THE STORY
OXEN, WAGONS AND CHOLERA
My wife, my family and I had just packed out in search of a better life out west. Oregon was where we were headed. I had crafted a sturdy wagon with the help of my son and a few people back at the shop. We packed one light outfit for each of us, my rifle, my pocket watch, and my children’s toys. This list excluded food and ammunition and other essentials.
So we headed out, caught up with a wagon train in a few days and began our long journey west. The first wagon at the front of the train is full of a bunch of trappers who are going to hunt beaver in Oregon. They act like they own the place because they were first. We’re hoping we could join up with a new train when we get to the next fort.
“Pa!”
“What is it, boy?” I said pausing my driving.
“Pa! Bring your gun.”
“What is it?” I said becoming agitated.
“Deer, a whole big bunch of ‘em, food that will last a few weeks.”
“Well, your yelling probably scared ‘em off,” I snapped.
I grabbed my gun a saddled up my horse. “But it’s worth the risk the way you describin’ ‘em where are they?”
“Just down the creek, you won’t need your horse.”
“Alright, now don’t tell your father what to do, you hear me boy?”
“Yessir,” he saluted.
I hopped off my horse and followed the tracks downstream. The tracks were easy to follow because they were fresh and through the mud. Then I approached the deer. I saw a beautiful golden buck. I pointed my rifle at its heart, I steadied the sights and fired away. The gun pushed me back. The bullet pierced its heart. Its chest exploded crimson. My ears had to adjust to the deafening sound. The buck reared back and flopped over like a fish out of water and died. I fired at another deer, hit it. I called for my boy, he came running over.
“Did you get ‘em”
“Sure did boy. Now get the horses so we can have these prepped at the wagon.”
“Hey father, you ever think about having that buck stuffed? I’m sure one of the fur trappers could have it stuffed.”
“I don’t really trust those trappers. Son, take the buck, I’ll get the other one.”
We rode back to the wagon train, home for now.
Chapter One:
May 1st, 1840
Chapter One: Nebraska
It has been a month on the road. My son took that buck and had it stuffed by one of the trappers. They took the meat. So all we have is a broken wagon on the side of the road and a dead deer’s head stuck on the wall of our wagon. It does make for a decent decoration. I’m kind of getting used to the wagon. My wife fixed it up real nice, we have a deerskin rug, we used the pelt from the other dear I hunted a month back, the deer head on the wall a cott for us, the children like to sleep in tents when we stop to rest, we also have a chest full of our items. I built a little table out of a broken wagon on the road that wasn’t salvageable other wise. Now, speaking of our broken wagon on the side of the road, our wheel popped off. The new wagon train we picked up at the fort is helping us fix the wheel.
“Hey, get me that hammer it’s almost in,” I yelled.
“George, I got it,” Howard, the man in front of our train said
I hammered in the wheel. It fit on the axel.
We were back on the road.
*~🎠~*:
The next day I was separated from the wagon I was walking aside when I was pushed into the ground by the wagon and knocked unconscious. The oxen got a little spooked and rammed into me, no one seemed to notice because I was at the back of the train.
I woke up in a small log cabin next to a crystal clear pond. The inhabitant was a loner he seemed to be somewhat of a hermit.
“Do you need food? I can get you food.”
“Where am I?”
“Nebraska.”
My eyes adjusted to the room. I quickly realized the man was old, he had a big white beard and a ragged flop hat to cover his head. I tried to get up but saw I was unable to due to my broken legs.
“Rest,” he said in broken English.
I wasn’t quite sure but by the looks of him, he was either an Indian or Mexican. Either way, I didn’t like being there. I’ve heard bad stories about what Indians around here and what they do to travelers.
“No, I have to get back to my family.”
“Rest!” he demanded.
So, I closed my eyes and decided to get some sleep.
*~🎠~*
Chapter Two:
Chapter Two: IdahoJune 7th, 1840
The storm has not gotten any better. Neither has my son. In fact, he’s gotten sicker we don’t think he’ll make it. I have the smartest man I know helping him and trying to nurture him back to health. He says we need Indian medicine, but while he is the smartest man I know he’s also one of the craziest. Once, he tried to wrestle a bear for a lousy five dollars, this was after a few drinks. I had to kill the bear with my rifle after I saw that he was about to die. And he didn’t go after a small little black bear, he went after a giant grizzly.
*~🐎~*
“Why would he need injun medicine?” I asked
“It’s special, works a goddarn miracle,” Howard said.
“I must remind you of the time you wrestled a grizzly bear.”
“For the last time George, you made that story up,” He yelled. “You need this, your son needs this.”
“Where can I find an Injun?”
“There's a tribe called the Nez Perce. I saw a group of them scouting
up a few miles
My wife, my family and I had just packed out in search of a better life out west. Oregon was where we were headed. I had crafted a sturdy wagon with the help of my son and a few people back at the shop. We packed one light outfit for each of us, my rifle, my pocket watch, and my children’s toys. This list excluded food and ammunition and other essentials.
So we headed out, caught up with a wagon train in a few days and began our long journey west. The first wagon at the front of the train is full of a bunch of trappers who are going to hunt beaver in Oregon. They act like they own the place because they were first. We’re hoping we could join up with a new train when we get to the next fort.
“Pa!”
“What is it, boy?” I said pausing my driving.
“Pa! Bring your gun.”
“What is it?” I said becoming agitated.
“Deer, a whole big bunch of ‘em, food that will last a few weeks.”
“Well, your yelling probably scared ‘em off,” I snapped.
I grabbed my gun a saddled up my horse. “But it’s worth the risk the way you describin’ ‘em where are they?”
“Just down the creek, you won’t need your horse.”
“Alright, now don’t tell your father what to do, you hear me boy?”
“Yessir,” he saluted.
I hopped off my horse and followed the tracks downstream. The tracks were easy to follow because they were fresh and through the mud. Then I approached the deer. I saw a beautiful golden buck. I pointed my rifle at its heart, I steadied the sights and fired away. The gun pushed me back. The bullet pierced its heart. Its chest exploded crimson. My ears had to adjust to the deafening sound. The buck reared back and flopped over like a fish out of water and died. I fired at another deer, hit it. I called for my boy, he came running over.
“Did you get ‘em”
“Sure did boy. Now get the horses so we can have these prepped at the wagon.”
“Hey father, you ever think about having that buck stuffed? I’m sure one of the fur trappers could have it stuffed.”
“I don’t really trust those trappers. Son, take the buck, I’ll get the other one.”
We rode back to the wagon train, home for now.
Chapter One:
May 1st, 1840
Chapter One: Nebraska
It has been a month on the road. My son took that buck and had it stuffed by one of the trappers. They took the meat. So all we have is a broken wagon on the side of the road and a dead deer’s head stuck on the wall of our wagon. It does make for a decent decoration. I’m kind of getting used to the wagon. My wife fixed it up real nice, we have a deerskin rug, we used the pelt from the other dear I hunted a month back, the deer head on the wall a cott for us, the children like to sleep in tents when we stop to rest, we also have a chest full of our items. I built a little table out of a broken wagon on the road that wasn’t salvageable other wise. Now, speaking of our broken wagon on the side of the road, our wheel popped off. The new wagon train we picked up at the fort is helping us fix the wheel.
“Hey, get me that hammer it’s almost in,” I yelled.
“George, I got it,” Howard, the man in front of our train said
I hammered in the wheel. It fit on the axel.
We were back on the road.
*~🎠~*:
The next day I was separated from the wagon I was walking aside when I was pushed into the ground by the wagon and knocked unconscious. The oxen got a little spooked and rammed into me, no one seemed to notice because I was at the back of the train.
I woke up in a small log cabin next to a crystal clear pond. The inhabitant was a loner he seemed to be somewhat of a hermit.
“Do you need food? I can get you food.”
“Where am I?”
“Nebraska.”
My eyes adjusted to the room. I quickly realized the man was old, he had a big white beard and a ragged flop hat to cover his head. I tried to get up but saw I was unable to due to my broken legs.
“Rest,” he said in broken English.
I wasn’t quite sure but by the looks of him, he was either an Indian or Mexican. Either way, I didn’t like being there. I’ve heard bad stories about what Indians around here and what they do to travelers.
“No, I have to get back to my family.”
“Rest!” he demanded.
So, I closed my eyes and decided to get some sleep.
*~🎠~*
Chapter Two:
Chapter Two: IdahoJune 7th, 1840
The storm has not gotten any better. Neither has my son. In fact, he’s gotten sicker we don’t think he’ll make it. I have the smartest man I know helping him and trying to nurture him back to health. He says we need Indian medicine, but while he is the smartest man I know he’s also one of the craziest. Once, he tried to wrestle a bear for a lousy five dollars, this was after a few drinks. I had to kill the bear with my rifle after I saw that he was about to die. And he didn’t go after a small little black bear, he went after a giant grizzly.
*~🐎~*
“Why would he need injun medicine?” I asked
“It’s special, works a goddarn miracle,” Howard said.
“I must remind you of the time you wrestled a grizzly bear.”
“For the last time George, you made that story up,” He yelled. “You need this, your son needs this.”
“Where can I find an Injun?”
“There's a tribe called the Nez Perce. I saw a group of them scouting
up a few miles