| Against All
Odds: Amazing Pioneer Stories of Courage and Survival Book Excerpt- BUFFALO TAG “Wake up, Sloppy Joe,” I said as I poked my finger into my twin brother’s ear. He jerked his head away and flailed his arms as though to ward off a whole swarm of horseflies. I laughed as he opened his eyes, sat up, and glared at me. “Why should I, Miss Maggie Messy?” he said testily. “Because, if you don’t, all the soda bread will be gone, and you won’t get any breakfast.” Joe moaned and fell back onto his blanket. “If I have to eat any more soda bread, I think I will die,” he groaned. “You’ll definitely die if you don’t eat,” I retorted. “I’ll eat something else,” Joe said in a small, hopeful voice. “Help yourself,” I said smugly. “There’s plenty of grass growing here beside the trail. I’m sure the horses and oxen won’t mind sharing.” Joe covered up his face with his blanket, and I got up and walked over to the fire where Ma was patting the mixture of flour, water, baking soda, and a little salt into flat discs. As much as I teased Joe about the soda bread that we had to eat since our supplies were running dangerously low, I didn’t relish the thought of eating it any more than he did. I just had to pretend I didn't care because then it bothered him more. Ma was never careful about getting all the bugs out of the flour. The resulting hard, flat cakes were often speckled with insect parts. They were hard to chew and had a tang from the soda that left a bad aftertaste. The only thing that kept me from despair was that the mountains were in sight. We were almost to Zion. “Margaret, please get me some water,” Ma said as she plunked a piece of soda dough into the hot pan supported over the fire on a couple of flat rocks. She pushed her hair back off her forehead with the back of her hand. Even though it was a moderately cool morning, Ma’s face was red and sweating from working beside the fire. Ma looked up at me and smiled hopefully. “Don’t you think you’re old enough to start pinning your hair up?” I shook my head hard, enjoying the feel of the braid that danced down my back. I could also feel the loose hair that had pulled out of the braid tickling my face and neck. I imagined that I did look rather messy. But I also felt free. If I had my way, I’d never be old enough for stiff corsets and hard pins to scrape my head in the effort to create ridiculous, elaborate hairdos. I picked up the wooden pail that sat beside our handcart, then made my way over to the stream beside our camp. The water rolled and chuckled in the early morning light, and I took the liberty of sticking my feet into it. I gasped at the cold, but relished the clean felling of the water running over my dusty bare feet, swirling in between my tired toes and washing away the fatigue left over from spending another night sleeping on the ground. I sighed as the smell of scorched soda bread reached my nose. I lowered the bucket in the water, careful to dip it upstream from my dirty feet, and lugged it over to our campfire. Joe was sitting by Ma, forlornly picking at his portion of soda bread. Just as I let the bucket thud to the ground, I heard shouting. “Buffalo!” “Buffalo! Come on, men!” “Get your rifles!” The camp jumped to life as several of the men grabbed their guns and leapt on their horses. I was amazed to see them ride toward a herd of buffalo that was leisurely grazing out from behind a hill on the opposite stream bank. I had just been there and hadn’t noticed them. The nearest bison raised their dark, shaggy heads and looked curiously at the hunters as they splashed across the stream. They seemed interested, but not particularly alarmed. Joe appeared at my side, looking triumphant. “There’s your answer to this old soda bread!” he said, waving his scorched brown bread disc under my nose. “Don’t count your buffalo before they’re skinned,” I said. “Aw, what do you know?” Joe said impatiently. “I could throw a rock and hit one from here!” “You only wish you could,” I said. “Well, I’m not going to prove it to you. I might mess up the hunt,” Joe said stoutly. Then, seeing the scowl on his face and feeling sorry I’d spoken unkindly, I said, “Let’s go closer.” We walked together to the edge of the stream and watched the hunters approach the herd. If the buffalo didn’t spook and run, we would be able to see the whole hunt from where we stood. I felt my mouth water and my stomach rumble at the thought of fresh meat roasting on our fire. One of those huge buffalo would feed the whole camp. Two would probably get us to Salt Lake City. I jumped as Henry Shomaker’s rifle suddenly exploded a bullet from its barrel, then saw the buffalo that was his target, at the biggest one in the herd. I also saw a puff of dust kick up on the ground just beyond the big, shaggy bull. My heart sank with disappointment. Brother Shomaker had missed! Then, faster than I would have thought an animal as big and heavy as that one could move, the old bull took off running at Brother Shomaker, its head lowered as it pointed its heavy black horns directly at horse and rider. I clutched Joe’s sleeve and pointed. “Turn the horse, turn the horse, turn the horse,” Joe advised rapidly under his breath as Brother Shomaker hesitated. It seemed a long time, although it was really only a couple of seconds, before Brother Shomaker finally twisted on his saddle in a desperate turn, and the horse followed his lead, needing no urging to gallop as fast as she could away from the shaggy black menace that was chasing her with appallingly sharp horns. Brother Shomaker kept glancing back over his shoulder at the buffalo that was hot on his trail. I was close enough to see the fear on his face, his mouth open in mute disbelief, his eyes wide as they cast behind him, then darted forward as though desperately seeking an escape route that hadn’t been there the last time he looked. The bull seemed to be closing in. What his wickedly pointed horns and sheer weight could do to a person, I didn’t even want to imagine. Still holding onto Joe’s shirt, I clasped my hands together for a brief, desperate prayer, “Oh, please help him,” I breathed. “Amen,” said Joe, his eyes glued to the terrified rider. Then I screamed. It was a short scream that just sort of squeezed out of me when I saw Brother Shomaker vault off his horse and land in a rolling heap on the hard prairie floor. He tumbled along until he hit into a large clump of grass, then he collapsed and lay still. I held my breath as the buffalo approached the fallen man. Then I let it out again in a big whoosh of relief when the huge beast thundered past Brother Shomaker, his eye and his aim on the unfortunate horse. I didn’t know if Brother Shomaker was dead, but I saw a couple of the mounted men riding toward him. I knew there was nothing I could do for him, so I let my eyes follow the horse. Mouth open, hooves pounding, mane twisting in the artificial wind created by her speed, the horse tried vainly to outrun the angry buffalo. As soon as the big bull drew close enough, he stabbed his lowered horns into the horse’s backside and gave a mighty toss of his massive head. The horse flipped up and over in a perfect somersault. His attackers dispatched, the bull turned and trotted back to the center of the herd, seemingly satisfied that he had done a good day’s work. The horse struggled pitifully and finally got up, limping her way as fast as she could toward camp and the companionship of the other riderless horses. Brother Shomaker was brought in on the back of Brother Dayton’s horse. He was bruised, scraped, and shaken up, but not broken. His horse was worse off. She had deep cuts where the buffalo horns had gouged her flanks. She was bruised and skittish. Her wounds were doctored, and she eventually recovered. She had to be led riderless along the trail when we finally took to our journey again. We had a slight delay as we cut up buffalo meat and smoked it on our campfires. The smell alone was almost enough to sustain me for the rest of the trek to Salt Lake City. I did learn one thing. Never tease a buffalo. They have no sense of humor. Just like some people I know. |
Table of Contents Endorsements:
This is a charming assortment of stories that
brings pioneer times to life for modern families. The stories are
written is such a way that I could see my children, my friends, and even
myself facing the same problems today that are presented from the
experiences of our forefathers. Ivo Ray Peterson, Mormon Miracle
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