Antoine of Oregon: A Story of the Oregon Trail — John Shaqi
Antoine of Oregon: A Story of the Oregon TrailOtis, James
General
Antoine of Oregon: A Story of the Oregon Trail
Otis, James
Overland journeys to the Pacific; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
There were mounted men fighting with bows and arrows, horses hauling
wagons, figures of beasts and reptiles, all done as one can well fancy
in a rude way; but to Susan they afforded no little amusement, and
she would have remained studying them until after nightfall, had I not
insisted that we must return to camp before darkness.
[Illustration]
It was an odd picture which our encampment presented when we rode in
just at twilight. The women had finished their washing, and, having no
ropes on which to stretch their clothes, had hung them on wagon wheels
and the tongues of the carts, in fact, on everything available, until
the entire place had much the appearance of a gigantic, ragged ghost.
Because so much time was spent next morning in gathering up these
garments and packing them away, we traveled only twelve miles,
arriving at the bank of a small stream with all the animals, save the
saddle horses, showing signs of weariness.
I insisted we should take a day for resting the cattle, although John
Mitchell would have pushed on, regardless of their condition; but I
knew we must keep them in good shape, else when we arrived at the more
difficult portion of the journey they would fail us entirely. Perhaps
because of our experience with the Indians, the men failed to grumble
at the delay.
A PLAGUE OF WOOD TICKS
Every member of the party was not only willing, but eager, to set out
after our long halt, for we had a most disagreeable experience with
wood ticks, little insects much like those that worry sheep. They
covered every bush as with a veil and lay like a carpet over the
ground as far as one could see.
I have never come upon them in such numbers, and before we lay down to
rest I wished a dozen times that I had delayed the halt another day.
These ticks fasten themselves to a person's skin so tightly that, in
picking them off, the heads are often left embedded in the flesh, and
unless carefully removed, cause most painful sores. It was like one of
the Plagues of Egypt such as I have heard my mother read about, and so
much did our people suffer that John Mitchell came to me in the middle
of the night, urging that we break camp at once rather than remain
there to be tortured.
I soon convinced him that we could not hope to drive the cattle in the
darkness, without danger of losing one or more, therefore he ceased to
urge; but before the sun had risen, all our company were astir making
preparations for the day's journey.
[Illustration]
Early though it was when we set off, only fourteen miles were
traveled, owing to the difficulty in crossing the Big Vermilion River.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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