The Last Covered Wagon

They plodded across an elbow of the hill and onto a grassy plain. At its end lay the short cut to Fort Hall indicated on the map Jeremiah had found under a large rock at the Platte River Valley Junction. The goal today was twelve miles; an average of two miles per hour. The dry, cool weather bolstered their morale and made it easier for the oxen. If only for today, they wouldn't be drenched by rain, frozen with cold or scorched by heat.

Ponderosa pines lined the banks of the river for as far as the eye could see. Their shelter was alluring but false, for within their cool shadows lurked many hidden dangers. Still, it was better than an open canyon where Pawnee eyes and ears saw and heard everything. Beside the Bible which sat alone in its own little pouch, the canvas pockets in the covered wagon held ammunition, a Colt revolver and a rifle, but the very last thing Jeremiah Welch wanted to do was to use them.

Gretchen seemed much recovered by noon and ingested her first bit of food for the day when the Welch family stopped for lunch. Jeremiah was weary, but grateful for Rachel's hearty corn chowder and strong black coffee. Soon they were on their way again, pushing across the prairie. They had not planned to stop before nightfall, but about 4 PM something terrible happened. Two vultures flew across the sun and Jeremiah's heart filled with a cold and deadly fear.