South Pass Brides

by Sterling Scott

  “Here, you dig the hole while I fix some breakfast,” Thomas spoke Lakota to him, but he gave no sign that he understood. Thomas handed him the big, steel blade and gestured for him to continue digging.

  Thomas relit the campfire. Using water from his canteen, he heated his coffee pot while he ground a handful of coffee beans with the butt of his revolver. In his frying pan, he used his small knife to slice six thick strips from his slab of bacon. As the grease sizzled, he tossed in a half dozen chips of hardtack to soak up the grease and soften.

  When the Indian had dug a three-foot-deep hole, Thomas stopped him. They gently laid Peter’s body to rest and covered it with the loose soil. They tamped the soil as tight as they could. Thomas cut two sticks and fashioned a cross to mark the grave.

  Thomas scooped out a third of the food from the pan onto his one and only plate and poured coffee into his only tin cup. He took them to Olga.

  “Here, you need to eat something.”

  She looked at him with unfocused, far-away eyes, but took the plate and cup. Thomas quickly ate a second third of the food straight out of the pan, using a piece of dry hardtack as a spoon. He sipped coffee directly from the pot. Finished, he handed the pan to the Indian. The bronze man’s stony face eyed the mixture and he sniffed it. Mimicking Thomas, the man ate. He smiled and Thomas imagined that he had never eaten pork before.

  Thomas studied the ground where the dead man had been. A few yards from the fire, he found wagon ruts and the hoof prints from two oxen and a horse. The tracks of the wagon wheels came from the west, but disappeared into the river.

  “Olga, what happened here?” he asked.

  “We turned around,” she spoke barely above a whisper, assuming he would know what turned around meant. She stared at the grave. “We camped here for the night. I went off into the trees to… to do what was necessary. A man rode up on horseback. I saw him, but was detained in my approach to the campsite.” She paused to look into Thomas’s eyes to determine if she needed to explain more. Seeing that he understood what she had been doing, she continued, “I didn’t see exactly what happened, but I heard the gunshot. I hid in the brush and watched while he took Peter’s money belt. But then, he took all of Peter’s clothes off. Then he tied his horse to the back of our wagon and took it across the river.” She pointed along the direction of the tracks. “I ran to Peter. I held him in my arms, but there was nothing I could do.” She sobbed and Thomas held her.

  “It was a white man?”

  “Yes,” she turned to look at the Indian.

  “We best be on our way, ma’am,” he said to Olga, and packed up his kit.

  “Where? Where are we going?”

  “West, ma’am. We’ll catch up with another wagon train and see what can be done for you.”

  She turned toward the eastern horizon and worked her jaw as though to say something. Sighing, she stood and walked to the grave. She knelt and silently prayed.

  “All right, I’ll come with you,” she said.

  Thomas thought the comment to be ridiculous considering her circumstances. What other option do you have? He lifted her up to sit sideways in the stallion’s saddle. He mounted behind her and wrapped his arms around her to hold the reins. Pinned between his chest and the pommel of the saddle, she held onto the saddle horn as Thomas urged the big horse westward.

  Surprisingly, the Indian followed.

  “You’re dressed like him, but you’re not an Indian.” Olga observed his deerskin clothing, apparently for the first time. “Do you live with them?”

  “I lived with some Indians for the past year, but now I’m heading to California.” Thomas saw no reason to explain further. “How long ago did you turn back?”

  “It was yesterday. There was an accident crossing the river the day before. A man drowned and our wagon was toppled. Our food supply was lost. Major Jamison, the wagon master, forced us to turn back. He said we could follow the river to the Platte, and then to Bellevue where we could resupply. Peter and I intended to join another train.” She paused for a moment. “Major Jamison gave us back our money, but that man—the one who killed Peter—stole it all. He stole everything.” She pressed her face into Thomas’s chest and wept.

  After several minutes, she dried her eyes.

  “I’m very sorry about your husband.”

  She inhaled deeply and released the breath in a long slow sigh. “I didn’t really know him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was an arranged marriage. I’ve only known him for two months. He was a good man—a good husband. I am sorry that he is dead.” She studied the Indian. “He is going to California with you?”

  “I don’t rightly know. I fed him. Now he’s like a lost puppy, and I can’t seem to shake him. He’s Pawnee and I don’t speak their language. I don’t know how far he plans to follow us.” Thomas briefly related the story of how the Indian had led him to her. “Here, this is yours.” He remembered the sunbonnet and pulled it out from under his shirt. She tied it around her head. She gripped one hand on the saddle horn and wrapped her other arm around his waist.

  Urgently needing to find shelter for Olga, Thomas spurred the horse into a trot. She fell asleep with her face lying against his chest. At midday, the Indian shouted several words and woke her. She and Thomas watched as the Indian shook his spear in the air and peeled away to ride north.

  “Where’s he going?” she asked.

  “I’ve no idea. Back to his home, I guess. While I did appreciate his help, I’m relieved he chose to leave us.”

  At dusk, he spotted a wagon train camped for the night.

  As they approached the camp, a wrangler rode up to them. He halted his horse crosswise across the path. Olga recognized the Mormon man and spoke before he could challenge them.

  “Good day, Mr. Rees, are Abram and Martha Smoot here?” she asked of the wrangler.

  “Aye, and who are you two?”

  “It’s me, Olga Graus. Do you remember me from Independence? I’m a friend of Martha Smoot. I was with Major Jamison’s train, but I got separated. This is Mr. Meyer. He found me.” Olga took a breath to stop her rambling.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rees said, and examined Thomas with a cold stare.

  Thomas introduced himself. “I'm Thomas Meyer. May I speak with the wagon master?”

  “Aye, follow me.”

  Thomas and Olga followed him into the camp.

  “You know these people?” Thomas asked of her.

  “Yes, they were camped next to us in Independence. They were behind us after we crossed the Kaw River.”

  As was the practice of Major Jamison’s train, the Mormon wagons were parked in two parallel rows.

  “Martha!” Olga spotted her friend and shouted to her. Thomas dismounted and held her hips to steady her as she jumped down from the horse.

  “Olga!” Martha hugged her and examined the blood staining her blouse. “What has happened to you?”

  “It was horrible. Peter was murdered.” She sobbed for a moment, and then composed herself as Martha hugged her. “A man shot him and stole everything we had. Mr. Meyer here saved me.” She wiped her eyes before introducing everyone, and then related the story of the disaster crossing the river and how she and Peter had turned back.

  “Come, you will stay with us,” Abram said. “We thank you, kind sir, for your assistance.” He shook Thomas’s hand. “If there’s any service we can perform for you, you need only ask.”

  “What’s the matter here?” A pudgy, older, bow-legged man approached them. While he wore his beard in the Mormon fashion, it was pure white.

  “Mr. Hatch,” Abram introduced them, “this is Mrs. Olga Graus and Mr. Meyer. Mr. Hatch is our wagon master.”

  Thomas held out his hand. “Thomas Meyer, sir.” Thomas continued with a synopsis of their story.

  “Mrs. Graus, you say your husband was murdered? Did you know the assailant?” Hatch asked.

  “No, but I did see some of him. He was about thirt
y years old with dark brown hair, but no beard. Tall and lanky, rather like Mr. Meyer. He had a scar on his chin and a game-leg—his left leg. He gathered up all of our belongings and took our wagon.”

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but there is no law west of Missouri. If we had the man in our grasp, we would hang him. However, there is no means to track him down and punish him.”

  Olga silently nodded.

  “Mr. Hatch,” Abram interrupted, “Mrs. Graus is welcome to stay with us.”

  Hatch nodded and Thomas added, “Sir, I need employment for myself. I was educated as a lawyer in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but most recently I’ve been a hunter and trader with the Indians. I can scout for you, and help you when dealing with the Indians.”

  “A lawyer dressed as an Indian,” he chuckled. “Much obliged, Mr. Meyer, but I’m afraid that I can’t take you on. You’re welcome to stay the night. However, in the morning I expect that you will be moving on.” Hatch turned on his heel and walked away.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Abram said, “Please, Mr. Meyer, have supper with us and you can camp here.” He swallowed and added, “I apologize for his rudeness. I don’t understand why he would not allow you to stay.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Smoot. It is pure economics. He has a full staff and a limited amount of supplies. He sees me as an unnecessary extra mouth to feed,” Thomas said.

  Thomas spread out his buffalo bedding and helped Abram assemble a makeshift tent for Olga. They draped canvas sheets along the sides of the wagon and made a pallet with a horse blanket. Olga joined Martha in the wagon and, a few minutes later, reappeared wearing a clean white shirt.

  “Mr. Meyer, what will you do now?” Olga asked as they ate.

  “Oh, I expect I’ll continue riding west. You say there are other wagon trains ahead?”

  “Yes, four trains left Independence more or less together. I imagine that they can’t be more than a day or two ahead.”

  “Mrs. Graus?” He paused until she turned to him. “I’m sorry that I can’t take you east. I suppose that you want to return to your family. Perhaps another turn-back can be persuaded to take you.”

  “I will give that some thought, Mr. Meyer. Truth be known, there is not much for me back in Cincinnati. My father essentially tossed me out and forced me to marry Mr. Graus. I doubt he would see me starve, but I would have to find some means to support myself. And, of course,” she sighed, “I’ve no money. I’ve no means to travel east. Like it or not, my future now lies westward.”

  “Hmm, much the same for me. I’ll be up early and gone in the morning. So, ma’am, I’ll bid you a farewell tonight. You have my best wishes for a safe journey.” He smiled and tipped his hat.

  Kicking his boots off and placing his hat over his revolver, Thomas wrapped himself in the buffalo hide. Olga watched him for a long moment. She watched the splashes of orange light from the campfire flames dance around him. He was tall and lean with firm muscles and a kind, attractive face. He was polite and had spoken to her so tenderly. He was so much that Peter had not been.

  “Well, I’ll turn in as well,” she said to Martha and Abram. She crawled into her tent under the wagon.

  Chapter 7

  June 15, 1848

  Indians

  Olga had a restless night of intermingled bad dreams. She dreamt of Peter and Indians and Mr. Meyer in an incomprehensible collage. She woke up thinking of Thomas and wished that she had given him a proper goodbye. After all, he had saved her life. When she arose, his horse was saddled and tied to the back of the wagon. She stoked its velvet nose and regretted that she had nothing to feed it when it searched her palm for a treat.

  There was no other sign of him.

  Seeing no pot beside the fire, she asked of Martha, “Would you like me to prepare the coffee?”

  Martha appeared startled. “Goodness no,” she snorted. “You mean, you don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Olga asked.

  “Don’t you know, we Mormons don’t drink coffee? Our bodies are a precious gift from God and He gave us laws to keep our bodies and minds healthy and strong. Such things as tobacco, alcohol, and coffee contain harmful substances that alter the ability to think.”

  “Yes, of course.” Olga certainly agreed that alcohol impaired one’s thinking. While coffee altered one’s thinking, it was to clear one’s head in the morning. “I’ll learn to get along without it.” Olga yawned. “Do you mean to say that you have never tasted wine?”

  Martha glanced over her shoulder to ensure that their conversation was private. “Mr. Smoot and I were invited to a Protestant wedding once. I did sample the wine. I must say, I didn’t care for it.” She made a sour face. “Abram saw me drink it, and when we got home, I got quite the walloping.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Not something I would do again, that’s for sure.”

  Olga did her best to conceal her astonishment and looked at her shoes.

  Startling her, Mr. Rees rode up in a cloud of dust. “Where is he?”

  “Mr. Meyer? I don’t know,” Olga answered.

  Rees stood tall in the stirrups and scanned the area. “That’s his horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “You,” Rees shouted, seeing Thomas approaching from the brush along the riverbank, “Mr. Hatch wants to see you—directly.”

  Thomas grunted and mounted his horse. Still wishing to properly thank him, Olga followed the two men. However, they disappeared over a low hill. Determined that she would speak to him, she ran after them. Topping the rise, she froze.

  Mrs. Hatch was sitting on a buckboard wagon drawn by two horses. Beside her were four men on horseback: a scout, Hatch, Rees, and Thomas. Facing them, were ten Indians mounted on horseback. Three of them carried rifles with the butts resting on their hips and the barrels pointed skyward.

  “All right, Mr. Meyer, you said you could negotiate with Indians. Go see what they want,” Hatch commanded.

  Thomas urged his nervous horse forward. Olga noticed that one of the Indians was the man who had been with Thomas when he found her. Upon closer examination, she saw that he wasn’t dressed at all like Mr. Meyer. Thomas’s clothes were fashioned from leather, but they were actual trousers and shirt. The Indian’s leather clothing was in layers of smaller leather pieces. What looked like trousers were actually leggings, or chaps from his ankles to his hips. The two halves were tied together around his waist. Also around his waist were two patches of leather, one in front and one in back, which formed something like a loincloth. He wore a vest and a muted cape tied around his neck to cover his shoulders and upper arms. His flowing black hair was held out of his eyes by a tight band around his forehead. A single, tall, black feather was placed in the band behind his head. The other Indians were dressed similarly.

  Olga watched while Thomas conversed with the eldest of the Indians using a combination of unintelligible words and hand gestures. The one who had rescued her gave no sign of recognition.

  Thomas returned to Hatch. “They’re some upset with you. This is their favorite hunting ground, but you’ve frightened away all the game, and now their women and children will go hungry.”

  “It’s open land. It doesn’t belong to anyone. We’ve as much right to be here as them,” Hatch answered.

  “They don’t see it quite that way. Anyway, they seem to be willing to let the matter go. I expect they are not really all that angry. They just want their position understood. They’ve invited me to go with them and hunt somewhere else.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “Well, if I decline, that might raise their anger towards you.” Thomas used his finger to stab the air between himself and Hatch.

  Hatch studied him for a moment, and then grunted. “All right, you can ride with us to Fort John, but that’s it. You can find another train to join there.”

  Thomas nodded and returned to the Indians. Olga smiled. She would have plenty of time to talk with him. He wasn’t going anywhere. She watched as the Indians surrounded
him, and they rode south. After they were out of sight, she walked back to the camp.

  “What was that all about,” Abram asked of her. A wrangler was helping him yoke the oxen to the wagon. Olga quickly tried to make herself useful as the family broke camp.

  “There were some Indians blocking the trail. They’re angry that we chased away the deer. But Mr. Meyer spoke with them and he agreed to help them hunt somewhere else. So, he rode off with them.” Olga paused to add emphasis to her next words. “Mr. Hatch hired him as a scout, so Mr. Meyer will be staying with us after all.”

  She disassembled her makeshift tent and milked one of the communal cows. She strained the milk into a churn and stowed it in the wagon. The rocking motion of the wagon would churn the milk into butter by the end of the day.

  From his position at the head of the train, Hatch sounded the “Wagons-ho,” command. Abram and the other men began snapping their whips against the back of the oxen, and Olga was once again heading west.

  To avoid adding weight to the wagon, she walked alongside. She knew the burden her presence created for the Smoot family. They had only enough food to feed themselves. Olga was certain that they would not let her starve, but she was uncertain what sacrifices would have to be made to support her. She spent the day doing her best to be a contributing member of the family as she helped Martha with the wagon and the two children.

  After lunch, she continually scanned the hillsides for Thomas. She could not keep the tall, lean man from her thoughts. The image of his thick wavy brown hair, soft blue eyes, and stern chiseled chin floated in her mind. She hugged herself, remembering how he had held her in the saddle. She remembered his musky masculine scent and gentle, soothing words as she had cried into his chest.

  He had still not returned when the wagons stopped for the night and Olga became worried.