

All the wagons except the “saloon,” or family vehicle, were ruthlessly stripped of their various appurtenances; the running gear of those that had seemed to stand the wear and travel with the least injury were selected to hold the absolute necessaries of the remainder of the journey. Many articles of utility were compelled to find a lodgment in the family wagon, causing Sally O’Dowd to ruefully survey the limited space for the little flock who were too young in years to walk regularly.

“We’ll see what can be done,” said the Captain, thoughtfully. “I’ve left the saloon wagon to the last, hoping somebody would come along who could spare us a few more steers. We’ve thrown away everything we can do without. But we’ll get the cattle.”

“It’s lucky we’ve got the money the teamsters paid us to get back after they deserted us,” said Jean. The Captain’s face brightened.

“Why, surely!” he cried. “I had forgotten all about the financial end of that incident. You have a business head on you, my girl!”

“Here it is,” cried Marjorie. “It is in our great-grandmother’s silver spectacle-case. Jean put it there.”

“Sure enough,” said her father. “Your great-grandfather carried that tarnished and battered spectacle-case all through the Revolutionary War. It is indeed a lucky find.”

In less than an hour another train of dilapidated wagons came along, accompanied by half-a-dozen loose oxen and a discouraged cow.

Then for the first time the faces of Mrs. Benson and Mrs. McAlpin brightened. During all the hurry of the day they had wandered aimlessly about, steadfastly refusing to accept any assistance until the Ranger family should first be provided with oxen.

“Now, as we can get cattle enough to move one of our wagons, it is our time to make preparations for a start,” said the Little Doctor.

“Did you think for a minute that you’d be abandoned to your fate?” asked Captain Ranger.

“We didn’t allow ourselves to think at all; we just waited and trusted.”

In less than an hour what was left of the Ranger outfit was in motion. And a sorry-looking outfit it was indeed.

One of Mrs. McAlpin’s wagons was abandoned after she had discarded everything of appreciable weight that could be spared. But there are exceptions to every rule, and the Little Doctor, watching her opportunity, managed with the aid of Scotty to stow away the long-secreted spinning-wheel and baby’s cradle which had been Mrs. Ranger’s property.

“If we can complete our journey at all, we can carry these things,” the Little Doctor said to Jean. “We are getting near the Columbia River, as we can see by the topography of the country; and there’s a mission at The Dalles, where we can get more help if we need it, I am sure. Mamma and I will ride our horses as long as they are able to carry us. We have provisions enough to feed our two teamsters and ourselves till we reach a settlement.”

One woman at a time was detailed to ride in the family wagon and take care of the babies; all the rest walked, stopping to ride only when the frequent streams that were too deep to wade were to be crossed; at which times the wearied oxen were compelled to do the double duty of pulling the loads and carrying the footsore pedestrians on their backs.

The weather was now intensely hot during the long hours of sunshine. The sandy wastes radiated the blistering heat under which the vast sageplains lay staring at the unmerciful sun in apathetic stillness, like a Lilliputian forest under a state of arrested development. But the nights were chilly, and the storms of wind and dust that came up with the going down of the sun were trying in the extreme. The men of the party no longer had tents or wagon-covers for shelter, and were obliged to sleep on the lee side of friendly rocks, beside which they awoke, sometimes, to find themselves uncomfortably near a den of rattlesnakes or the decaying carcass of an animal.

At every spot where a little grass was found, the cattle were unhitched from the wagons and turned out in pairs, under the yoke, to feed. Every stray bit of wood, every discarded ox-yoke or ox-bow, and not infrequently the entire woodworks of an abandoned wagon, were split into firewood and carried along among the baggage for camping purposes.

Unknown guides, in whom the prolonged hardships of the plains had not destroyed the spirit of human kindness, left frequent notices on the rocks by the wayside, giving valuable information in regard to springs and streams, but for which there would have been terrible suffering at times from thirst.

The cattle were too weak and their loads too heavy to permit long hours of travel, and their progress was necessarily slow.

The beds of small streams had gradually dried under the fierce sunshine, and it became necessary to keep as near as possible to the banks of the Snake River, from which, however, the way often deviated for days together because of intervening rocks, gulches, sand, and sheer bluffs.

On the third day of August Jean made entry as follows:—

“The fiery weather of the past fortnight has moderated somewhat; but the roads are, as usual, rocky and dusty, with many stretches of sand, through which the poor, weak cattle pull the wagons, which, though lightened by the reduction of our loads, are far too heavy for their strength, which decreases daily.

“Our road, during the afternoon of to-day, lay close to the almost dry bed of a rocky-bottomed creek, beside which we camped for the night, without food for our stock, and almost without water. I wonder what the poor creatures think of us for bringing them out here in the wilderness, face to face with such a fate?

“Some of our teamsters have been growing quarrelsome of late. Two men who fell in with us shortly after our loss of cattle and have been following us ever since and begging food, suddenly left the train yesterday; since their departure some of our men are growing insubordinate.

“Their grievance arises from the inability of the cattle to haul them when not on duty as drivers, they assuming that they made no bargain with daddie to do any extra walking. Our teamster Yank, the aristocratic son of Virginia, who claims to be an F.F.V., climbed on a wagon-tongue early in the day, and compelled the oxen to pull his weight through the rocks and sand, the added strain upon their neck yokes making their lot doubly hard. Daddie is holding a conference with the fellow now. He said before we halted for the night that he hoped the dissatisfied ones would leave of their own accord, as otherwise he expected trouble. He announced to-night that there would be no more riding on wagon-tongues; and although we await the result of the conference with some anxiety, daddie says he isn’t worried, since the dissatisfied fellows must stay with the train or starve.

“August 4. We travelled seventeen miles to-day, having halted for two hours to feast the cattle on a bed of dry bunchgrass, fortunately discovered by Scotty in a ravine overlooked by trains ahead. It was a great comfort to see the hungry animals fill themselves with the dry but nutritious grass, and drink their fill from a trench made in the bed of the dry creek.

“Three miles’ further travel brought us to a bend in the creek, where we succeeded in digging again for water.

“August 5. We are in better spirits than at any time since our loss of cattle. All traces of mutiny have disappeared, and even Yank trudges over the road without protest. The animals, too, are stepping briskly.

“We find nothing at all for the cattle to eat to-day. The road continues rough and rocky, and abounds in chuck-holes which the narrow track will not permit the wheels to avoid. The tires are all loose on the wagon-wheels, and it seems a miracle that the wheels do not fall to pieces.

“After we halted for the night on the banks of the Snake River, once more our men were compelled to drive the cattle down the stream for over a mile to find an opening between the bluffs through which they could reach water. And the men had to carry back a limited supply in their canteens to relieve the distress at camp. We are in plain and provoking sight of a foaming waterfall on the opposite bank, but as thoroughly out of reach of it as if it were in the mountains of the moon. It bursts from a ledge of rocks, and descends to the river with a roar that at this distance is sweetly musical. Some day, in the years to come, some enterprising individual will preëmpt that spring, and make a fortune by selling the pure water to his less fortunate fellow-men.

“August 6. At ten o’clock to-day we were refreshed by a welcome shower.

“Oh, the blessed summer rain! How it cooled the parching air and arid earth, and revived the drooping spirits of poor dear daddie, who is growing hollow-eyed and thin, like the cattle!

“We find no game, and nothing for the stock to eat but some willows.”

* * * * *

“Yonder,” said Captain Ranger, in an excited tone, “are the falls of Salmon River. Make a note of them, Jean!”

The dilapidated wagons were halted on a great plateau overlooking a rapid river, spanned by a mighty ledge of rocks, over which a great torrent of foamy-white water rolled and surged, glistening in the sunshine with great schools of female salmon in quest of spawning-ground, followed by the male contingent, fierce of aspect and in fighting mood, ready to destroy one another or anything else that might impede their progress.

Indians were camped in great numbers below the bluffs, the women drying the fish for winter use, and the men bartering the produce of their skill with lance and spear for such articles of food and apparel as the depleted stores of the wanderers could spare.

“August 7. We travelled eighteen miles to-day. At ten o’clock we found a little plat of dry bunchgrass, and halted for an hour to allow the stock to graze. It was well we did, for to-night we find no grass at all. The river is over a mile from camp, and we are compelled to carry water all that distance for domestic use. We don’t use very much.”

For many miles the road continued through a rocky canyon, where the way was so perilous that the locked wagon-wheels had to be held in place by men on the upper side of the grade to prevent the wagons from tumbling down the bluffs into the raging current far below.

The entries in Jean’s journal were interrupted at this time by a serious siege of toothache; and for this reason we find, under date of August 10 and 11, in Captain Ranger’s painstaking chirography, the following entries:—

“We travelled about eight miles and again came to Snake River. The weather has been insufferably hot; and, as our weak and famished cattle were unable to go on, we were compelled to halt and await the coming of a breeze.

“The general face of the country is barren in the extreme. No vegetation is in sight except the ever abounding sagebrush. Gnarled, old, dwarfed, and shaggy, this seemingly boundless waste of sage subsists without apparent moisture; and for no conceivable purpose it lives on and on forever, staring stolidly at the sun by day and keeping vigil with the moon and stars by night.”

On the 12th of August Jean made the following entry: “We reached the banks of the river every few miles to-day, and camped near it at night. We find here no grass, game, or fuel; but, thank God, there is plenty of water.

“After resting the cattle till sundown, daddie gave orders to yoke up and move ahead to a plat of grass that he had heard of, about six miles to the westward, and half a mile to the left of the main travelled road. We were all packed, ready to start, when Shorty and Limpy came into camp, bringing about half of the cattle, and reported all the others missing. So we are compelled to await the morning with such forebodings as no pen can portray; mine at least will not make the attempt.

“August 13. The missing cattle were found and brought in at an early hour this morning; and after a hurried breakfast we started for the promised feeding-grounds, where we found good grass and water, but no fuel. We halted for a couple of hours, and then came on seven miles farther, when we once more reached Snake River.

“The dust throughout the day has been almost unbearable. It is as fine as the finest flour, and, being impregnated with alkali, is very irritating to nostrils, throats, and lungs.

“August 14. This has been the hardest day yet upon the cattle,—poor starved and wretched creatures! And I might add, poor alkalied and used-up people!

“Not a person in our company is well. We are a fretful, impatient, and anxious lot, and no wonder. And yet our journeyings even now have their amusing side. Susannah sings like a nightingale, and ‘Geo’die Wah,’ as her lisping coon calls himself, leads the chorus. Scotty quotes poetry by the yard, and the Little Doctor seeks diversion in every incident. Mrs. Benson continues amiable and obliging, showing a side to her nature wholly unlike the waspish way she had when we first knew her. The men often clear away the sagebrush from a level plat of ground after their chores are finished for the night, and hold dancing carnivals among themselves (daddie draws the line at dancing, so we don’t participate). Sawed-off makes tolerable music on a fairly good violin. The humble jotter of these chronicles finds her chief diversion in the fact that we are every day drawing nearer to the Oregon City Post-office.”

XXX

_BOBBIE GOES TO HIS MOTHER_

Jean’s aching tooth suffered a relapse, and the suppuration that ensued made her seriously ill.

On the 14th of August her father again made an entry:—

“Five of our escort have left us, taking with them a wagon-bed left by the wayside by somebody whose cattle have died or strayed. They made a clumsy boat of the square-bottomed thing; and with this frail craft, which they successfully launched in the tortuous waters of the Snake, they expect to find safe navigation to its confluence with the Columbia. Although it was a relief to get rid of some of them, chiefly because they thought they knew so much more about my business than I was able to learn, I am apprehensive of results solely on their account. Snake River doesn’t look to me like a safe stream to be trusted. But it was a relief to see them go, because we are yet many hundreds of miles from our goal, and our supplies of food and means of transportation are getting more precarious daily.

“August 15. Lost another ox by drowning.

“August 16. Weather insufferably hot. Lost an ox to-day from eating a poisonous herb. At this rate we shall soon be left with one wagon. The cattle must hustle for food after every day’s pull, making it very hard to keep life in their poor skeleton bodies.”

On the evening of the 18th Jean resumed her writing, which ran in part as follows:—

“The long and dreary road is rough and hilly, and the yielding sand is deep. We found to-day at noon a patch of dry grass, and stopped to graze our famishing cattle. But we neglected, by some mischance, to fill our water-casks in the morning, so we had a dry luncheon in the hot sand, under the blistering sunshine. Our shoes have all given out from constant walking, and we are reduced to moccasins, which we get by barter among the Indian women. But the deerskin things afford us no protection from the still abounding cacti, which seem to thrive best where there is the least moisture.

“We are encamped once more on the banks of the Snake. It was quite dark when a halt was ordered.

“August 19. Glory to God in the highest! We are once more within sight of some trees that are not sagebrush. They are off to the westward, several miles away, and their stately presence marks the course of a stream we cannot see.

“August 20. The stream proved to be the Owyhee,—a lukewarm, clear, and rapid little river with a pebbly bottom. The air is so foul from the stench of decaying cattle, the water of the little river is so warm, and the heat so intolerable that sickness and death must soon ensue if the conditions do not change. It is no wonder that we see many graves by the roadside. Most of them are the last resting-places of mothers who have mercifully fallen asleep and been buried, often with their babes in their arms.

“August 21. Old Fort Boisé lies opposite our camp, away beyond and across Snake River, looming in the distance like a mediæval fortress from the midst of a gray, dry moat. Our printed guide, a little pamphlet written by General Palmer in the forties, tells us that this fort was built by the Hudson Bay Company for shelter and storage, and as a means of protection from the Indians, with whom the traders did a thriving business when the century was young. It is now fallen into decay, and is doubtless the abode of bats and birds and creeping things.

“The men who left our company on the 16th inst., in a boat made of a wagon-bed, rejoined us to-day, having had all the navigation on the Snake they seemed to care for. They were a woe-begone and God-and-man-forsaken set; and their chief fear was that they would not be permitted to come into our train again on the old footing. Daddie—dear, big-hearted, hospitable man—took them in, though they deserved a different fate; but we think they’ll be content to let the best that can be had alone hereafter.