Part 32 (2/2)

”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 un.o.btrusively 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.”

Joe said, ”Figured on wintering at Snedeker's.”

”That'll be better. That'll be a lot better.”

Tad gazed with mingled admiration and awe at this man of the west who had met them on the Trail. Barbara and Emma peppered him with questions which he was trying gallantly to answer. Was Laramie a big place? Yes, it was quite a fort. Were the houses good? Good as you'll find anywhere.

Were there any white women at Laramie? Yes, John Gaystell looked roguishly at Barbara, and a whole pa.s.sel of young soldiers. What were the women wearing? He stumbled on that one, but finally declared that they were wearing dresses.

Joe's spirits mounted. For long, lonely weeks his family had seen only each other, and at times it seemed that they were the only people in a huge world. Living in close intimacy, everybody had long ago learned not only what the rest were going to say next, but almost what they were going to think next. Meeting a stranger, someone with a different viewpoint, was a stimulating and heady as a gla.s.s of sparkling wine.

John Gaystell had been in Oregon, and as soon as he completed his mission in Independence, he was going back. It was, he told them, a wonderful country where the Towers might have their choice of land, and they could find it as close to or as far away from neighbors as they wished. The Trail was long but not too difficult, and they had already covered a lot of it. If they started from Snedeker's as soon as the gra.s.s was green enough to provide food for their stock, they should get to Oregon in time to plant some crops. There was perhaps some danger from white men but little from Indians; though there were rumors of another uprising, none had materialized and John Gaystell thought none would. The Indians were not inclined to bother people who minded their own business and stayed on the Oregon Trail. They might, however, become angry if what they considered their private hunting grounds were invaded. Joe must be careful where he went. They could ford the Laramie River, the Trail crossed about a mile below the fort, and they could rest at the fort. Snedeker's was a few miles west of Laramie.

John Gaystell looked longingly at the last three biscuits on the plate and licked his lips.

”Have another one?” Emma invited.

”No thank you, ma'am,” he refused politely.

”Let me b.u.t.ter them and you take them along for your evening meal. We'll have fresh ones tonight, anyway.”

”Well, ma'am, if you want to do that--Those biscuits are better than any cake I ever tasted!”

John Gaystell mounted his horse, waved good-by, and rode east toward Independence. The entire family watched him go, until he was out of sight. Joe hitched the mules and drove on up the Trail. Now, and at last, he knew where they were and they were very near Laramie. If they did not get in tomorrow, they certainly would the next day.

That night they camped very close to the river, and in the middle of the night Joe awakened to a sense of wonder. Either something was present that should not be, or there was something lacking that should be, but not until he had lain for a moment did he deduce that the wind had died.

It was a weird thing; for weeks the north wind had been their constant companion. Very quietly Joe parted the back flaps and looked out.

The wind had stopped but the snow had started. The ground was already white, and huge, feathery flakes whirled earthward so silently that they did not even rustle against the taut wagon cover. Joe went back to sleep. This was going to be more than a dusting. Probably it was the season's first heavy snowfall, but there was no reason to worry. They were near Laramie and they could reach it.

Joe was awakened a second time by Emma's light touch on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to find that dawn had come. He sat bolt upright, looking into his wife's troubled face, and without being told he knew why she had roused him. It was the fever again, the mysterious malady that plagued baby Emma. Joe dressed, heartsick and afraid. There was nothing he had been able to do before for his daughter, and there was nothing he could do now. But always before baby Emma had been in a safe, warm house. Here they were far out on the plains, and facing a storm. He peered through the curtain to see the child in her mother's arms. Joe whispered,

”There's sure to be a doctor at Laramie.”

He threw wood out the back flaps, climbed after it, and built a fire.

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