A Cry in the Wilderness
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 10: Fort Laramie and New Beginnings
The wooden stockade walls of Fort Laramie rose from the prairie like a promise of civilization in the wilderness. After months on the trail, the sight of permanent structures, cultivated fields, and rising smoke from multiple chimneys filled the McLaughlin party with a mixture of relief and anticipation. They had reached their destination at last.
But the joy of arrival was tempered by the knowledge that this would also mark the parting of ways with the Hall family. For Tessa and Rebekah, who had grown closer than sisters during the long journey, the approaching separation cast a shadow over everything else.
The two young women spent their final three days together as if trying to compress a lifetime of friendship into those precious hours. They took turns sleeping in each other’s wagons, sharing whispered conversations about their hopes and fears for the divergent paths that lay ahead. Tessa used the last of her coins to purchase practical gifts for her dearest friend—chamois leather and wool leggings, two sets each for Rebekah and little Mildred, knowing the Oregon winters would test every piece of clothing they owned.
Will McLaughlin stood at the edge of their camp on the morning of departure, watching the Hall family make their final preparations for the Oregon Trail. The weight of leadership, so recently thrust upon his young shoulders, felt heavier in these quiet moments before dawn. Around him, the entire McLaughlin clan had gathered to bid their traveling companions farewell.
Angus sat propped against his wagon wheel, his weathered hands folded over the buffalo robe that covered his legs. Though the fever had broken several days prior, the illness had carved deep lines into his face, aging him years in mere weeks. Yet his eyes, when they focused, still held the sharp intelligence that had guided his family across half a continent.
Elijah Hall approached the older man, and the two patriarchs spoke quietly for several minutes, their voices too low for others to hear, but their gestures spoke of mutual respect and shared understanding of the trials that lay ahead for both families.
When their conversation concluded, Elijah turned to Will. “Son,” he began, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had led his own family through countless hardships, “your father tells me you’re taking the reins now.”
Will straightened, feeling the eyes of both families upon him. “Yes, sir. I am.”
“Then let me tell you something,” Elijah continued, extending his weathered hand. “You’ve got good instincts, a level head, and more importantly, you’ve got the respect of good men like Slim and Sam. That tells me everything I need to know about your character.” He clasped Will’s hand firmly. “You’ve got your start—land, a few head of horses, and most importantly, family that believes in you. I wish you God’s grace to be prosperous.”
The simple blessing carried more weight than any formal ceremony. Will felt something settle in his chest, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. “Mr. Hall, it’s been a real honor to meet you, to know you, and to journey alongside your family. I hope our paths cross again someday.”
Will paused, then raised his voice so both families could hear. The words came to him as if inspired, carrying the weight of both blessing and farewell: “May the Lord bless you, and keep you; The Lord make His face shine on you, and be gracious to you; The Lord lift up His countenance on you, and give you peace.”
The ancient words from Numbers hung in the morning air like a benediction. Even the restless horses seemed to quiet, as if sensing the solemnity of the moment.
Angus nodded slowly from his place by the wagon wheel, then gestured for Will to come closer. When his son knelt beside him, the older man’s hand found Will’s shoulder with surprising strength.
“You see that, son?” Angus’s voice carried a clarity that had been absent for days. “That’s what leadership looks like. Not just taking charge, but blessing others even as they go their own way.” His eyes, though tired, burned with paternal pride. “As Moses handed the mantle of leadership to Joshua, so I hand it to you now. You are the voice and the force behind the McLaughlin legacy.”
Will felt the weight of his father’s words, the pride and anxiety warring in his chest. At twenty-one, the responsibility felt monumental, almost frightening. But as if sensing his thoughts, Slim’s familiar drawl cut through the morning stillness.
“If’n ya weren’t a mite scared, I’d be worried,” the older man said with a gentle slap to Will’s back. “You’s right where ya ought to be, son.”
By mid-morning, the Hall wagons had rolled out of sight, leaving only dust clouds on the horizon and an ache in the hearts of those left behind. Tessa stood at the edge of camp longer than the others, her hand shading her eyes as she strained for one last glimpse of her dearest friend. When she finally turned away, her cheeks were wet, but her jaw was set with determination.
“Well then,” Will announced, his voice carrying across the camp with new authority, “we’ve got a ranch to build.”
The journey to their land took the better part of a day, their wagons following deer trails and creek beds toward the property Will had purchased sight unseen. When they finally crested the ridge that overlooked Deer Creek, even Will felt a moment of breathless wonder at what they had acquired.
Twelve hundred acres of rolling grassland stretched before them, bordered by the creek that would provide year-round water and crossed by smaller tributaries that ensured good grazing throughout the property. Stands of cottonwood and willow marked the watercourses, while scattered groves of oak provided natural windbreaks and future lumber. The land rose gently from the creek bottom to higher ground that would be perfect for buildings, offering both good drainage and commanding views of the surrounding territory.
“Lord almighty,” Sam Morgan breathed, removing his hat as if entering a cathedral. “Will, this is about as perfect as ranch land gets.”
Slim nodded in agreement, his experienced eye already cataloging the advantages. “Good water, good grass, natural shelter, and high ground for buildings. You picked yourself a winner, boss.”
But before they could fully settle onto their land, they faced their first major construction challenge. The main creek that bisected the property was too deep and swift to ford safely with loaded wagons. If the Double Eagle Ranch was going to function, they needed a bridge—and they needed it quickly.
Will made the decision to tackle the creek crossing first, recognizing it as the gateway to everything else they hoped to accomplish. “That bridge is the front door to our ranch,” he told his assembled workers. “Until we can cross that creek safely with wagons and livestock, we’re not really home.”
The construction project became a test of both Will’s leadership and his workers’ skills. Using whole ponderosa pine logs for foundation beams, they anchored the structure deep into the creek bed on both sides. Bur oak planks cut at the Fort Laramie sawmill provided the decking, while sturdy rails ensured the safety of both livestock and wagons.
Working from dawn to dusk, the crew completed the bridge in ten days—a remarkable achievement that set the tone for everything that would follow. When the first loaded wagon rolled across the finished span, Will felt a surge of pride and accomplishment unlike anything he had experienced before. They had built something permanent, something that would endure and serve their needs for years to come.
“There’s your front door,” Slim observed with satisfaction as the last wagon crossed safely. “The Double Eagle Ranch is officially open for business.”
Will McLaughlin stood on his new bridge, looking out over land that was now truly accessible, and felt the full weight of what they were undertaking. This bridge was more than a practical necessity—it was a symbol of their commitment to this place, their first permanent mark on the landscape that would become their home.
Fort Laramie was more than a military outpost—it was a crossroads where emigrants, traders, soldiers, and Native tribes converged in an uneasy but vital commerce. Now that they had established their base camp and built their crucial bridge, Will could turn his attention to the business of gathering the resources and expertise they would need to transform their vision into reality.
Indeed it had. What had once been primarily a trading post and military garrison now showed signs of becoming a permanent settlement. New buildings dotted the area around the original fort, and the sound of hammers and saws indicated ongoing construction. Gardens and small farms spread along the fertile river bottom, testament to those who had chosen to stay rather than push on to distant destinations.
Angus McLaughlin sat propped in the lead wagon, his illness still evident in his pallor but his eyes bright with interest. The decision to winter at Fort Laramie had been made partly for his health, but Will could see it was the right choice for other reasons as well. This was a place where they could gather information, supplies, and the expertise they would need to establish their ranch.
“Pa,” Will called back, “where do you want to make camp?”
Before Angus could answer, a uniformed figure approached their party. The soldier, a sergeant by his stripes, had the weathered look of a career frontier military man.
“You folks looking to stay a spell, or just passing through?” he asked, his manner friendly but businesslike.
“Planning to stay through the winter,” Will replied. “We’ve got land upstream we’re looking to settle. Name’s Will McLaughlin.”
The sergeant nodded approvingly. “Good to hear. We can always use more permanent settlers in the territory. I’m Sergeant Hayes. The commanding officer likes to meet folks who are planning to stay. Major Julius Hayden—good man, fair dealer with both whites and Indians.”
“We’d be honored to meet him,” Will said, then gestured toward their wagons. “Right now, though, we need to get my father settled. He’s been poorly on the trail.”
“Of course. Best camping spots are downstream about half a mile. Good water, some shelter from the wind, and close enough to the fort for safety but far enough for privacy.” Hayes studied their outfit with experienced eyes. “You planning to build come spring?”
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