The Oregon Trail by Tecla Emerson

Author:Tecla Emerson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical fiction, american history, usa, 19th century, young adult fiction, traveling, disabilities, oregon trail
Publisher: Tecla Emerson

EIGHT

There were nearly twenty wagons in our caravan, plus the additional supply wagons. I guess you could see us coming with all the dust we raised. Uncle Bert tried to get us to spread out some and not bunch up so much together, which often happened. If one wagon towards the front slowed, then we all slowed. We were a long train, one after another snaking along the trail. It wasn’t the best plan. All we did was take in each other’s dust. But then we would be coming into open plains soon enough. Then we could all spread out and set our own pace.

But for now, we circled up early; everyone was just plain old tuckered out. I let Hannah go off and collect berries with the other children. I poked around trying to find something different to put into the pot for tonight’s dinner. It hadn’t been more than 15 minutes when someone yelled “Indians.” The spoon flew from my hands, I nearly knocked the stew pot over and I’m sure my feet didn’t touch the ground as I ran outside the circle.

“Hannah!” I screeched. I searched one way and then the other. I could just see the top of her bonnet in the distance. It took only seconds to reach her. I grabbed her before she even saw me coming and dashed back into the circle. She’d grown some, but still felt light as a feather. She clung to that basket, so proud of what she’d gathered by herself.

“Stay down,” I said and I wasn’t any too gentle pushing her into the wagon. This was Arapaho country. Uncle David said they could be none too pleasant and we needed to keep a careful eye out. As I was pulling the rifle out from under the wagon seat, Uncle Bert yelled out, “It’s OK.” We watched in disbelief as twenty or so dark bronze, nearly naked Indians, walked into the circle. Two of the largest, their bodies shiny with bear grease, their long black hair hanging in some sort of braids fashioned with a red fabric, came over to my campfire. They sat themselves down on a log. My heart was in my throat. I slipped the rifle back under the wagon seat, still within easy reach.

Uncle David came over; “Feed them,” he said, “Think they’re Arapaho.” Like that was going to make a difference as to who they were. Truth be known, I wasn’t any too comfortable being around any of them. And the fact that there were three dried up scalps hanging from the thong tied around the taller one’s waist, wasn’t going to make for a restful dinner.

“Doesn’t seem like they’re looking for trouble,” said Uncle David, “just a hot meal and maybe they’re just curious about who’s taking over their lands.”

“We’re not homesteading here,” I said.

“I know that, but they don’t and they’re gettin’ kinda sick of our coming through their land; shooting all their buffalo and trapping all their beaver. Their tempers are running a bit short so let’s just feed ’em and hope for the best.

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