Custodian of the Spirits by Bronwyn Long Borne

Author:Bronwyn Long Borne [Borne, Bronwyn Long]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wagon train; trail; west; family saga; guide; Oregon trail; California; Irish;
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2019-12-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

It was a day for self-pity. Maggie banged her head falling out of the wagon and cried for nearly an hour, even after Doc assured Fiona it was a minor injury. The Whittakers’ wagon broke an axle. And Fiona’s hemline caught fire in the ashes of a cooking blaze, singeing her petticoats and some of the family’s money. All this and it was only 0700.

And it was raining.

“Mother, just think,” Caleb said from inside the wagon. “When we get to California, we won’t have to worry about cooking fires, broken axles, and falling out of wagons anymore.”

Her son’s attempt to brighten her spirits had some of its desired effect. She let go of her frustration even though it was still a bad day.

Despite their rough start, the company made good time, which for the optimistic meant they had traveled more than thirteen miles closer to their new homes. For the trail-weary, it meant yet another monotonous day of progress in an unchanging landscape but for the rain, which finally stopped around the eleventh mile.

They had begun to see something new along the trail: dead oxen and crippled cattle. It was the first sign of the toll the journey would take on draft animals. A few enterprising men tried to salvage the lame cattle, but most were not worth saving, even for the meat. An animal worked to death would be nothing but gristle.

The company was nearing its fourteenth mile when Kier saw something in the distance. He studied it with his spyglass. The expression he wore was one Billy had come to dread.

“What is it?” Billy asked.

“What’s left of a wagon train,” Kier said grimly.

“Indians?”

“No. Take the wagons along the side of that rise,” he said, indicating a travel path some hundred yards away. “I want a wide berth between what’s left of that company and ours.” He spurred Kildare to a gallop and waved at Brent to follow.

The sorry-looking cluster of wagons occupied a small part of the prairie and were nearly lost in the expanse. Like an animal carcass decomposing in the sun, the earth had begun to claim what was once a vital organism in the wagons and their occupants. It would have been easy to miss, but Kier seldom missed anything. It was the smell he noticed first.

Kier and Brent found the wagons in varying stages of disrepair. A handful had broken wheels. Others had torn canopies. There were sixteen in all, parked haphazardly, seemingly abandoned like a ghost town. Dead animals lay where they had fallen, some rotting in their harnesses. Kier could see where predators had made a meal of easy prey. Hundreds of flies ravaged the place, their incessant buzz adding to the grotesque scene.

“Hello there,” Kier called out.

Brent regarded Kier with skepticism that turned to surprise when a weak cry rose from the gloom.

“How did you know?” Brent asked.

“Emigrants are scavengers. No one has touched these wagons. Hundreds of people passed by here and let good animals die. There’s a reason for it.

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