The Young Riders: Buck Cross Prompt 73 -- Light
Title: One More River
Fandom: The Young Riders
Characters: Buck Cross, Teaspoon, Polly, Kid, Lou, Jeremiah, Theresa
Prompt: 73 -- Light
Word Count: 577
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Pony Express has ended, and the Civil War has torn the Express family apart. A few of them decide to strike out across the country to Oregon and a fresh start.
Author's Note: This is section 50 of a continuing story dealing with the journey from Rock Creek, Nebraska, to the West Coast via the Oregon Trail.
Light finally returned after the storm, sneaking into the space underneath the wagon. It brought with it confirmation of sorts that they had, indeed, survived the fury.
Buck slowly disentangled himself from Julie’s arms, giving her a quick smile of encouragement as he slid out from underneath the wagon to assess the damages.
What greeted his eyes nearly took his breath away.
All around, brush and rocks were jumbled, strewn about in ways they certainly hadn’t been before the storm. A huge boulder, nearly waist-high on him, had come to rest just a foot or so from the gully.
The wagon was battered, the canvas cover pulled from its anchors in several places. But, amazingly enough, the cover had remained attached. Inside the bed, almost everything had gotten wet, and some things seemed to have been tossed around, but the damage appeared minimal.
The horses, mules, and the cow were still staked where Julie had left them. He found them huddled together protectively. The cow and one of the mules were somewhat bloodied, probably hit by flying rocks, but the injuries didn’t look serious.
The real blow came when he went up front to check on the oxen. Five appeared to be a bit rattled, and were definitely ill-tempered after their experience in the storm, but physically were fine.
The sixth, however, was dead. A large branch had impaled itself through the beast’s neck, almost like a spear.
There were no trees within sight of where they were, so how far that branch had traveled was anyone’s guess.
By the time he got back to the wagon, Julie was inside, trying to clean up some of the mess. She looked up when he appeared at the back. “Are the animals all right?”
“One of the oxen is dead,” he reported. “It got speared by a branch.”
Her face showed the surprise that she couldn’t quite put into words. “The others are all right?” she asked finally.
He just nodded.
“Can we go on with just five oxen?”
“I can re-rig the harness, and the wagon isn’t that full. It should be all right.”
“It may soon be lighter,” Julie said, pointing at some sacks. “That flour, and some of the corn meal, got soaked. I’m afraid we’ll have to throw most of it.”
“At least we’re not too far from Caspar. Hopefully we can get some more there.”
Julie leaned forward and brushed a finger across his temple, coming away with a bloody finger. “Are you all right?”
Buck reached his hand up, then stared at the blood. “I think so,” he said. “I don’t even remember getting hit by anything.”
Julie took a deep, steadying breath and sat back. “I don’t know when I’ve been so scared,” she said softly.
“I was scared too,” Buck admitted. “I thought the whole wagon was going to blow away at one point.”
“Oh, I did too!” She paused, looking around the wagon again. “I guess, all in all, we were pretty lucky.”
“We were,” he agreed, meeting her eyes.
Even in the midst of the storm’s worst fury, he’d found it strangely comfortable to be entwined in her arms, and he wished there was a way to say that. But, he’d promised himself not to say or do anything to imperil their agreement to go their separate ways when the time came.
And so he kept his thoughts to himself and busied himself with cleaning up after the storm.
Fandom: The Young Riders
Characters: Buck Cross, Teaspoon, Polly, Kid, Lou, Jeremiah, Theresa
Prompt: 73 -- Light
Word Count: 577
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Pony Express has ended, and the Civil War has torn the Express family apart. A few of them decide to strike out across the country to Oregon and a fresh start.
Author's Note: This is section 50 of a continuing story dealing with the journey from Rock Creek, Nebraska, to the West Coast via the Oregon Trail.
Light finally returned after the storm, sneaking into the space underneath the wagon. It brought with it confirmation of sorts that they had, indeed, survived the fury.
Buck slowly disentangled himself from Julie’s arms, giving her a quick smile of encouragement as he slid out from underneath the wagon to assess the damages.
What greeted his eyes nearly took his breath away.
All around, brush and rocks were jumbled, strewn about in ways they certainly hadn’t been before the storm. A huge boulder, nearly waist-high on him, had come to rest just a foot or so from the gully.
The wagon was battered, the canvas cover pulled from its anchors in several places. But, amazingly enough, the cover had remained attached. Inside the bed, almost everything had gotten wet, and some things seemed to have been tossed around, but the damage appeared minimal.
The horses, mules, and the cow were still staked where Julie had left them. He found them huddled together protectively. The cow and one of the mules were somewhat bloodied, probably hit by flying rocks, but the injuries didn’t look serious.
The real blow came when he went up front to check on the oxen. Five appeared to be a bit rattled, and were definitely ill-tempered after their experience in the storm, but physically were fine.
The sixth, however, was dead. A large branch had impaled itself through the beast’s neck, almost like a spear.
There were no trees within sight of where they were, so how far that branch had traveled was anyone’s guess.
By the time he got back to the wagon, Julie was inside, trying to clean up some of the mess. She looked up when he appeared at the back. “Are the animals all right?”
“One of the oxen is dead,” he reported. “It got speared by a branch.”
Her face showed the surprise that she couldn’t quite put into words. “The others are all right?” she asked finally.
He just nodded.
“Can we go on with just five oxen?”
“I can re-rig the harness, and the wagon isn’t that full. It should be all right.”
“It may soon be lighter,” Julie said, pointing at some sacks. “That flour, and some of the corn meal, got soaked. I’m afraid we’ll have to throw most of it.”
“At least we’re not too far from Caspar. Hopefully we can get some more there.”
Julie leaned forward and brushed a finger across his temple, coming away with a bloody finger. “Are you all right?”
Buck reached his hand up, then stared at the blood. “I think so,” he said. “I don’t even remember getting hit by anything.”
Julie took a deep, steadying breath and sat back. “I don’t know when I’ve been so scared,” she said softly.
“I was scared too,” Buck admitted. “I thought the whole wagon was going to blow away at one point.”
“Oh, I did too!” She paused, looking around the wagon again. “I guess, all in all, we were pretty lucky.”
“We were,” he agreed, meeting her eyes.
Even in the midst of the storm’s worst fury, he’d found it strangely comfortable to be entwined in her arms, and he wished there was a way to say that. But, he’d promised himself not to say or do anything to imperil their agreement to go their separate ways when the time came.
And so he kept his thoughts to himself and busied himself with cleaning up after the storm.