CHAPTER NINE
Storm
Joe had stopped only to let the mules rest and graze, and wherever thatwas he nibbled a cold snack from the food Emma had prepared for him.Then he slept, but he had purposely brought no blankets and he built nofire, because he did not want to oversleep. Though he was tired enoughto doze wherever he lay down, the cold always awakened him.
Never for an instant did he forget the fact that he had left his familycamped, undefended, along the river. He must return to them at theearliest possible moment, for they were his to protect. Therefore, helet the mules have only the barest minimum of grazing and rest, and hedrove himself as hard as he drove them.
Though he slept little, he remained alert to the things about him. Noman should travel in this country without a rifle, and he had left therifle with Tad. Should any personal emergency arise, he would have tomeet it as best he could. He didn't expect any; they'd come all this wayand needed the rifle only for food. Joe smiled wryly. It always seemedthat, when one lacked something, the need for it arose. He cantered themules around a knoll, and both came to a sliding halt while they prickedtheir ears forward and blew their nostrils.
No more than sixty yards away, staring intently at them, was an enormousbear. Joe swallowed hard. He was familiar with the little black bears ofMissouri, but this was no black bear. Joe remembered vaguely that he hadheard of white bears, or western grizzlies, and the bear was of a palecolor. They were savage things and enormously strong. Certainly this onelooked as though it could kill one or both of the mules withoutexerting itself unduly.
Joe swung the mules, who needed no urging, and galloped them to theright. Glancing behind, he saw the bear running and for a moment hethought it was racing to cut him off. Then he grinned weakly andrelaxed. All bears, he remembered, have rather poor hearing and sight.They have a keen sense of smell, but the wind had been blowing from thebear to Joe. Probably the grizzly hadn't even been aware of his presenceuntil the mules started to run, and then he was as frightened as themules. Or, Joe thought, as frightened as one Joe Tower.
Reaching the abandoned wagon, he first gathered two piles of flatstones. One he arranged beneath the wagon's axle; the other he piled afew feet in front. He had remembered to cut a prying pole when he passedthe grove of trees in which they had camped. Using one pile of stones asa fulcrum, he inserted the pole beneath the axle and lifted. Raising thefront end of the wagon, Joe drove a forged stick over the prying pole tohold it. Then he built higher the stones beneath the axle.
When the wheel no longer touched the earth, he took it off. Lifting thewagon's other side, he took that wheel too, and packed both on the horsemule. Should they break another wheel, he would not be caught without aspare.
On the return trip he rode hard, pressing the mules and stopping onlytwice. From a distance he heard Mike's bark, and he advanced cautiously.Tad did have the rifle, and Joe had no wish to resemble, howeverremotely, a prowling Indian. Then he heard,
"It's Pa! Pa's come back!"
Joe threw caution to the winds and rode openly, and now his wearinessseemed in some magic fashion to evaporate. He had been very worriedabout Emma and the youngsters; in his mind they had been the victims ofraiding Indians, one or all of the younger children had fallen into theriver and drowned, one of the great white bears had raided them, theyhadn't known how to start a fire and thus were cold; these and a dozenother disasters had overtaken them. To know that none of his fears wasrealized drove worry from his mind and furnished complete relief.
He wondered at Tad as he put the mules to a trot. Back in Missouri,given a rifle and told to stand guard, Tad might have shot at anything,including noises, that startled him. Obviously the Oregon Trail, andperhaps the spanking Joe had given him, had taught the youngster muchthat he needed to know. Joe saw the wagon and his wife and son, and hecalled,
"Hi!"
"Hello, Joe!"
Emma's greeting was a glad one, and her voice revealed none of theterror she had endured.
Lithe as a fawn, lovely even though she was dressed in cumbersomegarments, Barbara leaped from the wagon and waved excitedly,
"Hello, Daddy!"
"Hi, Bobby!"
Joe rode up to the wagon and halted his mules. He looked down at Tad."Everything was all right, huh?"
"Yeah. Nothin' came."
Joe laughed. "You never have luck, do you?"
He looked at Emma, and saw in her eyes everything that she had not putinto words. Traces of terror and loneliness lingered there, and he knewthat she had prayed for him. But happiness because he had finally comeback was driving the rest away as surely as the rising sun dispelsmorning mist.
"Have you had breakfast?" Emma inquired.
"Yup. Had a snack down the trail a ways."
"But you're in here almost before daylight. I'll fix something for you."
Emma built up her fire and put water over to boil for coffee. She madeher spider--a skillet with legs--ready and laid three eggs beside it.Joe looked concernedly at them.
"Better save those for the kids, hadn't you?"
"The children aren't lacking anything and I have eight more eggs. Everyhen but one has laid every day."
"They must like wagon life." He winked solemnly at her.
"I'm sure they do," she replied, dimpling. "It's a good life--forchickens."
The children looked up at the sound of their parents' hearty,soul-easing laughter.
Joe unlashed the wagon wheels, lifted them from the mule, leaned themagainst the wagon, unharnessed the mules, and tied them where they couldgraze. He was in high spirits and the world was good again. He satbefore the blazing fire and partook hungrily of the breakfast Emmaprepared for him. The younger children tumbled out of the wagon and ranto their father. Carlyle and baby Emma snuggled contentedly in his lapwhile they ate their breakfast, and young Joe and Alfred bracedthemselves one on either side.
Almost at once Joe was restless again and he felt an inner urge to bemoving. He had lingered in Independence far too long, gentling asix-mule team for Jake Favors, and a wet trail and a broken wheel hadset them farther behind. Now the north wind blew steadily, and theclouds were black and angry. But the mules had been working hard and itwas hazardous to go on unless they grazed and rested. There was a longtrail still ahead, and the team must be in condition for it. However, hecould replace the wagon wheel.
There were no flat rocks here, but the river bank was piled high withdriftwood, ranging all the way from slender branches to huge trees thathad come down on the swollen current. Joe found a prying pole, used achunk of wood for a fulcrum, and lifted the wagon. While Barbara and Tadsat on the end of the pole, holding the wagon in place, Joe blocked thefront end with more wood. He replaced the broken wheel and busiedhimself with his ax.
Comparatively little of the driftwood was green; few growing trees hadbeen uprooted by the high water. Of the dead trees, some werewater-logged and these he passed by. He wanted only dry and buoyant woodthat would help keep the wagon afloat when they crossed the river, andwhen he found such a piece he chopped it into the lengths he desired.Leaving each piece where he chopped it, he prowled up the river banklooking for still more suitable wood and a place where they might ford.
He found where the bank sloped easily into the water, with no sharpdrops and no undercutting. Joe threw a chunk of wood in, watched itdrift gently downstream, and knew the current was not a swift one. Hetried to gauge the depth with his eye, but the river was too muddy tolet him do it and there might be hidden obstacles on the bottom. Joeglanced back toward the wagon, decided that he could not be seen fromit, and removed his clothing.
He shivered in the raw north wind, but walked slowly into the water. Thebank and the river bottom both seemed solid, and Joe could feel nohidden obstruction that might get a mule in trouble. Much warmer thanthe air, the water rose to his chest and then to his neck. He swam, butthe deep part of the river was only about twenty feet wide and he couldwade again. Joe climbed up onto the far bank. He inspect
ed it carefully,and when he was finished he knew that he could take the wagon acrosshere.
Joe dressed and trotted back to the wagon. The cold wind and the waterhad left him numb, so that he had to move fast in order to restorecirculation. But before he came in sight of the wagon he walked again.Emma had emphatic ideas about proper deportment in cold weather, andnone of her notions included stripping naked and swimming a river. Joewhistled as he strode up to the wagon. He'd had little sleep for twonights, but was not unduly tired.
"Everything's smooth as a tub of lard," he called cheerfully. "I found anew ford. Can you catch your chickens?"
"Oh yes. They're tame."
"Give me an hour or so, then catch them and load everything on thewagon. The Towers are about to move again."
He took the whiffletree from the wagon, let a chain drag behind it, andharnessed the mules. Joe drove them up the river bank, gathering thewood he had cut as he came to each piece, binding as big a load as thechain would surround and dragging it to the ford he had selected. Whenall the wood was piled there, he returned for the wagon.
The youngest children remained inside, peering curiously out the frontor back, while Joe, Emma, Barbara and Tad lashed wood beneath the wagonbox, on both sides of it, and even to the tongue. Joe stepped back togrin at their handiwork. There was so much wood tied to the wagon thatonly the wheels and cover were visible. It was not absolutely essential;the wagon itself would have floated. But Joe wanted to keep water out ofthe box and away from the load.
"Never thought we'd have to build our own ship out in the middle ofthis--wish I knew just what it is and where it is. But we're on our wayto Laramie. Let's launch."
The mules walked gingerly down to the river, taking their time andtesting what lay ahead before they put their full weight on it. Withonly the lightest pressure on the reins, Joe let them have their ownway. Nobody could make a mule go where it didn't want to go and nobodycould hurry a mule that wanted to be cautious. They entered the water,waded out until it lapped their bellies, and continued to movecarefully. Then they were swimming, holding their heads high so no watercould trickle into their ears. They waded again.
Safe on the opposite bank, Joe and Tad untied the ropes that held thewood on, and they threw as much as they could reasonably carry into thewagon box. Not forgotten was that long and dismal stretch where buffalochips were the only fuel. Should they again strike treeless trail, theywould have firewood.
That night they camped just across the river, within a stone's throw ofthe ford where the wheel had broken.
With dawn, the first snow lay on the ground. It was light and powdery,little more than a white dust that did not hide completely the grass onthe near-by knolls but seemed to cover entirely those farther away.Little snow devils, picked up by wind, whirled across the trail andfilled ruts while leaving the crown between them brown and naked. Joehurried the mules, and wished mightily that he had saved some grain forthem. Mules worked better when they were on grain, but all they'd beenable to carry from Independence had been used up two weeks ago. The restof the trip to Laramie would necessarily be forced, with no time tolinger on the way and since there wasn't any grain, the mules would haveto work without it.
Tad trotted beside the wagon and fell behind. Joe waited for him.
"Better get in."
"I aim to walk. I'll keep up."
Joe felt his anger rise, but he held it in check. Tad had been mightybrave and mighty helpful and he was entitled to be treated with respect."We're going to make time, Tad. We've got to now."
Tad was silent, and the struggle he was undergoing showed plainly on hisfreckled face.
Suddenly, without a word of comment, he climbed into the wagon andsettled himself where he could watch out the back end. Joe's heartswelled with pride. Emma had told him that his daughter had grown up,and now he knew that his son was growing, too. Fiercely proud, Tad hadfully intended to walk all the way to Oregon. But he had seen the need,and had placed the family's welfare above his own.
Joe said, "Keep your eye peeled for antelope, will you? Holler if yousee any and I'll hand you the rifle."
"Sure, Pa. You want buffalo too?"
"Can't stop to butcher a buffalo right now."
Joe kept the mules at a fast walk except on upgrades and trotted them onall the down slopes. The mules were big, but their hoofs were slenderand much smaller than a horse's. Therefore, though this light fall didnot bother them, they would have harder going than horses found shouldthere be deep snow.
Clouds ruled the sky until almost noon, then they broke and the sunshone for a few hours. There was little warmth in it and the north windstill blew. But all the snow melted, leaving them a clear trail, andthere had not been enough snow so that its melting left mud in its wake.
That night they stopped half an hour before their usual stopping timebecause, though speed was important, grass was just as necessary andthere was rich grass at this spot. The mules and the cow could eat theirfill and be ready for a long trail tomorrow. The next day they startedat dawn, and the day after that. On the seventh day after the firstsnowfall they met a rider coming east. Joe looked around to see wherehis children were, and he made sure that the rifle was in reach. Thenthey drew nearer and he saw that the rider was a white man.
He was small, not much taller than Pete Domley, and his horse, aclean-limbed sorrel, seemed huge in comparison. The man wore a wool cap,a buffalo skin coat with the hair still on, and cloth trousers that weretucked into high-laced moccasins. A luxuriant black beard fell a thirdof the way down his chest. He carried a long rifle crosswise on thefront of his saddle, and strapped behind was a small pack.
Joe sat forward on the seat and he felt Emma move with him. The childrencrowded forward, staring with frank curiosity at this, the first manthey had met since they were a couple of days out of Kearney. Theremight have been others near the trail, but if there had been any, theyhadn't met them. Now they were going to meet, and for a little while thecountry seemed neither so lonely nor so vast. Joe halted the mules andthe rider stopped his horse beside them. Though he was small, his voicewas loud and blasting,
"Migosh! Emigrants! What'd you do? Get lost?"
"Yep!" Joe laughed for the sheer joy of laughing and because it felt sogood to meet someone else. "Plumb lost!"
"You must have. Do you know how far behind the rest you are?"
"We left late."
"You don't figure on gettin' to Oregon this season, do you?"
"Just to Laramie. How far is it?"
"A piece up the Trail. I left there yesterday at midmornin'."
"Then we should make it in tomorrow?"
"I don't know," the rider said doubtfully. "You could if you was ridin'horses, but you'll have to make them mules step some with a wagon behind'em."
"It's almost noon," Emma spoke up. "Why don't we lunch here and askMr.--"
"Gaystell, ma'am," the rider swept off his hat and bowed to Emma. "JohnGaystell, and I'll be right proud to join you in a bit of lunch. Ididn't expect to see any white folks this side of Kearney."
Joe stepped down, turned to help Emma, and stood aside as Tad andBarbara alighted. Joe caught the younger children in his arms and helpedthem down; they could descend without his help but this was faster. Hewas swinging Carlyle to the ground when he heard Emma say,
"My daughter, Barbara Tower, Mr. Gaystell."
"Pleased to know you, miss. Say, more wagons goin' to Oregon shouldcarry freight like you! Dress up the country no end!"
Barbara blushed and Joe grinned. The men of Missouri were outspoken, butfew of them were as candid as John Gaystell.
While Tad climbed back into the wagon and tossed wood to the ground, Joeunhitched the mules but left them in harness. He slipped their bridlesand picketed the team where they could find good grazing. When he wasfinished, Tad had the fire started and Barbara and Emma were preparinglunch. John Gaystell slipped unobtrusively over to stand beside Joe, andstartled him by lowering his voice to a whisper.
&nbs
p; "You goin' to winter at Laramie?"
"Why?"
"None of my mix. Sure none of my mix if that's what you want to do. Andthe soldiers at Laramie are a decent sort. But you don't get that manymen 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 whohad met them on the Trail. Barbara and Emma peppered him with questionswhich 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 lookedroguishly at Barbara, and a whole passel of young soldiers. What werethe women wearing? He stumbled on that one, but finally declared thatthey were wearing dresses.
Joe's spirits mounted. For long, lonely weeks his family had seen onlyeach other, and at times it seemed that they were the only people in ahuge world. Living in close intimacy, everybody had long ago learned notonly what the rest were going to say next, but almost what they weregoing to think next. Meeting a stranger, someone with a differentviewpoint, was a stimulating and heady as a glass of sparkling wine.
John Gaystell had been in Oregon, and as soon as he completed hismission in Independence, he was going back. It was, he told them, awonderful country where the Towers might have their choice of land, andthey could find it as close to or as far away from neighbors as theywished. The Trail was long but not too difficult, and they had alreadycovered a lot of it. If they started from Snedeker's as soon as thegrass was green enough to provide food for their stock, they should getto Oregon in time to plant some crops. There was perhaps some dangerfrom white men but little from Indians; though there were rumors ofanother uprising, none had materialized and John Gaystell thought nonewould. The Indians were not inclined to bother people who minded theirown business and stayed on the Oregon Trail. They might, however, becomeangry if what they considered their private hunting grounds wereinvaded. Joe must be careful where he went. They could ford the LaramieRiver, the Trail crossed about a mile below the fort, and they couldrest at the fort. Snedeker's was a few miles west of Laramie.
John Gaystell looked longingly at the last three biscuits on the plateand licked his lips.
"Have another one?" Emma invited.
"No thank you, ma'am," he refused politely.
"Let me butter them and you take them along for your evening meal. We'llhave fresh ones tonight, anyway."
"Well, ma'am, if you want to do that--Those biscuits are better than anycake I ever tasted!"
John Gaystell mounted his horse, waved good-by, and rode east towardIndependence. The entire family watched him go, until he was out ofsight. Joe hitched the mules and drove on up the Trail. Now, and atlast, he knew where they were and they were very near Laramie. If theydid not get in tomorrow, they certainly would the next day.
That night they camped very close to the river, and in the middle of thenight Joe awakened to a sense of wonder. Either something was presentthat should not be, or there was something lacking that should be, butnot 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 constantcompanion. Very quietly Joe parted the back flaps and looked out.
The wind had stopped but the snow had started. The ground was alreadywhite, and huge, feathery flakes whirled earthward so silently that theydid not even rustle against the taut wagon cover. Joe went back tosleep. This was going to be more than a dusting. Probably it was theseason's first heavy snowfall, but there was no reason to worry. Theywere 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 knewwhy she had roused him. It was the fever again, the mysterious maladythat plagued baby Emma. Joe dressed, heartsick and afraid. There wasnothing he had been able to do before for his daughter, and there wasnothing 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. Hepeered through the curtain to see the child in her mother's arms. Joewhispered,
"There's sure to be a doctor at Laramie."
He threw wood out the back flaps, climbed after it, and built a fire.He brought the cow in and milked her. Her coat buttoned tightly aroundher, Barbara prepared breakfast. Tad came to the fire, and Barbara tookfood to the younger children. When she returned, her eyes were cloudedwith worry.
"Mother wanted only some milk."
"Do you think you can keep those youngsters busy today, so they won'tbother your mother and sister?"
"Yes."
Joe said gently, "Try your best, Bobby. We're going into Laramie today."
"I'll help drive," Tad offered. His lifted face was pale withdetermination.
Joe rested a hand briefly on the boy's shoulder. "I'll need help."
Inside the wagon Emma cradled the sick child against her breast, and sheprayed as she always prayed when baby Emma was sick. "Dear Lord, spareus our little girl. She is a good child, Lord, and will grow up to be agood woman. We'll take care of her, Lord, and do the best we can forher, if only you'll pull her through again, as you did before." Sherocked the child gently, and her thoughts went on after the prayer in akind of formless argument. Little Emma hadn't asked to come out here inthe wilderness. They had brought her, and now she was sick. For onewild, horrible moment she thought of baby Emma dying and being buriedout here in the limitless plain, and her breath stopped. But no, no,no--she would be well again, she would be well and laughing and runningin the tall grass. Emma bent her tense, determined face over thefeverish child, as though by sheer will she could drive the illnessaway, banish the fever and the pain. And in her mind the prayercontinued, over and over: "Dear Lord, spare us our little girl."
Snow fell so thickly that the mules, tethered only fifty feet from thewagon, had their coats plastered with it and were dimly seen shapesagainst the white background. They shook themselves when Joe approached,and the harnesses knocked off such snow as still clung to them. Joebacked the mules into place, hitched them to the wagon, and climbed upbeside Tad. He crossed his fingers as he did so.
Once he had driven two mules, pulling a ton of weight in addition to thewagon, fifty miles in the course of a day. But the mules were grain-fedand rested, and they hadn't had to pull their load through snow. Thisteam had worked every day, had had no grain, and they were tired. Joepicked up the reins and started them at a fast walk. The wagon wheelsmade crunching noises in the new snow, and the mules blinked their eyesagainst the storm. Joe stopped at noon only long enough to build a fireso Barbara could cook a meal. Hastily, Joe gulped his food and lookedinto the wagon.
Barbara had kept the drop curtain down, and Joe, Carlyle and Alfred, onone side of it. She had served their meal there, and they were eatinghastily too so they could snuggle back beneath the warm quilts. Joeparted the curtain to look at Emma, and he knew a sudden sense of lossbecause it seemed that she had gone away from him. Her whole physicaland spiritual being were with the sick baby, and Joe swallowed hard. Hehad a sudden, wild and dreadful notion that his youngest daughter lookedthe way angels must look. Joe stepped outside, wiped his sweatingforehead, and set his jaw. They would get to Laramie tonight.
The snow fell neither faster nor more slowly, and Joe breathed a sigh ofthanks because there was no wind. Without wind the snow could not drift,but there was no assurance that the wind would not blow again tonight ortomorrow. If it did, if he had to stop and shovel through deep drifts,they might not get into Laramie for two or even three days, and with thechild feverish such a delay was intolerable. She must get in out of thestorm and feel the good heat that comes only from a stove or fireplace.Joe kept the mules at a fast walk but he did not let them trot orcanter. Whether or not
they got into Laramie depended almost entirely onhow skillfully he handled the team.
Seven inches of snow covered the ground, but where it lay smoothly onboth sides, the Trail itself was deeply rutted with crowns between theruts, and snow followed the road's contours. It was easy to see, andmules had a feeling for trails that horses and oxen did not possess. Butthe mules were walking more slowly now, and when they came to a slightrise Joe halted to let them breathe.
Tad said, "They're gettin' tired, Pa."
Joe heard Emma crooning to her sick daughter. "They can go on," he said.He drove to the top of the rise, halted again, and handed the reins toTad.
"Hang on to them, will you?"
He took the pail from the wagon and milked. The cow stood patiently andlet him do it, then backed to the full length of her lead rope andlooked at him questioningly. It was time to camp and the cow knew it,but Joe merely petted her and handed the milk up to Barbara.
"Can you feed the youngsters and yourself in the wagon?"
"Yes, Daddy. We'll have milk and there's buttered biscuits left."
"Good." Joe looked at his wife. "How is she?"
Hollow-eyed, Emma looked back at him.
"Very feverish. Is there any chance of getting out of the storm?"
Little Emma's cheeks were almost translucent, and she twitched in hersleep. Joe swallowed hard, and again had a strange feeling that angelsmust look this way. Joe forced cheer into his voice.
"We'll be in Laramie soon. Don't you worry."
Snow was falling faster; the tracks they'd made coming up the rise werehalf filled and there was no indication that the storm would lessen. Joetook the reins from Tad and the weary mules plodded on. Joe tried topeer down the Trail and could see only a few feet, but that was notbecause of heavy snow. Night was coming. Joe stopped the mules again.
"Reckon you could keep them moving?" he asked Tad.
"I reckon. What are you goin' to do, Pa?"
"Make darn' sure we stay on the Trail."
Joe handed the reins to Tad and leaped from the wagon into thesnow-filled twilight. Mules had an instinct for the trail. But men had akeener one and to get lost now might be fatal. Joe walked to the head ofthe team, and the mules flicked their long ears forward while theysniffed him anxiously. They, too, knew that it was past the time tostop. Joe turned his back to the team and called to Tad,
"All right."
He walked fast enough to keep ahead of the laboring team, and his heartcaught in his throat because he had to set a very slow pace. The muleswere straining hard to do work that under ordinary circumstances wouldnot have been excessive. The night was wholly black now.
Joe stopped suddenly, aware that they had come to another river onlybecause he heard the soft purling of water. Two more steps and he wouldhave walked into it. His heart pounded, and he trembled. John Gaystellhad spoken of the Laramie River, and had said that it could be forded.Suppose there was another river that could not be forded, one Gaystellhadn't mentioned? Joe hesitated, then got his rifle.
He stood on the river bank, pointed the rifle straight up and, when heshot, the muzzle blast illumined only falling snow. Too weary to doanything else, the mules only started nervously when the rifle roared.Joe listened intently, keeping his mouth open the better to hear. Then,after what seemed like hours and could have been no more than fifteenseconds, in the distance he heard an answering shot. Ten minutes later ahail sounded out in the darkness.
"Hall-oo!"
"Hall-oo!" Joe called back.
He heard a shouted, "Where are you?"
"Across the river! Can we ford?"
"Yes! Do you see my light?"
"No!"
"Stay where you are! I'll come over!"
A horse splashed in the river and came toward them. Suddenly, andalmost unbelievingly, out in the swirling snow Joe saw the lightedlantern that the rider carried. He called,
"I see you now!"
"Come straight toward me! I'll wait!"
Joe climbed to the seat, took the reins from Tad, and drove the mules inthe river. They walked more briskly now, and Joe thought that no mancan, for very long, deceive a mule. They knew that their journey wasnearly over, and that not too far ahead they would find both food andshelter. Perhaps they smelled the fort.
Out in the river, as they drew closer, Joe saw a mounted trooper holdinga lantern high. The soldier walked his horse back across the river. Twoother cavalry men waited there, and the soldier with the lighted lanternpaused beside the wagon.
"Good Lord! Who hits the trail on a night like this?"
"Had to get to Laramie," Joe explained.
"You're almost there. How are your mules?"
"Worn out."
"Follow us. We'll take it slow."
Joe followed the troopers up the trail, and the lights of Laramie shonethrough the storm. Guarded by armed soldiers, the gate was open and Joedrove through into the stockade. The sergeant with the lantern camebeside the wagon again.
"Can we get quarters?" Joe asked. "We have a sick youngster with us."
"Want to go to the hospital?"
"No!" Emma said.
One of the soldiers rode ahead, and Joe swung his tired team to followthe sergeant. Lamp light brightened windows, and Joe halted the mules.The sergeant dismounted.
"Here you are. Bring the youngster in."
Joe helped Emma from the wagon and into an officer's quarters, where thesoldier who had ridden ahead had lighted an already-laid fire. Therewere cots and blankets, and Emma unwrapped the shawl that enfolded hersick baby. She looked around her at the kind anxious face of the soldierstanding ready to help, at the good, stout walls of the room they werein, at the warm fire where all the children would soon be gathered, andat Joe, hovering over her now, wanting so much to protect her, toprotect them all. A smile of hope lighted her face.
"She'll be all right now, Joe. She needed the fire and a real rest.She'll have it, now."
"Do you want the doctor?" the sergeant asked.
Emma said cheerfully, "We really don't need him right now. Would he comelater if she should take a turn for the worse?"
"Certainly."
Barbara entered with Carlyle, and the sergeant swung to come face toface with her. For a moment, but only for a moment, he lost his briskmilitary bearing while a delighted grin flickered across his lips. Emmawatched, and now that she was no longer under tension she could affordto be mischievous.
"Sergeant--?"
"Dugan, ma'am."
"Thank you, Sergeant Dugan. We're the Tower family and this is ourdaughter, Barbara."
"You sure are welcome, miss!" Sergeant Dugan breathed.
Joe brought the rest of his sleepy, fretful family in, and left Emma andBarbara to put them to bed while he went outside with Sergeant Dugan.The soldier examined the mules with the practiced eye of a man who knewanimals.
"They certainly are done," he agreed. "We'd better take them to thestables where they can have hay and grain. The cow can go in thecorral."
Thankfully, Joe permitted the soldiers to take care of the mules and thecow.
The Towers had come through the first portion of their journey. Thatmuch was over now, and his family was safe and out of the storm. Hewanted to be with them, to watch them bask in the warmth of the fire, toshare with them the well-being of this wonderful, though temporary,shelter.
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