"We'll come," asserted Winterson, who hadn't been invited but took it
for granted that he would be. "Martha and me will be here and you can
bet on that! Yup! You can just bet on it! Sure is a lucky thing I rode
into Axton this morning! Otherwise I might never of known we had
neighbors! Yup! Worth losing a horse to find that out!"
"You lost a horse?"
"Yup. There's some half-witted Indians prowl about here and they must
have run it off. Figured I'd report it to Axton. Never can tell. Those
soldier boys might be shot through with dumb luck some day and find
something they're looking for."
"Indians bother you much?" Joe queried.
"Nah!" Winterson said scornfully. "Martha and me came through last year,
right at the tail end though we started at the fore. Wagon broke down
five times this side of Axton. Finally I said, 'Martha, if this blamed
thing breaks down again we're setting up right where it happens.' Those
were my very words. That's exactly what I said to her. So the blame
thing broke down again and we set up right there. This is the first time
Indians pestered us even a mite; mostly they're too lazy to scratch when
they itch. You don't have to trouble your head about 'em."
"They told us at Axton to watch out for hostiles."
"And why wouldn't they tell you that at Axton? As long as that
iron-faced major can keep up an Indian scare, he can set around here and
enjoy life. If they transfer him to some other post he might have to
work and I doubt if he could stand the shock. This country's every bit
as safe as Vermont. Sure do like these meadows. If we'd known about 'em
we probably would have come here."
"Come anyhow," Joe urged. "There's plenty of room."
Winterson grinned. "Martha'd bend a skillet over my head. We've got our
buildings up and our crops in. The day we moved in Martha said, 'Henry,
I moved from Vermont to here. That's enough moving for one lifetime.'
Those were her very words. That's exactly what she said to me. She meant
it, too. I know she'll be fretting to come and visit, though, soon's she
knows you're here. She hasn't seen a woman since last year."
"Please bring her," said Emma, who hadn't seen a woman other than
Barbara since they'd left Laramie. "We'll be delighted to see her. Come
prepared to stay a while."
"Do that," Joe seconded. "We've plenty of room."
"I can see that." Winterson eyed the house. "You sure built as though
you aim to stay here a spell."
"We'll be here," Joe assured him. "We've had enough moving too."
"Guess everybody has, time they get to Oregon." Winterson eyed Emma's
chickens. "You wouldn't want to sell or trade a couple of those hens,
would you?"
"That's my wife's department," Joe said.
"I don't believe so," Emma told Winterson. "We have only four left.
There were six, but two of them were broody and went off to steal their
nests. I haven't seen them since, and suppose some animal must have
caught them."
"That's our trouble too," Winterson said sadly. "We fetched three hens
and a rooster all this way and they all went in one night. Martha tells
me often, 'Henry, the sound I'm most lonesome for is a clucking hen.'
Those are her very words. That's exactly what she tells me. I do have a
right nice bunch of little pigs. My sow littered eleven, and I know that
a piglet for a hen is giving a lot but I'd be willing--Hey, look!"
Joe had mowed a wide swath to the creek, and as Winterson spoke one of
the missing hens appeared in it. About her feet were a cluster of fluffy
baby chicks, and the hen moved fussily around them. With a little squeal
of joy, Emma ran forward. She knelt to gather the chicks in her apron,
and clutched the hen beneath her arm. When she returned, her cheeks were
flushed with pleasure.
"Fourteen! Just fourteen! Joe, we must keep them in the house until you
can build a coop where they'll be safe! I can't have anything happening
to them!"
"Boy, oh boy, oh boy!" Winterson breathed. "Would Martha like to see
them! You have fourteen more chickens than you thought you had!"
"Yes," Emma agreed happily. "You may take a hen now, Mr. Winterson."
"Obliged to you," Winterson declared. "Right obliged, and Martha will
just kick up her heels for pleasure! She's been so lonesome for a hen,
and I'll bring the piglet when I fetch her to visit."
Emma put her chicks in the living-room corner and the hen, feathers
fluffed, clucked about them. Then she settled down on the floor and the
babies ran beneath her feathers. Joe glanced at them and made a mental
note to build a chicken coop as soon as possible. They needed a stable,
too. But the mules, the cow, and Ellis's horse, were in no danger from
prowling predators. The chickens were, and they must have a safe place.
"This is right nice," Winterson eyed the interior of the house
approvingly. "Right nice and big too. But I reckon you need it for that
clutch of young ones you have. Martha and me, we built only one room and
we're making out in that."
"Don't you have any children?" Emma asked.
"Not yet, but it won't be long. Martha and me, we were married the day
before we left Vermont. The next day she said, 'Henry, I want three boys
and three girls. We can start on them as soon as we're in Oregon.' Those
were her very words. That's exactly what she said to me. Looks like we
can expect the first one in about two months."