“A mile wide and an inch deep” was a popular description of the
underestimated Platte, unless one happened to be crossing it. The river had a
fickle nature. She varied in width from 700 yards to two miles, and the bottom,
while often only 6 inches below the surface, could not be seen at all. Her swift
current churned the thick muddy water into soap-like suds beating against the
rocks and small tree-filled islands dotting its expanse.
The mules plunged ahead, but made only 40 feet before the rear
wheels began to sink in the sandy bottom, stirring up little mica particles that
streaked the water with silver threads. Charles yelled and whipped the
creatures, but they brayed and strained in vain against their sinking load.
Lieutenant Burnett, riding ahead, shouted something about weight, but his
message was lost in the noise.
Their frightened horse, tethered at the rear of the wagon was
freed and led to the front, where Lt. Burnett steadied it between his own horse
and the wagon to enable Sarah and her two youngest children to mount safely. He
then positioned the horses in front of the mules, and twisting backward in his
saddle, gestured wildly to Charles. The presence of the horses seemed to
reassure the mules, and this time, they managed to progress a few feet.
Men from other wagons were leaping into the water now, to push
against the wagon boot or grab hold of the back spokes. Gradually, the wagon
began to rise and violently jerk forward, spilling Jessamine headfirst over the
rear boot into the muddy water.
She was still clutching her store-bought tomahawk when she felt
someone grab her around the shoulders and whirl her up and across the neck of an
oddly marked horse. A hand thumped her firmly on the back while she coughed and
spit a mouthful of the bitter alkali water. She squirmed to get a better hold of the
animal’s long black mane and right herself from her jackknifed position. This
time, two browned hands closed about her waist and assisted until she was
straddling the horse’s withers in comfort.
The horse turned his head to assess his added, dripping baggage,
and Jessamine noted his eyes were rimmed in white; large, dark human eyes. His
black mane contrasted sharply against his white coat, splattered with markings
like random drops of ink. He was a magnificent animal, and responded well to the
low commands of his master as they navigated the rest of the river beside Pa’s
wagon.
When they reached dry land, she turned to thank her rescuer, and
was startled to find he also had a shiny black mane and unusual eyes, twinkling
in the sun like emeralds. With one hand, he eased her off his horse and with a
crooked grin, snapped the brim of his hat, sending a halo of tiny beads of moisture
into the air as he turned back to the river, leaving her gaping after him.
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