Part 20 (2/2)
Without another word, the outraged young man wheeled his cart and drove on. Joe started the mules, and for a second he remained furious. Then he chuckled.
”Give me a horsewhipping, huh! He couldn't break a soft-sh.e.l.led egg with that little switch!”
Tad came alongside the wagon and looked into it, grinning and starry-eyed. ”Gee, Pa, that was great! Why'nt you tease him into fightin'? You could of cleaned his clock like nothin'!”
”There'll be no fights anywhere if I can help it. Speaking of that, keep your dog on a rope while we're in Independence. It might save trouble.”
”Aw, Pa--”
”You heard me.” Joe tossed the youngster a length of rope. ”Use this.”
Joe drove on and all except Mike, who sulked under confinement or restriction and who was doubly offended now because there were plenty of dogs on the street, marveled at the sights and sounds of a bustling metropolis like Independence. There were more ox, horse, and mule teams on any one street than pa.s.sed through Tenney's Crossing in three months. Joe didn't like the place because he preferred the open country and villages, and he'd be just as happy when he got out of it. But it was interesting, and since they had to go through anyway, they might as well look. Somewhere was a ferry that would take them across the Missouri, and Independence was the last great city they'd see. Except for Salt Lake City--and the Oregon Trail did not go through there--everything between Independence and Oregon was still settlements, missions, and army and trading posts.
They pa.s.sed the houses and a row of shacks, and beyond them came to the corrals. The stock traders of Independence did a thriving business, for many of those going over the Oregon Trail came to Independence by river boat, horseback, stage, or on foot. Then they bought the wagons that were to carry their goods over the Trail, the beasts that were to pull the wagons, and in some instances goods to carry in them. Some of those who came from the east did not know how to handle stock, so that frequently it was footsore or sick by the time they arrived at Independence. Thus they had to replace their animals anyway.
However, most of the wagons started over the Oregon Trail in spring, with the first ones leaving as soon as the gra.s.s was green enough to furnish good grazing. Naturally the heaviest stock sales occurred when there were the most emigrants wanting to buy, and now some of the corrals were empty. But there were still more oxen, horses and mules than Joe had ever before seen in one place.
He halted his team abruptly as a man holding one end of a rope in his hand raced into the road. On the rope's other end was a big, dappled-gray, fighting-mad mule. Just as the man stumbled and fell, Joe handed the reins to Emma and leaped from the wagon.
The gray mule was pounding toward the fallen man when Joe came between them and seized the lead rope. Instantly the mule transferred its anger to him, and Joe dodged aside. He shortened the rope as he did so, getting closer to the gray mule. It was, he saw, as much frightened as angry and Joe spoke soothingly. At the same time, his anger rose. Some men should never handle mules, and obviously the man now picking himself up out of the road was one of them.
Bit by bit, never making a fast move and always sure of himself, Joe calmed the mule. He got his hands on the halter's check strap, and continued to utter soothing words with his mouth the while he talked with his hands too. He did not look around when the man who had been mishandling the animal said defiantly, ”I quit!” and stalked off down the road. His departure seemed further to rea.s.sure the gray mule.
”Howdy, friend.”
Joe turned to face a man as tall as he was, and as wide through the middle as he was tall. He had spa.r.s.e hair, shrewd eyes, a pudgy nose, and flabby lips behind which gold teeth flashed. A frayed, unlighted cigar was clutched firmly in his teeth, Joe said,
”Howdy.”
”You're a mule man, huh?”
”Just wanted to keep that idiot from getting killed.”
”You shouldn't have bothered; sooner or later he'll get killed anyhow.
He told me he could gentle some mules.”
”He must have used a club.”
”He did. You Oregon-bound?”
”Yup.”
”You'll never make it this season.”
”I know that.”
”How about taking the job you just saw left vacant? I'll pay you well.
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