Ghost Ship

This morning we came across a prairie schooner, new and smart as a church bonnet, sitting alone along a little defile. There was no smoke from fires, and no horses or cattle could be seen about, never a dog barked. We pulled up and wondered uneasily whether the people were about, or had been slain, when the light breeze suddenly turned our way and the unmistakable odor of death, overpowering, sweet and charnel, overcame us. This was cholera, our deadliest enemy. The pity is we could not dare stop to bury the dead, even though they were Gentiles strayed far from the main path, away on the "wrong" side of the river, but they deserved at least this. The Pawnee, sensing the danger, had disappeared utterly from the Plain, as if they had never been. With grim fear, we carried on. There was extra music and rejoicing that night around our small fire, even though there was little to eat or drink at all, because there is no telling what the next day will bring. We never saw the Pawnee, or any other Indian, again. It was as though we'd been deserted by Nature.