Spirit Pouch (22 page)

“Will he get to come with us to Utah” Joseph asks with a worried look.

“Yes,” Henry replies.  “But we will have to catch up with him because they are ahead of us.”

“Wagon trains are slow,” William says.  “We should have no trouble catching up with them.”

“Yes, they are,” George pipes in.  “But they make good distance because they drive long hours.”

“Okay, then,” Henry says cheerfully.  “It looks like we are all here, so lets be on our way.”

“To Utah?” Joseph chimes.

“Yes, Joseph,” Henry replies.  “On our way to Utah.”

With a puzzled look Joseph says, “How do you know which way is Utah?”

“Well,” Henry says, “we know Utah is west of here.” He points toward the west.  “But there are huge mountains in the way, so we are going to go around those mountains.  We are going to go the same way the stagecoaches go.  After we leave Denver we will follow the Overland Stage Trail up to the Big Laramie River, then head west again.”

“Okay.  Let’s go!” Joseph chants with the excitement of the adventure ringing in his voice.

I hear William make a clucking sound with his tongue and the wagon that we are in lurches forward with a bounce and a bump and a rattle that feels like it would jar my teeth loose if my head remains next to the wooden box against which it is resting.
  And I thought riding in the back seat of my mom’s car was uncomfortable,
I think. 
Maybe I shouldn’t have complained so much.  The pioneers certainly had it worse.  I don’t think I want to be a pioneer,
I re-affirm to myself.

I can hear Joseph and Annie chatting and I can hear William yell, “Haw” or “Gee” to the horse pulling our wagon, but for the most part, the rattling and creaking noises from the wagon drown out the conversations taking place on the other side of this suffocating canvas.

My shoulder and neck and hip hurt from the constant bouncing of the wagon wheels over bumps or rocks and I desperately want to stretch my legs and arms and straighten my back.  I remember seeing a picture that hangs in the hallway of our church building of the pioneers.  They were walking, not riding, in wagons.  I am beginning to understand the reason for that.  Riding in a wagon, at least with no padding, is very uncomfortable.  No wonder the pioneer children sang as they walked and walked.  They would have cried if they had to stay in the wagon.

Being under the canvas in the shade of a building in a wagon that is not moving is one thing,
I think,
but out in the sun bumping down the road is quite another.
  I am hot and sweating like a pig.  Actually I don’t know if pigs sweat.  I do know that dogs don’t sweat.
[81]
  But I do sweat, and it is sweltering underneath this canvas and I am getting sore from the bumping.  I guess Ty is, too, because just now he pinches my ankle.

“How long do we have to stay under here?” he whispers.

I pull my wrist up to my eyes.  “Looks like we’ve been rolling for about two hours.  We should be well out of Denver by now.”

“I’m going to peek out,” Ty announces.

I feel him wiggle around and pull on the canvas a little.

“Whoa,” Henry’s voice booms up ahead.  I hear footsteps and some rustling noise in our wagon.  Without warning, the canvas peels back, exposing Ty and me to the full brightness of the sun.  Staring down at us is Henry Cottle.

I look up sheepishly.  “Hello, Mr. Cottle,” I say trying to be as polite as possible.  I know we are now in trouble.

“Hello, Jared.  Your friend here must be Ty.”

“Hello,” Ty says quietly.

“Do you mind telling me what you two boys are doing in my wagon?” Henry asks with a serious tone.  He is speaking to me.

“I didn’t know it was your wagon when we climbed in,” I reply.  “I was just hiding from the sheriff.”

“From the sheriff?  Why on Earth would you hide from Sheriff Johnson?  He is our friend.  He is the law.”

“He put me in jail for stealing from the stagecoach.  But I  didn’t steal anything.”

“It was my bumblebee, Father.  I knew he didn’t steal it,” Joseph interrupts.

“So, if you were in jail,” Henry continues, “why was Sheriff Johnson looking for you?”

“I escaped during the fire,” I say.

“And you, Ty?  Is the sheriff looking for you?”

“Yes.  He thinks I helped Jared escape, so I guess the sheriff is looking for me, too.”

“So you hid in my wagon?”

“Yes, sir,” Ty responds.

“William?” Henry turns.  “Did you know about any of this?”

“I did not know they were in our wagon, but I did know they were planning an escape.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Father.  But I did not see the harm in it because I knew Jared didn’t steal anything.”

“Well, Jared, I would take you back to Sheriff Johnson myself right now if I thought there was any way that you had stolen anything from that stage.  But I think you have more integrity than that.  You two boys climb out of that wagon.  I’m pretty sure that riding under that canvas for two hours is punishment enough for the commotion you caused Sheriff Johnson.”

I climb out of the wagon and jump to the ground next to Henry and Ty does the same.  “I’m sorry for causing trouble, sir,” I say, looking downward.

“Me, too,” Ty adds.

“Okay, boys, where are you headed?” Henry asks.  “Under the circumstances I don’t recommend that you return to Denver anytime soon.”

“Considering that we are here,” I stammer, “I am hoping we could travel with you and your family to Utah.”  I see Ty do a double take and a flash of astonishment crosses his face and then it is gone.  He will never win at poker with that giveaway face.  Not that we would play poker, anyway.
[82]
  But now Ty hides his surprise quite well.

“Well,” Henry begins, glancing at Elizabeth.

“We can do it, Father,” William encourages.  “Jared and Ty can help with the chores, and we can hunt a little more to make up for the food.”

Elizabeth nods her head and Henry says, “Okay, then.  You will have to work hard, and the days will be long with much walking.”  Henry looks down at my shoes.  “At least you have shoes of some sort this time,” he states.  “Can you walk in those?”

“You bet I can,” I reply with confidence.  I want to say that these shoes are called tennis shoes and that they are better than Nikies, that they have cushioned heals and tough rubber soles, and air vented sides.  And I could say how they are made of gortex and nylon and are machine washable, but I don’t say all that.

“Then let’s get moving,” Henry suggests.  “William can show you how we travel, and what chores are expected.”

With a clucking sound, William starts the wagon moving without us in it this time.  It feels really good to be walking for a change.  Henry paces along beside us for a few moments.

“So,” Henry brakes the silence, “tell me the fire wasn’t part of your escape plan.”  Henry does not direct the statement toward anyone in particular.  There is a long pause of silence.

“It wasn’t actually a fire,” Ty replies quietly.

Henry looks at Ty and says nothing.

“It was really more smoke than anything,” Ty continues.

Henry glances at Ty as they walk side by side.  It is one of those disapproving looks that parents seem to be good at.  The worst is the disappointed look where they expect better behavior from you.  I have gotten a few of those and they are no fun at all.  As for me, this time I am the one who completely messes up the poker face.  Ty just never fails to amaze me.

“I just needed a distraction so Jared could get away.  I knew smoke would get everyone’s attention, so I bought some salt peter and sugar and wrapped it tightly in paper.  I placed it away from anything that would burn and lit the paper on fire.”

“It sounds like you have done this before,” Henry comments without judgment in his voice.

“Once, when we needed a smoke screen for a movie we were making,” Ty answers.

“Movie?”

I watch, amused, as this time it is Ty’s turn to feel as though the universal translator got switched off.

“Yeah,” he says, catching on quickly.  “It’s like a play, and we needed a smoke screen.”

“I see,” Henry says.  “And …”

“And during the distraction I unlock the jail.”

“So, Sheriff Johnson did not see Jared run out the front door of his office?”

“No.  I opened the side window and then Jared hid under the desk.  When Sheriff Johnson saw the open window he assumed that Jared had escaped out the window and went chasing after him.  Meanwhile, Jared just walked out the front door.”

“Do I need to tell you that if you intend to travel with us, I expect better behavior on your part?”

“No, sir,” Ty replies.

“I expect hard work, total honesty, and obedience.”  Henry looks at us three boys each in turn.

“Yes, sir,” we all reply almost in unison.

“Okay, then.  Be on the lookout for wood that can be burned for this evening’s fire.  There won’t be much where we stop because this route is so heavily traveled.  It will be pretty well used up, at least anything close will be.  So, let’s pick up good solid wood as we go.”

We all nod agreement and Henry moves off to talk with Elizabeth as we walk.  William leads the horse and wagon along the trail, and George leads the oxen behind us.  I am especially glad that we have decided to go around the Rocky Mountains.  The Overland Trail is relatively flat, but even so, there are slight ups and downs that kind of drain the energy right out of me.

I feel sorry for the horse and oxen.  When the trail goes up a small hill, the horse works hard to pull the wagon up, and then going down the other side, the wagon tries to push the horse.  William applies the brakes to slow the wagon, but the horse still has to work hard.  To help the horse to pull its load, Ty and I push on the wagon wheels when the trail gets steep.

Occasionally we cross a stream and we stop and let the animals drink water and eat grass.  We all get a rest that way.

"This looks like a good place to rest the horse," William says as we cross a shallow trickle of water.  There must be a spring near by.  The horse needs a drink and a little grass."

"I can skip the grass, but I could use a little water myself," I reply smiling.

"Looks like several wheel ruts through here," William observes.

"Do you think it's the supply train?" I ask.

"Since there are so many tracks through here that's exactly what I am thinking.  A stage would not be so obvious."

"So, we are catching up to them?" I say, trying to sound like I am a seasoned pioneer.

"Probably not," William frowns.  "These ruts are fairly old.  See how they are washed out mostly, and completely dry up here?"

" Yes." I pause.

"New tracks would be more distinct.  The edges would be more clear and defined.  These are rounded over and sagging.  Look at the tracks from our own wagon."

I look over to our own tracks and Ty is already inspecting them.  Ty looks up, "How many hours ahead of us are they?"

"It's hard to tell for sure, but my guess is that we are not catching up with them very fast at all."

I must have looked worried because William adds, "We've got a heavy load and," he lowers his voice, "Grandfather and Grandmother walk kind of slow, but even so, when we stop to rest our stock we only have to water and feed five animals."

"And the wagon train has to take care of thirty, or more," I say quickly as I  catch on.

"And," Ty adds, "they have to hitch up those thirty in the morning and un-hitch them at night.  It takes longer."

"So," William concludes, "we will catch up with them, just not today.”

Annie skips over to where we are standing.  "Father says to gather around for a quick lunch."

"Thanks, Annie," I say, always glad for lunch.  We un-hitch the horse and hobble her in some tall grass, then walk over to the other wagon.  After a blessing on the food, Elizabeth hands out a chunk of bread and some dried meat.  I am hungry and it tastes great.  Ty is not accustomed to this sort of food and he eats more hesitantly. 
He will get used to it,
I think, and I smile. 
Wait until he tries the lumpy milk.

"Hey, where's Spot?" I ask William, looking around at the wagons.

"You have a dog?" Ty asks, also looking around somewhat bewildered.

"No," I laugh.  "Spot is a cow."

Ty looks at his piece of meat and then up at William.

"We couldn't bring her," William says.  "We sold her in Denver.  I already miss the milk and cream."

Ty looks relieved and takes a bite of his dried meat.

I sit down by the trickle of water under the limb of a tree.  I get my hand wet and rub it on the back of my neck.  The cool water feels good on my parched skin.  I get up and walk over to the other wagon.

"Elizabeth," I say with my best begging face.  "I saw your brand new hand towels and I was wondering if I could borrow one of the older ones?"