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This is historical fiction - with the naughty parts included. It's entertainment. If you want to know more (which, quite honestly, I hope this tale encourages), search the facts out for yourself.
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It was past mid-morning when we finally got underway.
I sat on Slowpoke - just to the left of the long line of wagons - and watched as (one by one) - they got moving. It was like watching molasses run in January. It was hard not to be impatient. Behind me, the cattle hands were staying busy keeping the herd in check. I'd only been standing next to them for about an hour by that point and I was already sure that I would hear the sounds of their lowing in my sleep. It was an incessant drone.
We'd ridden - well - I should say that I had ridden - the rest of the people in our group were walking - for about an hour when people started pulling out food to eat for the noon meal. There was no stopping to eat.
Mr. Bond had warned me that we traveled much like I had with my company of soldiers. Breakfast and dinner were at the campsite. The rest of the day was spent on the move. Two gunshots served as the wake-up call in the morning - well before sunrise. Cook fires were rekindled from the previous night and breakfast was prepared by the women while the men took down tents and stowed them away - along with bedrolls and whatever else the families had dragged out of their wagons. Everyone ate, fires were smothered in dust and dirt, and then another round of gunfire announced that we were getting underway.
The goal was 20 miles. Mr. Bond had warned me that we'd only reach that goal for the first few weeks. Once we got across the plains, we'd be lucky to get 10-12 miles between breakfast and the call to halt.
Each evening, cook fires were started and the meal was prepared while husbands, fathers, and older siblings dug out the supplies needed to set up camp for the night. Mr. Bond had told me that we would remain strung out along the trail whenever possible. He had warned me that - if I saw activity around us that I thought might be hostile - that we would be forming the wagons into rings - so that milk cows, children, and others could be sheltered inside of the protected area. He also cautioned me that Slowpoke was an attractive target for thieves and that I should be extra diligent to keep watch.
We hadn't been moving for more than an hour before I began to hear complaints filtering back through the line. I shook my head. We'd run into the same thing in the regiment. It would take a few days before people got used to the conditions. By then, of course, it would be starting to get bad enough that they would realize that their earlier complaints had been nothing but whining - and (now that they really had something to complain about) they were more likely to keep their mouths shut.
I patted Slowpoke on the shoulder and he gave me a quick side-eye and then whickered at me. I chuckled at him and promised that I'd stowed away a couple apples for him. I'd probably halve them - to make them last longer. He wouldn't be getting tasty snacks for too many more days.
Edna and Tolliver glanced back at me now and then. They were walking to the left of their wagon with their mother. Jasper was guiding the oxen. I noticed that a few people were trying to ride on the wagons. I had heard Mr. Bond warn them - very specifically - that this was a bad practice to get into.
The wagons were pulled by teams of four or six oxen (sometimes mules or horses - but oxen were cheaper and a bit hardier). Those oxen were already pulling a wagon that was filled with at least a couple ton of provisions, tools, supplies, and family belongings. You were needlessly making the animals work harder by riding instead of walking.
I glanced behind us and - over the tops of the livestock that followed us - I could see another train of wagons following the same path that we were taking. In some places, grooves were carved into the soil from the iron-rimmed wheels of all of the wagons that had come before us.
I heard a yell and turned back to the front to see Mitchell riding my way. He gave a wave, motioning me forward. I rode around the various families and met him. He turned and we rode side-by-side to chat.
"Mr. Bond came to check on me and asked me to check on you as well," he reported. "He said we'll check in with each other now and then."
I laughed and said, "I thought he told me that we'd only report when we stopped each night unless there was trouble."
He grinned and said, "I think he wanted to impress upon us not to rely on some constant stream of communication going back and forth. I think he probably knew that you and I had already operated this way - within our regiments - but he's used to setting expectations for his men."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I can see that. Think the grumbling will ease off soon?" I asked him, grinning.
He laughed and said, "Just like old times, huh?"
"Just like old times," I agreed.
He gave me a nod and rode off towards his place in the line. I moved a little farther to the side of the road to give folks more room to pass by me. I let Slowpoke rest while we waited for our place to return to us.
Edna came over and patted Slowpoke on the flank.
"Hi, Pokey," she said to the horse.
"You doing okay, little miss?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she replied, her expression growing more strained. "Momma said that I need to stop complaining."
"It's hard," I told her nodding, "but the complaining doesn't help much in the end."
"Did you and Daddy complain when you went with the Army?" she asked.
I nodded and said, "At first I did..."
She nodded back and then jogged to catch up with her mother and her brother. I gave him a little salute - which he returned. He was no longer smiling. His face was firm as he marched along.
I thought about the candy sticks that I had buried in my saddle bags for the pair. I'd need to talk to Maybelle and Jasper and see when they thought would be the best time to deliver the treats.
I nodded back at the man driving the last wagon in the train. He was sitting on the seat, holding the reins in his hands. He was older than most and his leg was in a brace. He seemed to be traveling alone. I wondered why he was heading to Oregon.
I fell back into my place and let Slowpoke do his thing. I pulled out my pistol and looked it over, insuring that it was loaded and ready. I needlessly checked my belt knife as well. I hadn't used it and there was nothing to clean but I was a little bored.
The sun had risen to its zenith not long after we had gotten underway. For a few hours, it had beaten down upon our skulls. Now it was falling towards the horizon and making it more difficult to look towards the west.
The sun had just touched the horizon when I saw Mitchell riding back along the line. Far ahead, I could see that we were stopping. I heard him call out instructions to each wagon, telling them to park just close enough to the one in front of them to be able to deal with the animals and get their campfires started and get their camp set up for the night.
I eased up beside the last wagon as the man climbed down.
"You traveling alone?" I asked him. "Do you need any help?"
He smiled and stepped over to offer me his hand.
"Virgil Walker," he said, introducing himself.
Without thinking, I glanced at his leg brace.
He chuckled and said, "A bit ironic, isn't it?"
"Sorry...," I answered.
"Don't be," he said. "I appreciate the offer but I'm doing well enough so far. I might make a claim on you at some point but I hate to do it this early. My wife passed and our children are already in Oregon. I'm heading to meet them to deliver everything that she and I wanted to pass on to them."
I nodded and said, "Just let me know if you need something."
"I appreciate it, young man," he replied.
He turned and headed to deal with his wagon. I moved on - towards Jasper's wagon - visually looking over the wagons between his and theirs. Every family - or group of individuals traveling as a unit - were busy, getting themselves ready for refueling and rest.
