As Will finished his journal entry, a rider trotted into their camp and dismounted. Will wandered over to see who the newcomer was.

“Have I found a cavalry unit?” the stranger asked breathlessly. “Who’s in charge?”

“I am.” Captain Kelly came out of his tent. “Captain William Kelly. And who are you?”

“Richardson,” the man said. “I’m leading a wagon train from California north to The Dalles. Indians attacked us a few days ago. We didn’t have enough men or rifles to fend them off. And another wagon train joined us, led by a man named Allen.”

Captain Kelly took Richardson into his tent, and Will didn’t hear any more of their exchange. Before the men went to bed, however, Captain Kelly passed the word. “Extra guards tonight. We’ll stay here until Colonel Drew reaches us.”

Will had the early morning watch that night. After tossing restlessly, wondering if tribes were about to attack, he got up bleary-eyed and took his rifle to his post. The packer he relieved was Felix Bagley, the old man who only pulled four mules like Will and Jonah. “Damn savages,” the crotchety packer said, spitting tobacco juice. “Cain’t leave decent Christians alone.”

Mac had often told Will white men violated many of the treaties they made with the Indians, pushing the tribes farther into remote and desolate lands. “We deserve a lot of the injury the Indians heap on us,” Mac said. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t watch out for them. Their ways are not ours. But if we leave them alone, most of the tribesmen won’t bother us.”

Will spent his watch pondering whether Mac or the old packer was right about Indians—when he wasn’t looking over his shoulder every time a twig cracked.

As Will came off watch and headed toward the quartermaster’s wagon for breakfast, Captain Kelly called the men together. Will grabbed a plate of eggs and ham and stood at the back of the gathering to listen while he ate.

“We learned last night of an attack on eight wagons near Silver Lake,” Captain Kelly informed the group. “Mr. Richardson, who arrived here last night, has sought our militia’s protection. The attack happened several days ago. A war party of Klamath or Modoc Indians—they don’t know which—wounded two white men, stole cattle, and destroyed most of their provisions. Their wagons and those of another train from Jacksonville with nine wagons are now camped at the John Day’s ford on the Sprague River.”

Murmurs rose from the men, and one soldier shouted, “Are we gonna kill them red bastards?”

“I am awaiting instructions from Colonel Drew,” Kelly replied. “As good cavalrymen, I know you want to avenge the wrongs done to innocent settlers. But we have our own reconnaissance mission, and I cannot abandon that without approval from my superiors. We will wait here for Colonel Drew.”

The rumblings among the soldiers continued. Will finished his breakfast and returned to his tent. Joel and Jonah were there, and Will asked the older Pershing, “What’s this mean for us?”

Joel finished rolling a cigarette and licked the paper closed. Then he said, “Means we might find ourselves in a real war. Not just a surveying trek.”

“An Indian fight?” Jonah said with a grin.

Joel lit the cigarette and took a draw. “Nothin’s gonna happen today. Today we take it easy.”

Since Will didn’t have to load his mules, he lay on his bedroll. Although Mac said Indians wouldn’t bother whites, it sounded as if tribesmen had assaulted this wagon train without provocation. Surely, the Richardson party wasn’t to blame for the violence against them.

He wondered how long it would be before Lt. Col. Drew caught up with them. For the time being, however, Captain Kelly seemed content to wait. At least they were in a pleasant camp.

Jonah got out his fishing pole, and Will joined him on the banks of the Sprague. They ate fresh trout that night instead of Army rations.

June 30, 1864. Richardson train attacked by Indians. Waiting for Col. Drew. I wonder what he’ll have us do. Will we end up fighting?

Chapter 33: Colonel Drew Arrives

The expeditionary force waited in camp for two days. Every man stood a four-hour watch each day, but otherwise they lolled around their tents with little to do. Finally, on Friday, July 1, an officer rode into camp, accompanied by three enlisted men. The officer went into Captain Kelly’s tent, while the enlisted men took their horses out to graze.

“Must be Colonel Drew,” Will said to Joel, nodding toward Kelly’s tent. “You recognize him?”

Joel shook his head. “I’ve only dealt with Kelly. Kelly don’t malign his senior officers, but the sergeants say the good Colonel Drew spends his time lickin’ the boots of generals in California. As I told you afore, Drew’s a Copperhead.”

“Grandfather Samuel is a Copperhead,” Jonah said. “He’s always spoutin’ off about how great the Confederacy is.”

Joel spat. “Samuel Abercrombie ain’t your grandfather. He’s just Esther’s father-in-law. Our father must be spinnin’ in his grave hearin’ you call old Abercrombie ‘Grandfather Samuel.’”

Will had never understood the animosity between the Abercrombies and Pershings. “Why don’t you like Mr. Abercrombie?” he asked Joel. “I know he’s a mean son-of-a gun, but—”

“Mean don’t say it all,” Joel replied. “He spent the whole first few months of our time on the trail trying to kick my pa out as wagon train leader. Finally did it, too. Though Samuel didn’t get the job. Your pa got it instead.”

Will knew Mac had become the wagon train leader part-way through the journey to Oregon. But he hadn’t known Samuel Abercrombie wanted the role. And he’d never heard the circumstances.

“Why didn’t Mr. Abercrombie like your father?” he asked Joel.

Joel sniffed. “Pa was careful, wouldn’t move as fast as Abercrombie wanted. Then Pa didn’t do himself any favors—he got drunk one too many times after Ma died. Abercrombie took advantage of Pa’s weakness.”

As Will and the Pershing brothers talked, the newly arrived officer and Captain Kelly exited the tent. “Fall in, men,” the captain shouted.

The cavalry unit moved into a loose formation, with the civilians standing slightly apart.

“Colonel Drew,” Captain Kelly said. “I present Company C of the First Oregon Cavalry Militia.”

Colonel Drew frowned and walked along the line of men. The cavalry soldiers straightened as he passed. Seeing them, Will also stood in his best posture. Mac and Mama had trained him well, and he thought he spruced up better than most of the other packers—certainly better than Joel or Jonah. Or old Bagley. Joel didn’t bother to change his stance as the officers walked by, and Will wondered if Joel knew more about the colonel than what he’d said.

While the colonel made his inspection, Will studied him. Drew was a short man, but he wore his uniform smartly. Although his hairline receded, his mustache was full and neatly trimmed with a shaved chin beneath. His official rank was Lieutenant Colonel, but Captain Kelly called him “Colonel.”

Drew didn’t say anything to the teamsters and packers, and he made only an occasional comment to a few of the sergeants and corporals he seemed to recognize. Then he gave a little speech, pacing back and forth between the cavalry and the civilian lines as he talked. “General Drum has ordered me to proceed on our reconnaissance mission across the Owhyee River basin. Our departure was delayed by the need to find adequate mules and men, but Captain Kelly assures me we have a full complement now. Recently, I have been delayed by pressing business in California.”

Standing next to Will, Joel snorted softly.

“And now,” Drew continued, “the Richardson and Allen wagon trains need our escort. I must assess the situation before we continue. And so our reconnaissance force will rendezvous with the stricken settlers.”

The colonel paced a moment, then said to the line of soldiers. “The tribes north of here remain difficult. I anticipate skirmishes with the natives as we proceed. You must stay on your guard at all times.”

“And you,” he said, turning to the teamsters and mule packers. “Captain Kelly has confidence that you men are fit for duty after your supply runs to Jacksonville. There will be no malingering along the trail. We must keep together for the safety of all.”

Then he said to the group at large, “We leave this camp at dawn on Sunday, two days hence, for the rendezvous. After we reach the wagons, I will determine our best course of action and how to fulfill my reconnaissance orders.”

“Two more days here?” Joel muttered. “I wonder why he’s waiting.”

The men scurried around camp through the afternoon, picking up their belongings and washing clothes. Now they had a date certain for proceeding with the expedition, though their immediate mission seemed to have shifted from reconnaissance to protecting wagons. Still, it sounded as if they would be away from Klamath for months.

That night, Will and Jonah lay in their bedrolls beside the campfire. “You think we’ll ever go home again?” Will asked wistfully.

“Not for a long while,” Jonah replied. “Ain’t you havin’ fun?”