The Lost Wagon Page 11

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Winter

  In the time he'd spent at Snedeker's, Joe had learned a great deal.

  Snedeker was a Mountain Man, one of that rare breed who had waded everystream in the west in their search for beaver. They fought every tribeof Indians that showed fight, went without hesitation where they wishedto go, and spent incredibly long and dangerous months with only theirrifles and their resourcefulness as protection. Then they took theirfurs to some wild fort, or some wilderness rendezvous, and in a few daysspent all the money they had earned in a whole season of perilousliving.

  The heyday of the Mountain Men spanned only a brief sixteen years whenno gentleman was really dressed unless he wore a beaver hat. Silkreplaced beaver, and broke the fur market. But though their livelihoodwas gone, the Mountain Men weren't. Some returned to the east. Someguided wagon trains across country that they knew as well as theemigrants knew their own back yards. Some simply disappeared, gone insearch of what they considered wild and free country. And some, likeSnedeker, merely transferred their way of living to other pursuits andlived much as they always had.

  At their first meeting, Snedeker had enraged Joe. Now Joe understoodhim, and with understanding had come both liking and respect. Throughouthis adult life Snedeker had bowed to no will except his own, and he sawno reason for changing his ways. But, though his outward air was that ofa grizzly bear with a sore paw, inwardly he was soft as a marshmallow. Ashrewd bargainer, he seemed to have an instinctive knowledge of howmuch money emigrants carried and how much they were willing to spend.But no penniless emigrant had ever been turned away, though Snedekerwould not outfit them clear to Oregon. Whether they were east- orwestbound, he gave them a couple of days' supplies and sent them toLaramie where, as Snedeker knew, they became the government'sresponsibility.

  Joe had lost his misgivings about wintering at the post. No war partycould take Laramie, but neither could any take Snedeker's. They'dalready tried it and succeeded only in running off a few horses. Takingtheir trail, Snedeker had brought back the stock he'd lost and a numberof the Indian ponies as well. Besides, according to Snedeker, there wassmall danger of an Indian attack in winter. The tribes that came toLaramie wintered on northern hunting grounds, and their ponies had toexist as best they could. Since no western Indian would think of goinginto battle without a mount, they made war in the spring after there wassufficient grass to fatten and strengthen their horses. The three theTowers had met must have been strays, or possibly they had to go toLaramie for something they needed.

  On a wind-swept hill about a half mile from the post, Joe sank his axcleanly into a pine. Expertly he measured his next strike, and when theax sank in, a large chip of wood broke out. Wasting not one blow of hisax or a half ounce of strength, Joe felled the tree cleanly and rested amoment. He glanced over to where Ellis Garner had another pinetwo-thirds felled. Joe nodded approvingly. There were tricks to handlingan ax. When he and Ellis had started felling trees, which Snedekerneeded to enlarge his post, Ellis had had a lot to learn. But underJoe's expert guidance he was learning fast, and, given a year or two ofexperience, he would be a good ax man himself.

  Ellis stopped chopping and grinned across the space that separated them."You must pick the softest trees."

  "That's an ax you have in your hand," Joe gibed. "Not a feather. Don'tuse it like one."

  "Yes, teacher."

  Joe grinned and went back to work. He had grown to like this slim andsoft-spoken youngster, but at the same time he worried about him. WhereEllis came from Joe didn't know and he hadn't asked; one didn't inquiretoo deeply into anyone else's past life. Probably he was from somewherein the east and he had been to school; that showed in his manner and hischoice of words. But there was within him an undercurrent ofirritability, and at times he was moody and fretful. Somewhere behindhim there seemed to be a memory that hurt. Increasingly, Joe comparedhim to the suave and polished Percy Pearl, who never farmed, neverworked for wages, but who always had everything he needed. Not thatthere was anything suave or polished about Ellis--on the contrary, hewas impulsive, often unpredictable. But he had Percy's quickness and dryhumor and, like Percy, he gave you the feeling he might go afteranything he wanted, and get it, without being too critical of ways andmeans. Percy was an outlaw and Ellis might become one. But that was hisbusiness unless Ellis's affairs should become too closely entwined withthe Tower's.

  Joe frowned as he worked. Ellis had taken more than a casual interest inBarbara, which was not unusual because Joe had yet to meet the young manwho was not attracted to his daughter. They were together much of thetime, and they took long walks. Joe thought of Hugo Gearey, who was atLaramie because of girl trouble in New York. Snedeker had said thatEllis had followed a girl all the way from Maryland, and what sort oftrouble was he in? Why was he here at an isolated trading post?

  Joe trimmed the branches from his tree, leaving a smooth trunk. Hefelled and trimmed another pine and looked toward the tethered mules.They were still in harness, but their bridles were slipped and Joe hadtied them out of the bitterest wind. He glanced down the slanting,ice-sheathed furrow that led to the post. The day after their arrival,new snow had added six inches to that already on the ground and therehad been light falls since. Joe had driven the mules through it to breaka track, and had dragged one log down the broken track. Succeedingloads had widened and packed it, so that now the mules were able to pullas many logs as could be hitched on.

  The weather had turned cold enough so that Joe's nostrils pinched whenhe stood still, and a little rime of frost formed about the muzzles ofthe tethered mules. That wouldn't hurt them as long as they didn't haveto stand on a short tether for any great length of time, and if they didnot stand at all when they sweated. There was little danger of that insuch weather; the team had only to walk to the place where they werecutting pines and the logs were not hard to pull down the icy slide. Joesank his ax into the felled pine's stump and walked over to Ellis.

  "How are you doing?"

  "All right."

  Joe stood, feeling the goodness he usually felt after a day of hard andproductive labor. At the same time he felt a swelling relief and arising little happiness. Tomorrow was a very special day.

  Joe said, "Don't seem like tonight is Christmas Eve, does it?"

  Ellis murmured absently, "No, it doesn't."

  "Let's go in."

  "Suits me."

  Joe bridled the mules. He drove them to the felled trees and laid hislong chain across the slide. His ax swinging from his hand, Ellis joinedhim. They used peavies to roll logs into a compact pile and bound thechain around them. Knowing that their work would be done as soon as theyhad dragged these last logs down to Snedeker's building site, the mulesneeded no urging or even driving. Joe looped the reins over the mules'harness and walked companionably beside Ellis. Glad that the day's workwas over, the younger man slashed restlessly at the icy slide with hisax.

  Joe said caustically, "Tenderfoot!"

  "What's wrong now, teacher?"

  "Axes are for cutting wood, not ice. I'll bet you nicked it."

  Ellis shrugged. "Live and learn. I won't do it again."

  He seemed irritable, depressed, and Joe stole a sidewise glance at him."A penny for your thoughts."

  "You'd be cheated," Ellis grinned sheepishly.

  "Say, what are you so gosh darn low about?"

  "I'm not low. Are you coming over tonight?"

  "The kids will be over. I have work to do."

  "Don't you ever think of anything else?"

  "Can't. When you're an old man like me, with a bunch of youngsterslooking to you, you won't be able to either."

  For a moment they walked in silence while Ellis's introspective moodenfolded him like an invisible cloak. He said suddenly,

  "Joe, what do you think of women?"

  For a moment, because he was puzzled, Joe did not answer. It was morethan a casual question, and behind it lay something that Joe failed tounderstand. When he did answer, he said
very gently,

  "I know about only one woman, son. And I think the world of her."

  "Do you believe in love?"

  Joe said firmly, "I most certainly do."

  "Do--do you think it's right--? Oh, darn it! I'm all at sea!" hesteadied. "Joe, I'm giving it to you straight. I'm going to marryBarbara if I can! Do you have any objections?"

  Shocked surprise rippled through Joe and his heart turned cold. He feltnumb. He had always known that Barbara would marry some day, but thatday remained in the distant future and there was no need to worry aboutit now. Joe thought of the young man who walked beside him, and of howvery little he knew about him. Again he thought of Snedeker's referenceto Ellis as a woman chaser and he had a great urge to ask Ellis to tellhim so that his own doubts might be cleared. But because he did not knowhow to ask, Joe said only,

  "Have you asked Barbara?"

  "Yes."

  "What did she say?"

  "She didn't say no."

  Joe pondered, trying to straighten this in his mind. He knew a littlemore about Ellis than he had known a moment ago. Wherever he had comefrom, and whatever he might have done, he had not tried to evade thisissue. He had given it to Joe straight, as a man should, and that was alarge point in his favor.

  Ellis repeated, "I asked if you had any objections."

  Joe said quietly, "I'm her father, Ellis, not her master. I'm not goingto choose a husband for her."

  "Thanks, Joe."

  There was another silence, and Ellis said thoughtfully, "Joe--"

  "Yes?"

  "There's a New Year's dance at Laramie. Will you let Barbara go withme?"

  "Laramie's a long ways off."

  "We'll go one day and come back the next. She can stay with SergeantDriscoll's wife overnight."

  "Have you asked her?"

  "She said she'd like to go."

  "You'll have to ask her mother."

  "I know. She said I'd have to have your permission and her mother's."

  Joe hesitated, then thought of Emma's wisdom. She would know exactlywhat to do, and Joe said,

  "It's all right with me if it is with her mother."

  "Thanks again, Joe."

  They left the logs beside those already at the new building site, andEllis wandered toward the main post where he lived with Snedeker. Joestabled the mules and fed them hay and grain; animals that work hardshould eat well. He filled his lungs with the crisp air and turnedtoward the quarters Snedeker had given him and his family. Joe frownedas he did so.

  Laramie, staffed by soldiers and with the best freighters at itscommand, was still strictly utilitarian. Though their quarters atLaramie had been comfortable, they had not afforded what Joe wasbeginning to think of as the luxuries they'd had in Missouri. Snedeker'snecessarily offered less than Laramie. The cabin was wind- andweather-tight, but it was crude. Built as quarters for men, it had alarge kitchen served by a fireplace and a larger bunk room with tenbunks and a bigger fireplace.

  By stretching buffalo hides from ceiling to floor, Joe had divided itinto three rooms; one for Emma and himself; one for Barbara and littleEmma; and one for the four boys. Each had privacy, and using their ownmattresses and quilts on the bunks added to their comfort. But it stilllacked conveniences and Joe thought Emma was beginning to feel thestrain. She looked tired and worn, or was that his imagination? Itcouldn't be, he decided. Tad was seldom in the cabin except for mealsand Barbara helped her mother. But the youngsters could go out for onlyshort intervals, and keeping four children happy in such a place wouldbe a strain on anyone.

  Joe opened the door, entered, and closed the door quickly to keep thecold wind out. He stamped snow from his boots. The youngsters rushedacross the floor to meet him. They clustered about his legs while heremoved his jacket and hung it on a wooden peg driven into the wall.Barbara waved from the fireplace. Joe kissed Emma and after one swiftglance at his face she stepped back to raise an inquiring brow.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked softly.

  He murmured, "Wait'll the kids are gone."

  "You sit down," Emma urged. "We'll have buffalo steak again for supper."

  She spoke a little tiredly, and Joe said nothing. Snedeker had a limitedsupply of sugar, flour, salt, coffee, and all the other staples andthese he sold to Joe for just what they cost at Laramie. Joe's own quotawas free, for that had been part of their bargain, but he had to pay forwhat his family used. The meat that went with it, for which Snedekercharged nothing, was buffalo, elk, antelope, bear, and bighorn. Becausethere was more buffalo than anything else, they ate it most of the timeand Emma was wearying of it. All they had in addition was such milk asthe cow gave. Emma's chickens, in a shed by themselves, hadn't laid forweeks.

  Emma went back to her work and Joe sank down in a chair. He'd told thechildren a story every night, usually centering it on something he hadseen or done while felling trees, and the subject was wearing thin.Unable to think of any new slants, he assured them that his knee was abig black horse and bounced each of them in turn. Tad, who had asupernatural talent for appearing whenever there was anything to eat,raced in just as Emma and Barbara put the food on the table.

  Every night, as soon as the dishes were washed, all of them usually wentover to while away a couple of hours with Snedeker and Ellis. Given afree hand to do as they wished, the younger children played withSnedeker's few trade goods; they were few in winter because few Indianscame to trade. They brought their buffalo robes in spring, but by thattime Snedeker would have more goods. This night Joe and Emma did not puttheir coats on and the younger children looked questioningly at them.

  "Go with Barbara," Emma told them. "We'll stay home tonight."

  Barbara, who knew some things that the youngsters did not, winkedknowingly at her parents and dressed the younger children. They troopedout into the night, and Joe and Emma were left alone. Joe stared moodilyinto the fire while Emma waited expectantly. Joe said,

  "Ellis wants to marry Barbara."

  She bit her lower lip, but did not register the astonishment that Joehad anticipated. He nodded; probably she'd already known.

  "It isn't unexpected," she said.

  "What do you think about it?"

  Emma hesitated. "Barbara hasn't accepted him."

  "How do you know?"

  Emma said, "She'd have told me."

  Joe pondered. "He seems like a good enough young man, but we don't knowa blasted thing about him. I wouldn't want Barbara to get in a mess."

  "What did you tell him, Joe?"

  "That I am Barbara's father, not her master. I can't tell her who tomarry." He scowled, wondering if he'd done right. Emma laid a comfortinghand on his arm.

  "What else _could_ you have told him?"

  "Nothing."

  She sighed. "That's right. All we can do is help guide Barbara."

  "There's another thing. Ellis wants to take her to a New Year's dance atLaramie. He said they'll go one day and come back the next, and Barbaracan stay with Ynez Driscoll overnight."

  "What did you say to that?"

  "I said he'd have to ask you."

  Emma said hesitantly, "It may be a good idea and it may not. I'll haveto think about it." Joe saw that she had clasped her hands together, andthat the knuckles showed white. Unquestionably she was worried aboutBarbara and Ellis, more worried than _he_ was. Joe knew, too, that Emmawould leave no stone unturned to learn more about Ellis before thingswent much further, and he suspected that she would learn about Ellis notby asking questions of Snedeker, but by talking with Ellis himself.

  The fire blazed brightly, casting shadows on the rough-hewn beams thatsupported the ceiling and on the uneven floor. There was a spot of dirton the floor, and Emma stooped mechanically to brush it up. Joe lookedfondly at her, and knew that she had already borne trials which only astrong person could bear. His brow clouded when he thought of trialsstill to come.

  He said, "It's been a hard road, Emma, and a long one."

  "We didn't expect it would be easy, Joe."
And then, because she saw heneeded something more from her, she said, "We've been lucky, Joe. We'rethrough with the worst weather--we won't need to move again untilspring. Meanwhile--why, we're just as comfortable here as we could be inour own home!"

  He smiled wryly, and held her eyes with his own honest glance.

  "It's _not_ our own home, though, and nothing will ever feel like homeagain until we've stopped moving, and planted crops, and have our ownroof over our heads."

  He had said what was in her mind, so there was no need for furtherspeech on that subject. She came to him and kissed him lightly on theforehead.

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed her in a furious hug. "Emma, my finegirl!" he declared. "When we get to Oregon I'm going to build you ahouse that will make our other house seem like a chicken coop!"

  She looked at him with all of her love and faith, and with laughter inher eyes. "With five acres of flower garden and a square mile just forthe chickens!" she said. They laughed uproariously, ridiculously. ThenJoe remembered something.

  "Excuse me a minute."

  Joe went to the wagon, and took from the tool box the one parcel thathad been there since leaving Laramie. Very gently he gave it to Emma.

  "Merry Christmas, my dear."

  "Joe!" She held the package tenderly, caressing it with her spiritbefore she did with her hands, for she knew the gift could never beforsaken or forgotten. She heard Joe say,

  "I only wish it was half as fine as you are."

  Her hands trembled as she opened the package and gazed with rapt eyes atthe scarf. Emma, who had seen little except hardship since leavingMissouri, brushed this truly beautiful thing with her hands and pressedit against her cheek. In the exquisite scarf she saw all her hopes anddreams come alive.

  She said, "I have something for you, too."

  She gave him a watch, a thick silver watch that had been made by someGerman craftsman and had somehow found its way to the sutler's store atFort Laramie. Joe gazed at it, not believing what he saw. Watches wereluxuries, thus they were only for those who could afford luxuries. Joeturned the key. He held the watch to his ear so he could hear itsticking.

  In the middle of a wilderness, on their way to another, owning only whatthey could load on a wagon, they sat very close and knew the true spiritof Christmas. They watched the minute hand, amazed at how slowly timepassed when you were looking at it, and then they laughed again, freeand hearty laughter that can be born only of hope and faith in thefuture.

  Joe said, "I'll have to get busy."

  A lighted lantern in his hand, he went to a small pine he had alreadymarked and chopped it cleanly. From behind the cabin he took a bucket ofsand that he had saved for this purpose, and thrust the tree upright init. When he re-entered the cabin, popcorn snapped in Emma's skillet andfor one of the few times since leaving the farm, her trunk was open.There were parcels and jars on the table. Her new scarf worn proudly onher shoulders, Emma looked up from the fireplace.

  "Canned pumpkin." She indicated the jars. "I brought it all this way sowe can have pumpkin pie tomorrow."

  "Oh boy!" Joe smacked his lips.

  The cabin seemed to have come alive with the spirit of Christmas. Therafters had a softer glow. Through their minds ran strains of gay musicthey had heard, but it was so real that it seemed to be heard again inthe cabin.

  Emma asked, "Pop some more corn, will you?"

  "Sure thing."

  While Joe knelt before the fireplace, Emma threaded a needle and strungpopcorn on the thread. She draped it gracefully over the tree, thenopened a parcel and took colored ornaments from it. They were the treeornaments Emma had had from her mother, and she'd treasured them foryears. The tree sparkled in its new-found glory.

  Emma had wrapped the children's presents carefully and separately, andhad written their name on each. She arranged them beside the tree, thentook another armful of wrapped presents out of the trunk. Joe looked atthem, surprised.

  "What are they?"

  "Barbara's presents. She knitted hats for you, Mr. Snedeker, and Ellis."

  "I never saw her knitting."

  "How could you when you're away all day long?" She was impatient now."Do you want to call them, Joe? Bring all of them."

  "Right away."

  Not bothering with a coat, Joe ran across the short space that separatedtheir cabin from the store and entered. A wolf pelt draped over hisshoulders, Tad was leading his brothers in a march among the countersand baby Emma was playing with a string of bright beads she had found.Snedeker tilted on a chair beside the fire, watching the children.Barbara and Ellis sat together on the opposite side of the fireplace,and Joe did not look too closely at them. Ellis had told him thatBarbara hadn't said no, and it _did_ seem that they sat pretty closetogether.

  Joe called, "You're all coming over to our place."

  "Run along, kids," Snedeker told them. "Your maw wants you."

  "You too, Jim."

  "Me? What would she want me for?"

  "Come over and find out."

  "I'll be doggone!" Snedeker exclaimed. "Fust time in thutty years awhite woman's wanted to see me! You sure?"

  "I'm sure. Come on."

  Barbara rose and Joe's eyes were drawn to her. He had always known thathis daughter was lovely. Now she seemed radiant, and she floated acrossthe rough wooden floor to her father. Barbara's voice was an angel'sbreath.

  "Look, Daddy!"

  Around her neck she wore a golden chain, and on the chain was a ring setwith a red stone. Joe gazed with intense interest for never before hadhe seen such a stone. It caught and trapped the lantern's light, and thefire's glow, and captured within itself some of the crimson that warmedBarbara's cheeks. The stone seemed alive and fiery, and though he knewlittle about such things Joe knew that it was precious.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "It's a ruby," Barbara told him. "Ellis gave it to me."

  "It was my mother's," Ellis said eagerly.

  Joe looked at him askance. "Do you think you should give it away?"

  Quick anger flashed across Ellis's face. "I think I should give it toBarbara."

  "Well." Ellis's response unsettled him, and for a second Joe debated thepossible facets to this situation, then lost himself in the spirit ofthe evening, "Come on. Emma's waiting."

  He led them to the cabin, stood aside as they entered, and heard Emma'ssincere, "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas, everybody!" Joe glanced atBarbara and Ellis, standing close together. The younger children, all ofwhom had remembered Christmas in Missouri but none of whom had thoughtof it on the Oregon Trail, stared wide-eyed at the tree. Joe fidgeted,glad because Emma knew just what to do. She addressed the wonderingchildren,

  "Santa Claus was here and he left something for everyone." She picked upa wrapped gift. "Carlyle."

  Emma put the package in his hands and helped him open it. Staring atthis gaily painted wonder, the baby toddled off to cradle the horse inhis lap. He moved the movable legs and stroked the silken mane. Alfredstood breathlessly, his mouth open and his eyes shining. Little Joe wasexcited and baby Emma danced. Tad stood as he saw the men standing, butwhat he felt showed in his bright eyes.

  "This _must_ be Oregon!" Alfred exclaimed.

  The adults smiled gently while Alfred stared in fascination at his bowand arrows. Joe opened his present, and two arrows whistled across theroom. Her face wholly blissful, little Emma cradled the doll in her armsand began crooning to it. Tad's eyes glowed when he tore the wrappingsfrom his hatchet. He tested the blade with his thumb and immediatelybegan honing it.

  Lost in this unforgettable evening, Barbara slipped the silver braceletover her slim wrist and held it up for all to see. She smiled her thanksat her father and mother. Emma picked up another package.

  "Ellis. Barbara made it for you."

  He took the knitted hat. It was of two colors, with a buffalo headworked into the front and a silver tassel. He tried it on, then slippedit off. The glance he gave Barbara was filled with infinite tenderness,and
nobody except Barbara heard his low-voiced thanks.

  "Jim."

  "Lordy, lordy!" Snedeker breathed.

  Spellbound, he looked at the hat. Then he took his battered headpieceoff, opened the door, and threw it into the snow. The new hat hesmoothed over his shaggy locks, and reached up to touch it as though hecould not believe it was there. Snedeker strode across the floor, threwboth arms around Barbara, and kissed her. Barbara blushed.

  The whistling wind played with the shingles on the cabin and plucked atthe chinking in the logs. Absorbed in their presents, the youngstersscarcely glanced up. A coyote on the ridge behind the cabin began toyell. Then the outside noises quieted for a moment and Emma's clearvoice sang,

  "God rest ye merry, gentlemen, Let nothing ye dismay--"

  Joe joined in the centuries-old hymn, then Barbara and Ellis, and thechildren. Jim Snedeker retreated to the background. He took his hat offand stood silently, and in that moment he revealed completely the manwithin his hard outer shell. Emma led the next carol,

  "The first Noel the angels did say, Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;"

  Outside, the wind howled louder, and the coyote yelled again. But theyseemed strange and far-off noises that had no relation whatever withthe cabin or with those inside it. The spirit of the season was theirs,and they were one with Him who had died for them. The last notes of thelast carol still trembled in the cabin when Emma smiled graciously,

  "Jim, you and Ellis are to have dinner with us tomorrow. There'll bepumpkin pie and roast antelope."

  "Wait a bit, ma'am," Snedeker protested. "Did you say antelope?"

  "Yes, Jim."

  "Reckon not," Snedeker decided. "You just wait a bit. Don't leave yourhosses gallop away an' I'll be back."

  He put his new hat tenderly on his head and left the cabin. Presently hewas back, with a huge smoked ham dangling from his right hand. It wasone Snedeker had been hoarding for his own use, and the last ham at thepost, but he gave it freely.

  "Better Christmas dinner than antelope," he affirmed.

  Emma's eyes shone with her pleasure at the prospect of a traditionalChristmas feast. "Oh! Thank you, Jim!"

  "Welcome, ma'am! Plain welcome! I ain't had a Christmas like this sinstI was eight years old. Well, I'll be shaggin' along. Comin', Ellis?"

  "Soon."

  Ellis lingered until the children were in bed, then bade a reluctantgood night and prepared to leave. Emma got her coat.

  "Would you mind walking me to the store, Ellis? I do need a bit ofsugar."

  "I'll be happy to, Mrs. Tower."

  "Let me--" Joe began.

  Emma said quickly, "No, you stay here, Joe. I'll get it."

  Ellis held the door for her and they stepped into the brisk night. Emmawaited for him to join her.

  "Brr! Isn't it cold?"

  "It certainly is."

  She sensed his uncertainty, his embarrassment, and did her best to puthim at ease.

  "Come. Walk beside me."

  She slipped her hand through his arm and drew him a bit closer.

  "You're a tall young man, Ellis. Your mother must be very proud of you."

  There was wistfulness in this voice, "I haven't any mother. She diedwhen I was eight."

  "Oh." Emma's sympathy was immediate and sincere. "I'm sorry! Do youremember very much about her."

  He said simply, "I'll never forget her. We lived in Baltimore."

  "Was it nice there?"

  His voice was dreamy. "While my mother was alive, we had a big house andthere was always fun. But she went, and then my father died when I wastwelve and--"

  He paused suddenly and turned to look shrewdly at her. "Any morequestions, Mrs. Tower?"

  In the darkness, Emma blushed. But she carried on determinedly. "You'veexpressed a desire to marry Barbara," she said frankly, "and you want totake her on an overnight trip to Laramie. Naturally, I intend to findout a great deal more about you, Ellis."

  "Very well!" he said, angry now. "Here are some facts." He beganspeaking rapidly and distinctly, shooting out the facts as though hewere making a legal report. "When my father died my Uncle George was theexecutor. There was always enough money, but Uncle George and I didn'tget along. He wanted me to go into his bank. I didn't care for that. Fora year I went to Columbian College--that's in Washington, Mrs. Tower,and then...."

  He broke off sharply, and there was a long moment of silence. When hespoke again, his voice was quiet and ashamed. "Forgive me, Mrs. Tower.You've a right to know everything about me that you want to know. You'vealready found out one bad thing about me--I have a quick temper and anunpleasant one. I want to apologize."

  "That's all right, Ellis," Emma said serenely. "Let's go on from here.You were at college in Washington, you say?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said humbly. "I met a girl in Washington, MaryHarkness. I was in love with her. When Mary's folks decided to comewest, there seemed to be nothing left for me in the east. I came along.It seemed the right thing to do. I had enough money to buy a horse andeverything else I needed."

  "What happened, Ellis?" Emma whispered.

  "When we got to Laramie, Mary married a man named Jeremy Blake. Theywent on together."

  Emma's voice was very gentle. "Did it hurt?"

  "I wished I could die."

  Emma said, "You must understand that not all women are good, Ellis, anymore than all men are. After enticing you to come along, and thenmarrying someone else--"

  "I haven't made myself clear, Mrs. Tower. She did not entice me to comealong; I came of my own free will and entirely because I wanted to. Norwas Mary in any sense of the word bad or deceitful. She is fine, loyal,and good. She simply didn't want me."

  Emma's heart beat happily. Ellis had chased a woman all the way fromMaryland, Jim Snedeker had said. Now Emma knew the story. She asked,

  "What did you do then, Ellis?"

  There was a faint trace of remembered bitterness in his voice. "I wentto work for Jim. I knew there would be nothing for me at his post, butthe way I felt then there seemed to be nothing for me anywhere. I justworked along, without much hope or any plan at all. Then you broughtBarbara."

  "And she means much to you?"

  He said firmly, "I'm grateful Mary made the choice she did."

  She took his arm. "Come along, I must get my sugar." She stopped at theentrance to the store. "Oh, Ellis. One more thing. About that New Year'sdance at Fort Laramie. I want you to know that I think it's a splendididea."

  "You do!"

  "Certainly. Young people should enjoy themselves, and Barbara will beperfectly all right with Ynez Driscoll." She was rewarded with a smileof the purest gratitude and delight.

  Emma bought a pound of sugar, which she really had not needed, and wentback to the cabin. Contentedly she slept beside Joe, and was stilldrowsy when he awakened. She knew when Joe got out of bed to start bothfires, then crawled back in to wait until the cabin warmed. She heardthe children giggling in their beds.

  They breakfasted, and Emma and Barbara began to prepare the Christmasdinner. Except that they would have had turkey instead of ham,everything would have been exactly this way back in Missouri. But solong had they been out, living from what they had in the wagon andbuilding fires under every possible condition, and so much longer hadthey been at Snedeker's, eating wild meat and stretching other foods asfar as possible in order to save money, that this seemed to be scalingthe utmost heights of luxury. They baked the ham and pies, and Emmaopened three jars of string beans that had also been saved for thisoccasion. There were no potatoes. But there was feathery-light bread andbutter.

  It was a memorable Christmas dinner, one that was never forgotten by anyof the older people who partook of it. Emma had brought spices for theham, and Joe carved and served pink slices of the steaming delicacy.When everybody had eaten as much as they could, there was still a fullthird of the ham left. But Emma's three pumpkin pies had been eaten tothe last crumb.

  Tad went out to test his hatch
et, and after the dishes were washedBarbara and Ellis took a walk in the snow. Emma and Joe watched theyoung couple as they left. Emma had told her husband of her talk withEllis. His response had been an uneasy one.

  "He's mighty hasty, seems to me."

  "Mighty young, too," she had reminded him.

  Still enthralled with their presents, the youngsters played busily.Snedeker took a blackened pipe from his pocket, filled it withvile-smelling tobacco, and offered the tobacco pouch to Joe.

  "Smoke?"

  "No thanks. I never got the habit."

  "Lordy, lordy. No smokin'. No drinkin'. What do you do, Joe?"

  "I like to hunt and fish."

  "Of both you'll find a heap in Oregon," Snedeker assured him. "Though'tain't an' never will be like 'twas. I remember--"

  Joe and Emma listened while he spoke of the west that used to be. Hespoke of Blackfeet, Sioux, Pawnees, and of battles with them. He createdword pictures of virgin creeks which, until the Mountain Men came, hadknown no white man's tracks. There were so many buffalo that the plainswere black with them and the thunder of their hoofs drowned even ashrieking wind. Snedeker told of vast herds of deer, elk, and antelope.He told of colorful camps and rendezvous.

  "I seen it all," he continued, "and 'tain't so many years it took to seeit. The like will never be again. The west is growin' up. Buffalo hideshave took the place of beaver. Emmy-grants, crazy for land, are pourin'in like a falls off a mountain. Mebbe, when you come to think of it,that's right too. The west was made for people, not buffalo. Do you knowthey's even crazy talk of a railroad an' wire line clean across thekentry? Yep. Five minutes after somebody in New York says it, somebodyin San Francisco will know what he said. I misbelieve that'll ever be;don't see how it can be. But when the buffalo go, an' they's sure to go,they'll be lots of things. All the gold they found in Californy won't bea acorn's wuth to what will be found. I don't mean gold, nuther. They'sore beds in the west for the whole kentry ten times over. They's farmland thick with wild grass, an' that'll grow crops jest as good. They'sa galore of timber, enough to make all the cities an' towns what'll everneed be made. The emmy-grants who've gone ain't made a dent in the west.Some day Oregon alone will have twicet as many emmy-grants as have beenover the Trail in the past ten years, an' they'll be room for 'em.They'll be cities on the west coast to shade anything what's on theeast." He became wistful. "The west will be tamed, but I'm right glad Iain't goin' to live to see it all tamed. I wouldn't like that a'tall."

  That night Joe went happily to bed, for Snedeker's discourse had been agreat comfort to him. He had left Missouri because he needed room andopportunity for his children, and he was getting into the west whilethere was still plenty of both. When the millions came, providing theycame at all in his time, he would be too old to care and the childrenwould be young enough to adjust.

  Rising in a cloudless sky, next morning's sun brought little warmth.Overnight the weather had turned very cold, so that a thick glazing offrost lay on the windows. Since there was a great pile of logs at thebuilding site, and no special hurry about getting any more, today Joeand Ellis were to see if they could find some buffalo. By all means theywere to bring in something, for meat stocks at the post were low. Ifthey couldn't find buffalo, they were to try for elk or deer. Shouldthey discover a herd of buffalo, they were to shoot as many as possible.Though there was a limit to the meat that could be used, Snedeker couldhire squaws to cure the hides. There was a steady market for buffalorobes in the east, but it was not necessary to send them east in orderto realize a good profit. Oregon-bound emigrants would pay four dollarseach for buffalo robes right at the post.

  Ellis rode his horse, Joe mounted the mare mule, and each man carried arifle. Without speaking they mounted the ridge behind the post and wentinto pine forest. A deer flitted among the trees and Joe raised hisrifle. But the deer was gone before he could get a shot.

  "Let's try for buffalo first," Ellis suggested. "We can always pick upsomething else if we don't find any."

  "All right with me. Have you hunted buffalo?"

  "Yes. There are meadows back here where we'll find them if there are anyaround. They stay there because of good grass and it's out of the wind.If we find a herd, take those on the outside first."

  A little while later Ellis held up his hand because it would be unwiseto speak, dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree. Joe slid off themule and tied her. He followed Ellis through the pines and looked downon an open meadow.

  Sixteen buffaloes moved sluggishly about while they scraped for grasswith ponderous hoofs. Ellis Garner's rifle came up as easily as thoughit were an extension of his own arm. He sighed, shot, and a buffalodropped heavily. Ellis indicated another cow that stood on the fringe ofthe herd and reloaded.

  They shot six before the rest scented blood and pounded clumsily away ina cloud of flying snow. Ellis watched the fleeing herd until it was outof sight. Joe warmed to him. Whatever Ellis might be, he was nodeliberate killer. He had shot buffalo because it was part of his job,not because he loved to shoot. Joe suspected that a flying buck orlurking elk would have been game much more to his liking.

  Ellis asked, "Want to bring a sled up while I skin these? If we bothleave, they'll be nothing but wolf bait."

  "I'll help you."

  "It's no job. You just slit them up the belly and around the legs, cut aslot for a rope, and let your horse pull the skin off. I'll be done bythe time you're back."

  Joe said, "Tad shot a buffalo on the way to Laramie and it took us along while to skin it. Where'd you learn this trick?"

  "Jim taught me."

  Joe rode the mare mule back to the post, harnessed the team and hitchedthem to one of Snedeker's bobsleds. He followed the tracks they'd madegoing in and saw the six buffalo carcasses, rawly naked alreadyfreezing. Ellis was walking about, beating his hands together to warmthem.

  "Better take some of the humps," he said. "It's one of the best parts."

  Joe scratched his head. "I heard that too, but I couldn't even cut itout."

  "I'll show you."

  There was a ridge of bone over the hump, but it did not go clearthrough. Ellis inserted his knife, cut deftly, and lifted out athree-pound chunk of meat. Under Ellis's direction, Joe did the nextone. They took the humps, the livers, half a dozen hind quarters, theloins and the tongues, and laid them on the fresh hides.

  While they loaded the meat on the bobsleds, Joe was silent, preoccupiedby his confused feelings about Ellis. The young man was undoubtedly ahard worker when he wanted to be, and he was friendly andrespectful--when he wanted to be. But always Ellis gave you the feelinghe was going to do exactly what he wanted, and if that thing happened tobe unfriendly, why that was the time for a person to watch out. He hadan impulsive way of speaking and acting. Ten to one he'd tell you justwhat he thought about something, even if the telling might cause somefolks real embarrassment. That was honesty, of a kind, but it could becruelty, too, and Joe wasn't exactly sure which it was in the case ofEllis. As for Barbara, Ellis seemed smitten, sure enough, but would hebe respectful and take good care of her on the jaunt to Laramie? Emmaseemed confident, but Joe was deeply uncertain, and the uncertainty madehim grim and silent as they loaded the last of the meat.

  The next day they cut wood, and Joe glanced questioningly at the sky.The sun still shone, but there was something in the air that Joe couldnot analyze. It was a faint but startling thing, like the sudden rustleof a leaf when there is no wind, and it seemed to grow stronger as dayfollowed day. But there was only an uneasy feeling and nothing tangibleto furnish evidence that something grim and terrible did lurk behind thesun.

  On the last day of the year, the rest of the Towers watched Ellis,riding his horse, and Barbara, mounted on one of Snedeker's with herdancing dress carried in a pack behind the saddle, start down the Trailfor the New Year's dance at Laramie.