Daria on the Trail
Fort Caspar
Disclaimer: I neither wrote nor own A Song of Ice and Fire. I did not create Daria Morgendorffer nor do I own her. This story is based on my research of the REAL Oregon Trail, not the computer game of the same name.
Advisory/Aviso: Foul language. Palabrotas.
This story is primarily a Western, howbeit with some Westerosi characters.
Orrick Trout POV
After our Company made camp, it was time to think of our next real challenge: the route to the Sweetwater River. Daria said that the route had bad water pools that could poison our animals if they drank from them. She said that she was particularly certain of this: she'd read about the bad water springs of some of the guidebooks she'd read at Fort Laramie and later along the trail. She'd also suggested that I ask some of the soldiers, hostlers, and freighters at the Fort and the bridge.
I did as she suggested. In doing so, the Gods gave our party a boon. One of the freighters was a fellow Riverman who'd come through the Arch and was hauling freight along the Trail to some of the forts and camps along the way as well as south to the mining camps near Denver and Pike's Mountain. Roald was delighted to see fellow Riverlanders and plied me for news about what had happened since he'd gone through the Arch. He was as distressed as I was to hear about the Lords Paramount raising their banners and raiders from the Westlands ravaging the Riverlands. He cursed Lord Tywin and the Mountain That Rides while I thought about Rolf and Cyra and worried about how they were faring. We parted on good terms after our first meeting and I resolved to ask him more questions.
I returned to our camp and rounded up Jankin Brook and his friend Thatch, then we returned to the Fort. After buying drink from a whisky peddler along the way, we walked back to the corral where Roald had camped. The whisky loosened his tongue and ours, although I took care to drink mine well-watered. Together, we learned that there was potable water at Willow Spring and Horse Creek and that we should avoid the water at Alkali Slough. Near the end of our visit, a cloud passed overhead and put us in a somber mood. Despite the fact that none of us were especially devout, we all said brief prayers for families and friends we'd left on the other side of the Arch before we parted ways.
Kara smelled my breath when I gave her an affectionate kiss when I returned to our wagon.
"You've been drinking," she said.
"Aye," I replied.
"And what were you celebrating?" she asked.
"Aside from the fact that I have a beautiful wife who gave me strong, healthy children?" I said. "I was talking to that Riverman Roald."
"The freighter?" she said. "Were you reliving old times?"
"Not so much," I said. "I used some whisky to loosen his tongue. I have confirmed the guidebooks' information and I think I've found a good route to the Sweetwater River."
Daria POV:
I had a good cry after I returned to camp. Kara held me in her arms and let me sob. I'd known since Chimney Rock that not only had I been separated from my family and everyone and everything I knew, but I'd put my feelings on the shelf and set myself to adapting and surviving. But it's one thing to know it in your head and another thing to know it in your heart: my feelings were still roiling below the surface despite my efforts to ignore them. Hearing Aunt Amy's and Mom's voices tore the wounds open and forced me to confront my grief and sorrow in such a way that I was unable to control it. Kara put me to bed after I ran down. Looking back, I wonder if she might have dosed me with laudanum or a shot of Captain Trout's whisky, but I think she knew better.
I awoke in a gray mood the next morning, much my state of mind during my first couple of years at Highland. Despite that, I was functional and was able to help Kara with breakfast. Today was also the day we'd hand Buckley off to the Army doctor. That put me in a better mood: I wouldn't miss Buck one damn bit.
I did get to feed and wipe Buck one last time. He was still his usual charming self. "I'm gonna be with the Army doctor instead of you," he said. "Good thing, too. I'm not going to miss you and your crying, Yankee bitch. "
The jerk must have heard me crying last night. He hit a sore spot. I gave him my worst look, then used some of the border Spanish I'd learned back in Highland. "Comed mierda, cabron. You were damn lucky to be with us. Some people wanted to cut off your Effing leg." I then turned my back on him and walked off.
The Fort's physician came over a short time later, along with two soldiers carrying a stretcher. I returned to our wagons to watch: I still don't know if there was some professional interest or because I wanted to see him gone.
"Is this the patient?" he asked Kennard.
"He is," Kennard replied.
The doctor examined the splint and Buck's leg.
"Good job," he said approvingly. "I think he's going to keep his leg, although he might have a limp. Who fixed him up?"
"My father and this woman over here," said Kennard.
"Your dad did a good job," said the doctor. "Tell him I said so." He gestured, the soldiers put Buck on a stretcher, and I got to hear Buck make one last yelp before they took him away.
I looked at Buck and gave him a farewell scowl. It's been real, a-hole, I thought as they took him away.
After the hand-off, it was back to women's work for me: helping Kara with cooking and the laundry, and also tutoring Kennard, Jilla and Minti with English and other subjects. Minti and her older brother and sister were getting quite fluent, although Jilla and Kennard were catching up. I managed to borrow chalk and slate from a fellow Emigrant and began drilling the kids in basic arithmetic. I did find enough time to write Marcus and Bethany Ann, not a long letter, but enough to tell them we encountered buffalo and that our company had crossed the Platte. I did not mention my cell phone at all.
Then Kara and Mrs. Thatch increased my work-load and enrolled her kids in the Morgendorffer Wild West ESL class. Othar was still his hyper-active self and got away a couple of times during moments of distraction. I caught him after a spirited race the first time, then ruthlessly deputized Kennard to help keep an eye on him the second.
That evening, I wondered how much I could get if we sold Othar to the Indians. A short time later, I realized that my idea was a non-starter: the Indians would probably bring him back, then charge us a finder's fee.
Orrick Trout POV:
I made use of our stay at what Daria called Fort Caspar to visit our families and to see how our wagons were holding up. I wanted to get back on the road as soon as possible: while I did not see myself as another Thomas Ridge, I did want to stay here any longer than necessary. I inspected the wagons and oxen to see how well the animals were faring and how well our wagons were holding up. Our oxen had lost some weight since we'd left Westport, but it wasn't anything serious yet. But then, we were still less than half-way through our journey.
I also asked the soldiers and a couple of the hostlers near the station about the road to the Sweetwater. What they told me confirmed what Roald told me, that there were springs of bad water between the Station and the Sweetwater, and that we should head for Willow Springs on our first day's journey from the River Platte.
Our women busied themselves with women's work and I got to see Kara, Jilla, and Daria with the wash. Kara was noticeably taller than Daria, Jilla was also taller than our Yankee girl, and it was amusing to see the short woman following behind them with her own load of wet clothing and bedding. Our noon meal had flatbread and beans as well as bacon: Daria had found some more beans from somewhere. We'd probably be eating the left-overs that evening: I was going to call a Company meeting to discuss what route we'd take to the Sweetwater River.
I'd asked our families to have early meals this evening: we had matters of import to discuss. Our meeting started an hour and a half before sunset.
I thought we started our meeting a bit later. I could imagine old Thorne, a caravan-master I'd worked with in my youth, pitching a fit at our company's slowness. Still, we were able to get the meeting started. Daria had taught me what she remembered about something she'd called Robert's Rules of Order, a guide some Yankees used to conduct business meetings. I had her explain them, then asked questions about specifics after I decided that they might be useful. I used them as a guideline when I started the meeting.
I was increasingly seeing my Company as my people, at least as long as we were traveling together. I told them that this evening's meeting was to discuss our route to the Sweetwater River. After discussing old business, such as using the common fund to help pay the tolls over the Platte River Bridge and to repair the Wilsons' new wagon, I set to asking everyone if they had their outfits in order and if they were ready to resume our journey. To my surprise and relief, most of the families were: the time spent shoeing our oxen, repairing our wagons, and reorganizing our outfits at Fort Laramie had good effect. Wilson would need to make a few repairs on his new wagon and Parkhurst was trying to complete a negotiation to sell a fine horse he'd brought along and replace it with one of the local savages' ponies.
I then moved onto new business.
"I propose that since we seem to be ready, we leave the Station tomorrow," I said. "Does anyone have any reasons why we should not?"
"I'd like to finish fixing my wagon," said Wilson. "But I reckon I can get it ready by noon." Someone had abandoned a wagon along the way and Wilson had pounced on it.
The taste of Thomas Ridge still lingered in my mouth. "All right, then," I said. "We'll leave around mid-day."
"So where are we going the first day out?" said Howell.
"We are going to go to Willow Spring," I said. "That should be within an easy half-day's travel from here." At least I hoped it would.
"Why there?" said Bass.
"Because I've been asking around," I said. "Not only have the guidebooks warned us of bad water between here and the Sweetwater, so have some of the freighters and stable-hands I've talked to."
That got me smiles and nods of approval. My Company was not seeing me as another reckless fool like Thomas Ridge.
"We'll go by way of the Bessemer Bend," I said. "It will give our animals one last chance to drink good water from the Platte before we head for the Spring."
"I propose we put it to a vote. Any seconds? Wooley's, Howell's, and Stauffer's hands went up. Daria had told me that sometimes the rules could be set aside. All in favor?"
The motion passed.
Author's notes: Readers may note that I use the terms Fort Caspar and the Platte River Station interchangeably. I use the terms interchangeably to assist readers orienting themselves. In 1860, what later became Fort Caspar was called the Platte River Station. It was renamed Fort Caspar later on. The fort was burned by hostile Native Americans in 1867.
