Daria on the Trail:
Big Hairy with Tusks Two
DISCLAIMER: This story is a Western based on a story by Ultimate Paladin posted on another site. I changed the location of the interdimensional portal, backdated the time of this story to 1860, and went on from there. A Song of Ice and Fire was written by George RR Martin . Daria was created by Glen Eichler. I own neither property. George RR Martin owns A Song of Ice and Fire, MTV Viacom owns Daria. I seek no financial compensation for this story but I welcome reviews.
This story is based on my personal research on the Oregon Trail, not on the video game with the same name
-(((O-O)))-
Kennard blew his horn and we began our trek down the valley. Our Company would be leading and Captain Johnson's people would be trailing us. That didn't stop me from glancing at the landscape from time to time. It was beautiful country: while the lowlands were fairly dry, the hillsides were green and some of the mountain peaks we saw beyond them still had snow. If the valley wasn't as wide as the wide open spaces we'd crossed on our way to the Continental Divide, it was wide enough to make me think of a couple of the cowboy movies I'd seen years ago. It was almost pristine now but I suspected that this valley would probably be covered in cattle ranches in a couple of decades.
I tried not to think about Indian attacks. We were a long way from help here: Fort Hall was gone and the nearest Army post was hundreds of miles away. I didn't remember reading about Indian attacks in these parts but I'd noted that this world's history had already diverged from my own and some incident or other might set off an attack in the here-and-now that hadn't occurred in the world I came from.
I had other concerns. True, there were probably Indians in the general area, but I suspected that most of them were keeping their distance from us. Encounters with Emigrants could be dangerous for them: most of us had been raised with stories of savage Indians attacking wagon trains and stray pioneers and any Indian out there was suspected to be part of a hostile warband planning an attack, even if all they really wanted to do was gawk at us and maybe swap. Getting too close to a wagon train could get them killed.
But it wasn't Indians that worried me: it was those damn mammoths. Where were they? They had to be somewhere nearby. Their poop was too fresh, so they must have dropped it sometime during the last couple of days. I wondered how far away they were and if we would encounter them.
The morning hours went by as we slowly rolled mile by mile, hour by hour. Travel by covered wagon was slow, particularly if you were using oxen instead of mules and horses. It wasn't until we were about seven miles or so and I was hoping that we'd pause for our "Nooner" that Kennard started blowing a horn call I'd hoped I'd never hear: "Danger. Circle the wagons.".
Those must be them, I thought. Susana and I managed to slow her oxen and watched as our Company's wagons began to peel away from the trail and began to form a circle. I'd learned enough by now to help Susana's animals fall into line as we helped form our part of a great corral. We fell into place and then set to releasing our yoked oxen from Susana's wagon tongue. I had to step lively as I helped free them: while neither I nor the oxen could actually see the mammoths, the oxen could smell them and were understandably nervous. They and the other oxen had already started huddling in a nervous circle while our encounter began to play itself out.
So there were mammoths out there. Where were they, I wondered. More to the point, how close were they? I hoped they'd stay far away, for our sake as well as theirs. Seeing supposedly extinct Pleistocene megafauna might be an unasked-for treat, but I would prefer a lot of distance or a fully charged-up electric fence between me and them.
We waited. I guessed that Captain Trout saw the mammoths were getting closer. I climbed on top of Susana's wagon's seat to see if I could see anything. I saw a brown mass slowly moving towards the trail. At a guess, they were about a half a mile away and getting closer. The oxen got more nervous and the dogs started barking.
I heard the sounds of a wagon train coming up from behind us. I noted that unlike us, they had mules. I hoped they stopped. They did and I hoped that Captain Trout could talk some sense into their heads. He may have tried, but his appeal fell on deaf ears. A few minutes later I heard the sound of a trumpet, not ours, and the shouts of men urging their mules to start moving. Dear Lord, were those idiots going to try run right in front of the oncoming mammoths?
Their drivers were idiots but their mules showed better sense. I heard a couple of them braying in protest. They must have sensed the mammoths approaching, even if they didn't know what they were. I heard the drivers of the other train start cursing and swearing while their mules brayed again. Clearly the mules wanted to sit this out.
It was then that I heard a sound that had to be mammoths trumpeting. Yes, Virginia, they did sound a lot like elephants, I thought sardonically. I couldn't tell one mammoth call from another, but I could guess possible meanings: "Danger!", "Bunch up!" "Stay back!" and "Don't mess with us!".
Some of the other wagon train's animals kept moving but the mules closest to our circle refused to move, despite the whips and curses of their drivers. Our oxen were getting more nervous and I wondered if they'd try and break out if things went south.
Despite the risk, I climbed up on top of the seat of Susana's wagon. The mammoth herd was now about 300 to 400 feet away. I could now see individual animals and could make out their tusks and trunks. As they closed in they began trumpeting louder and more frequently.
The mules from the other company were still braying in protest but some of their drivers were succumbing to an epidemic of good sense. They must have realized that their mules were determined not to go forward and peeled away from their line of wagons. The contagion didn't affect the people who'd already gone before. A little later I heard the sound of gunshots. A couple of idiots did the stupidest thing imaginable and took pot shots at the mammoths.
And the mammoths reacted. With a chorus of angry trumpeting, they charged their attackers and all hell broke loose. I couldn't see what was going on but I later saw that some of the larger mammoths charged the mule train. The mules panicked even before the mammoths reached the mule train and took off, taking the Emigrants' wagons with them. A couple of idiots shot at the mammoths as they closed in. The mammoths picked up speed. By now the terrified pioneers realized their danger and started running away either in front of the charging herd or off to the sides. The ones who ran off to the sides had better chances for survival.
A few reached our wagons, threw themselves on the ground, then crawled under them for whatever protection they could bring. I wondered what would happen next. Would the mammoths charge our corral next? It seemed likely.
My thoughts were interrupted by a man calling my name. I turned around and to my surprise it was Joss. Joss was holding a burning torch in one hand and cradled several unlit torches in his other. He handed me a torch and then lit it.
"You know what to do," he said in Andal. "Stand fast. They hate fire." I wondered how he lit the torches so quickly, then put the question aside for later—either in this world or the next. Despite the fact that I could feel my heart beating and my legs trembling, I overcame my fear enough to take my torch and turn to face the mammoth herd.
I was quickly joined by a couple of the Company's other guys. There was Mr. Bass, looking brave and holding a torch. So was Mr. Howell looking less brave but still holding a torch. And over there was Mr. Stauffer. And it wasn't just us Yankees: I could see Captain Trout and Mr. Carp standing next to Joss over to the other side, torches in their hands.
To this day I'm still not sure why the mammoths didn't charge forward and smash our train as thoroughly as they'd trashed the mule train. I doubted that we scared them that much. Maybe they were feeling selective, maybe they decided that they'd made their point: leave us alone. A bull mammoth closed in to about 50 yards, showing off his tusks, trunk and feet. He glared at us and began trumpeting as if to say "I'm the badass here and you vermin aren't." Despite the fact that we were all frightened to death, we didn't move and managed to stay our ground. After what seemed like forever, the mammoth turned away and slowly lumbered off towards the river. After a while Joss came by and said something to Captain Trout. Captain Trout put down his torch and put it out. Joss said something to Mr. Carp I didn't catch, then started walking down our line of torch-bearers.
"Are they gone?" I said in Andal when Joss reached me.
"For now," he said. "They went to get water." I gave a sigh of relief and put out my torch.
I walked over to Mr. Bass and Mr. Howell. "I guess we ought to do something about the injured from that other train," I said.
"Yeah," said Mr. Bass, looking at the wreckage the mammoths left behind.
"Shit," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry for the language."
"It's not a word I haven't heard before," I replied. "I guess Dr. Struthers is still with the Johnson Company?" I said.
"I guess," said Mr. Bass.
Somebody ought to see to the injured while waiting for Struthers to arrive. That included me, no matter how inadequate I felt. Mr. Howell, Mr. Bass, and I walked over to the wreckage to sort out the quick from the dead. We were joined a short time later by other members of the Wainwright Company, those who'd had the good sense to let their mules peel away from the oncoming mammoths. We were joined a little later by a couple of the older women from our train.
Most of the casualties were males, although a couple of women and children also died. Seven people had been steped on by the enraged mammoths and were either dead or dying. Several others had been picked up and tossed around. So far the mule train had eight dead and twelve injured. I frowned while looking over the injured. Some of these would live, some of these would probably die later. A couple of the injured would eventually recover. Others would be crippled for life. A man with a leg that had been crushed might survive if it was amputated. Then again he might not.
Dr. Struthers arrived on the scene a few minutes later. He looked appalled. I didn't blame him: this was probably more blood and gore than he'd ever seen in his life. Mine, too, for that matter, but my emotions hadn't caught up with me yet.
"What in the world happened?" he said.
"The mammoths decided they didn't like being shot at and made their displeasure known," I replied.
"They did all that?" said Struthers, looking at the devastation.
"They did a lot of it, but not all of it," I replied. "The mules panicked and took off."
A woman who'd hurt her leg cried out in pain. Doctor Struthers walked over to attend her.
Damn it, Doc, she's not even the worst-off, I thought. There are a lot of people around who were hurt a lot worse.
I took a couple of breaths to calm myself down and think about what I'd say to the Johnson Company's degree-bearing quack. Mass casualties, some serious, some fatal, some not so bad. I forced myself to think about my field trip to Gettysburg and the speech the park ranger had given about Civil War casualties. What with the massive casualties on the battlefields, the doctors and nurses on both sides were forced to perform triage, sorting out the wounded into the severely-injured who needed treatment soonest, those who could wait, and those who were doomed and would likely die soon. When I first heard it, it had been a grim detail from history. I never expected to have to practice it myself.
Struthers had done with the injured woman and went to tend someone else. An emigrant had been picked up by a mammoth and thrown. He'd had a rough landing and had injured his arm and shoulder.
"Doc, we got to talk," I said.
"What?" said Struthers. "Leave me alone, girl. I'm busy."
"There's too many injuries," I said. "We're going to have to do triage."
"What?" he replied. I think he was about to tell me off when a light went off in his head and he didn't immediately reply.
"Napoleonic wars," I said, thinking fast. Those battles made for a lot of casualties. Surely they had triage back then, I thought.
Struthers glared at me and was about to say something when the bulb in his head lit up and he closed his mouth. I realized that Struthers must have read more about the Napoleonic wars than what generals commanded what armies and fought what battles where. "You're right," he said shortly.
"Not like it's my idea, Doc," I said consolingly, trying to stroke his fragile male ego. "The guys who thought up the idea were real doctors with real medical degrees."
Struthers gave me a look. His masculine ego must have been assuaged because the next thing he said was "Let's get to work."
-(((O-O)))-
Johnson and I spent the rest of the afternoon seeing to injured of the mule company. We were joined by some of the men and the older farm wives from our company and the Johnson Company and another one that had followed behind us. We identified and set aside several people for burial, mostly men, but a couple of women and younger children. Several women and children had been injured but looked like they could be splinted and moved. There were also several people who looked iffy
Some of the injured might have done all right if we'd been able to call the local county emergency medical service and have them take them away to a hospital. But this was 1860 and we did not have good medical care out here. Those with broken bones and torn muscles were likely injured for life. I did not give the man with a broken back good chances for survival. For that matter, I wouldn't give good odds for the man with the crushed leg.
We cut the man's leg off a couple of hours later. It took both me pitching a fit and Doctor Struthers acting doctor-like to get boiling water and a clean saw and bandages for us to get the tools ready. The patient had been prepped as best we could, with Laudanum down his throat and the uninjured part of his leg washed. We sawed it off and he still felt it. I helped stitch the cut. We bound his leg and both of us told his relatives to keep the wound and bandages clean. To my annoyance, I learned that they were teetotalers and I had to argue that using alcohol to clean wounds was not the same as drinking it. I don't know if they listened or not but we got the alcohol.
I returned to our wagon late in the afternoon. Susana wasn't there and I'd learned that she and Martin had been invited over to the Trouts' wagon for dinner. They'd made some for me too.
"You look exhausted," said Kara when she sat me down for dinner.
"I feel exhausted," I said.
Just after dusk, we heard an unsettling sound: the trumpeting of mammoths. They were done doing whatever they'd been doing on the other side of the trail. This time nobody stirred, nobody tried to dispute their right-of-way and nobody took a shot at them.
They made more trumpeting noises as they ambled eastwards and we were able to slip into a watchful slumber. I hoped they'd leave us alone.