"But they can't catch us."
He wheeled his big horse and let him thunder back the way they had come.
Barbara's fear ebbed. Ellis, she told herself, would know what to do. He
always knew. They came in sight of the wagon and Joe stopped the mules.
Ellis reined alongside.
"Indians," he said quickly. "We'd better be ready."
Tad, who had wanted an Indian fight but who was now shaken at the
prospect of one, leaned against the wagon wheel with his rifle in his
hands. He stopped shaking and looked to the priming of his rifle while
his jaw set grimly. Joe sat on the seat, his rifle ready. Ellis and
Barbara remained on King. Just before the Indians came, Ellis spoke
sharply and with authority. "We're outnumbered, Joe. We don't want a
fight. We won't raise a gun unless they do--and then we'll shoot to
kill. But remember, and you too, Tad! Don't raise your gun unless I say
so."
The Indians came.
They stopped about twenty feet away, twelve grim men whose garb and
coloration revealed that they were Indians and whose faces revealed
nothing. Two had rifles, the rest bows and arrows. They were looking at
the mules, the horse, the wagon and Barbara. As though he never had
thought that he could be stopped, as though nothing could stop him, a
brave on a black pony rode up to Ellis. But he ignored Ellis and
examined Barbara gravely. Joe's hand clenched over his rifle stock,
waiting for a signal from Ellis. Ellis made no sound.
The Indian lifted his hand as though to touch Barbara's hair. Tad froze
and nearly cried out. Joe leaned tensely forward, the lining of his
throat dry.
Still there was no sound or movement from Ellis.
The Indian's hand touched Barbara's hair. She did not flinch. With his
hand still on her hair, the Indian now turned to look full into Ellis's
eyes. It was a long look, silent, mysterious and compelling, and Ellis
returned it without moving, without blinking. The silence was intense,
and through it the only sound was the quick, harsh breathing of Emma
inside the wagon, clutching baby Carlyle to her breast. Barbara gritted
her teeth and thought that in one more instant she would scream.
The Indian's hand stroked her hair gently, as though the feel of it was
something strange and wonderful. Then his hand fell away. He reined his
horse around and, without a sound and without a change of expression,
the twelve men turned and galloped back the way they had come.
Still encircling Ellis, Barbara's arms went limp. Joe sat silently on
the wagon seat, not yet fully comprehending what had happened because it
had happened too fast to permit full comprehension. But this much he
knew. Ellis, the hot-tempered one, the impulsive one, had showed the
greatest nerve and steadiness of them all. Ellis had saved them from a
bloody and losing battle. Tad, too, recognized this. His eyes, fixed on
Ellis, were adoring and would forever adore.
Tad looked at his sister, the luckiest of all girls.
* * * * *
The sun was warm and good on the wagon cover, and green grass that had
not yet reached the fullness of its maturity grew in and on both sides
of the Oregon Trail. It was grazed a little but not heavily, for the few
travelers they'd met had been coming east from Oregon. There were
Mountain Men with sometimes only the horse they rode, the clothes they
wore, and the rifle they carried. Others had from two to as many as
thirty pack animals, loaded either with furs or with goods that they
were taking to Fort Boise. But the Oregon Trail, probably the longest,
widest, and most heavily traveled in the history of the world, had not
yet known the great press of traffic that it would know as soon as
land-hungry emigrants reached this place. That would be months; the
fastest-traveling wagons wouldn't get here until the last part of August
or the first part of September.
Ellis and Barbara, on Ellis's horse, had gone down the Trail together.
Carrying his short rifle proudly, Tad walked beside the wagon and Mike
padded at his heels. The back flaps were open to allow free passage of
air and the youngsters crowded at the back, looking out. They were in
Oregon, the Promised Land, and they remained so interested that they
played their games only at sporadic intervals. Sitting beside Joe, Emma
had taken off her bonnet and a soft wind played with her silky hair.
Emma knew a great peace and a quiet happiness. For almost a year they
had been homeless wanderers and now, soon, they were once again to have
a home.
"Look at the land here!" Joe gloated. "Look at the grass! A man
wouldn't have to be much of a farmer to grow crops in land like that!"
"I love it, Joe!"
"So do I!"
Joe drew a long breath. He had his ax, his rifle and his tools. The
mules were his and so was the cow. Everything a man could possibly need
was at hand, but it was different because complete freedom was present
here too. The next time Joe plowed a field he would be plowing it for
himself and not for Elias Dorrance. Joe slapped the reins over the
mules' rumps to make them walk a little faster. Then he eased all rein
pressure while a little fright rose within him.
Both mules had started out briskly that morning, and he had given them
only cursory attention, but now he saw that the mare mule was walking
with her head down and ears drooping. She was unsteady on her feet, and
when Joe slapped the reins she swayed from side to side. Emma saw it
too, and the alarm she felt was plain in her voice,
"What's the matter?"
"I don't know."
The team halted as soon as he spoke, and the horse mule turned a
questioning head toward his mate. He sniffed softly at the mare, and Joe
hopped from the wagon seat to walk to the head of the team. The horse
regarded him anxiously, but the mare stood tiredly in harness with her
nose almost touching the Trail. Gently, Joe took hold of their bridles
and led them into grass. The mare gasped for breath.
"She's sick!" Joe said. "We'll have to stop!"
Tad came over. His rifle, that had not been out of his sight since he'd
owned it, hung in the crook of his arm and concern was written on his
face.
"What's wrong, Pa?"
"I don't know."
As gently as possible he unhitched the team, and stripped their
harnesses off. The horse mule he picketed, but the mare was left
unhampered. She walked a few uncertain steps and halted. The horse
followed anxiously, and stood very close to her. He moved aside when Joe
came in for a closer examination. Soothing the sick beast with his
voice, he lifted her flabby lips and looked inside her mouth. Her tongue
was hot, her breath foul.
Joe stepped back. He had considered himself familiar with mules and the
diseases of mules, but he was not familiar with this. It must be
something peculiar to western country; maybe last night or this morning
the mule had eaten something that poisoned her. Or perhaps it was the
result of some poisonous insect's bite. It was not snake poison; Joe was
familiar with snake-struck mules and he knew that, if they were rested,
they would recover. He filled a bucket at the water barrel and held it
under the mare's muzzle, but she took only a few sips and staggered
away. The children watched concernedly and Emma asked,
"Is she going to die, Joe?"
Suddenly the distances again seemed vast and the Trail forlorn. For the
first time Joe realized completely just how dependent they were upon the
mules and how lost they would be without them. A broken wagon might be
repaired, but one mule couldn't pull it. Joe turned to the medicine he
carried in his tool chest and he shook the brown bottle. But even as he
did so he felt the hopelessness of it. This was Missouri medicine and
the mule had an Oregon ailment. Tad called,
"She's down!"
Joe turned to see the mule fallen in the grass and making a valiant
effort to hold her head up. But even as he looked her head lowered, so
that she lay prostrate, and the heavy rasp of her labored breathing was
terrible to hear. Breath rattled in her throat and there were a few
short gasps. Then silence. The horse mule raised his head and tail and
delivered an ear-splitting bray. Very gently, walking slowly, the horse
went to his dead mate and touched her with his muzzle.
Emma looked to Joe, and she saddened, because more than at any time
during the entire trip, Joe now looked distraught and worried. She knew
that these were not the rich, flat, well-watered meadows that Snedeker
had talked about. They must travel farther, and to be forced to stop
now, and thus lose precious plowing and planting days for the first
season's crop, was a bitter disappointment. They were more helpless,
actually, than they had been at any time before for how, in this vast
uninhabited wilderness, did a person go about buying a mule? Joe squared
his shoulders and tried to conceal his own worry. They could not stay
here but, obviously, neither could they go on.
"Ellis will be back soon," he said. "We'll hitch his horse with the
other mule."
The horse mule lingered near his dead mate, looking fixedly at her, and
Joe turned away. For seven years the team had worked together in
harness. They knew each other as no man can hope to know a mule, and
mules are sensitive. The horse knew what had happened and there was none
to share his grief. Emma said pityingly,
"Poor beast, poor faithful beast."