WHEN THE WORD of Cholera spread throughout the camp, people began to panic. Two families had reported members being taken with the illness and fell toward the back of the train. The other travelers were clamoring for space between them and the sickness, fearing for their own families. Cholera was a death sentence for nine out of ten people who were stricken with it. Wagon Master Taylor had to ask the families with the disease to stay behind in order to keep the rest of the wagon train healthy. If able, they could travel a day’s distance behind and those that survived the disease could travel with Wagon Master Billings’ group when they caught up with them.
Before the wagon train had time to move on without them, one of the stricken travelers was already dead. The train moved on, side by side, in order to keep the dust from kicking up in each other’s faces. The prairie was wide and sparse and provided plenty of room to spread out.
An evening meeting was called for all travelers. “We’ll be crossing one more river,” the wagon master informed the emigrants, “and this one’s worse than the last one. The Green River is the most difficult to cross and we’ll be crossing by ferry again. We’re heading up to the Names Hill Ford ferry and should be arriving in a couple days. Be prepared to wait in line again. Because of the difficulty of the crossing, I hear they’ve been charging $20.00 per wagon, for everybody, no exceptions.”
“Ain’t there anyplace else we can cross?” one man asked.
“You have your choice of going farther upstream to Red Buttes. It’s a might dangerous. Lots of people have drowned there, but that’s the only other place to cross,” Bishop offered.
When Homer returned to the camp, he informed Elmer, “We’re headin’ for Red Buttes. We’ll be leavin’ the wagon train and takin’ a faster route.”
“Leavin’ the wagon train?!” Elmer exclaimed, “Homer! What are ya thinkin’?”
“I’m thinkin’ that we ain’t gonna spend any more time waitin’ on ferries,” he answered his brother. “We’s already wasted too much time as it is. We ain’t stupid. Don’t take much brains to follow a trail. We just keep headin’ west and we’ll be there in no time. Besides, the snows gonna fall any time up there in those mountains just ahead. Don’t want to get caught in it. Wait a few more days and that just might be what we’ll be facin’.”
“I don’t know, Homer,” Elmer hesitated, “We may be jumpin’ the gun here.”
“Ain’t doin’ no such thing,” Homer assured him, “you’ll see. I’ll be tellin’ the wagon master our intensions in the mornin’.”
“Well, alright.” Elmer agreed. “Just long as we keep to the trail.”
Elmer felt as though he had a pit in his stomach and knew in his heart this may be a bad decision, but he was tired of fighting with Homer. He was worn down and tired and felt he may have already pushed Homer too far.
The next morning, Homer promptly informed the wagon master of his decision.
“Suit yourself,” Bishop Taylor said, “but I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“Ain’t no mistake,” Homer responded as he turned to leave. “Be in California long before you.”