Chapter 6

Saturday March 18, 1843

We’d just returned from delivering the milk to the kitchen when Samuel told us that we’d arrive at our destination soon, so we quickly ate breakfast and started preparing to leave the steamboat. When we were about an hour away, we saddled the horses and got the mules ready to hook up to the wagons so we could unload them. I took the time to water the fruit trees and the bees, and to check on the piglets and chickens.

I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe a small town or something, but Council Bluffs was NOT what I expected. There was a fur trading post here a short way from what passed as a dock. Comparing it to a real dock was like comparing our raft to a steamboat. The “town” was an Indian village scattered across a wide area with a few groups of huts or tipis scattered around several ponds and a swampy area. We followed Samuel off the boat just so we could walk on solid ground again and it felt strange, like the ground was moving beneath us.

Several huge dogs immediately set upon us. Wizzer is just over three feet at the withers and these dogs were slightly taller. However, they had a sleek, wolfish look to them. Had Samuel not laughed as the first dog closed on him, I’d have drawn my revolver.

“What’s the matter, Caesar, did you miss me?” he laughed as the first dog bounded over to him and jumped up, putting his paws on Samuel’s shoulders, and licking his face. Shit, the dog was taller than I was.

“Gaack,” Samuel gagged, turning his face to the side when Caesar licked it. “Quit, Caesar, you know I hate that,” he complained as he wiped his face off on the sleeve of his shirt.

A slightly smaller, albeit obviously pregnant female version of Caesar was sitting in front of Samuel, waiting almost patiently. However, her entire body was quivering, anxiously waiting for her turn to greet Samuel. Her tail was wagging fast enough to stir up a breeze.

“Hello, Cleopatra,” Samuel said to the female dog as he pushed Caesar off. Once Caesar dropped back down on all fours, Cleopatra performed a nearly identical greeting.

“Want another dog?” Samuel asked me, motioning to four “puppies” behind the two adult dogs. The puppies were already two-thirds the size of the adults.

“They look like big wolves,” I replied.

Samuel explained, “They were bred to hunt wolves. These dogs take off like a shot and can sprint for quite a while to run down a deer or an elk. A horse will catch up to it within a couple of minutes, but they are nearly as fast as a horse. I don’t remember the name of the breed your Wizzer is, but he looks like a breed of dogs meant to be war dogs.”

I proudly bragged, “He was quickly out of the wagon when the pirates attacked the boat and guarded the girls inside, constantly looking around for any intruders approaching. He warned me about the wolves and wanted to go after them when Nawaji and I hunted Monday morning. I had to stop him to keep him out of my way so I could shoot at the wolves. He’s let me know when game or predators were around many times when we were camped out.”

“I take Caesar and Cleopatra with me when I hunt so they can run down a wounded animal for me. Mules provide better warning if there are people or animals around my camp, but the dogs are very protective of me. Nawaji used to keep Cleopatra and the puppies for me when I made the annual trip to St. Louis. Caesar is getting old enough that I won’t take him next year. I plan to keep two of the pups from this litter,” he said, motioning to the pregnant Cleopatra.

“Any idea how they are around children?” I asked.

He gave a short laugh before answering. “My folks raised them and used them to hunt wolves when they first moved into what’s now Ohio to raise sheep. My siblings and I grew up with a dozen or so under foot all the time. Before that, my grandparents raised them when they moved into western Pennsylvania and my dad and his siblings had no problems. They don’t bother strangers except to sniff and lick them to death unless the strangers are acting suspicious or being aggressive to someone in the family. Then they become very aggressive and protective.

“One of my dad’s dogs nearly took off the arm of a guy who pulled a gun on Dad. Caesar attacked two men trying to rob me one winter. He took down one of them, which distracted the other long enough for me to pull my pistol and shoot him.”

Seeing Wizzer and the two dogs checking each other out amiably, I decided they’d be a good addition. When I looked to Tara and the other girls, they were nodding. I also wondered if we should have brought a few sheep to provide us with wool, although the trappers all seemed to prefer buckskins to clothing made from cloth.

“I’m surprised that you don’t want to keep them,” I commented.

“Just Cleopatra and Caesar cause enough commotion at the fort. Six of them scare some of the trappers and Indians who come to trade. Besides, it’s almost as bad as having six more people to feed,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, Wizzer would gladly eat half a deer while we eat the other half,” I replied, laughing myself. “I’ll take all four pups if you’re getting rid of them,” I said.

“Great, they’re yours. I hoped someone here would want them, but they already have several pups I’ve left them the last five years. A few Indians and trappers who came to Fort John have taken some of the pups from previous litters. Most of them want a hunting dog, though. They’d love Wizzer.”

It didn’t take long for the steamboat’s crew to unload the crates of goods for the Council Bluffs trading post. They’d been ordered by men from Council Bluffs who took their furs to St. Louis to sell and then returned. Both trading posts were owned by the same company, so Samuel and company had delivered them to a warehouse in St. Charles when the goods arrived and then returned to St. Louis before our group arrived in St. Louis, to get the goods they’d ordered a week later.

We all climbed back aboard for the quick trip across the river. There was no dock to tie the boat to, so they tied it off to several good-sized cottonwood trees. Once the boat was secured, they lowered a sturdy ramp from the side of both the front and rear decks. We had to use the wagon brakes to keep from running the mules over as we descended the ramps but had everything unloaded in less than an hour. We stopped long enough to eat a quick lunch and then headed northwest.

While we ate, Samuel located a marker the men had left for themselves. The markers were small piles of stones about a foot high. Aside from denoting the beginning of the trail to Fort John, the pile was stacked like a pointer to indicate the direction of travel. “Our camp for the night is about ten miles that way,” he said, pointing northwest. I got a slightly more accurate bearing using my pocket compass.

I wasn’t sure how necessary the correct direction was. Even after all the rain, snow, and wind during the past month, I could still make out the faint traces left by the twenty wagon wheels when they came this way.

“You guys made a hell of a difficult trip,” I commented after thinking about it.

“We left earlier than usual because the fort is nearly out of supplies. The last two winters were worse than normal and neither the local Indians nor we could hunt as much as usual to supplement our food stores. In addition, we had people headed to Oregon come through wanting to buy supplies they didn’t think about taking with them or that were lost or damaged during the first leg of the trip. The fort needed more supplies, and the sooner the better,” he explained.

“This is worse weather than normal?” I asked, looking up at the light overcast.

“No, this is about right,” he replied. “The worst was over by late January. Unfortunately, it wasn’t over by the time we left. By the time we reached the Elkhorn River, though, the weather had warmed slightly.”

I accepted his answer, although I had no idea where the Elkhorn River was in relation to our present position or to Fort John. The good news was that the worst of the weather was over.

Nawaji and I headed northwest, following the trail the trappers left on the way here. Samuel had already told me that our route was different from the usual route trappers, and now the pioneer wagons, took. The usual route used by pioneers followed the Platte River and required two dangerous river crossings. This route also required river crossings, but they were usually at shallow fords.

We were quickly beyond the trees along the bank of the Missouri river and into what looked like an enormous, continuous pasture that had been thoroughly grazed. Remembering my earlier thoughts, I rode as close as I could to Nawaji and reached out for her hand. She looked puzzled when she took it. “I’m glad that you’re here with me,” I said. “What do you think of Tara, Mahala, and Sallie?”

“I like them a lot,” she replied, beaming. “They’ve told me all kinds of things about you, even how you took the blame for killing one of the men who tried to rape your sister and had to leave home because of it. You are a brave and honorable man and I hope I’m good enough for you,” she said nervously.

“You are,” I replied trying to reassure her. “You are a smart, capable woman. You’re also very beautiful. I hope you enjoy being part of our family.”

“I enjoy it very much so far, especially the sex. I’d never done anything with another woman, although I knew of a few who did. It’s a very pleasurable addition to having sex with you,” she said shyly.

“Good,” I replied. “It’s important to me that the four of you enjoy our sex. I enjoy it thoroughly and try to make sure each of you enjoys it as much as I do.”

“Is that why you use your mouth on us like the girls do?” she asked.

“Yes, I like to make sure that you’re excited enough to be ready for me, and I love it when you cum. Seeing the pleasure on each of your faces when you cum makes me very happy,” I explained.

“You make me very happy,” she said coyly. “Nobody ever did that for me before and it makes sex much more enjoyable.”

We had to let go of each other’s hand to ford one of several creeks between our starting point and the first campsite. I noticed another marker when we reached the campsite after about ten miles of riding.

It was a good thing we were using mules. They’d be able to make it to this spot before dark. Oxen wouldn’t be here until well after it was dark, and we would have needed to find a camp site sooner.

There were two markers in the camp. One pointed the direction we just came from and the other in the direction we were headed. Nawaji explained that the one nearest the circle of stones for the fire ring pointed the way we were going. That meant this was a campsite when headed west. The marker pointing east from was farther from the fire ring, indicating not to stop there when going that way. “It assures that they camp at different places going each way. You can see that they didn’t stop here on the way to the river,” she said, pointing to the wagon tracks that went right through the edge of the site.

Seeing Wizzer’s interest, I touched her arm and made a motion to be quiet, then pointed to the cottonwood trees a hundred yards away. I held up two fingers and gave her a questioning look. She shook her head and held up one finger. After dismounting, I steadied the barrel of my Hawken and aimed. This time, I was smarter and had both the shotgun and the repeating rifle next to me, along with my revolver. “Let any wolves try to get this,” I thought smugly.

I aimed for the neck of a good-sized female buffalo in the small herd among the cottonwood trees lining the bank of the creek. She jerked from the shot hitting her and tried to follow the rest of the herd when they bolted. She had barely gotten ten feet before collapsing. Wizzer was off like a shot, reaching the downed buffalo well before I had my rifles back in their scabbards, reloaded my Hawken, and managed to remount my horse.

I could tell by the way he stayed back from the buffalo that it wasn’t dead yet. When we got there, I put a second shot in the head. Arnaud had told me that buffalo had very thick skulls and shots sometimes ricocheted off. I suppose that a .34 to .38 caliber long rifle might do just that but doubted that the .53 caliber Hawken would have that problem. Still. I made sure the shot was straight on, not at an angle, and put the animal out of its misery.

Nawaji began field dressing it while I cut poles to make two travois. I wondered briefly if we needed this much meat, but realized that we had ten in my group, five from the fort, and five missionaries. That didn’t even count seven hungry dogs that would each probably eat as much as a person would.

I hastily threw together two travois to use for the buffalo, and then collected a good-sized pile of dead wood while Nawaji worked on the buffalo. Despite the enormity of the task of preparing it, she wouldn’t hear of me helping her. The fact that I had collected firewood, something she considered “woman’s work,” didn’t sit well with her either but she was too busy to notice at the time.

When she finally finished with the buffalo, we spread half of the buffalo’s hide across each travois and loaded it. I’d been surprised when she split the hide down the back of the animal to start the skinning process. Once we had everything safely in camp, I left Wizzer to guard Nawaji and went back for the firewood. I had it stacked nearby and had a good fire going by the time the wagons got close.

The trappers commented on the excellent buffalo hide. Evidently, only hides coming from female buffalo killed between November and March were good for trading. That was when the buffalo had their thick winter coat of hair. We all ate our fill, even the dogs. We hung the parts we didn’t eat up in the cottonwood trees and watched several dark shapes exploring the bloody ground where Nawaji had dressed the animal. Even our piglets got to enjoy parts of the buffalo, but not the tongue, heart, or liver; the trappers eagerly ate those. I did sample them and agreed that they were very tasty.

While dinner was cooking, the girls milked the cows, fed the chickens, and fed the piglets. We had fresh milk for dinner, as did the dogs and pigs.

After dinner, the girls from my group worked with Nawaji, learning how to prepare a buffalo hide, how to remove sinew and what sinew was worth saving. They saved the hooves for making hoof glue after we got to our new home.

While they worked with the buffalo, the trappers and I crept closer to six wolves sniffing around the area where Nawaji had cleaned the buffalo. Five went down in the first volley of shots and I hit the sixth shortly afterwards because I used the Model 1839.

Samuel whistled and his six dogs raced off towards the wolves. There was considerable snarling and growling for several seconds when they got there, and not all from the dogs. Once it was quiet, we walked over to check the wolves. The dogs sat quietly except for Wizzer. I think he felt left out since the other dogs had raced there much faster that he had, and the growling and snarling was done by the time he got there. Instead, he walked from wolf to wolf and lifted his leg on them.

When he finished, he raised his nose into the breeze and sniffed for several seconds. Satisfied that we got them all, we returned to camp, leaving the carcasses for the next group of scavengers.

When we got back, Samuel helped me chain the four puppies, two inside each of the two wagons we slept in. He explained that it would help the puppies learn that they were mine now so they would go with us when we left the fort and wouldn’t keep showing back up there.

Tonight, we had eight men to break up the watch duty, but only used five, each taking a two-hour shift. The next three men would start tomorrow night, followed by the first two from tonight. The missionaries weren’t savvy enough about the wilds to stand guard duty. Isum and Jimmey had already learned a lot about surviving in the wild during their escape and our trip to St. Louis. We posted a mule at each compass point of camp and had Wizzer sleep outside tonight.

While I was on watch, I saw a couple more dark shapes slinking around the wolf carcasses but none of the mules raised a ruckus; neither did Wizzer.

Sunday March 19, 1843

Finding the Elkhorn River

There was a heavy coat of frost on the ground indicating that it had been well below freezing last night. It was still at or below freezing as we started our day. The meat we had hung in the trees was cold. I threw several arms full of firewood and kindling into the back of one of our wagons and covered it with dry grass and then a piece of canvas to keep it dry.

Since today was the Sabbath, the missionaries wanted to spend the day resting, or at least have a church service. Samuel nixed the day of rest and told them they could hold their service while the rest of us harnessed the mules and hitched them to the wagons and carts. After feeding the dogs and pigs the milk left from last night, the girls milked the cows. What we didn’t drink for breakfast went into our wagon.

While we worked, we could hear the missionaries talking and occasionally singing. I sang along with them quietly while I worked, feeling a surge of energy as I did. The songs I didn’t know the words to, I hummed. They finished their short service right before we were ready to leave and thanked us for letting them worship.

“I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but I sang along with or hummed the songs you sang and even that made me feel better,” I admitted to Reverend Walters. I could tell that he hadn’t expected that, and his eyes glistened as they teared up.

Since we had more than half of yesterday’s buffalo left, Nawaji and I didn’t hunt this morning. Samuel told us what to look for today. “The first branch of the Elkhorn River is about ten miles away. Unless there’s been heavy rain upstream, it’s always shallow and easy to ford. Keep going the same direction once you cross it and the main river is about two more miles. We cross it about two miles upstream from where you’ll meet it.

“See if the ford is still there or if heavy rains washed the sand away. If it’s there, see how deep the water is and how fast it’s flowing. If it’s not more than three feet deep, ride across carefully and see if it’s stable enough and wide enough for the wagons. Make sure there are no sudden drop-offs in the riverbed. Mules hate swimming,” he chuckled.

I laughed too, but then realized that he specifically didn’t mention that, if the mules were swimming, the wagon would be floating or overturned.

I kept my compass handy, but we followed the wheel tracks left by the wagons when they made the trip to Council Bluffs. We also took two pack mules with us--just in case. I took Warren and Nellie, my family’s mules, since I was most familiar with them. Warren carried an axe, a shovel, and four lengths of rope from our rafting adventure. We found the campsite the trappers used on their way to Council Bluffs on the east side of the first branch of the Elkhorn River. That first part of the river was more like a stream than a river, but we both tested the shallow ford before continuing across.

Just like Samuel said, we found the main branch of the Elkhorn River about two miles farther on and found where they had crossed it. The ford was still there, and we checked it thoroughly. I found a small gap where the depth dropped suddenly between the sandbars.

Looking around the shore, I saw numerous fist-sized rocks and started gathering them up. When I had a good-sized pile, I loaded about twenty pounds of rocks into the ground cloth from my bedroll and had Nawaji do the same. I stripped off my pants and boots, and tied a rope around my waist, tying the end off to a tree. Wading out into the frigid water, I thought my legs would freeze, but I managed to dump the rocks into the gap. I made four trips before my legs were too cold to continue.

Nawaji had started a small fire along the bank. After drying my legs with the blanket from my bedroll, I pulled my pants back on and sat in front of the fire until I stopped shivering. Nawaji had our ground cloths drying near the fire.

While I warmed up, Nawaji cut a long branch and rode out into the river, testing the depth of the ford. The gap was only a few inches deeper than the rest of the ford now. When I stopped shivering, I gathered two more loads of rocks and waded back out into the cold water. It was a good thing the two loads were enough because I couldn’t have carried a third load.

After walking barefoot all over the gap to make sure there were no sharp rocks where the animals would step on them, I hurried back to the fire. Midafternoon, I forced myself away from the fire, and climbed back on my horse. We rode across carefully and none of our four animals had any problems. The campsite was right along the far riverbank, so we gathered firewood (meaning that I let Nawaji gather firewood while I sat on my ass since she wanted it that way). Actually, I used the shovel to cut down the lip of the riverbank to make it easier for the mules to enter and exit the riverbed.

Once again, we had a good fire going when the wagons arrived. I explained to Samuel what I’d done before they drove the wagons into the river. “Excellent,” he replied. “On the way east, we just went very slowly when we got there so the animals didn’t stumble. It gave the wagons a bit of a jolt when the wheels hit it, though.”

He also said that this should be our only serious river crossing, although we would cross more streams than we could count.

Monday March 20, 1843 - Wednesday March 22, 1843

Along the Elkhorn River

Aside from slightly different scenery and weather each day, the days seem to be a near repeat of each other. Monday morning Nawaji and I hunted, shooting a deer that became dinner. Tuesday we shot a buffalo about five miles before we reached our campsite for the night. I made sure to shoot another young female.

Each day, we tried to mark a halfway spot that had dried grass and water for the animals so they could drink and graze before continuing. Afternoons were tolerable but overnight temperatures were still below freezing. The near constant breeze made it seem even colder. We had been lucky so far, the only rain was a small overnight shower Tuesday night, and five minutes of light mist this morning.

So far, every campsite had firewood available along the nearby streams and the wood I loaded last Sunday morning was still in our wagon.

The four puppies seemed to understand that they had a new family and would come over to greet us when we stopped for the day. During the day, they loped along with the wagons while Wizzer came with Nawaji and me.

Tonight, Mahala let me know that it was her time to be bred and I gladly accommodated her. “Tomorrow is Nawaji’s turn,” she giggled and I heard Nawaji gasp.

“Only if that’s what she wants,” I warned Mahala, although it was more for Nawaji’s benefit. I didn’t want her to feel forced into anything.