CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Mule
They had been a month on the Trail. Behind them lay a land of startlingcontrast and grim beauty. They'd forded or ferried rivers and creeksthat wound out of fastnesses so remote and silent that they seemed tohave no end. Weird formations of varicolored rocks had formed desolatelittle wildernesses all by themselves. Cloud-stabbing peaks withsnow-whitened summits had loomed in the distance. It was not a gentlecountry nor was it a place for timid people. But to the hardy of souland the strong in heart who were able to face the challenges it flung,it was good.
Tad loved it, and Joe responded to it. Emma did not like it. For her itwas too vast, too big and too grim, and while she appreciated its beautyshe hoped that Oregon would be more soft and gentle. Little Joe frownedwhile he sought answers to problems which he felt must exist here andthe rest of the young children were merely curious. Tired of theday-after-day riding, they wanted little now except to find the end ofthe journey and to be suitably diverted en route.
Barbara and Ellis, aglow with love for each other, saw the land theywere passing through in a sort of happy daze. Each day was marvelousbecause each day they could be together, but the most imposing scenicview or the most majestic mountain meant less to them than a moon orstar-lit evening when they could walk beneath soft light and be away onthe magic wings that are granted all young lovers. While they were withthose in the wagon they were at the same time apart from them. To each,the most important thing in the world was the other. A word, or agesture, which in ordinary living would be commonplace, acquired ameaning and a significance all its own. Their private world was awonderful place which no one else could enter.
They had seen no Indians but they were in Indian country. The mules andthe cow were always staked close to the wagon and were never leftunwatched. Guard duty was a source of special delight to Tad who alwaystook the first watch in the first couple of hours after nightfall. Mikebeside him, the rifle Snedeker had given him clutched firmly in bothhands, Tad investigated every small sound that occurred and when thereweren't any he invented some. To Tad's great disappointment no Indianshad appeared yet, but he hadn't lost hope. Each night, at ten o'clock,Tad went grudgingly to the bed while Joe took over until two. The thirdwatch was Ellis's.
Ellis lay prone in the grass, his head resting on cupped hands and hisrifle beside him. Near by, the mules had eaten as much as they wantedand were standing close together. The tethered cow had lain down to chewher cud, and the wagon's stained cover seemed pure white in the night'sunreal glow. Ellis's big horse stamped a hoof and switched flies withits tail. Ellis raised his head to look at the horse and settled back towatch the star-studded sky.
It seemed to him that his life had had three phases. The first was hischildhood, and he remembered his gay and gentle mother. She had soothedhis cut fingers, skinned knees, heartbreaks, all the little tragedies ofchildhood that are unimportant to almost everyone except a child.Vividly, Ellis remembered riding with her, she on a spirited horse whilehe bestrode a pony. It had always seemed to him that they could rideforever.
The second, which Ellis thought of as his sterile phase, came after hismother died. His father was affectionate and kind, and in his own way hehad been proud of Ellis. But he had been too preoccupied with gamblingand his numerous enterprises to give enough attention to his son. Ellishad been grief-stricken when he died, but it was not the completedesolation he had known when his mother passed away.
The years when Uncle George had been in charge of him were the worst ofall--Uncle George, the sanctimonious cheat who had come into possessionof most of the family fortune, and by methods so legalistic and cleverthat even Ellis's friends, who wanted to help him, could do nothing. Butthat was all in the past. Ellis had hated George at the time, but laterevents had made that hatred seem somehow dim and unimportant.
The third phase, a short one, had centered about Mary Harkness, avivacious, pretty, intelligent little brunette. Ellis had thrown himselfheart and soul at her feet. He knew now that she had never wanted himthere and had tried, as politely as possible, to tell him so. ButEllis's whole world had crashed when Mary married another.
Now, Ellis felt, he was entering upon the fourth and most worth-whilephase of his life. It seemed to him that, until he met Barbara, he hadnever known his capacity for feeling. It was almost like living fortwenty years without ever having been fully alive. In Barbara layfruition and in her was the only possible life. Ellis knew, and he wasgrateful to Mary Harkness because she had helped him now. Ellis knewalso that Emma trusted him pretty much, though not entirely, and he hada feeling that Joe trusted him not at all. At the thought of Joe'sworried and suspicious eyes watching him, Ellis felt the familiar rageand resentment beginning to surge up in him, and he clamped down hard onit because conquering his temper was the one thing he was determined todo.
Suddenly he sat up and grasped his rifle in both hands. Out of the nighthad come a sound that should not be. A moment later a shadow movedbefore him and Ellis's heart leaped.
"Bobby!"
"I couldn't sleep," she said softly. "I came out to see you."
He rose, encircled her slim waist with his arms and kissed her. Theirlips parted but their arms remained about each other while they lookedat the stars and for the moment they were the whole world.
Ellis said, "I wish we were in Oregon."
"Why?"
"So I could marry you."
She said dreamily, "I wish we were there too." Then she smiled. "Motherand Daddy were funny about insisting that all of us be settled in Oregonbefore we could get married."
"Settled, _and_ with a roof over our heads," he reminded her. He grinneddryly. "Guess maybe they're still not sure I'm capable of putting up aroof."
"Oh, they think you're capable, all right." She giggled. "I guess theythink you might take a fancy to some other girl. You know, an impulse.You've got lots of impulses, Ellis Garner!"
"You're absolutely right," he agreed. "I've got an impulse right now tokiss you twice." He did so. "And to build a big, beautiful home for usand our twenty children." His voice settled into a soft, crooningrhythm. "I'll build a palace for my queen," he promised, "all of purewhite marble. But the colors inside will be warm and beautiful, likeyou. And every day I'll bring you milk and honey, and all the rest ofthe time I'll be happy just to look at you."
She laughed gently. "Oh no, Ellis. It will be a nice log house, with abig kitchen where I can make the things you like, and every day when youcome in from the fields you'll bring me wild flowers. Except in winter,of course. Then you can bring me evergreen branches with bittersweet totrim them so I can always have everything looking just the way you wantit to look."
They stood together while the night wore on and dawn came. Ellis turnedwith a guilty start.
"I shouldn't have kept you up!"
"I _want_ to be up. This is more fun than sleeping!"
"You aren't tired?"
"Truly I'm not."
"Do you want to ride ahead this morning?"
"Oh yes!"
Hand in hand they walked back to the wagon. Ellis built a fire andheated water. Coming from the wagon, Joe stretched and went to look atthe mules. A moment later, Emma had a gentle greeting and a caressinglook for the two young people. They sat side by side and ate breakfast.Then Ellis saddled his horse and both mounted.
This was part of their ritual, something they did every day, and theytold themselves that they were scouting the trail. But in reality, thewagon was slow and the horse was fast. He provided the wings which theirfancies created for them. Barbara, no more than a feather's weight,encircled Ellis's waist and they were off. They would ride perhaps fouror five miles, then walk together, leading the horse, until the wagoncaught up with them. But this morning they were scarcely out of sight ofthe wagon when they saw them.
They were coming up the Trail, a dozen men mounted on tough, wiry littlehorses, and Ellis needed no second glance to know that they wereIndians. He clenched his long rifle and w
hispered,
"See them?"
"I see them," she whispered back.
They were walking their horses, but when they saw Ellis and Barbara theybroke into a trot. Barbara's arms tightened about him, and Ellis saidgently,
"Don't be afraid."
She shivered. "They--they're coming."
"But they can't catch us."
He wheeled his big horse and let him thunder back the way they had come.Barbara's fear ebbed. Ellis, she told herself, would know what to do. Healways knew. They came in sight of the wagon and Joe stopped the mules.Ellis reined alongside.
"Indians," he said quickly. "We'd better be ready."
Tad, who had wanted an Indian fight but who was now shaken at theprospect of one, leaned against the wagon wheel with his rifle in hishands. He stopped shaking and looked to the priming of his rifle whilehis jaw set grimly. Joe sat on the seat, his rifle ready. Ellis andBarbara remained on King. Just before the Indians came, Ellis spokesharply and with authority. "We're outnumbered, Joe. We don't want afight. We won't raise a gun unless they do--and then we'll shoot tokill. But remember, and you too, Tad! Don't raise your gun unless I sayso."
The Indians came.
They stopped about twenty feet away, twelve grim men whose garb andcoloration revealed that they were Indians and whose faces revealednothing. Two had rifles, the rest bows and arrows. They were looking atthe mules, the horse, the wagon and Barbara. As though he never hadthought that he could be stopped, as though nothing could stop him, abrave on a black pony rode up to Ellis. But he ignored Ellis andexamined Barbara gravely. Joe's hand clenched over his rifle stock,waiting for a signal from Ellis. Ellis made no sound.
The Indian lifted his hand as though to touch Barbara's hair. Tad frozeand nearly cried out. Joe leaned tensely forward, the lining of histhroat dry.
Still there was no sound or movement from Ellis.
The Indian's hand touched Barbara's hair. She did not flinch. With hishand still on her hair, the Indian now turned to look full into Ellis'seyes. It was a long look, silent, mysterious and compelling, and Ellisreturned it without moving, without blinking. The silence was intense,and through it the only sound was the quick, harsh breathing of Emmainside the wagon, clutching baby Carlyle to her breast. Barbara grittedher teeth and thought that in one more instant she would scream.
The Indian's hand stroked her hair gently, as though the feel of it wassomething strange and wonderful. Then his hand fell away. He reined hishorse around and, without a sound and without a change of expression,the twelve men turned and galloped back the way they had come.
Still encircling Ellis, Barbara's arms went limp. Joe sat silently onthe wagon seat, not yet fully comprehending what had happened because ithad happened too fast to permit full comprehension. But this much heknew. Ellis, the hot-tempered one, the impulsive one, had showed thegreatest nerve and steadiness of them all. Ellis had saved them from abloody and losing battle. Tad, too, recognized this. His eyes, fixed onEllis, were adoring and would forever adore.
Tad looked at his sister, the luckiest of all girls.
* * * * *
The sun was warm and good on the wagon cover, and green grass that hadnot yet reached the fullness of its maturity grew in and on both sidesof the Oregon Trail. It was grazed a little but not heavily, for the fewtravelers they'd met had been coming east from Oregon. There wereMountain Men with sometimes only the horse they rode, the clothes theywore, and the rifle they carried. Others had from two to as many asthirty pack animals, loaded either with furs or with goods that theywere taking to Fort Boise. But the Oregon Trail, probably the longest,widest, and most heavily traveled in the history of the world, had notyet known the great press of traffic that it would know as soon asland-hungry emigrants reached this place. That would be months; thefastest-traveling wagons wouldn't get here until the last part of Augustor the first part of September.
Ellis and Barbara, on Ellis's horse, had gone down the Trail together.Carrying his short rifle proudly, Tad walked beside the wagon and Mikepadded at his heels. The back flaps were open to allow free passage ofair and the youngsters crowded at the back, looking out. They were inOregon, the Promised Land, and they remained so interested that theyplayed their games only at sporadic intervals. Sitting beside Joe, Emmahad taken off her bonnet and a soft wind played with her silky hair.Emma knew a great peace and a quiet happiness. For almost a year theyhad been homeless wanderers and now, soon, they were once again to havea home.
"Look at the land here!" Joe gloated. "Look at the grass! A manwouldn't have to be much of a farmer to grow crops in land like that!"
"I love it, Joe!"
"So do I!"
Joe drew a long breath. He had his ax, his rifle and his tools. Themules were his and so was the cow. Everything a man could possibly needwas at hand, but it was different because complete freedom was presenthere too. The next time Joe plowed a field he would be plowing it forhimself and not for Elias Dorrance. Joe slapped the reins over themules' rumps to make them walk a little faster. Then he eased all reinpressure while a little fright rose within him.
Both mules had started out briskly that morning, and he had given themonly cursory attention, but now he saw that the mare mule was walkingwith her head down and ears drooping. She was unsteady on her feet, andwhen Joe slapped the reins she swayed from side to side. Emma saw ittoo, and the alarm she felt was plain in her voice,
"What's the matter?"
"I don't know."
The team halted as soon as he spoke, and the horse mule turned aquestioning head toward his mate. He sniffed softly at the mare, and Joehopped from the wagon seat to walk to the head of the team. The horseregarded him anxiously, but the mare stood tiredly in harness with hernose almost touching the Trail. Gently, Joe took hold of their bridlesand led them into grass. The mare gasped for breath.
"She's sick!" Joe said. "We'll have to stop!"
Tad came over. His rifle, that had not been out of his sight since he'downed it, hung in the crook of his arm and concern was written on hisface.
"What's wrong, Pa?"
"I don't know."
As gently as possible he unhitched the team, and stripped theirharnesses off. The horse mule he picketed, but the mare was leftunhampered. She walked a few uncertain steps and halted. The horsefollowed anxiously, and stood very close to her. He moved aside when Joecame in for a closer examination. Soothing the sick beast with hisvoice, he lifted her flabby lips and looked inside her mouth. Her tonguewas hot, her breath foul.
Joe stepped back. He had considered himself familiar with mules and thediseases of mules, but he was not familiar with this. It must besomething peculiar to western country; maybe last night or this morningthe mule had eaten something that poisoned her. Or perhaps it was theresult of some poisonous insect's bite. It was not snake poison; Joe wasfamiliar with snake-struck mules and he knew that, if they were rested,they would recover. He filled a bucket at the water barrel and held itunder the mare's muzzle, but she took only a few sips and staggeredaway. The children watched concernedly and Emma asked,
"Is she going to die, Joe?"
Suddenly the distances again seemed vast and the Trail forlorn. For thefirst time Joe realized completely just how dependent they were upon themules and how lost they would be without them. A broken wagon might berepaired, but one mule couldn't pull it. Joe turned to the medicine hecarried in his tool chest and he shook the brown bottle. But even as hedid so he felt the hopelessness of it. This was Missouri medicine andthe mule had an Oregon ailment. Tad called,
"She's down!"
Joe turned to see the mule fallen in the grass and making a valianteffort to hold her head up. But even as he looked her head lowered, sothat she lay prostrate, and the heavy rasp of her labored breathing wasterrible to hear. Breath rattled in her throat and there were a fewshort gasps. Then silence. The horse mule raised his head and tail anddelivered an ear-splitting bray. Very gently, walking slowly, the horsewent to his dead
mate and touched her with his muzzle.
Emma looked to Joe, and she saddened, because more than at any timeduring the entire trip, Joe now looked distraught and worried. She knewthat these were not the rich, flat, well-watered meadows that Snedekerhad talked about. They must travel farther, and to be forced to stopnow, and thus lose precious plowing and planting days for the firstseason's crop, was a bitter disappointment. They were more helpless,actually, than they had been at any time before for how, in this vastuninhabited wilderness, did a person go about buying a mule? Joe squaredhis shoulders and tried to conceal his own worry. They could not stayhere but, obviously, neither could they go on.
"Ellis will be back soon," he said. "We'll hitch his horse with theother mule."
The horse mule lingered near his dead mate, looking fixedly at her, andJoe turned away. For seven years the team had worked together inharness. They knew each other as no man can hope to know a mule, andmules are sensitive. The horse knew what had happened and there was noneto share his grief. Emma said pityingly,
"Poor beast, poor faithful beast."
Joe muttered, "I wish Ellis would come."
But another hour passed before Ellis and Barbara came riding back up thetrail down which they had ventured so happily. Ellis drew the horse to awalk and the laughter that had been his faded.
Joe saw quick hurt flood Barbara's face and tears glisten in her eyes.She slid from the horse and stood for a moment looking at the dead mule.Then she disappeared around the wagon. Even while his heart went out toher, Joe knew misgivings. Barbara had never been able to see anythingshe liked hurt, but this was a new country where some things were boundto get hurt. How many more hurts would she have in the west?
"Lost a mule." Joe could not keep the worry from his voice. "I don'treally know what happened. Let's hitch your horse in with the other oneand get out of here."
"Right."
Ellis slid from his horse and unsaddled him. The horse stood quivering,a little afraid, when Joe approached with the mare mule's harness. Hewas a saddle mount and had never worn a harness, but he had completefaith in Ellis. The horse pushed a trusting muzzle against his masterwhile Joe adjusted the harness to fit. Joe said,
"Bring him over."
Joe leaped just in time to avoid the mule's lunge, and the bridle wasjerked from his hand. The animal went berserk. His ears were back. Eyesblazed and his awful mule's mouth was savagely open as he leaped at thehorse. Coming to the end of his picket rope, he was brought up short andreared to paw the air with furious hoofs while he squealed his rage.
The horse was plunging too, dragging Ellis as he sought to avoid thefury coming at him. He snorted and reared, and allowed himself to behalted only when a hundred yards separated him from the enraged mule.The horse rolled his eyes and shivered. He eyed the mule, ready to runagain should it come again. But once the horse was chased to a safedistance the mule merely returned to his dead mate and stood quietlynear her. He did not resent Joe's presence and he made no protest whenJoe stroked him softly. But the horse could not come near.
Joe said, "Well have to get another mule."
"Do you think he'll work with one?"
"He won't work with the horse."
"I'll get a mule," Ellis said.
"Where?"
Ellis set his jaw. "Ride down the Trail until I find one."
He took the mare mule's harness from his horse and put the saddle backon. Barbara came from behind the wagon and Joe looked wonderingly ather. There had been tears, but there weren't any now. She walkedstraight, her shoulders braced as Tad braced his. Joe had a curiousfeeling that he no longer knew this lovely youngster. She had leftMissouri a young girl; now she was a young woman. Joe knew suddenlythat she would never again throw herself, sobbing, into his arms. Shehad learned to cope with her own fears and heartbreaks. There was atouch of almost wifely solicitude in her voice.
"You be careful, Ellis."
"Don't you be worrying about me."
"Here." Joe took out his wallet. "You'll need money."
"I've got some."
He kissed Barbara, mounted, and set off down the Trail.
Joe watched him go, and as the young figure sitting jauntily astride hishorse disappeared over the horizon Joe knew a twinge of apprehension. IfEllis found a mule pretty soon, he'd likely bring it back. But if he hadto go very far, and a mule was too hard to find, and if he came uponsome other traveling family in which there was a pretty girl and hereceived a warm invitation or a good offer--No, no, Joe told himself.Ridiculous. Ellis was made of better stuff than that. And then, in orderto reassure himself, he turned to Barbara and said, "He'll be back,Bobby."
Her voice was calm. "Of course he'll be back. And he'll bring a mule."
Joe turned away. Bobby's love and faith shamed him but frightened him,too. If anything went wrong between Ellis and Barbara--but nothing couldgo wrong. Nothing would dare to go wrong. He felt himself fully capableof wringing Ellis's neck if he were to cause Bobby any unhappiness, andat the same time he recognized that wringing Ellis's neck was not likelyto insure Barbara's happiness.
Joe set himself to the tasks in hand. "I'll get firewood," he said.
Their meal was a silent and listness one, for the loss of the mare wasdeeply felt. For endless miles she had been one of their party, and nowshe was no more. She had helped pull the wagon all this way, but shewould not share the home they were to have at the end of the Trail.
Darkness fell. Emma and the children sought their beds in the wagon. ButJoe was restless and he had no wish to sleep. He stood under thestar-dappled sky and let the soft spring wind caress his cheek. The windwhispered to him and the earth seemed to pulse around him. There were noother sounds save the cow moving about and the occasional shuffle of thehorse mule's hoofs. He still stood watch over his dead mate and Joe feltsorry for him. But such things did happen and there was nothing anyonecould do about them. People had to weather their own misfortune andprove stronger than ill luck, because if they did not they were lost.Mules, Joe supposed, must do the same.
He sat on the wagon tongue feeling himself in tune with this new landthat he had decided to call home, and knowing it for a good land. Mikepadded up to crouch beside him, and Joe reached out in the star-litnight to pet the dog.
There came the sound of hoofs from down the Trail and Joe reached insidethe wagon for his rifle. He stood quietly, the rifle ready, and waitedfor Mike to bristle or challenge. But the dog remained quiet and Joerelaxed. An enemy would not approach openly. He heard Ellis's,
"It's me."
He came slowly on his horse, and by the light of the stars Joe saw thathe was leading a black mule. The horse mule called softly, walked to theend of his rope, and stared. The mule knew what was coming and he wouldwelcome one of his own kind where he would not tolerate a horse.
Joe said, "You got one, huh?"
"I got one."
"Where'd you get him?"
"Stole him," Ellis replied tersely.
Joe stood rooted in his tracks. Ellis's statement hit him like athunderbolt. He licked dry lips.
"That's right," Ellis said. "A couple of trappers have about forty mulesin a corral up the trail. When I asked them to sell me one they didn'tseem interested. I waited until nightfall and took one." He fixed Joewith a tired and angry glare. "Any complaints?"
Joe's jaw worked. The boy's headstrong action, and the cool way he toldabout it, frightened Joe anew. What other willful and dishonest actionswas he capable of? What was his Bobby getting into?
He tried to control himself. "You shouldn't have done that, Ellis."
Ellis squared around to face him. "I expected you to say exactly that,"he muttered. "Just how did you expect us to move on without anothermule?"
Joe had no immediate answer. He stood quiet, staring unhappily intoEllis's sullen face. "We'll take him back," he said.
"If that's the way you want it," Ellis said.
In the darkness, Joe walked to the black mule and laid a hand on hispowerful
neck. The mule smelled him over and nibbled Joe's arm with hislips. Ellis had brought no bronco, but a harness-broken mule. Joe tied arope to his halter and picketed him in the grass. The horse did notprotest when he was led away from the mare and picketed near.
Joe said shortly, "Better turn in, Ellis."
"All right."
Ellis spread his bedroll beside the wagon while Joe sought his bedinside. It was true that they had to have a mule and, in Ellis's place,he didn't know what he might have done. He supposed he'd have continuedon farther until he could buy a mule, even if it took another day ortwo. But it wasn't only the stealing of the mule--it was Ellis's calmway of reporting it that shocked him. The calm way, he knew, was acover-up for real anger. But why the anger? The whole thing worried himand it was some time before he could fall asleep. When he awakened thesoft light of early dawn had found its way into the wagon. Joe layquietly for a few minutes. They must return the stolen mule, or elsearrange to pay for it, but they might as well hitch both and drive downto the trappers' corral. Joe climbed out the rear of the wagon and madehis way to the front.
He heard the crack of the rifle, and felt the bullet smack into theground at his feet. Shocked with surprise, Joe stood still and for amoment his mind was incapable of directing his body. Still half asleep,Ellis sat up in his bedroll. There came a voice.
"Don't neither of ye move thar! Stand right still thar!"
They came from behind a huge boulder whose arched back lifted from theearth about sixty yards away. They were two men dressed in greasybuckskin and with long black hair brushing their shoulders. The man whohad shot carried a rifle in the crook of his arm but there was a pistolin his hand. They advanced purposefully, menacingly, and the morningwind ruffled their shaggy hair.
"Move," the smaller one said, "an' I'll drill ye clean. Bring him up,Pete."
Holstering his revolver, the tall man untethered the black mule andbrought him up to the wagon. Joe had a glance for the mule, a powerfulbeast that had not yet shed his long winter hair. The brisk wind playedwith it, laying it back along the black mule's flank and ribs. Thesmaller man looked at Joe's horse mule.
"Mought's well have 'em both. Git that one too."
"Now wait a minute--" Joe began.
"Don't 'wait a minute' me. My finger's right oneasy on this trigger an'I'd just as soon shoot a mule rustler."
"We were going to bring him back."
The smaller man laughed jeeringly and another rifle cracked as Tad shotfrom behind the wagon. There was a sodden "splat" as the bullet struckthe muzzle of the rifle covering Joe and Ellis. It snapped out of theshort man's hands, dropped to the ground, and as it did the black mulebegan to rear. The man holding him reached frantically for his revolver,but he needed both hands on the rope. Ellis dived to his bedroll androse to a kneeling position with his own rifle.
"Suppose," he said almost pleasantly, "that you two take a turn at notmoving! I can shoot, too."
Rage overspread the smaller man's face. The mule quieted, and the manholding him tried to slip beside him. But Joe had his rifle and Tad wasreloading.
Joe said quietly, "Get the mule, Ellis."
Ellis walked up to take the black mule. He led him aside, and Joeremained quiet.
"You two drop your guns."
They let their firearms fall to the ground. Joe ordered, "Now get out.You can pick up your guns after we leave. But if we see either of youagain, we'll shoot to kill."
They strode back toward where they'd left whatever mounts they'd riddenhere. Pale and shaken, Emma got out of the wagon to stand beside Joe.
"Joe, those men will give us trouble!"
Ellis, standing beside the black mule, spoke to Joe. "How come youdidn't give them back their mule?"
"Because it isn't their mule," Joe said. "Those men are rustlers. Allthey'll do is hightail it back to wherever they left their other stolenstock and get out of the country."
"Exactly," said Ellis. With his hand he parted the hair on the mule'sside, revealing a brand. "This is an army mule. It can be returned whenwe get to Camp Axton, which is probably where it was stolen in the firstplace."
Joe stared at him in astonishment. "You knew this all the time?"
"I know the army brand when I see it," Ellis said.
"Then why in tarnation didn't you tell me!"
Ellis gave him a straight look. "Because I knew you would put the worstpossible interpretation on anything I did. I knew if I stole a mule,you'd be ready to blast out at me before I had a chance to explain." Heclenched his teeth. "So I didn't feel like hurrying to explain."
Joe was flustered. "Too proud to explain, is that it?" he said. "By notexplaining, you hoped to make a fool of me, is that it?"
Ellis ignored the accusation. "The way I figured," he said, "this mulewill take us to Axton, and once we're there we stand a better chance tobuy a mule than we do out here in the middle of the prairie."
"Very true," said Joe. Ellis and Joe exchanged a long, silent look, inwhich Ellis accused Joe of judging him too hastily and Joe accused Ellisof making a fool of him by not explaining.
Bobby went to stand at Ellis's side. Her movement was a shock to Joe. Itmade him question himself. Was he looking for trouble with Ellis,perhaps more than he had any need to?
Joe swallowed his pride. "I been doing too much judging, Ellis," hesaid. "And I'm sorry."
Ellis grinned. "Forget it," he said. "When I get mad, I get ornery. Igot plenty of work to do on my temper."
The Lost Wagon Page 14