{"id":5884,"date":"2006-11-26T16:54:33","date_gmt":"2006-11-26T22:54:33","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sgtstryker.com\/index.php\/archives\/another-tiny-taste-of-good-stuff\/"},"modified":"2012-10-08T14:27:49","modified_gmt":"2012-10-08T20:27:49","slug":"another-tiny-taste-of-good-stuff","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/archives\/another-tiny-taste-of-good-stuff\/","title":{"rendered":"Another Tiny Taste of Good Stuff"},"content":{"rendered":"

(In gratitude for donations recieved, another sip of the good stuff, to be savored like a fine liqueur is posted: from Chapter 2 of “To Truckee’s Trail”. There was absolutely nothing happening over this last week. Thanksgiving has spread to cover the entire working week. Previous exerpts here<\/a>, and here<\/a>)<\/em><\/p>\n

Chapter 2 \u00e2\u20ac\u201c The Jumping-Off Place<\/strong><\/p>\n

John caught up to his wagon and Montgomery\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s just outside Kanesville \u00e2\u20ac\u201d a muddy and slap-together place of log cabins and flimsy tents, noisy and overwhelmingly noisome with stock pens and pigs rooting for garbage in muddy streets, as full of people as St. Joseph: Army dragoons in blue, Mexicans in black trimmed with constellations of silver buttons, nearly-naked Indians with shaved heads, sober Mormon merchants in linsey-woolsey, and emigrants like themselves with wagons full of worldly goods and children, small faces apprehensively peering out from the shelter of the wagon cover.
\nJohn took note of the stock pens, making a note as to where he should come back in the next day or so. According to Stephens they would have several weeks to rest and restock from the journey up from St. Joseph. It also amused him to overhear that the place should now be called Council Bluffs, as if that would make it any more important, or the streets less muddy.
\nA relief it was, to be through town, following a trampled and rutted track towards a line of low hills topped with a thin grove of trees along the river, dotted here and there with wagon tops and tents blossoming like prairie wildflowers among the thin green treetops. Rain in the morning had washed the sky clean, and the breeze smelt mostly of new grass and damp earth, only a little of wood smoke and privies, and the muddy river.
\nAs their wagons approached the emigrant camp, children ran towards them, calling excitedly, and a tall man in a frock coat waved them down, with a beaming smile.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Good day pilgrims,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he called. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where bound, and where from?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153To California, from St. Joseph, Townsend and Montgomery.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, excellent, excellent! John Thorp, for Oregon.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Thorp walked alongside Ugly Grey, as if some invisible force plastered him there, squinting upwards at John and chattering away.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We have nearly forty wagons assembled, for Oregon and California both. There is a good place at the top of the hill, just under the edge of the trees, next to the Patterson wagon. You can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t miss them; small wagon, with a saffron-colored cover, and many children.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nThorp seemed uncommonly presumptuous, John thought to himself. Really, was he the boss of the camp already, advising all newcomers as to just where they should camp? Just as John decided that, yes, Thorp probably did see himself as such, the man added with studied carelessness, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, and we are agreed to hold elections a week from this Sunday to elect a wagon captain as far as Fort Hall. May we count on your attendance, and your vote?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nWell, that was blunt enough; presumptuous and blunt.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Our attendance for sure,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John shot back easily. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153And for our vote, it depends on what we think of the nominees!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nHe was amused at how early the politicking began, but annoyed at Thorp\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s unsubtle approach, looking to scrape acquaintance and presuming on it; the man set his teeth on edge. He could see all too plain where the camp herd had been pastured for many weeks, by the look of the ground, all chopped by hooves, grazed down to the roots and fouled by manure. It said little for Thorp\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s organizational capabilities. This kind of disorganization was apt to dirty water supplies and contribute much unpleasantness if they were to be camped here much longer.
\nThorp waved his hat, and they moved on up the grade, as Elizabeth laughed down from the wagon-seat, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dearest, it looks like a camp revival meeting. Will there be picnicking among the arbors, and hymn-singing, and people falling down and speaking in tongues?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And tediously long sermonizing? Depend on it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You did not like Mr. Thorp,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth said quietly with a sideways glance.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Liked him little and trusted him rather less. He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the sort who likes to look as if he is in charge, but little favors the responsibility of it or the work itself.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He answered in the same low voice, and then spurred Ugly Grey ahead a little way, looking for the wagon with a saffron-yellow cover, and a great many children.
\nThere, right where Thorp said it would be: top of the hill, edge of the trees, the golden sun around which some smaller tents and awnings orbited, as well as a quantity of laundry and bedding flapping from lines strung between trees. John overtook a grey-beard with a limp, stumping gamely up the hill towards the Patterson camp and leading a pair of mules.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mr. Patterson?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John ventured, and the old man scowled.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s me son-in-law. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m Hitchcock, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s me daughter Isabella you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re looking for. That,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he jerked his bearded chin in that direction, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153is her wagon. Hers and her husband\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s, that is \u00e2\u20ac\u201c but he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s away in Californy, and I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t blame him, scrawny fussbudget that she is. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be there too, if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d married a woman like her. Or China, among all them heathen. Or Hades, which \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcud be her choice.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153John Townsend. Doctor John Townsend. We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re also California bound, ourselves and our neighbors the Montgomerys. Mr. Thorp directed us this way.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Did he, now,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Hitchcock scowled, muttering something un-complimentary about Thorp under his breath.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How many others here are California bound, besides Mrs. Patterson, and yourself?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John thought it best to change the subject off of the ambitious Mr. Thorp.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153A passel of bog-trotting Papists, mostly; Murphys, Martins, and Sullivans all mixed together. Six wagons between them and fixed on California. Good folk, though, for all a\u00e2\u20ac\u2122that. I also hear tell there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s an old fur-trapping man named Greenwood with his two heathen sons, looking to hire on as a wagon guide as far as the Rockies. If he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the one I know of, he married hisself a Crow woman an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 went to live with the tribes years ago. All a\u00e2\u20ac\u2122them Greenwoods can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be mistook, look like real Injuns, they do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nAs John, and the old man approached the brow of the hill and the yellow-topped wagon, a little woman in a faded wash-dress with her sleeves rolled up and a big apron tied over all, looked up from her washtub and cried indignantly, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Pa! What are you doing with those mules? What have you gone and done?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Bought me a brace of \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcem, Izzy, sure and a farmer\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s wife \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcud recognize mules? I figured to invite them into the parlor for tea,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said the old man with gentle malice. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153That or have them carry my traps an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 goods to Californy. I ain\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t quite decided which, yet. Say hello to Doctor Townsend, Izzy, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s goin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 with us to Californy; Doc, my daughter, Mrs. Samuel Patterson.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nIsabella Patterson appeared ready to explode from embarrassment and fury at being caught at her worst in the middle of the washing and what sounded like an ongoing family quarrel, and then being introduced to a total stranger. She swiped an errant lock of dark hair off her damp forehead as John dismounted from his horse, and took her hand in his. She looked to be a tiny, quick-moving dynamo of a woman, with abundant dark hair falling out of pins and a small and oval face, whose regular features were slightly marred by a magnificently beaky nose. She had fine eyes though, and skin like a girl\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Very pleased, Mrs. Patterson,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John ventured, at his most courtly, accustomed in his medical capacity to seeing people at their worst advantage. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I shall tell Mrs. Townsend to call on your . . . camp . . . as soon as possible, since we are soon to be travel companions.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We shall be glad to receive her,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella responded with a quick, manly hand-grasp. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153As you can see, our house is very open, these days. Very open indeed!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Another one like Sarah, John thought, as he touched his hat brim; not pleased about being dragged away from her own hearth, to begin a gypsy existence beside the trail. Allen Montgomery\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s team was toiling up the gentle slope towards where they stood, with Francis and his own following close behind.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Until later, Ma\u00e2\u20ac\u2122am . . . Sir.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d As John led Ugly Grey towards the open place where they could set up their own camp, he could hear the two of them starting up where they had left off. Between Isabella Patterson and her father, and Allen and Sarah, he reflected wryly, there was no necessity of waiting until the Fourth of July for fireworks.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Here we are, for the moment, at least,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he said, Ugly Grey\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s reins looped over his arm, as he helped Elizabeth down from the wagon seat. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mr. Stephens at the smithy seemed to think we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be camping here for about three weeks.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It shall be very restful, I am sure.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth looked doubtfully towards the lively Patterson camp. It seemed there were a lot of children, romping happily and noisily amongst the clutter of tents, gear and supplies.
\nThen she squared her shoulders and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I shall have to call, I suppose, as soon as our camp is set up.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153So you should \u00e2\u20ac\u201c as others will be calling on us,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John answered, though he did not think that would be happening as soon as it did, a few minutes later as he was unsaddling Ugly Grey. He turned around to find two pair of eyes, watching him with intense and fearless interest; a bold urchin of about seven years, with a girl toddler dragging at his hand. The little one was sucking her thumb. They had dark hair, and something of the look of Isabella Patterson, and John said gravely, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Good morning, children. I am Doctor Townsend. Might I beg for an introduction?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d The little girls\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 eyes rounded in astonishment over the thumb stopping her mouth, but the boy launched into full spate.
\n \u00e2\u20ac\u0153H\u00e2\u20ac\u2122lo, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m Edward Sidney Patterson, but everyone calls me Eddie, and this is my baby sister Sadie, her real name\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Sarabeth Margaret, but it don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t matter \u00e2\u20ac\u02dccause she can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t talk yet an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Paw-Paw Isaac says you are a real doctor an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re going to Californy jus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 like us an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Ma, an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 our Pa went out there two year agone . . . is that your horse? Pa wrote an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 tol\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 us that he was settled . . . kin I help you groom him? I like horses, we used t\u00e2\u20ac\u2122have horses on our farm in Ohio, but Paw-Paw Isaac tol\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Ma she should sell them an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 buy mules instead, but Ma, she said mules cost too much an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Eddie,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John asked, vastly amused. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Do you ever stop talking?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Nossir.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Eddie shook his head decisively. He reached over and pulled his sister\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s thumb out of her mouth with an almost audible pop. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t suck your thumb, Sadie, Ma will give you a licking. Does your horse have a name? Ma let us name all of our teams, there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Baldy an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Socks an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Spotty. An\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 \u00e2\u20ac\u201c\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Here, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153John handed him the curry-comb, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll let you name my horse, if you give him a good combing. And keep talking, that way he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll know where you are, and not step on you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nLittle Eddie beamed, and set to work with energy and the greatest good will in the world, even if he barely came up to Ugly Grey\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s nose, while his baby sister sat in the grass and watched, thumb creeping back to her mouth again.
\nJohn walked away, hefting his saddle, remarking to Allen, who was unhitching his teams with a great rattle of chains, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153On my oath, the boy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s tongue must be hinged in the middle, since it flaps so, at both ends.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Bold little squirt,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Allen said, with a chuckle. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Good thing he does talk so much, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be coming close to stepping on him myself, otherwise.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\tFrancis and Allen had drawn up the wagons at an angle, so they could share a campfire. Moses was setting up the tent, to complete a third side of a square around it.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We have guests already,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he murmured to Elizabeth, as she handed a box of camp cookware down to Sarah. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Master Edward and Miss Sarabeth Patterson.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth followed the direction of his look, and laughed, softly.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Very forward, aren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t they? I will take them back to their mother presently . . . it will serve as a good pretext.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

From E.S. Patterson Interview, University of California Local History Archival Project 1932: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We were camping at the Bluffs, waiting for the grass to grow for about two weeks, when Doctor Townsend\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s family, and Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery joined up with the emigrant camp. The Doctor was a big man, with a gentlemanly way about him. I was just a boy, but I could see he was used to being in authority. Men liked him immediately, but so did women; he could make Ma laugh. I think a lot of folk thought at first he should be elected wagon master. He and Mrs. Townsend, they brought Sadie and me back to our camp that first day . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Mrs. Patterson had finished the laundry by the time John and Elizabeth walked across to the Patterson camp. Sarah was putting the finishing touches on their open-air kitchen, and Allen, Moses, and Francis were driving their cattle down to join the main camp herd. Eddie chattered nineteen to the dozen, still dragging Sadie by the hand until Elizabeth leaned down laughing and swung her capably unto her hip.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re walking too fast for her, Eddie. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s too little to keep up.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s grown too fast for me to carry like that,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Eddie retorted. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I could carry her when she was littler . . . Ma! Ma!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he called, and scampered ahead of them, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ma, Sadie and I brung Doctor Townsend, an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Miz Townsend, too!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Hello the camp!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John called, as they stepped around the corner of the Patterson\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s tent. He looked sideways at Elizabeth and murmured, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What sort of etiquette is required, do you think, when there is no door to knock on to declare ones\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 self?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Eddie my duckling,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella scolded. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where have you been and where did you take the baby off to?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She was sitting down, sorting an apron full of dandelion greens in her lap. A girl of about ten, with the same soft dark hair, helped her. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, heavens above, Nancy, you finish these.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She started up from the wagon bench where she sat, as John gravely presented Elizabeth to her, and Elizabeth said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, no, please don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t rise. You look terribly busy, Mrs. Patterson. Would you permit me to help you with them? And if you could tell me where you found them, we have so felt the need of something green with our meals.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nElizabeth set Sadie on her feet, as Isabella smiled warmly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, that would be neighborly. We did have to walk a good distance for them, since the closer fields have been so fouled!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nJohn looked hastily around and drew up a three-legged camp stool for his wife to settle on, and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153If both you ladies would pardon me, young Eddie has promised to be my guide and introduce me to some of our future companions on the trail.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Go along then, you scamp,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella addressed her son, and John bowed over her hand. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Doctor, it was a pleasure. I hope you will not be strangers.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Small chance, with young Eddie around,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John answered wryly and kissed Elizabeth\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cheek. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We shall return in a while, Dearest, after calling upon Eddie\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s particular friends, the Murphy brothers.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Sadie was already leaning confidingly against Elizabeth.
\nTo John\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s amusement, Eddie copied his fond gesture, kissing his little sister in the same manner, and then he said confidently to John, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153My bestes\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 friends after Sadie are the Murphy boys . . . their Paw-Paw tells them stories, and their Uncle Jamie makes them toys. They have six wagons an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 they say they are bound for Californy. I cain\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think of a name for your horse, but he sure is . . . is . . . a splendid one . . . an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nEddie\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice trailed away as he and John went down the hillside, and Isabella Patterson looked at Elizabeth and laughed.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Warn your son that the two prettiest girls in the camp have a great many large brothers, and enough close kin to ensure that they are treated with due care and consideration. My Oliver can hardly look on Helen Murphy or Mary Sullivan without blushing as red as a girl himself, and his voice going all to squeaks.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153My son . . . oh, you mean Moses,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth said, as she took Sadie onto her lap. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153He is rather my little brother. My husband and I have raised him as our son, since my parents died of the fever.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I am so sorry, then,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella looked up from her lapful of greens, with a shrewd and sympathetic eye. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153He looks so like you, Mrs. Townsend. Have you and the Doctor not any children between yourselves?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nSadie curled up, a dear little weight in Elizabeth\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s lap, sucking her thumb contentedly again, and Elizabeth replied, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Moses would never be ungAllent to a young lady . . . my husband has had the teaching of him since he was six years old. We have no children of our own: my husband worries for my health, you see, and he is very considerate. I have not been well . . . for some time, and there has been so much sickness up and down the river of late. It is the reason we are bound for California.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153My man was after a better farm,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella snorted. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Any excuse will do, I think, when a man gets bored and unsettled. I should know, Pa Hitchcock never stayed in one place for a year in his life, but at least he had the decency not to drag my mother and me all over creation with him.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella was setting aside the tender green inner leaves into a dish at her side, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, just you go on holding Sadie, Mrs. Townsend. Nancy and I will have these finished in two shakes. Your husband at least came up with an excuse you couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t argue with.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, but I wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t argue with him,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153About going west? I would rather endure hardship at his side than suffer his prolonged absence, as you have done. You must have endured so much alone, Mrs. Patterson.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It has been difficult, these last two years since Mr. Patterson went with the traders,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella said, and Elizabeth noted with alarm that her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but that she seemed to will them not to fall. She tossed a handful of tender greens into the bowl with a little more vigor than strictly necessary. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But my boys are a help, even if they are not yet men. Oliver is seventeen, Samuel two years younger. Johnny, now, he is fourteen, but as he is near tall as Samuel, everyone thinks they are of an age.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You also have the assistance of your father,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth ventured, and Isabella snorted.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I should, seeing that it is the fault of that old vagabond! He filled my Samuel\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s head with talk of California. A paradise on earth, he said it was, until nothing would content him but that he had to see it for himself. It was the very least that Pa could do, to see me and the children safely there, but he vexes me no end, always undermining my authority with the boys, and filling the children\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s heads with wild stories!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I like Paw-Paw\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s stories,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d spoke up Nancy, bravely, and Isabella fluffed up like an indignant bantam hen.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153See what I mean? Mrs. Townsend and I were speaking, Nancy . . . remember, children should be seen and not heard!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153None the less, I do envy you, Mrs. Patterson . . . oh, for heaven\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sake, just call me Elizabeth. You still have a father living, for which I envy you. Our dear parents died some ten years ago, when my husband still had a practice in Stark County and we were new-married.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And what would your father and mother have advised you, then?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella asked, still indignant. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Would they have abetted your husband in some reckless scheme, against your own wishes?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth replied, consideringly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I cannot imagine Papa Schallenberger talking my dear husband out of anything he had set his heart on doing: he was born in Pennsylvania, and has been moving west by degrees ever since. I imagine, though, that Papa would have advised me that my place was ever at my husband\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s side. \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcEntreat me not to leave you or to return from following after you. Wherever you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge, your people will be my people\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153So I was also told,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella said, laughing shortly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But I did not know then of the places I would be expected to go, or that I should have to find my way to them alone!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153But you are not entirely alone! \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Elizabeth took Isabella\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hands, empty at the moment of dandelion greens, in her own. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We shall be in a good company, with many stout companions, and many good friends as well; of that I am sure, for my dearest darling will make it so and I trust him completely.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Your good fortune, my dear Mrs. Townsend.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Isabella laughed heartily. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I do not have the luxury of such utter dependence . . . and indeed, I think it may be one such that we may set aside, once we are on the trail.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Whatever do you mean?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Elizabeth was baffled, and Isabella laughed again, sounding a little more kindly.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Only that we are leaving all behind, my dear, and it might be well to be able to stand on our own feet in regards to our own preferences . . . just a fancy of mine,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she added. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Think nothing of it, Mrs. Townsend \u00e2\u20ac\u201c Elizabeth. Sadie has fallen asleep . . . let me take her from you, and put her to rest in the wagon.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

From Dr. Townsend\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s diary: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Arriving at the bluff encampment, we made haste to search out those others of a like mind to venture towards California. The largest part of these are relations, friends and connections of Martin Murphy, late of Irish Grove, in Holt County . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n

When Eddie had led him into Murphy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s camp; six wagons loosely circled together under a large poplar tree, the elder Mr. Murphy had been sitting in a comfortable wooden chair with a child on each knee and half a dozen more, boys and girls together at his feet, telling them a story. Another man, of about the same age sat close by, whittling and listening to his yarn. Two younger men worked together in a circle of wood-chips and tools, mending a wheel, while a pretty, black-haired woman kneaded a great trough of bread dough. Another man, with hair the same jet-black, was scraping down a new ox-bow with a slip of broken glass.
\nBut when Eddie shrilled, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mister Murphy, Mister Murphy, I brung you another for California, he and his\u00e2\u20ac\u2122n are camping at the top of the hill next to us, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a doctor for real, an\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 he has a grey horse!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the older man quickly scooted the small children off his knees, saying, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153\u00e2\u20ac\u2122Tis enough for now, my dears, go and play . . . you too, Eddie. I need to speak with this gentleman, now.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John thought, as the children romped out towards the meadow beside the camping place, \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcand I thought there were children everywhere at the Pattersons.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122
\n \u00e2\u20ac\u0153John Townsend. Eddie tells me that you are also bound for California,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John said to the senior Mr. Martin; an older man, not as old as Hitchcock, with a soft Irish brogue barely abraded by long absence from his native soil, and shrewd brown eyes, very alive in his blunt-featured countenance.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m Martin Murphy,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he held out his hand towards John, who while attempting to seem as if he wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t, was nonetheless sizing up their outfit and general fitness for the long journey. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153And this is my old and good friend, Patrick Martin, who came away from Wexford in the same year although we did not know each other then.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nPatrick Murphy, much the same age as Martin Murphy, appeared to be a lively and muscular spark, with bright blue eyes and a nose that looked as if it had been broken several times.
\nHe shook John\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hand with a strong grip. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Aye, says the lad, a doctor is it? Sure and we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re honored, that we are . . . at least no plagued Englishman says I to meself, seeing you come down from the hill.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He had a wicked glint in his eye, and John guessed rightly that his nose had not been broken by accident.
\nHe returned the grip and said calmly, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153My parents were English. Quakers from Norton and the family was well known locally, but they removed to Pennsylvania before I was born.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Capital, capital!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Patrick with a grin. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153So, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve risen in the world then, is it?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Patrick, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be after teasing the wrong man,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Martin chided his friend and continued, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Was it true, what young Edward was saying, you indeed are a doctor? Well, that is a blessing to have in any company. Is it true also that you are joining us? Another blessing to be sure, and are there others with you?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153My friend and neighbor from St. Joseph, my wife, and her brother,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John answered. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153My friend has been ever set on California, and so has my wife\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s brother. I was convinced this last winter that it would be best for my wife\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s health if we removed also.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nOld Martin looked grieved, and said, brokenly, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153So, I wish we had gone sooner, and my own dear wife might have been spared. Aye, she and my boy Martin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s little girl. Such an angel she was . . . no consolation that she is now in the care of like. She should have been growing up fair and happy, playing in the fields like the little lamb that she was. We could no longer stay in such a pestilential and godless place, so we came away, all of us and our neighbors \u00e2\u20ac\u201c young John Sullivan and what the sickness left to him of his family, Patrick Martin, his two lads, and his daughter Annie that married my own boy James, leaving my dear Mary Ellen and the babe behind. \u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nMurphy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice cracked a little, and John said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I am so sorry. So many were lost untimely in the last year or so, to the fevers \u00e2\u20ac\u201c no matter what we could do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Aye,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Martin Murphy recovered his voice. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153And they are with Him and his angels now, no doubt on that. She was a fine, goodly woman, and blessed me with nine splendid children, four having children of their own. It is in me mind, though, that I should have listened to Father Hoecken earlier than I did. But still, to have a doctor in our party is a great relief.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He turned and called to the two younger men, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153James . . . Martin, come and meet Doctor Townsend, who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s with us for California. This is James Miller, who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s married my daughter Mary and me oldest son, Martin. His wife is named Mary, also, but we call her Mary-Bee, to reduce the confusion, ye know . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he looked around the campsite, and remarked, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Well, they were here a minute ago.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153They walked down to the spring for water,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said the younger Martin. He was a youthful version of his father, a grave and steady-looking man with the same level gaze.
\nOld Martin added, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ye\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll know Martin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s boys when you see them, all four of them always together, and perfect imps they are, then. Dennis, come and meet the Doctor.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d The man who was scraping the oxbow set it all carefully down, and Old Martin continued, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Aye, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll always know Patrick\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sons by the black-Irish look of them.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dennis Martin.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He dusted his hands hastily on his trousers, and shook hands. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Has Pa threatened to knock you down for being an Englishman yet? He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll get around to it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Dennis looked to be a little older than Moses, but with his father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s black hair and startlingly blue eyes, but after Patrick\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s vivid self, a paler and less colorful copy. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153M\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 brother Patrick and John Sullivan have gone into Kanesville to buy another yoke of oxen. They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be sorry to miss you this day, but I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll guess we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll have time to make it up on the trail.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153My other boys went with them,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Old Martin explained. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Jamie, that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s married to Patrick\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s daughter Annie, Daniel, Bernard, and Johnny. We\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve the six wagons between us, and fifteen men; a small party, to think of going all the way alone. Do ye know of any more, who might join our company for California?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Just one,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John answered. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153A blacksmith named Stephens, camped by himself a little way down the St. Joe road.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nOld Martin and his son looked at each other, and the old man said admiringly, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Och, that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be another fine man to have on the journey with us . . . a blacksmith, is it? What sort of man might he be, if you don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t mind the impertinence of me asking?
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153A very good one, I judge,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John replied, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But modest, even reticent in conversing about himself. But he says he had been out on the Santa Fe trails, and it contents me well to know that someone with experience such as that will join with us.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153\u00e2\u20ac\u2122Tis good to know, then.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Old Patrick looked both relieved and calculating. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mr. Thorp, he is a foine man, for talk and all . . . but he is for Oregon, sure enough and none o\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 the others so bound seem inclined to go against him. Meself, I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think he cares for us paddies . . .\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not that we care for him much.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d his son added. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153But the Oregoners will have him for captain, for a\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 we can say about it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Wait and see,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John said tranquilly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Wait and see. In St. Joe, the men I know in the Santa Fe trade say that thirty to forty men in a company is best. Stephens told me he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think the grass would be grown tall enough for us for another three weeks. There\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a little time left for others to join us, in the meantime.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n

Nothing so quite reassured him as the sight of the way-side blacksmith driving his team up the hill a few days later as they were finishing their noonday meal under a canvas awning stretched between handy tree branches and their wagons. Moses and Allen were exuberantly planning a grand buffalo-hunting expedition once they were out on the trail, while John listened to them and smiled quietly over his book of Chesterfield\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s letters, and Elizabeth mended one of Moses\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 shirts. Sarah was finishing the washing-up.
\n As she emptied out the wash pan over the side of the bluff, she straightened and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Doctor John, there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s another wagon coming up from town. It looks like that blacksmith man.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why so it is.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John put his book away. Stephens was quite alone, no drover and no spare stock, just the three yoke and golden-eyed Dog trailing after. At the top of the hill, John greeted him. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Stephens, you are a welcome sight. I was about to go into Kanesville and buy another horse.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That so?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Stephens half-smiled, clean of forge-soot, but trail-dusty. The rains had finally let up, and the roads had begun to dry out. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Am I doing you another favor, Doc?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I appreciate your eye . . . you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve vastly more trail experience than I have. Or most of the others, I have discovered, since we parted.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nJohn introduced him to Allen and the Pattersons, and arranged to borrow Allen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s saddle horse for the afternoon, Dog being bidden to stay behind and guard Stephens\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 wagon, while the two of them rode to Kanesville.
\n John pointed out the Murphy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s rambling camp as they passed by it. The children were playing out in the meadow nearby; soldiers and Indians, it looked like, from the willow-branch bows and arrows, and the chicken-feathers. It also appeared that Sadie and Nancy Patterson had been unenthusiastically pressed into serving as Indians.
\nThere was Eddie, and John recognized young Martins\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 sons, as alike as peas in a pod, just as their grandfather said: they had their mothers\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 auburn-tinged hair, and their grandfather\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s lively brown eyes, perfect stair-steps when they stood in a line. Their voices chimed together, and they often finished each others\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 sentences, presenting a united front to the world, the picture of injured innocence when accused of some small childish crime.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll introduce you to them, tonight. Young Martin is the best hand with oxen that I have seen so far, very careful he is with his beasts. He doctors them himself, only asks my advice for courtesy. They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re all good folk. They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve six wagons among them all and at least fifteen men if you count the hired teamsters and the boys who are almost grown . . . but not a one of them ever been west of the Mississippi. It was enough of an eye-opener for Montgomery and me, just bringing our wagons from St. Joseph. I know what my own limitations are.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nStephens just looked at him, shrewdly, with those water-pale eyes. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You working on a plan, doc?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re holding an election for wagon-master, on Sunday . . . to elect a leader for all of us as far as to Fort Hall, and a secretary and god knows what. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m going to nominate you. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d be a better captain than that blowhard Thorp who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s been angling for it since we got here. I think he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a fool and couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t pilot a thirsty horse to water. They\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d give me the captaincy, if I wanted it, just because I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m a doctor and wear a fine coat. But I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He looked honestly at Stephens. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I know my own skills. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m good at doctoring, at least I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t kill any more of my patients than most doctors do. But I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to be responsible for leading all these fine folk into the desert on the strength of my fine coat and polished boots.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153But you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re going anyway.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d prefer to do so following you,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John answered.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why me, in parti\u00e2\u20ac\u2122clar?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Because I think you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d know what you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re doing, out there . . . and you don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want the captaincy. And that means you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re the best man to have it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I ain\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t a political man, Doc. I ain\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t real good with folk.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153But I am,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John replied. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Leave that part of it to me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

In the mud and squalor of Kanesville\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s pens and corrals, John followed Stephen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s lead regarding sizing up stock. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t think you want more\u00e2\u20ac\u2122n one extra team,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the blacksmith advised. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Take care of the ones you start with.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d They disputed pleasantly over that, and the eternal question of mule versus oxen for teams.
\n \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mules move faster,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John argued.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153But the Injuns \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcull steal \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcem, and leave oxen alone, mostly. \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcSides, you can always eat oxen, if it comes to that.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You can eat mule.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John pointed out.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t taste so good. Hardly any flesh on \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcem.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nThey leaned their elbows on the top rail of a corral full of horses; mostly browns and bays, paints and pintos, still shaggy from winter, snorting and jostling each other.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not much to choose from,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John said, discouraged. This lot looked too wild and unbroken. There was a pretty dapple-grey, very spirited though; he quailed at the thought of his Elizabeth riding such an unschooled mount.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That one,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Stephens said, quietly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The buckskin colored gelding, dark mane and tail \u00e2\u20ac\u201c yonder far corner.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d It was about a hand shorter than the others, a neat-featured and spry little beast, like an Indian pony.
\nSomeone came up to the corral rail, on John\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s other side, and John turned and thought in amazement at first they were Indians, silent and smelling of tobacco smoke, all three with long hair.
\nThe oldest of them was a straight-backed and powerfully-built old man, even older than Hitchcock, for his hair had gone entirely snow white, clubbed at the back of his neck in the old-fashioned manner of the last century. He had blue eyes, clouded with cataracts. The other two, boys about Moses and Oliver\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s age, had high cheekbones and Indian coloring, and wore their hair in long plaits ornamented with beads and feathers in the Indian custom. All three of them were dressed in fringed leather leggings and moccasins, and tunics of hide, and trimmed alike with leather fringe and beadwork.
\nJohn said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mr. Greenwood?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d at the same time as Stephens said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Caleb.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d The old man merely nodded; seemingly he and Stephens were old acquaintances.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153\u00e2\u20ac\u2122Lisha. Your friend?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Doc Townsend. Going t\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 California.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Caleb Greenwood.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d The old mountain-man shook his hand with courteous firmness, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153My sons, Brittan and Johnny. You are seeking a good horse?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153For my wife,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d John said.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Any you favor?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mr. Stephens advises the little buckskin. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d still like to see him ridden, though. They all appear quite wild.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Britt?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said the old man softly, with a gesture. One of the Indian boys vaulted the fence, and nonchalantly threaded his way between the fractious horses. He approached the little buckskin, and grabbed him by the nose, appearing to whisper or blow into the startled animals\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 nostrils. For a moment, the two heads were close together, and then Britt seized a handful of mane, and leaped from the ground, straight onto the buckskin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s back.
\nFor a moment, the little horse stood stock still, and then Britt nudged his ribs with moccasined heels, and leaned close against his neck and urged him into a walk, then a trot, back to a canter and then a walk again, up to the corral fence where Britt slid down, laughing, with a flash of white teeth in his dark-tanned face.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I b\u00e2\u20ac\u2122lieve you have yourself a horse for your lady wife, \u00e2\u20ac\u009d remarked the old frontiersman. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Tell her she must treat it as a pet at first and feed it apples and carrots and treats from her own hand. This one has a good heart and a sweet nature, and will carry her faithfully wherever she goes.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d And as if embarrassed by so many words, he nodded courteously and strode away, trailed by his two Indian sons.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153We must hire him as the trail-guide,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d said Stephens quietly, which John believed ever afterwards to be Stephens\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 very first command as captain \u00e2\u20ac\u201c even though he were not yet elected to that office.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Angeline Morrison Letter #2
\n15th of May 1844
\nWrit from the emigrant camp
\nAt Council Bluffs, Iowa Territory<\/p>\n

My dearest Angeline:
\nReceiv\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d your kindest answer before we departed from St. Joseph; a thousand thanks for your honest recitations of events. I will feel so distant from those happy scenes, be assured that I shall cherish your letter, and read it often, especially when we have departed these shores.
\nWe leave in a few days, with great anticipation and enthusiasm, since the grass has now grown tall enough to feed our stock. The rains have \u00e2\u20ac\u0153let up\u00e2\u20ac\u009d as our trail guide Mr. Greenwood says. Such a picturesque sight as he presents, as you would think he walked out of the pages of a Leatherstocking tale! He and sons are contracted to guide us as far as Fort Hall.
\nMy Dearest has bought me a riding horse, for my use when travel in the wagon becomes too uncomfortable and walking beside it too exhausting; he remains busy these last few days before we take to the trail, with business relating to our party, and I am relieved that he is so engaged again with these public matters. Everything promises to be so new, so different, as we leave all common cares behind, but what awaits us?
\nI shall write to you from Fort Laramie, my dearest friend, with an account of our adventures upon this venture. Until then adieu, from
\nYour loving friend<\/p>\n

Elizabeth<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

(In gratitude for donations recieved, another sip of the good stuff, to be savored like a fine liqueur is posted: from Chapter 2 of “To Truckee’s Trail”. There was absolutely nothing happening over this last week. Thanksgiving has spread to cover the entire working week. Previous exerpts here, and here) Chapter 2 \u00e2\u20ac\u201c The Jumping-Off […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":14,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,30,75,74],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5884","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general","category-history","category-literary-good-stuff","category-old-west"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5884","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/14"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5884"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5884\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7847,"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5884\/revisions\/7847"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5884"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5884"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ncobrief.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5884"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}