knowin' when to shoot is something else again, an' your pa has savvy." That had been days ago, and now we were waiting, waiting for the last long hours to pass--and then we had the river to cross.
This was the most dangerous moment so far, perhaps the most dangerous we would encounter. Yet the Indians were a danger of which we thought little. They might attack, and the men in the wagon would fight back. Even the women would, for both of them knew how to shoot. Or they might just reload guns for the men to fire. The Indians were a present danger, but it was that fierce old man who was my grandfather that I feared the most. I fell asleep and was awakened by a stirring about. The sun was already low, and Doug Farley was harnessing his horses. It was something he always did himself, allowing no one to even help. He always wanted to be sure everything was just as he wished it in case Kelso and Finney spotted trouble.
"Check your weapons," he said. "This here's liable to end in a fight. Don't be skeered. Just shoot low and take your time.
"I don't want a fight, but if we get one, we've got to win it or die. I figure we've got a fifty-fifty chance of swimming the river without bein' spotted, but no better than that.
"Just gettin' across ain't the end of it, for they might chase us into the desert, seem' we're only one wagon. We've got to be ready for that."
Farley turned to my father. "Verne? What do you think our chances would be, startin' now? We've got a canyon about three miles long to get through, with some bi g rocks in the trail. That'll take us the best part of an hour, By that time it will be dark."
"I'd say start now."
"Finney? Kelso?"
Both men nodded. "We can miss some of the rocks if we can see, otherwise we'll bump over them an' make a racket."
Kelso rode out ahead, keeping well to the left, as close to the canyon wall as the fallen rocks would permit. He rode with his rifle in his hands. Fifty yards behind and on the opposite side rode Jacob Finney. Riding warily, eyes searching the canyon ahead and the rock walls and rims, the small group moved slowly down the canyon. Papa called it a "cavalcade," and it sounded strong and good to me. He had his own rifle out and now he had a shotgun too, which he took from his blanket roll. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Now, Johannes, I have taught you how to load and fire a gun. Today I want you to load for me. As I put down the rifle, take it up and reload. The same with the shotgun. If, when we are fighting, some Indian tries to crawl into the rear of the wagon, take this pistol and shoot him. But you be sure it is an Indian, because Finney or Kelso might have a horse shot from under them."
"Yes, Papa."
My heart was beating with great, heavy thumps. He was trusting me. He was depending on me. I must do it right. Step by step I went through the reloading process in my mind. There might be many Indians, and I would have to work very swiftly and surely.
Surely. Papa had always said not to be too hasty. Not to be nervous, not to waste time.
We were moving at a walk, the wheels grating on the sand. My mouth was dry. I inhaled deeply. My father always said if I was nervous to take a few deep breaths and tell myself to be calm.
Mrs. Weber looked around at me. She was on her side with a rifle in her hands, and surprisingly, she winked at me. "Don't you worry, son. We'll be all right."
"Yes, ma'am. I was worried about Mr. Kelso and Mr. Finney."
"Well you might, son, well you might. If they attack, those boys will take the brunt of it, but they are good men, mighty good men."
She looked around at Miss Nesselrode. "If I was you, miss, I'd set my cap for that Jacob Finney. There's a right upstanding young man. He'd make a good husband for a girl like you. He's knowledgeable, he's steady, he ain't no drinker, and for the right woman he'd make a fine husband."
Miss Nesselrode tried to look shocked. She didn't make it very real. "I am sure he would," she said primly, "but I
This was the most dangerous moment so far, perhaps the most dangerous we would encounter. Yet the Indians were a danger of which we thought little. They might attack, and the men in the wagon would fight back. Even the women would, for both of them knew how to shoot. Or they might just reload guns for the men to fire. The Indians were a present danger, but it was that fierce old man who was my grandfather that I feared the most. I fell asleep and was awakened by a stirring about. The sun was already low, and Doug Farley was harnessing his horses. It was something he always did himself, allowing no one to even help. He always wanted to be sure everything was just as he wished it in case Kelso and Finney spotted trouble.
"Check your weapons," he said. "This here's liable to end in a fight. Don't be skeered. Just shoot low and take your time.
"I don't want a fight, but if we get one, we've got to win it or die. I figure we've got a fifty-fifty chance of swimming the river without bein' spotted, but no better than that.
"Just gettin' across ain't the end of it, for they might chase us into the desert, seem' we're only one wagon. We've got to be ready for that."
Farley turned to my father. "Verne? What do you think our chances would be, startin' now? We've got a canyon about three miles long to get through, with some bi g rocks in the trail. That'll take us the best part of an hour, By that time it will be dark."
"I'd say start now."
"Finney? Kelso?"
Both men nodded. "We can miss some of the rocks if we can see, otherwise we'll bump over them an' make a racket."
Kelso rode out ahead, keeping well to the left, as close to the canyon wall as the fallen rocks would permit. He rode with his rifle in his hands. Fifty yards behind and on the opposite side rode Jacob Finney. Riding warily, eyes searching the canyon ahead and the rock walls and rims, the small group moved slowly down the canyon. Papa called it a "cavalcade," and it sounded strong and good to me. He had his own rifle out and now he had a shotgun too, which he took from his blanket roll. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Now, Johannes, I have taught you how to load and fire a gun. Today I want you to load for me. As I put down the rifle, take it up and reload. The same with the shotgun. If, when we are fighting, some Indian tries to crawl into the rear of the wagon, take this pistol and shoot him. But you be sure it is an Indian, because Finney or Kelso might have a horse shot from under them."
"Yes, Papa."
My heart was beating with great, heavy thumps. He was trusting me. He was depending on me. I must do it right. Step by step I went through the reloading process in my mind. There might be many Indians, and I would have to work very swiftly and surely.
Surely. Papa had always said not to be too hasty. Not to be nervous, not to waste time.
We were moving at a walk, the wheels grating on the sand. My mouth was dry. I inhaled deeply. My father always said if I was nervous to take a few deep breaths and tell myself to be calm.
Mrs. Weber looked around at me. She was on her side with a rifle in her hands, and surprisingly, she winked at me. "Don't you worry, son. We'll be all right."
"Yes, ma'am. I was worried about Mr. Kelso and Mr. Finney."
"Well you might, son, well you might. If they attack, those boys will take the brunt of it, but they are good men, mighty good men."
She looked around at Miss Nesselrode. "If I was you, miss, I'd set my cap for that Jacob Finney. There's a right upstanding young man. He'd make a good husband for a girl like you. He's knowledgeable, he's steady, he ain't no drinker, and for the right woman he'd make a fine husband."
Miss Nesselrode tried to look shocked. She didn't make it very real. "I am sure he would," she said primly, "but I
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