Coffin To Lie On (6 page)

The only solace she saw
from that horrible storm was the rainbow from God that glowed so
colorfully above them. She recited in her head the verse from
Genesis 9:13.
I do set my rainbow in the
cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the
earth.

When the train neared the
fort, the wagon train master rode along the line to announce the
fort was ahead of them. The wagons need-
ed
to follow him to a spot on Plum Creek to camp.

As they passed the fort,
the sight of wooden buildings surrounding a central parade ground
surprised Miranda. The whole fort was out in the open. She'd
expected fortified log walls around the buildings to keep everyone
at the fort safe as she supposed all forts had. She remarked about
it to Anselm.

He explained, “De fort vas
set up as a supply depot and message center for travelers so no
need for walls. Coopersmith said dey rarely haf any trouble vit
Indians.”

As they poked along in the
circle the wagons made near the creek, Miranda pointed with a shaky
finger at a cluster of wooden crosses. “What could have happened to
those poor folks?”

“
I do not
know. Sickness comes easy to some I haf heard,” Anselm replied
solemnly.

Coopersmith planned to
spend two days at the fort to rest the oxen and people. That
afternoon, Miranda walked along with Anselm to the trading post. He
bartered for flour, sugar and canned goods to replace what they had
used.

Anselm bought a good supply
of shells. He hoped that would do for the next leg of the trip.
After all, he was a good hunter so with any luck they should have
enough fresh meat to eat along the way.

The clerk shared they would
have one more supply post at Fort Hall, Idaho before they reached
Oregon. “You best stock up good there cause I hear Portland has
raised the price of flour from fifteen dollars a hundred weight to
hundred dollars.”

Miranda said sternly,
“We're going to Oregon, motivated by hard times where we came from
and with a promise by the government of better times. How does
price gouging help make things better for us?”

The clerk turned red and
didn't offer a comment.

“
Ve dank
you for de information, Mister. We vill heed vat you say and make
sure to buy plenty of flour to make due,” Anselm said, ignoring
Miranda's complaint.

“
I'm
sorry to sound so cross, Sir,” Miranda
apologized.

“
That's
fine ma'am. I expect you're tired out from the trip is all,” the
clerk replied.

“
Yes, I
am. Tell me something. We noticed several wooden crosses when we
camped by Plum Creek. What happened to those people?” Miranda asked
the clerk.

The clerk grimaced. “A
stray Indian attack on stragglers that didn't stay with the train
they started out with. The Indians killed and scalped twelve men.
They took off with two women. The troops went after them and got
the women back.”

“
That's good,” Miranda said. She raised an
eyebrow at Anselm as she said to the clerk, “But I thought the
Indians
rarely
raid anymore in this area.”

The clerk shrugged. “They
never bother the fort cause there's too many soldiers here. But
heed those poor travelers' bad luck and just stay with your wagon
train. There's safety in numbers. That way you will be
fine.

Farther west, you might run
into raiding Shoshone. They steal from everyone, including other
Indian tribes. Mostly, they like to catch wagons that decided to go
it on their own. Easy to take advantage of folks when there's just
a few men fighting them.”

“
Ve vill
heed dat advice,” Anselm said.

“
I hear
tell Oregon is the land of milk and honey. I expect you will like
it's just fine and dandy to live there,” the clerk said to Miranda
to encourage her. He added to Anselm, “This country is filling up
fast. By this time next year, the railroad tracks will be connected
all the way to the west coast. People won't have to travel in wagon
trains after that. They can ride in comfort in a train car and get
where they're going faster. Ain't that
something?”

Anselm nodded agreement as
he felt Miranda tense at his side. He gripped her elbow and headed
her for the door, before she could make another snappy
reply.

As Miranda helped Anselm
carry the supplies to their wagon, she mulled over what the clerk
said. His news didn't help her disposition. It only made her
wondered why they couldn't have waited one more year. The baby
would be a toddler by then. Maybe the trip would have been easier
on her.

The middle of July the
train came upon two burnt wagons. It hadn't happened too long
before they arrived. Small gray plumes of smoke still hovered in
the air. The only items recognizable were the blackened iron bed
frames and wooden wheel rims. A thick array of arrows pierced the
ground around the spot.

The wagon master halted the
train back from the site until the scout looked around. Anselm's
wagon was so far away Miranda had to squint and focus hard to pick
out the scout walking around the burning wagons.

The wagon master rode along
the train to tell everyone the arrows belonged to Shoshone. The
scout found four bodies near the two wagons, burnt and scalped. He
wanted men for a burial detail. With a grim face, Anselm climbed
off the wagon and went to the back to get his shovel.

The wagon master said to
stay on guard until they away from that place. Usually, the Indians
didn't attack a large train so he wasn't too worried. He just
wanted to take every precaution. If an attack happened, he reminded
everyone they should to start forming the wagons into a circle
right away.

The burials didn't take
long with so much man power. Preacher Claymore read briefly from
his bible. Once the men were back aboard their wagons, the wagon
master blew his bugle and waved for them to roll.

Chapter 7

Later in the afternoon,
Miranda relaxed and breathed easier. It looked like they would make
it without an Indian attack. They stopped for the night and readied
the camp.

While Miranda built the
fire, she heard an owl, perched in the grove of trees on the far
side of the train. Another owl hooted near her wagon. As she added
sticks to her cook fire, she wondered why the owls didn't wait
until dark to call.

From bushes came the call
of a meadow lark. Miranda enjoyed the bird's flute song, but
something was strange about the tooo weet tooo tee deloo. When the
meadow lark was answered by a similar tune, she tensed and looked
across the circle. None of the other women noticed the birds. They
were too busy preparing supper.

Worse yet came the song of
mourning doves that had the cadence of hoot owls. That was a red
flag to Miranda. She untied the chicken crate and walked to the
wagon tongue to sit the crate in grass. The chickens needed to eat.
After being crated so long, the hens had stopped laying. She placed
the crate in the grass and shaded her eyes with her hand to
searched the surrounding scenery.

She didn't like how quiet
the timber was except for those strange birds calls. Miranda
panicked at the thought there might be Indians lurking behind the
nearby trees and bushes. She wheeled around and ran to find Anselm
just as an arrow plunked into the Bjornson wagon seat three wagons
away.

Birgit Bjornson screamed,
“Indians!”

Men scrambled for their
rifles while the women gathered up the children and huddle in the
middle of camp. Arrows whizzed into the circle, plunking into
wagons and the ground.

Savages, wearing nothing
but face paint and breech cloths, rushed from the trees, screaming
their attack. The men fired. Miranda saw a few Indians fall, but
the rest kept coming.

Florian Bjornson squalled
in agony and clutched his chest as an arrow sank into his body and
came through his shoulder blade, driving him backward. He landed
hard on the ground, pushing the arrow tip into the earth. By the
time, Birgit, crying hysterically, knelt beside him, her husband
had passed out which was a blessing.

Miranda ran to help Florian
and comfort Birgit. She had to pull the woman off his body. “Let me
help him, Birgit.”

The woman straightened up
so Miranda could see Florian's wound. She stuffed a piece of cloth
around the arrow shaft to stanch the bleeding from the front
side.

Miranda patted Birgit's
hand. “Just comfort him until this is over. The men will know what
to do to get the arrow out of Florian.”

“
Dank
you,” Birgit said through trembling lips.

Miranda waited with Brigit
for the fighting to stop, patting the woman's shoulder to keep her
calm.

It didn't take long for the
Indians to realize they were out numbered and out gunned. They
retreated into the underbrush, mounted their paint ponies and raced
away.

A few of the men were
nicked by arrows. The worse injury was Florian Bjornson. He was
bleeding badly from the look of the dark red pool seeping out from
under him.

Some of the men gathered
around. Coopersmith saw blood stained the front of Birgit's dress.
“Ma'am, you get hit too?”

“
Na, but
please help my husband,” she pleaded.

Wilbur Mast went to his
wagon for a bottle of whiskey to disinfect a knife. Another lifted
the man's shoulder off the ground to bring the arrow out of the
soil. They held the limp man up while Coopersmith cut off the arrow
tip and jerked out the shaft.

One steady pull on the
shaft freed the arrow from Florian's shoulder. Miranda couldn't
bear to watch. She was so thankful Florian remain-ed out cold until
that part was over.

When men picked up the limp
man, a trail of blood splatters followed them. By then, Birgit had
a pallet made for him in the wagon bed. She packed the wound with
bandages. Now all they could do was wait to see if the man lived
through the night.

Wagon master Coopersmith
put on extra guards that night to protect the train and the cattle.
He was afraid the Indians might sneak back in the dark and scatter
the herd. To everyone's relief that didn't happen.

The next morning, Anselm
hitched the Bjornson oxen to their wagon and drove so Florian's
wife could tend to her husband. Sarie Lee rode with them to help
with Florian. Miranda had to drive her wagon, but she offered to
stay through the night with Florian so Birgit could get some
rest.

As Miranda drove away from
camp, she noted the dead savages' bronze bodies, dressed only in
loin cloths and war paint, sprawled on the ground. She closed her
eyes and prayed a prayer of thanks to God for letting the men
triumph over the Indians.

What was it her mother
used to say.
Expect to live forever but
prepare to die tomorrow.
She expected
those Indians lived that way. She'd feared during the attack while
she sat out in the the open with Brigit and Florian, with all the
arrows flying, she might not see morning. If she'd died from an
Indian arrow, she'd
preferred that over
being taken captive.

After a week of around the
clock care, Brigit told Miranda and Sarie Lee Florian was mended
enough they wouldn't have to help anymore. She gave each woman a
hug and thanked them for all they did. Two weeks later, he was
driving his wagon again.

One morning just before the
wagons forded the South Platte River, Miranda was so worn out she
didn't wake up when everyone else did.

A shower went through about
bedtime the night before so the ground was damp. They had spent the
night in the wagon. Anselm was able to slip out of the wagon, make
a fire and cook coffee. He ate two cold biscuits from the larder,
before he hitched up the team.

The jostling of the moving
wagon woke Miranda. She hurried to dress and climbed on the seat
with Anselm. She scolded, “Why didn't you wake me?”

“
I hated
to do dat ven you vere sleeping so good. I saved you a cold
biscuit.” He reached behind him and took the lid off a small pan,
fished out the biscuit and handed it to her. “De coffee pot is by
the pan. It might be cooled off by now, but you can get you a cup
if you vant.”

“
Oh, I
want.” Miranda kissed her thoughtful husband on the cheek, before
she nibbled at her biscuit and drank her tepid
coffee.

They traveled through the
Nebraska prairie filled with buffalo, antelope and jack rabbits.
What an abundance of game for the men to shoot. They had fresh meat
when they stopped to eat.

Miranda never tired of
looking at the vast varieties of wild flowers, nodding their heads
in the waving prairie grass.

One morning, she heard
unusual sounds coming from the tall grass. A low haunting sound
that imitated the wind. Wooo, woo-ooo, woo-ooh was followed by a
stomping noise.

“
Anselm,
what was that?”