{No Turning Back-part IV}
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| The Narrows |
May 1st, 1847
Did wash down by the river today. Missy helped me, and we were able to get it all done before nooning was over. Then we packed up and walked on.
Andy's pants are ripped already in both knees, so I've got mending to do. He has been helping a little more with what he can around the wagon. I've had him go into what small patches of woods we can find and bring back wood for the fire at night. I suppose later down the trail we won't have to burn 'em so big, but for right now we practically have bonfires to ward off the chill of the night air.
May 4th, 1847
Tonight, after supper, when darkness was covering everything, we sat around the campfire as usual. And tonight, Clint told us his story.
Clint's parents had been missionaries to the indians out west, mainly to the Cheyenne and Arapahoe tribes. Clint spent most of his growin'-up years living with the indians, traveling with their tribe sometimes when they followed the buffalo herds. Otherwise they lived in a cabin nearby where the tribe would winter. Then, when Clint was eleven, his mama, brothers, and only sister all died of a fever unexpectedly. His sister would be the same age as me.
Sadly, a lot of the indians died of the same fever, and they blamed it on Mr. Naybors. They moved their winter grounds away from his cabin and wouldn't talk to him. So, Clint and his pa lived alone in that cabin for about two years, mostly trapping to get by. Then Mr. Naybors decided the cabin had too many memories so he moved back east to take over a church. Clint went with him, but could never forget the west. Then a year ago Mr. Naybors died, too. Clint decided that it was his chance to come back west, but this time go all the way to Oregon. He could've left years ago, but he'd stayed with his pa.
The amazing thing about Clint's story is his attitude about it all. He could be the bitterest person I know, but he's not. He believes that it was all in God's plan. He just trusts Him and lives to please Him.
I think it's the sadness that makes Clint so quiet. But I reckon we all have a sadness in our life. I've lost my ma, and I still feel a deep sadness, and a sense of loneliness. I think I'll have it all my life.
May 5th, 1847
Not long after we started today, we came to a part of the trail called the Narrows. A good name for it, too. The trail squeezes between the Little Blue and tall cliffs. I tried walking beside the wagons but I ended up just climbing up beside Joel and riding through the Narrows because the trail was so skinny.
"Trail's about as thin as you," I said as I sat down beside Joel.
"Hey, now," he said with a fake frown, "I'm filling out some. Just look at what this trail has done to my arms!" He was right. His arms are getting thick and strong. I'm a might stronger, too.
"Aww,I'm just ribbin' ya some." I said. "Mind if I drive for a spell?"
"Sure." Joel said, handing over the reins. He knows I can drive 'bout as good as him and Pa. I used to help with the farming back home.
I mean, back in Missoura. We're on to a new home now, I have to keep telling myself. Still, that little farm back in Missoura will always be a place called home.
Anyhow, almost as soon as Joel handed me the reins, his hand was in his trouser pocket pullin' out his mouth organ. He started playin' Buffalo Gals, and soon I was singing, and I realized that riding on a bumpy wagon seat with your brother really ain't so bad after all.
May 7th, 1847Did wash down by the river today. Missy helped me, and we were able to get it all done before nooning was over. Then we packed up and walked on.
Andy's pants are ripped already in both knees, so I've got mending to do. He has been helping a little more with what he can around the wagon. I've had him go into what small patches of woods we can find and bring back wood for the fire at night. I suppose later down the trail we won't have to burn 'em so big, but for right now we practically have bonfires to ward off the chill of the night air.
May 4th, 1847
Tonight, after supper, when darkness was covering everything, we sat around the campfire as usual. And tonight, Clint told us his story.
Clint's parents had been missionaries to the indians out west, mainly to the Cheyenne and Arapahoe tribes. Clint spent most of his growin'-up years living with the indians, traveling with their tribe sometimes when they followed the buffalo herds. Otherwise they lived in a cabin nearby where the tribe would winter. Then, when Clint was eleven, his mama, brothers, and only sister all died of a fever unexpectedly. His sister would be the same age as me.
Sadly, a lot of the indians died of the same fever, and they blamed it on Mr. Naybors. They moved their winter grounds away from his cabin and wouldn't talk to him. So, Clint and his pa lived alone in that cabin for about two years, mostly trapping to get by. Then Mr. Naybors decided the cabin had too many memories so he moved back east to take over a church. Clint went with him, but could never forget the west. Then a year ago Mr. Naybors died, too. Clint decided that it was his chance to come back west, but this time go all the way to Oregon. He could've left years ago, but he'd stayed with his pa.
The amazing thing about Clint's story is his attitude about it all. He could be the bitterest person I know, but he's not. He believes that it was all in God's plan. He just trusts Him and lives to please Him.
I think it's the sadness that makes Clint so quiet. But I reckon we all have a sadness in our life. I've lost my ma, and I still feel a deep sadness, and a sense of loneliness. I think I'll have it all my life.
May 5th, 1847
Not long after we started today, we came to a part of the trail called the Narrows. A good name for it, too. The trail squeezes between the Little Blue and tall cliffs. I tried walking beside the wagons but I ended up just climbing up beside Joel and riding through the Narrows because the trail was so skinny.
"Trail's about as thin as you," I said as I sat down beside Joel.
"Hey, now," he said with a fake frown, "I'm filling out some. Just look at what this trail has done to my arms!" He was right. His arms are getting thick and strong. I'm a might stronger, too.
"Aww,I'm just ribbin' ya some." I said. "Mind if I drive for a spell?"
"Sure." Joel said, handing over the reins. He knows I can drive 'bout as good as him and Pa. I used to help with the farming back home.
I mean, back in Missoura. We're on to a new home now, I have to keep telling myself. Still, that little farm back in Missoura will always be a place called home.
Anyhow, almost as soon as Joel handed me the reins, his hand was in his trouser pocket pullin' out his mouth organ. He started playin' Buffalo Gals, and soon I was singing, and I realized that riding on a bumpy wagon seat with your brother really ain't so bad after all.
It rained for about an hour today, good solid rain. It's been kinda dry since the days of rain we had at the Big Blue. It was just enough to settle the trail dust, but it didn't make a lot of mud. This was a great blessing, because today was our day as the last wagon in the train. Thanks to the rain, it wasn't all that bad dust-wise. Mr. MacGregor said we got lucky.
Our wagon train rotates, as most do. It promotes a sense of equality and fairness. Every day, our wagon moves ahead one position, as does the one in front of us. Then when we get to the front, we enjoy not eating the dust of the other wagons. But the next day, we go to the back of the train.
It's an easy, fair system, yet we've already had a man think that the other wagons are being treated better. He seemed to think he needed to ride in the front all the time. Pa told him that if he was chokin' on the dust that bad, he should tie a wet hankie over his face, and the next time he considered complaining he should suck on it for a while.
Our wagon train rotates, as most do. It promotes a sense of equality and fairness. Every day, our wagon moves ahead one position, as does the one in front of us. Then when we get to the front, we enjoy not eating the dust of the other wagons. But the next day, we go to the back of the train.
It's an easy, fair system, yet we've already had a man think that the other wagons are being treated better. He seemed to think he needed to ride in the front all the time. Pa told him that if he was chokin' on the dust that bad, he should tie a wet hankie over his face, and the next time he considered complaining he should suck on it for a while.
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