|Hit The Trail
Author: UglyTurnip PM
Full Summary inside. T for what would usually be in this kind of thing. Changed catagory from Western to Historical. Now complete!Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Friendship - Chapters: 13 - Words: 13,153 - Reviews: 24 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 09-09-12 - Published: 06-05-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3029384
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Northern Arkansas, March 1849.
Two young best friends, George Mason and Bob Houston, have heard about the recent gold rush in California, interested in getting rich, the two purchase a wagon, grab their rifles, pack up, saddle up the horses, say goodbye to the family and head out west together.
But the road out west will be a long and difficult journey. These two youths think it won't be a problem, but indeed as they move further away from the civilized world and further towards the Old West, they soon must discover how to survive this long and difficult journey.
With resisting Native American tribes, the Rocky Mountains, supply shortages, aggressive pioneers, and over 1, 000 miles to cover, can they really make it to San Francisco, or will death catch them first?
Note: The dialogue will have spelling and grammar errors to make it seem more like they are country.
Hit the Trail
Chapter 1: Riding Out
Two young men wearing western outfits and holding supplies climb onto their wagon, then carelessly dump the supplies in the back. Beside them, their neighbors sit watching. They are standing in the outskirts of their small town. It is just before sunrise.
"Got your rifle?" The man on the driver's side asked.
"Yeah, got yours?" The passenger asked.
"Now you two be OK, alright? Come home after you get your gold, ya hear?" An older woman said.
"Yes Mother," The Passenger replied.
"Don'tcha worry Mrs. Houston, I'll make sure your son comes back in one peace," The driver, George Mason, replied.
"Hey, you're the poorer shot," The passenger, Bob Houston, joked.
"We'll see who's the poorer shot after I save your ass from those Indians," George laughed.
"Now, you do have the map right?" Mr. Houston said to his son.
George climbed down, gave his widowed mother a kiss, and climbed back up onto the wagon.
"George, sweetie, you come back, I can't afford to bury my husband and son both," she said, sad and worrisome.
"Will ya'll quit worryin'? We are going to come back, and we are going to come back rich," Bob reassured the troubled families.
George noticed the first rays of the sun coming up in the east.
"Bob, the sun's risin'. We better head on out,"
"OK, bye!" he said as the horses began to walk, slowly building up to a run. Both George and Bob waved.
"Bye sweetie!" Mrs. Houston cried out.
"I can't believe it," Ms. Mason said to Mr. Houston. "Our boys are going west,"
"I hope they come home alright," Mr. Houston responded.
Meanwhile, the wagon was just out of the town and now in the wilderness. George came to two different man-made dirt roads. He stopped the horses.
"Which way to California, Bob?"
Bob was reading the map, he looked at the fork.
"Hmm, we could take that road," He pointed left, "and that will lead us to the California trail. But we could also take the Oregon Trail," He pointed right, "And could take a fork about fifty miles from here that would lead us to an alternate California trail. What do you think we should do?"
"Let's take the desert route," He turned towards the southwestern path.
The boys stared at the grasslands around them, one of the reasons they had gone was just for the scenery itself. The two horses trotted the path themselves as if they knew they needed to stay on it. In front of them was another wagon traveling slower as the horses were only walking. The wagon was covered, unlike theirs, and was in better shape, probably because it was new unlike the junky wagon the boys had barely managed to scrounge up cash for. As the boys passed the slower wagon, the people in the wagon; a man, his pregnant wife, and their adolescent son, gave a friendly wave. George and Bob returned the gesture, and then rode on.
Bob threw one last look at the town that was now fading on the horizon.
"Goodbye ma," He said quietly.
"Don't worry Bob, we'll see them again. Nothing's going to happen to either of us, not if I can help it."
"What are friends for?"
"Just one question though,"
"Why did you come with me? Your mother has enough money to pay for you and her to live. My family is poor,"
George sighed. "Alright, I wanted to make sure you would make the trip safely and have some company. I can't let you go alone, you'd be alone and confused. Besides, we have been friends since childhood, I would be alone and confused too."
"If only John hadn't gotten drunk that time, he could've come too," Bob remembered the incident that lost him a friend. John was another close friend of the boys. About eight months ago, John had gotten drunk in the bar. He had foolishly gambled all of his money away, then had shot the man he had gambled with. Almost immediately, the other male patrons had pulled revolvers on him. He was shot eight times, twice in the forehead. Bob and George had been the ones to bury him.
"Yeah, drinkin's what killed my pa," George sighed. Five years ago Bob had discovered Mr. Mason's body on the train tracks, brutally mutilated. Not too far from the body was a broken bottle of wine. "That's why I pledged to never drink,"
"Why don't we talk about something happier now?"
"Yeah, remember that time when we took our rifles and made it look like we had shot each other?"
"Oh yeah, our parents were so mad!" Bob laughed.
The adventure to California had begun.