Farnsworth discovered nothing more about the legends except for had heard stories this previous year of Indians vanishing from towns, not a long way from where the Anawai resided, normally the wiped out and the old and kids, culled from their beds or gone out for kindling or berries, never to return. Such folktales repeat in pretty much every culture, except I was oddly moved, maybe on account of the poor Nystrom kid—he, as well, culled from his bed, never to return.
Farnsworth had been hesitant to disclose to me his story, apprehensive I’d think he was crazy. He just yielded after I guaranteed him that I needed to know, that this was the very explanation I was going into Indian Territory, to explore their unusual and mythic convictions and attempt to connect them to some detectable reality. He could tell that I was determined to go to Truckee Lake, however, he beseeched me to persuade Donner and the others not to go that way, as well.
I dread, notwithstanding, that I have had little influence over Donner hitherto, and won’t in this. Concerning myself, I can just concede that Farnsworth’s alerts have had something contrary to their proposed impact. I can consider nothing presently except for the opportunity to meet this solitary clan and of his story of the soul—the evil presence—of Truckee Lake.
That and of you, my dear. Thus I will end my letter here before you reexamine your careless choice to wed a particularly chatty old chatterbox. I here and there question my favorable luck, that a lady like you—so astute and shrewd and delightful—might have consented to wed this odd, difficult dolt. For however much I love you and miss you and wish to be with you, I additionally realize that, since I have found out about this supposed monster of Truckee Lake, I won’t rest until I go there and discover what is happening agreeable to me. Almost certainly you are not satisfied to peruse my expectation, however, you realize this story will torment me to the furthest limit of my days on the off chance that I don’t endeavor to determine it. Try not to stress for me, my dear Margie, and realize that I plan to get back to you when it is conceivable.
Your caring Edwin
Farewell, farewell.
The words rang in Stanton’s ears although the remainder of the cart party, those headed for Oregon, had moved away hours sooner, leaving the more modest gathering on the banks of the Little Sandy River. The carts, over 100 aggregate, had raised a stifling dust storm as they withdrew. Had Stanton envisioned that they were so anxious to leave? Anxious to put misfortune and the memory of the butchered Nystrom kid behind them? Anxious to isolate themselves from the crabby Donner party, as the California-bound gathering had come to be known? They’d bid farewell to Edwin Bryant and the little party of men who had chosen to go with him a couple of days sooner, back at Fort Laramie, and as of now, Stanton missed his lone companion.
Mists coasted in the sky, cushy as cotton still on the tail thus low that you would swear you could reach up and contact them. The plain extended to the skyline, extraordinary patches of green and gold, and Little Sandy winding through it. A delicate stream, and, consistent with its name, not wide by any means. It was difficult to envision anything terrible occurring here.
The remainder of the cart train was preparing to have a blowout, a sort of collective outing. It had been Donner’s idea to praise the last leg of their excursion. He’d plumped their consciences great, revealed to them their valiance in choosing for taking the Hastings Cutoff would be remunerated. They were gutsy pioneers, going to pioneer another path through the wild; their names would stand out forever. Stanton presumed the cookout was just an interruption to hold the others back from scrutinizing the choice. There was gossip flowing all over the line of forceful wolves upsetting the Indian populaces in the region ahead. The source was a miner of problematic unwavering quality, however, offered that there were still no responses in the Nystrom kid’s passing, the story had everybody anxious.
“Shouldn’t we go directly out, similar to the fundamental party?” Stanton had gotten some information about the designs for a cookout.
“It’s anything but’s, a day of rest,” Donner had said, in a disparaging tone. “God will deal with us.”