The expedition’s water crisis on the plains

The expedition’s water crisis on the plains is the first sustained ordeal of Miller’s leadership in the wilderness: a crossing that strips away the river, reliable landmarks, and the party’s confidence in its guide. With the oxen and horses dependent on the small supply hauled from the Smoky Hill River, a navigation error threatens both the expedition’s survival and its ability to keep moving. The crisis forces William Andrews to choose whether to trust Miller or accept Fred Schneider’s proposed retreat south.

Setting Out Without a River

Before leaving the Smoky Hill, Miller directs the party to rest the animals and carry as much water as possible. The men turn a large square supply tarp into a makeshift reservoir, holding its sides open with green branches and securing the structure with leather straps. About five feet wide and four feet high, the improvised container takes nearly an hour to fill three-quarters full, using cooking pots, kettles, and a small wooden barrel. The work is practical and painstaking: water is not an incidental supply but the condition that will determine how far the expedition can go.

The men wait in the shade beside the river through the hottest part of the day, eating beans and bacon and drinking coffee. When the afternoon sun reaches them, they yoke the oxen and turn toward the open plain. Soon the river’s green trace vanishes. There are no trees or paths to guide them, and Andrews can keep track of their direction only by watching Miller’s back. The featureless country makes the act of following a person replace the usual signs of a road.

At dusk they camp without a natural water source. Under a lantern, Miller measures out water for the oxen, stopping each animal as soon as it has drunk. The supply is still a quarter full after the oxen and horses have been watered, but Schneider’s unease over camping dry foreshadows the strain to come. The oxen’s faint lowing repeatedly wakes Andrews during the night as they press against the wagon near the tarp reservoir.

Doubt About the Route

Miller wakes the party before dawn, reasoning that the oxen will not yet feel the shortage if they are put on the move immediately. Later, sitting in the wagon’s strip of shade, Schneider presses him to say whether he knows where water lies. Miller recalls a small pile of stones and expects the party to cross a stream after another half day. He adds that some landmarks have changed since his previous passage, but maintains that they will be all right. Schneider reads the uncertainty differently: he laughs, shakes his head, and concludes that they are lost.

The disagreement is not simply over direction. Schneider proposes turning south toward Arkansas, estimating that the animals can endure another day or a day and a half and that the party might reach water there. Miller argues that the detour would cost a week and insists that he knows the country well enough to continue. His assurance competes with the visible absence of landmarks and with the diminishing water supply. He points toward the setting sun and says that following that direction will keep them from being lost, but Schneider warns that no certainty can be assumed in such a large country.

Charley Hoge leaves the decision to God. Schneider then appeals to Andrews, noting that the wagon and team are his and that Miller would have less leverage if Andrews ordered a southern course. Andrews looks down at the dry, dusty ground while the others watch him. He decides that, having come this far, they should continue with Miller. Schneider objects that they are all mad but accepts that he has no choice. Miller answers with a small smile and points out that Charley still has nine or ten gallons of whisky as a last resort. The decision leaves the party committed to Miller’s route, not reassured that his estimate is correct.

Rationing and Physical Danger

The party rides through the night as Miller zigzags across the plain, repeatedly changing direction. Andrews initially tries to memorize the course, but exhaustion defeats his concentration; he slumps forward in the saddle and lets his horse follow Miller and Schneider. Thirst persists even in the cool night air, and Andrews takes occasional sips from his canteen. By the following morning the oxen are moving slowly and lowing almost continuously. Their coats look dull, and their ribs and flanks are becoming conspicuous. Schneider warns that swollen tongues will soon make it impossible for them both to pull and breathe. Andrews is too thirsty to answer and has to force himself to close his canteen after two long swallows.

Miller treats the remaining water as something to be administered carefully, not spent freely. He has Charley bring him the canteens and wooden barrel, then empties each canteen into the barrel, holding it upside down for several minutes until the last drops fall. The recovered water amounts to about four inches. Schneider throws his empty canteen against the wagon and protests that Miller is wasting the little they have. The argument gives way to a task that makes the shortage bodily and immediate: the men lift an ox’s head while Miller raises its upper lip and wets its swollen tongue with a soaked handkerchief.

They repeat the procedure for every ox. Schneider curses, Andrews struggles to keep hold of the animals’ smooth, hot horns as his arms tremble, and the dry air cuts his throat. Charley returns each treated ox to its yoke and brings another. Even working quickly, the men take nearly an hour to wet all the animals’ mouths. Miller judges that they can last until night and points to the remaining inch and a half of cloudy water. The measure is not abundance but postponement: enough, he hopes, to keep the team alive and moving.

The Crossing’s Outcome

The plain offers little evidence by which to retrace the route. Miller explains that if they left the wagon, they could spend a week trying to find it again, and the shallow wheel marks in the baked earth would not reliably lead them back. During the afternoon, the animals pull unevenly, no longer working as a coherent team. The party encounters a shallow basin whose mud has dried into intricate cracks; the men stare at the dry pool without speaking. Miller makes them take a small amount of Charley’s whisky, warning that more would make them nauseated. The liquor is rationed as a means of moistening their throats, not as a substitute for the water they need.

They continue traveling for hours after sunset, slowing as the ground grows rougher and skirting woods and steep hills that are difficult to see at night. A distant light, apparently coming from an open doorway, appears and disappears behind them as they press onward. Early the next morning, Miller leads the wagon into the foothills, following a line of trees down toward a valley. They reach a stream and then an open riverbed, where clear water runs through the center of a broad channel. The arrival at water ends the immediate crisis, but not by proving that the plain was safe or that Miller’s navigation was infallible. The crossing has shown how little margin separated the party from a breakdown, while Andrews’s choice to follow Miller has tied his own judgment to the expedition’s uncertain progress.