If you know what’s good for you, you should keep to yourselves from now on.” He carved a line in the air with his arm, as if disconnecting all ties with them.
For a brief time, George Donner appeared terrified, the colour draining from his face as he grasped what this meant, something Tamsen had already figured out. The Donners would be shunned by the rest of the waggon train, forced to fend for themselves like Reed, and it would all be Tamsen’s fault. But he immediately recovered, protectively gathering his wife under one arm. As he turned away from the audience, he said, “As you say—so be it.”
It’s a death sentence if you go. Tamsen’s ears reverberated with the words, but she wasn’t sure who they were meant for.
the guys about to venture into the night in search of the lost youngster, or her own family
If the creatures she’d seen before—the guys who’d surrounded her in the basin—were genuine, they’d be waiting like wolves for the party to split off into smaller and smaller groups, leaving them all more exposed. She and her family were not safe in this hostile environment, but they were also not secure without them.
She remained deafeningly silent. Because it’s possible she was mistaken. Even if she was correct, no one would believe her: she was a witch, talking about fantastical illusions. Even to herself, it sounded ludicrous, terrifyingly weird, a simple scare tactic. What kind of punishment do you think they’ll come up with for her then?
THE WAGON TRAIN PERFORMED AS PROMISED, WITH THE DONNERS ALLOWING MORE AND MORE DISTANCE TO SLIDE BETWEEN THEIR WAGONS AND THE REST. At the very least, being away from the Murphys and Harriet Pike’s agonising anguish was a relief. They’d let the gap grow for a few days until there was no trace of the remainder of the waggon train except traces in the dirt.
Tamsen made an effort not to let her anxiety dominate her. Even in their smaller company, hiking through the alpine meadows should have been a blessing after the barrenness of the Great Basin. They were surrounded by indications of life, with a plethora of alders and pines growing alongside a meandering stream. The oxen had enough of grass to eat. Despite the beauty and quiet of the land, Tamsen couldn’t get rid of the unease that had settled in her chest. She listened intently for a crackle in the underbrush and kept an eye out for movement in the trees, growing increasingly certain that the creatures she’d seen in the desert were still alive and watching her.
The Donners were travelling alone, following a creek they’d dubbed Alder Creek because of the alder trees that lined its banks, when one of their waggons’ axles snapped. The rest of the group was now several miles down the road, unwinding a fine thread of dust.
George Donner cursed under his breath, “Damn it.” He was lying on the ground, staring up at the wagon’s underside.
“It’s too much for both of us,” George’s brother Jacob stated as he squatted alongside him.
“That’s nonsense,” George countered. “You and I, with Burger’s assistance, can handle this.”
Tamsen took a look at her spouse, then his sibling. George was being defiant. He wasn’t going to be able to fix the waggon axle on his own. They’d just had an issue with the brake a week before—the shoes strangely interacting with the rear wheels even while the lever wasn’t being applied—and George had been so perplexed that he’d had to call in William Eddy to fix it.
Tamsen was well aware of her husband’s abilities and limitations. “George,” she whispered to him. “This isn’t the time to brag.” However, she wasn’t sure why she’d said it. He’d shielded her from harm. It was because of this that they were initially segregated from the others.
“We could send a couple of the men for assistance,” Jacob suggested. “The rest of the group is bound to stop for the night at some point.” He raised his eyes to the lowering sky.
Tamsen was aware that it was too early for night, and that the sky indicated a storm. Even though it was only the end of October, it felt like snow. Panic crept up into her stomach like a sleeping snake once more.
“We don’t. Need. Them,” George muttered, adjusting something Tamsen couldn’t see.