Page 35 of Shoshone Sun

Susan stumbled in the rising water, and Peter reached for her arm, pulling her toward the door. Behind them, Jane’s voice rang out, calling for them to hurry.

They barely made it onto the roof when Peter turned to see the river’s full fury. It had burst its banks with a deafening crash, and now it surged with relentless power toward their home, churning with logs, debris, and anything it could carry in its wake.

“Peter, what now?” Susan’s voice trembled, and she clung to him, her eyes wide with terror. “What if it doesn’t stop?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, his voice hoarse. “We’ll wait it out. It’s all we can do. Wait and hope and pray the water recedes.”

Jane, who sat on the roof beside them, cast a desperate glance toward the barn. Peter’s heart sank as he followed her gaze. The barn—home to their livestock—was slowly being swallowed by the rising flood.

“I’ll open the barn doors and paddock gates,” he said quickly, his voice steady despite the panic gnawing at him. “It’ll give the animals a chance to escape.”

He pushed off from the roof and scaled down the side of the house, his boots sinking in the wet ground as he ran for the barn. Each step felt like it could be his last as the current of water threatened to carry him away. He reached the barn doors, yanking them open with all his strength, and shouted to the animals inside. “Go!” he urged. “Run!”

The frightened animals hesitated at first, then began to move in a mad scramble, fleeing from the water as the floodwaters surged ever closer. Peter’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he worked to free the rest of the livestock. He opened the paddock gates and released what he could, watching as they instinctively stumbled toward higher ground.

When the barn was empty, he turned back to the roof, his legs aching from the effort, his clothes clinging to his skin, weighed down by the cold, but he didn’t stop. His family was waiting. As he climbed back onto the roof, he found Susan and Jane huddled together, Petey bundled between them. Both women looked as though they had given up all hope.

Peter took a deep breath as he sat beside them. The floodwaters were still rising, and the sky had turned darker, the light dimming with the storm’s fury. “We’ll be all right,” he told them.

But the silence that followed said it all. They were not all right. The waters were not stopping, and the sun had long since disappeared behind the black clouds.

As hours passed, the family remained on the roof, huddled together for warmth, but there was no escaping the fear that gripped them. The water continued to rise, the sound of it lapping at the edges of the roof filling their ears. Peter could see that they had all begun to despair. Their cabin, their livelihood, everything they had worked for—washed away.

“I’m sorry,” Susan whispered after a long silence, her voice breaking. “We’re going to die here, aren’t we?”

Peter didn’t answer right away. How could he? The truth was too painful. But then, as if in answer to her question, a new sound broke through the deafening roar of the water—a man’s cry in the distance.

“Look!” Jane shouted suddenly, her eyes wide, her hand pointing toward the horizon. “Look, there!”

Through the mist, two dark figures appeared, cutting through the water in canoes. For a moment, Peter could barely believe his eyes. But then he thought he recognized the figure of Flying Arrow, paddling with a strength Peter had only seen in warriors. With him was another man.

“By God,” Peter breathed, as the figures drew closer.

Jane’s face lit up with hope, a cry of joy escaping her lips. “It’s him!” she exclaimed, “It must be him.” The tears in her eyes mingled with relief.

The canoes drew closer, and Flying Arrow’s features shone clear in the darkening light. His gaze found Jane’s, and for a moment, all the terror, all the pain in her, seemed to dissolve.

He shouted, “Come! Quick!”

One by one, the family climbed down from the roof and into the canoes. Peter helped Susan and Petey into one, while Jane scrambled into the other with Flying Arrow.

Flying Arrow and his companion paddled with strength and purpose, the current threatening to pull them under, but they fought against it with every stroke.

As the canoes headed toward higher ground, Peter turned back toward the homestead to watch in horror as a new surge of water swept across the ground where the cabin stood. In an instant, it was gone, swallowed by the flood, the earth reclaiming what had once been his.

Chapter Nineteen: A New Path Forward

-Paul Jacobs Homestead, Spring 1867

Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie –

The canoes sliced through the churning waters with steady determination, the rhythm of the paddles a small but constant comfort amid the chaos around them. As Flying Arrow and Great Bear guided the boats through the swollen waters, Peter clutched the sides of the canoe. The floodwaters had carried away everything he had worked for—his cabin, his barn, the land he had once thought of as home.

Susan sat across from her husband as Petey nestled against her chest, her face pale but firm. The child’s small hands gripped her dress, not understanding that the storm that had taken their home. Jane, in the other canoe, appeared lost in her thoughts. She had not taken her eyes off Flying Arrow, who kept his gaze fixed ahead, his face unwavering.

Peter had always prided himself on his ability to handle hardship, but this? This was different. He could feel the weight of the loss pressing down on him like the flood itself. The land they had fought to cultivate, the memories they had built in that little cabin—it was all gone, swept away in the same flood that had nearly claimed their lives.

His mind kept racing, trying to make sense of it all, but the more he thought, the more hopeless it seemed. The world had shifted beneath him, and there was no going back. For all his skill and determination, he couldn’t control the river. He couldn’t stop the storm.

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