“You’ll be back next year?” Jefferson asked. Garrett nodded. “Yes, Captain, I’ll be back next year, one way or another.”
“Good, I’ll look forward to that.”
They shook hands. The captain placed one hand on Garrett’s shoulder. Then Jefferson turned to Sam. “It was good to meet you, Hawkins.”
Sam nodded, acknowledging him.
“You’ll take good care of Taylor here, won’t you?”
Sam was surprised at the statement. What was he implying?
Before he could say anything, Garrett said, “Oh, Sam takes very good care of me, Alan, so don’t you worry.” With that, he mounted his horse, raised his hand and shouted, “Wagons, ho!”
The train started to move. Garrett never looked back. Sam watched him intently. Was he purposely keeping his eyes from returning to where the captain stood? Sam did look back. Jefferson stood where he had been left, watching as they rode away. When he saw Sam looking in his direction, he gave a wave, one Sam felt was for Garrett. Sam saluted him and turned toward the trail ahead.
A day out of Fort Laramie, the foothills of the Rockies began. The uphill climbs, at first manageable, soon became steeper, harder to navigate, more dangerous. As the days went by, the high spirits of the travelers as they left the fort were dissipated by the arduous task of moving forward. The trail was no longer a straight line to a goal. It zigzagged back and forth, at times seeming to be more sideways than ahead. Sam understood this was necessary to avoid the steeper slopes and to find grassy valleys for the livestock, but still the slow progress frustrated him.
When the climb was extreme, they often had to double-team the oxen to get a wagon over the crest. Then they had to tie the wheels so they skidded down the other side, as rolling could cause a wagon to descend out of control. With the wheels tied, however, wagons could still slide sideways and overturn. It seemed to Sam there was danger on every side.
Sam looked forward to the hunting trips with the Tuckers as a break from the monotony of the daily grind. The herds of buffalo and antelope behind them, the men hunted mountain goat and big horn sheep. Sam marveled at the agility with which these creatures scaled sheer cliffs and clung to seemingly smooth surfaces. He envied their ability to navigate the crags and crevices.
The days crawled by and turned into weeks. Sam lost his ability to gauge how far they had come. He, like the others, just kept trudging on, trusting that at some point they would be on the down side of this barrier to their mission.
The stress of the trail and the fatigue it engendered left little time or inclination for Sam to dwell on thoughts of Garrett and Captain Jefferson. He was only dully aware that what he had witnessed between them had left him feeling a mild emptiness where there used to be contentment in the relationships he shared with the men. Fatigue also wore away at the intimate times they spent together. Often they were so tired that, even though they once again had the privacy of their own wagon, sleep overcame them despite their need for relief. More times than not, slumber, wrapped in each other’s arms, came as the only solace.
* * * In early September, when the train traveled down into the valleys, the heat and the insects were overwhelming. As they began to climb once again, the temperature dropped drastically, causing the travelers to labor in heavy clothing to ward off the cold.
One night, Garrett and Sam lay together in the back of the wagon. They had made love. Or did they have sex? Sam wondered. Now he had become aware of Captain Jefferson and his place in Garrett’s life, he found it difficult to connect to the deeper emotion he once had when with the wagon master.
“We’ll reach South Pass in a day or two,” Garrett said, pulling Sam against him, his arm across Sam’s chest.
Sam nestled back into the muscular frame, still feeling the probing of Garrett’s semi- erect penis against his backside. He could tell by Garrett’s tone that he was concerned for the conditions they would find when they reached the pass. Rather than responding by talking, Sam communicated his understanding of Garrett’s concern by squeezing his hand, which was caressing the tangle of hair on Sam’s chest. Garrett buried his face in the nape of Sam’s neck and said something he couldn’t understand. Soon he heard and felt Garrett’s deep breathing. He uttered a soft groan in his sleep, his cock hardening against Sam’s buttocks.
Who are you dreaming of, my friend? Sam, too, drifted off to sleep.
* * *
“Snow!” It was snowing hard as the first wagons reached the top of the trail leading down into South Pass, the twenty-mile wide valley that marked the halfway point of the journey. Garrett told Sam that South Pass, on the continental divide, was an important element in a successful crossing of the Rockies. If the pass was snowed in, days, maybe even weeks would be added to their journey. Sam, Todd and Garrett stopped their horses. It was clearly evident South Pass was impassable.
Sam looked at Garrett. The wagon master’s face was grim. Sam knew this situation had been a worry for him from the very beginning of the trek. Now his worst fears had been realized. Gus pulled up in the wagon.
“Got no choice, do we, chief?” he said, climbing down from the wagon seat and walking up to the men.
Garrett didn’t answer the question directly.
“Let’s get ’em outta this snow,” he said in a stern voice. “We’ll try to get over the Antelope Hills and into the valley to set up camp.”
Gus sighed deeply and returned to the wagon. Sam felt the weight of the decision, even though he had never faced this situation, from the reaction of the two men. Garrett urged his horse on. Sam and Todd followed. A hundred yards or so from where they had stopped, the trail divided. They took the one that led south of the pass. Sam soon realized why this was the less preferred route. Whereas, despite its ruts, the trail they had been following was wide and flattened by the passage of many wagons, this route was little more than a path, narrow and rough.
The Antelope Hills proved to be a series of mounds or swells in the terrain. As they were now on the down side of the mountains, they were descending more than climbing, and they needed to secure the wagon wheels more often to keep the wagons from picking up too much speed. This took a huge amount of time, made to seem longer since they traveled in snow for the better part of the day. As the light was fading from the sky, the snow tapered off and the sun broke through the clouds, low on the horizon.
This was the time when Garrett usually halted the train, but there was no place to circle and camp. If they had been able to travel across the pass, there would have been ample space for this. Garrett pushed the train on. It was almost completely dark when they came to a flat area that afforded enough space for them to spend the night. Because there was no way to monitor the movement of the oxen once unyoked due to the hilly terrain around the camp, they released them into the center of the circle to graze on what they could find. Cooking fires were set outside the ring.
Sam, Garrett and Todd went from wagon to wagon making sure all the travelers were faring well. Most were cold and exhausted, but none seemed to be suffering undue trauma. They stopped to talk with Caleb, Joshua and the Carters. While they were in conversation, Rayburn came around the side of the wagon. When he saw Garrett, he stopped and glared at him.
“Well, Taylor, I hope you’re satisfied. Your perverted dalliance back at Fort Laramie has cost us dearly. Your need to gratify your lustful desires will make the trip more dangerous and take longer. But perhaps you don’t care as long as your lustful needs are met.”
Sam felt his anger rise to the surface. Todd looked from the reverend to Garrett, astonishment clearly written on his face. The Carters, the boy and his father, looked confused.
“Well, Taylor, what have you got to say for yourself?” Reverend Rayburn said, taking a step toward Garrett, an expression on his face that clearly revealed he believed he had made a coup.
Sam had had enough. Without stopping to think, he launched himself forward and landed a blow to the reverend’s jaw that knocked him to the gro
und. There were gasps from those assembled. Mrs. Carter let out a small scream.
Garrett stepped between Sam and the man lying on the ground, who was groaning in pain. Garrett gave Sam a look that said, Thank you, but no thank you. Sam felt his anger battling with shame. He knew Rayburn deserved it, but Sam also knew his action was out of line. Why had he done it? Garrett was capable of fighting his own battles, and he certainly wouldn’t have resorted to physical violence with this man. So why had he?
Deep inside he knew it had something to do with Garrett’s relationship with Alan Jefferson, the essence of which was missing from his own life. He realized he had lashed out in anger, not only because Reverend Rayburn had been a thorn in their sides the entire journey, but also because Rayburn’s attack on Garrett was related to his alliance with the captain. Therefore, it was an attack on the very thing Sam seemed to be searching for.
Sam’s shoulders sagged and he stepped back. Garrett was helping Rayburn to his feet. The minister stood on shaking legs, rubbing his jaw. He glared at Sam and threw off Garrett’s steadying hand.
“You savage!” Rayburn shouted. He turned to Garrett. “Well, what are you going to do about this? First, you endanger the whole of our company with your wanton behavior. Are you now going to allow us to be bullied as well?”
Before Garrett could answer, young Caleb stepped forward. “You’ll excuse me for sayin’ this, Reverend, but ’pears to me as if you’re the one whose done the bullyin’ this whole trip.”
Everyone turned to look at the boy. Rayburn opened his mouth to speak, but Caleb continued. “Sam here, he saved my life, and Mr. Taylor, he gived up his own wagon for Mr. and Mrs. Carter when they lost it in the fire that you started. These two men been nothing but kind and brave the whole time, while you’re always yellin’ at folks and accusin’ us of all sorts of sin and stuff. And you’re always trying to turn us against Mr. Taylor and Sam. That ain’t right, Reverend, that ain’t right.”
Rayburn flushed. He wheeled around to face Joshua.
“Are you going to let this insolent child berate me and defend these degenerates? You should be stepping in to do your fatherly duty and discipline him for his disrespect of a man of God.” Before Caleb’s father could respond, the reverend shouted, “Well, if you won’t, I will.”
He raised his hand as if to strike the boy. Sam grabbed his arm, holding it fast. The two men stared at each other, straining to get the upper hand.
“Lay a hand on that boy, and it will be the last thing you ever do, Reverend Rayburn!” Sam said in a menacing whisper.
Rayburn wrenched his arm away from Sam’s grip, rubbing his wrist where he’d been grabbed.
Caleb’s father stepped forward and put his arm protectively around the boy’s shoulders. “You don’t punish a child for speaking the truth,” he said in a steely voice.
“Go to hell, all of you,” Rayburn screamed. He turned and stomped away.
Later that night, in the bed of the wagon, Garrett held Sam in his arms as he stroked the young man’s hair.
“He was right, you know,” Garrett said softly.
“What?”
“Rayburn…he was right. I’ve put the train in danger. My need to be with Alan those extra days was pure selfishness. Just proves love makes you do things that go against what you know to be right.”
There it was—Garrett’s declaration of love for the captain. Sam didn’t know how to respond. They had just been together, Garrett buried deep inside Sam’s body, and yet apparently what he felt for Sam was not what he felt for Captain Alan Jefferson. Sam, Gus and Todd were available to this man at any time. Yet, the emotion that attached him to the master of Fort Laramie was stronger, deeper. Sam felt again that shrinking of emotion inside himself. Things were definitely changing between him and the wagon master, and maybe even Gus and Todd as well, although Sam was the only one who was aware of it.
* * * They were definitely on the downside of the journey over the mountains. Although the travel was treacherous, almost everyone welcomed the daily changes in altitude, which brought warmth and a sense of progress.
Another week saw them arrive at Fort Bridger. This was not a military post, but rather a privately owned supply depot. Garrett told Sam many immigrants hoped Fort Bridger would be a civilized outpost, perhaps something similar to Fort Laramie. Instead, Sam saw Fort Bridger was a crude collection of roughhewn log buildings. This greatly disappointed him and the other pilgrims. They spent only one night at the fort, giving those who needed it the opportunity to purchase supplies. It was clear to Sam that Garrett had no great affection for Jim Bridger, the fort’s founder. He had a sense of relief after Fort Laramie and Alan Jefferson.
They pushed on, a sense of excitement growing among them all. Although they had many miles still to travel, the feeling they were approaching their goal was apparent. Conversations turned to what it would be like in California, and plans for what would be done when they arrived were revisited, having been shelved during the long trip when, at times, it seemed they would never complete the journey.
Sam could sense it, too. He had a strange feeling his life was about to change. Just how that change would come about, he did not know. It was just a feeling with no substance, but it excited him.
As fall approached, they dropped below the timber line. First stands of conifers and then broadleaf trees flanked the trail. The latter were a blaze of color. Only one barrier yet to cross: the Humbolt Sink and the forty-mile dry desert beyond. Garrett had warned the settlers of the desolation of the area. They needed to fill barrels with water before they got to the sink itself. If the lakebed did have water, because it had no outlet, it would be stagnant and foul tasting. If it was dry, then all the more need to have a water provision.
Garrett, Sam and the Carters sat around a small cooking fire at the end of a day on the trail. The conversation turned to the final stages of the journey. Sam could tell Garrett was being careful to be honest, yet not alarm anyone. As they sat and talked, a man came running up to them.
“Mr. Taylor, Mr. Taylor, help please. It’s Polly. The baby’s coming.”
Garrett and Sam followed the man as he ran off in the direction of his wagon. Mr. Carter followed them. Garrett stopped and turned to him. “Go get your wife and any of the women who might be able to help. Go!” Garrett shouted, giving the man a gentle push.
He turned and ran off.
When they arrived at the wagon, Sam could hear the soft mewing of someone in pain. A sharp scream followed these noises. Polly’s husband, then Garrett, climbed into the wagon. A moment later, Garrett jumped down.
“Not good, “he said quietly to Sam. “Didn’t you tell me you had to help Wolf’s momma with him?”
“Yes, but…that was a dog. This is a human being, Garrett,” Sam said, panic rising at the thought of performing the same procedure he had on Molly.
Carter arrived with several women. Reverend Rayburn had come with them. Garrett and Sam helped the women into the wagon.
A few moments later, Polly’s husband climbed out. He was white as a sheet. He slumped against the wheel. “She ain’t gonna make it,” he said in a detached voice, almost as if he were in a trance. “The baby’s comin’ feet first. None of the ladies know what to do.”
“She’ll be fine, Nicholas,” Garrett said, looking at Sam while putting his arm around the young man. “Sam, it’s you or no one.”
“What?” bellowed the minister. “You cannot put your wife in the hands of this…this…sodomite!”
“I’d put Polly in the hands of the devil hisself if I thought it would save her,” the young husband said in anguish.
“No good will come of this. Mark my words, no good will come of this.” Rayburn then began to pray aloud.
“You never give up, do you, Reverend?” Garrett said.
Sam took a deep breath and removed his jacket. He pulled out his knife and handed it to Garrett. “Get this clean as you can.”
It was crowded in the wagon bed,
with Polly surrounded by three women. They gazed up at Sam as he clambered in. Looking around, he assessed the situation. Polly was sweating profusely. One woman was cradling her head and wiping her forehead. Another was holding her hand and stroking her forearm. The third, Mrs. Rayburn, was rocking back and forth saying, “Oh dear, oh dear,” over and over. Sam’s decision was easy.
“Mrs. Rayburn,” he said.
She stopped rocking, and looked up at him.
“Please, go get as many clean cloths as you can find. Find some strong needles and heavy thread. Make sure the needles are clean, too.”
She left the wagon.
The woman stroking Polly’s hand looked apprehensively at Sam.
“I’ve done this before,” he said, hoping they wouldn’t question him about the circumstances.
Garrett appeared at the opening of the rear of the wagon. He handed Sam the knife.
Sam knelt beside Polly. He carefully slit the fabric covering her swollen abdomen.
“Garrett, you hold her legs.”
Garrett climbed into the wagon.
“Get ready to wipe the blood,” Sam ordered the woman at Polly’s side. “You,” he said to the woman at Polly’s head, “give her a towel to bite on, and hold her hands above her head. Hold ’em tight.”
Polly groaned as another contraction swept through her.
Sam took a deep breath. Carefully, he made an incision in Polly’s lower abdomen.
Polly shuddered in pain, let out a wail through the towel held in her clenched teeth, and then went limp. Everyone looked at Sam.
“She’s breathin’. It’s best she’s passed out.”
Twice more he traced the path of his first laceration. The women wiped away the blood. He could see the baby now. Gently, he reached in and extracted the infant. He cut and tied off the cord, handing the baby to the woman at Polly’s head, who began to wipe and clean it. As she did, the child cried. The sound aroused Polly.
The Search for Soaring Hawk Page 22
