Fool's Gold

by Steve Stroble

ain’t no Mormon.” He hollered over his shoulder. “The ones I be helping will be our ace in the hole later on. You’ll see.” He winked, which he always did to show that no offense was taken.

  The U.S. Army continued a tradition that the trappers at the fort had established years before by taking a census of those who passed by its gates. It was at Fort Laramie that a number would become “quitters” or “turnarounds” as they decided to reverse course and retrace their steps back east. While there were a few turnarounds from other wagon trains during the layover, none deserted the Elmira company. This caused Dan to boast to the commanding officer of the fort that all under his care were “present and accounted for.”

  To that the commander replied, “There’s a good chance that they will not be all present after the next couple of hundred miles or so. Good luck, Mr. Beaverman and Godspeed.”

  The rise in elevation had been gradual from Kanesville to Ft. Laramie. After the fort the trail led into the Rockies, an ascent so steep that whatever furniture, tools, stoves, beds, and so on had not already been tossed out now was. Even food was discarded to ensure that the livestock could make the climb. It took the company 11 days to cover the 130 miles from Ft. Laramie to the crossing of the North Fork of the Platte as the trail grew rougher and no more hugged the river’s edge. Much time was spent heading up and down hill after hill.

  Crossing the North Fork of the Platte was a disaster. With the water too deep and swift to ford, the company turned their wagons into ferries. Two men and eight oxen drowned. Now Dan led only 58 and their Mormon guests. The resulting funerals depressed most of them.

  As if in tribute to the recently departed the landscape became even more barren after crossing the swollen river. Now rocks seemed to outnumber the foliage. Gone completely was the prairie grass. In its place grew greasewood and sage, which could at least be used for fires. The occasional mosquitoes on the trail earlier now swarmed everywhere. They made those with the most bites look as if they had the measles, chicken pox, or perhaps a strange disease from the prairie not yet known back east. Then the road turned to sand, further slowing the wagons. The springs near the trail were bitter, sometimes poisonous, as the water contained alkali. Bones and the stench of decaying carcasses and occasional signs warned of which of the pools of water were deadly. The dust also was made of alkali, which seemed to be as thick as fog at times and capable of choking everyone. The relentless sun and lack of water led to mere heat exhaustion and sunburn for the fortunate and heat stroke and death for those not so fortunate. The slow pace made all long for the relative ease that crossing the prairie had been. Worse was yet to come but for now there would be a reprieve.

  The company finally reached the Sweetwater River. They rejoiced by its pure non-alkaline water. The trail now paralleled this welcome source of water ever higher into the Rockies. Pines and cedars now grew along both sides of their path. To get to the South Pass they followed the Sweetwater and its valley, which ensured them of drinkable water and grass. The surrounding Rockies’ high ridges and peaks provided hours of shade, which had been sorely missing on the flat high plains. The only drawbacks on this stretch of trail were the cold nights that left a sheet of ice on their buckets of water and the stampedes. Many of the wagon trains starting out from Kansas had brought along herds of cattle for food both on the trail and once they reached their destination. The plentiful wolves, bears, snakes, and any Sioux, Crow, or Blackfoot Indians who preferred beef instead of buffalo easily spooked them into running amok.

  Four miles past the South Pass at Pacific Springs, the weary travelers from Elmira found the wagon train that had been about two miles ahead of them stopped, even though hours of daylight remained. Music filled the air; the most jubilant were dancing or clapping their hands. When the company had pulled alongside, they wandered into the neighboring train’s circled wagons. One of the more excited celebrants grabbed Rudolph’s hand and led him to a nearby creek. Rudolph stared blankly.

  “Don’t you get it, boy? It’s flowing west instead of east!” The stranger yelled. “We’re at the top of the trail. It’s all downhill from here. At least till we get to the Sierras. But by then we’ll be in California!”

  Because the hordes that had already passed this way had turned the once beautiful springs into a muddy meadow of bad water, Dan urged his company to push on for a better spot to rest, water, and feed their livestock. Pacific Springs was a landmark in more ways than one. Those heading on to Oregon claimed there was a sign at the springs that read “To Oregon” for that trail because its travelers could read. They said a pile of gold-bearing quartz marked the California Trail for those unable to read.

  Changes were plentiful on the other side of the Continental Divide. Now there were deer and antelope to hunt; the buffalo range had ended at South Pass. By taking the Mormon Trail the company had avoided the warring Pawnee and Cheyenne who roamed along the Oregon Trail to the south. However, now they would encounter war parties of Sioux and Snake, who at that time were more interested in each other’s scalps than the white man’s. Remaining neutral became a necessity.

  Dan also did not tarry at Pacific Springs because he knew that they were only a day or two from “the parting of the ways” at Little Sandy Creek, the point at which one could head on to Oregon or on to California either via Salt Lake City or by bypassing that city by instead following the Oregon Trail for a stretch. He hoped to get through with that ordeal of decision making by his city slickers as soon as possible. Two days later at nooning time, Dan gathered the company together.

  “Well, this here is the turnoff south to Ft. Bridger and then on to Salt Lake City. If you want to pic ‘n’ mix now’s yer chance. There’s bound to be wagon trains that’ll take the cutoff west that you can hook up with.”

  Two of the company stepped forward and gave Dan $6.50 each for guiding them this far. They offered their goodbyes and then pulled their wagons out of the long line to join another wagon train that would take them on a route that bypassed Salt Lake City. Dan shrugged as he pocketed the money and told the 56 of the company that remained and the Mormon family traveling with them to move out. Tired of his life as a guide, he longed for a break at Ft. Bridger.

  The Mormon husband and father liked to walk along the lead wagon to help Dan whenever necessary. Today the wagon Rudolph helped to guide was first. Its owner had sprained an ankle and lay in its bed. Wagons were rotated daily so that those toward the front did not always have to eat the dust suffered by those further back in the long line. They talked as Rudolph walked alongside and called out to the team of oxen. Now horseless due to the botched hunting trip, he would cover the rest of the way to the goldfields on foot.

  “Dan’s right to head to Salt Lake, Rudolph.”

  “You sure, Jim? Or are you saying that because you are Mormon?”

  “I’m sure. Your company will be able to eat well and revive your stock there. And reprovision. The wagons heading west by the cutoff have to go more than 235 miles before they reach Ft. Hall. For us it’s only 110 miles to Ft. Bridger and then another 120 miles to Salt Lake City. Our route’s easier. When you reconnect with the California Trail west of Salt Lake you can talk to those that went the long way around by going west, then north, and then south. I bet they won’t be in as near good of shape to get across the Nevada desert to the Sierras.”

  “But didn’t the Donner Party go by way of Salt Lake? Someone told me that’s why they got to the Sierras too late.”

  “That was three years ago. They didn’t have a clear-cut trail from Ft. Bridger like we do now.”

  “How do you know so much about all the trails?”

  “I was part of the Mormon Battalion during the war with Mexico. We marched all the way from Kanesville to Ft. Leavenworth and then to Santa Fe. Then we were ordered to cut a wagon trail to California. But the war was over by the time we reached San Diego. After we were mustered out, part of the battalion headed east. The rest of us went north and were working for John Sutter when g
old was discovered at his mill. But we missed our families greatly so we found enough gold to outfit us so we could go back to them. We headed over the Sierras to get to Salt Lake. We had to build a road to get our wagons through.’

  “You had time to build a road?”

  “We had no choice. It was the only way to get the wagons over the Sierras. To clear out the rocks in our way we built fires on them until they cracked into small enough pieces for us to dig out. Usually it took three or four fires to clear a stretch of rock. It’s a rough road but I believe it to be better than the trail to the north of it that goes through Donner Pass. We cut our road through the Carson Pass.” Jim made cutting motions with his hands. “I have already told Dan about it. It’ll save you time crossing the Sierras. That’s important. Your company’s running a little late. You be careful in the Sierras. Three of our scouts were killed and then put naked into a shallow grave. We gave them a proper burial. We named the place Tragedy Springs for them.”

  Rudolph gulped. That they had valued family over gold bothered him. He knew that the opposite was true for him. But getting away from a wife whose obsession with the Second Coming had made him miss the