Gold Rush!

by Jesse Wiley

  When you reach Fort Hall, you’re all so weary and don’t want to turn back to catch up with the rest of your wagon train. Mr. Southworth goes on without you, but for now, you and your family will stay in Fort to rest and find work. You decide to try for the California Trail next year.

   THE END

  Return to page 73

  The land is already in the middle of a drought. Going through more desert won’t help your situation much.

  Then it clicks. You remember where you’ve heard the name Lansford Hastings before. “Mama, I don’t think the Hastings Cutoff is a cutoff at all.”

  Her eyebrows arch. “How do you mean?”

  “I read about it in a guidebook before we left. Hastings thought he was taking a shortcut, but it turned out to be twice as long a route as the California Trail. People died. I don’t think taking the Hastings Cutoff is a good idea, Mama.”

  Mama’s eyes widen. “You’re right. I heard something about that too. They got stranded in the mountains. Some cutoff that is!”

  Papa agrees too. When you relay the news to your wagon train, you see uneasiness cast over many faces.

  “Agree. Not a good idea.” Fergus scratches his red beard. “We oughta go with the Kellers’ advice, eh, Cap’n?”

  “There has been a drought so far. Perhaps going through a longer desert road isn’t the wisest decision this year.” John Beauregard puts his hand on his chin. “We’ll continue on to Fort Hall and take the California Trail from there.”

  The majority of people in the wagon train are relieved to avoid more miles of desert. From Fort Hall, your family can decide if you want to go with the wagon train to California—or go northwest to Oregon City.

  You start off for Fort Hall in the morning. Over the next two weeks, you make your way through mountainous terrain. You stop at Fort Bridger, a trading post, where you stock up on flour and sugar. You continue northwest and pass through valleys surrounded by low brown-hued mountains. Then you stop for a day in Soda Springs, an area of naturally bubbling waters.

  “Caused by ancient volcanic activity.” Harry looks up briefly from a book on anatomy. “Some use it as a cure-all.” He nods to where everyone in your wagon train is relaxing in the bubbling waters. “But I wouldn’t drink it if I were you. Even if it is naturally carbonated.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” Your tongue is dry and sticks to the roof of your mouth.

  You finally reach Fort Hall, check your wagon for any needed repairs, and rest. You see pioneers, U.S. soldiers, and people from the Shoshone and Bannock Nations come in and out of the trading post. You and your parents run into Mr. Southworth in the fort’s general store.

  “I’m glad we’re meeting here.” Mr. Southworth shakes Papa’s hand. “Thought I might miss getting a chance to say farewell in case we part ways.”

  “You’re not going to California with the rest of the wagon train?” You stick your hands into your back pockets.

  Mr. Southworth shakes his head. “No, afraid not. I’ve got to get to my mother in Oregon. But if you end up out that way, maybe I’ll come down to visit, once I earn enough for the freedom of my mother and I.”

  “If we do go to Sacramento, we’d love to have to you both come visit.” Papa smiles.

  Your mouth already feels dry. “Can we go to Oregon, Papa? Isn’t there gold mining there too?”

  “Yes.” Mama nods. “But we have family near Sacramento.”

  “It’s good to be near family,” Mr. Southworth says. “Fare thee well, dear friends. It’s been a pleasure traveling with you.” He picks up his goods from the counter, waves, and heads back to his wagon. You’ll miss Mr. Southworth and wish you were going with him.

  “What about the drought?” You turn to your parents. “Shouldn’t we avoid the desert?”

  “It’s not something I’ve been looking forward to, I’ll admit.” Papa looks at Mama. “What do you think?”

  Mama clasps her hands together. “I’d wanted to be closer to family, but . . . it wouldn’t make any sense if we can’t even get to them. But we knew this journey would be a risk either way, Ben. Oregon has its own dangers: snowstorms, avalanches, steep gorges. If we end up in Oregon, it’ll be difficult for us to travel down to California later, and I think you know that.”

  “I know. Which is why I’m leaving the decision up to you.” He hugs Mama. “This is about your family. If you want to go to California, we’ll go. If not, I’m sure we’ll make our way in Oregon too. There’s gold mining there, and plenty of carpentry opportunities.”

  Conflict rages in Mama’s eyes. She takes your hand. “What do you think we should do?”

  What Trail should you choose?

  To take the California Trail, turn to page 139

  To take the Oregon Trail, turn to page 95

  Return to page 88

  Your stomach is unsettled, but the sharp pangs of hunger overtake your nausea. Some bread or johnnycakes might help. You throw johnnycakes onto the griddle beside thick slabs of bacon. Mr. Southworth and Papa are roasting a deer over the spit. You feel overwhelmed by the scents. You drink some coffee, but the bitterness makes you gag.

  Still, when supper is ready, you wolf down the food. By the time you take a bite of venison, any appetite you had is now gone. Your stomach gurgles, but not from hunger.

  “You all right?” Mr. Southworth frowns. “You look a little green around the gills, there.”

  “I’m fine.” You hold on to your stomach.

  “Just hungry? Here.” Mr. Southworth takes a piece of cornbread and puts it on your plate. You can hardly bear to look at it.

  “Thank you.” You don’t want to be rude and leave it sitting on your plate, but you can’t imagine taking another bite of anything.

  You crawl into your tent, shivering and dizzy. You’re up for the rest of the night. Chills turn into full-body shakes; you can’t get warm no matter how hard you try. Dysentery ends your trek on the Trail.

   THE END

  Return to page 133

  You continue along on the Carson Route. After all, you’ve only just met this man Jim Beckwourth—and you don’t want to have to cross more desert without a constant water source.

  “Thank you, Mr. Beckwourth.” Papa nods. “But after everything we’ve been through, we want to make sure we stay on the route we’ve planned.”

  Jim Beckwourth tips his hat. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but you folks take care. It’s still a long and rough road to Sacramento.”

  You hope you’ve made the right decision.

  You move southwest along the Carson River through the Carson Valley, cross over sandy terrain, and pass over rocky bluffs and ridges. You move away from the river to avoid traveling on a very narrow cliff. About a mile away, your wagon train passes a strange alkaline bed as clear as glass.

  “That’s not something you see every day.” Mama squints. “It may look interesting, but don’t drink it. It will make you sick.”

  You’re relieved when you finally see the Carson River again, but the ground is still barren and dusty. Will you ever see green again? After miles of desert landscape, you see low-rising snow-capped mountains in the distance. As you travel, the brush becomes thick dry grass underneath your feet.

  Eagle Station is the last stop before you cross into the Sierra Nevada. It’s a trading post with travelers from Mexico, traders from the local Washoe Nation, and pioneers alike. You and the McAllister children make fast friends with several Washoe children whose parents are trading with pioneers. One of the pioneer families even has two giant Newfoundland dogs, both of whom bark and run around with an excited Tippet. You almost don’t want to leave.

  Mama talks to a Washoe family and learns that the gold fever in Sacramento has already hit its peak; the land is overflowing with hopeful gold-seekers. Exhausted and not wanting to risk crossing the mountains, your family decides to set up a small business there in Eagle Station. You fix passing pioneers’ wagons and mine for gold in the Sierra nearby when
you can. It’s not Sacramento, but it’s good enough.

   THE END

  Return to page 47

  Apologies won’t make things right. Even if you try to repay them for the damage, your family will be broke for the remainder of the trip and resentment will linger in the wagon train. The only way is to continue on your own without the support of a large wagon train.

  “I’m sorry it’s come to this.” John wipes dust off of his brow. “But I appreciate your willingness to do what’s right. You caused a lot of damage to a lot of property, and folks might not forgive you for a long time. Best leave to avoid any hard feelings from here on out.”

  Your parents nod sadly. Guilt overwhelms you.

  Later that day, you watch the rest of the wagon train roll off into the prairielands without you. Your parents won’t even look at you, much less talk to you for the rest of the night. A heavy silence looms over the campfire.

  * * *

  Your family continues on through the prairie the next morning. It’s eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm. A prairie dog scurries away from your wagon and ducks down into a hole.

  Then you see it: a great billowing cloud coming right at you.

  “Dust storm!” Papa waves wildly. “Everyone in the wagon!”

  You all get inside the wagon and draw the canvas down. Papa stays outside to keep driving the frightened oxen. The storm lingers for several hours. Boulders crash in the distance. When the sand and dust finally settle, you have no idea where you are. Should you keep going to find Fort Laramie, or turn back to Independence to find a new wagon train?

  To turn back, turn to page 105

  To keep going, turn to page 107

  Return to page 21

  Losing sight of the river isn’t the wisest choice, what with the drought.

  “What if we wait a day and cross the river?” You kick a rock away. “We’ve got a water supply. If the river settles down, it’ll be easier to cross, and we won’t have to go around it.”

  People like this idea. Even John Beauregard agrees with you. Mama and Papa smile down at you, proud.

  “Maybe you should be the wagon train captain,” Fiona pokes you.

  You grin back.

  Using buckets of tar, you and Papa caulk the wagon, filling the cracks between wood beams to make the vessel waterproof. While your family rides in the wagon, you use Spot to herd the livestock through the river canyon.

  The river is narrow. Your wagon train starts off through Carlin Canyon, crossing the river slowly to get to a patch of land on the other side. You have to dig your heels into Spot’s sides to get him to go into the water, but with a few soothing words, he trots right through.

  Your wagon train fords the river with no injuries and only a few valuables lost in the water. You continue along the Humboldt River, where the countryside grows drier and sandier by the hour. Dry winds sweep up and cause your lips to crack. You stop at a sulfur spring and pull out a map. You move your finger to where you are. The Forty-Mile Desert. This is where you part ways with the Humboldt River.

  Your wagon train gathers as much water as they can carry and starts off across the endless sandy desert. Finally it becomes so unbearably hot and dry that your mother suggests you travel by night rather than day to avoid your animals becoming overheated. John agrees, and you couldn’t be more relieved.

  * * *

  Day after day, your water rations grow smaller and smaller. You think this stretch of desert will never end.

  One morning you see a man on a horse coming toward your wagon train. You hear a warning bugle sound, and the guards hurry to surround the wagon corral. The man on the horse waves his hat, calling out a friendly-sounding “Hello there!”

  You go out with Papa and the others to greet him.

  The man tilts the brim of his hat. He’s got a friendly smile and wears the trappings of a trail guide or possible fur trader. “Morning, folks. I’m Jim Beckwourth. I assume you are heading to Sacramento?”

  “We are.” John Beauregard steps out of the crowd stiffly. “Are you a trail guide? If so, I’m afraid we don’t need your services, but thank you.”

  Mr. Beckwourth smiles. “When you hear what I’ve got to say, you might think differently, mister. See, I know the route you’re planning on taking, and I’m going to let you in on a little secret: There’s a better and easier way than the Carson Route.”

  “Is that so?” John shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

  Mr. Beckwourth nods. “That’s right. It’s an old path that takes you on a gentler, lower incline route off the Truckee Route. You won’t ruin your nice wagon wheels on the nasty Sierra Nevada going my way.”

  “And where does this ‘alternative route’ take us?”

  “Gets you to Marysville, but it’s a quick jaunt down to Sacramento from there.” Mr. Beckwourth smiles. “Plus, there’s a nasty gang of bandits going after unsuspecting pioneers all along the Trail, looking for gold nuggets and such. I’ve heard they’re headed this way.”

  Your ears perk up. “The River Rush Gang?”

  Beckwourth nods. “Afraid so, kid. They’ve been hunting for people carrying gold all the way from Sacramento to Independence, Missouri. Wouldn’t want to get caught in their crosshairs.”

  People in the wagon murmur among themselves.

  Papa raises his hand. “Maybe we should talk this over, John. I have to be honest: I like the sound of this cutoff. If what he’s saying is true, then going at a lower incline could save our wagons a lot of damage. We know this upcoming stretch of terrain isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Maybe so, but what if it’s another Hastings Cutoff?” John looks at the crowd. “We can’t risk it.”

  “You were willing to risk it for the Hastings Cutoff.” Mama steps in.

  John is speechless. “Well . . . you can risk it then.” He stomps off.

  Your parents turn to discuss the options with you.

  Beckwourth’s route sounds much more appealing after days and days in the desert. What route should you take?

  To take the Beckwourth Trail, turn to page 118

  To stay on the Carson Route, turn to page 40

  Return to page 139

  Papa’s pretty far ahead, with Tippet bounding at his heels. By the time you call him, it might be too late. You bite your lip and watch as the snake unwinds even further.

  The rattling grows louder.

  You make a run for it. The venomous snake lashes out as you move. Pain shoots up your leg. You scream out for help, the roar of agony rushing through your ears.

  This is where your journey on the Oregon–California Trail ends.

   THE END

  Return to page 26

  You take the Greenhorn Cutoff. The strong river current could carry away your livestock. You don’t want to risk it. Plus, you’d have to cross the Humboldt at least four times to get through Carlin Canyon.

  You start off west over the hills. It will be roughly eight miles on the cutoff before you rejoin the California Trail near Humboldt River, but until then, all you see are rolling dry hills and scrub brush.

  As you continue on, a haze of dark clouds covers the once sunny sky. You’re grateful for the respite from the hot sun—until the skies open up with heavy rain and booming thunder.

  “Monsoon!” Papa is already drenched. “We need to be careful about flooding from the river.”

  The ground beneath you becomes thick, soggy mud. Spot’s hooves sink in deep, and all the oxen struggle to pull the heavy wagons.

  You hear a crack—your wagon tips to one side. You see one of the wheels snap in two. Papa hurries to fix it, but the others don’t want to wait for you in this bad weather. Should you split up and plan to meet ahead at the river junction? Or convince the wagon train to stay with you?

  To split up, turn to page 94

  To stay together, turn to page 113

  Return to page 139

  You don’t want to cause trouble, so you say nothing. Everyone is
suffering and desperate out here in the desert. If you’re not careful, a small argument could quickly become something much bigger. George is hardly older than you; you may not like him, but you know how hard it’s been. Even if he is the thief . . .

  The next morning, you discover that one wagon has disappeared. And much to your dismay, so has the rest of your water supply. The Beauregards stole it!

  You’re stunned. “The Beauregards . . . just left?”

  “With our water supply.” Papa puts his head in his hands. “They knew they’d gotten us lost out here in the salt flats. We never should’ve listened to them.”

  “But what are we going to do now?” Your palms sweat.

  Papa shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I knew this Hastings Cutoff was a mistake.” Mama’s face screws up. “We never should have come this way.”

  There’s nothing you can do. You’re stuck in the salt flats, lost.

   THE END

  Return to page 63

  You help the stranded wagon train. If you were ones stuck in the Gate of Death, you’d need someone to be there for you. But when you, Papa, and Mr. Southworth try to get the other people in the wagon train to assist, no one offers.