South Pass Brides

by Sterling Scott

  “Mr. Hatch,” she sought out the wagon master, “has there been any word from Mr. Meyer? Could the Indians have turned against him?”

  “There has been no sign of him, Mrs. Graus.” Seeing the concern in her face, he added, “I’m sorry, but I’ve no means to search for him. Rest assured, if he is as capable of a scout as he claims to be, he will find his way back to us.” He did not address her principal concern.

  An hour later, she saw him ride past the camp to Hatch’s wagon. He had a deer carcass tied across the back of his horse. She watched as he gave it to Hatch, who in turned invited anyone who wanted some to butcher off a piece of the meat. With the horse’s reins in hand, he sauntered back to the Smoot wagon. He handed Martha a slab of the venison.

  “Mr. Meyer, I am so very glad to see you again.” Olga smiled and waved.

  He tipped his hat and returned her smile, but said nothing as he unsaddled his horse. He released it to graze with the other livestock. Then, he spoke to Abram, “Sir, I’ve no wish to be an inconvenience, but I would appreciate it if you would allow me to camp with you again tonight.”

  “Of course, Mr. Meyer. I hear that you will be traveling with us after all. You are welcome to camp with us as long as you like.”

  “Thank you, sir. Mr. Hatch has invited me to sup with the wranglers.” Then, he turned to Olga. “Ma’am, are you doing all right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Meyer, I’m doing very well. I am glad to have another opportunity to speak with you. I fear that I was insufficiently grateful to you for saving my life. Yesterday, I-I was too troubled in my mind to speak clearly. However, I do want to sincerely thank you for your assistance. Without your help, I would surely have perished.” She was nearly overtaken by an urge to hug and kiss him.

  “I’m obliged to be of service to you, ma’am.” He smiled and tipped his hat again.

  After supper, Thomas returned and the family gathered around the campfire. Abram asked, “Tell us, Mr. Meyer, what happened today, and what about the Indians?”

  “We stalked some deer along a creek shortly after my departure. I shot two of them—kept the one and gave the other to the Indians. We spent the day hunting buffalo. Their thirty-two caliber Kentucky rifles are insufficient to kill the big beasts. They usually chase them, riding alongside stabbing the animals with the spears. For the most part, they simply run the buffalo to exhaustion and then pounce on it. However, I was able to bring several down with my Hawken. I gave that meat to them and I spent some time in their village. The Pawnee don’t live in tents and drift across the plains like most other Indians. They have buildings fashioned from straw and mud, and they do some farming.

  “Mostly they were very curious about the settlers passing through. They are concerned that the number increases each year, and they are genuinely irritated that the game has been chased away. I told Mr. Hatch that they warned me about the Cheyenne. We will be entering their territory soon, and they are genuinely angry with the settlers. I suggested that he prepare some gifts to give them.”

  “Gifts? What sort of gifts?” Olga asked.

  “The Indians are just as happy with trinkets as with items of value. In general, they appreciate gifts and see them as symbols that we respect them. They will be less likely to turn violent after being presented with such tokens. For example, Mrs. Graus, I gave that Indian who rescued you a small, steel knife as a token of our appreciation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Meyer; I’m glad that you did that. I saw him today with the other Indians.”

  “Yes, he was there. He had told them all about our encounter. I expect that is what truly precipitated this morning’s visit. Like I said, they are curious about us.” Thomas silently stirred the fire. “Mrs. Graus, would you care to visit them, see the Indian village? They have heard your story and have invited you.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Meyer, I would like to do that.”

  Pawnee Village

  The following morning after breakfast, Thomas approached Olga, leading his horse and Mr. Smoot’s smaller mare.

  “Can you ride?” he asked.

  “Of course, I can ride a horse.” She said, and snorted indignantly.

  “Forgive me, I intended no disrespect, ma’am. I only meant like that,” he pointed to her skirt. “Can you ride like that?”

  “I see. Yes, it will be no trouble.”

  Thomas helped her mount the mare. His hand tarried a moment longer than necessary as he steadied her calf. Mounting his own stallion, he called to her, “This way,” and led her to the southeast. They trotted over the hills and were soon out of sight of the wagon train. He slowed his horse to a walk and Olga rode beside him.

  An hour into their adventure, they topped the crest of a low hill to expose a valley filled with buffalo. Their dark hides obliterated any sight of the greenish-tan grass. They were packed so close together that the individual animals were indistinguishable within the black morass.

  “My word! There must be thousands of them,” Olga exclaimed. “I’ve never seen so many. Truly, a magnificent sight.”

  As they approached the herd, they suddenly noticed the invaders. Like a flock of birds taking flight, the entire mass of giant animals rushed away. The thundering roar of the thousands of frightened buffalo shook the earth. The gentle wind blew away the dust and within moments, all trace of them was gone.

  Thomas and Olga rode through the valley as though the beasts had never been there.

  “Don’t be afraid of these Indians,” Thomas said as they drew near to the village. “The Pawnee can get riled up and be as fierce as any Indian, but they are usually kind people. Even if you do become frightened, try not to show it. It is actually insulting to them to show fear.”

  “Very well, I understand. How much farther is it?”

  “Only another mile.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Meyer, how is it that you were traveling with that Indian?”

  “I wasn’t traveling with him. I can only surmise that he was heading to his hunting place in the early morning, and found you. He must have seen me earlier, and he brought your bonnet to me. And then, he led me to you.”

  “Why are you traveling alone? With no wagon?”

  He chuckled. “Well, the short of it is that I am running away from home. You see, I left my family in Pittsburg two years ago. My father made some bad investments and lost his money. He wanted me to marry a rich widow to secure the family fortune. I refused.” He shrugged.

  She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Well, Mr. Meyer, in some respects, we are the same. I had been unable to find a man I wanted to marry, and my father grew weary of supporting me. He forced me to marry Peter. I only met him a few days before we were married. He was a widower, and already had the plans to move to Oregon. So, in marrying him, I too set out on this adventure. Now, it seems that life’s events are carrying me along without my consent.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so bitter about it.”

  “But, you are bitter.”

  “Well, yes. At least I was more so at first. Women do not have the luxury of running away from such things.”

  “Yes, I see. Did you love him?”

  Olga scowled at his intrusive question, but then softened her face. “No, I didn’t. However, Peter was very fair with me.”

  Thomas looked away, but she saw a glimmer of a smile appear on his lips.

  “After I left home,” he continued, “I worked on river boats for a while and ended up in the Northwest Wilderness along the Canadian border at a place called Fort Union. That’s where I got to know the Indians.”

  Olga watched the pain in his expression as he told her the story of how his partner, Bart Adams, had been murdered, and how he had escaped the same fate.

  “Anyway,” he forced a smile, “the fur trade has played out, and it is darn cold up there.” His expression brightened, and he chuckled. “So, I decided to head to California.”

  “Why are you going to California and not Oregon?�
�

  “There was a gold strike there.” He motioned for them to stop their horses, then unfolded a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to her. “I read this on the steamboat from Fort Union. I don’t think this is widely known yet. The news is slowly working its way east.”

  She read:

  THE CALIFORNIAN

  San Francisco, March 15, 1848

  Gold Mine Found — In the newly made raceway of the Saw Mill recently erected by Captain Sutter, on the American Fork, gold has been found in considerable quantities. One person brought thirty dollars’ worth to New Helvetia gathered there in a short time. California, no doubt, is rich in mineral wealth; great chances here for scientific capitalist. Gold has been found in almost every part of the country.

  “My word!”

  She handed the clipping back to him, and he returned it to his pocket. Nudging his horse with his heals, he resumed their travel. Olga’s horse followed without her needing to urge it.

  “Aye, with the end of the war with Mexico, California is now a United States territory. In a strange coincidence with our current position, the place is mostly populated with Mormons and they found the gold. I dare say it won’t be long before the place is overrun with prospectors. I’ll be there waiting for them.”

  “Are you going to prospect for gold?”

  He chuckled again. “Oh no, Mrs. Graus, I am not so foolish. A great many men will pan and mine for gold. Many will make money and a few will doubtlessly get rich. It will be the ruin for most of them. I, however, intend to be the merchant that sells food and supplies to these men. The gold they mine will soon be in my hands.” He turned to her and smiled. “Well, enough of it to make a good living. That’s all I want.”

  When they crested a hill, she saw the Indian village nestled along the opposite hillside. It was a collection of mud-thatch huts built into the side of the hill in a semi-circle around a spring-fed pond. The pond emptied into a stream and small gardens dotted the sides of the babbling brook.

  Thomas halted their approach and waited for the Indians to notice them. One Indian mounted a pony and rode up to them. Olga recognized him to be the man who had helped Thomas rescue her. He spoke a string of words and gestured for them to follow him.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “I’ve no idea, but I presume he is inviting us to join him,” Thomas answered.

  In the minute it took for them to reach the village, a throng of men, women, and children formed. Olga struggled to withhold the apprehension she felt from her face. She had heard so many stories of Indian attacks. Thomas cheerfully waved and she followed suit.

  Thomas spoke a long string of unintelligible words when an older man appeared. He answered, and the crowd backed away.

  “This man is Wasicong, an elder of the tribe. I don’t think he is a chief, just a respected wise man. He is the only one that speaks Lakota, which is pretty much the only Indian language I speak. Anyway, he has invited us to join him for a meal.”

  The two dismounted and Thomas allowed two Indian boys to lead their horses away.

  “You’re not worried that they will steal from us?” Olga asked as they followed the old man.

  He shrugged. “Yes, some concerned, but I accepted that risk when I decided to invite you here.”

  Yes, but what risk am I accepting?

  She held his arm tightly as they walked. She felt his revolver bump against her hip. An old woman, Olga presumed her to be the old man’s wife, prepared thatch pallets for them in front of their small house. Olga was curious about what the inside looked like, but did not approach the doorway.

  In a disorganized fashion, many of the Indians approached and chatted long strings of unintelligible words.

  “I can’t understand exactly what they are saying,” Thomas said. “But they are introducing themselves and welcoming us.” Thomas smiled and nodded, and Olga copied him.

  The Indian who had saved her brought a squaw and two toddler children to meet her.

  “His name is Anpao,” Thomas said.

  Olga repeated the name. She smiled and nodded to his wife and children, but did not attempt to repeat their names as Anpao introduced them.

  The women also wore layers of patchwork leather skins. They had leggings that only covered their calves, and their fashion of the loincloth was longer, down to their knees. However, it was still open along the sides, exposing their bare thighs and hips in a manner that would have been scandalous in Cincinnati. They also wore a short cape that covered most of their upper body and they carried a large blanket-sized hide that they kept wrapped around their shoulders. This tied under their chins, but they held it closed with their hands whenever they weren’t carrying anything.

  The young children wore nothing except the short loincloths. Olga could not distinguish between the boys and the girls. The older children wore smaller versions of the adult clothing.

  Some of the women began to beat drums and shake tambourines. These instruments had bits of bone tied along thin strips of leather to rattle and slap the taunt, thin membrane. The men danced one at a time. They each strove to outperform the others. At times, they appeared to be quite assertive and Olga became nervous. She gripped Thomas’s arm.

  “I don’t think there is a reason to be concerned,” he said. “In my experience, most any Indian will be friendly and even helpful by themselves. But when they are in a group, they are driven to demonstrate their courage and manhood. Each one trying to outdo the others can make them aggressive. Most any spark will turn them to violence.” He chuckled. “However, these young men have only the women on their minds.”

  Olga relaxed and sat beside several young women in a semicircular line. They were cheering the dancers and Olga copied them, clapping.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Thomas said and pushed her hands down. “This is a mating dance of sorts. The men are unmarried and trying to attract wives. By cheering, you are signifying that you are unmarried and seeking a husband.”

  “Oh.” Olga continued to watch the dancers and smile, but she kept her hands folded in her lap.

  The older men sat beside Thomas and they smoked, passing along a communal pipe.

  One man appeared with his face streaked with red and black paint. Squatting before them, he released a string of angry words and shook his fist. Olga gripped Thomas’s arm in fright.

  “Don’t be afraid.” He put his arm around her and held her tightly while he continued to smile and chat merrily with the angry Indian.

  She struggled to smile, and the Indian began to dance backward. Olga laughed at his comical performance.

  “Don’t laugh,” Thomas cautioned. “He is a contrarian. He was born backwards, you know—feet first. So he does everything backwards. He is painted for war when he really means to welcome us. He talks angry when he is happy and dances backwards. I don’t fully understand the custom, but it is common among the Indians. While he is something of a ceremonial court jester, and he is intended to be funny, you are not supposed to laugh. You are supposed to pretend that he is behaving normally.”

  “He does this all the time?” she asked.

  “No, only for ceremonies.”

  When the contrarian finished his dance, he walked backward to Olga. He shook his finger in her face and shouted a string of words.

  Thomas exchanged words with the old Indian, Wasicong, and he translated. “The contrarian says that you are so ugly that the sun must hide when you appear. Which, of course, means that you are beautiful and that the sun shares your radiance.”

  Olga beamed. “Thank you, you are a very handsome man.” She nodded to him. Thomas translated to Wasicong who translated for the contrarian. He, in turn, scowled and stomped away backwards.

  When the dancing completed, a woman knelt before Olga. She chatted while she tugged on Olga’s shoe.

  “I gather that she has never seen a lace-up type shoe before,” Thomas suggested.

  Olga took off her shoe and handed it to the wo
man. However, she ignored it and held Olga’s foot. Olga resisted the urge to pull her foot away. The woman laid her palm along the underside of Olga’s foot. She examined Olga’s calf and ran her finger along the multitude of scratches that Olga had gotten while walking so many miles through the brush. Olga giggled, trying to hold still during the ticklish maneuver. Then the woman said something and ran away.

  “What was that about?” Olga asked as she put her shoe back on.

  “I don’t know,” Thomas answered.

  Clay bowls with roasted meat and vegetables were passed around. Olga ate the venison, corn, onions, and carrots.

  “We should be heading back,” Thomas said when they had finished the meal. “I’ll make our excuses to our host.”

  While Thomas conversed with the older Indian, the woman who had examined Olga’s foot returned. She handed Olga a pair of moccasin boots. They had high tops to protect her calves, and were embroidered and decorated with fringe and beads.

  “My goodness, they're beautiful. That’s what she was doing. She was measuring my foot.” Olga took off her shoes and put on the moccasins. Holding her skirt up, she danced a jig while laughing. “Please thank her for me.” Thomas conversed with Wasicong who translated. “I don’t have anything to give her in return,” Olga continued.

  “It’s not necessary. I believe that she is Anpao’s mother, and she is responding to the knife that I gave him.”

  “Oh, please thank her again.” Olga hugged the woman.

  Thomas engaged in a long, complex conversation with the Indians while the boys returned with their horses. Wearing her new moccasins, Olga mounted her horse. Thomas put her shoes into his saddle bag and mounted.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “They were warning me again that the Cheyenne are angry with the settlers. He says we should use haste as we travel through their lands.” He turned away and urged his horse up the hill. “And they were congratulating me.”

  “Why? What for?”

  “It seems that they think you are my wife.”

  Olga laughed, but a new vision entered her mind: Thomas holding her tightly in his arms, kissing her hungrily.