Part 20 (1/2)
After three days and a few hours on the road, they came at last to Independence. Everybody except Tad chose to ride.
Joe took a little firmer grip on the reins, and he felt a growing tension that he tried to conceal. He had been born only five miles from Tenney's Crossing, and until now, never in all his life had he been more than forty miles from his birthplace. He knew Tenney's, Hammerstown, and the other settlements and he felt at home in them. But he had never been to a city. Joe smiled nervously. Maybe, if a man realized all the implications in all the decisions he made, he would decide some things differently. It was one thing to decide to go to Oregon, but quite another to go, and Joe was honestly frightened because he had to pa.s.s through a city.
He set his jaw and growled inwardly to himself. He had no quarrel with anyone in Independence. There was no reason why anyone there should quarrel with him, and whoever minded his own business usually got along all right. But he had never seen, or imagined, such imposing buildings or so many people living near each other. A little excitement stole his nervousness and he said to Emma,
”Quite a place, huh?”
Her voice was shocked, ”Joe, did you see what those women were wearing?”
”Nope.”
”I never heard of such a thing! I'm glad we're not going to live here!”
”Don't worry,” he said gently. ”We're not going to live here. The tight pants some of those men got on wouldn't last too long if they got off in the brush, huh? Don't the place smell sort of funny?”
”Yes it does. And isn't it exciting?”
”It's a real big place. Lots of houses.”
”Oh yes, and--I don't know, Joe,--it makes me feel crowded.”
”Is this Oregon?” Alfred wanted to know.
A high-piled heavily loaded wagon drawn by six oxen came up the street they were going down, and two women riding side saddle swerved around it. Next came a cart--Joe had never seen one just like it--driven by what must be a dandy of the town. The cart was pulled by two high-stepping perfectly matched bays and trailed by two black and white dogs of a curious breed. They looked somewhat like hounds, but they weren't hounds. Mightily Joe wished that Percy Pearl or Les Tenney was along to explain these wonders to him. Joe gasped,
”Oh my gos.h.!.+”
He was too late. The two coach dogs swerved from the cart to take Mike, one on either side. There was a shrill yelp as Mike slashed the first one, and a scream of pain as he got the second. The two dogs streaked back to their cart and the driver made a U turn that brought him up beside Joe's wagon.
”Is that your dog?” he demanded furiously.
”Now, see here. Your dogs tackled--”
”Is that your dog?” the other repeated.
Joe's anger flared. ”Yes! What do you aim to do about it?”
”Give you a horsewhipping.”
He took a ridiculous little whip from a socket in his cart and shook it threateningly. Joe caught up the long-lashed bull whip that he sometimes used on the mules.
”If you want to play--”
The lash snapped within an inch of the other's ear and the mules jumped nervously. With a practiced hand, Joe held them in. He faced the dandified youngster in the cart.
”Smart thing for you to do is leave me alone, stranger. Your dogs started the fight.”
”You barbarians from the back country--!”
”That'll be enough too.”