An image should appear at this position in the text. To use the entire page scan as a placeholder, edit this page and replace "{{missing image}}" with "{{raw image|The Overland Monthly, Jan-June 1894.djvu/240}}". Otherwise, if you are able to provide the image then please do so. For guidance, see Wikisource:Image guidelines and Help:Adding images. |  |
A STORY OF THE OREGON TRAIL.
In May, 1851, in Sangamon County, Illinois, about one hundred wagons gathered together to cross the plains to far-off Oregon. The train consisted of both horse and ox teams, with about one hundred and fifty loose head of fine American horses. I was then eight years old, and my father's wagon was second in the line, which was led by a Captain Clark, who had crossed before. Captain Clark had with him his mother, his two brothers, and his sister Grace, and a young fellow named John Spray. The Captain, his mother, and Grace, usually rode in a family carriage in the lead, while the two brothers, with Sperry and other boys, in the saddle, were kept busy during the long, tedious trip in driving and herding the horses. Little did this happy caravan know what was in store for them.
As camps were made and left, and time wore on, it became necessary that the loose horses should be started ahead each morning to graze, while the herders looked out for suitable camps for nooning and for the next night's halt. Each party that had loose stock was expected to furnish its share of the herders. It became the task of "little Jim "to accompany Captain Clark, with his brothers and Sperry, and the mother and sister in the carriage, each clay, morning and afternoon, as they drove ahead of the band of horses, to wait at some good grazing and watering place for the slow ox teams.
Everything so far had been prosperous. The train began to think nothing would happen; that it was attended by luck. In the last of July, in the mountains of Idaho, it became very hot; and when the road reached and followed along the banks of the Snake River, in a country where no rain fell in summer, we found the dust very deep. For weeks Indians had at nearly every camp made visits; they seemed peaceable, and only wanted to swap their ponies for some of the fine mares. They would offer as high as five ponies for one of the sleek, well formed horses of the train. No fear was felt of these visitors, for our company was large, and well armed and equipped, and another still larger train was just ahead, only twenty miles away. As many camps passed, without accident or incident outside of the ordinary happenings of camp life, the Captain may have become somewhat careless.
