Chapter 7

June 6, 1847

We got up this morning and began our day like normal, drinking coffee (Claire and I) or tea (Elizabeth) and having leftovers from last night's meal. I was wondering what, if anything, I could do to discourage slavery in Oregon after we got there. I was really bothered about this and it still broke my heart when I thought about it. I was determined to talk to Claire about what she had done in Philadelphia when she was involved in the anti-slavery movement. However the process of getting ready for the day drove the problem to the back of my mind. I found I wasn't the only one disturbed about the importation of slavery into the Oregon Territory. This episode threatened to break apart the wagon train for a while this morning. Some of the people were determined to free the slaves even if it was by force. I had to fight my own feelings and used many of the same arguments my wives had used the night before to convince me. Cooler heads prevailed and we as a group decided that this problem would be considered after we reached Oregon City. I still would like to shoot the SOB.

I was tasked with supplying the wagon train with meat for the next two days. Elizabeth and I decided that we were going to hunt for buffalo as they were the most plentiful animal around. Several people offered to show us how it was done, but I decided that I would try a method I'd read about that the hide hunters used. We rode out ahead of the wagon train and found a small mound about a quarter of a mile away from a herd of buffalo and set up our weapons. Elizabeth decided that she wanted to shoot the .54 and we discussed how many animals we needed. We thought that two would be enough for today, and if any more were needed, we would hunt again tomorrow morning for deer or elk.

I had read that the hide hunters had found that if they stayed more than a quarter mile away from the herd, that the buffalo didn't associate the noise with the fact that they were being shot. I thought that this would allow us to pick which animals we wanted rather than just getting whatever we could reach. I didn't think that I could shoot well enough to do it but Elizabeth stated she would have no problem. I had to keep from laughing when I saw her getting ready to shoot. Here was this 5 foot 1 inch woman who couldn't weigh 90 pounds shooting a rifle that was taller than herself and weighed about a fifth as much as she did.

She frowned when she saw me trying to repress my grin and growled at me, "Remember, you get to help skin them." Taking aim, she fired and I saw a smaller animal go down. The others started and looked around. Seeing nothing near, they resumed browsing. Elizabeth reloaded and firing again shot another smaller buffalo.

I asked about her choice of animals and she said that they were more likely to be cows, and she thought they tasted better. We stood up and began moving toward the herd. Their heads went up and moving slowly they kept away from us. By the time we reached the dead animals, they were a half-mile away and getting further away by the moment. I looked at the animals and remarked to Elizabeth,

"Will you teach me how you shoot so well?"

"Will you teach me how to make love with your tongue? I want to surprise Claire."

"Anytime you want."

I began to remove my shirt, when she stopped me and reminded me that we needed to get the animals ready for the wagon train. I reluctantly re-buttoned my shirt and began to cut open the bellies of the animals we had killed. I was going to throw out the organs, when Elizabeth stopped me and took out the liver, kidneys and heart. Now, I've never been one to like organ meat and would just as soon left them, but Elizabeth just told me to wait until she had them roasted and I would like them. She took out some salt and a small metal spit from her saddlebags and picking up some dry buffalo chips began to roast the organs.

In a short time, I began to smell the meat cooking and found my mouth watering. She was right, I did like the taste. I figure my body was telling me that I needed more than the meat, bread and beans we had been having. We made sure to take the other animal's organs back for Claire.

We decided that we would look ahead for a bit while we waited for the wagon train to make it to our location. I spotted vultures circling around something ahead and we headed toward the location. Soon we spotted something in the grass ahead but couldn't make out what it was. When we arrived we found a young Indian boy of about 12 or 13 years old who had been badly beaten... I saw the same marks I had seen on the on the slave girl being led by the SOB yesterday.

I dismounted and checked to see if he was breathing. His breathing was labored and slow, but his heart sounded strong and even. If this would have been modern times I wouldn't have moved him, but here and now I had no choice. Lifting him up to Elizabeth, I told her to ride to the wagon train and put him in our wagon.

I looked around and saw that there was evidence of a struggle in the area and found some clothing that didn't belong to the boy. It appeared to be the dress of a young Indian girl. I looked for her but couldn't find any trace of her around. I had my suspicions that she had been taken by the slave wagon. Fearing this would be trouble for us, I returned to the wagon train.

After arriving I found the boy in my wagon resting in our bed while an argument went on outside. Elizabeth and Claire were arguing with the wagon captain about treating the Indian. He wanted them to leave him on the plain and let his own people find and treat him. I spoke up,

"You leave this boy on the ground and he'll be dead within an hour."

I told the wagon captain about the signs of a struggle and showed him the garment I had found on the ground.

The guide spoke up, "Those are Sioux markings. What kind of fool would stir them up?"

I told them both about my belief that the slave wagon people were responsible, and showed them the marks that had been made by some sort of whip.

"If we let this boy die what makes you think we won't be blamed for the whole thing?" I asked.

Reluctantly the wagon captain agreed and I entered our wagon to check on my patient. I checked the boy and found that my wives had removed his clothing and had bathed him to remove the dried blood. I checked with Elizabeth and found that she had used the boiled water we had for ready for drinking because it was warm. Feeling thankful that she had not used the water directly from the barrels, I checked to see if he had suffered any broken bones or major cuts. I found a broken leg and it felt like two broken ribs. In addition he had several cuts on his body that I had to close using thread and a flap on his scalp that I sewed down.

I got the bottle of what the storekeeper at Fort Laramie had called whiskey and putting some on a boiled cloth washed him down. I had to get the guide to help me with the leg. I had he and Elizabeth hold him still while I pulled his leg until I felt it fall into place. I was thankful he was unconscious as I couldn't imagine how it would have felt if he were awake. Claire brought over some short boards from another wagon and we wrapped the leg in cloth then tied rope around all of it to hold it in place. Finally we finished and left him in the wagon to recover or die.

The guide looked at me afterwards and asked, "Are you a doctor?"

I gave him the same reply I had given Elizabeth long before. He commented me and told me that I could set his leg anytime he broke it. He was curious about my stitching the wounds closed. Apparently most were left open to be able to let the pus out as they healed. This resulted in most of the scarring I had noticed on most of the older men. I shuddered to myself and hoped I would never need the services of a doctor in this period.

Claire and Elizabeth made up a pallet for the end of the wagon and we went to bed. We didn't make love tonight because of the boy. I checked him several time during the night. He started running a slight fever, so we spent much of the night using a wet cloth to bathe him in an attempt to cool him down. He remained feverish for two days, waking long enough to drink water and some soup until his fever broke on the third day. He began talking after that, but as we spoke no Sioux and he spoke no English, we had to wait until the guide got back to communicate. He managed to tell us his name, Leaping Fox, and that he was a member of the Lakota Sioux tribe. This effort left him exhausted and he soon fell asleep.