Flash Fiction - The Gun

The Gun

James Levitt didn't lift his feet any higher than it was necessary to clear the ground for each step.  It had been already twelve miles today and he wanted to take advantage of the flat high plains to make as many miles as they could.  The foothills were growing larger by the step.

As Captain of the train, he always took the lead and could hear the creaking of the wagon behind him and six more after that.  He didn't need to turn around to know his daughter and wife with ox lead in hand, were trudging alongside.  It was late in the day and the long shadows of the mountains before them were stretching toward them as the sun descended in the west. If they could make five more miles he figured that they would stop for the night in the forest line of the foothills. 

The ruts on this section of the Oregon Trail had been filled in by someone previously.  There hadn't been enough rain to pack down the powder.  Then he heard a loud crack and the ox bray once.

"James!"  His wife called.

The wagon had slipped off the crest of a rut and buried itself to the hub in the dust leaning at a stiff angle.  A chest, blankets and two barrels tore loose the canvas siding and tumbled out on the ground.  The train halted and a gaggle of men stepped up to the lead wagon. 

They put their shoulders to the wagon and pulled on the wooden spokes while James' wife whipped the ox and the daughter gathered up their belongings.  The wagon slowly pulled up from the rut and was level again.

A mile later they entered the tree line.  The James heard a low pitch guttural cry of a mountain lion.  He turned and called to Sarah, "Get my gun from the chest."

A moment later his wife came up to him, "It's gone."

James sighed.  He had traded a piano and a fertile sow in England for that gun knowing they might need it.  "Alright, I'll get Samuel to come up with his long gun until we make camp."

"Samuel, take your rifle and stand vigil as we set camp,” James instructed.  "Also, could you send a couple of the older boys back down the trail where we got stuck in the dirt and see if they can find my revolver.  It must have spilled out there?"

"Sure, thing Captain."  Samuel headed back to his wagon.

The wagons were circled in a large clearing that had been carved from the trees a long time ago as there was no firewood in the immediate vicinity.  The light was subdued as the sun dropped behind the mountains when John, Samuel's oldest boy came up and handed James his gun.

"Was it where I thought?"  James asked. 

"Yes, Sir.  It was just lying there on the grass by the trail."

"Here,” James handed it back.  "Take a few of the other boys and gather some wood.  Might have to go ways to find some.  I heard some big cats.  So, keep an eye out."

Half an hour later, James heard two shots and looked up from the hay he was laying for the ox.  Several more men gathered around looking in the direction of the sound.  A short time later, four boys emerged from the trees, arms laden with dead wood. 

John returned the gun.  "Was a mountain lion threatening us.  I don't think he meant any harm, just curious.  I scared him off with a couple shots."

"Bless you, John.  That was a Christian thing to do."  James clapped him on the shoulder.  "Let's get the fire started and eat dinner.