Daria On The Trail Chapter Twelve: Fort Laramie Part One

DISCLAIMER: I do not own either A Song of Ice and Fire or A Game of Thrones. I do not own Daria Morgendorffer either. This story is based on my research on the real Oregon Trail, not on the computer game with the same name.

I am writing this story for fun and for ego gratification, not for profit. If you are enjoying what you read, please write a review.

Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail

Daria Morgendorffer POV:

The Buckhorns having helped us stake a place to camp out, Willem and I started back for the Ford. I would have liked to say that we scurried right back, but we ran into a couple of our Company's wagons making their way past Fort Laramie in search of our campsite. After a brief discussion, Willem and I decided that I should be the one to guide our people's wagons over to where the Buckhorns were camped and then rejoin Willem and Mr. Trout and lead the other wagons to where we'd spend the next few days.

It took me an hour to guide our next two wagons over to where the Buckhorns were camped. Once I got them to the camp site, I excused myself and set off to find Mr. Trout. I'd barely gone half a mile towards the Fort when I saw three more of our Company's wagons, causing me to turn around again and guide them in. After I helped them find their way to the camp site I decided that our Company now had five wagons on our camp site and that we were likely to keep it. I turned around to return to the Ford and wouldn't you know it, I saw three more of our Company's wagons searching for our campground. By then, I knew the drill: rinse, wash and repeat.

By late afternoon enough of our wagons had found their way to our campsite that I felt that I could make for the ford without having to turn around. I made my way past the fort towards the Ford, collecting both curious and disapproving stares concerning my clothing. I was increasingly concerned about my body odor and I really, truly wanted was a bath. By now I was so eager I'd be willing to settle for a stretch of the river where I could jump in with a soap bar, at least as long as I was sufficiently upstream from where someone was dumping their waste into the water.

It goes without saying that I didn't get a bath or a shower that day. Instead, I found Mr. Trout, Kennard and Willem harnessing our ox teams and walked back with them towards our camp site. I'd helped Willem yoke Davy and Billy: I wasn't too sure I helped very much but I told myself that I did something. When we got to the campsite, I went to work helping Mrs. Trout unpack our wagon and prepare for our extended stay. It took a long while: longer than some evening out on the trail, but shorter than the time it took when we completely unloaded the wagon to help the Tuckers get a new axle for their wagon. Dinner that evening was the usual bacon and bread cooked over dung fires: in this case dung from oxen and horses, not from bison.

I went to sleep that evening dreaming that I'd somehow found my way back to the twenty-first century and I could hear the distant rumbling of passing railroad trains and the occasional rumble of big trucks on the nearby highway. It was a nice thought. There was a way out. I could go home. I still had my credit cards and driver's license and I hadn't gotten around to burning my dollar bills yet. I'd be out of this nightmare and get back to my life in Boston.

I woke up in the early morning and found that I was still sleeping on the ground. I discovered that the rumbling noise wasn't a highway tractor or a railroad locomotive: instead, it was a big dog lying next to me. I recognized it: it belonged to one of the other families. It also snored. I got up. I didn't dare kick it, so I was forced to settle for giving it a dirty look.

I went back to sleep and awoke at the sound of other people in our company getting up and stirring around. I was still annoyed at that dog for giving me false hope but there wasn't much I could do about it. I noticed that the atmosphere within our group had changed a bit from the previous day. I knew that the women, including one Daria Morgendorffer, would be pretty busy, just as we had been on the trail, but I didn't feel that urgency to get going and get those chores run so we could make an early departure.

After breakfast, I decided that it was time to ask one of the big questions.

"Mrs. Trout?" I said.

"Daria, we know each other well enough by now that you can call me Kara," said Mrs. Trout.

"Kara," I said, smiling.

"Would you mind if I go rummaging through some of the dump sites this morning?"

"Dump site?" said Kara.

"The histories recorded that a lot of Overland emigrants dumped a lot of stuff here as they left," I said, occasionally using English words when I lacked Westerosi Common. "Mining tools, farming equipment, firearms, clothing, books, furniture, anything they considered to be excess weight."

"And what would you be looking for?" Kara said.

"I'm hoping that someone dropped an outfit or two near my size," I replied. "I could get out of the clothes I'm wearing and not stand out so much."

Kara laughed. "I'm surprised. I didn't think you cared that much about what people thought of you."

"Most of the time I don't," I replied. "But I discovered that I'd like to look more like a typical country woman than a scholar from another time and place."

"Do you plan to look for anything else?" said Mr. Trout.

"Books if I can find them," I said. "Romances and poetry for my amusement. I'm also hoping that someone left a decent trail guide here." Mr. Trout smiled in approval. "Also, if someone left some fishing tackle, that would be nice."

"Fishing tackle?" said Kennard. "Why would we need that? You've seen the Platte."

"I have," I said. "Too thick to drink and too thin to plow. Not a place for fishing. But I've read that that there are trout in the Green River and salmon in the Bear River and the Snake."

"Where is the Green River?" asked Kennard.

"The Green River is on the other side of South Pass," I said. "We'll have to cross it whether we take the Lander Road or one of the older cut-offs."

"The Green River," Mr. Trout said bemusedly. His tone of voice worried me. Did he know about the Green River? I began to worry that he didn't: I'd heard that that asshole Ridge had been hoarding his books and maps since the Company sacked him as captain. I could understand feeling resentful, but Ridge was hoarding information that could save us from injury or death if we had access to it. I mentally shifted getting trail guides to one of my top priorities, right up there with new clothing.

"Can I go with her?" said Jilla.

Mrs. Trout stared at her for a long time, then at me. "Yes, you may," she said.

"Daria, I expect you to bring her back," she added.

"Yes, Ma'am," I said.

Jilla and I set off after I finished helping Mrs. Trout clean the dishes and cooking utensils.

"So where do we start?" said Jilla.

"I think we ought to go to the fort and ask some of the soldiers," I said.

"Which ones?" asked Jilla.

"I don't know yet," I replied. We walked to the edge of our campground then I stopped in my tracks. "I've just had a bad idea."

"What?" said Jilla.

"I think we ought to walk a mile west of our campground and see if anyone has left some of their things behind, then turn around and walked to the fort," I replied.

"I think that's a stupid idea," said Jilla.

"Probably," I said, but "I'm going to do it anyway."

We started walking west down the trail, pausing to watch another company's wagons and animals move out. These guys had been using mules. I'd read that mule-drawn wagons were faster than our oxen, but oxen had more endurance. If we were lucky, we might well pass them, at least if they were headed for either Oregon or Washington territory.

We waited until the last wagons left, then crossed the trail and began searching for anything they'd left. I soon learned that these people had been a mixed company of farmers and would-be prospectors. The most visible things I could see were a couple of chairs, a small side-table some mining tools, and some heavy farm equipment. I shook my head: I could see why these people might want to take a plow west, but they'd have done better to forego the trouble, grit their teeth, and buy something in Oregon or California. I soon realized that they hadn't been the only people to dump stuff: I saw the remains of an older pile that had been looted, rained on, and then worked over by small critters looking for abandoned foodstuff. I'd already picked up a McGuffy reader to use to school Kennard, Jilla and Minti, but I hit pay dirt when I nudged the pile and the toe of my boot hit something metallic. I walked back to the newer pile, picked up an abandoned bricklayer's trowel, and started digging. A short time later I discovered that I'd picked up a battered, bent, but serviceable tin plate. If I could get a smith or somebody to knock it back into shape, I wouldn't have to share a plate with the Trouts.

Jilla and I walked to another camp site. I found more pickings: a pair of mismatched socks and a petticoat that I promised myself that I'd wash before I wore them. There was also a pile of what looked like religious books. Most of them were, except for a blank book they must have bought for a journal. I took that, as well as a vicious tract written by some Evangelical attacking the Catholics. I decided to take that one with me. I had no intention of reading it but I decided that its pages would make a fine substitute for toilet paper.

The next dump site was far larger: Someone had left a kettle and an opened sack of beans. I was already tired of flatbread and bacon and decided that beans would make for a change of diet. The beans and kettle might prove to be too much weight to carry beyond the fort but there was nothing stopping us from cooking and eating them while we were camped near the fort.

I walked around the edge of the pile, lifted up a pile of men's clothing sized way too large for me, and found a pile of books. Someone had left a blank book and had written a dozen pages and then stopped. Their last entry was written at someplace called Rock Springs and the last date was back in mid-May. I took it over. I also found several religious books: most of these I ignored except for a nasty tract written by some Evangelical attacking the Catholics. I decided to take that one with me. I had no intention of reading it but I decided that its pages would make a fine substitute for toilet paper.

"We should go back now," said Jilla.

Something told me to keep looking: there was something important, something I should see. "Just a little more time," I said. I walked over to a side-mound and started picking up and throwing things aside. I found a book titled The Perils of Witchcraft, a book that I was certain hadn't been reprinted in my universe that I was sure was good for a laugh. I then found pay dirt: a quarto-sized book titled By Land to the Western Sea: An Emigrant's Guide to the Oregon and California Roads. I turned the page to see when it was printed. It had been printed in 1858 and was a revision of an earlier work published in 1855. I didn't trust Captain Ridge and I wanted our Company not to have to depend on his guide-books. I promised myself that I'd give it a thorough going-over to see if it was of any use.

"OK, that's enough for this morning," I said. "We ought to go back."

The walk back to our camp was much shorter than our walk west. We did encounter another wagon train making a late start as well as a couple of groups of small boys who'd come to do their picking through the piles. They saw my outfit and laughed, reminding me that I really needed some new clothes to blend in just a little better.

We returned to our campsite to discover the men and many of the women gathered around a corner. Mr. Orrick or someone must have called a meeting. Mr. Bowley, one of Captain Ridge's supporters, was saying something about American for Americans. I found Mrs. Wooley and tugged her sleeve.

"What's going on?" I said.

"Captain Ridge is leaving the Company," she replied.