Chapter 27

All of a sudden, we had come to a halt that was neither planned nor necessary for any logical reason on God’s green earth.

It just seemed to come about because some of the women decided it was a good time to clean the wagons and their clothes and take advantage of the plentiful game and other bounties of nature ripe for the picking by our battered company of weary souls.

Since I was in charge, I obviously could have called a stop to this unexpected development, but I allowed it to play out because it allowed us to build up our energy and stamina for the final leg across the coastal ridgeline and find a way to navigate the north-south running streams and rivers that emptied eventually into the Pacific Ocean. These inland valleys were replete with excellent topsoil and the absence of tightly clustered rock formations made them ideal for farming and nice location for orchards to grow other tree-borne crops.

We paused and gathered our strength.

The marauding Indians were well on their way to the northern territories and I knew from my early academic studies that they tended to stay out of the lower forty-eight on into the future right up to my own time. In a way, it was a form of genocide without actually pulling the trigger on an entire race because they sentenced themselves to expatriate existence in a foreign land. Of course, the broken recorded promises and unenforced treaties gathered dust in the basement of some moldy government building in Washington, D.C. never to see the light of day again.

The following week turned out to be a crossroads of a sort for our continued trek west to the Pacific Ocean.

I had somehow contracted a valley fever of some magnitude that was accompanied by a spate of coughing fits and the frenzied shakes that meant numerous trips to the secluded latrine downstream from our campsite. I had lost all thought of any carnal interludes much to the disgust of my female companions and my own personal regret.

My Indian and Negro followers thought it was quite amusing to see me in such a weakened condition. I was in no state to issue stern orders or notice infractions that I previously dug into with a firm hand and a caustic tongue. I lost the weight that I had stored up over the winter months when I was basically immobile and hibernated like one of the thick-haired bears that took deep cover and concealment in their hidden lairs.

For some strange reason, I was also plagued by random visions from my other time period and I thought I could hear the sounds of napalm-dropping air strikes close enough to singe my whiskers from lingering memories of long forgotten Southeast Asia. I had managed to hide my PTSD issue not wanting to be labeled with the mark of a bruised or broken mind. I knew how the wheels of justice worked in the military establishment and enlisted men could quickly go from honored veteran to distrusted mental case in the flick of a pen on the file. My experiences in Vietnam served me well in the chaotic confusion of the American Civil War and I guess war in any period of time was similar enough to enhance skills hidden below the surface.

Late at night, I imagined I heard the sound of a far-off train whistle and cocked my head up expecting it to run right through the middle of our camp.

Apparently, I was the only one hearing train whistles, but it certainly felt real to me and I held to the conviction my mind was not playing tricks on me.

The venison steaks and the biscuits made with the last of our Saint Louis flour helped restore my stable spirits and I had Kit take in the slack on my clothes so I didn’t look like a scarecrow when I stood up in front of the men and gave the new orders for the day.

I have to admit the females were pestering me for some nocturnal stress reduction, but I was overly concerned about us getting back on the trail and headed to some settlement along the coast that would welcome us as new arrivals from the east.

The second day of travel on the trail brought us into a valley with an odd sprinkling of reddish rock that looked much like the lava from volcano regions I had seen in other parts of the world. I suspected that it was from a volcanic disturbance from centuries in the past and that there was no danger from an eruption in the near future. I didn’t remember any historical eruptions in this post-civil war period but I was not the brightest student in the schoolhouse and my absences for silly reasons were too numerous to remember.

I kept thinking about the disastrous Saint Helena’s eruption and the high body count from the unexpected blast.

As we exited through a narrow pass, I could hear in the distance the unmistakable sounds of explosions. It sounded like an artillery barrage like on the battlefields of Georgia or Tennessee and began to rethink my thoughts about a seismic danger.

I sent two scouting patrols in front of us checking the terrain and the situation to our immediate front and on both sides just in case we were walking right into a trap of unknown origin. The men appeared relieved to be away from the noise and conflicts of the women and avoid the chores associated with the running of the camp that were shared by all of us on an equal basis.

They were all armed to the teeth with long rifles and side-arms and were admonished by me personally to use their hunting knives and tomahawks to eliminate a danger so that our presence was hidden as long as possible. I had heard tales of some bands of bandit ex-goldminers leaving the played out fields and rivers in California for the new opportunities in the Pacific Northwest and that they were not much inclined to adhere to law and order where money or female favors were concerned. There was also a rumor floating around about the Russian influence trying to establish a foothold in the areas that were not under American rule just yet. They were already moving aggressively into the Alaska and Artic territories with no consideration for prior claims by American or Canadian authorities in the frontier areas. The French had all but given up on their visions of New World dominance and the Louisiana Purchase had pushed them back to the far away sphere of influence up in the Canadian Provinces where they insisted that all settlers speak French and not English as a way of maintaining firm control.