Part 37 (1/2)
”You run away now, Daddy,” little Emma directed. ”We must get our fort built.”
”Orders from a superior officer,” Dunbar grinned. ”I'd better report for duty.”
Unostentatiously, Joe re-entered their quarters. He frowned worriedly as Emma looked up from behind her mending.
He said, ”I found out about this Gearey. He seems to be no good.”
Her eyes revealed nothing. ”Thank you, Joe.”
”We'd best keep Bobby away from him, don't you think?”
She smiled briefly. ”There isn't any need to worry.”
Joe looked at her in consternation. Then he said uncertainly, ”I thought I'd better tell you before I go down to the stables. I'll be back in an hour or so.”
”All right, dear.” She continued sewing placidly.
Joe left with an uncomfortable feeling that, somehow, he'd been a little silly. He shook a puzzled head. Before she'd known anything about him, Emma had worried about Gearey. Now that she knew her suspicions were justified, she didn't seem to worry at all. Joe decided again that he never would understand women. But he comforted himself with the a.s.surance that Emma would handle the situation in her own sensible way.
Joe walked on to the stables. He'd shod both mules again, but it was easier here. Laramie had a complete blacksmith shop as well as a full complement of men who knew all about handling fractious mules, horses and oxen. Though she'd put up her usual fight when it came her turn to be shod, the mare mule hadn't had a chance. Both mules had new calks on their shoes, and that would give them better footing in snow.
At the far end of the stockade, surrounded by the usual crowd, Barbara was inspecting the fort. She, Joe thought, had had a wonderful time.
Emma had been happy too. Sergeant Driscoll's Latin wife, who had known the gaiety of Mexico City and the excitement of Santa Fe, was withering in this lonely place and she had seized eagerly the opportunity for relief that Emma's presence afforded. A pretty, vivacious woman, Ynez Driscoll spoke glowingly of the colorful places she had known and listened attentively when Emma told of Missouri. Emma's and Ynez Driscoll's backgrounds were worlds apart, and for that very reason each found the other's tales fascinating.
Joe reached the stables. One of the stable detail, a red-haired private whose name Joe did not remember, grinned at him.
”Good morning, Mr. Tower.”
”Good morning, son. Can I borrow a currycomb and brush?”
”You don't need any,” the redhead a.s.sured him. ”We've already groomed your mules.”
”Well--thanks.”
”Look them over,” the redhead invited.
The mules turned friendly heads and blew through their noses when Joe approached the stalls in which they were tied. The stable detail had not only groomed them, but had done so with all the painstaking care they'd have lavished on the colonel's horse if they were readying for a parade.
Every hair was in place and the mules' coats shone. The red-haired private, who had followed Joe, lingered a little way behind him and tried to be very casual.
”Are they all right?”
”They're fine. I'd say they're absolutely perfect. And I'm certainly obliged to you.”
”It's nothing--nothing at all.--Uh--May I ask you a question?”
”Sure.”
”Are you going to winter at Laramie?”
”I'm afraid not. We're going down to Snedeker's.”