The Lost Wagon Train

by Stephen Bly

  “Sometimes that’s the only way to have an adventure. I’ve kept the stew warm for you.”

  “It looks like Mama’s sleeping sound.” He pointed to the dark wagon.

  “You know how she is after she’s worried all day.”

  He set the lamp on the ground and it cast light under the wagon.

  Retta picked it up and slipped the handle over an iron hook on the side of the wagon. “It’s kind of muddy. We might kick the lamp over,” she explained. “Where’s William?”

  “He said he was going to visit with the colonel, but in this rain I bet he’s at the Lynch wagon.”

  “And Lerryn?”

  “Guess.”

  “At the Suetters’?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s just you and Mama?” Andrew asked.

  Retta glanced back at the darkness under the box of the wagon. “Yes, but we’re okay. Where do you need to go?”

  “Nowhere.” Andrew scooped up a big spoonful of stew and stuffed it in his mouth. “I’m goin’ to sit right here by the fire and eat supper and slurp coffee until I’ve dried out.”

  “Right here?”

  “I’m surely not goin’ to wake up Mama in the wagon. I’ll keep you company.”

  “I don’t need company. What I mean is, I’m okay by myself. Just me and Mama.”

  “No, li’l sis, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Andrew insisted. “Never?”

  He stared at her.

  Retta swallowed hard. “You’re in for the evening?”

  “Yep. I turned Beanie out with the other horses. I’ve already done my shift. So unless there’s a stampede, I’m through for the night.”

  “Well, eh ... maybe.” Retta danced on one foot and then the other. “Since you’re here and all, maybe I’ll go for a little walk myself.”

  “It’s all right under this awning, but you don’t want to go out in the rain.”

  “I’ll take a parasol.”

  “It’s pitch-dark.”

  “I’m not afraid of the dark,” she proclaimed.

  “Don’t you go runnin’ off. I need you here with Mama.”

  “Why? You’ll be here.”

  Andrew sipped coffee out of a tin cup. “’Cause I just might think of somewhere I need to go after a while.”

  Retta shot a glance into the dark shadows under the wagon, but she could not see anything. This was the only evening in two weeks Andrew wasn’t going down the wagon line visiting. Poor Two Bears.

  “Hey, did you guys see him?” a voice shouted in the darkness.

  Andrew stepped to the edge of the awning but kept out of the rain. “It’s William. See who?” he called out.

  Retta’s oldest brother hiked in dripping wet and scrunched down by the fire. Water rolled off his floppy, brimmed felt hat. “He came right through camp.”

  “He did?” she gulped.

  William pulled off his wire-framed spectacles and searched for a dry place on his bandanna. “Headin’ right this way, they say.”

  “Oh, my,” she gasped.

  Andrew reached for the coffeepot. “Who are you talkin’ about?”

  “Did either of you see Mr. Skunk?”

  “A skunk?” Retta laughed. “That’s what this conversation is about?”

  “I’ve been sayin’ all along.” William shoved spectacles on his nose and held his hands over the fire coals.

  “No, I don’t think I’ve seen a skunk up close since we left Missouri,” Retta remarked.

  “Maybe he’s under our wagon.” Andrew pointed.

  “No,” Retta blurted out. “I mean, I would have seen it if it were under our wagon.”

  Andrew plucked the lantern off the iron hook. “Remember the time Retta tried to keep that raccoon in her room back home?”

  William hooted. “He shredded the curtains and the quilt and made regular deposits in her dresser drawer.”

  Retta puffed out her cheeks and rocked back on her heels. “It wouldn’t have torn the quilt if Lerryn hadn’t chased it with a broom,” she exploded.

  Andrew bent low with the lamp.

  Retta bit her lip. Please, Lord! Help Two Bears not to get hurt.

  “Nope, nothin’ under here,” Andrew reported. “But I can almost smell the skunk. I bet he went right through here.”

  Retta pulled a bucket next to the wagon and flopped down. Andrew and William squatted by the fire.

  “You want to come over here, Retta?” William asked.

  “I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll stay here, thank you.”

  “If you want to crawl into the wagon and go to sleep, we’ll keep the fire goin’,” William said.

  “I can’t go to sleep until Lerryn comes back. You know how she flounces around getting ready for bed.”

  “Maybe we should go fetch her,” William offered. Retta brushed her damp bangs off her eyes. “Eh ... maybe so.”

  “I’m not in a hurry to rile big sis,” Andrew protested. “Let’s just wait awhile.”

  “This rain surely came up in a hurry. They say Oregon gets a lot of rain,” William remarked.

  “And the crops grow tall,” Andrew replied.

  “And the winters are mild.”

  “And the soil don’t have any rocks.”

  “And there is plenty of water and grass.”

  “Do you really believe it?” Andrew asked.

  “I don’t,” William said. “But Papa does, and that’s what matters.”

  “Mama is still melancholy over leaving Ohio,” Retta informed them.

  William stirred up the fire with a stick. “I think it’s rough to go off and leave everyone behind.”

  “Especially in her condition and all,” Andrew said.

  “Uncle Lambert claimed they might move out to Oregon next year. If he moved out, she wouldn’t be so lonesome.” Andrew filled his bowl with more stew.

  “I thought he said he wanted to move to California,” Retta said.

  “Well, one or the other. Even California would be a little closer.”

  Retta peered into the shadows under the wagon. She still could not see Two Bears. He must have slipped off.

  That’s good. It’s dangerous for him to be this close. He could get shot. Lord, I never thought when this day began I’d be praying for an Indian. I guess You knew that. It’s like You and me, Lord, are the only ones who know Two Bears came to camp.

  I hope!

  William poured his coffee cup full. “Sis, I’m proud of you dealing with the Indians today, no matter what anyone else says.”

  Retta stood and strolled over to her brothers. “What do you mean, anyone else? What are they saying?”

  “Oh, you know how people are.”

  “William Henry Barre, what did they say?”

  “Some are sayin’ you cheated the Indians out of the buckskin dress, and when they figure that out, they might show up and cause a ruckus.”

  “Cheated?” Retta gasped. “Shy Bear begged me to trade.”

  William gulped down his coffee. “I didn’t say it was true, Retta. I just said that’s what some people say.”

  “What people?” she pressed.

  Andrew tossed down his stew bowl. “You know ... people.”

  “What people, Andrew?”

  “Like Ansley MacGregor, for one,” he replied.

  “Ansley? She’s jealous because she doesn’t have a buckskin dress.”

  Andrew wiped his mouth on his gray cotton shirtsleeve. “You might be right there.”

  “But Colonel Graves did say it would be best to let him and Mr. Bouchet make all the contacts with Indians,” William added.

  “I didn’t really have any choice. The boy was hurt. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You did the right thing, li’l sis. We’re on your side,” William assured her.

  Andrew let the hot coffee steam his face. “I won’t even tell you what Mr. MacGregor said.”

  “He talked about me?” Retta asked.

  “He said that you runnin�
�� around on the prairie without a bonnet, getting tanned and all, made you look like an Indian.”

  “Why? What was his purpose?” William fumed.

  “Maybe that’s something you and me ought to ask him.”

  “Right now?” Retta asked.

  “Ain’t doin’ nothin’ in this rain.” Andrew pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his light brown hair. “Retta, what did the Indian of yours look like?”

  Retta glanced under the wagon. “He was shorter than you two, very lean but with muscles, black hair down to his shoulders, clean-shaven. Do Indians shave?”

  William shrugged “I don’t think so.”

  Retta looked under the wagon again. “Brown eyes, brown skin, kind of round face, but a pointed chin and a scar. He had very white, straight teeth and a nice smile he didn’t use much.”

  “Sounds like you really studied him. Some would have been too scared to remember.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago.” She fought the urge to peek back under the wagon. “Besides, I was with them for quite a while during the storm.”

  “I hear Indian girls can be quite fetching,” Andrew said. “Did you see any ... you know...?”

  Retta giggled. “Quite-fetching Indian girls?”

  “Yeah.” Andrew’s narrow gray eyes danced in the glow of the fire.

  Retta bit her lip. “The oldest girl was the one who traded me dresses. She was quite pretty. Had beautiful waist-length hair.”

  “And she fits in your old purple dress?” Andrew asked. “The color of my dress was pansy plum. And it wasn’t all that old. Mama made it for me for Christmas.”

  Andrew laughed. “Anyone who fits in that dress is not ‘quite fetching.’”

  Retta stared down at her shoes. I fit in it, so I reckon I know what you think I look like.

  William jammed his hat back on. “Did they say anything about whether more Indians are around?”

  “No, but I didn’t ask. He’s a Shoshone.”

  “We’re not in Shoshone country,” William remarked. “He and his family are on their way home to Fort Bridger.”

  “Are they fixin’ to parallel us?” Andrew quizzed.

  “I don’t know, but he did say they kept a close eye on our wagon train.”

  “They’re watching us? Why?” Andrew asked.

  “I think they’re worried about what we might do.”

  “About what we will do? How about them?” William declared.

  “They’re not a dangerous group. But they did know I was in the wagon with the yellow flap at the back.” Andrew’s neck and shoulders stiffened. “I can’t believe they knew that.”

  “Well, they did.”

  William stared into the darkness toward the river. “They could be watching us right now.”

  Retta glanced back at the wagon and puffed her cheeks out. “Could be they can see us sittin’ right here.”

  William turned back to the fire. “Don’t go around tellin’ others. Ever’one will be imagining Indians ever’where.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time you went to fetch Lerryn?” Retta suggested.

  “Andrew can do that,” William replied. “I don’t need to go.”

  “I thought you both wanted to go.”

  “No need,” William insisted.

  “I’m not goin’ to face sis’s wrath by myself,” Andrew said. “She’ll be madder than Mrs. Gorman when she won second place at the pie-making contest at the county fair.”

  “Remember the time she tossed her pie at the judge? It was the best fair ever,” William hooted. “But you might be right. We’ll both go fetch her.”

  “I’ll keep the fire going,” Retta said.

  She watched as her brothers pulled down their wide- brimmed felt hats and scurried out into the rain. She scooted over to the wagon and squatted down next to the canvas sling stretched between the two axles.

  “Two Bears? Are you still there?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Red Bear, I am here.”

  “Where are you?”

  “With the buffalo droppings.”

  “In the chip sling?”

  “Yes, it is quite cozy.” He peeked out from the piles of dried buffalo dung.

  “Why didn’t you slip away?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “I want to make another trade,” he whispered.

  “Do you want the buckskin dress back?”

  He rolled out of the chip sling but remained under the wagon. “Oh, no, I want a book.”

  “A book? Did you say you wanted a book?”

  “Yes.”

  “What book?”

  “Any book will do. When I was scout for Jim Bridger, they taught me to read.”

  “Mr. Bridger taught you to read?” she queried.

  “No, he does not know how himself. Mr. Sublette taught me. But I have no book to practice with. I want to teach my children to read also.”

  Retta rubbed her neck and could feel dirt roll under her fingertips. “So you want any old book?”

  “Yes, as long as it has many words.”

  “And what do you want to trade for it?” Retta asked. “Moccasins.”

  “Really?”

  “They go with the dress, but they are old.”

  “Oh, yes, I would very much like to have some moccasins.”

  “Come to our cave tomorrow,” Two Bears instructed. “But how can I find it? The men couldn’t find it.”

  “You will find it. You are family. Just come.”

  “Can I bring some friends with me?”

  “As long as there is no gun. My children are afraid of men with guns.”

  “Okay, no guns.”

  “Good. Now I will go. Or perhaps I should just sleep with the droppings. It is very comfortable and warm.”

  “You’d better go before men with guns find you here.”

  “You are right. Good night, Red Bear.”

  “Good night, Two Bears.”

  He slipped out from under the wagon and disappeared into the dark night to the south of the wagon train. Retta built up the fire and poked at the coals. Then she washed Andrew’s stew dish.

  Sometimes, Lord, it’s like I’m in a dream. I can’t see Two Bears, but I’m talking to him. He’s nothing like the stories I’ve read and heard. I wonder why that is? Perhaps Two Bears is the nicest Indian on the plains. If so, thank You for letting me meet him. Now I must find a way to give him a book.

  “Coretta Emily!”

  Retta sat straight up. “Yes, Mama?” I thought she was asleep.

  “Will you come up here in the wagon for a minute?” Retta ran to the front of the wagon and climbed into the wagon seat. She stuck her head inside the canvas flap. “Are you feeling better, Mama?”

  Her mother was propped up on quilts and pillows at the far end of the wagon. She rubbed her stomach and then stretched her arms. “Yes, thank you. Did your father go out to patrol?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have your brothers come in?”

  “Yes. They just went to fetch Lerryn. What can I do for you, Mama?”

  “Give him the extra copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.”

  “What?” Retta gasped.

  “We have two copies of Bunyan’s book. Many a child has learned to read from it. Trade your Indian friend, Mr. Two Bears, a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress for the moccasins. Perhaps they will learn to trust the Lord by reading it.”

  Retta puffed out her cheeks. “Did you hear us talking?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Retta crawled all the way into the wagon. “And you aren’t mad at me?”

  “No, I listened to his voice. He is a nice man.”

  “You can tell that by a man’s voice?”

  “Yes, I can. Young lady, a lot can be learned by paying close attention to a man.”

  “How about boys? Can you learn something about boys by listening to them?”

  Mrs. Barre smiled. “With boys, you must w
atch their eyes.”

  “Are you goin’ to tell Papa and the others Two Bears came to camp to see me?”

  “Not unless he asks. How about you? Are you going to tell him?”

  “Not unless he asks.”

  Chapter 7

  Retta woke up with cold feet, damp blankets, and an elbow in her ribs. She pulled on her buckskin dress quickly and left her sister asleep in the wagon.

  “Mornin’, Mama,” she said as she climbed down out of the wagon. “It surely did rain a lot last night.”

  “Good morning, young lady. And it’s nice not to be awakened by a gunshot at 4:00 A.M.”

  “I reckon that’s the good thing about being stuck in the mud.”

  “How about pulling on your shoes and building up the fire?” Mrs. Barre loosened her apron and kneaded the small of her back.

  Retta rubbed her eyes and then perched on an upside- down milk bucket to tug on her stockings and shoes. “I wish I had those moccasins this morning,” she said.

  Mrs. Barre retied the apron and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “You might have a chance to do some trading after all. Colonel Graves said it could be up to three days before we can move the wagons. All the dust in those wagon ruts has turned to mud and slime.”

  Retta stood and wiggled her toes in the nearly clean socks. “Three days is a long delay. Papa said we were already behind schedule.”

  “It’s been rainier than expected,” Mrs. Barre replied. “I hear we might stay at Fort Laramie only one night now.”

  “But—but you need to stay where there’s a doctor and...”

  “Not everything goes according to our plans. It’s the Lord’s plans that matter most. And He’s in charge of the weather ... and the Barre family.”

  Retta pulled out several dry chips from under the wagon and stoked the smoky fire. “William said there are some wagons that are way too heavy. Did you know Mrs. Norman has a pump organ in hers?”

  “Yes, and I heard rumbling by some in a hurry.”

  “Who’s complaining, Mama?” Retta fanned the fire with the painted shingle.

  “The California-bound rigs, the single men on horseback, and those in lighter wagons. They are talking about going on ahead of us on their own.”

  “But we’re supposed to stay together until we get past Fort Hall,” Retta declared. She stared down into the three- legged skillet. “Are those potato cakes?”