The covered wagons creaked as they rolled through the prairie grass, gradually making their way up the hill and toward the blue sky beyond. The lonesome Iowa wind made the only other sounds, like it always did in this wide, endless land. Then, over the crest of the hill, the native rode up.
Pfarrer Johan Hottinger, driving the lead wagon, stared at the lone figure on his horse in their path. His wife and lifelong companion, Anna, on the seat next to him, grabbed his arm in fear. There were tales of attacks on other wagon trains. They looked around nervously, waiting to see more attackers, but it was just the one. He feared for his wife and for the precious cargo in the back of his wagon. Anna was sturdy. The precious cargo would, hopefully, keep God on their side.
As they got close, the figure became more clear. He appeared to be an older man, perhaps in his forties, but weathered by the prairie sun. A red scarf of some sort wrapped his head. A single pointed deer antler hung from his scarf on the left side and sat along his jaw. He wore no shirt, but had deerskin leggings. It looked like deer hooves tied to his shoes. Beyond that, he just carried hide bags and a drum.
Johan pulled the reins to stop the team as he neared the native.
The man held up his hand, palm forward, and said something. It sounded English.
Johann asked, “Do you speak German? I only speak German.”
The native tilted his head, a sign that he didn’t understand. Then he spoke again in English.
Johan pulled away from Anna so he could lean past the edge of his wagon and call back to the others. “Ulrich! Come up here! We need your English.”
Ulrich, one of the younger members of their congregation, was well educated. Among the languages he understood, English was his best. It had helped immensely since they arrived in the United States.
The young man strode forward to stand between Johan’s team and the stranger. “Hello,” he said.
The native looked at him, nodded, and said hello back.
Ulrich waited a minute to see if there was anything more. He looked back at Johan.
“Ask him what he wants,” Johan directed.
“Excuse me, sir, but is there something you want from us?”
The native seemed to concentrate a minute, his face puckered slightly. Finally, he spoke. “My people told me it would do no good, but I felt it was right. I come on my own to give you a warning. The place you are going is unsettled.”
Ulrich translated as best he could.
Johan responded. “That is good. We want a place where we can settle ourselves. We have papers from the government. We paid the money.”
“No,” corrected the native. “Unsettled, as in not right. There are Wanáği, the troubled dead. They see the North as yellow and the East as black. They cannot find their way. If you go there, you may become lost yourself.”
Ulrich was not sure about the translation, but he tried the best he could.
By this time, several other men from the wagon train had walked up to see what was happening. One, Martin, carried his rifle.
The tall grasses swayed around them, reaching and pulling in the wind like the drowning reaching for a hand.
“What do the directions have to do with colors? Tell him we don’t understand.”
The native reached behind him and pulled his drum forward. It was a wood frame with deer hide stretched across. The surface showed four deer, each a different color: black, red, yellow, and white. He pointed to the red deer and said, “North” then pointed to the yellow deer and said, “East”. He explained, “When Ishjinki twists the way, the dead do not know the directions. They do not go home. They stay and trouble the living.”
The gathered throng began to understand what the man was saying, but they weren’t sure whether to believe him. What were his motives?
Johan asked, “Why are you telling us this?”
The man shrugged. “I do not wish anyone to fall into such a place, even the white man.”
After more murmuring among the Germans, they asked, “Why should believe you? This could be a trick to turn us elsewhere.”
The native hung his head for a moment. “My people said it was useless to warn you, that you would not listen. They say that you get what you deserve by going there. At least I tried and am free of guilt.”
Johan held up his small Bible. “We have no fear of any devil your pagan people may see. Our faith in the Lord will protect us and see us through. Thank you for your effort, but we will be safe.”
“I hope you are right,” said the native. “Beware of one who looks like a raccoon. He is not a man and will cause you harm.”
“Who is that? Is that one of your people?”
“No, he is no one’s people. He is Ishjinki. In your words, he is the devil. Among us, he takes many shapes, but raccoon skin is his favorite.”
The native started to turn his horse away and then stopped. “Consider the possibility that your Lord sent me to warn you so you could choose a safer path.”
They watched as his horse ambled down the hill toward the south and away.
“Thank you, Ulrich. You were of much help,” Johan said. “We must keep going. There is plenty of sunlight left for the day and many labors to perform.”
One of the other men asked, “What’s that?” He pointed toward the northwest horizon.
A dark figure stood atop the hill. It appeared to wear a cape of gray, with dark bands, that fluttered in the prairie wind.
“Is it another native?” Anna asked, leaning closer into Johann.
Johann squeezed her hand. “Probably. They seem to want to frighten us. We will not be frightened. God has sent us on this path and He will protect us.”
They jumped as the shot rang out. Martin fired at the gray figure.
Martin smiled. “He will not try this child’s play with us again.”
Johann looked back to the place where the gray figure had stood.
It was gone.
He frowned and yelled down at Martin. “Let’s hope his friends do not decide to return your shot while we sleep.”
Martin’s smile faded as the realization seeped through him.
The others grew nervous again.
Johann shook his head. “Get back to your wagons. We have far to go and there is still daylight.”
As the others headed back, Johann pulled the canvas flap on the wagon and checked the precious cargo. Its wood crate sat where it had since they tied it to the floor. The cloth still covered the crate with its reds and golds. It had made the trip all the way from Germany, across the Atlantic and through much of America. It would soon be in its new home.
He turned back to see the western horizon darken. The wind had changed direction too, and it was colder. The scent of a thunderstorm carried on the air. They would have a prairie storm with their evening sleep.
***
They made good progress but decided to camp early. There was still light, but they wanted to be tied down before the storm hit. Already the wind whipped everything around.
The eight wagons formed a tight octagon, with the horses and their few cattle tied just outside. The animals would be brought into the circle before the first watch or if the storm came up faster. The travelers sat around the communal fire in the middle, cooking their supper. The bundled grasses and small amount of wood in the fire produced strong smoke that danced at random in the winds.
Johann addressed the men, “We should double the watch tonight. After the incident with the native, I would feel more comfortable.”
“Won’t the storm keep them at home?” asked Ulrich.
“I don’t know,” said Johann. “It may just give them cover. We have to keep our wives safe. We have to keep It safe,” he said, nodding toward his wagon.
The men all nodded agreement.
Distant thunder reminded them of the approaching storm.
They all finished supper quickly and put things away. They checked the knots on all the canvas and every item tied to a wagon. Ulrich and Wilhelm brought the animals into the circle where they stood closer to the northern wagon to be out of the wind.
Johann directed the men, all of them with their rifles now. “Friedrich, you and Wilhelm take the first watch. Half way through, wake Ulrich and Martin. Half way through their watch, you can get some sleep. Conrad and Heinrich will be next. Then Rudolf and I. We will overlap watches this way.” He jerked his head to the side.
Something moved near Martin’s wagon and a pot fell out of the back.
Martin called out. “Katharina! Is everything alright?”
A scream came from the wagon.
Martin ran, almost reaching the wagon before the other men could get started. As he got to the back, Katharina jumped out.
“There is something in there,” she screamed as she pointed into the wagon. “Some kind of animal!”
The other men arrived as Martin motioned his wife to step back. He raised his rifle and pointed inside. “How big was the animal?”
Katharina shook her head. “I could not see it well enough.”
They heard something move inside, but could see nothing in the darkness.
Ulrich arrived with a torch, a log from the fire. He held it into the opening in the back of the wagon, careful to keep it away from the canvas.
The wind changed directions again, cold with a small sprinkle of rain, before returning to its previous path.
Martin placed his foot on the step, grabbed the rough wood of the back of the wagon and hauled himself inside. Standing stooped over, he adjusted his grip on his rifle. He sniffed. “There is a musky odor. Something is in here.”
He tried to see any sign of the animal, but only saw flickering shadows. He motioned Ulrich to move the torch to the side a little.
They waited while the wind tugged at the canvas, rocking the wagon slightly.
Martin tapped the muzzle of his rifle against a box a couple of times and paused for a sign of movement.
Nothing.
Friedrich asked, “Is it possible that it got out already?”
They all nodded at the idea.
Martin turned to climb down.
“There it is!” cried Ulrich, pointing through the wagon toward the front.
Something large and gray scrambled over the box seat.
Friedrich and Wilhelm ran around the wagon to the front, rifles ready. They searched the ground, the seat, underneath. “Where did it go?”
Johann tried to calm everyone. “It is just an animal, probably looking for shelter from the coming storm. Ulrich, have you learned anything about these American raccoons?”
Ulrich shook his head. “Not much. They are wild but clever, often breaking into buildings to get food. I think they usually live in trees. Beyond that, I know nothing about them.”
Johann thought about that. They usually live in trees. That bothered him. They had not seen many trees for days in the grasslands and hadn’t seen any around when looking for a place to camp.
Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder rumbled along shortly thereafter.
The women, gathered around the fire, tried their best to console Katharina after her ordeal.
There was still no sign of the raccoon.
The men spread out, looking for it.
Another flash of lightning.
A horse whinnied nervously. A storm could easily spook the animals.
Johann called out, “Ulrich, help me check that the horses are tied well.”
As the two approached the horses, they saw something the size of a small dog, gray, running through the legs of the cows. They stopped walking and ran.
All the horses reared and bucked. Their eyes widened and some unknown thing bothered them. The lowing of the cows added to the noise and they began shifting.
The cracking sound was clear. It was like time froze for a moment to assure that everyone heard it. The board to which the animals were tied broke.
Immediately, the horses and cows began running around the circle inside the wagons. They didn’t know where they were going, but they needed to go and right away. It didn’t take long for the horses to outpace the cows, bumping into the cows from behind and causing more confusion.
The women ran for the safety of the wagons and the men tried to calm the beasts.
Johann stood in the middle trying to decide a course of action. If the animals stayed inside the circle and everybody stayed out of their way, they would settle on their own after a while. That was many things that would need to go right. He made a small prayer for help.
Another shot rang out. He turned to see Martin at the back of his own wagon, holding his rifle up. Something the size of a man but gray like a raccoon flew out of the back of the wagon and straight at Martin, knocking Martin to the ground.
It had to have been two or more raccoons; raccoons don’t get that big. Then Johann remembered the raccoon man from earlier in the afternoon. That must be it. It must be that man. That man remembered that Martin was the one who shot at him.
The minister ran over to Martin to help, dodging running horses and cattle on the way. It was too late. By the time he got there, the raccoon man was gone and Martin was dead. Blood seeped from scratches all over his face and neck.
The other men joined him. “I saw what did this. It was the raccoon man Martin shot at after our visit with the native. He jumped out of the wagon and did this. He must be around somewhere. Be careful.”
The rain started.
Wilhelm, who had the most military experience, reminded them, “Cover your pans and frizzens. You don’t want them to get wet.”
Not having a proper cover, Johann raised the front of his coat and draped it over the lock mechanism. If the weather got worse, it wouldn’t help, but it may give him some cover until then. The cold drops stung his face with every strike.
Three wagons away, Conrad shouted in surprise as the raccoon man jumped out at him. Conrad fired and then wiped blood from his cheek. The intruder was gone.
The livestock, nearly calmed down, ran to the opposite side of the circle, trampling the fire as they did. The scattered remnants of fire sputtered in the rain, giving far less light than before. The remaining grass bundles died out almost immediately.
Wilhelm called out over the roar of the storm, “Get into groups of two or more. Don’t get attacked one at a time.”
Gray, furry shapes seemed to be crawling over everything, every wagon and tack. It would scurry over and disappear before a rifle could be brought to bear.
Voices shouted out in the wind. “It’s over there!” “It’s under that wagon!” “It’s by the horses!”
Johann tried to figure it out. Were there many invaders? Was there one invader and all of his pet raccoons? Were they all going crazy in the rain? He remembered the words of the native, “You may become lost yourself.”
He followed along the line of the wagons, watching for any sign of the man or his pets. Wilhelm said to get into groups, but the others were all somewhere else.
Something ran past his feet.
He stumbled and found himself standing between two wagons. The front canvas of one was tightly tied against the storm. The canvas at the back of the other still flapped loosely. Instinctively, Johann stepped away from the back of the wagon and toward the other.
A small, gray object sprang out of the loose canvas.
Johann raised his rifle and fired.
Lightning flashed.
In the brief light of the thunderbolt, Johann saw the face of his Anna. She wore an expression of shock.
In the dark, as his eyes adjusted, he heard something collapse inside the wagon.
Part of his mind wondered what fell. He knew what fell. He knew it in a way that shredded his soul.
The thunder caught up and shook him.
He climbed into the wagon and found his wife lying on the crate of the precious cargo. As his hands reached up, he felt the warm, sticky fluid and knew for sure what happened.
That’s where they found him the next morning. He knelt next to the crate, next to his Anna, deep in prayer and crying. They wanted to know what happened, but they didn’t want to disturb him then.
They stayed a full day at that camp. The storm had blown over after a few hours and there had been no sign of the raccoon man.
Anna and Martin stayed on the prairie, simple wooden crosses to mark their place. The others went on, with Katharina staring into nowhere as she drove her team.
Johann asked Wilhelm to lead the train, stating that he was not focused well enough. As they rolled out, he sat on the hard wood of the box seat without his Anna beside him.
The precious cargo, centuries old survivor of war, fire, and famine, sat in the back of the wagon. The altar cloth covering it now crusted in the blood of an innocent. They had hoped for a fresh start in the New World. Without her, he was now lost.
