A Cry in the Wilderness
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 8
March 5th, 1860
The National Road carried the McLaughlin party steadily westward through Ohio’s rolling hills and into the flatter terrain of Indiana. Three weeks had passed since their violent encounter with the bandits, and the routine of trail life had settled over the family like a familiar coat.
Each morning brought the same ritual: Sarah and Mildred preparing breakfast over the campfire while the men checked harnesses and wheels, Tessa and Rebekah rolling bedding and securing loose items in the wagons, and Sam scouting ahead for any signs of trouble.
“Columbus comin’ up ahead,” Angus called back from the lead wagon as they crested a hill. The Ohio state capital spread before them, its church spires and government buildings rising above a haze of wood smoke.
“Thank the Lord,” Sarah muttered, pressing a hand to her stomach. The constant motion of the wagon had been bothering her more each day, though she attributed it to the poor quality of trail food and the stress of travel.
Will noticed his mother’s discomfort. “You feelin’ alright, Ma?”
“Just tired, son. This travelin’ life don’t agree with me much.” She forced a smile. “But we’s more than halfway ta Independence now. I can endure anything fer a few more weeks.”
Columbus proved to be their most comfortable stop since leaving Butler. The city boasted proper hotels, well-stocked stores, and even a telegraph office. More importantly, it offered Sarah a chance to rest in a real bed and eat food that hadn’t been cooked over an open fire.
“Feels good ta sleep on a mattress again,” Tessa sighed as they prepared to leave the next morning.
“Don’t get too used to it,” Angus warned. “Won’t be seein’ many more proper towns ‘til we reach St. Louis.”
— ∞ —
The Indiana portion of the National Road lived up to its reputation as being “rough and rugged.” While better than the local roads around Butler, much of the surface was unpaved dirt that turned to mud with each spring shower.
“Lord almighty,” Elijah groaned as his wagon lurched through another pothole. “Thought this here National Road was s’posed ta be the finest highway in America.”
“It was,” Slim replied from his position alongside the wagons. “Twenty years ago. Ain’t nobody maintained her proper since they stopped federal funding.”
The family had grown comfortable with each other’s company during the long days of travel. Conversations ranged from practical matters of the trail to deeper discussions about what they hoped to find in the West.
“What ya think Oregon’s gonna be like, Becky?” Tessa asked during one afternoon as they walked alongside their wagon to give the oxen a rest.
“Pa says it’s got valleys green as emeralds an’ rivers full of salmon. Says a man can claim a hundred sixty acres just fer the askin’.”
“Sounds like paradise,” Tessa replied wistfully. “But I’s gonna miss ya somethin’ fierce when we split up at Fort Laramie.”
Rebekah squeezed her friend’s hand. “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday. Oregon ain’t that far from Wyoming.”
Sarah, overhearing the girls’ conversation, felt a familiar pang of sadness. The friendships formed on the trail often proved more precious than gold, precisely because they were so likely to be temporary.
— ∞ —
Indianapolis marked the midpoint of their journey to Independence, and Angus decided to spend an extra day there to rest the oxen and resupply. The city was bustling with westward-bound emigrants, and the wagon yards were crowded with prairie schooners in various stages of preparation.
“Lot of folks headin’ west this spring,” observed a local merchant as he sold them supplies. “Oregon fever’s runnin’ high since word got out about them rich farmlands in the Willamette Valley.”
“What about Colorado Territory?” Will asked. “Heard there’s gold in them mountains.”
The merchant snorted. “Gold rush done played out mostly. Oh, there’s still some diggin’ goin’ on, but the easy pickings is long gone. Smart money’s on farmin’ and ranchin’ now.”
That evening, as they camped on the outskirts of Indianapolis, Sarah approached Angus with growing concerns.
“Angus, I’s been thinkin’ maybe we should reconsider this whole venture. It ain’t too late ta turn back.”
Her husband looked up from the map he was studying by firelight. “What’s brought this on, darlin’?”
“I don’t know. Just got a bad feelin’ about what’s ahead. Maybe it’s fool’s pride drivin’ us away from a perfectly good life in Ohio.”
Angus set down the map and took her hands in his. “Sarah, we talked about this. Business was failin’, an’ we got a chance ta start fresh. Besides, we already sold the ranch. Ain’t no goin’ back now.”
“I know,” she sighed. “Just can’t shake this feelin’ that somethin’ terrible’s gonna happen.”
“Darlin’, we’s faced down road agents an’ come through fine. We got good weapons, good men, an’ the Lord’s protection. What more can we ask fer?”
But Sarah’s unease continued to grow as they pressed westward through Indiana. The towns became smaller and more widely spaced: Greenfield, Plainfield, Brazil, Terre Haute. Each mile took them further from the civilized world they had known.
— ∞ —
It was between Brazil and Terre Haute that trouble found them again.
Sam had been ranging ahead of the wagons, scouting the road for potential hazards, when he spotted riders moving parallel to their course through the woods. Unlike the bandits they had encountered in Ohio, these men were being more cautious, staying out of sight while tracking the wagon train.
He spurred his horse back to warn the others. “We got company,” he announced quietly. “Six riders, maybe seven, keepin’ pace with us through them trees ta the north.”
Angus immediately called a halt. “How long they been followin’ us?”
“Hard ta say. I just now spotted ‘em, but they could’ve been shadowin’ us fer miles.”
“What ya think they want?” Will asked, checking his Spencer rifle.
“Same thing as them others, I reckon,” Slim replied grimly. “Difference is, these boys learned from what happened ta their friends back in Ohio. They ain’t gonna come at us head-on.”
Angus studied the terrain ahead. The road ran through a shallow valley with wooded hills on both sides - perfect ambush country.
“We’s gonna have ta be smart about this,” he decided. “Can’t outrun ‘em with these loaded wagons, an’ we can’t turn back. So we’s gonna set our own trap.”
He outlined his plan quickly. They would continue forward until they reached a bend in the road where the trees came close on both sides. Sam would dismount and position himself in the woods with his rifle, while Slim took cover behind the supply wagon. At the first sign of attack, the women and children would get down in the wagon beds while the men returned fire.
“Remember,” Angus warned, “these Spencer rifles give us the advantage, but only if we use ‘em right. Aimed fire, boys. Make ever’ shot count.”
They had barely reached the chosen spot when the attack came. But instead of charging directly at the wagons as the previous bandits had done, these men opened fire from the concealment of the trees, their bullets whining through the air and thudding into the wagon sides.
“Get down!” Will shouted, pushing Tessa and Rebekah into the wagon bed as splinters flew around them.
The hidden bandits had positioned themselves well, using the trees for cover while maintaining clear fields of fire. Their initial volley was ragged but effective, forcing the defenders to take cover.
“Can’t see ‘em ta shoot back,” Slim complained, crouching behind his wagon.
That’s when Sam proved his worth as a frontiersman. Moving quietly through the woods, he worked his way around behind the bandits’ position. His first shot dropped one of the hidden gunmen, and his second wounded another before they realized they were being flanked.
“They’s behind us!” one bandit shouted in alarm.
The advantage of concealment lost, the bandits broke cover and tried to rush the wagons. But they had underestimated both the firepower and the resolve of their intended victims.
Angus’s Spencer rifle cracked repeatedly, each shot carefully aimed. Will, his hands steadier now than in his first fight, methodically worked the lever of his rifle and sent bullets into the charging men. Even Elijah, despite his inexperience with violence, managed to contribute with his new weapon.
The fight was brief but vicious. When the gunsmoke cleared, four bandits lay dead in the road and surrounding woods. Two more had fled on foot, abandoning their horses in their haste to escape.
Sam had taken a bullet through his left arm, but it was a clean wound that Mildred was able to bandage with strips torn from a petticoat.
“Hurts like blazes,” Sam admitted as she worked, “but it ain’t gonna kill me.”
“You did good, Sam,” Angus said gratefully. “That flanking move of yurs probably saved all our lives.”
Sarah emerged from the wagon white-faced but composed. “How bad is it?”
“Could’ve been worse,” Will replied, surveying the aftermath. “We’s all alive, an’ they ain’t.”
But the second fight had taken more of a toll than the first. The family was beginning to understand that violence was not an isolated incident on their journey, but a constant possibility that would shadow them all the way to Independence.
— ∞ —
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