by Jesse Wiley
“Yes, but that is a lot of weight for the oxen,” another man argues. “It might be better to take apart the wagons and float them across the river. That way the animals only have to manage themselves.”
A discussion ensues about how to float the wagons and whether or not that is a better idea than connecting them together.
“It’s up to you all,” Caleb decides. “Whatever everyone agrees to do, we’ll do.”
A lively debate erupts until you come to your decision. What do you do?
If you attach your wagons together, turn to page 147
If you float the wagons across, turn to page 82
Return to page 43
The California Trail sounds like a better choice,” Pa says to your family privately.
“I’m glad you think so,” Ma says. “It also sounds safer to me.”
“But what about your dream to have a farm in Oregon Territory?” you can’t help but ask. You’re surprised by how quickly your folks are ready to change course.
“If California doesn’t work out the way we hope, we can still make the trip up the coast,” Pa says. “And if there is as much gold as we are hearing about, we’ll have all the money we need.”
You guess he’s right. Why not try out California first, especially if it’s an easier trail?
But not everyone else agrees with you. More than half of your wagon train, including Caleb and his family, plans to continue on to Oregon. Three other wagons are joining you, splitting off from the rest. But you’ll join up with another wagon train that is heading southwest from Fort Hall, too. That way, you’ll have a larger group of fifteen wagons.
You don’t think about how hard it will be to say goodbye to Joseph and Eliza until you reach the Raft River Crossing. There it finally hits you. They’ve been with you on the Trail since the very beginning, and have been wonderful friends. You hold back tears as you say goodbye, but Eliza sobs and holds you tight. Joseph blinks hard and gives you a half hug. When the Trail forks, you keep walking in the other direction.
“It looks like there are some nice people in this wagon train,” Ma says, putting her arm around you. She’s also sad to be leaving friends behind. You nod, trying to lift the heaviness off your heart.
The trail to California starts off pretty well. For several days you make good time, traveling at least twelve miles a day. But once you pass the Humboldt River, things quickly change. The land grows increasingly desolate and difficult to cross. There is almost no grass, the water tastes bad, and there’s very little fuel. But your new wagon train captain, a rough man named Edward, is determined to push ahead.
“It has to get better,” he insists.
“What are we going to do?” one man complains. “The animals are getting weaker and we are running out of feed.”
“And I can’t manage to get a decent campfire going,” a woman adds. “We haven’t had a proper hot meal for two days.”
Everyone is tired, hungry, and frustrated. Soon the discussion turns into a shouting match. Some people agree with Edward, saying that you have no choice but to continue on the trail and wait for conditions to improve.
“If we change course now, it could get even worse,” they argue.
Others are convinced that you need to veer off the trail to search for better grass and fuel.
“If it doesn’t get better soon, we won’t be able to continue,” they say.
Ma gets everyone to calm down and talk to each other. What do you agree to do?
If you stay on the California Trail, turn to page 58
If you veer off the California Trail, turn to page 114
Return to page 32
Heading south to Fort Bridger seems like the safest option. Your family tells the group you think they should take this route, even though it will take a bit longer. Everyone agrees.
You’re relieved. The cutoff would have taken you through the desert. That evening, when the wagons stop for the night, your parents tell you stories they’ve heard about the desert.
“Some say the oxen drop from thirst,” Pa says. “Some families lose their entire teams!”
“And people have to travel at night because it is too difficult to walk under the sun,” Ma adds.
You imagine walking the dusty hot trail at night, using only the light of lanterns to guide you. You’re glad everyone agreed to continue to Fort Bridger. Forts are welcome spots along the Trail for making wagon repairs, trading goods, and resting. And you especially like meeting kids from other wagon trains.
While your family sets up camp, you walk with Joseph to collect sagebrush for your campfire. Grass is scarce in this area, known as Little Sandy Crossing, and there isn’t much fuel.
“Do you ever miss school?” Joseph asks you as you hike together.
“Sometimes,” you reply, surprised at yourself. When you first learned you were going on the Trail, you were excited that you wouldn’t have to go to school. Now you like it when Pa gives you lessons in geography or grammar and Ma quizzes you in sums and organizes the kids into spelling bees.
“Do you?” you ask Joseph.
“I do, a lot,” Joseph says, as you expect. Joseph seems to know a little bit about almost everything.
“I miss books the most,” he adds with a sigh. “I’ve read every book we have at least three times!”
As you head back with armfuls of brush, you point to smoke from another wagon train’s camp. Like yours, they have grouped their wagons into a circle, or “corral.” This keeps animals safe from wolves, coyotes, thieves, and from wandering away.
“Looks like we have even more company,” Joseph says, pointing to wisps of smoke in another direction. “That’s a Native American settlement. The Shoshone are in these parts.”
The fuel you bring back is enough to get a decent-size fire going, which Ma uses to cook your supper. You eat baked beans, with a little bit of bacon for seasoning, and some pan bread. At bedtime, you pull out your worn copy of Gulliver’s Travels. But before you’ve read three pages, you’re nodding off.
You wake up to a guard shouting an alarm.
“We’ve been robbed!” you hear. “A cow and two horses are missing!”
Thieves! Someone managed to sneak past your guard and steal the animals. It’s barely light outside, and you realize it’s very early in the morning.
Joseph beckons you over to his campsite.
“One of those groups we saw last night must have robbed us,” he whispers. “I’m going to go spy on them. Cover for me if anyone asks.”
Joseph takes off before you can protest.
After Joseph leaves, you wonder if you should tell Ma and Pa where he went, or go after him yourself. You don’t want him to get angry with you for being a tattletale. But you don’t want him to be out there alone, either. What do you do?
If you tell Pa what Joseph is doing, turn to page 70
If you go after Joseph, turn to page 39
Return to page 11
Here you go, drink this,” Pa says, adding a few drops of citric acid into your water-skin.
“What will that do?” you ask.
“I’m afraid you have scurvy,” Pa says, with a worried frown. “We haven’t had enough fruit or vegetables in our diet.”
You’ve heard of scurvy before. It’s a pretty serious ailment and it can even kill people. Thinking back on all the bacon, beans, and cornbread you’ve been eating, you’re not surprised. You can’t even remember the last time you had some fresh fruit. It must have been the wild berries someone collected weeks ago.
Even though you don’t feel like eating or drinking anything, you force yourself to sip the water. Slowly, you start to feel a little better, and over the next few days your strength returns. But once you’re feeling better, Hannah and Samuel start complaining of the same symptoms you had.
Pa orders everyone to drink the citric acid mix, but you’ve run out.
“I don’t know what to do,” Ma says. “If only we had brought along more of that veggie cake!”
“We don’t have much of a choice,” Pa says. “We have to push on to Fort Bridger. Let’s just hope they have supplies of citric acid or fresh lemons there. We’ll have to pick up what we can and get our strength back. Keep your eyes open for berries.”
The fort is still several days away. You hope everyone can make it that far. Hannah and Samuel are already having trouble walking. Looking at their weak faces, you are really scared and doubtful. You never wished for the veggies you used to leave on your plate more than right now.
THE END
Return to page 21
You decide to cross the river and look at the water current and the tiny gravel path that lies ahead. The sound of the water rushing makes it hard to hear. Ma holds on to Hannah’s hand and you keep a tight grip on Samuel’s as you walk behind the wagon. Every so often you can feel the uneven ground beneath you give way a little bit, but you manage to take another step forward.
“We’re halfway across,” Pa shouts.
You lean your body to the side so you can see Pa, when suddenly your foot slips off the narrow path. You hear Ma scream as Samuel tumbles down with you, into the water. You let go of his hand and try to grab on to something, to keep from being swept away. But the undercurrent pulls you down. You feel yourself flailing, and you swallow huge gulps of water as you desperately try to regain your footing. Just when you think it’s hopeless, a hand grabs you and pulls you up.
“Can you breathe?” Joseph asks.
You nod yes. You start coughing as you get to your feet. You see Samuel is safe with Pa. Joseph guides you slowly along the rest of the path, and you make it across the river. Ma and Pa rush toward you and give you and Joseph big hugs. They’re certain Joseph saved your life.
Over the next couple of days, you keep coughing. After a while, the coughing becomes uncontrollable and you can’t catch your breath. Soon you’re wheezing heavily and have to lie down in the wagon. It hurts to cough, as if someone is squeezing your lungs. It becomes difficult to breathe. You have water in your lungs and will die of pneumonia.
THE END
Return to page 70
You decide to travel by night through the hot dusty desert. That way the sun won’t be beating down on you, making it more difficult to travel. Plus you’ve already used up more of your water supply than you should have at this point. It’s been extremely hard on the oxen to have to pull the weight of the wagons, including the heavy barrels of water, in the blistering heat. Moving under the cover of darkness will be easier on them.
But once you all agree to the plan, you realize that traveling by night means that you won’t be sleeping tonight. After a short evening rest and supper, you are going to start moving again and continue until tomorrow morning.
“What if I can’t walk another step?” Hannah asks, worried by the idea.
“We can take turns resting in the wagon, so it isn’t too hard on the oxen,” Ma replies.
Sitting in the creaky wagon with all your stuff isn’t very comfortable, especially when it rolls over bumps. But it beats hours of endless walking.
When it gets dark, you head back out on the Trail. You, Joseph, and Eliza hold lanterns to guide the way. It feels spooky to be moving in the darkness by the glow of the moon and the flickering lights.
“Look,” Joseph says, pointing to the sky. It’s so clear you can see the constellations. You try to identify the ones you know.
“There’s the Big Dipper,” you say. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you imagine a ladle being lowered into a big pot of cold refreshing water. But it isn’t anywhere near time for a water break, so you push the thought out of your mind and look for other shapes in the sky.
After a couple of hours of walking, you’ve lost all interest in the stars and the adventure of moving by night. You want to curl up in your tent and sleep. Your legs are sore and you stumble. Your lips are so dry and parched, you can’t help but keep licking them, even though that just makes them worse.
Finally it’s your turn to rest in the wagon, but it seems like only a minute before you’re walking again. You barely notice the sunrise, and can only think that you are more ready for sleep than you have ever been.
Later you go to sleep in your tent, but you wake up after a couple of hours. It’s too hot to sleep. You’re sweating. Everyone else is fast asleep, but you walk outside to see if you can catch a breeze.
Outside, you see something glimmering in the distance, reflecting in the daylight. It’s a lake! You give a little shout and start to run toward it, before you realize that you should grab the water-skins and fill them up. Do you take the water-skins and fill them up yourself so you can surprise everyone when they wake up? Or do you wake up Eliza so she can help you carry more water back? She is always game for an adventure and you know she would be as excited as you. But you feel bad waking her. What do you do?
If you go alone to the lake, turn to page 53
If you wake up Eliza, turn to page 80
Return to page 106
Everyone in your family agrees you must continue on the Oregon Trail. It’s been Pa’s dream for far too long to give it up, and now it’s become all of yours, too. Even though the idea of gold sounds tempting, you’ve heard troubling stories of pioneers being disappointed and tricked by people leading them off the Trail.
Caleb’s family is staying on the path to Oregon, which is a huge relief. Not only would it be hard to manage without Caleb as captain, but you also can’t imagine the Trail without Joseph and Eliza. In the end, only three wagons decide to split off from the train. You’ll be sorry to see them go.
After leaving Fort Hall, you hike for three days through sage-filled plains to the Raft River, which is a deep and rapid stream leading to the Snake River. It’s also where the families leaving for California will finally turn southwest. The hike is pretty straightforward, except that it starts to rain hard on the second day and doesn’t stop until the third. You trudge through the mud, soaking wet and cold.
When you get to the Raft River crossing, you and the other families who have stayed with the wagon train ford the stream easily. But soon after you get to the other side, you are startled when Joseph nudges you and nods toward the right.
There lies a gravestone that reads: “To the Memory of Lydia Edmonson, who died Aug. 16, 1847, Aged 25 years.”
Your heartbeat quickens and a feeling of dread settles over you. So many pioneers don’t get the choice of whether to go to Oregon or California.
“What are you looking at?” Hannah asks.
“Oh, nothing at all. We saw a funny bird,” you reply, pointing in the other direction. “Look, did it fly over there?”
You feel guilty for fibbing, but you don’t want your little sister to get scared. You think she might understand what graves are, but you don’t ever talk about them in front of her, even on the bad days when you pass several. Luckily, Hannah is soon happily pointing out all the birds she sees and asking you if they are like the one you saw.
That evening your wagon train searches for a spot to make camp near the Snake River, which is rushing and hitting the rocks along the banks. Its water levels are higher than usual because of all the rain that’s fallen over the past two days. Your scout picks out a spot, but the ground is muddy and soaked, and some of the others start to complain.
“This isn’t a good spot to camp,” one man says.
“It’s too wet. Let’s go find some higher ground,” says another.
But looking for another spot means more walking and you, like many others, are tired.
�
�This is good enough,” a woman argues. “I don’t want to walk another step.”
“Yes, it’s fine. It’s going to be wet everywhere,” someone else agrees.
Ma and Pa look around at the area, uncertain. Then they look at you kids and see how tired you are.
“Do you want to make camp here, or keep looking for something better?” Ma asks you.
If you say you want to make camp here, turn to page 48
If you say you want to keep looking for something better, turn to page 43
Return to page 32
You remember that a snake rattles its tail as a warning that it might strike. Even though your instincts tell you to spring off your mat and run away, you force yourself to lie still. You hold your breath, slowly counting the seconds in your head.
Archie doesn’t move, either, although he looks poised to pounce on the snake. You desperately hope he doesn’t.
After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few seconds, the brown spotted snake slithers into a small hole on the other side of the wooden hut.
“WOOF!” Archie runs after it and starts to bark at the hole, as if he is challenging the snake.
“Come here, boy,” you say, in a shaky voice.
“What’s going on?” Samuel asks in a whisper, his voice heavy with sleep.
