by Jesse Wiley
You run into a few other wagon trains and camps along the way, all headed to California or Oregon for the Gold Rush. Mr. Southworth plays his fiddle for them and returns later at night, just before the guards go on duty, his pockets and fiddle case full of money.
You love Mr. Southworth’s music lulling you to sleep. It even helps soothe Benji into slumber, and that’s a hard thing to do.
The next morning, a new concern arises among the members of the wagon train: lack of game. Rabbits and prairie dogs can be caught every now and then, but the major source of food along the Trail, buffalo, have been scarce.
You go out one afternoon with Papa, Mr. Southworth, and Benji to scout for buffalo ahead of the wagon train. You are sure to put a small pistol in your holster in case you see some game. As you scan the horizon, you’re jarred by the quiet. Then it hits you: You haven’t heard your brother’s voice for some time.
“Wait.” You tense up. “Where’s Benji?”
You all look around. He was right behind you just a second ago.
“He can’t have gone far.” Papa is frantically scanning the landscape. “Everyone spread out. Take Tippet with you.”
You rush off across the plains, searching. Tippet bounds at your heels. You clamber up a hill, then halt, fear gripping your heart.
A short distance away, you see a group of men on horses. As you approach, one of the men motions to the others, and the circle of horses parts to reveal a dirt-covered Benji.
“Benji!” You rush into the circle and hug him. “You can’t wander off like that!”
“He would have gotten lost on these plains.” The man sits on a spotted horse and points to the hills. “We surrounded him to protect him.”
“Thank you.” You give Benji’s hand a squeeze.
Benji looks up. “You look like Mama.”
Your cheeks grow hot. “They’re not Pequot, Mukki.”
“We are Neshnabe. Or Pottawatomi, to the white people. I am Nikan.” He nods to you.
“We’re Pequot, from back East. Thank you again.” A sudden thought strikes you. “Uh, excuse me. Why haven’t we seen any buffalo around these parts?”
“Buffalo have been scarce.” Nikan frowns. “It has rained very little this season. When you find a herd, do not hunt greedily.”
They wish you luck and ride off into the distance. You and Benji hurry back to find Papa and Mr. Southworth. But instead, you find yourselves staring at a small herd of buffalo grazing on the prairie. You’ve got the pistol on your hip. Should you try to kill a buffalo now, or wait for Papa and Mr. Southworth? The buffalo might stampede. But what if the buffalo wander off and you can’t find them again? What do you decide?
To get Papa first, turn to page 100
To shoot the buffalo now, turn to page 21
Return to page 67
You ask the rest of the wagon train to stay with you and help Papa fix the broken wheel. The last thing you want is to be left behind in the middle of the desert during a monsoon. They agree to stay, but the situation only gets worse. Several of the other wagons have to be towed out of the mud. In the chaos, supplies are lost and damaged, including your water. Everyone is irritable and soaking wet.
Finally, they manage to pull your wagon and a few of your animals out of the mud. You lose one goat. Papa and the others fix the wheel, but you’ve lost days of travel time. Your food and water supplies are dangerously low. The McAllisters spare some water for your family, but it’s not much.
The rain finally stops two days later. The muddy earth begins to dry. You’ve still got about five miles to go until you reach the river junction. Should you turn around and try to ford Carlin Canyon or keep pressing on?
To go back, turn to page 85
To keep going, turn to page 93
Return to page 54
You move toward the Hastings Cutoff past Salt Lake City on the California Trail. After all, it’s quicker according to the map in the guidebook. Instead of staying northwest on the Oregon Trail, the Hastings Cutoff starts down past Fort Bridger and runs right through Salt Lake City. You’ll shave some time off your trip by going through the Salt Lake Desert.
Some members in the wagon train don’t want to take the cutoff. Mr. Southworth will head toward Oregon City. After a tearful farewell with Mr. Southworth, you leave with half of your wagon train for Fort Bridger.
You save money for supplies until you reach Salt Lake City, where your wagon train rests and stocks up. Two days later, you roll off west across a sandbar that abuts a body of water that looks like a mirror: the Great Salt Lake. In the distance, majestic mountains rise in jagged peaks on the horizon.
It’s so breathtaking a sight that you almost want to go back to Salt Lake City and live there, just to be near the lake. But you continue on and find yourselves across the flat white stretch of sand and salt.
“The salt flats.” Papa points to the ground. “Nothing quite like it.”
You couldn’t agree more. Your eyes are nearly blinded by the reflection of the sun on the pristine white ground.
When you stop for nooning, you see Benji reach down and bury his wet finger in the sand. You reach out to try to stop Benji from licking his salty finger. “Uh . . . don’t—”
Benji giggles. “Yummy!”
As the days pass in the endless desert, the mountains always seem just out of reach.
“We’re going in circles.” Mama smacks the sides of her hips.
Papa shakes his head. “That’s not our only problem. Two of our oxen aren’t looking good. We’ve been driving them too hard. We’ll need to give them some more of our water rations or . . .”
It clicks. He means to put down the oxen to save water.
You want to keep the oxen alive and well, but you also want to keep your family alive. You’re torn. What do you decide?
To give the oxen more water, turn to page 131
To put the oxen down to save your water, turn to page 63
Return to page 88
You’ve just met Jim Beckwourth, but you have a good feeling about him and his alternate route. Your mother does too, and you trust her judgment. Plus, you’ve heard that the Carson Route will take you through challenging mountain terrain.
You look at your parents. “We should go with him.”
Benji stuffs half a piece of bacon into his mouth. Tippet snatches the rest of it out of his hand and licks his fingers.
“I agree with you and your mother.” Papa’s skin has been sunburnt for days now because of the hot sun. He wipes his dusty brow. “Anything that will make our trip easier is fine with me.”
You say goodbye to the Beauregards, who have ultimately turned out to be good wagon train captains. They separate with over half of the wagon train to continue on the Carson Route, leaving you with a ten-wagon train. You’re happy the McAllisters are still traveling with you.
Jim Beckwourth leads the way on his horse. He’s a great storyteller, you think, as he recounts his life experiences. Born a slave to his African American mother and her white master, he was first trained as a blacksmith, gained his freedom and eventually made his way west, working as a wrangler, a fur trapper, and a soldier. “I’m a mountain man, through and through.” He weaves tales of adventures of living with a village in the Crow Nation. “They captured me and thought that I was the lost son of their chief. I became a war chief and married the old chief’s daughter. Matter of fact, most folks think I’m Crow.”
“Do you consider yourself more Crow, then, Mr. Beckwourth?” Mama’s eyebrow angles.
“I wouldn’t say that necessarily, although the Crow have taken me in.”
As you make your way northwest, you come to the Truckee River and stop to replenish your water supplies. From there, you divert onto the Beckwourth Trail, a smooth path for your wagon wheels. As you continue northwest, the desert-scape begins to return to greener sagebrush; sandy ground to harder dirt and scrub grass; and even scraggly pine trees appear on the horizon.
You stop at
a place called Peavine Springs to stock up on water. As you pass by, you see an odd white lake in the distance.
“White Lake.” Mr. Beckwourth points. “It’s a dry lake, so don’t get your hopes up.”
You continue through gentle hills of sagebrush into the Sierra Valley. You’ve entered California, Mr. Beckwourth tells you. Going deeper into the valley, you come across the Feather River, where your wagon train corrals for the night. Mama is especially excited to fish and catches several fat trout and a catfish. You roast the fish over the fire for dinner.
After you’ve all eaten your fill, everyone tells stories around the campfire. You and the McAllister siblings enjoy hearing Mr. Beckwourth tell about his years with the Crow Nation, and his many adventures as a wrangler and fur trapper. You can’t believe one man has experienced so much in one lifetime, and it makes you want to do the same. You’ve missed sweet fiddle tunes lulling you to slumber each night, but going to bed full of fish and stories helps you sleep a bit better.
The next morning, you wind your way north into the wooded territory of Grizzly Creek. It’s so wonderful to finally be under shaded trees again—it reminds you of the oaks back home in Connecticut. In the lush meadows of Grizzly Valley, you enjoy fishing, hunting, and the cool, crisp waters of the nearby creek.
Grizzly Ridge is the only particularly steep terrain of the journey thus far, and takes careful maneuvering to traverse. As Papa walks alongside the oxen, you lead Spot and the livestock. Going down the ridge is another matter: it’s far too steep to simply lead the wagons down. Mr. Beckwourth helps your wagon train cut down giant logs. You rope them to the back of the wagons to slow their descent.
In the valley, you spot a lot of gold mining camps. You weave through more wooded summits and valleys as you descend into Marysville, a tiny town consisting of ranchers and miners. A post office has just been established, and the town just elected a mayor. You rest in Marysville for a couple days. Two of the wagons stay there to mine gold.
You part ways with Mr. Beckwourth and thank him profusely. He promises to stop by to visit your family in Sacramento soon. You’re going to miss traveling with him.
On your way down to Sacramento, you stop to rest briefly at an adobe house called Rancho Johnson. While your parents are talking to the owners, you and the McAllister siblings wander off to explore nearby.
As you climb on some boulders, you see a flash of gold hidden in a crevice. Reaching down, you pull out a glittering golden rock.
“A gold nugget!” Harry’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “Quick, hide it in your pocket.”
“What if there’s more?” Fiona digs around near where you found the nugget.
You’ve struck gold here near Rancho Johnson, but does that mean you should give up your goal of reaching Sacramento to mine for gold here? What should you do?
To stay near Rancho Johnson, turn to page 86
To go to Sacramento, turn to page 150
Return to page 47
You stay at Lone Elm Campground despite Fergus’s warnings. Your parents don’t want to drive the animals any further. Too much, and they’ll be exhausted. To lose your team of oxen at the start of the Trail would be devastating. The wagon train captain, John Beauregard, is also cautious to risk such a venture on hearsay.
“One night can’t hurt us.” John blots his face with a kerchief. “If we do run into bandits later, we’ll be able to fight them off fully energized and alert. I don’t see how they’d come after us here, not with all of these other wagons corralled nearby. It’d be a foolhardy attempt—just like it would be foolhardy for us to try to round everyone up right now.”
“We also have night guards on watch.” Papa wipes the dark circles under his eyes.
You’re worried about the River Rush Gang, but you reluctantly agree. Fergus McAllister, on the other hand, refuses to accept John Beauregard’s decision.
“Ye cannot be serious. Yer puttin’ all of us a’ risk, Beauregard!” Fergus storms off into the night. Soon after, you see his wagon rolling off into the dark. You’re sad—you know he has children your age. You hope you’ll run into them later along the Trail and be friends.
You and your parents go back to your camp, confident. But then you feel a lump in your throat—the uneasiness makes it hard to fall asleep.
You’re jolted by the frightening sounds of gunshots, shouting, and your foxhound, Tippet, barking. You scramble out of your tent and tell Benji to stay inside. Your camp is filled with bandits! They round up everyone in the wagon corral and steal everyone’s money. Now you have nothing left for your trip out West. You have to turn around to Independence and find work there—if you can make it back.
THE END
Return to page 11
It’s better to be safe than sorry. You need to convince the others to leave now before the bandits arrive.
You step forward. “But what about the bandits, Mr. Beauregard? Shouldn’t we try to keep everyone safe?”
Everyone turns to look at you.
John Beauregard runs a hand over his thick mustache. “Yes. It could just be rumors, kid.”
“Or maybe not.” Mr. Southworth steps out of the crowd. “Back in Independence, I overheard that the local sheriff had a warrant out for the notorious River Rush Gang who was out robbing pioneers all along the Trail. We shouldn’t take chances.”
John scratches his chin.
“Mr. Southworth’s right, Mr. Beauregard.” Everyone’s eyes are on you again. “We should leave now before they catch up with us.”
Finally, John nods and rises to his feet. “All right. Can’t risk bandits on my first night out as wagon train captain. Fergus, you sound the bugle. Let’s round everyone up and get moving.”
As you roll out, you see George Beauregard grumbling about not getting to finish supper. You hear the bugle and see the families pause from their supper, startled by the alarm.
“Everyone, listen up!” John stands on the driver’s seat of his wagon. “I need everyone to pack up and get ready to move—now!”
A wave of murmurs trills through the wagon train.
“I know everyone’s settled down.” John puts his hands to his mouth. “But we’ve heard talk of bandits nearby. Unless you want to risk getting robbed blind, I suggest you do as I say.”
You and Papa hurry back to your wagon and help Mama and Benji pack and round up your livestock. Within the hour, your wagon train drags off to a slow crawl. Only the stars guide you in the dark.
It’ll be about sixty miles to your next major crossing: Pappan’s Ferry at the Kansas River. It’ll be a long and slow trek. At your current pace, you’re barely going fifteen miles a day. It doesn’t help that no one’s had a full night’s rest—not even your animals. You walk all night and finally stop to rest briefly for breakfast, then again for the midday “nooning” bugle. Your eyelids droop as the warm afternoon sun bears down on your face. You shake yourself awake several times. Your feet drag.
It takes over four days to get to Pappan’s Ferry. The ferry is too expensive, so you choose to ford the Kansas River. One by one your wagons make it through the rushing river. Several wagons are damaged in the crossing, but Mr. Southworth helps to fix them, being an experienced blacksmith.
The next morning, you wake to the sound of your horse, Spot, pawing at the ground. The wind picks up and blows storm clouds across the sky.
“The animals are restless.” Mama covers the back of the wagon. “A storm’s coming in. It’s good we crossed the river earlier. You’ll need to keep a close eye on the herd.”
You pull your boots on. “I can ride Spot, Mama. It’ll help herd the animals more easily.”
“Your father barely got him on the ferry, and the storm won’t help his foul temperament. We should walk him a little further, I think.”
“I’ll be careful.”
As you approach, Spot rears up and tosses his head. His ears flick back against his head, a sure sign that he won’t like it if you try to get near him, mu
ch less ride him.
“C’mon, Spotty.” Spot snaps at your outstretched hand.
You step back. Your feet are blistered and sore beyond belief. The thought of having to herd the animals on foot is pure misery. But trying to ride Spot right now might not be the best idea either. What should you do?
To try to ride Spot, turn to page 24
To keep going on foot, turn to page 67
Return to page 11
You give the two oxen some of your water rations to save them. You’ll find more water sources in the mountains—if you can escape these salt flats.
The oxen slurp up the water quickly in the extreme heat. You feel the sun radiating off the white salt flat sands. Your mouth is so dry. You go to drink the rest of the water in your canteen. It’s empty.
You don’t have enough for Spot. He’s struggled to carry you and Papa through the desert, his tongue hanging out and hooves dragging through the sand.
The next morning, Spot is lying on his back, unmoving. Your beloved stubborn horse is the first casualty on the California Trail. Tears and sand stick to your face—Benji’s, too. Not long after, you lose a goat and your only sheep. You have a feeling you’re next.
