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Inspiring Voices - Duane Wagaman Paul

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121 pages

English

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In 1871 a band of Indians attack a lone covered wagon traveling westward along the Gila River in Southern Arizona Territory. A few days later, a wagon train reaches that fateful site and finds Brian Jamison barely alive. They bury the dead and treat Brian's wounds, whereupon he learns that his ten-year-old brother, Chad, was not among the dead and may have been taken captive. While recovering, Brian spends several months in Escondido, California helping the Hawkins family establish a farm. A romantic relationship develops between Brian and Abi Hawkins. Nevertheless, Brian cannot rest until he discovers Chad's fate. Brian's Search is the story of a valiant young man who risks everything to find his lost brother. Traveling alone, Brian soon learns his quest must include exhaustive questioning of mountain men and army personnel about rumors of white captives among the Indians. His journey encompasses hundreds of miles of open and often dangerous country in Arizona and Southern Utah Territories. Along the way the people he encounters and the obstacles he faces forever change his life and the lives of those he cares about.

Sujets

Graphic novel

Historical fiction

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Publié par	Inspiring Voices
Date de parution	28 janvier 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781462408924
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Brian’s Search

PAUL DUANE WAGAMAN

Copyright © 2014 Paul Duane Wagaman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Inspiring Voices
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.inspiringvoices.com
844-686-9605

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0891-7 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4624-0892-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901172

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 08/27/2021

In memory of Olive and Mary Ann Oatman.
A real-life event that inspired “Brian’s Search” is a well-documented historical incident referred to as the “Oatman Massacre” that occurred in Arizona on March 19, 1851. While the family of Royce and Mary Ann (Sperry) Oatman traveled alone in a covered wagon along the Gila River toward Yuma on their way to California Yavapai or Tohono O’odham Indians attacked the family, killed Royce and Mary Ann and children Lucy, Royce, Charity, and an infant son, and left an older boy, Lorenzo, for dead.
A day or so later a wagon train came through and members found Lorenzo still alive, treated his injuries, buried dead members of the Oatman family, and took Lorenzo with them to California. Lorenzo soon learned that the bodies of his two sisters, Olive, age 14, and Mary Ann, age 7, were not among the dead and concluded that they had been taken captive by the attacking Indians.
After recovering from his injuries, Lorenzo spent years searching Indian villages in Arizona for his sisters.
Five years after the tragic event, a Yuma Indian named Francisco traded Olive away from Mojave Indians for six pounds of white beads, four blankets, two horses, and sundry trinkets, and ten days later she and her brother Lorenzo reunited at Fort Yuma, Arizona. It was then that Lorenzo learned that shortly after his sisters’ captivity their captors traded them to Majaves living along the Colorado River and that his younger sister, Mary Ann, died of starvation during her first year of captivity.
Olive and Mary Ann Oatman were nieces of Charles Sperry, my 2 nd Great Grandfather.
Paul Duane Wagaman
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
The solitary prairie schooner pulled by a yoke of oxen and a yoke of cows rolled over the parched land, following deep ruts worn by hundreds, maybe even thousands, of wagons before, winding westward along the Gila River. The air remained still, the sun scorching, the river only a trickle, with its brackish water supporting scant vegetation along its alkaline banks. Brian Jamison, eighteen, and his father, Chris, trudged along on opposite sides of the oxen, each clutching a long paloverde switch to urge and guide the lumbering beasts along with an occasional swat on the rump or tap on the neck.
Each had an 1866 Henry 44 caliber, lever-action “Yellow Boy” rimfire rifle cradled in the crook of his arm, and each packed an 1860 Colt Army 44 caliber rimfire revolver in the holster belted to his hip.
Brian’s mother, Beth, and his sixteen-year-old sister, Becky, rode side by side on the hard wagon seat while Brian’s ten-year-old brother, Chad, napped in the rear.
Gnats buzzed about the travelers’ sweaty faces, and the plodding animals kicked up alkaline dust that billowed back about them, settling in their eyes, in their mouths, on their moist skin, in the folds of their clothing—everywhere.
The heat sapped their strength, and they struggled to just keep going, to endure. As the bright sun finally dipped low into the Southwestern Arizona horizon, however, a soft, cool breeze sprang to life. The temperature quickly moderated, and just as quickly the travelers felt revived. Brian’s father stepped in front of the oxen and raised his arms to stop them. “Brian, let’s call it a day.”
Enjoying that transitional period between the unbearable heat of the day and the biting chill that settled over the desert at night, Brian and Chris quickly unhitched the draft animals and led them out along the river to stake them out. In the process, Brian said, “Gee, Pa, this’s all turned out a lot harder than we expected, huh?”
“Yeah, a lot harder and a lot longer. You know, Brian, Heavenly Father lets us make choices in our lives.” Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. “And it ain’t long before we learn that our choices have consequences—some that’re unexpected and some that’re even dreadful.
“Anyway …” He pointed a hand west. “I think we’re on the last leg of our journey. I’m sure we’re only a few days east of Yuma, and when we cross the Colorado River we’ll be in California. So …” He shrugged.
Brian’s mother unhitched the four-month-old heifer calf from the tailgate, led it to the front of the wagon, and tied it to a wheel. With help from Chad, Becky lowered the wagon’s tailgate to a horizontal position to serve as a worktable while Brian pulled out an iron cooking pot and tripod and set them up near the rear of the wagon.
Afterward, Chris carried a milk pail and their one-legged milking stool out to milk their one fresh cow while Brian, Chad, and Becky wandered out to forage firewood—Brian and Chad upriver together and Becky to the north away from the river.
It seemed a mystery to Brian how such a hostile land nearly void of life during the day could come so alive at night. Crickets chirped, nighthawks swooped overhead, and two ground squirrels chased each other about at the river’s edge. A pair of Inca doves landed in nearby mesquite, a desert cottontail hopped about in the sparse grass ahead, a Gambel’s quail called from across the river, and a great horned owl hooted from somewhere upriver.
Shortly Brian and Chad veered toward the north away from the river also.
A little later, as Brian picked up one last stick of wood to finish out his load, he noticed that darkness had settled over the land and stars shone brightly overhead in a clear night sky. Yet he could still perceive his father heading back to camp carrying a pail of milk and the milking stool. Suddenly a chilling, high-pitched scream shattered the stillness, and just as suddenly all went quiet.
“Becky!” Brian whispered. Glancing toward his father, he saw that he had dropped the milk pail and stool and ran toward the wagon in a zigzag course. Brian remembered his father’s rifle lying on the wagon seat.
Brian dropped the wood, grasped Chad’s shoulders, and shoved him toward camp. “Quick, Chad, run straight to Pa!”
Brian drew his pistol as he dove to the ground on his belly. Rising on his elbows, he looked toward camp. He saw his father jump up onto the wagon tongue, snatch up his rifle, and drop back down just as Chad reached him. Nevertheless, before his father had taken more than a couple of steps toward his mother, an arrow plunged into his thigh, and his leg buckled.
As he saw his father and Chad go down in a tangle, Brian jumped back to his feet and yelled, “Pa!”
Focusing on his mother, he saw that she already lay on the ground, an Indian bending over her. With a feeling of utter helplessness, Brian turned back toward his father and Chad. As several Indians converged on them, he fired into the attackers as fast as he could thumb back the hammer and squeeze the trigger. At least two attackers went down under his fire before his pistol responded with only a click. Empty!
He dropped back down on his belly and rolled onto his back. After prying the empty shell casings from the pistol’s cylinder, he thumbed bullets from the loops in his gun belt and reloaded. Rolling back onto his stomach, he slowly rose on one knee with pistol ready.
A hissing arrow struck the left side of his chest, spinning him around. He fell sideways into a large organ pipe cactus, and careening off the cactus, he went down in a sprawl. He lost the grip on his pistol, and it slid out of reach. Before he could recover, however, an Indian landed astraddle him from behind, swinging a battle-ax. A glancing blow caught Brian above his right ear, and his senses exploded.
Brian drifted in and out of consciousness until dawn. When he finally came fully awake, he lay on his stomach, one side of his face pressed against the rough ground, the pain in his head excruciating, his left arm and shoulder strangely numb and feeling useless. And he was cold.
He occasionally heard the rustling of nearby bushes as gusts of wind stirred their branches, and he smelled the poignant odor of creosote.
When the sun finally peeped over the eastern horizon, he remained still, being content to soak up its warmth. A nearby bush cast its shadow across his face, but with time, the shadow shortened, exposing him to the brightness of the morning sun. Stabbing pains shot through his gray eyes. Brian slowly rais