Walk by Faith

by Rosanne Bittner

  “You stay down, Sophie,” she warned, terrified the warriors might take a liking to her little girl’s bright red hair and beautiful blue eyes.

  She laid the gun aside carefully and opened a trunk that held sewing items. She hated the idea of giving away lace and ribbon—which she would need once she settled—to these people who surely couldn’t appreciate such things in the same way she did. Still, Dawson had given the order. She shoved the items into a woolen sock and threw in some buttons and the second sock, then tied off the top of the sock and threw it out of the wagon.

  Dawson walked over and picked up the blanket and sock, then took it to the center of the circle, where men brought more blankets, sacks of flour and plugs of tobacco and other items. Clarissa heard someone curse the heathens, and someone else said it might be fun to use them for target practice.

  “Fire one shot and I’ll shoot the man who does so,” Dawson warned. “Better to kill one of you and appease those warriors out there than let them wipe out this whole wagon train.”

  Clarissa had to smile at how easily the army officer in him showed itself. She knew the men believed every word he said, and no one raised a gun as Michael and the Krueger men tied the blankets so that the items inside wouldn’t fall out.

  “Carry them out and hand them to the Indians,” Dawson told them.

  “I’m not going out there!” Bert Krueger told him.

  “It’s all right, I assure you. One thing about Indians is they don’t go back on their word, unless one of us does something stupid, like insult them or shoot at them. Come on. I need your help with all this.”

  Wiping at sweat on his brow with his shirtsleeve, Bert picked up one of the blankets, and he, Michael, Will Krueger and Dawson carried the supplies outside the circle of wagons to the waiting Indians. Each arrogant-looking warrior took a blanket, and Dawson remounted his horse while the other three men made a hasty retreat back to their wagons.

  “Dawson won’t let them get us, will he, Mommy?” Sophie whispered.

  Clarissa smiled at the girl’s trust in the man. “No, he won’t let them hurt us.”

  Dawson rode with the warriors as they left, stopping about halfway between the wagons and the rest of the tribe. He and Zeb waited there until the leader of the band of Indians raised a hand in farewell.

  Dawson raised his hand in return, and the long procession of natives got under way again. Dawson said something to Zeb, who nodded his head and got his horse into a slow walk, moving ahead of the wagon train to follow the tribe, probably to make sure they kept going. Dawson turned and rode back to the emigrants, dismounting and tying his horse to one of the wagons, then rejoining the circle.

  “We shouldn’t have any trouble,” he announced. “We’ll stay here and make camp for the night. Zeb is riding on to make sure the Indians keep going for a ways and to see that they don’t regroup into some kind of war party. I don’t think that will happen.”

  “What makes you so sure?” a still-resentful Sam McCurdy spoke up.

  “I’m not sure. I’m simply going on experience. They have women and children along, and I convinced them there are soldiers behind us. They don’t want their women and children hurt any more than we want ours hurt, so just be glad they took the supplies and left. That’s a good sign.”

  “Those dirty savages took some good supplies from us,” McCurdy answered. “What gives them the right?”

  Dawson’s disgust with the man was obvious. “Because, McCurdy, in reality there are more of them than us, and I guarantee they’re a whole lot better at a fight than any of you are. Even if they don’t have guns, which some of them do have, they’d get through this circle of wagons and kill every one of us. They would burn everything in sight and ride off with your children. Don’t you think it’s better to try to get along with them, even if it means swallowing a little pride and losing a few supplies?”

  McCurdy’s lips moved into a pout as he folded his arms and leaned against his wagon, shaking his head.

  “You can stay with the circle of wagons for tonight,” Dawson told him. “If Zeb comes back in the morning and says things look good, you’d better fall back again once we get started. The last thing you want now is to be left behind with Indians lurking around, so don’t do something stupid to make me change my mind about sticking to the vote we took.”

  Sam glowered at Dawson but said nothing. Dawson walked over to Clarissa’s wagon, leaning on the gate.

  “Hi, Dawson!” Sophie said in a near whisper. “Can I talk now?”

  Dawson grinned broadly. “Yes you can, carrot cake.”

  Sophie giggled. “I’m not a piece of cake!”

  “Sure you are. You’re sweet like cake and your red hair reminds me of carrots, so you’re carrot cake.”

  Sophie covered her mouth and giggled again, and Dawson glanced at Clarissa. “You okay, Mrs. Clements?”

  “I’m a nervous wreck, but fine,” she answered with a smile. “I was scared for you.”

  “Good. That means you care, at least a little bit.”

  “You know I do.”

  He brightened more. “Then how about just one kiss?” he teased.

  “Okay!” Sophie thought he meant her. She crawled to the wagon gate and put her arms around his neck, planting a sloppy kiss smack on his mouth. “Pick me up, Dawson.”

  Dawson cast Clarissa a look of disappointment and despair as he took Sophie into his arms. “Well, I tried,” he told Clarissa with a teasing sigh. “If only her mommy loved me as much.” He walked away with Sophie in his arms, who yelled to Lena that Dawson had called her a carrot cake.

  Clarissa sat back with a sigh. “You’re using that child to get to me, Dawson Clements…and it’s working.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  July 8, 1863

  “These waters are deeper than our last crossing,” Dawson told his ever-more-weary group of travelers. “I’ve discussed this with Zeb here. I’ll let him tell you what we’re going to do.”

  They all stood at the edge of the swollen North Platte, nervous about getting to the other side.

  “We’ll tie guide ropes to each wagon,” Zeb told them, “and take the ropes by horse to the other side where we’ll tie them to oxen or draft horses we’ve taken over first. If a wagon starts to float, the team on the other side will keep the current from taking it away.”

  Clarissa rubbed at her aching lower back. Stress from the encounter with Indians, followed by tortuous climbs up ever-steeper hills, had taken a toll on everyone, man and animal alike. Mrs. Krueger was forced to unload a heavy oak headboard her father had made by hand and leave it behind to rot from the elements. She’d cried as though she’d lost a loved one, and Clarissa didn’t blame her.

  Now they all faced another river crossing, this one more daunting in spite of not being as wide as when they crossed the South Platte. The North Platte was more swollen from spring melt because it was closer to mountains. Several of the travelers had already voiced concerns over the fact that they did not know how to swim. Clarissa was one of them, but she was more afraid for Sophie.

  Dawson moved to her side as though sensing her worry. He leaned close to keep his voice from interrupting Zeb’s. “I’ll take you and Sophie across with me,” he told her. “Lena, too. My gelding is bigger than average and a strong swimmer.”

  “Dawson and I will both make special trips with any little ones you want to give us,” Zeb was telling the others. “Dawson will take his wife first so’s she can watch the children on the other side as we bring them over. After the kids, the women and the wagons, we’ll help get the cattle across.” He looked at Bert Krueger. “Just so’s you know, we won’t be held accountable for the cattle that panic and drown. Them animals can be pretty unpredictable when they get excited, but we’ll do our best.” He directed his attention to the rest of the group. “Each wagon will be hitched to the draft horses or oxen on the other side. We’ll also tie a rope to the back of each wagon as we float it across. All you men will
hang on to it from this side, gradually releasing it as the wagon is floated over. If we can keep the rope taut both ways, we should be able to hang on to the wagon even if the current grabs it. When the draft horses keep pulling, the wagon will eventually reach shallower waters again and roll up the opposite bank. When all is said and done, the remaining men on this side can ride—or I should say swim across—on my and Dawson’s horses and mules. If you can’t swim yourselves, just hang on. Horses can swim. Just keep kickin’ their sides and urgin’ them on. This is gonna be an all-day project, folks, and another day of dryin’ out on t’ other side.”

  “I’m not so sure about this.” Sam McCurdy spoke up. He’d been allowed to join them because they all needed to hear Zeb’s instructions.

  “Well, unless you know how to fly, McCurdy, I wouldn’t be sayin’ much, ’cause this is the only way we can keep goin’. Thousands of others have crossed here, includin’ me more ’n once, so t’ain’t as though it’s not possible.”

  “How many have drowned?” McCurdy asked with obvious mockery.

  “Well, now, I don’t know the numbers, McCurdy. You’d just better hope you ain’t one of the statistics.”

  Dawson put an arm around Clarissa’s waist. “Let’s get this thing started.”

  “Now?”

  “Now is as good a time as any.” He led Clarissa to his horse, a beautiful black gelding with a broad chest and a steady nature. Dawson had already unloaded everything from the horse but the saddle itself and put his gear as well as his boots into Clarissa’s wagon. Now he wore only simple cotton pants and a cotton shirt, with only stockings on his feet.

  He grasped the pommel of his saddle and mounted the horse, then reached down for Clarissa, taking his left foot out of the stirrup. Clarissa quickly removed her shoes and handed them to Carolyn. “Wish me luck,” she said with a deep breath.

  “You don’t need it. Dawson knows what he’s doing,” Carolyn assured her.

  “Thanks for the confidence,” Dawson told her with a grin. Clarissa got her foot into the stirrup and Dawson took her arm, helping her mount behind him on the horse. “Hang on tight!”

  “I’m scared to death!”

  “Just hang on to me. I’d never let anything happen to you, Mrs. Clements.”

  Clarissa realized Chad had never told her something like that. She’d never had to trust her life to him, and she imagined he would have thought of his own life first. Something told her Dawson would give his own life for hers, if necessary. She clung tightly around his middle, thinking what a solid man he was.

  “You’ll get mighty wet,” he yelled to her. “Thank goodness it’s plenty warm today.” He rode into the river, and in moments they were in cold water that grew ever deeper until Clarissa could feel the horse was no longer touching ground. She squeezed her eyes shut and hung on for dear life as Dawson leaned forward and gave gentle commands to his horse. Soon the water reached nearly to Clarissa’s shoulders. She wanted to scream from terror, but a voice inside told her not to be so afraid.

  This was Dawson. If she floated away he would swim after her. She began to wonder how she could have made this trip without him, and she pressed her face against his strong, muscled back, praying they would reach the other side quickly. After several long minutes in the strong, cold current, she could tell the horse’s hooves were touching ground again. Gradually they made their way up and out of the water, both of them drenched.

  Clarissa breathed a sigh of relief. “We made it!”

  “I told you we would.” Dawson turned slightly, reaching around and pulling her partway in front of him and kissing her lightly. With one hand to her neck he held her fast, kissing her again. His touch made her shiver, but she blamed it on her wet clothes. He moved his lips across her cheek—

  “Dawson, you have children and more women to bring across,” Clarissa reminded him.

  “I’m just celebrating that I got you across all right.”

  She searched his eyes. “Be careful. I hate to see you do this all day long.”

  “I’d rather be doing this than taking shrapnel in the leg fighting Confederate rebels,” he answered with a grin. He kept an arm around her to catch her under the arms as he helped her slide down from the horse. “I’ll try to get a blanket over here to you if I can keep it dry,” he told her as he turned his horse and headed back across the river.

  She watched him go back into the water to fetch Sophie. Zeb was already coming across with John and Rosemarie’s little daughter, Tess, who was the same age as Sophie. Then began the arduous task of bringing over the rest of the children, then the women, except for Wanda Krueger, who insisted on riding across in her wagon. She claimed that if the wagon and more of its precious contents of handmade furniture and other items from the Old Country were going to be lost, she would just as soon go with them. She still mourned the loss of that headboard like the loss of a child.

  Next came Michael’s draft horses and several oxen, to which ropes would be tied that would be attached to each wagon as it came across. Clarissa did not doubt that the wagons would be the most difficult item to bring over, and she was right. Nearly every wagon started to float away with the current, so that it was amazingly difficult for the huge draft horses and the oxen to keep pulling to get each wagon up to the other side.

  Things went relatively smoothly until they began pulling Eric Buettner’s wagon across. Filled with supplies to open a small trading store in Montana, the wagon was heavier than the others. Buettner had refused to dump some of those supplies when climbing the lower mountains, and he’d lost two of his eight oxen to exhaustion. He’d also refused Dawson’s order to take a horse across and chose instead to stay with his wagon, thinking to keep an eye on the contents to make sure something didn’t come loose and float away. He’d spent last night and most of the morning securing every single item, but now the weight of the wagon made it sink lower than the others when it reached the middle of the river.

  “It’s not going to make it,” Clarissa commented to Carolyn. She grabbed Carolyn’s hand, and the two women began praying, but the current took over, and the weight of the wagon caused the tie ropes to snap. The wagon began breaking up, parts of it flowing away with the current. Buettner foolishly tried to swim after some of them, then sank from sight.

  Dawson rode into the water, then dived off his horse to search. At almost the same time, Sam McCurdy rode a horse into the water from the other side. It was hard to tell if he intended to swim across or try to rescue Eric Buettner, but it appeared as if Sam panicked when his horse started swimming. In seconds he slipped off the horse and disappeared. Susan McCurdy began screaming her husband’s name and running up and down the north bank, and Clarissa put a hand to her stomach when Dawson did not reappear right away.

  Finally Dawson’s head popped up out of the water, then he dived down again, apparently still looking for Eric Buettner. Clarissa wondered if he even knew Sam McCurdy had also gone under.

  “I think they’re both gone,” Michael muttered. “I just hope Dawson doesn’t join them.”

  Dawson finally reappeared several yards farther downriver, then swam for an outcropping of rocks, where he pulled himself up.

  Clarissa grabbed a blanket and hurried down to where he made it to shore, dripping wet and out of breath. “Sam McCurdy rode into the water and then went under!” she told him.

  Dawson ran his hands through his hair and looked out over the river, then bent over to catch his breath. “There’s nothing more I can do,” he panted.

  Clarissa put the blanket around his shoulders. “I didn’t mean that you should. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Go get him!” Susan McCurdy screamed, surprising them both by charging up to Dawson in a rage. “You went after Eric Buettner, but you don’t care what happens to my husband, do you? Let the drunken Sam McCurdy drown! Is that it? Let him drown?” She landed into Dawson, pummeling him with her fists so that Dawson had to grasp her wrists to stop her. Then she started kicki
ng him. Her brother-in-law ran over and shouted for her to stop, then grabbed her away kicking and screaming.

  Dawson closed his eyes and turned away. “I didn’t even know he’d gone in,” he told Clarissa, as if having to explain.

  “Everyone knows that. It’s all right, Dawson. He did a stupid thing, and you were already trying to save another man.”

  “You don’t understand. There’s something—one last thing you don’t know about me.” He shivered into the blanket, still watching out over the water.

  Clarissa frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He rubbed the blanket over his face and hair. “Something I never told—” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Never mind.” He looked at her, deep pain in his eyes. “It’s not like what she said,” he told her. “You know that, don’t you? I would never deliberately let a man drown.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, as though that one gesture would rebury something. “Let’s go. I have to form a search party while some of the others bring over the rest of the cattle. We should at least ride down current and see if the bodies wash up somewhere so they can be decently buried.” He looked her over as though to appraise her condition. “You okay?”

  “I’m more concerned about you. At least change into some dry clothes and get your boots on before you start a search.” She put a hand to his arm and gave him a tug. “Come on. Get changed.”

  They walked back to the wagons, which all sat drying in the late-afternoon sun. Women were spreading out blankets and clothing over the canvas tops, wagon tongues, wagon gates, bushes and trees. Sue McCurdy sat near her wagon sobbing and carrying on as though someone were skinning her alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven