Alone in the Wild

by Jesse Wiley

  Return to page 76

  You choose to stay with Tatsa’s family, even though you’re so close to Oregon City and possibly reuniting with your parents. You’ve heard nothing of your parents’ wagon train since the day you got lost. Talking to various wagon trains has discouraged you and only solidified your decision. You’re not sure where your parents are, or if they’re still alive. But the idea of getting to Oregon City and winding up alone, with no support or friends, doesn’t seem like an appealing life to live. You know this is the best decision.

  In the back of your mind, you’re still hoping that your parents will find you someday.

  You’ll make it to Oregon City at some point, but for now, you’re content to live at the trading post with Tatsa and her parents. Your journey to Oregon City stops here.

   THE END

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  You keep going on the Trail.

  Tatsa nods solemnly at your decision.

  You hug her. “I’ll be back to visit, I promise. And if I don’t find my parents, I’ll come back—for good.”

  “I’d like that. Our home is always open to you. And I think you will find your parents. I have a feeling in here.” She presses a hand to her chest.

  You hope she’s right.

  * * *

  The next morning, you say a heartfelt goodbye to Tatsa and her family.

  According to your map, Oregon City isn’t far at all. It’s an even quicker journey thanks to the horse that Tatsa’s family has given you—or lent you, Tatsa has joked, because you’ll be back to visit. With a fresh bedroll, food, and a bit of money from Tatsa’s parents, you start off on your final leg of the Oregon Trail, both nervous and anticipating a possible reunion.

  As the day wears on, you realize how much you miss Tatsa. Snap trudges alongside you, his head hung low. You know he’s missing her almost as much as you are.

  “I know, boy. I know.”

  The hilly countryside has given way to flat, lush plains dotted with trees and thick bushes. As you emerge from a grove of trees, your horse suddenly hesitates and pulls on the bridle. You look up to see a lone wagon sitting in the field just up ahead. A woman sits on the ground, rocking children in her arms. When she sees you, she jumps to her feet.

  “Help!” The woman waves frantically. “Please, help us!”

  You pull on the reins to stop the horse, but your mount doesn’t like it. She whickers nervously and steps backwards, her ears twitching.

  “Please.” There are dark circles under the woman’s eyes. She’s holding two little children with hollow, empty eyes. “Please help us. My husband is terribly ill. The rest of our wagon train has died from a horrible plague. Please take us with you!”

  “I . . . I’m not sure I can, ma’am.” You don’t move any closer. “I can go get help for you. It’s not far to Oregon City on horseback.”

  She shakes her head impatiently. “No, no! By then it’ll be too late! You must take us with you, now! Before we all catch the plague!”

  You’re not sure what to do. You’re fearful of this contagious disease. Plus, you don’t have enough room on your horse for more than one child, much less four people. Also . . . you’ve heard stories about people posing as injured travelers who take advantage of unsuspecting people on their way to Oregon City, robbing them blind. Should you stay to help them, or get help in Oregon City?

  To stay and help, turn to page 87

  To get help in Oregon City, turn to page 143

  Return to page 67

  You move on. The sight and foul stench of the deer carcass turns your hunger into queasiness. Even if you cook it, it’s not a good idea to eat something that’s been dead for a long time. You dig deep into your pocket, eat the last of the flowers, and urge Snap to keep moving. Rotten meat isn’t any safer for dogs than it is for humans. You don’t want him to get sick either.

  Snap whines and whimpers, wagging his tail. You let him go on some yards ahead as he tries to pick out scents to track down.

  You follow him out of a thick grove of trees and onto a small grassy, pebbled shore, dipping down into a crystal blue-green lake. After nibbling a bit of grass, Snap rushes into the water and reemerges, shaking himself out. You laugh and hurry to dip your waterskin in the clear water.

  You wash your face and drink. Then a great brown mass fills your vision. You look up to see a hulking creature standing in the water only feet away, near thick reeds. The creature swings its head up and stares at you with enormous black eyes, chewing slowly.

  It’s a moose. Behind her, a gangling calf peers out curiously.

  You freeze. Beside you, Snap wags his tail and barks.

  “Shush!”

  The moose steps toward you, her head swinging down. Uh-oh. She’s threatened and protecting her young. You back away, but Snap jumps in front of you, howling.

  As you turn to run, you hear a low terrible braying sound. It’s deep and intimidating. You can’t escape the moose.

   THE END

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  You are disoriented in these mountains—everything is starting to look the same. You move to lower ground. Following the river is the best choice. You hope it’ll lead to a bigger water source—and maybe to a wagon train corral.

  You walk by short waterfalls and past rocky boulders with patches of moss and wildflowers. You take some to eat later. You also come across thick patches of sagebrush—wonderful, rich-smelling plants that are safe to eat. You fill your pockets.

  The sage has such a pleasant aroma.

  You pause to make sure that you’re not backtracking, and sure enough, you see the sun’s location in the sky and are certain you are headed west. You hope that eventually this river will lead you out of the woods and to the mouth of Snake River, an Oregon Trail landmark. From there, you can get to Fort Hall. You still have hopes that your family is waiting for you there. That encouraging thought puts an extra spring in your step as you descend the mountain slope.

  Snap catches a small rabbit, which you roast over a fire. After this, you only have one match left. You’ve been notching holes in pine trees for their resin to fuel the fires, but you’re not sure what to do without the spark of a match. You’ll have to teach yourself how to use flint and steel. You wish you’d paid closer attention to Mama when she got the campfire going. You know next to nothing about surviving in the wild.

  * * *

  The next day when you wake up, Snap is missing. You frantically call for him, but after about half an hour he hasn’t returned. You keep walking, shouting and shouting. Finally he comes back through the bushes.

  You nearly sob with relief. “Don’t do that again!” You pat his head. He licks your hand.

  As you keep following the river, Snap lets out a sudden yelp. You peer around a pine tree: a spot of tan with splashes of color amid the shadows of the forest.

  It’s a girl.

  She looks about your age. Her two long braids hang down her shoulders over a beaded buckskin dress. It looks so comfortable and light compared to your thick, dirty clothes. A large pack sits at her feet, and a small fire crackles nearby.

  She’s facing away from you, digging at the ground. You watch as she continues to poke around pieces of driftwood near the bank of the river with a pointed stick. She reaches down and pulls out something—a tree root. She pauses and glances back in your direction; you duck behind the tree.

  You’re about to step out from hiding to say hello, but you catch yourself. Maybe that’s not the right thing to do. Your short time alone in the mountains has made you especially cautious. Snap noses you with a whimper. You hush him and gently push him back. You need to be cautious.

  You haven’t spoken to another human being in days. What if she can help you? What if she’s friendly? This could be your only chance at surviving. But what if she doesn’t want to be bothered? Should you reveal yourself or stay in hiding?

  To reveal yourself, turn to page 46

  To stay in hiding, turn to page 4
0

  Return to page 99

  You need to search for your wagon train before it gets too dark. Maybe they aren’t that far away. You could locate some wheel ruts, follow them, and, with luck, get back on the Trail. From there you’ll find South Pass and continue on. Maybe you could join up with another wagon train, at least until you reunite with your family.

  The wind picks up. You shiver as the trees rustle around you. Your head still aches. You start your journey down through the hills. It’s your best guess about where the wagon train could be headed. It’s pitch black outside. Downhill is better than uphill with the weather system moving through. Even if you’re backtracking, it’s better than getting lost in the mountains.

  As you walk, your stomach rumbles with hunger, and your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You’re dehydrated. You lost your waterskin during the storm—it held all of your pure water—and there’s no spring or brook nearby. You wish you had Snap with you to help hunt for food.

  You get dizzier with each step. You trip over a rock and tumble forward, scraping your hands against a boulder. When you finally stand up, you feel sick. Nothing is familiar in the growing darkness. You’re lost, you have no food, no water, and now you’re injured too.

  You need to make a fire before it’s too late. You scramble to gather some twigs and finally manage to spark a flame with damp matches and kindling. By the time you have a roaring fire going, you can hardly keep your eyes open, but at least you’re warm. Should you add more wood to the fire before you sleep, or let it die out now?

  To add more wood to the fire, turn to page 27

  To let the fire die out, turn to page 62

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  You decide to follow Tatsa.

  “Follow me!” She holds her pack over her head. “It’s not safe by the trees! We’ve got to find shelter!”

  You dodge another hailstone and follow her. Snap barks at your side. She ducks into a hole in the ground. You wiggle into the burrow beside her, and pull Snap in too.

  “Badger’s nest. I found it searching for roots. Trees become top-heavy with the weight of the ice. Look.” Tatsa points to a pine tree branch about to crack.

  “Good thinking.” You wipe your brow.

  The hail stops in an instant. You both emerge with some hesitation. Tatsa drops her pack, takes up her sharp stick, and starts poking around near the shores of the river again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Digging for camas roots for stew.” Tatsa examines the ground. “Their flowers are bright blue, and the roots are white, no larger than your fingers. They’re best found in mouse holes near driftwood. Take a sharp stick and poke around until you find one.”

  You both dig around for roots. When you finally find some in a small rodent hole, you pluck them out proudly.

  “They taste better when you cover them and cook them over a fire pit.” Tatsa puts a root in her pocket. “But roasting takes too long. We will just boil them instead.”

  When Snap catches a squirrel, you all eat well that night. Tatsa teaches you how to start a fire with two sharp flint stones that shower sparks over dry kindling. She knows about the resin trick too. You take turns sleeping to keep watch, feeding the fire through the night.

  * * *

  The next morning, you make your way down into the valley.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you learn to speak English, Tatsa?”

  “White men have been crossing our land for a long time now. We’ve had no choice but to learn. It’s certain more people will come this way seeking our land.”

  You kick a nearby pebble. “I never thought about it like that.”

  She leans over and points to your pocket. “What are those?”

  You pull out the flowers. “Oh, these. Rock cress and some other kind of flower. They’re good to eat.”

  She takes a bunch from you and eats it. “I like them. I suppose you’re a useful companion after all.” She smiles.

  * * *

  Over the next few days you climb out of the valley onto gentle hills and prairies. You continue to go northwest for what feels like a week. You think of your family as you stare at a sparkling winding river in the distance.

  “See over there. We are close to the Bitterroot Mountains.” Tatsa points. “We are close to my Agaidika Shoshone village. The name of our Nation translates roughly to ‘salmon eaters,’ given our location in the Salmon River valley.”

  You’re excited to go to Tatsa’s village and eat some homecooked food, but you’re already dreading climbing those mountains.

  Tatsa sees your face and smiles. “Don’t worry. There are footpaths that will make the ascent easier.”

  After hours of trekking on well-worn trails, you finally descend to lower ground and then into the Salmon River valley where you arrive at Tatsa’s Agaidika Shoshone village. You stop to take in the breathtaking view of the surrounding Bitterroot Mountains.

  Snap darts ahead. Three Shoshone women look up from their work digging for roots near the river’s shore. With a second wind, Tatsa rushes to greet them. One woman throws her arms around Tatsa. Tatsa speaks to them quietly, gesturing with her hands, then motions to you. One of the women approaches you and rubs her cheeks against yours. You smile.

  “It signifies friendship,” Tatsa says, eagerly introducing you to her aunt Bawagap and her cousins Sanap and Aken.

  After a full day of digging for nourishment, you feel accomplished and so honored to meet Tatsa’s extended family. At night, surrounded by tall tipis made of willow branches and buffalo hides, everyone shares stories around the fire and eats a hearty meal of roasted salmon, elk, and chokecherry cakes. Tatsa tells you that Lewis and Clark crossed over this valley about forty years ago with Sacagawea, a brave woman from this same Shoshone Nation. Her aunt Bawagap knew her, too. The stories continue and Tatsa translates Shoshone into English so you understand. People laugh and dance. You haven’t been this happy in months!

  The next day you help Tatsa, Sanap, and Aken with their daily chores, such as drying out elk hides, digging for camas roots, and playing with the children. It’s good to be surrounded by a community of people again.

  By the fourth day, you wonder if you should keep moving on. You want to stay longer, but you also still have hope that you’ll catch up with your family’s wagon train. You desperately miss Mama and Pa. Should you stay a while longer or keep traveling?

  To stay longer, turn to page 56

  To keep traveling, turn to page 89

  Return to page 46

  Eating unfamiliar plant life is not worth the risk of getting sick. After all, you’ve got Snap with you now. If he can catch another rabbit or squirrel, you’ll be set for the next day. You continue pushing through the rocky terrain. You take a long drink from your waterskin. You’ll have to find water soon, too.

  The day drags on with little success. Snap tries and fails to hunt several squirrels, and even pounces on nearby birds. Aside from a measly half-eaten bush of black raspberries and several dandelions, you don’t find any real sustenance.

  Then Snap suddenly drops his head to the ground. He snorts and trots ahead of you. He lifts his head and stares off into the forest.

  “What is it, boy?” You look too.

  And then you see it. A pair of tall, twitching brown ears. Black eyes.

  A rabbit!

  Snap leaps into the bushes after the rabbit. The two of them race until they finally disappear through the trees. You wait to see if the rabbit will come back around, but minutes drag by. Snap’s echoing bays turns into whimpers.

  “Snap? Snap?” You hurry after him. He finally reemerges from behind a pine tree, his tail drooping.

  No rabbit.

  You sigh heavily. “Oh, Snap. This one was just too quick for you, was it?” You scratch behind his ears. “I guess we’ll have to keep looking, won’t we?”

  You glance up at the early afternoon sky. It looks like it may rain again. You hold back a groan. Th
is is just your luck.

  Then you see it: tufts of grass sticking out from a tree branch, and three golden-brown ovals. Eggs. Eggs would be a delicious meal. It’d be a tricky climb up that pine tree to reach them, but it would be worth it.

  “Stay here, Snap.” Gripping the bottom branch, you swing yourself up and lean against the trunk. You lift yourself up again, twisting around the tree to step on branches that can support you. As you climb higher, the branches become thinner and more brittle. One snaps underneath your foot. Your heart leaps.

  But now the eggs are really close. You edge onto a limb and reach out with one hand.

  The branch beneath you gives way. Your dreams of getting to Oregon City give way here too.

   THE END

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  You avoid whatever is making that awful howling noise. The last thing you want is to find yourself face to face with an angry coyote or wolf. Wolves run in packs, and you know you’d never make it against one wolf, much less a whole hungry pack.

  You keep moving on. The howls finally fade into the distance. It is odd how much it sounded like your dog, Snap, but you’re sure it couldn’t have been him.