THE CHILDREN OF THE ROCKS
WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED BY
LEE HARGUS HUNTER
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Book one of the series “HUNKPAPA”
2010
Dedicated to my Indian ancestors.
THE CHILDREN OF THE ROCKS
Copyright Lee Hargus Hunter 2010
CHAPTER 1
THE END OF THE CIRCLE
A whirlpool of emotions pulled at Sarah, forcing her mind to skip alternately from where she was going, where she had been, and a fear of the unknown she soon must face. “Dear God,” she prayed, “What a way to spend my tenth birthday. Oh, how I wish I were back with Rebecca.” It was just past sunrise this morning when her family joined the wagon train on the western outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska.
As a bright, curious child she was excited about going someplace new. She also felt very sad over leaving the only home she could remember and the good friends who lived nearby. Sarah and her brother sat on the roll of bedding just behind their parents who occupied the narrow wooden seat their father had built.
Sarah loosened her hair from the tight braids and for just a moment let the wind blow her hair in a swirling mass. It felt so good. It felt free for just a moment. Then Sarah slowly wound her hair about her head, fastening it with the little combs that had been her birthday present. She would not let herself cry before her little brother’s eyes. She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes tight to hold back the tears. Sarah Hawthorne, happy farm child, was being left behind. Sarah Hawkins bit her lip and sat erect like her mother. She could not imagine what the future would be like. “Dear God,” she prayed, “Just help me get through it.”
She had heard her parents argue many times over moving west again. “How many more times do we have to move?” her mother would ask tearfully. The family had moved to eastern Kansas from Missouri when Sarah was just a toddler. Her brother Aaron had been born there on the modest homestead.
Both of her parents had been born and raised in Kentucky and Sarah often wondered why they had left there. Her mother was evasive when Sarah asked her about it, saying simply, “There were lots of problems back there.”
Sarah’s mother kept some old letters from her sisters and Sarah had seen her weep each time she reread them. Sarah yearned to know more of these family members but neither parent wished to talk about them.
“When you are older you will understand more about people. Folks don’t always get along just because they are kin,” her father said one day when she insisted he talk about his family.
The Hawthorne’s had lived in an area where three neighboring farms occupied pie shaped pieces of land enabling their farmhouses to be built within sight of each other. Each family had one daughter, much to Sarah’s delight. Her best friend was Rebecca Olsen who lived nearest. They often helped each other with chores in order to spend more time together. In childish innocence they vowed to always be together, never leaving the area. “We’ll grow up, get married and live next door to each other just as we do now.”
One day the girls were picking wild berries down near the creek. Rebecca seemed preoccupied and upset and finally asked Sarah, “What is a feud?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard the word. Where did you hear it?”
Rebecca moved closer, looked over her shoulder to make certain no one was coming, then said, “I heard my dad telling my mother that your dad, Franklin Hawthorne, had a feud. Then he whispered and I couldn’t hear anything else he said. My mother seemed upset. It must be something bad.”
Confused, Sarah replied, “Well, he isn’t sick or anything. What could it mean?”
Sarah thought about it for several days, then finally one night after her little brother had gone to bed and her parents sat reading the Bible aloud before retiring, she bravely said, “I want to know about the feud.”
Her parents exchanged glances, then, her mother lay the Bible aside and spoke to her husband, “You said that when she was old enough to ask, then you would tell her.” Her mother abruptly left the room.
“Come and sit here by me, my Sarah.” He filled his corncob pipe and lit it slowly. “I have an important story to tell you. I want you to hear it from me so you will hear the truth about things, not a bunch of lies others have told.”
Sarah noticed her father’s strong hands tremble as he spoke. She had never seen him tremble or show any fear before. She braced herself for some terrible revelation. “Dear God,” she prayed, “Don’t let him have some fatal disease.” She loved both of her parents dearly but felt especially close to her father.
He took his small red leather diary from its place on the shelf and unlocked it with that little key he always wore attached to his key chain. “I have it all written down here just in case something happens to me. Someday I would like for the whole world to know the truth.”
He read slowly, deliberately pausing to give Sarah a chance to ask questions, but she sat there quietly memorizing every word:
THE FEUD AT SALTLICK CREEK
“I, Franklin Hawthorne, do swear before God, that the following is a true account. My parents came to America from Ireland in 1800. They traveled south from Maryland with several other families from the old country and settled in the territory along the Tennessee/Kentucky borders in an area just south of the Cumberland River. I grew up there, hunting in the woods where the game was plentiful. My pa, my two brothers and I made a good living selling pelts to the traders who came by several times a year.
My mother never got over missing her family back in Ireland and was lonely out there in the woods with no women folk to visit with. One winter she took sick and died. My pa said she just gave up.
My wife’s family, the Gunthers, lived on the other side of Saltlick Creek. Her pa ran a small trading post. They had three daughters besides Katherine and two sons. Besides them, there was a whole bunch of Gunther cousins and other kin scattered around through the hills.
The sons were wild ones, always picking fights with some one. If nobody else were around, they’d fight each other. Some folks said the boys were mean because their mother had died when they were real young and their pa had never disciplined them.
The sisters though were sweet and pretty little things. It just seemed natural that my brothers and I needed to go to the trading post quite often.
Their older brother was named Jake and he was a hotheaded fool. One day he accused my brother Jim of poaching. Someone had taken a bundle of hides he had marked and left in the woods to pick up on his way back from hunting. That’s the way it was done, otherwise a hunter would have to carry a heavy load of hides everywhere he went. Well, Jim denied he’d touched the bundle. Why should he? We had plenty of hides of our own. One thing our pa had taught us was to always be honest. Even when we were just younguns, if one of us touched something of the others, he’d whip us with his belt.
Well, Jake threatened to shoot Jim if he caught him on their side of the creek again. That didn’t bother Jim much but it sure upset my brother Connor and me as we’d been secretly courting the two youngest of his sisters. A week or so later, Jim turned up missing. Connor and I searched all around our place and then searched down by the river where Jim liked to trap beaver. We found his body hogtied and strung up in a large tree. He’d been shot in the back.
Of course we suspected Jake but couldn’t prove it, as there weren’t any witnesses. There were no lawmen in the area at that time so everyone had to look out for himself and his family. Connor and I made a pact to get Jake someday but we had to wait for the right time. We’d been taught “an eye for an eye” like the Bible says.
I admit I might have gone right after Jake but he was Katherine’s brother and I was pretty sweet on her. I didn’t want anything to come between us.
One night Connor and I met the girls at our secret place down on the banks of Saltlick Creek. We were just sitting there in the moonlight, talking like young folks do. Suddenly Jake jumped out of the bushes with his musket raised.
The girls screamed and ran into the woods. Jake fired killing Connor instantly. I grabbed my gun and got off a shot at Jake as he ran towards the woods. Unfortunately I only wounded him in his shoulder, letting him live to tell lies about what had happened.
I carried Connor’s body home and pa and I buried him next to Jim and ma. Later I learned that Jake told his pa and everyone else that he had caught Connor and me molesting his sisters and vowed to kill me too. His sisters vigorously denied his charges but because they had been out in the woods without a chaperone, no one believed them. The next thing I knew, a group of local men gathered to find and shoot me in order to protect the women of the area. Katherine sneaked out of the house, saddled her horse and rode over to our place during the night, carrying only a small valise and her family’s Bible. She told me the vigilantes were planning to leave at dawn to hunt me down. I quickly saddled my horse and the two of us rode off together in the dark. We traveled for several weeks, hiding in the woods during the day and moving southwest at night.
We made our way into Tennessee. We traveled all the way down to Nashville where we found a preacher who married us. We told him our story and he suggested we move on westward before settling down. We wound up in Missouri where we lived for two years. We had found ourselves a homestead and had built a sod house. I thought we would stay there. It was a pretty place with rolling hills and good grassland. I had asked Katherine not to contact any of the family but she had sneaked around and mailed a letter to her older sister. One day she received a letter back saying Jake had found her letter and had vowed to come to Missouri to finish me off.
Her sister also wrote that Jake’s cousin Murphy had gotten into a fistfight with my pa and beaten him badly, leaving him too crippled to hunt anymore. Pa hid out in a cave along the river and the next time Murphy and Jake came by, pa shot and killed Murphy and wounded Jake. A few days later somebody set fire to pa’s cabin with him asleep inside. Now there’s none of my family left but me.
We packed up and left that night taking our young daughter Sarah and just a few provisions. I made my wife write a letter to her family saying we were moving back to Tennessee and also left a note with our nearest neighbor saying the same thing. I suppose it was cowardly of me, but I didn’t want any harm to come to my family. I knew that as soon as Jake recovered he’d be coming after me.
Then we came here to Kansas. We both hate it here. It’s flat and treeless. Everything looks the same in all directions. There are no pelts worth taking and I hate dirt farming. I have been hearing stories about the far western part of the country. It is said that there are mountains so high the snow never melts from their tops and there are oceans of grass for cattle. Someday I am going to take my family and go there. I hate to keep running but I want peace for my wife and children. I have done nothing wrong. I should have stayed there and killed Jake. Then all of this would be over. God forgive me for the hate in my heart.” Signed Franklin Hawthorne. Sarah was stunned. She hugged her father as tears ran down her cheeks. “We must leave here before he finds us,” she cried.
“I don’t think he will find us here in Kansas. It’s been a long time now. That is why we never contact any of the relatives. We’ve been saving money to buy a better team and a sturdy wagon. Some day we’re going to join one of those wagon trains going west. In the meantime we are safe. No one here knows anything about my past.”
Sarah sobbed saying, “But they do know. Rebecca overheard her dad telling her mother about you and the feud.”
Katherine had re-entered the room and heard what her daughter said. “How could they possibly know? I have never told anyone.”
Sarah’s dad knocked the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace saying, “Henry told me once he had some cousins living in Goose Rock. I never let on but that’s just over the next ridge from where we lived. One of them and his family was through here a few weeks ago on the way west to Colorado. I never mentioned it so you wouldn’t worry, but I avoided meeting them on purpose. While they were visiting, I kept busy clearing that back pasture and out of their sight. Evidently my name came up in conversation somehow. I’m afraid my family name has become well known back there but for all the wrong reasons.”
“So if that cousin writes back to his relatives in Kentucky, word might spread about where we are?” Sarah asked.
“When will it ever end?” her mother cried. “Can we ever go far enough to escape meeting up with folks who have heard our name?”
Sarah stood defiantly in the middle of the tamped-dirt floor and announced, “It’s really quite simple. We go far, far away but as soon as we drive away from this place, we change our last name. Anyone trying to find us will reach a dead-end, just like in a story I heard once.”
(Sarah did not own a book, as they were not yet available on the western frontier. The German printed Bible Katherine had taken from her home in Kentucky was their only reading material except for an occasional newspaper they were able to pick up when they went into town. These newspapers were read over and over until they yellowed and fell apart. Sarah had learned to read early and quite well using these newspapers and the Bible. She’d heard that wealthy folks back east had books about all the wonderful places in the world. Sarah yearned to someday have books of her own and maybe even attend school. Story telling was quite popular whenever neighbors got together. Sarah always listened intently and was usually able to repeat any story word for word.
“I’ve thought of changing our name but I didn’t know how to go about it,” her dad lamented.
“Just change it. Aaron hasn’t learned to write yet so he’s no problem. Now we just need to decide on a new name and where we are going.”
“Bless you my daughter,” Frank said as he held her tightly. The three of them knelt together there on the damp floor and prayed for guidance. Frank felt suddenly relieved that his dark secret was now out in the open.
Early the next morning, as he went about his chores, Frank saw a hawk circling over the chicken coop. When he came in for breakfast he announced, “We are changing our name to Hawkins. I am Frank Hawkins. I once lived just south of Paducah, Kentucky.”
“Yes,” Sarah said smiling, “A bit south of Paducah.” Her parents had taught her what limited geography they knew and the names and locations of many towns. Frank had even drawn a rough map of the central areas of the country that was surprisingly accurate. There were no schools in their rural area yet but they hoped someday there would be. In the meantime, they taught her what they knew about the world.
One month later, the newly named Hawkins family loaded their meager possessions into their new wagon and headed for Omaha, Nebraska. They planned to purchase a fresh team before heading west. In Omaha, they would join a wagon train going west. Frank had filed a notice he was abandoning his homestead and returning to northern Kentucky. That false trail should keep Jake occupied until they were well beyond his reach.
Omaha had become quite a hub for settlers moving west. Some took the southern route from there through Colorado to California while the braver souls ventured north and headed for the Northwest Territory.
Sarah would be responsible for looking after her younger brother Aaron who had just turned eight. She passed some of the time en route to Omaha trying to teach him to write his letters. He accepted the change in his last name without question, not having ever been very interested in such details. Aaron was a typical, mischievous little boy. He was excited about the trip but his sister knew he would soon be bored.
They camped on the western side of Omaha on a branch of the Blue River with a large group of settlers awaiting several different guides. One group was going to turn south, and seek their fortunes in what some called the Oklahoma Territory. Frank thought they were crazy. He’d heard that area was filled with Indians. There were two groups leaving soon over the southern route through Colorado and another going north. Frank decided he wanted to go to the northwest. He’d heard tales about the wild game and luscious scenery. Besides, it was about as far away from Kentucky as they could go.
Frank bought a new team of horses. The family had a good supply of dried beans, flour, and other provisions. It would be a long hard trip. At least there should be a goodly supply of game where they were traveling. The adults gathered around campfires in the evening, discussing their plans. The Hawkins family was careful not to discuss much about their past and where they had lived. It helped that everyone used first names. The Hawkins family members were not the only settlers who had a reason for being anonymous. Many of the early pioneers were escaping past crimes or injustices forced upon them in many of the lawless areas.
Aaron had been very restless on the trip from eastern Kansas to Omaha. Sarah had told him every story she had ever heard. Story telling was the one thing he would sit still for. “Tell me another,” he always begged. She had tried saying, "I don’t know anymore." Aaron would then beg, "Then tell one over again." She soon found herself making up stories to entertain him. Sarah sighed to herself thinking, "It’s going to take a lot of stories to get us all the way to where we’re going."
Everyone gathered in the clearing while the wagon master shouted out the rules of the road. He made it understood that from the time they started down the road until they arrived at their destination, he was in charge.
“He certainly is bossy,” Katherine whispered to her husband.
“His job is not only to lead us, but to protect us from all danger. He can’t have this many people all trying to make decisions. When he says stop, we will stop. When he says it’s time to go, we will go. That’s the way it has to be.”
The next morning everyone was up and ready early. No one wanted to get off on the wrong foot with the wagon master by being late that first day. Everyone gathered around the center campfire and Hank, the wagon master, led the group in a short prayer. The fire was extinguished and everyone climbed aboard their wagons and soon heard Hank’s call, “Wagons, Ho.” The wagon train pulled out of their campsite before the sun was up. Frank said they were lucky to have Hank Edwards, one of the best-known wagon masters, leading their way. He had made many trips over the mountains and back. Frank declared he wasn’t worried at all about the trip. Katherine worried about Indians; Aaron worried about bears. Sarah just worried about having enough stories to reach the west coast.
They had not planned to leave quite this soon but Hank had insisted they should be on their way. He predicted an early winter and wanted to cross over the mountains before the snows came. There were also concerns about recent tales of marauding Indians that had attacked several wagon trains. Hank said there was a temporary detachment of U.S. Army troops at Laramie, Wyoming. They were there with a group of surveyors and would be leaving soon. Their presence would surely deter any Indians in the area at this time.
There were sixteen wagons in all. Besides Hank Edwards, there were twenty-four adults and six children plus a burly looking guide everyone called Bear. He usually rode lookout up ahead and occasionally rode back to confer with Hank. Then he would drop behind them for a while riding just out of sight. He always waved his hat to the children as he passed by.
There were two brothers and their families from eastern Missouri. They had two other brothers who had changed their minds and decided to go south to what was called the Oklahoma territory. There had been a tearful parting as the four families had always lived near each other. At the last moment the elder brother begged his brothers to change their minds and accompany them south, saying he had a premonition of some disaster befalling this group. There was a particularly touching moment when he hugged his red-haired nephew and cautioned him about being careful.
Katherine shook her head sadly as she overheard their conversation. “Do you believe in dreams?” she asked her husband.
“No, it’s a bunch of nonsense,” Frank replied.
Katherine said nothing but had trouble forgetting her dream of the night before. In her dream, she had seen her daughter Sarah holding an infant and they were both crying. Katherine shrugged her shoulders and forced herself to think happy thoughts. It would be a long trip. She must try to keep up her own spirits as well as those of her family.
Sarah was disappointed that there were no other girls her age along on this trip. The other children ranged from four to eight years of age. Besides her brother Aaron, there was a four year old girl with pigtails named Ann, two five year old boys named Paul and Frank who were always together, and the seven year old boy with red hair and freckles named James.
There was one pregnant woman, a Mrs. Hughes, who expected her baby to be born soon. She was very young and asked Sarah to call her Mary. Her husband Tom was quite handsome and laughed a lot. One of their wagons was decorated with tin cups all around the top. They tinkled in the breeze like wind chimes. Mary told Sarah her husband was a salesman of tin ware. She gave Sarah one of the bright cups. Sarah hoped she would be allowed to help take care of the baby after it was born. She just loved babies. One of their neighbors back in Kansas had twins. She had visited them often and marveled at their remarkable likeness.
Sarah grieved for her friend Rebecca but knew she and her family had no choice but to leave. She felt bad knowing she could not even write to her friend but she must do everything she could to protect her parents. She vowed to keep their secret the rest of her life, never telling anyone her real name no matter what might happen.
The wagons bumped along so slowly Sarah wondered if they would ever reach the Pacific Ocean. She tried not to think of Rebecca and all the plans they had made. Suddenly she realized she was ten years old, she no longer had a friend, she had no home, she didn’t know for certain where she was going, and now she no longer had even her real name.
“Dear God,” she prayed, “I seem to be in quite a mess for just a little ten-year old girl. You will have to fix it because I don’t know how.”
CHAPTER TWO: LIFE ON A WAGON TRAIN
The first few weeks were un-eventful. The newness had worn off and tedium set in. There was nothing to do all day but look out at the almost empty prairie as they bounced along. They saw quite a few birds but very little game. Strange looking rock formations appeared occasionally but there were hardly any trees except when they came to a river or creek. Sarah stared at the distant horizon hoping to see the hills her father said they would soon travel through. All she could see were endless waves of tall grass stirred by the constant wind. Once they passed near a large herd of buffalo. Sarah thought they were the ugliest creatures she had ever seen.
She spent quite a bit of time with Mary who drove their second wagon loaded with tin ware and personal belongings. They talked about the expected birth of Mary’s baby and what Mary and Tom planned to name him. They were certain it would be a boy. Once the baby arrived, Katherine and several other women planned to drive Mary’s wagon for her until she regained her strength. Some of the women sewed or knitted little garments for the infant as they rode along.
Bear, the guide, who always seemed so gruff and tough, surprised everyone by making a lovely cradle for the baby. He spent every evening carving it by the campfire. Everyone wondered about him, his past, did he have a family somewhere? When others expressed admiration of his carving skills, he merely shrugged saying, “It’s just something to do around the fire in the evening.”
Mary talked a great deal about her family in Kentucky. It was obvious she missed them very much. Sometimes she would have a far away look in her eyes and unconsciously twist the wide gold wedding band on her finger. Sarah cautioned her parents not to mention their Kentucky origins. She also devised a foolproof way to keep Mary from asking questions about their past. Whenever she expressed an interest in her parents, Sarah would say, “Tell me about your courtship again. It’s such an exciting story. Mary would respond, relishing each detail.
THE COURTSHIP
Mary and Naomi had heard the jingle of the tin cups before Tom’s wagon was in sight. They were in the garden gathering peas for supper. Their hounds had welcomed this strange sounding invasion with much baying and howling. Their pa had talked to the young man at length before inviting him onto the front porch to show his wares.
After much haggling, which was expected and played like a game, Tom left with an assortment of jellies and jams and one skillfully made caned chair. Mary’s mother had a new skillet with matching lid and pa had a shiny new milk pail. Each participant thought he had gotten the best of the trade so everyone was happy except Naomi who had really wanted some of those shiny tin cups. “We’ve gourds a-plenty and don’t need those fancy things to drink from,” her ma had said.
Of course Mary confessed she had spent more time staring at the handsome stranger than looking at his wares. She didn’t think he had noticed her so she was surprised a few days later when he stopped to water his team and asked for directions. She’d been astounded when her pa agreed to let her show Tom how to get to the places in Hidden Valley. Some of the paths were fairly overgrown but no one else had trouble finding their way.
He had been so charming and polite, not all giggles and awkwardness like the local boys who so far had not paid Mary any attention except to tease her on occasion. Tom drove very slowly from one farm to another all the time talking about the wonderful places he’d been and still others he planned to visit.
Mary had been fascinated. She never tired of hearing his voice. One afternoon he stopped at the top of the ridge that separated their farm from the next. He told her he was going to miss her very much. He must leave in a few days.
“Will I ever see you again?” she had asked wistfully.
“God only knows. If it is His will, then we will be together someday.” He hesitated shyly, then said,” I am in love with you little Mary.”
Tom had kissed her gently on the cheek. Mary was overcome with desire and emotion. She surprised Tom by kissing him on the mouth. They had both been startled by her reaction and sat quietly for a few moments. Finally, Tom had said, “I am going to take you home now. I want you to think about something very carefully. I must leave early the day after tomorrow. I hope you will come with me. We can get married in Illinois. We might not be back here for a long time. Someday I intend to take my wares and go west. It could be a great adventure. We could have a great life together. Are you willing to give up your life here to go adventuring with me?”
Mary started to speak but the words stuck in her throat. Tom held her hand and said softly, “I won’t see you tomorrow because I have final deliveries to make. There’s no way your folks will give us their blessings because of your age and your older sister being unwed. We’ll have to elope. Friday morning, just before dawn, I will wait just beyond the curve in the road. If you haven’t met me there before the sun rises, I will know you are not coming and be on my way. I will understand and I will always love you little Mary.”
Mary confided to Sarah how confused she had been. She was unable to sleep that night or to think straight the next day. She tried talking to her sisters about love but they were preoccupied with plans for a quilting bee and didn’t realize she was serious.
Mary had timidly asked her mother how she and her pa had met and married. She was shocked to learn theirs was an arranged marriage and the couple had hardly known each other. Mary realized she had never heard many kind words spoken between her parents. Was she doomed to this kind of future?
Mary looked around her meager home and realized no one else in this area lived any better. Her mother and older sister worked endlessly just trying to provide for the family. Her pa worked from dawn to dark struggling to grow crops in the rocky soil. The whiskey still down near the creek provided their family with a few necessities and once in a while pa sold one of the cane bottom chairs, but it was a hard life. This might be her only chance to escape. The prospect of seeing the world with the handsome peddler seemed much more exciting. She would miss her family, especially Naomi. She sat up awake again all Thursday night worrying about what to do.
When the eastern sky finally lightened, Mary packed a few belongings in a satchel, being careful not to wake Naomi. She wrote a short note and pinned it to her pillow. She tiptoed from the house, whispering to the hounds outside to keep them from barking. She made her way down the narrow road toward the curve. She held her breath in anticipation. “Would he be waiting? Was she doing the right thing? Would she someday regret her decision?”
Tom stood waiting beside his wagon and in the dim light of dawn, Mary realized he was holding a bouquet of wild flowers.
Sarah never tired of hearing Mary’s story. She wondered if she would ever meet anyone as exciting as Tom. She also wondered if she could have left her family and ridden away into the dawn like that. She had attended a wedding once. It was so beautiful. The little log church back in Kansas had been filled with wild flowers. Afterwards there was fiddle music and a picnic. No, Sarah didn’t think she would ever elope. She wanted a wedding when the time came and she wanted to always remain close to her family. She had lost her best friend Rebecca. She was determined she’d never be apart from her family.
A few days later, Mary gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Everyone gathered around the main campfire the next morning. His parents wanted him christened before they moved on. Since there was no man of the cloth available, the wagon master did the honors. Sarah was asked to hold a small bowl of water fresh from the nearby creek. She felt honored but she was so nervous her hands trembled and she spilled most of it on Hank's boots. As the sun rose over the distant mountains, he dipped his hand into the water and sprinkled the sleeping baby's head saying, "I christen you Thomas Wilson Hughes in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." Everyone cheered and the wagon train was soon on its way.
Now the trail followed roughly along the southern branch of the Platte River. The men were able to catch quite a few fish, which everyone enjoyed immensely. There were sand hills now with occasional clumps of trees.
One night they made camp along the river and found obvious signs others had camped there not long before. “Indians,” Bear had told everyone, "Probably a Lakota hunting party. They’re friendly for the most part.” As a precaution, he posted sentries around the camp that night.
Frank stood duty starting at midnight. Bear sat and talked with him for a long while. “I can’t sleep when I’m nervous,” he confessed. “We are being watched. I think they are Lakota. They want to know if we are after their buffalo. Once they see we are moving on, they will quit following us.”
“Have you ever been attacked by Indians?” Frank asked.
“I spent a few years trapping up on the northern Platte. My wife and I had a little cabin with some other trappers and their families. There were six families all together. We did pretty well. We worked it so there was always one man at home to protect the women and children. We never had any trouble with the Lakota. Sometimes they would stop by and trade us beaver pelts for tobacco. Once in a while one of our horses would come up missing. We suspected that was the Comanche. They love a nice horse more than anything.”
“Well one day all of us except a guy we called Spike, left and went a bit farther away than usual. We were gone a couple of days longer than we planned. As soon as we crossed over the ridge and headed back toward our little settlement we saw the ruins of our cabins. There was nothing left but ashes. The bodies of Spike and all the womenfolk except my wife were scattered all about. There were no signs of the children, three young boys in all. Before he died, Spike killed a couple of the marauders. They were definitely Comanche. They were all tattooed with Comanche signs. Never found any trace of my wife, who was expecting our first child, or the boys. We had planned to leave the settlement and move back to civilization before the baby was born. I was going to join my brother and open a trading store in Omaha. We just waited too late, tempted by that one last big trapping trip. Well, I knew the area well so I became a guide. Traveling through the country gives me a chance to keep looking for some sign or tale of my wife and child. I heard one story about a fair-haired young woman living with Comanche west of here. I paid them a visit pretending to be a trader looking for pelts. I took along a good supply of tobacco. They accepted me and were real friendly. After a few days, I spotted the woman but it wasn’t Rachel. In fact, she didn’t even speak English and acted afraid of me so I suspected she’d been taken when real young. One of the old chiefs saw me trying to talk to her and offered to sell her to me for two horses. He spoke fair English so I told him I wanted a younger, blue-eyed woman with a child. He claimed he didn’t know of any such woman among his tribe but you can’t trust those guys. So, I keep looking and asking every time I run into a trapper or Indian I can talk to. I gave reports to the army units that I’ve met. I can’t help feeling she’s still alive someplace. I’m determined to find out what happened to her and my child.”
“How long ago was this?” Frank asked sympathetically.
“Four years this month. That’s a long time to not know what happened.”
“Do you know of many other cases like this?” Frank asked.
“There’s been a few more than most folks realize. The problem is these groups of Indians travel all the way from here to way south to the desert areas near Mexico. They take their captives with them, using them as slaves or sometimes marrying them. Sometimes they trade them to other tribes they meet up with who might not ever bring them back to the area where they were kidnapped. The young children are raised as tribal members and often don’t remember where they came from. I think some of the tribes, like the Lakota, treat them well enough, but I know it was Comanche that ravaged our camp.”
“Did you ever think maybe Rachel ran off and hid during the attack? Perhaps she was found later by a friendly tribe.”
“Well, that’s a comforting thought, but I don’t think it’s likely.” As dawn broke, a shrill birdcall sounded off in the distance, followed by several more from different directions. Bear whispered, “Quiet.”
After several minutes of silence, Bear said, “It’s all right now. They’ve moved out. They’ll wait behind those hills and watch the way we go. Then they’ll go on about their business.”
The camp was soon up and awake. The women prepared a quick breakfast while the men tended the horses. When everyone was ready and aboard the wagons, Bear made one last circle through the now deserted campsite. There was a prominent log where a large tree had fallen. Bear reined in his horse and dismounted. He placed a bag of tobacco upon the log where it could be easily seen. “Might as well be neighborly,” he whispered to himself and fell in behind the last wagon.
Frank cautioned Katherine and Sarah not to look backwards as the wagon train started westward again. He didn’t tell them about Bear’s wife. No point in causing them to worry but Frank felt uneasy for the first time. He almost wished Bear had not told him about his wife.
Bear had talked with Hank Edwards again just before breakfast. Hank sensed Bear’s uneasiness and tried to console him. He knew all about what had happened to Bear’s wife and friends. “If they are Lakota they won’t bother us. It’s the Comanche I worry about but I really don’t think they will come this far north with the army at Laramie. Just keep a close lookout. I’m going to really push these folks the next few days and try to get to Laramie as soon as possible”.
Hank had every confidence in Bear’s abilities. He was friendly with members of most of the tribes and was respected by them. He’d even learned to speak some of their languages.
Hank insisted the men with the wagon train kill only small game leaving the buffalo for the Indians. They must do everything possible to avoid making them angry. Hank was one of the most experienced wagon masters around, having made the trip west numerous times. He ran things strictly by the rules he had set forth. He had refused to bring one family along because their two grown sons had picked a fight in camp. There was enough danger out here without having fights within the group. Some thought Hank cold and unfeeling. The truth was far from that. He had an outstanding record of getting his wagons through safely. “We can celebrate when we get there and not until then,” he gruffly told two of the men he caught drinking the first night out. He needed everyone alert and ready to go or ready to fight, whichever might be needed.
Once they reached the high mountains to the west, they needn’t bother about the Indians who preferred the lower elevations. Then they would have to worry about fording streams, landslides, wild animals, and bad weather. He’d been caught in an early snowstorm last year when he made this trek and certainly didn’t want that to happen again. Those mountain passes could be treacherous enough without having deep snow drifts and howling winds.
The driver’s were all becoming accustomed to the routines and the long days; now he must get them to speed up a little. They wouldn’t be able to make good time once they reached the mountains so they’d better make some now. So far everyone was healthy. The new baby seemed strong and fit. He was glad that was over with. There’d been several births on other trips but it always unsettled him a little, especially this time because Mary seemed so young. When her husband registered them for the trip, he said his wife was seventeen, but Hank doubted that was true. “Well,” he thought, "They seem to be very much in love. I wish them well.”
Hank led his wagon train westward away from the rising sun. He noticed a gap between the tin ware wagons as they lined up across the prairie and remembered that Mary was driving again today. “I’ll give her a little time to catch up,” he said smiling. “She’s got to learn to forget about watching that boy while he’s sleeping and keep up with the wagon ahead.”
The trail made a wide curve ahead and Hank looked back again. There were no gaps in the wagon train now. “Atta girl, Mary,” he said smiling.
CHAPTER THREE: TROUBLE AHEAD
They were all getting bored, restless and cranky. The children were tired of their daily routines. Even the scenery was boring. The waves of grass fell upon each other in endless procession, stirring constantly but really going nowhere. An occasional grouse grumbled as he took off just in time to escape the wagons’ progress. Once in a while a beautiful ring-necked pheasant sailed nearby in all his glory. Only the buffalo herds seemed to interest the children. The little boys would make faces and yell to the giant beasts that paid no attention at all to the passing wagons. The girls would cover their faces and hold their noses until the herd was passed and out of sight. One day Tom had an idea. He had heard Aaron bragging about his sister’s storytelling ability. He invited all of the children to come ride in his first wagon after lunch and asked Sarah to tell them stories. This not only provided recreation for the children, it gave their weary mothers a rest from looking out for them. Tom’s love of children was obvious and everyone agreed that he was going to be a very thoughtful and caring father. They sat perched upon his many boxes of cups and utensils while listening quietly to Sarah’s every word.
Actually, some of her stories were quite exciting and Tom sometimes repeated them to adults gathered around the fire after the children were put to bed. “What an imagination,” someone said. “Where does she get all of her ideas?”
“I hope it’s not the work of the devil,” old lady Clark shrilled. The Clarks were in their early fifties and were members of what Frank called “a fringe religion.” They had set out to “save the savages” they hoped to meet. To them, every single thing that happened, was said, or even contemplated, was blamed at once on the work of the devil. They never smiled or showed any pleasure of any kind. They even protested to Hank when some of the campers sang hymns around the campfire. “It’s a pagan ritual,” they complained.
“Return to your wagons if you don’t care to listen,” Hank had told them emphatically. Hank respected other people’s religious beliefs but found the Clark’s attitude hard to comprehend. When they registered for the trip they were asked what firearms they were carrying. He had been shocked when told they did not believe in guns. “How do you get your meat?” he asked Mr. Clark.
“I set snares for small game and catch fish when I can. We don’t hunt big game and live mostly on berries and plants.”
“How do you plan to defend yourselves in case of an Indian or bear attack?” Hank then asked.
“Our God will protect us,” the man had answered firmly.
Hank had hesitated to bring them on the journey but then he thought it over and said, “They have lived all these years without using weapons, who am I to say they are wrong.”
Mrs. Clark’s remarks about Sarah made everyone angry but when she yelled at Frank that his daughter might be a witch, Hank had heard enough. He took the couple aside and gave them strict instructions. They could either remain apart from the others, staying in and near their own wagon, and refrain from such comments, or he would leave them in Laramie when they arrived there in a few days. (Laramie was little more than a frontier village with none of the amenities of civilization. Although the army visited there occasionally, the proposed military post had not yet been built. Hank’s threat worked and after that the Clarks kept to themselves.)
Frank explained to the others that he and Katherine had painstakingly taught Sarah to read from the Bible Katherine had taken from her home when they eloped. Her parents had brought it with them from Ireland when they came over. “It was told that Katherine’s grandfather secretly traded a fine horse for the English language version that had been smuggled into the country. It’s a small Bible with small print but Sarah has good eyes. She also used to read the occasional newspapers we were able to obtain. She remembers everything she ever read,” he said proudly. “Many of the stories she tells the children are actually Bible stories she tells in easier words so they will understand. She writes better than I, makes real pretty strokes with a pen. Katherine taught her that.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with their own Bible before except circuit riding preachers. I heard that back east you can walk in and buy them in some general stores, just like a bag of sugar. Soon as we get a homestead and some money, I’m going to buy us one,” George Brown said emphatically. “I can read a little and that will help me learn more words.”
“I had an almanac once. Written by old Ben Franklin himself. Had all kinds of good advice on planting and medicine for cows and people. I never got tired of reading it. Too bad it burned up in our cabin fire,” Thomas Taylor said sadly.
Some of the other parents could neither read nor write, and were very impressed. “I hope we can settle down where there is a school for our young ones,” an envious mother said.
“I heard someone back in Omaha saying the missionaries have opened a school over at Ft. Atkinson where they are actually teaching the Indians to read. Imagine that. They are teaching the Indians but there aren’t any schools for white kids.” Everyone shook their heads in amazement.
“Well,” George said as he spit tobacco into the fire, “One day there will be enough of us whites out here so they will have to have schools for us too.”
“Well they can’t very well teach the Indians how to live by the white man’s God if they can’t read the Bible,” Thomas added.
Their parents sure can’t teach them like we teach our children,” Mrs. Brown said. “But there won’t ever be enough schools to convert all those savages.”
“Someday things are going to change in this country and everyone will need to know how to read and write. Just being able to shoot straight and plow a field won’t be enough.”
Patrick, the red haired Irishman, said, “I’d like for my boys to get some schooling. Don’t really think it necessary for the girls though. I’ve heard some of those new fangled schools back east teach a bunch of nonsense to girls. Let their mamas teach them how to take care of babies and garden, that’s all they need to learn.”
Katherine couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Patrick O’Reilly, you’re an example of what’s wrong in the world. You’re so insecure; you’re afraid your daughters will become smarter than you. If each parent would teach all of his children everything he knows, the world would be a better place.” After delivering that tirade, Katherine returned to her wagon and went to bed.
Hank had returned to his seat near the fire and tried to cool off the conversation but also felt compelled to add a bit of advice. “I noticed quite a few of you had to sign your contracts with an X. That’s all right with me; you swore to uphold the rules of the wagon train. When you reach your destinations many of you will want to homestead or perhaps purchase land. I suggest you should all at least learn to sign your names. This country is getting quite civilized and records will become more important. You really can’t tell one X from another and often the witness is gone or dead. There are going to be some problems for folks who can’t write their names. I also suspect some of you may have changed your names for one reason or another. Well, that’s your business, but you should keep whatever name you registered with back in Omaha and I hope some of your kin know that new name. Otherwise, if anything happens to you, your kin will never be able to find out the truth.” With that warning, Hank said goodnight.
Frank lay awake for hours mulling over Hank’s words. Well, they didn’t want to be found. Maybe they would be safe from now on. What he wanted was a secure life for Katherine, Aaron and Sarah. He would work hard and try to give them some of the advantages he had never enjoyed. Maybe Sarah could go to a real school some day. Perhaps she would become a school marm. She seemed to love the younger children and enjoyed telling them stories. As for Aaron, well, he was still just a little boy. It was too soon to tell what his talents might be. “Dear God,” he prayed, “Let me be around to raise them.”
Sarah had been fascinated by the knitting some of the women did as they rode along each day. Katherine offered to teach her but her wooden needles were quite long and hard for Sarah’s small hands to manage. Frank kept scouring each campsite for a small piece of hardwood. One night he found a small limb from a black maple tree near a creek. It had been broken in some long ago storm as it was well cured. He tested it with his knife and decided he could carve it into a smooth surface. He had periodically replaced Katherine’s needles whenever they became rough and worn and the yarn began to snag on them. He worked on a new small pair for several nights, using Katherine’s larger needles as a pattern. He carved a small “SH” into each of the small end pieces. Sarah was delighted over the gift and very surprised. One of the women was traveling with a large supply of handspun yarn and gladly gave Sarah a large skein. The child caught on quickly and was enthused about her new skill. After several feet of chain stitching, she pleaded to learn something fancier. “She will soon need a more advanced teacher,” Katherine said smiling.
An older man named Herman was traveling with his son and daughter-in-law. He played a violin that his son said he had made. That had been his occupation back in Austria. He would often sit beside their wagon and play until everyone else was asleep. His music was unfamiliar but hauntingly beautiful. He spoke little English, depending on his son to translate for him. Several people in the group played “fiddle music” but his was different. There was a soothing but at the same time sad quality in his music.
“Sometimes hearing him makes me want to cry,” Sarah had confided to her mother. Sarah enjoyed helping care for Mary’s new baby but he still slept most of the time. Sarah looked forward to his getting a little bigger and more active. He seemed to be very healthy and looked much like his father, with dark eyes and hair.
One afternoon, Bear rode past on his way to the lead wagon in quite a hurry. He didn't even take time to wave his hat at the children in his usual way. Without any explanation, Hank signaled to make camp earlier that afternoon.
The men were called to a meeting near Hank's wagon. After a much-heated discussion, they returned to their individual campfires where they talked in low whispers to their wives. Bear had become aware of a large party of Comanche that appeared to be following the wagon train. Plans were made to pull out the next morning at first light.
Hank had issued a list of firm instructions. There would be no time for breakfast. The women were told to prepare enough food and store enough water from the nearby creek for several days. Everything was to be secured inside the wagons that night. Tomorrow the children should remain inside their parent’s wagons and not walk alongside as they sometimes did for short periods of time. There would be no story time in Tom’s wagon until further notice. Everyone should remain as quiet as possible. Avoid yelling or loud talking to one another. Pay close attention to the lead wagon. Be prepared to stop and circle the wagons at anytime.
The men were told to have their firearms ready and within reach. In case of attack, the children were told to lie down flat in the rear of the wagons and keep out of sight until the shooting stopped.
Hank wanted to reach higher ground that would enable them to see any Indians approaching. He was familiar with an escarpment ahead that would give them a better view. They should reach it shortly after noontime the next day. Sentries were posted but all the adults found it hard to sleep.
They left early the next morning as they had planned and reached the higher ground around noon. They circled their wagons and prepared to defend themselves if they were attacked. They were on a flat-topped knoll just off the main wagon trail. They had a good open view in all directions except for one outcropping of rock some quarter of a mile away where the wagon trail turned. It was just a high pile of rocks and boulders of all sizes, too rugged for horses, so Indians would not approach from there.
The men loaded all their firearms and the women fed their men and children. Bear had been riding some distance ahead of the wagon train and returned with news that was even more devastating. He had discovered another large party of Comanche approaching from the southwest. "They probably plan to surround us. We are going to be badly outnumbered. We haven't a chance," he told them. "They will attack at sunrise-that is their custom."
Hank instructed Bear to leave at once and ride to Laramie. He sent a message to alert the soldiers there about this large war party. He realized they would never be able to get here in time to save anyone in this group but they could alert the next wagon train coming this way. Bear didn’t want to leave, as he knew every gun would be needed but he also understood Hank’s orders. Another wagon train was only a few days behind them. The soldiers might get here in time to protect them.
Everyone gathered around Hank's wagon and discussed their plans. All of the adults except the Clarks, men and women, were prepared to fight. The Clarks declared their intentions to greet the Indians with loud prayers that would overcome them and bring them to their knees.
“Then stay out of the way,” Hank admonished them. “Don’t expect anyone else to risk their life trying to protect you. Pull your wagon inside the circle now and stay in it. Do you understand?” He instructed owners of the wagons behind the Clark’s to close the gap.