Ben Ch 8

MAYTIME of 1852 found the Pigeon Creek caravan ready to leave the little village. It was not without many heartaches that the parting came. Up on the hilltop one of Ben's grandmothers and his Aunt Ruth lay in their graves. Friends and relatives who had chosen not to go must be left behind. Uncle Lorenzo and Aunt Melinda were among those who decided to stay in Iowa.

"I do wish we all could go together," said Grandmother White with trembling voice. "But maybe you'll come next year. Anyway, God bless you."

Ben's mother found it hard to face the parting--and the long trip ahead. She had five children now to care for. Two more boys, Isaac and Parley, had been born in the Pigeon Creek home.

"Don't cry, Mother," spoke up Hannah; "I'll help you all I can." Ten years old, she felt quite grownup; and she did give her mother fine help every day on that long journey.

Ben and Paul were too full of excitement about the trip to do any crying. They were boys in their teens and ready to do their share of the work. Towser was, like them, eager to go.

"I just wish we had Bones to help you keep the Injuns and wolves away," said Paul, patting Towser's curly head. Poor old Bones, however, had died two years before, and was buried in the hills of Pigeon Creek.

Scenes of that pleasant homeland could be taken only in memory. Yet there was new hope' and cheer over the prospect of a more beautiful place among the mountains. Best of all, there would be reunions with the friends and relatives who had led the way.

Ben's thoughts of seeing his Uncles Starling and Sam kept down any sadness he might have felt. Besides, he had new responsibilities now. He was to drive one of the ox teams with old Buck and Brindle as "wheelers." Joe Phelps, too, was to have his own ox team, and they were to be in the same caravan. No wonder they had spent hours talking over the trip. Each of them had his own rifle, too, but only to be used in case of real need.

A resounding crack from the big whip of the captain of the train was the signal to start the journey. With cheers and tears, the pioneers wended their way with loaded wagons, along the road toward the Winter Quarters ferry. It took several hours there to get all the wagons across the Missouri River and on through the almost deserted town.

A first camp-ground was made in the hills, by a pleasant creek. The two young teamsters were ready for supper that night and for bed, too. It had been a hard and exciting day.

Hardly had they dropped asleep, so it seemed to them, when around came one of the night herders with his call, "Roll out! roll out! the oxen are coming!" Then came the bugle call as a signal for all to rise for prayer. Another day of the long journey had dawned.

Two days later the caravan reached the Elkhorn River. Their camp was made near the spot where the pioneer vanguard under President Young had assembled for the path finding company.

A guide book, printed for the help of the pioneers who would follow, proved most helpful. Ben and Joe and other young folk in the company used it to get more joy out of the trip. At night around the campfire, or at noon, the boys would read this little booklet as many read automobile folders today, to keep track of the road. It was fun also to be on the lookout for interesting spots mentioned in the guidebook.

"In about three days we shall be crossing the Loup Fork," said Joe. I'll bet it is a wide river."

It was rather wide and the water, though shallow, flowed over a good deal of quicksand. The oxen had to be hurried a bit while fording the stream to keep the wagons from sinking down hub deep. Ben and Joe were happy young teamsters when they got their wagons through without mishap.

"The Lord is blessing us all on this journey," said Grandmother White. She often rode with Ben. All the while she kept her knitting needles busy making socks. A comfortable chair had been taken along for her.

"When are we going to see buffalo?" Ben asked Captain Curtis one morning.

"Most any time now, my boy," replied the captain.

"Will you let me shoot one?" came the next question.

"I believe we had better let your father do that, Ben" returned the leader. "Buffalo, you know, are easily stampeded. We must do our killing not too close to the

wagon train, and let the men do the buffalo hunting. You and Joe and the rest of the boys with guns may try your luck on prairie chickens and rabbits sometime if you will be mighty careful."

Day after day they journeyed on. Captain Curtis, kindly, yet firmly, kept the wagon train rolling steadily westward. Rules were. Up at 5.00; breakfast over by 6.30; on the road by 7:00; 12.00 to 2.00, stop for lunch, giving the oxen a chance to feed; then away again until, 5:00; supper over by 7:00; all in bed but the night herders and the sentinels, by 8:30. At first it seemed a bit difficult, especially for the "sleepy heads," to keep these rules; but before the journey was one-third done, the caravan was moving along close to schedule.

“Oh, there's a herd of buffalo!" someone shouted one afternoon.

The train was halted for a few moments to give all a chance to see the animals. Off in the distance they appeared, like big brown cattle.

“Yes, it's buffalo, sure enough," said the captain calmly. "And they are moving closer to us." Then calling Ben's father and the two other men, he said to them, "Better have your rifles ready. It may be a good chance for us to get some fresh meat for the train."

A little later the captain and those chosen hunters mounted some horses and rode away. Meantime the caravan, under the lead of Joe's father, went into camp, near a stream. Wagons, as usual, were parked in a circle, with two openings on opposite sides. This made a fort-like protection; and a corral into which the cattle might be driven for yoking, or in case of attack.

Naturally there was some quiet excitement as the evening meal was prepared. Joe and Ben and other boys, as soon as the unyoking was done, and the tired oxen turned over to some watchful herders, climbed on top of the wagons to try to see some buffalo hunting.

"They're chasing them!" Joe called out excitedly.

Ben looked sharply and saw the men on their horses right among the buffalo, so it seemed. Then as the frightened animals came running madly down the slope nearer the encampment, he sighted two men after one of the herd. There were rifle shots, and down fells first buffalo. Other shots brought down another. When three more had been killed the hunting was stopped.

"We don't want more buffalo than we need," said the captain as he returned with his men to the train.

A wagon was driven over the hills to bring in the game. Ben and Joe and two other boys were permitted to go along this time, to watch the process of taking off the buffalo skins and cutting up the animals. Captain Curtis, who had crossed the plains before, and had also watched the Indians take care of buffalo meat, instructed the men how it should be done. It was a "happy hunting" day with some good food for everyone in the train.

"Why, it tastes something like good beef," said Ben's mother.

"I believe I like it better," remarked the father. "Boy, that was exciting," said Ben. He could hardly get to sleep that night.