The Lost Wagon Part 33

He brought the cow in and milked her. Her coat b.u.t.toned tightly around her, Barbara prepared breakfast. Tad came to the fire, and Barbara took food to the younger children. When she returned, her eyes were clouded with worry.

"Mother wanted only some milk."

"Do you think you can keep those youngsters busy today, so they won't bother 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 with determination.

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 she prayed as she always prayed when baby Emma was sick. "Dear Lord, spare us our little girl. She is a good child, Lord, and will grow up to be a good woman. We'll take care of her, Lord, and do the best we can for her, if only you'll pull her through again, as you did before." She rocked the child gently, and her thoughts went on after the prayer in a kind of formless argument. Little Emma hadn't asked to come out here in the wilderness. They had brought her, and now she was sick. For one wild, horrible moment she thought of baby Emma dying and being buried out 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 running in the tall gra.s.s. Emma bent her tense, determined face over the feverish child, as though by sheer will she could drive the illness away, banish the fever and the pain. And in her mind the prayer continued, over and over: "Dear Lord, spare us our little girl."

Snow fell so thickly that the mules, tethered only fifty feet from the wagon, had their coats plastered with it and were dimly seen shapes against the white background. They shook themselves when Joe approached, and the harnesses knocked off such snow as still clung to them. Joe backed the mules into place, hitched them to the wagon, and climbed up beside Tad. He crossed his fingers as he did so.

Once he had driven two mules, pulling a ton of weight in addition to the wagon, fifty miles in the course of a day. But the mules were grain-fed and rested, and they hadn't had to pull their load through snow. This team had worked every day, had had no grain, and they were tired. Joe picked up the reins and started them at a fast walk. The wagon wheels made crunching noises in the new snow, and the mules blinked their eyes against the storm. Joe stopped at noon only long enough to build a fire so Barbara could cook a meal. Hastily, Joe gulped his food and looked into the wagon.

Barbara had kept the drop curtain down, and Joe, Carlyle and Alfred, on one side of it. She had served their meal there, and they were eating hastily too so they could snuggle back beneath the warm quilts. Joe parted the curtain to look at Emma, and he knew a sudden sense of loss because it seemed that she had gone away from him. Her whole physical and spiritual being were with the sick baby, and Joe swallowed hard. He had a sudden, wild and dreadful notion that his youngest daughter looked the way angels must look. Joe stepped outside, wiped his sweating forehead, and set his jaw. They would get to Laramie tonight.

The snow fell neither faster nor more slowly, and Joe breathed a sigh of thanks because there was no wind. Without wind the snow could not drift, but there was no a.s.surance that the wind would not blow again tonight or tomorrow. 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 the child feverish such a delay was intolerable. She must get in out of the storm 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 or canter. Whether or not they got into Laramie depended almost entirely on how skillfully he handled the team.

Seven inches of snow covered the ground, but where it lay smoothly on both sides, the Trail itself was deeply rutted with crowns between the ruts, and snow followed the road's contours. It was easy to see, and mules had a feeling for trails that horses and oxen did not possess. But the mules were walking more slowly now, and when they came to a slight rise 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 to Tad.

"Hang on to them, will you?"

He took the pail from the wagon and milked. The cow stood patiently and let him do it, then backed to the full length of her lead rope and looked 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 b.u.t.tered 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 her sleep. Joe swallowed hard, and again had a strange feeling that angels must 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 were half filled and there was no indication that the storm would lessen. Joe took the reins from Tad and the weary mules plodded on. Joe tried to peer down the Trail and could see only a few feet, but that was not because 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 the snow-filled twilight. Mules had an instinct for the trail. But men had a keener one and to get lost now might be fatal. Joe walked to the head of the team, and the mules flicked their long ears forward while they sniffed him anxiously. They, too, knew that it was past the time to stop. 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 heart caught in his throat because he had to set a very slow pace. The mules were straining hard to do work that under ordinary circ.u.mstances would not have been excessive. The night was wholly black now.

Joe stopped suddenly, aware that they had come to another river only because he heard the soft purling of water. Two more steps and he would have walked into it. His heart pounded, and he trembled. John Gaystell had spoken of the Laramie River, and had said that it could be forded.

Suppose there was another river that could not be forded, one Gaystell hadn't mentioned? Joe hesitated, then got his rifle.

He stood on the river bank, pointed the rifle straight up and, when he shot, the muzzle blast illumined only falling snow. Too weary to do anything 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 fifteen seconds, in the distance he heard an answering shot. Ten minutes later a hail 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, and almost unbelievingly, out in the swirling snow Joe saw the lighted lantern 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 in the river. They walked more briskly now, and Joe thought that no man can, for very long, deceive a mule. They knew that their journey was nearly over, and that not too far ahead they would find both food and shelter. Perhaps they smelled the fort.

Out in the river, as they drew closer, Joe saw a mounted trooper holding a lantern high. The soldier walked his horse back across the river. Two other cavalry men waited there, and the soldier with the lighted lantern paused 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?"