He looked at Emma, and saw in her eyes everything that she had not put
into words. Traces of terror and loneliness lingered there, and he knew
that she had prayed for him. But happiness because he had finally come
back was driving the rest away as surely as the rising sun dispels
morning mist.
"Have you had breakfast?" Emma inquired.
"Yup. Had a snack down the trail a ways."
"But you're in here almost before daylight. I'll fix something for you."
Emma built up her fire and put water over to boil for coffee. She made
her spider--a skillet with legs--ready and laid three eggs beside it.
Joe looked concernedly at them.
"Better save those for the kids, hadn't you?"
"The children aren't lacking anything and I have eight more eggs. Every
hen but one has laid every day."
"They must like wagon life." He winked solemnly at her.
"I'm sure they do," she replied, dimpling. "It's a good life--for
chickens."
The children looked up at the sound of their parents' hearty,
soul-easing laughter.
Joe unlashed the wagon wheels, lifted them from the mule, leaned them
against the wagon, unharnessed the mules, and tied them where they could
graze. He was in high spirits and the world was good again. He sat
before the blazing fire and partook hungrily of the breakfast Emma
prepared for him. The younger children tumbled out of the wagon and ran
to their father. Carlyle and baby Emma snuggled contentedly in his lap
while they ate their breakfast, and young Joe and Alfred braced
themselves one on either side.
Almost at once Joe was restless again and he felt an inner urge to be
moving. He had lingered in Independence far too long, gentling a
six-mule team for Jake Favors, and a wet trail and a broken wheel had
set them farther behind. Now the north wind blew steadily, and the
clouds were black and angry. But the mules had been working hard and it
was hazardous to go on unless they grazed and rested. There was a long
trail still ahead, and the team must be in condition for it. However, he
could replace the wagon wheel.
There were no flat rocks here, but the river bank was piled high with
driftwood, ranging all the way from slender branches to huge trees that
had come down on the swollen current. Joe found a prying pole, used a
chunk of wood for a fulcrum, and lifted the wagon. While Barbara and Tad
sat on the end of the pole, holding the wagon in place, Joe blocked the
front end with more wood. He replaced the broken wheel and busied
himself with his ax.
Comparatively little of the driftwood was green; few growing trees had
been uprooted by the high water. Of the dead trees, some were
water-logged and these he passed by. He wanted only dry and buoyant wood
that would help keep the wagon afloat when they crossed the river, and
when he found such a piece he chopped it into the lengths he desired.
Leaving each piece where he chopped it, he prowled up the river bank
looking for still more suitable wood and a place where they might ford.
He found where the bank sloped easily into the water, with no sharp
drops and no undercutting. Joe threw a chunk of wood in, watched it
drift gently downstream, and knew the current was not a swift one. He
tried to gauge the depth with his eye, but the river was too muddy to
let him do it and there might be hidden obstacles on the bottom. Joe
glanced back toward the wagon, decided that he could not be seen from
it, and removed his clothing.
He shivered in the raw north wind, but walked slowly into the water. The
bank and the river bottom both seemed solid, and Joe could feel no
hidden obstruction that might get a mule in trouble. Much warmer than
the air, the water rose to his chest and then to his neck. He swam, but
the deep part of the river was only about twenty feet wide and he could
wade again. Joe climbed up onto the far bank. He inspected it carefully,
and when he was finished he knew that he could take the wagon across
here.
Joe dressed and trotted back to the wagon. The cold wind and the water
had left him numb, so that he had to move fast in order to restore
circulation. But before he came in sight of the wagon he walked again.
Emma had emphatic ideas about proper deportment in cold weather, and
none of her notions included stripping naked and swimming a river. Joe
whistled as he strode up to the wagon. He'd had little sleep for two
nights, but was not unduly tired.
"Everything's smooth as a tub of lard," he called cheerfully. "I found a
new ford. Can you catch your chickens?"
"Oh yes. They're tame."
"Give me an hour or so, then catch them and load everything on the
wagon. The Towers are about to move again."
He took the whiffletree from the wagon, let a chain drag behind it, and
harnessed the mules. Joe drove them up the river bank, gathering the
wood he had cut as he came to each piece, binding as big a load as the
chain would surround and dragging it to the ford he had selected. When
all the wood was piled there, he returned for the wagon.
The youngest children remained inside, peering curiously out the front
or back, while Joe, Emma, Barbara and Tad lashed wood beneath the wagon
box, on both sides of it, and even to the tongue. Joe stepped back to
grin at their handiwork. There was so much wood tied to the wagon that
only the wheels and cover were visible. It was not absolutely essential;
the wagon itself would have floated. But Joe wanted to keep water out of
the box and away from the load.
"Never thought we'd have to build our own ship out in the middle of
this--wish I knew just what it is and where it is. But we're on our way
to Laramie. Let's launch."
The mules walked gingerly down to the river, taking their time and
testing what lay ahead before they put their full weight on it. With
only the lightest pressure on the reins, Joe let them have their own
way. Nobody could make a mule go where it didn't want to go and nobody
could hurry a mule that wanted to be cautious. They entered the water,
waded out until it lapped their bellies, and continued to move
carefully. Then they were swimming, holding their heads high so no water
could trickle into their ears. They waded again.
Safe on the opposite bank, Joe and Tad untied the ropes that held the
wood on, and they threw as much as they could reasonably carry into the
wagon box. Not forgotten was that long and dismal stretch where buffalo
chips were the only fuel. Should they again strike treeless trail, they
would have firewood.
That night they camped just across the river, within a stone's throw of
the ford where the wheel had broken.
With dawn, the first snow lay on the ground. It was light and powdery,
little more than a white dust that did not hide completely the grass on
the near-by knolls but seemed to cover entirely those farther away.
Little snow devils, picked up by wind, whirled across the trail and
filled ruts while leaving the crown between them brown and naked. Joe
hurried the mules, and wished mightily that he had saved some grain for
them. Mules worked better when they were on grain, but all they'd been
able to carry from Independence had been used up two weeks ago. The rest
of the trip to Laramie would necessarily be forced, with no time to
linger on the way and since there wasn't any grain, the mules would have
to work without it.
Tad trotted beside the wagon and fell behind. Joe waited for him.
"Better get in."
"I aim to walk. I'll keep up."
Joe felt his anger rise, but he held it in check. Tad had been mighty
brave and mighty helpful and he was entitled to be treated with respect.
"We're going to make time, Tad. We've got to now."
Tad was silent, and the struggle he was undergoing showed plainly on his
freckled face.
Suddenly, without a word of comment, he climbed into the wagon and
settled himself where he could watch out the back end. Joe's heart
swelled with pride. Emma had told him that his daughter had grown up,
and now he knew that his son was growing, too. Fiercely proud, Tad had
fully intended to walk all the way to Oregon. But he had seen the need,
and had placed the family's welfare above his own.
Joe said, "Keep your eye peeled for antelope, will you? Holler if you
see any and I'll hand you the rifle."
"Sure, Pa. You want buffalo too?"
"Can't stop to butcher a buffalo right now."
Joe kept the mules at a fast walk except on upgrades and trotted them on
all the down slopes. The mules were big, but their hoofs were slender
and much smaller than a horse's. Therefore, though this light fall did
not bother them, they would have harder going than horses found should
there be deep snow.
Clouds ruled the sky until almost noon, then they broke and the sun
shone for a few hours. There was little warmth in it and the north wind
still blew. But all the snow melted, leaving them a clear trail, and
there had not been enough snow so that its melting left mud in its wake.
That night they stopped half an hour before their usual stopping time
because, though speed was important, grass was just as necessary and
there was rich grass at this spot. The mules and the cow could eat their
fill and be ready for a long trail tomorrow. The next day they started
at dawn, and the day after that. On the seventh day after the first
snowfall they met a rider coming east. Joe looked around to see where
his children were, and he made sure that the rifle was in reach. Then
they drew nearer and he saw that the rider was a white man.
He was small, not much taller than Pete Domley, and his horse, a
clean-limbed sorrel, seemed huge in comparison. The man wore a wool cap,
a buffalo skin coat with the hair still on, and cloth trousers that were
tucked into high-laced moccasins. A luxuriant black beard fell a third
of the way down his chest. He carried a long rifle crosswise on the
front of his saddle, and strapped behind was a small pack.
Joe sat forward on the seat and he felt Emma move with him. The children
crowded forward, staring with frank curiosity at this, the first man
they had met since they were a couple of days out of Kearney. There
might have been others near the trail, but if there had been any, they
hadn't met them. Now they were going to meet, and for a little while the
country seemed neither so lonely nor so vast. Joe halted the mules and
the rider stopped his horse beside them. Though he was small, his voice
was loud and blasting,
"Migosh! Emigrants! What'd you do? Get lost?"
"Yep!" Joe laughed for the sheer joy of laughing and because it felt so
good to meet someone else. "Plumb lost!"
"You must have. Do you know how far behind the rest you are?"
"We left late."
"You don't figure on gettin' to Oregon this season, do you?"
"Just to Laramie. How far is it?"
"A piece up the Trail. I left there yesterday at midmornin'."
"Then we should make it in tomorrow?"
"I don't know," the rider said doubtfully. "You could if you was ridin'
horses, but you'll have to make them mules step some with a wagon behind
'em."
"It's almost noon," Emma spoke up. "Why don't we lunch here and ask
Mr.--"
"Gaystell, ma'am," the rider swept off his hat and bowed to Emma. "John
Gaystell, and I'll be right proud to join you in a bit of lunch. I
didn't expect to see any white folks this side of Kearney."
Joe stepped down, turned to help Emma, and stood aside as Tad and
Barbara alighted. Joe caught the younger children in his arms and helped
them down; they could descend without his help but this was faster. He
was swinging Carlyle to the ground when he heard Emma say,
"My daughter, Barbara Tower, Mr. Gaystell."
"Pleased to know you, miss. Say, more wagons goin' to Oregon should
carry freight like you! Dress up the country no end!"
Barbara blushed and Joe grinned. The men of Missouri were outspoken, but
few of them were as candid as John Gaystell.
While Tad climbed back into the wagon and tossed wood to the ground, Joe
unhitched the mules but left them in harness. He slipped their bridles
and picketed the team where they could find good grazing. When he was
finished, Tad had the fire started and Barbara and Emma were preparing
lunch. John Gaystell slipped unobtrusively over to stand beside Joe, and
startled him by lowering his voice to a whisper.
"You goin' to winter at Laramie?"
"Why?"
"None of my mix. Sure none of my mix if that's what you want to do. And
the soldiers at Laramie are a decent sort. But you don't get that many
men together without findin' one or two who might not be so decent.
And--that daughter of yours is a right pretty girl."