Jeremiah Welch and his family awakened that September dawn all alone on the desolate prairie. They had crossed the Platte River and yesterday reached the South Pass. Now they were halfway to Oregon and the main wagon ramp across the plains and through the Rocky Mountains. They had survived one thousand grueling miles, but he, Rachel and the children were too tired to celebrate. Five hundred miles and Fort Hall lay ahead, and this final leg of their journey through hostile Indian territory was by far the most perilous.
They were forced to leave the protection of the train because the broken wagon wheel had taken almost a full day to repair. Wagon-master, Seth Jacob, feared for their safety and offered to wait for them, but Jeremiah had urged the train onward. He had heard of a short cut across the plains and knew that Jacob would never have considered it. It was every man for himself in this wild and broken country. There was little time for other things.
Thoughts of his youngest child mingled with the aroma of strong hot coffee. Gretchen, aged six, had been sick during the night. She was quiet now, barely awake as she lay in her mother's weary arms. The boy, Lukas, aged twelve and growing tall too fast for his breeches, arose from a bed and pillow composed of a sack of clothes. Jeremiah smiled at the boy whose angular face and deep blue eyes were so like his own. The sky was still and cloudless with all the promise of a beautiful day.
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.
