The Oregon Trail: sketches of prairie and Rocky-Mountain life eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 384 pages of information about The Oregon Trail.

Shaw had a propensity for luxurious indulgence.  He spread his blanket with the utmost accuracy on the ground, picked up the sticks and stones that he thought might interfere with his comfort, adjusted his saddle to serve as a pillow, and composed himself for his night’s rest.  I had the first guard that evening; so, taking my rifle, I went out of the tent.  It was perfectly dark.  A brisk wind blew down from the hills, and the sparks from the fire were streaming over the prairie.  One of the emigrants, named Morton, was my companion; and laying our rifles on the grass, we sat down together by the fire.  Morton was a Kentuckian, an athletic fellow, with a fine intelligent face, and in his manners and conversation he showed the essential characteristics of a gentleman.  Our conversation turned on the pioneers of his gallant native State.  The three hours of our watch dragged away at last, and we went to call up the relief.

R.’s guard succeeded mine.  He was absent; but the captain, anxious lest the camp should be left defenseless, had volunteered to stand in his place; so I went to wake him up.  There was no occasion for it, for the captain had been awake since nightfall.  A fire was blazing outside of the tent, and by the light which struck through the canvas, I saw him and Jack lying on their backs, with their eyes wide open.  The captain responded instantly to my call; he jumped up, seized the double-barreled rifle, and came out of the tent with an air of solemn determination, as if about to devote himself to the safety of the party.  I went and lay down, not doubting that for the next three hours our slumbers would be guarded with sufficient vigilance.

CHAPTER VIII

TAKING FRENCH LEAVE

On the 8th of June, at eleven o’clock, we reached the South Fork of the Platte, at the usual fording place.  For league upon league the desert uniformity of the prospect was almost unbroken; the hills were dotted with little tufts of shriveled grass, but betwixt these the white sand was glaring in the sun; and the channel of the river, almost on a level with the plain, was but one great sand-bed, about half a mile wide.  It was covered with water, but so scantily that the bottom was scarcely hidden; for, wide as it is, the average depth of the Platte does not at this point exceed a foot and a half.  Stopping near its bank, we gathered bois de vache, and made a meal of buffalo meat.  Far off, on the other side, was a green meadow, where we could see the white tents and wagons of an emigrant camp; and just opposite to us we could discern a group of men and animals at the water’s edge.  Four or five horsemen soon entered the river, and in ten minutes had waded across and clambered up the loose sand-bank.  They were ill-looking fellows, thin and swarthy, with care-worn, anxious faces and lips rigidly compressed.  They had good cause for anxiety; it was three days since they first

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The Oregon Trail: sketches of prairie and Rocky-Mountain life from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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