in the lead needed to head for a knoll if any were in the immediate vicinity and circle the top so as to let us fire downward. The wagons were to be left hitched, with the stock headed inward, except for the lead wagon. Then if we had to run for it, we could.
At night after we had formed our circle, the teams were to be unhitched and the wagons pulled close together by hand. The stock were to be herded out on the best grass, then brought in and tied to the outside wheels for the night. In the morning the stock was allowed to graze again until it was time to hitch them and leave.
Web said the stock was always to be closely guarded. We found out the reason for this two days later when our train came up to a group where the women were sitting around crying and the men were standing in groups talking very earnestly and not a hoof in sight. They'd left their stock out a little way from the wagons to feed without any guards and the Indians had seen their opportunity and run between them and their stock and run them all off.
We had to travel on and what became of those foolish people we never heard. No one had as yet complained about the tighter security and after that it was for sure no one would.
It took about three months to get to Oregon, and the trains leaving early in the year found good grass along the way and hit the passes as they were clearing of snow. Late trains went short of feed and were in danger of not getting across the Rockies.
With the weather being bad and all, I had kept pretty well wrapped up and nobody paid me any mind, but the sun began to dry out the land and heat up the days and one morning I took off my coat and scarf and tossed them into the wagon. It felt nice, walking along without that heavy coat making two of me to every step.
I shook out my hair and was stepping out lively when Web rode by. He was on his way out to scout ahead of the train for good grass and water for the stock, which he did every day. Anyway, he just reined in his horse and stared at me.
CHAPTER TWO
I squinted up into the sun, looking back at Web.
"Mallory?"
"Hi, Web."
He was looking like he couldn't believe his eyes. "You been hiding that hair all this time? You best cover it up again, girl."
He didn't make sense. "Why? What's wrong?" Even as I said it, I thought of Pa.
"Injins see that, we'll be fighting 'em off the whole trip."
"You really think I should?"
"Other folks see it, there'll be a heap of trouble."
"What other folks?"
"Too late," he muttered, as Calvert Smith rode up and smiled broadly at me.
Mr. Smith was a young man, around twenty-three, traveling alone with a nice outfit. He had hired an old soldier, Joe Peters, to drive his rig, while he himself rode a fancy stepping Tennessee Walker stallion. He had nice clothes and two pearl handled revolvers, stovepipe boots and a long black coat that he had discarded today also. He was all dressed up with white shirt and a velvet vest. A handsome man and he knew it.
He had taken to riding out ahead with Web, scouting for grass, but today he didn't seem interested in going and Web called out Burt Hayes' boy, Eliot, to go with him. I watched them ride off. Mr. Smith was still beside me and trying to make his presence known. I strode off after the wagon, paying him no mind so as he had to move that Walker out to keep up with me.
It was the first time I'd ever had a man interested in me, but I could feel it and knew it for what it was; a sudden awareness, an intensity in the air that wasn't there a moment earlier. My hair was man-bait and I realized that this must have been enough in my mind to cause me to keep it covered for so long. Good thing I had looked like a bum while out on the trails, alone.
"Pretty woman like you shouldn't have to walk, Miss Buchanan," he said and I turned my head and eyed that there stallion horse of his. I'd ridden mules mainly, and preferred a good mule to a horse. But one of those Courtney boys had come to our place riding a
At night after we had formed our circle, the teams were to be unhitched and the wagons pulled close together by hand. The stock were to be herded out on the best grass, then brought in and tied to the outside wheels for the night. In the morning the stock was allowed to graze again until it was time to hitch them and leave.
Web said the stock was always to be closely guarded. We found out the reason for this two days later when our train came up to a group where the women were sitting around crying and the men were standing in groups talking very earnestly and not a hoof in sight. They'd left their stock out a little way from the wagons to feed without any guards and the Indians had seen their opportunity and run between them and their stock and run them all off.
We had to travel on and what became of those foolish people we never heard. No one had as yet complained about the tighter security and after that it was for sure no one would.
It took about three months to get to Oregon, and the trains leaving early in the year found good grass along the way and hit the passes as they were clearing of snow. Late trains went short of feed and were in danger of not getting across the Rockies.
With the weather being bad and all, I had kept pretty well wrapped up and nobody paid me any mind, but the sun began to dry out the land and heat up the days and one morning I took off my coat and scarf and tossed them into the wagon. It felt nice, walking along without that heavy coat making two of me to every step.
I shook out my hair and was stepping out lively when Web rode by. He was on his way out to scout ahead of the train for good grass and water for the stock, which he did every day. Anyway, he just reined in his horse and stared at me.
CHAPTER TWO
I squinted up into the sun, looking back at Web.
"Mallory?"
"Hi, Web."
He was looking like he couldn't believe his eyes. "You been hiding that hair all this time? You best cover it up again, girl."
He didn't make sense. "Why? What's wrong?" Even as I said it, I thought of Pa.
"Injins see that, we'll be fighting 'em off the whole trip."
"You really think I should?"
"Other folks see it, there'll be a heap of trouble."
"What other folks?"
"Too late," he muttered, as Calvert Smith rode up and smiled broadly at me.
Mr. Smith was a young man, around twenty-three, traveling alone with a nice outfit. He had hired an old soldier, Joe Peters, to drive his rig, while he himself rode a fancy stepping Tennessee Walker stallion. He had nice clothes and two pearl handled revolvers, stovepipe boots and a long black coat that he had discarded today also. He was all dressed up with white shirt and a velvet vest. A handsome man and he knew it.
He had taken to riding out ahead with Web, scouting for grass, but today he didn't seem interested in going and Web called out Burt Hayes' boy, Eliot, to go with him. I watched them ride off. Mr. Smith was still beside me and trying to make his presence known. I strode off after the wagon, paying him no mind so as he had to move that Walker out to keep up with me.
It was the first time I'd ever had a man interested in me, but I could feel it and knew it for what it was; a sudden awareness, an intensity in the air that wasn't there a moment earlier. My hair was man-bait and I realized that this must have been enough in my mind to cause me to keep it covered for so long. Good thing I had looked like a bum while out on the trails, alone.
"Pretty woman like you shouldn't have to walk, Miss Buchanan," he said and I turned my head and eyed that there stallion horse of his. I'd ridden mules mainly, and preferred a good mule to a horse. But one of those Courtney boys had come to our place riding a
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