Everything had a funereal appearance. Men stood around in small groups
talking earnestly in a low voice, whittling sticks, the incessant
occupation of most men when trying to think.
Those with whom we are acquainted bowed as we passed them, without
speaking. I was soon off my horse and ready to see Neelie, while Frank
took Dick to hitch him for me.
As I approached the tent where Neelie is, Mrs. Kerfoot came to meet me.
“How is she, Aunt Mildred?” I asked anxiously.
“We think perhaps she is better now. She is quiet and resting easy, but
she has had a very restless night, and the doctor says she must be kept
perfectly quiet; not the least excitement.”
She had led me away from the tent while talking. I saw in a flash what
she meant. I was _not_ to see Neelie.
“After we left you she kept asking about you, and when you did not
come, we thought perhaps you had gone the short cut, and so we told her
you had gone the short cut to Montana, and we would not see you any
more. She seemed grieved at first, but became reconciled to what could
not be helped, and now, if she should see you of course it would excite
her, and I know you would not do anything that might harm her, or make
her worse.”
“Oh, no; of course not.”
Emma, Delia and Juddie had come to where we were talking. I kissed them
all, said good-bye, and came away, with a heavy heart.
I unhitched Dick and, leading him by the bridle, went on in advance of
the trains, selected a place for the corral, unsaddled Dick, and waited
for the wagons. I did not have long to wait, and the captain was so
good as to corral on the place I had selected.
I had a motive in being in advance of the other trains. I hoped to get
Hillhouse and mother to consent to pull out of corral and go on if the
train did not move. We are not in any danger from Indians now, and we
can go alone if no others choose to go with us. I cannot bear to stay
here and not see Neelie.
We could not move to-day, but Hillhouse says we will to-morrow morning.
The men from these four trains elected judge, jury, prosecuting
attorney and lawyer for the defense, and have tried Hosstetter for
murder. The jury brought in a verdict of “Not guilty.” He shot in
self-defense, as Frasier had threatened to kill him.
Hillhouse served on a jury, the first time in his life. He is only
twenty. They buried Frasier yesterday. Lyde and I visited his grave
this afternoon. Hosstetter seems very remorseful; blames himself for
being so hasty.
* * * * *
Sunday, August 6.
We were up bright and early this morning. By the time other camps were
at breakfast we were ready to start, one other family with us, Mr.
Curry, his wife and four boys. When Hillhouse spoke to the captain
about our going on, he said he thought it advisable, as our teams are
in good condition, the cattle not at all lame. We can make much better
time than the train can, as so many of the cattle are lame, they will
be obliged to travel slowly. There is no danger from Indians, and after
we reach Green River pasture will be plentiful, without going away from
camp to find it.
I climbed into Mrs. Hardinbrooke’s wagon to tell her good-bye, kissed
little Annie as she was sweetly sleeping. Mrs. H. seemed sorry to have
us go. I met Dr. Fletcher as I was leaving Mrs. Hardinbrooke and asked
about Neelie.
“She is very low, indeed. Of course, while there is life we may hope;
but if she lives they will have to stay here a week or ten days.”
I did not tell him we were leaving, but said good morning, and went to
find Lyde. She was worried and anxious about Milt. He has been staying
behind the train to drive lame oxen almost every day since he has been
well enough. He is usually in camp by 10 P. M. Last night he did not
come. She said, “Brother Joe is quite sick, too. I wonder what will
happen next?”
“Oh, Lyde, no very serious calamity has happened to you or yours, nor
me or mine. Let us not borrow trouble, but hope for the best. Milt will
be here in a little while. I know he is able to take care of himself,
and he is going to do it.”