Spirit Pouch

by Vaterlaus, Stanford

  "No. Not tonight, Mother. We have to get the wagons ready to ford the river tomorrow."

  "Well, you be careful, Tom. It can be dangerous crossing even a small river. Wagons can tip over or slide in the water. You be careful."

  "I will, Mother. And you, too."

  "We will," she says. "Come by for dinner tomorrow if you can."

  "Thanks, Mother. Love you."

  Thomas says goodbye to each of us, which takes a few minutes, and then disappears into the low brush and tall trees toward his camp.

  William watches Thomas until he is gone into the waning twilight. "It would be fun to drive a freight wagon, don't you think?" he says wistfully.

  "I think it would be just like what you and I have already been doing for the last month," I say.

  "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's not going to be glamorous, and you wouldn't get Mother's cooking."

  We both chuckle, then relax by the fire. I can tell just how tired I am as my body relaxes and I close my eyes for a moment. I'm feeling pretty good. A warm fire, glowing orange in the dark, crackling occasionally and shooting a spark into the black night air. Crickets chirp close by, and an owl hoots not too far away. Yes, it's pretty relaxing right up until I hear Annie whine.

  "I always have to help with the dishes," she says.

  "That's right. It's you and Grandmother for a few minutes."

  "Ah, Mother?"

  It is really hard to relax by the fire when I feel so guilty. Annie really does do a lot of dishes, I think to myself. At least at home I take a turn doing dishes. Here Elizabeth will not let the men wash them at all. She says the men will break them. She has a point.

  With my eyes closed I hear Elizabeth walk over and sit by Henry.

  "Henry," she says softly. It is such a quiet calm night I can hear her quite well.

  "Yes," Henry answers.

  "Tomorrow I want you to pay the toll man so we can cross over the bridge."

  "Really? Why?"

  "Because I don't want our belongings to get soaking wet. I don't want our wagons to tip over. Mostly I do not want any of us to get hurt crossing the river. We can afford four dollars."

  "I don't mind the extra work it would take to ford the river," Henry says. "And we have four strong boys to help."

  "My mind is made up," Elizabeth says firmly.

  "Well, less work. Less worry. Everything stays dry. You drive a hard bargain, but okay."

  "Thanks," she says quietly. Then I'm sure I hear the faint smack of a kiss. Not that I would know about that from personal experience, of course. I smile to myself. I smile again as I hear Elizabeth humming as she returns to the dishes.

  "Well," William says standing up and stretching. "It's been a long, hard day and it sounds like we are going to travel tomorrow, so I'm going to bed."

  "I'm going, too," Ty says.

  I guess I'm the only night owl in this crowd, I think. But I am truly tired, so I say, "Me, too, I guess. No sense sleeping on this old log when I could be sleeping on some blankets."

  It does not take me long to fall asleep. As soon as my head touches the soft blanket I can feel my mind drifting off into the realm of the unconscious.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The War Council

  "Hey, Jared," Ty says, poking my shoulder with his finger.

  "What?" I roll over.

  "Guess what day this is," Ty says, poking me again.

  "I know," William says.

  My eyes open just a slit and I could see William sitting up on his blanket tying his boot laces.

  "It's Tuesday," he volunteers.

  "Yeah, it's Tuesday," I say in a grumpy voice. "And I'm still asleep."

  "Guess what else today is," Ty taunts.

  I'm pretty much awake now, although I would rather be sleeping. Where is the snooze button when I need it, anyway. "Oh, yeah," I say, "today is a travel day."

  "That it is," Ty says. "But today is more than that."

  Now I can see both William and George staring at Ty and I know they think he is a bit crazy because I'm thinking the same thoughts. "I give up, Ty. Is it Taco Tuesday?" I feel all four eyes of George and William turn and land on me. Great! Now they think I'm the crazy one.

  "No," Ty says, a little exasperation in his voice. "It's the Twenty Fourth of July."

  Both George and William say, "So?"

  I sit up. "Now that is sort of interesting," I say.

  "Everyone knows that it is the twenty fourth of July," William says.

  "Annie probably doesn't," I say. "But that's not the point. In Utah the twenty fourth of July is a holiday."

  "Really?" William says.

  "Yes. It is the anniversary of the day when Brigham Young and the Mormon pioneers enter the Utah valley through Immigration Canyon."

  "So when we get to the Salt Lake Valley they will make another holiday for us?" George says with a smile.

  "Probably not," Ty laughs. "But we will certainly celebrate."

  "Well, we will never get there if we just sit around here and talk about it. Today is a travel day and we want to be in front of the freight wagons."

  "Why in front?" I ask. Is this a race to the best camping spot?"

  William looks at me to see if I am joking with him, or if the boy from Arizona really doesn't know. He must decide that I'm the 'stupid kid from Arizona', although I prefer to think of myself as 'inexperienced'.

  "It's the dust," William says. "Wagons and oxen kick up a lot of dust. No one wants to be the last wagon. Not to mention ruts from the wheels in the mud will make it difficult to walk. It's a one lane trail so there will be no way to go around the freight wagons. We need to be in front."

  "Okay," I say, practically jumping into my tennis shoes. "Since you put it that way, let's get rolling."

  We break camp pretty fast. I work hard. After all, I have broken camp dozens of times. The only time we stop is for a quick breakfast and morning prayer.

  "Okay, lets move out," Henry yells.

  We head down river toward the toll bridge. It is only a short distance. I see the freight wagons start to move up river. Men scurry around wagons loading supplies. Oxen bellow and horses whinny as they are driven to their wagons to be harnessed and yoked. Men yell out directions and speak commands to their oxen, A few wagons start creaking and rattling in heavy protest as they begin to roll. Just a few wagons at first.

  "Look," I say. "Isn't that Thomas?"

  "It sure is," William says after following my gaze.

  "Thomas," he yells. Everyone in our small group looks toward the freight wagons and waves, but Thomas does not see us. He is lifting a crate into the wagon and does not hear us through all the commotion.

  Shortly our two wagons arrive at the bridge and I see a man standing in the middle of the bridge holding a shotgun at his side.

  "Welcome to the Big Laramie River crossing," he says lifting his straw hat. "Do you wish to cross this bridge?"

  "Yes we do," says Henry.

  "There is a fee of two dollars per wagon to cross," the toll man says.

  "The price is a little steep, don't you think?"

  "No, sir. Not for someone in a hurry, or for someone not wanting to risk his wagon in the river. You're certainly not going to soak all your supplies in river water if you cross this bridge. Yes, sir. Worth every penny."

  "I still think the price is high, but I will pay it. Here are the four dollars" Henry says.

  The toll man puts the dollars in his pocket. "Of course you are welcome to rest up a bit in the stage station if you would like."

  "Thank you," Henry says. "Like you said, we are trying to make a good distance today. How far is it to the next water?"

  "The next reliable good water is the Little Laramie River. That's fourteen miles."

  "Okay," Henry says. "We will be on our way, then."

  I guess it is the heavy weight of the wagons that make the wooden planks of the bridge rumble as the wagons roll onto it. Hooves clomp and echo as each powerful stride g
rinds into the solid surface which amplifies its angry protest.

  The log walls of the Laramie Stage Station grow small and eventually slip out of sight behind us as we travel the trail westward. The sun warms our backs and I can see the ruts in the trail stretch across the grassy green hollow of the rolling prairie in front of us.

  "What a view," I say. "I can see the trail for probably five miles."

  "Looks more like ten," William says.

  "And not a soul in sight," Ty adds. "Not even a stage."

  "Well, we are definitely ahead of the freight wagons," Henry says, looking around. "Listen, I'm feeling a touch ill in my stomach, so I'm going to lie down on a blanket in the wagon, so take it easy on the bumps."

  "Okay, Father," George says.

  "We have a good lead on the wagon train," Henry says, climbing onto the wagon, so no need to go fast. Just a slow and easy pace. Let's not get too far ahead."

  Henry moves two blankets and then lies down as the wagons slowly wind westward.

  "So," I say, running to catch up with Annie. "What's with the new wardrobe. I haven't seen you wear pants before."

  "She looks like a boy," George says.

  "Of course she does," William says without even turning to look. "She is wearing your pants and Joseph's shirt."

  "I do not look like a boy," Annie says poking an elbow into George. "Mother said I have to wear pants because I am wearing out my dresses on the trail. Besides, if I wanted to look like a boy, and I don't, but if I wanted to, I would roll my hair up and tuck it under my hat like this."

  Annie twists her hair into a loose bun and pulls her hat over top. I have to admit, she looks different.

  "Well, I think you look very sophisticated in pants. Kind of like you are in Africa on a safari."

  "A safari? What's that?"

  "That is when you go to Africa to hunt lions or tigers. All the women wear pants on a hunt. At least in the movies they do, I think to myself.

  "They do?"

  "Sure. I mean, what if you have to run away from a tiger or a warthog? You wouldn't be able to run as fast in a big ol' fluffy dress. Yep, they wear pants, all right."

  "Where did you hear that?" William says. "You've never been to Africa. Have you?"

  "No, of course not," I say. "But I've seen plenty of pictures."

  We walk for a while and then Ty quietly asks, "Have you had a chance to locate the spirit pouch? I mean, I've been watching the ground to find a perfect white stone, but it's not so easy to find one. What I mean is, we could make a new one if we had to, right?"

  "Ty, I'm sorry. With all that has been going on I sort of forgot. I'll ask Annie."

  "Okay," he says. "I was just thinking about Sarah, that's all."

  I find Annie in a few minutes, hitting a rock with a stick as we walk. "Do you remember where the marble bag is that I put the bean in, and the dove's feather?"

  "And the white rock, and the glass vial and the picture of a girl?" Annie asks.

  "Yes. That's it."

  "Are you planning to leave us again?" she asks with a sad face.

  "No. Not too soon. But those things we collected are important to me, especially the picture."

  "Who is the girl in the picture?" Annie asks.

  "Her name is Lyn. She is my friend at school back in Arizona. That is the only picture I have of her."

  "I put the marble bag into the toe of your boot. It ought to still be there."

  "In my boot?" I ask. "I didn't see it when I borrowed the boot laces."

  "Maybe it fell out. All I know is that is where I put it."

  "Thanks, Annie," I say, looking around us. "I'll look for it when we stop." My eyes follow the trail behind us until it vanishes in the distance. No longer can I make out the stage station, and only a dark green jagged line crosses the horizon where the Big Laramie River must be.

  I left Annie to hit her rocks some more and nudged William as I came in stride with him. "How far do you think we have come so far?" I ask with a little concern.

  William stops the horse and wagon and scans the horizon. "It looks like eight, maybe ten miles," he says.

  "My feet say ten," George says, bringing the oxen to a halt.

  Henry sits up. "If we are eight miles from the Big Laramie then let's stop. I don't see water here, but at least the animals can rest." He climbs down from the wagon. "I think we could all rest our feet a little until the freight wagons get here." Henry nervously surveys the horizon. "Doesn't look like that will be any time soon."

  William pulls a bucket off the side of the wagon and fills it full of water from a wooden barrel. He carries it to the horse and lets her drink. Elizabeth and Henry's parents find a sliver of shade alongside the wagon and sit down to rest. William carries water to the oxen.

  This is my chance, I tell myself. I climb up on the wagon and move some canvas and some blankets. Where would I go if I were a boot? I wonder to myself. I bet I would be at the bottom of the wagon.

  "What are you looking for?" William asks as he stops to refill the water bucket.

  "My old boots," I say.

  "The ones with no laces?"

  "Yeah. Those boots."

  "They won't be of much use without laces," he says. "I think I saw those boots more toward the front." He points forward, then walks away with his full bucket of water.

  I spot my boots right where William had pointed. I reach inside the first one I pick up and immediately my fingers touch something tucked down tightly into the toe. It is firm and the surface feels like scales. Into my mind flash images of a snake in my boot, and I involuntarily jerk my hand out. Smiling at myself, I cautiously pull back the tongue of the boot and peer inside. There it is. the old weathered marble bag with cracks in the surface of the leather. Hah. I thought it was a snake, I laugh at myself.

  I pull the spirit pouch out and toss the boot back into the corner of the wagon. Carefully I open the brown leather bag and check the items inside. A bean. A white stone. A vial of water. A dove's feather. And a photograph of Lyn. With my fingers I grab the photo and turn it over. Lyn. I sure miss you, I say to myself. I slide the photo into my wallet and close the leather bag.

  What a view! I think to myself. From on top of the wagon I can see for miles in every direction! There are mountains in the far distance toward the southwest. A dark green line accents the horizon directly west and yellow-green grass carpets the Earth in every direction flowing over small rolling hills and shallow valleys. Toward the west I see distant dots of brown. Deer? I think. I'll let William know. He will want to see them. My eyes scan the countryside until I am looking east. Horses with riders!

  "The wagon train is coming!" I yell with excitement. Everyone looks toward the east where my arm is pointing.

  "That means we have to walk some more," Annie grumbles.

  "Yes," says George. "But also we can reach water before dark."

  Henry jumps up onto the edge of the wagon and peers in the direction I am pointing for about a full minute. "It's not the freight wagons!" he yells, jumping from the wagon. "They are Indians!" He spins around shouting orders. "William, bring the wagons close together for protection. George, get the rifle. Load it and be ready to fire it. Everyone else get between the wagons and get down so you will be less visible."

  William and George maneuver the wagons close together, but even so the wagons provide very little shelter. I can see right through the spokes of the wheels and right under the wagons.

  George runs right past me and I see him pull the rifle from its sheath in the wagon. He fills his pockets with cartridges and puts one in the rifle. George finds a spot on the ground partially shielded by a rear wagon wheel.

  Elizabeth scoots Annie to a low spot in the trail and they both lie down as low as possible. Grandmother Brettle follows them.

  Grandfather Brettle inches up beside Henry. "Are they still coming?" he asks.

  "They are about five hundred yards off," he says. "They are talking."

  "Probably a war c
ouncil," Grandpa Brettle says. "Planning how they intend to attack us."

  "I hope not, Father," Henry says. "I hope they are here to trade with us."

  Staying low and using my elbows, I inch my way over to William who is sitting by the front of the wagons. I have seen enough army movies that I know how it is done. I didn't realize how much the ground would scratch and hurt against my elbows, though. "Are those Ute Indians?" I whisper.

  "No," William says. "They are Sioux. Even from this distance I can see the paint on their faces and the feathers in their hair. They are dressed for war."

  "They won't attack us if we have a gun, will they?"

  "Yes," William says. "And one rifle will not hold them off for very long. You should get down and stay down."

  "What about you?"

  See the horse and oxen?" he whispers. "They have taken to be quite skittish. See how the horse's ears twitch and how she stomps her feet. She knows something is happening. She can smell the other horses and she is alert."

  I look at William with that dumb city-boy look.

  "She could bolt any second if the Indians attack. That's part of what the Sioux Indians do. Scare the animals. I'm going to try and keep her calm. You need to get down and hide if you can."

  "Got it," I say and I crawl on my elbows back to Ty.

  "Ah, Mother," I hear Annie whine.

  "Put your hair under your hat right now," Elizabeth says.

  "George says that I look like a boy."

  "Good. The Sioux can think that, too. Maybe they will let you live."

  Annie rolls her hair and pulls her hat over it.

  "They are coming," Henry yells to us. "Stay down." He steps back and slides behind a wagon wheel.

  I can see most of the Sioux warriors now, sitting low on their horses, rifles and bows in their hands, colored paint on their faces and arms. They ride like the wind, some to the left and some to the right. Eight or ten terrifying, wild warriors, racing and riding, long hair streaming behind them.

  "What are they doing?" I ask, more to myself than anyone.

  "They are surrounding us," Ty answers. "We can't escape. We can't shoot back as easily. You know, divide and conquer. Divide our attention and our resources."