The Lost Wagon

by Jim Kjelgaard

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Spring

  Spring was heralded by a soft and gentle south wind. It ruffled thepines and stooped to caress the snowbanks. Crusted snow softened andwater gathered in every little ditch and depression. Ice melted fromJoe's log slide, leaving last year's dead grass brown and forlornbetween snowbanks. Walked on all winter, and getting the sun's fullforce for half a day, the snow in the cabin yard melted and the youngerchildren could play there.

  Inside the cabin, the door of which swung open so they could watch thechildren, Emma and Barbara were mending clothes. A pair of Joe'strousers in her lap, Emma's needle flew as she stitched a patch over atorn knee. She had had some forebodings concerning worn-out clothing andthe availability of new cloth, but she needn't have worried. There hadbeen bolts of cloth at Laramie. Even Snedeker had some in stock and hehad assured her that most trading posts carried it.

  Across the table, Barbara was mending one of Tad's shirts. Emma lookedat her daughter and smiled.

  "It's almost the last one, isn't it?"

  "It is the last."

  "Good." Emma breathed her fill of the balmy air that came in a gentlestream through the door. "Isn't this weather wonderful?"

  "It's heavenly!" Barbara sighed.

  Emma hid a smile. Barbara had walked light-footed and light hearted formost of the winter, and nothing had worn a plain face since the night ofthe storm. She saw beauty in everything, even the cabin's rough-hewnrafters, and Emma had done nothing to mar her joy. Hurt would come toBarbara as it came to everyone, but hurt, work and struggling were someof the catalysts that fused a marriage. Emma worked busily on.

  She was happy for Barbara and Ellis, but she knew that Ellis retained astreak of wildness. That was not extraordinary; no young man worth hissalt is contented to plod along like an ox or a cow. Emma had beenpretty much satisfied with her son-in-law-to-be since Christmas Eve whenshe'd talked to him and she felt reasonably sure he'd outgrow hiswildness, but she did not discount the possibility that Ellis's temperand impulsiveness might lead him astray, or cause the engagement to bebroken before he'd had time to outgrow it. She laid the mended trouserson the table and thrust her threaded needle into her apron front.Barbara finished Tad's shirt and hung it on a peg.

  "That's all, Mother."

  "We do seem to be caught up." Emma glanced critically at Barbara'smending and found it good. "But let me show you something."

  She went to her trunk and from it took three partial bolts of gingham,one blue, one brown and one tan, and unfolded a strip of each one as shelaid them on the table.

  "What do you think of it?"

  Barbara's eyes sparkled. She touched the cloth with gentle fingers andstroked it.

  "It's lovely! What are you going to do with it?"

  "Housewives need house dresses, darling."

  "But, Mother you've several now."

  Emma laughed. "It's you I'm thinking of. You didn't suppose I was goingto let you come all the way to Oregon to languish in a cabin, did you? Ibought this from Lester Tenney two days before we left."

  "Mother!" To Barbara every evidence that she would some day actually bemarried to Ellis had a kind of magic in it, and she touched the clothagain, a benediction. Life was full of the most beautiful promise. Eventhe small threat that Hugo Gearey might come again to plague her hadbeen dispelled by news of his transfer. The future held no blemish.

  Knife on one side of his belt, hatchet on the other, Tad came into thecabin. He looked at Barbara with a smile that was half a leer, and Emmaknitted vexed brows. Tad seemed to derive a vast amusement fromBarbara's and Ellis's engagement, but what Emma did not know was that,one evening when they thought they were alone, Tad had happened on Elliskissing his sister. He hadn't made his presence known, he had slippedaway as quietly as he came, and he had never told anyone. Why any manshould kiss a girl at all was beyond his comprehension. Why Ellis, towhom Tad had looked up but who had since fallen several notches in Tad'sestimation, should bother kissing Barbara, was a complete mystery. Butit was a hilarious mystery and one that had furnished Tad no end ofprivate amusement.

  "Hi," he said.

  Emma said, "Tad! How many times must I tell you to wipe the mud fromyour shoes before you come in?"

  "Oh, yeah." Tad looked down at his muddy boots. "Well, I was goin' rightout again anyhow."

  He scooted out the door and Emma sighed, "That boy can't sit still aminute!"

  She went to the door to see where he had gone but he was already out ofsight. The younger children, supervised by little Joe, were building ahouse from stray pieces of wood that they picked up in the yard. Emmalooked down to where Joe worked, and for a moment her eyes dwelt warmlyon him.

  She went back inside to cut the patterns for Barbara's house dresses.

  * * * * *

  Joe, Ellis and Jim Snedeker, were notching the logs that Joe and Ellishad cut and brought in. An old man, Snedeker was by no means feeble.Though not as active as either Joe or Ellis, he had used an ax for moreyears than Joe was old and he made up in skill what he lacked inagility. Though Joe was the best ax man of the trio, Snedeker notchedalmost as many logs as Ellis.

  Joe worked willingly, happily, for this was work he liked. But withinhim was again a mighty restlessness and he kept his face turned to thesouth wind. Every tiny variation in it became almost a personal issue,for they had set out from Missouri to build a new life in Oregon andnothing must interfere. When the snow melted grass would grow, and thesnow would melt if the south wind blew. As soon as there was enoughgrass they could be on their way.

  Near where they were working, a group of quaking aspens, their trunksand branches already colored with spring's green hue, trembled in thewind. A hare hopped among them, crouched at the base of a tree and satperfectly still. A happy canine grin on his face, ears pricked up, Mikeran through the soggy snow to give chase and the two disappeared.Snedeker rested his ax on a log.

  "Wish I'd kep' count of the piddlin' little critters that dog of your'nhas took after, Joe. He has done naught else sinst you fetched himhere."

  "He's been chasing them all the way from Missouri," Joe said. "The darndog's probably run far enough to get him to Oregon and back six timesover. But he hasn't caught anything yet."

  "That don't stop his tryin'," Snedeker grunted. "Puts me in mind of atrapper I knowed. He ketched more beaver'n anybody elst, an' when nobodyin the hul show could find buffalo, he could. But what he wanted was awhite b'ar. The place was thick with 'em, but his medicine wasn't rightfor white b'ar. Ever'body elst run on 'em, but not Piegan Kelley. Got sohe'd rush through his traps, skin out his pelts, an' rush off to find awhite b'ar. Finally he found one. B'ar found him the same time. When Icome up the b'ar was layin' dead as a stone an' Piegan was almost so.But he was grinnin' like a coyote that just ketched an antelope kid.'Got my b'ar,' says he to me, I can die happy now.' He did, too. That'sthe way 'twill be with your dog."

  The aspen branches rattled more violently. Joe looked toward them.Quaking aspen quivered even when all other trees were still, and Joe hadnever known why.

  "Why do aspens shake, Jim?" he asked.

  "They're soft. I figger their branches ain't tight's other trees."

  "That isn't the reason at all," Ellis dissented. "The Cross on whichChrist was crucified was made of aspen, and since then all aspens havetrembled."

  "Whar'd you l'arn that?" Snedeker demanded.

  "I'm just naturally smart. Besides, I saw it in a book."

  "Book l'arnin'," Snedeker pronounced gravely, "don't do nobody no good.Gives 'em fancy ideas in a plain kentry. You ought to tell the missusthat, Joe."

  Joe grinned. Emma had been teaching Tad and baby Emma the fundamentalsof English, arithmetic, and spelling. It had helped her pass the timeand, in spite of Snedeker's ideas on the subject, it would help theyoungsters too.

  "Your freckle-faced young 'un's comin'," Snedeker said.

  Mike came racing back to leap on Tad. The dog frolicked around
him,wagging his tail furiously. Tad pushed him away and Mike fell in at hismaster's side. Joe smiled. Mike hadn't earned his keep in Missouri or onthe Trail either, but it was a comfort to know that he was there and hewas a companion for Tad.

  "Can I take the rifle an' go huntin', Pa?" Tad asked.

  "It's pretty slushy."

  "I'll mind my step."

  "Well, go ahead. But don't go too far."

  Mike padding beside him, Tad trotted back to get the rifle. Snedekerlooked after him.

  "Ain't you scair't to let him tote a rifle?" he asked Joe.

  "I would have been back in Missouri, but not here. He's learned a lot."

  "Likely little sprout," Snedeker asserted. "I mind the time--"

  Snedeker was off on a long, rambling story about a young Mexican they'dfound in Santa Fe and Joe listened with half an ear. Missouri, somehow,seemed very far off and unreal, as though they'd never lived thereexcept in a dream. Oregon was the only reality, and they had alreadycovered a good part of the Trail. If they started from Snedeker's assoon as travel conditions permitted, they would reach Oregon long beforethose who started this spring from Independence. There would be plentyof time to find land they liked, build a cabin, and probably to plantsome crops.

  "--the kid went to Texas," Snedeker finished. "The last I hear about himhe's doin' right well for hisself stealin' hosses an' cattle in Mexicoan' runnin' 'em over the border. Joe, you ain't payin' me no mind!"

  "Oh--Oh yes, I heard you. Jim, when can we expect grass?"

  "Emmy-grants," Snedeker grumbled. "They light out for Oregon an' theirtail's afire 'til they get thar. Then they spend the rest of their daysmilkin' fool cows an' steerin' a plow. I don't know why any of youbother to leave Mizoury."

  "The ground's softer in Oregon," Joe grinned. "It makes for easierplowing."

  "Pah! If the Lord meant men to plow, they'd of been born with a plow intheir hands."

  "And if He meant them to shoot, I suppose they'd be born with a rifle intheir hands?"

  "'Tain't the same thing. 'Tain't the same thing at all. Sounds like youryoung-un's shot at somethin'."

  Up on the ridge, the rifle cracked, and its echoes died in the distance.Joe listened for a second shot but heard none. Twenty minutes later Tadappeared, dragging a timber wolf by a rope around its neck while Miketrotted proudly beside him. Tad panted to a halt.

  "There was three of 'em!" he gloated. "They was goin' to jump old Mikean' they didn't even see me! The other two cootered off like scaredrabbits when I shot this one! Plunked him right in the ear!"

  "Was he runnin'?" Snedeker inquired.

  "Nah!" Tad said scornfully. "He was just trottin'."

  "Did you aim at his ear?"

  "Sure. Figgered that'd put him down to stay."

  Snedeker said dryly, "Well, don't be shootin' at my ear no matter if I'mwalkin' or gallopin'. You'll be a right handy man with a rifle afteryou've growed a mite."

  "You should have hunted something we could eat," Joe said.

  "Don't be preachin' thataway," Snedeker protested. "Meat's to be had forthe takin', but wolf pelts ain't. Pelt that critter, cure the pelt, an'some Oregon-bound emmy-grant will pay fancy for it."

  "Do they buy such things?"

  "They spend money for what takes their eye. An' what takes their eye isever'thing. You could sell 'em a full-sized steamboat if you had one tosell. They couldn't haul it along, an' even if they could they wouldn'tknow what to do with it in Oregon. But they'd buy it. Young'un, you mindthat short rifle in my rack?"

  "Yes."

  "Want to swap your wolf pelt for it?"

  "Gee!" Tad gasped.

  "Pelt this critter out an' the rifle's your'n, long with the horn an'bullet mold. Bullets you got to mold yourself."

  "Oh!" Tad was walking on clouds. "Can I have it, Pa?"

  "Mr. Snedeker says so."

  "I'll pelt the wolf right away, just as soon as I've looked at therifle!"

  Tad dragged the wolf toward the store. Joe watched him go, then turnedto Snedeker.

  "No pelt's worth a rifle."

  "Not usually it ain't. But any sprout that size who can aim at atrottin' wolf's ear an' hit thar can swap the pelt for a rifle with meany time. It's wuth it."

  Joe shook a puzzled head; he'd thought he understood Snedeker thoroughlyand found that he did not. However, the old man had conceived a greatliking for Tad.

  The gentle wind blew all day, turning everything in a sea of slush. Theyounger children had played outside until nearly evening because theirplaying ground was reasonably dry, and Emma had been relieved ofwatching them. She met Joe smilingly, and was gay, when he went in forthe evening meal. But not all her high spirits were induced because thechildren hadn't harried her. Much as she feared the open plains, theyseemed less worrisome now, in the bland spring weather, than theeverlasting walls of their cabin. All winter long she had been confinedin or near the cabin, and now release was in sight. That promise wasborne on the warm wind, and in the melting snow. They had come this farand Oregon no longer seemed a great distance away.

  "It won't be long before grass grows," Joe assured her.

  "I know. I can feel it."

  The warm spell continued and every day more snow melted. Here and there,where the sun shone all day long, a patch of bare, wet earth appeared.The aspens sprouted fluffy buds and a flock of northbound geese honkedover. Emma's hens, that had been shut in their shed all winter, could goout and scratch in the earth and they began to lay again.

  Joe, Ellis and Jim Snedeker, continued to work on Snedeker's newbuilding and Joe knew that the old Mountain Man hoped he would stayuntil it was completed. He said nothing; Snedeker had always gone wherehe wished when he wanted to go there and he never asked any man'spermission. It went without saying that everybody else had the samefreedom of choice and he would not try to hold Joe. But Snedeker wasold. He could not erect the building himself and there was no certaintyas to when he would find another emigrant willing to trade his labor formoney or supplies. Snedeker needed help now.

  Because he wanted to help him, and because he found in hard work ananodyne for growing restlessness, Joe drove himself and Ellis furiously.Ellis kept his mouth shut and followed Joe's orders. They laid sills onthe site Snedeker had chosen and used skids to roll logs on top ofthem. When the walls were as high as they must be, the roof was made ofpoles overlaid and braced with more poles. Joe showed Ellis how to splitshakes from a block of cedar. One blow of the ax did it, and though theshakes were not uniform in size they were a better roof than the mixedclay and mud that thatched the other buildings. Snedeker had covered hisroofs with the same material he used for chinking.

  But, even as he worked, Joe fretted. The fuzzy aspen buds gave way totiny leaves, and only in places that the sun seldom touched did snowlinger in dirty gray patches. A pregnant earth was taut with labor painsand about to give birth to all its fullness.

  They worked from daylight to dark, but after they were finished Joe andEmma could not stay in the cabin. The Trail wound past Snedeker's postand disappeared in the west. At the end of the Trail was a dream cometrue, and every night, hand in hand, they walked down it. In thedarkness Joe got to his hands and knees to feel for grass, without whichthere could be no travel. Only when he had assured himself that therewas not yet enough did his soul know any peace.

  Joe's impatience mounted and he controlled it only by working furiouslyon Snedeker's new building. It was to be half again as big as thepresent store which would become a warehouse for buffalo robes, andSnedeker had made more concessions to comfort. In the post he and Ellisslept on the floor, using buffalo robes as a mattress and more forcovering, but here there would be bunks. There was also to be afireplace in Snedeker's private quarters, and that was a real revolutionbecause never before had he had one. Snedeker and Ellis rose and dressedin their freezing quarters at the post.

  A good carpenter himself, Snedeker was working on the roof beside Joewhen Joe suddenly threw his hammer to the ground. In the pin
es a songsparrow was pouring its heart out, and from somewhere an early-arrivingsparrow scolded. A covey of small clouds winged across the sky, and Joesat watching and listening. Snedeker stopped working and looked at himcuriously. Joe looked down at the greening grass around the post andfollowed the Trail with his eyes. He said,

  "Just figured something, Jim."

  "Yeah?"

  "The Trail isn't too soft and my animals are in good shape. They won'tneed much eating for a while, and in another week the grass will betall."

  "Yep. That's right."

  "So we're leaving tomorrow."

  "Wait a mite an' there'll be a wagon train through that you can jine upwith."

  "We came this far alone. We can go the rest of the way."

  "Reckon you can. Sort of don't like to see you an' your missus an' allthem kids light a shuck from here, though. The place has been rightsociable all winter long."

  "Since when did you have to have things sociable?"

  "Must be gettin' old," Snedeker confessed. "You know Ellis ain't lettin'that girl child of your'n outen his sight? He'll go with you."

  Joe looked gravely at the horizon. He had already told Ellis that he wasBarbara's father, not her master, and that he had no intention ofchoosing a husband for her. But he worried greatly about the pair. Younglove was a glorious thing, a bright and glittering ride on a rainbow.But all too often young lovers saw only the glitter and the rainbow, andEllis was still unstable. Joe thought of men he had known, ClaudeCarson, Thomas Severence, Arnold Pulaski, who had been unable to facethe problems marriage brought and had simply walked out on theirfamilies. Suppose Ellis married and deserted Barbara? The prairie was aneasy place in which to disappear. But all Joe said was,

  "I figured he'd go."

  Snedeker sighed. "If I liked farmin', which I don't, I'd go too. But Idon't guess I'd like it anyhow. Oregon's civilized by this time."

  "You can finish the building yourself, can't you?"

  "Yeah. 'Tain't naught to do but finish the roof, chink her, an' finishthe innards. Ain't no hurry nohow. Injuns won't be down for a spell yetan' emmy-grants will be later. If I lag too far behint I'll get one of'em to help me. Do you know whar you're goin' in Oregon?"

  "No. I'll have to decide after we get there."

  "I ain't tellin' you what to do, but if you want real good country wharyou can take your pick, thar's some a mite beyond Fort Boise. Preachernamed Whitman used to have a mission near thar until he an' ever'bodyelst in the mission was kilt by Injuns, mebbe a dozen years back. Armypost, Camp Axton, not too far away. About half a day west of Axtonyou'll come to a crick. Clear as a bell she is, an you can't go wrong onaccount the white stones in the crick. Turn north on the east bank an'you'll come to some medders whar the grass grows high's a pony's head.Emmy-grants haven't liked to stop thar sinst the Whitman massacre, butit's a good place if you've a mind to look at it."

  "I might just do that," Joe decided. "How are the Indians now?"

  Snedeker shrugged. "Like they allus are. You can get along with 'em ifyou want to. Just let 'em know your rifle's loaded an' you can shoot it,but don't shoot unless you have to. You, Ellis an' that sharp-shootin'kid of yours won't have too much to trouble your heads about. Besides,thar's goin' to be more emmy-grants findin' them medders an' asettlement will go up thar. If you do like it, an' want to stake outsome of them medders, build away from the crick. She can be a realrampagious thing when she gets high."

  They climbed down the ladder. Ellis sawing apertures for windows, cameout of the building to join them. His eyes sought and found Barbara, whowas washing clothes on a bench beside the cabin. A little smile lightedhis face, and Joe thought curiously that, when he looked that way, hewas not at all like Percy Pearl.

  "Tuck your shirt tail in an' hitch up your belt!" Snedeker called."You're shovin' off in the mornin', so let's get the wagon loaded!"

  They started in the early dawn, while a light drizzle dripped from acloudy sky and wispy tendrils of mist lingered like the dresses ofghosts in every sheltered nook and gully. Barbara remained in the wagonto look after the little ones, and Ellis rode up ahead on King. The hatBarbara had knitted for him planted firmly on his head, Snedeker stoodin the doorway of his post and waved good-by. They waved back, and allwere light-hearted and gay. Their stay at Snedeker's had been pleasant,but they were going to Oregon and Snedeker would not be lonely for verylong. While the lost wagon hit the trail west, other wagons werestarting from various points on the Missouri. Snedeker would havecompany and he would fit in nowhere except here.

  They rounded a bend and Snedeker's post was lost to sight. Nobody lookedback any more, but only ahead. Ahead lay Oregon.