by Nathan Jones
“That's to be expected,” the mountain man grunted. “I would've put your pace at about that judging by what I've seen. And going on that I'd say we're looking at a journey of at least two months, probably closer to three.”
Simon nodded grimly. “But the badlands are flat and reasonably smooth, right? Good for wheels if we don't have a road to travel on?”
“In some places.” Tom turned to Kristy and her friend. “Luckily our first leg will be to Grand Junction, Colorado, which will be a better place to buy supplies anyway. It's also the easiest part of the trip, following along I-70.”
“Following the interstate?” Simon cut in sharply.
“Along it but away from it, safe from any ambushes bandits might have set up on the road itself,” Tom continued in the same flat, even tone. Kristy wondered what it would take to rattle the old geezer. “Although in some places we'll have to use it or nearby roads. I'll scout those particularly well.”
Their leader nodded, mollified.
Kristy gave a start as Tom turned back to her, and hoped he hadn't read her thoughts in her expression. “It's about 170 miles to Grand Junction if you follow the highway directly,” he continued. “Probably closer to 180 with the detours I've planned. That's fifteen days if we can keep up a pace of twelve miles a day, which we'd better on this easy leg of the journey. But even so I'd advise you buy supplies for three weeks. Any more than that will just slow you down and make the trip even harder.”
“What about my husband's estimates of how much food per day we'll need?” Vicky asked.
The mountain man glanced over at her. “I'd say a pound and a half of food a day, while on the low side of what you'll need if you're pushing a handcart, is reasonable. Especially when you factor in how much more difficult it'll be to pull with too much added weight.” He paused thoughtfully. “But half that for the kids is a low estimate of what they'll need. Three-quarters would be safer.”
“That seems high,” Vicky protested.
The man just shrugged. “They're growing kids. Although I suppose you'll be the best ones to judge what's right for you and yours. I can just offer general numbers.”
Simon cut in. “Think of it this way, Mrs. Hendrickson. You can buy for three weeks like he suggests, and in that time see how much you use and how much you'll need for the next leg of the trip.”
Vicky nodded reluctantly. “And water?”
“Enough for three days for drinking and washing up.” Tom replied without hesitation. “Any more than that is added weight you'd have to carry, and I'll let you know if you'll need more for particular stretches. On the safe side you'll want two gallons per person per day for drinking alone on this first leg to Grand Junction, and three gallons when we start getting into the hotter-”
“Three gallons?” Kristy cut in incredulously, sure he must mean quarts.
“To be safe,” the old mountain man replied in the same calm, even tone. “Remember, you're going to be pulling a handcart all day across an arid wasteland in temperatures in excess of a hundred degrees.”
Well it was hard to argue that. “What about the children?”
“Especially the children. They need more water than adults, although not pulling a handcart will certainly help.” Tom glanced at Skyler, who hid shyly behind Kristy's leg at the attention. “Although you look as if you might be able to help out with that.”
“I do,” her son said stoutly. “I push with Mom and Mrs. Hendrickson when Mr. Hendrickson is resting.”
Kristy absently patted the top of Skyler's head in reassurance. She hadn't known kids needed so much water, although she supposed Skyler had reached for the water jug as often as she had on the trip south, and always gulped down a surprising amount.
But still, three gallons for five people was a staggering amount. That added up to 15 gallons a day, 45 for three days. At 8 pounds a gallon they'd be looking at 360 pounds of extra weight. And that was just drinking water. Then you counted the food, and all their other possessions . . .
It was just too much. Besides, did they really need that much water? They'd been making do with two 5-gallon jugs this entire time, and usually only needing to refill every other day. And even with that added weight they were already struggling to push the cart.
Of course they might not've been drinking enough, and the badlands would be way hotter and drier than Central Utah, especially in New Mexico. And the mountain man had said his estimate was on the safe side. Kristy thought they could easily manage with two gallons a day until Grand Junction; from there they could decide whether to start carrying more.
And they could reduce water loss to cut down on how much they needed to drink. For instance she could make sure they all breathed through their noses and kept their mouths shut whenever possible. And they'd want to dress appropriately for the heat to reduce sweating, and also to avoid sunburn.
But even with all of that they were going to need a lot more jugs; it looked as if purchasing supplies was going to be a bit more involved than just buying some sacks of flour and oats. “Are we going to be resting through the heat of the day?” she asked.
“Of course, especially once we reach more extreme climates and get closer to the hottest part of summer. It would be impossible not to.” Tom turned to Simon. “Which means an earlier start and later camp.”
“I'm well aware.” Their leader looked grim. “It's going to be an adjustment, going from what we know to what you're describing.”
“That's why you want to be prepared. Speaking of which . . .” The mountain man turned to Kristy and Vicky. “Any more questions, ladies? If not we should get back to it. I've got a long trip ahead of me today and I'd like to get started before too long.”
Kristy glanced at her friend, who shrugged. “I think we're good. Thank you for your time, Mr. . . .”
“Miller,” the man supplied, making no effort to offer his hand. “Hope it helps.”
She nodded and walked away tugging Skyler along behind her, a bit relieved to get away from the old coot. It wasn't until Vicky had caught up halfway down the road to Emery that she realized she'd never introduced herself in return, but by then it was too late to go correct her rudeness. Besides, she doubted a reclusive hermit cared much about manners.
“So I suppose we'll need to revise our plans for supplies,” Vicky said as they walked.
Kristy nodded. “At least we only need to plan as far as Grand Junction. That's a lot less daunting than preparing for two or three months of travel all at once.”
* * * * *
In spite of Tom's resolve to get away quickly there was more to do preparing the convoy than he'd expected. Or at least more than there should've been if the settlers had their act together, although he couldn't really blame a bunch of farmers for not being experienced caravaners.
It was still more than a bit annoying; he kept trying to break away and Simon kept dragging him back. There was always another question, another thing to check, another problem to solve.
It was halfway to noon by the time he finally stowed his pack with the convoy's leader, leaving everything but his water bottles and enough food for a couple meals. Relieved to finally be away, he started for the hills at a steady trot that would eat the distance behind him. He'd have to slow down once he hit the steeper paths, although he still planned to move faster than he would've liked.
Tom could maintain a pace that would get him up to his winter lodge and back down to the convoy in time like he'd promised, but it would be brutal on his body. Especially hauling a full load of trade goods on the way down. He wished it hadn't been necessary.
But on the plus side, while traveling with a convoy the pace would be so ridiculously easy to maintain he'd have plenty of time to rest after his ordeal.
Over the next few hours he scaled or skirted foothills and finally reached the first mountain slope, which he climbed at an angle circling to the north rather than climbing over. By noon Emery was far below him, and the vista ahead revealed a valley between
two mountains with a stream running down the middle.
There were no roads on either mountainside aside from overgrown logging and ATV trails, which tended to follow the steep slopes rather than trying to go straight up or down them. Tom cut across a few as he climbed directly down into the valley and crossed the stream, aiming for a line of twenty-foot cliffs low on the far slope, which he reached in the early afternoon.
Tom's winter lodge was built in a deep natural overhang, almost a cave, at the bottom of that cliffside. The overhang had a natural chimney to carry away smoke, and was cozy enough that after he'd walled off the front a small fire heated the interior nicely.
The steep slope he had to climb to reach the lodge was thickly forested, with tall blue spruce and Douglas fir, providing natural camouflage so the lodge couldn't be seen unless you were practically on top of it. Not to mention that between the steep slope, dense wiry undergrowth, and the fact that if you did tackle the brutal climb up the slope your only reward would be finding yourself at the bottom of an impassable cliff, Tom had never had anyone stumble across his winter home.
He'd seen plenty of people stumble past, down in the valley, but they never saw him unless they needed help or he was in the mood to say hello. And he never invited them to his lodge.
Now that summer was swift approaching the snow in the high mountains would finally be melting, and normally after his spring trading run to Emery would be about the time when Tom abandoned this lodge and headed to his summer hideout.
But it looked as if that wasn't happening this year. By the time he got back from a trip to Texas, especially leading a slow convoy on the way there, it would be about the time when he moved back down to this lodge anyway. And that was assuming they made good speed and his plans didn't change, as they often did when he was trekking long distances across the Southwest.
It might be spring next year before he saw this home again.
That considered, Tom took some time preparing the place for a long absence, doing his best to make sure he wouldn't return to a gutted out ruin. He'd done this song and dance before other major treks across the Southwest, and had learned some valuable if harsh lessons about how best to go about it to prevent the most likely disasters.
First things first he gathered up all the possessions he'd really need when he got back and wrapped them in a tarp, stowing them in a high spot at the back of the cave where they shouldn't get exposed to too much water. He moved the furniture and other big stuff back there too, including the new chair he'd recently upholstered with horsehide.
Everything else that was small and light enough to take with him became trade goods; he could replace most of it with a bit of work, and if he was making a run to Texas he wanted to bring enough with him to make it worth his while.
The good news there was he had some decent things to trade if he was willing to do without for a while, like furs he'd been using for comfort that could just as easily be sold, and extra buckskin and fur clothing, especially some of his spare winter stuff, that was clean and in good repair. Not to mention handcrafted utensils, dishware, and decorations that he'd kept for his own use that he could honestly do without. And the antlers he'd saved. And several other things worth trading away if the price was right.
And of course, last but not least his store of dried meat, mostly venison jerky and salted trout. Enough to last for months, which was good because added to the food he'd bought from Brady it would make up the bulk of his supplies for the trip to Texas. He could probably even trade with the convoy for other foods for variety and proper nutrition, and maybe make some extra coin if he had meat to spare.
Every little bit helped; fingers crossed between his meager savings, the little he'd taken home from this latest run to Emery, the pay for guiding the convoy, and whatever he made from selling most of his earthly possessions in Texas, he'd have enough to buy a horse. If Newpost really was becoming a real trading hub then he might even be able to find one there for a good price.
Tom bundled everything together and rigged up some carrying straps, then after one last inspection of his lodge closed and barred the door behind him, leaving the rawhide strap he used to open it from the outside hanging ready. When he was inside he could pull that strap in through a hole in the door to “lock” it, but since he was going to be gone for a long time any determined intruder would eventually get in anyway.
He didn't want them breaking down his door if that was their intent, since that would be much more of a pain to fix than any theft or other mischief they might get up to inside. Although honestly he didn't expect anyone to stumble across the place in his absence.
No one had yet.
With his winter lodge taken care of he cached most of his tools beneath a tree a stone's throw from the lodge, taking extra care to hide them since he couldn't bring them with him and didn't want them stolen; of all his possessions they would be hardest to replace. The only one he left out was a short shovel, which he tied to his bundle of trade goods and hauled down the steep, densely forested and overgrown slope.
That was to dig up his cache at the bottom of the slope, near a trail he used to hike to Emery if he was hauling anything more than his pack. The direct, terrain-scaling path he'd taken to get here would be difficult to impossible to use while carrying any sort of burden, which left going about twice the distance on a gentler but more circuitous route.
This cache had all the trade goods Tom hadn't been able to carry on yesterday's trade run. It wasn't as big as the bundle he'd already sold in Emery, but added to the stuff from his lodge he had a burden that would be even heavier and more unwieldy than the backpack and bundle he'd taken down to Emery yesterday.
It was a satisfying weight, one he was glad was going into a wagon to be pulled by the convoy's beasts of burden so he could take it all. And although his pessimistic side told him not to start skinning his catch before the trap was even set, he still found himself tallying up the value of the various items. He could almost hear the clink of silver stacking up in front of him.
He wouldn't be rich by any means, but if all went well it would still be more coin than he'd seen in a long time.
With a bit of fiddling Tom was able to add the cached goods to his bundle and get it all tied together and comfortable for carrying. Once that was done he wrapped his shovel in the tarp he'd used to wrap the buried cache and tossed the tool into the hole, kicking dirt over it and packing it down with his foot, then rolling a rock over it. That should keep it safe from any travelers passing through, fingers crossed.
That was pretty much all the preparations to leave he needed to take care of, and done quicker than he'd expected. With a final look around at the peaceful mountain valley he hauled his bundle onto his back and secured the carrying straps, adjusting the weight a bit, then headed down the valley on the circuitous path to Emery.
He reached it about an hour after dark and trudged into the convoy's camp. Most people were already asleep, getting their rest for the big day tomorrow, but Tom found Simon and a few other men standing near a pile of foodstuffs purchased in Emery. From the looks of things they were still occupied with tallying it and discussing how to distribute it among the wagons.
The convoy's leader immediately made a beeline for Tom as soon as he saw him. “Finally!” he said. “I've got a whole list of questions I've been accumulating as we made preparations today. If we could-”
“Tomorrow,” Tom cut in curtly, looking around. He found the big oxen wagon with his pack stowed in the bed and made a beeline for it to confirm it was still there and untampered with.
Simon followed, frown visible in the firelight. “I want to get an early start tomorrow,” he said. “I'd like to finish preparations tonight.”
“And you'd like me to scout for you tomorrow too, right?” Tom demanded. The man hesitated. “I've walked more than eighteen miles today, most of it on steep terrain and half of it while lugging a seventy pound burden.”
The redheaded man shook his head st
ubbornly. “This is what I'm paying you for, Trapper. We won't be far from Emery on tomorrow's trek, so we can probably do without scouting or I can use some of my own people, give you a chance to rest up. I appreciate you're tired, but I want your help tonight.”
Tom bit back a sigh and shrugged his bundle off his shoulders, arranging it in the wagon with his pack atop it. It easily fit in the space the convoy's leader had provided.
He wanted nothing more than to collapse and give his screaming muscles a break, but one of the unpleasant realities of being employed was he didn't get to do what he wanted. The freedom of complete independence was one of his favorite things about living in the mountains.
But like his summer hideout, that independence was something he wouldn't get to enjoy this summer. He turned back to Simon and motioned for him to lead the way. “You're the boss.”
Chapter Three
Setting Out
Kristy was up early the next morning, helping Bob and Vicky make the final preparations while Skyler and Lisa stayed busy packing up their things so they'd fit in the now fully loaded handcart.
The main thing was filling up the new water containers they'd purchased, old but sturdy plastic 5-gallon tanks. They didn't fill up all the new tanks, keeping some empty and ready for when they reached the hotter, more desolate stretch of the badlands where extra water would be necessary. But even so with the tanks they filled, plus the food they'd bought, the cart was so heavy that Bob grunted with weary despair as he tested it out.
“I think we'll all have to work together on this,” he said. “I don't think I can move it on my own for long.”
Kristy nodded morosely. Taking turns like they'd done from Utah Valley wasn't really all that realistic, but it meant they'd be working hard all day instead of just half of it, with fewer opportunities to take breaks.
From the looks of things her future for the next few months involved straining at the push bar or throwing her shoulder against the back of the cart. Just thinking of it made her back ache.