roccoschili Chapter 48 Rest Before Crossing the River
Chapter 48 Rest Before Crossing the River
In the 19th century, countless immigrants with dreams flocked to Oregon, and their lifeline was the famous "Oregon Trail".
This road starts in St. Louis on the banks of the Mississippi River in the east and runs westward, connecting important stations such as Kansas City, Fort Laramie, and Fort Kaspar.
However, the real test of life and death awaits in the Rocky Mountains—the "mainland backbone" that stretches 4800 kilometers across North America and has an average elevation of two to three thousand meters.
The only way for the immigrants to survive was to cross the southern pass in the heart of the mountains.
Only by crossing it can one reach the Salt Lake region and finally set foot on Oregon soil.
The Rocky Mountains are a true death threshold.
The towering mountain peaks transform into an icy inferno in October.
The blizzard could instantly accumulate to a depth of several meters, and the temperature would plummet to minus thirty degrees Celsius!
the way?
They vanished without a trace in an instant.
vehicle?
It's hard to move an inch.
Once trapped in the mountains, there are only two outcomes: either you freeze into a stiff ice sculpture, or you starve to death.
The cattle and horses that the immigrants depended on for survival would also die in large numbers due to the lack of fodder, completely extinguishing the last hope of the immigrants.
Therefore, there was only one strict order for crossing the Nanwang Pass: we had to do it before the mountain passes were closed in October!
Therefore, the immigrant army always sets off from St. Louis in the spring and races against death throughout the summer.
Tom's convoy, however, had an even more arduous start—they set off from the scorching heat of Fort Worth, Texas, heading north towards the turbulent banks of the Red River.
After crossing the river, they continued north, traversing the vast expanse of Oklahoma and Kansas.
After entering the vast wilderness of Nebraska, the convoy suddenly turned west and finally merged into the Oregon Trail that would determine their fate.
Their wheels rolled through the sandstorms of Wyoming, their goal firmly set on the Southern Pass that would determine life or death—only by crossing it could they shake off the shadow of death from the Rocky Mountains and step into the breath of fresh air of the Salt Lake region.
From there, they will follow the trail's final stretch towards the promised land of their dreams—Oregon.
Tom's convoy is now arriving at the banks of the Red River.
The Red River: A major river that runs between Texas and Oklahoma.
On the shore, Captain Shay and James are arguing.
"We'll take a boat eastward."
The Red River is a deep, wide, and turbulent river. For everyone's safety, Captain Shay headed east to Dennis to cross the river by boat.
But James firmly stated, "Go wherever you want, I'm going west."
Shay said firmly, "I said, head east."
"What did you say? What's it to me? I'm not working for you." James looked at Shay with disdain.
"They won't make it! The west is too dangerous! There's a lack of fresh water, bandits lurk in every valley, and it's easy to accidentally wander into the Indian reservations over there," Shay said confidently.
Heading west, the natural conditions there are more complex, and bandits roam freely. Along the way, you also have to cross another major river in Texas, the Brazos River.
"I'm not asking for your consent; I'm informing you of my decision. My decision is to go west."
James spurred his horse and rode away.
Heading east and taking a boat across the river from Dennis would avoid most of the dangers and seem safe, but it's a longer route that would add three weeks to their total journey, meaning they wouldn't reach their destination before winter.
But for immigrants, the cold winter is the biggest threat.
Thomas, standing nearby, looked at Shay and said, "There's no perfect choice, Sheriff! I know that going through the winter is the worst option."
He continued, "At this rate, we've already stepped into winter."
Shay stared intently at Thomas, lost in thought.
Tom squatted in front of the wolf cubs, holding the wild deer entrails in his hands, which still smelled of fresh blood.
Several furry little creatures buried their heads and nibbled away, emitting satisfied whimpers.
"Eat more, it'll be enough for you for a while!" he said in a low voice.
Not far away, Margaret sat on a bench, watching the wolf cubs wolf down their food, and couldn't help but shake her head: "Only you hunt a lot of deer, so you can afford to feed them offal like this. If it were someone else, I wouldn't be willing to waste it like this."
Her words drifted over, but Tom pretended not to hear them and turned his gaze to little John, who was eager to try, beside him.
"Little John," Tom's voice wasn't loud, but it carried undeniable weight, "what did I say?"
John's outstretched hand recoiled as if burned, his face tensing: "No touching the wolf cubs without Tom's permission!"
"Just remember that."
Before he could finish speaking, a rapid sound of horses' hooves approached from afar, kicking up dust.
James's tall figure appeared at the edge of the camp. He dismounted and looked gloomy.
"Shall we cross the river from here?" Margaret asked casually, holding her coffee cup.
James took a swig of cold water and wiped his mouth. "No. Shay's gang wants to go east and take a boat! It's a complete waste of time!"
"So what are your plans?" Margaret pressed.
James shook his head: "...It's not decided yet." He clearly didn't want to talk about it further.
Margaret nodded knowingly. Since the team hadn't reached a consensus yet, they decided to hold off for now.
Just then, Tom's voice broke in, tinged with a hint of uncertainty: "Perhaps...we could take the train?"
Elsa's eyes lit up instantly.
She didn't go herding today at James's suggestion—to temporarily cut off contact with the team before the final destination was decided, to avoid any unforeseen complications.
"I'm going hunting." James seemed unwilling to continue the topic, picked up the hunting rifle leaning against the carriage, turned and left, his movements swift and decisive.
"Please consider my opinion!" Tom hurriedly shouted.
The only response he received was James's retreating figure, without even turning his head.
Tom looked at his mother with a sullen expression.
Margaret dusted off her hands and said calmly, "Actually, James himself hasn't decided where we ultimately want to settle down."
"So...we're going to walk and look for a place to stay as we go?" Tom asked uncertainly, frowning.
"That's right." Margaret nodded.
Tom's gaze involuntarily drifted to the wide Red River not far away.
The river water was murky and swift, gleaming with a dangerous dark light under the sunlight.
"If that's the case, we'll have to cross the river... We'll have to find a safer place," he muttered to himself.
After carefully carrying the wolf cub, who had eaten and drunk his fill and was starting to doze off, back into the wagon and settling him in, Tom was about to mount his horse to explore the ferry crossing when the sound of hooves interrupted him.
Wade stopped his horse in front of the camp, his face showing urgency: "We're short-handed over there!"
With James absent, Wade's attention naturally fell on Tom.
Tom was a little troubled.
He preferred to head west first to explore the area and see which section of the Red River was shallower and suitable for crossing.
"I can go!" Elsa jumped up immediately, her face beaming with a bright smile, eager to try.
Margaret shook her head decisively: "You can't do it alone."
She turned to Wade, her tone calm, "We'll be right there."
Wade breathed a sigh of relief, nodded, turned his horse around, and rode away first.
Margaret got up and went to the horses: "I'll go and get Poker (the horse's name)."
"What are you going to do?" Tom asked, looking completely bewildered.