Dana Fuller Ross
WAGONS WEST SERIES:
NEBRASKA!
(book 2)
The second novel in an
original new paperback series
-Wagons West-
about the first great wagon train westward.
By the author of INDEPENDENCE!
WAGONS WEST
NEBRASKA!
STALWART MEN AND SPIRITED
WOMEN BLAZING A TRAIL OF
PASSION AND GLORY ACROSS THE
PROUD AMERICAN NATION . . .
CATHY VAN AYL
Though a young widow, she is sexually
innocent, and both drawn to and frightened
by the manly ways of Whip Holt.
MICHAEL "WHIP" HOLT,
the lean, taciturn mountain man who is master of the
frontier, yet a tank amateur when it comes
to understanding women.
TONIEMELL
Hard-riding, fast-shooting, and
beautiful, she may pay with her life
for her Russian ancestry-andwiththe
lives of the entire wagon train.
DR. ROBERT MARTIN,
the physician whose skills win
even the respect of hostile Indians.
CINDY,
a former prostitute in search of a
new life in the West. She once hated men-
now one man could change her mind.
TED WOODS,
who would lull to protect the woman he loves.
MAJOR LAURENCE WOODLINO, a South
Carolina aristocrat who lost his plantation but
not his faith in the future.
CLAIBORNE WOODLING,
the Major's son. A demon rider,
an expert swordsman, and a dangerous man.
EULALIA WOODLING,
the Major's daughter. A flirt,
and a selfish beauty, until she suffers
the ultimate degradation.
HOSEA,
an escaped slave who risks his life to save the
wagon train.
STALKING HORSE,
Cherokee warrior, Whip's closest
friend and blood brother.
PIERRE LE ROUGE
Tricked into an act of treachery, he
redeems himself by a deed of daring heroism.
PRESIDENT VAN BUREN, leader of the nation,
who, in a desperate
race against time, must save the wagon train from
sabotage by foreign powers.
Bantam Books by
Dana Fuller Ross
INDEPENDENCE! NEBRASKA!
NEBRASKA!
DANA FULLER ROSS
NEBRASKA
A Bantam
Book
July

2nd printing
All rights reserved
Copyright [*copygg'1979 by
Book Creations, Inc.
Cover art copyright [*reg]
1979 by Banlom Books, Inc.
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ISBN 0-533-12386-6
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NEBRASKA!
THE DARING TRAIL OF THE MEN AND
WOMEN
OF WAGONS WEST AS
THEY CROSS THE GREAT
PLAINS TOWARD A NEW
ERA IN AMERICA
I
Heavy clouds, thick, black, and ominous, blew
eastward from the Rocky Mountains across the Great
Plains wilderness, obscuring the moon and stars. The
ground was still warm from the early autumn sun that had
shone down on Missouri the previous day, but the
night air was cool. A white mist, as
impenetrable as a bale of cotton, rose from the
broad waters of the great Missouri River, bathing
the area in a blanket of swirling mists.
High on the bluffs of the eastern bank of the river, a
short distance from the frontier village of
Independence, Missouri, stood the symbols of the
future-covered wagons arranged in a circle.
Within the scores of wagons, hundreds of men,
women, and children were asleep. Some bad begun their
journey in the East and had been joined by others along
the way in a daring and unique venture. They were the
first pioneers who were blazing a path across the country
to Oregon and to the Pacific Ocean.
Inside the circle, the horses and oxen were
asleep, too, as were the dogs. There seemed
to be nothing to fear. Independence was a sturdy little
community of ranch owners and farmers-people who took the
law into their own hands when necessary because no other
law existed at tills remote outpost Bloodshed
was not unknown, but violence occurred infrequently.
No one in the wagon train heard the two boats
being rowed across the Missouri from the west bank; no
one saw the little craft hauled ashore, beached and
made secure; and certainly no one in the train
knew that six armed men, frontier drifters who
preyed on fur trappers or isolated farm
owners, had found a tempting target
The six men crept up the hill, pistols and
knives In their hands. A shepherd dog stretched
outside one of the wagons awakened and raised his
pointed ears. Quietly the bandits crept closer,
struggling as they made their way up the bluff.
Suddenly one member of the wagon train, a tall,
lean man dressed in buckskins, awoke.
Instantly alert he threw off his blanket; he
reached for his long rifle automatically and quickly
rose to his feet from the grassy spot where he had
been sleeping.
The mist was too thick for him to see through it, so be
listened intently, his head cocked to one
side. Then a faint, grim smile appeared on his
face. Moving silently, with the experience of one who
had spent years as a hunter, trapper, and guide
in the Rockies, he went quickly to several key
wagons.
In almost no time he was joined by three men, all of
whom carried rifles. One was a burly
blacksmith who had spent a decade in prison for
murder. Another was a high-ranking Austrian
nobleman who had joined the Wagon train because he
loved adventure. The third was a mild-mannered
physician, a widower who sought a new life, far
from the sorrows he had known.
The trio followed the man in buckskins to the lip
of the bluff. No one could see more than a few feet
ahead, nor could they hear a sound-they were reacting
instinctively. Within a few seconds they were joined
by an Indian brave, also dad in buckskins, a
warrior who almost casually notched an arrow on the
string of his bow. Like the man in buckskins, he had
no need to see the approaching menace.
A broad smile appeared on the face of the man in
buckskins. There was no doubt that he thoroughly
enjoyed the challenge of danger. He didn't need
to speak; his companions had traveled far with
him and knew what was expected of them. They all
waited.
By now the robbers were no more than five yards from the
top of the bluff, almost within reach of their goal. The
man in buckskins nodded, almost casually, and four
rifles spoke simultaneously, the weapons
deliberately fired over the heads of the approaching
men.
The startled bandits paused, then turned and fled down
the steep slope, sliding and stumbling, falling and
scrambling as they raced to the safety of their waiting
boat
Now it was the Indian's ram. He sent arrow after
arrow toward the retreating men. The bandits saw the
arrows dropping around them and increased their wild pace
as they dragged their boat into the water and rowed off
to safety.
The man in buckskins listened, heard the fading sound
of oars, and nodded. His companions turned and
strolled back to their wagons for another hour of
sleep. He and the Indian wrapped themselves in their
respective blankets. Within a few minutes they
had drifted back to sleep.
The men, women, and children of the train were still asleep.
Even those who had awakened briefly had
mistaken the firearms volley for a crack of thunder.
The wagon train was secure.
As always, Cathy VanAyl looked lovely as she
emerged from her wagon. Totally unaware of her
beauty, she paused on the back step to tuck some
stray strands of her long, blonde hair under her
sunbonnet, then tightened the sash of her dimity
dress. She looked like a young girl in her teens rather
than a widow of twenty- three. That air of
innocence wasn't accidental. She had never been
intimate with her elderly husband, Otto, a
miserly farmer from Long Island, who had died in a
raid on the wagon train.
Cathy stepped down to the ground just as- Whip Holt,
the hired guide and wagon master of the Oregon-bound
caravan, came into view. Tall and sinewy in his
buck
skins, he was armed, as usual, with a brace of
pistols and a long bullwhip, wrapped around his
middle, that gave him his name. His skin was leathery after
years of exposure to the outdoors, and his eyes were
hard. But when he saw Cathy he grinned at her,
and suddenly she looked younger than twenty-nine.
She smiled at him in return, her heart skipping
a beat. When Otto was alive, it had been
necessary to conceal her interest in Whip, but all that had
changed since the young mountain man rejoined the train,
several weeks ago, as it moved westward across
Missouri. Now she had no reason beyond her own
sense of discretion to hide the way she felt
Certainly Whip made no secret of his own
feelings. "Morning, ma'am," he called,
sauntering toward her.
"You're wearing a new buckskin shirt and trousers,
I see," she said politely.
He was surprised that she had noticed what he was
wearing. "Well, you know how it is. I get restless
just sitting around Independence while we put in
supplies and 'Wait for the new folks joining us
to show up. So one day I went hunting. He cleared
his throat awkwardly. "You look mighty nice,
all dressed up for a day in the city."
Cathy couldn't help laughing. Certainly no one
else in 1837 would dream of referring to the frontier
town of Independence, Missouri as a "city." One
of the last outposts of civilization east of the Great
Plants, it was visited- by trappers, hunters, and
traders bringing their furs from the Rocky Mountains
to the East Now, with" other wagon trains scheduled
to follow Whip's caravan across the wilderness
to the fertile Oregon country, Independence
promised to develop into a major supply
depot.
"I told my sister I'd buy some things in town for
her and bring them along tonight."
Only a few days earlier, Cathy's older
sister, Claudia, had been married to Sam
Brentwood, the former leader of the wagon train. The
couple would remain in Independence to establish a
supply depot, sponsored by Sam's mentors,
former President of the United States
Andrew Jackson and John Jacob Aster, a
fur baron and the leader of a group of wealthy
businessmen who were encouraging the settling of the
Oregon country.
"Claudia and Sam asked me to supper tonight,
too," Whip said, and shifted in embarrassment.
"I
-I wasn't so sure I wanted to go, seeing as how
I don't sit down at a table indoors very often.
But if you're going, ma'am, I'd be happy
to escort you."
Td like that," Cathy said. She smiled again before
turning away, then added, "I'm not really dressed
up, you know. All I own are a few
dresses like this, except for the old woolen things I
wear on the trail."
"Could you use a doeskin dress, ma'am?"
"I'd love it. Whip." Cathy hesitated. "But
I wouldn't want you to think I was hinting."
"No matter. Stalking Horse," he said,
referring to his close friend, a Cherokee scout,
"has been pestering me to go hunting again, so I
reckon I'll have some skins for you by the time we push
off."
Cathy thanked him, embarrassed by his generosity,
then left the circle of wagons. Needing time
to think, she stood, looking beyond the bend in the
Missouri River, imagining the limitless wilderness
and mountains that the wagon train would have to cross before
reaching Oregon.
. . Otto VanAyl had been determined to go
to Oregon and had given his wife no choice. But the
widowed Cathy was free to make up her own mind.
Claudia and Sam had offered her a home with them in
Independence. And she wouldn't be dependent on their
charity, either. Her wagon was as solid as any made
in New England, where they had come from, and the four
horses that pulled it were strong, surefooted and
healthy. She could get a substantial sum
for the wagon and team if she decided to stay behind when the
train moved out In addition, Otto had left her the
fortune he had saved in a lifetime of miserly
living, two thousand dollars in gold.
When they had started on the journey. Otto had
concealed the money beneath a false floor in the wagon,
but after his death, at Claudia and Sam's insistence,
she
had moved it for safekeeping to the enormous special
wagon where the caravan's medicines, extra
weapons, and emergency rations were stored.
So Cathy was wealthy, at least by the standards of the
pioneers who were heading to Oregon. Certainly she
could pay for her keep if she decided to stay with her
sister and brother-in-law. Fortunately, she
wouldn't have to make up her mind for a few days; the
felt pulled in both directions.
Because of Whip and because of what she had heard about
Oregon, she wanted to go on. But she was a grown
woman, not a romantic adolescent, and she
couldn't allow her interest in him to become too great
a factor. On the other hand, she had begun the long
trip, and she did believe in finishing what she
started. Also, if any of the stories she had heard
about Oregon were true, she knew it would be
heaven on earth.
Tugging her in the opposite direction was the knowledge that
powerful forces were at work trying to prevent the
American settlers from reaching their destination. The
ownership of the Oregon country was in dispute, with both
the United States and Great Britain claiming it
A British agent, Henry St Clair, who had
joined the wagon train posing as a settler, had
already made several violent attempts to halt the
train. After he had been discovered and left the
train, he had inspired a vicious attack on the
caravan by army deserters.
The British attempt to sabotage the train
wasn't the only one. Imperial Russia wanted
to stop it from reaching Oregon, too, Russians had
been the first to settle in Oregon. Although
international pressures had forced the czar seemingly
to abandon his claim, the government in St
Petersburg actually was doing no such thing. Cathy
was one of the few members of the caravan who knew that
attempts had been made by the czar's secret
police to blackmail a lovely frontier girl
named Tonie Mel) into working for them. Tome's
parents, whom she hadn't seen since early
childhood, were still in Russia. She had
been forced to join the pioneers early in their journey
and had been told that her parents wouldn't be allowed
to come to America unless she committed acts of
sabotage
against the train. But, thanks to her own courage add
the help of Sam and Whip, she had outsmarted them.
Now she was continuing on to Oregon, this time in the
company of her uncle, Arnold Mell, who had
decided to sell his farm to Sam and Claudia and
join his niece on her journey. But it was fair
to assume that the Russians would try again.
In addition, there were terrifying rumors among the
settlers about hostile Indian tribes in the
wilderness ahead. Some pessimists predicted that every
last man, woman, and child in the train would be
murdered. But Cathy refused to believe these
stories. No matter how great the menace of
Indians might become, she had unbounded faith in
Whip Holt's abilities. She had seen him in
action, and she was confident he would lead the band of
settlers, already four hundred strong and growing every
day, safely to their Oregon destination. She was
convinced that no Indians could prevent Whip from reaching
his goal-for that matter, neither could the British and
Russians.
Tonight, perhaps, she would discuss her situation with her
sister-it plight clarify her thinking.
Remembering her promise to buy some things for
Claudia, Cathy headed toward the town of
Independence. She passed log cabins and houses of
whitewashed clapboard. Until she past year,
Independence had been little more than a village. But
now it boasted two general stores, a stable, and, on
its main street, two brothels and at least a dozen
taverns and saloons.
When Sam and Claudia finished making changes in
the ranch, their property would become the principal
supply depot for later wagon trains. The
depot would say both horses and oxen, as well as
spare wheels, axles, and yokes. Claudia
planned to put in a full supply of such
provisions as bacon, flour, beans, and sugar-the
staples that every family needed on thetrip across the
continent. Thanks to the generosity of Astor and his
associates, as well as the official encouragement
of the new President, Martin Van Buren, Sam
would have enough funds to put in a stock of firearms,
gunpowder, and ammunition, too.
As Cathy walked down the main street, the morning
sun was warm, almost hot The breeze was
gentle and it seemed to her more like summer than the
beginning of autumn. It was small wonder, she
thought, that Whip was eager to start the march across the
plains as soon as possible. Cathy knew from her
own experience in the past six months that the caravan
could travel ten to twelve miles per day in good
weather, but that progress was slowed to a crawl when it
rained. And when the rains were very heavy, it sometimes
became necessary to call a complete halt.
Pondering her dilemma, paying scant attention
to her immediate surroundings, Cathy was suddenly aroused from
her reverie by the sound of a man's harsh, deep
voice.
"That there one is the prettiest We seen since we
got to this town. I claim her!"
"Like hell you do," another man replied. "Maybe
we'll draw lots for her, all of us, or maybe
we'll leave the choice up to her. We got to be
fair about this."
Startled, Cathy saw eight or nine men who had just
emerged from a tavern directly ahead. In spite
of the early hour, they had been drinking heavily. Some
of them were dressed in shabby linsey-woolsey and
others in worn, greasy buckskins. They had not
shaved for days, and their hair was dirty and
unkempt. All were armed with skinning knives, as
well as either pistols or rifles.
These were the men Whip and Sam contemptuously
referred to as "frontier scum," opportunists who
earned a precarious living. Sometimes they bought furs
from trappers down on their luck and sold them
to traders. Sometimes they did odd jobs for local
homesteaders. They were as unsavory as they were
unreliable, and Cathy blamed herself for failing to see
them in time to avoid them.
But she had little time for regrets. The group had
spread across the road, blocking her path, and noting
their leers, she was afraid that they would maul her if
she tried to crowd past them. But she might be in even
worse trouble if she turned and tried to flee;
certainly that would encourage them in their game. There were
no other pedestrians or riders insight, so it would
be useless to call for help.
The best way to handle the situation, she decided, would
be to keep moving forward, remaining calm and ignoring
the brutes. So, despite a strong urge to run,
she continued to walk at the same even pace, her
head high.
One of her tormentors muttered something, and the group
quickly surrounded the girl. The man with the
rasping voice, appointing himself the spokesman,
grinned at her.
"You look like you need some lovin'," he said, "so
take your pick."
"Let me pass, please." Cathy knew no
escape was possible, but made an effort to speak
calmly.
"Don't put on no airs with us, girlie,"
another declared. "You women up the road charge enough,
so it's high time you give us somethin' free."
The stunned Cathy suddenly realized they had
mistaken her for a girl from one of the brothels.
Certainly they were in no mood-perhaps in no
condition-to heed her denials. She was in real
danger, and she didn't know how to escape.
Arnold Mell, leading two pack horses laden
with the last of his belongings from the ranch, felt a sense
of relief he wouldn't have admitted to anyone. The
house was no longer what it had been prior to the
recent death of his wife. It was crowded with too many
memories,
so
he was glad to be rid of it, pleased that she was joining
the wagon train.
Tonie had argued against the sale, thinking he
was doing it just for her take. She was partly right He
realized that in the time she had spent with the caravan before
it reached Independence, she bad fallen in love with the
wagon train's personable and competent physician,
a widower named Robert Martin. He wanted
to give the romance every opportunity to develop. In
fact, he was delighted. Never before had the
tomboyish girl shown an interest in any man, and
she deserved
happiness. He and Ms wife had tried
to substitute for her brother and sister-in-law, the
parents she had left behind in St Petersburg, but
he had often felt she had missed her real mother and
father. And she had been Under a great strain ever since
she had been blackmailed by the czar's secret
police. Her courage in defying the might of a
huge and powerful nation had been splendid, and she had
earned the future she so badly wanted for herself.
But Arnold had his own reasons for joining the train,
too. He had settled in Independence when it had
been a wilderness, but life here was too tame now.
At the age of sixty, he was in better physical
condition than men half his age, and he looked forward
to meeting the challenges of the Great Plains and the
Rocky Mountains What was more, his talents
as a rider and marksman and his intimate knowledge of the
Plains. Indians would be a great help to Whip
Holt, who would need all the assistance he could get
in shepherding so large a company of men, women, and
children all the way to Oregon.
Glancing at Tonie, who was riding demurely beside
him, Arnold smiled to himself. A superb
horsewoman and expert rifle shot who had spent
most of her life in buckskins, she had chosen a
different role for herself today. Her fiery red hair,
which usually flew free, was piled high on her head,
and she had used cosmetics subtly, to emphasize
the depth of her green eyes and the fullness of her
month. Instead of buckskins she was, wearing a
snug-fitting dress of green linen with a low,
scooped neckline-a gown that showed off her lithe,
trim figure to its best advantage And, thanks
to the dress, she was actually riding sidesaddle.
Shaking his head, he started to laugh The girl glanced
at kim archly, raising a slender eyebrow.
"Ill have to call you Antoinette instead of
Tonie," he said.
She knew precisely what he meant, and she
blushed,
"I'll be wearing trousers most of the time
crossing the
Great Plains, Uncle Arnold," she said.
"Whip Holt has
already asked me to keep the job of monitor. So
I'll be
riding up and down the lines of in arch all day, making
sure there are no problems or wagon breakdowns.
The only chance I'll have to wear dresses and really
look like a woman will be on Sundays when we rest"
"I'm not blaming you, Tonie, just teasing you a little,"
he said. "Your aunt would have been proud to see you
looking like such a grand lady."
"Do you really think I do, Uncle Arnold?"
He nodded, chuckling again. "You bet, and I won't
be the only one."
"Bob Martin doesn't know I'm alive,"
Tonie said flatly
"Don't be so sure of that And if he hasn't
noticed you before now, he'll come to life in a hurry
when
he
sees you today. I wondered what took you so long this
morning. Now I know-and I must say the results
are worth the time you spent."
"They'll be worth it," Tonie said as they
reached the road that would take them into the heart of
Independence on their way to the wagon train
encampment, "if Dr. Martin really pays some
attention to me and stops taking me for granted.
What's that up ahead, Uncle Arnold?" . He
looked, then shrugged. "Just some frontier men,
seems like."
"They're up to something."
"That wouldn't surprise me."
As Tonie peered ahead, she became increasingly
concerned. She caught a glimpse of a sunbonnet,
blonde hair, and a flounced skirt in the middle
of a circle of men. The men were taking turns
tormenting the woman, trying to caress her breasts and
reach up under her skirt "I don't like this. Uncle
Arnold!"
"Nobody thinks very much of men like that and one of these
days they'll have to be driven out of town. But they're
not bothering us, Tonie, so I suggest we leave
well enough alone." Arnold spoke mildly; a
lifetime of fighting for the sake of principle had
left him weary.
Suddenly Tonie saw the face of the trapped girl
and was horrified. "It's Cathy!"
Before her uncle could stop her, Tonie
spurred for
ward, her anger replacing her common sense. She was
able to look after herself when she was armed, but she carried
no weapons today and consequently was helpless.
Arnold Men followed close behind her, calling in
vain for ha to stop.
Tonie tent her mare charging into (he circle,
breaking the formation. "Clear the road and leave that
lady alone!" she cried.
"Here's another!" one of the men shouted, then easily
hauled Tonle from her horse.
She fought bun, trying to kick him and rake his face
with her nails, but her long-skirted, tight-fitting
gown hindered her. "Take your hands off me, you
filthy pig!" she screamed.
He subdued her easily, laughing as he pinned her
arms to her sides. "I got to teach you to show a little
respect"
"Ain't this nice?" the leader asked of no one in
particular. "Now we got two."
"Let's see which is livelier, the blonde or the
redhead," one of the men suggested.
Arnold Men, still mounted, raised his rifle.
"Take your hands oft these ladies and go about your
business," he said in a cold, quiet
voice, "or somebody is going to get hurt
pretty badly."
One of the men quickly stood behind Cathy and, using her as
a shield, he twisted her arm behind her back. At
the same moment, he held his skinning knife to her
throat "Grandpa," he said, "the first one to get
hurt win be this woman. Pull that trigger just once,
and I'll cut her from ear to ear, I swear it"
Arnold knew he wasn't bluffing.
Cathy stood very still, scarcely daring to breathe. The
long, slightly curved blade was only an inch or
two from her throat Tonle, too, stopped struggling
in the grasp of her captor. Deadlocked, Arnold
stared at the men and they returned his gaze.
Although those who were participating in the frozen tableau
didn't yet realize it, the scene was being witnessed
by three pedestrians who were approaching the 12
site. They had been walking single file along the
narrow part of the road when Dr. Robert Martin, who
was in the lead, halted abruptly. "My God!
Tonie and Cathy!"
Seeing the group, Stalking Horse, clad only in
a loincloth, a bearskin cape, and moccasins,
reached for his bow and an arrow from the quiver he always
carried over one shoulder. "Me fix," he
said.
Instantly Whip Holt assessed the situation. In
sheer numbers the odds favored the gang, but he
knew that he and Arnold Mell, even without Stalking
Horse and Bob Martin, could overwhelm the gang.
If a real fight developed, however, Cathy and
Tonie might be hurt, or even killed. Their
safety was his first concern.
"No, Stalking Horse," he said, taking charge.
"Put
down your bow. Bob, your belt is the right place for
your pistol. Let it stay there." He sauntered
forward
. casually, discreetly tugging at the handle of his
whip to
uncoil it
"Mr. Mell, it Would be a big help all around
if you'd put down your rifle for a minute or
two."
Arnold was surprised but instantly realized that
Whip had
a
plan in mind. "You're the boss, Mr. Holt,"
he said, lowering his rifle.
Tonie displayed astonishing poise by grinning
appreciatively at her uncle. She knew what
the others did not- that he could fire with pinpoint
accuracy even while holding the rifle in his lap.
The muzzle, she noted, continued to point at the
leader of the gang.
Whip strolled still closer to the men and their captives,
his tone amiable. "I reckon we ought to have a little
chat about this situation," he said. "Hanging may be
too good for you boys, but we might let you go if you
release these ladies. Right now-with no arguments."
"Don't come one step closer, I'm warning you!" the
man who held his skinning knife at Cathy's
throat shouted.
"Whatever you say," Whip replied, halting.
At the same instant his whip sang effortlessly through
the air, and its leaded tip cut a deep furrow in
the man's hand.
The man screamed in agony as the knife fell to the
ground from his nerveless fingers.
The leader drew his pistol. "You were warned," he
called.
Again the lash leaped toward its target, this time
wrapping itself around the wrist of the gang's leader.
Whip tugged gently, and the man's hand was forced up
over his head. His pistol discharged harmlessly
into the air. Whip tugged again, and the pistol dropped
to the ground.
Not yet satisfied, Whip disengaged the lash, then
let fly a third time, and the rawhide coiled around
the leader's neck. A less than gentle tug
brought him to his kneel, and an instant later he
pitched forward onto the ground, clawing in vain at the
taut leather line.
-Mr. Men," Whip said pleasantly, "I'd be
obliged if you'd cover these bastards now. You,
too. Stalking Horse. " Swot to kill if
soy one of them makes a single move." to pull in
the whip, dragging the leader the Cherokee had already
notched an arrow on his was few trrmg. and Arnold
happily raised his rifle again.
Whip continued to pull in the rawhide line. Rather thin
be choked, the man was forced to wriggle forward on his
stomach, unable to rise and unable to resist the steady
pressure.
"Cathy," Whip said. "Come over here, please.
Take your time and walk slowly."
Cathy felt like running but did as she had been
directed.
"That's it," Whip said, still pulling on the lash and
keeping a sharp watch on the rest of the gang.
"Get behind Stalking Horse and the doctor."
As she did so, Whip said, "All right, Tonie,
it's your turn."
"I'll be with you in a minute." Tonie turned to the
man who had hauled her from her horse. Smiling
slightly, she reached up and raked his face with her
fingernails. Blood spurted from the scratches, and
he groaned. B; keenly aware of the rifle and bow
pointed at him, he
did not dare even to raise a hand to protect himself,
much less strike the girl.
Tonie spat in his face, then laughed. Turning
away from him, she strolled toward her deliverers, the
picture of elegance.
"Are you all right, Tonie?" Dr. Martin asked,
his voice deep with concern.
"Never better, Bob," she replied lightly.
Arnold chuckled. His niece could look after herself,
no question about that And although she couldn't, and wouldn't, have
planned the unsavory incident, she had certainly
succeeded in calling herself to Robert Martin's
attention. It was unlikely that he would ever forget the
impression she had made.
"What about you, Cathy?"
"I-I'm all right now. Doctor. Thank
you." Cathy was still shaken.
By now the leader of the gang was within arm's reach of
Whip, who let the lash fall free. Then he
coiled it around his waist with practiced ease.
A the burly man stumbled to his feet. Whip
told him, "We don't like it when our ladies are
molested." Quickly, before the man could move, Whip
smashed his fist into the man's face.
The man tried to protect himself, but to no avail.
Whip landed two hard rights to his face, followed
by a solid blow to the pit of the stomach. The man
doubled over. A bard, driving right straightened him
for a moment, and disthen he toppled backward,
sprawling on the dusty road,
I'm giving you boys fifteen minutes to clear out of
town," Whip said, nudging the body of the fallen man
with his foot. "Take this one with you and don't come
back, any of you. My Indian friend here hasn't
taken any scalps lately, and he can have all of
yours."
Several members of the gang came forward
hesitantly disffcarry their fallen companion. Then
the entire group, suddenly sober and badly frightened,
left the scene as rapidly as they could, scattering as
they ran.
Cathy was calmer now, and her eyes were grave as
she turned to Whip. "Fin very much obliged to you. More
than I can ever say."
Although he was always self-confident in moments of
crisis, he flushed beneath his heavy tan. "I just
did what had to be done," he replied.
Gratefully he turned to Arnold Mell. "I'm
glad you held off and didn't start blasting. The
girls might have been hurt."
Arnold grinned. "Years ago when I was one of the
first to settle in these parts," he said, speaking with no
more than a trace of a Russian accent, "I
learned two things. Always keep your gun loaded, but
Veep your finger off the trigger whenever shooting might
cause more problems than it solves."
Whip nodded soberly, pleased with Arnold's
answer. The old man was going to be a valuable
member of the company. Anyone who understood the
wilderness as he did was a valuable asset to the
wagon train.
Dr. Martin's manner seemed professional as he
looked at Tonle Mell. If his concern was
personal, he succeeded in concealing it "You look
none the worse for wear after ft nasty experience."
Tonic, outraged at his cool,
professional tone and at his failure to compliment her
on her appearance, said coldly, "Thanks to Whip
and Stalking Horse, I've managed to survive rather
nicely, thank you."
Then she turned to Cathy. "Cathy, were you heading
into town?"
Cathy nodded.
"Good," Tonie said. "I have some errands to do,
myself. Uncle Arnold, if you'll take my
horse with you,
I'll meet you at the wagon train later."
Bob Martin watched with consternation as the two girls
walked off arm in arm, down the road. As a
physician and as a widower, he thought he should have had
a better understanding of women. But he could not figure
out why Tonie had suddenly seemed so angry.
What had he done to insult her?
A large, newly painted sign which had just been
hung
over the front door identified the ranch house and
its
outbuildings as Brentwood's Depot It wouldn't
be long, perhaps two or three months, before
supplies and provisions would begin to arrive from the
East and the depot would be busy. Today the air
was festive as Sam and Claudia Brentwood
gave their farewell party to the people he had escorted this
far on their long, arduous journey to Oregon.
The lean and grizzled Sam, limping due to an
arthritic hip, had butchered a steer and was roasting
two sides of beef over a fire built in a
trench behind the house. He had also slaughtered a hog
for the occasion. Piled up in mounds were potatoes and
fresh sweet corn, still in shucks, to be cooked in
the coals.
Two enthusiastic young helpers were turning the spits
for him. Danny was a former bound boy in his
mid-teens, who, indentured to a cruel and violent
man,eaeahad escaped and joined the wagon train He
had endeared himself to the whole company by his willingness
to work hard. He worked in perfect harmony with Cheat
Harris, the eldest surviving son of the widowed
Emily Harris, who was intent on making a new
life for her family. The two boys were about the
same age and had become such close friends that when one
appeared the other was always close at hand.
The most intriguing member of the wagon train had
insisted on taking charge of preparing the drinks.
Baron Ernst von Thalman was a wealthy,
middle-aged Austrian nobleman, formerly a
cavalry officer in the Imperial Austrian Andy.
Lean and athletic, a deadly shot, he lived in a
custom-built wagon that resembled an elegant
home on wheels. He bad jugs of hard cider
for the men who wanted it, a less potent cider for the
women, and a non-alcoholic cider for the children.
Cathy VanAyl and Tonie Mell helped
Claudia Brent- wood in the kitchen, as did
Cindy, a former prostitute from Louisville who
had reformed and was making a new life for herself. Working
together, as they had learned to do on the road, the young
women prepared salad greens and baked loaves of
white bread, corn bread, and a variety of fruit
pies.
Stoking the wood fire for them, carrying the baked
breads and pies to tables in the yard was Ted Woods,
a blacksmith by trade. He was a swarthy, powerful
giant, and it was no accident that he was always found in
the vicinity of the slender, bubbling Cindy. It was
obvious to her, as well as to her companions, that Ted
had developed a deep interest in her, although he had
said nothing about his feelings to anyone. Some thought he was
shy, but Cathy knew better. Ted had spent ten
years in an Indiana prison after killing his wife
and his brother when he had discovered them in bed
together. That experience had scarred him deeply, and
Cathy, at least, wondered if he would ever dare
to tell Cindy of his interest in her.
As they worked, Cathy and Tonie told the story of
what had happened to them earlier in the day in
Independence. Claudia Brentwood was concerned.
"Now I can understand why Sam taught me to shoot and
makes sure that I keep a rifle close at hand
whenever he's. away from the house. This town isn't
much better than the wilderness."
"Don't worry, I Tonie told her. "Once
word gets around the neighborhood that you know how
to handle firearms, you won't be molested. In all
the years I lived here, were' never had any trouble
until today. And it serves me right for getting
dressed up. Bob Martin didn't even know I was
alive."
Pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, Cathy
laughed. "You're fooling yourself, Tonie. I saw
the doctor's expression when those troublemakers had us
trapped. He may not even know it himself-yet. But
he's sweet on you."
"Of course he is," Cindy declared. "I know men,
and it's just a question of time before he proposes to you."
"By that time," Tonie said defiantly, "I
may want to turn nun down."
At that moment Ted Woods came into the kitchen
carrying another huge load of firewood, so the
girl quickly changed the subject
"Was there no way you could protect yourselves that
morning?" Claudia asked.
Toni's smile was rueful. "It was the first time in
longs
than I can remember that I wasn't carrying a
rifle. If I'd been armed, I would have put a
bullet between the eye Of the man who was encouraging the
others, and that would have been the end of the matter."
"I think that learning to handle a rifle is the best
dung that ever happened to me," Claudia said. "I
can't tell you how grateful I am to Sam for teaching
me."
I've been wondering if I ought to learn to shoot,"
Cathy said.
dis8Tie same idea has been going through my mind,"
Cindy said as she put apples into a pie shell.
Ted, who was throwing short logs into the oven, made
no comment, but his back stiffened.
""You don't approve, Ted?" Claudia
asked.
He dusted his hands as he stood and turned.
"No, ma'am, Tonie here grew up knowing how
to shoot. You learned because it was something you really wanted
to da Bat Cindy here-and Cathy, too-they'd do
themselves more harm than good. People shouldn't fool with
guns."
Cindy couldn't resist the urge to tease him. "But
we've got to be able to look after ourselves in country
where there are Indians and renegades and goodness only
knows What other dangers."
Ted stared at her for a moment. "The reason there's
menfolk! in train train is to look after ladies
who cant take care of themselves."" Then he
turned and stamped out of the kitchen, heading in the
direction of the wood shed.
The girls were silent for a time after he had left.
Cathy was the first to speak. "Ted is sweet."
Tonie dared to ask what all of them were wondering.
"What do
you think
of him, Cindy
Her strawberry blonde curls danced as Cindy
shook her head. "As yon know," she said, "I have
my reasons for not thinking very highly of men. Oh, there
are a few gentlemen in the world. Sam Brentwood
is one, and Baron von Thalman is
another. I don't yet know Whip Holt well enough
to judge him, but Martin is a real love."
Tonie acted as though she had been physically
struck.
Looking up from the dough she was mixing, she glared at
the other girl
Cindy, unaware of her reaction, continued to chatter.
"I haven't made up my mind about Ted
Woods," she said. "My first reaction to him was that
he was a nuisance. But he's been so kind and
helpful to me that I can't help feeling grateful
to him. Beyond that-well, I don't yet know."
The kitchen door opened again, and Sam came in,
followed by Arnold Mell and Whip Holt "There
are two hundred or more of the guests out there already,"
Sam told his bride, "and more are arriving every
minute. A couple of the men are keeping an eye on
the meat while we have a little private chat." He
led the men into the parlor.
"Whip," Sam said as they settled into plain wooden
armchairs, "I wanted a word with you, and I asked
Arnold to join us because he's spent more time than either of
us in this part of the world. You're aiming to push off
pretty soon, I believe."
"Well be ready in another couple of
days," the new wagon master replied. "Nine more
wagons joined us today comwith about thirty-five people in
them-and I want to give them time to pick up
emergency provisions before we start."
"You'll be leading about four hundred and fifty people,
then," Sam said.
"Closer to five hundred."
That makes my worries all the more real. That's one
hen of a lot of mouths to feed."
Arnold Mell absently rubbed the arm of his chair.
"That shouldn't be a problem. There are enough herds of
buffalo out yonder to keep us in meat,"
"Unto winter comes," Sam said. "Don't let this
summer weather fool you. It's still the end of
September. Arnold, how long do you estimate it
will be before heavy snows start to kit the plains?"
The old frontiersman looked out of the windows at the
sea of green grass that stretched toward the
horizon. "Eight weeks, maybe, if the cold
hits early or eleven weeks if the nasty weather
holds off." 20
That's pretty much the way I had it figured,"
San
said. "Whip, I'm not interfering, and I'm sure as
snooting not trying to tell you what to do. But
I've been wondering about four plans for winter."
Whip Holt always found it difficult to think while
be was sitting. He rose and began to pace up and
down the length of the roughly furnished parlor. "The
way I see it," he replied, "I've got two
choices. Either I can play it safe and stay right here
in Independence until spring, or I can get a good
head start across the plains. Staying here has its
advantages, but there are arguments on the other
side. President Van Buren has made it
plain he wants us to reach the Oregon country as
soon as we can-before the British start establishing
settlements on the Pacific coast' south of Fort
Vancouver or the Russians take heart and come
back. Also, some of our people aren't the bravest in the
world. They're makin' this trip because the U.s.
Government will guarantee every householder a plot of
six hundred acres comalm four times as much free
land as they can get anywhere else. I'm afraid that
many of them will lose what little courage they have and
change their minds about going out to the Oregon country
if they have to stay here In Independence until
spring."
Sam nodded. "That makes sense."
"So I plan to push out across the plains and go
as far as we can before the cold weather comes," Whip
continued. "With luck we can travel as far as five
hundred miles before we have to hunker down- provided
the British and Russian agents leave us alone.
Even if they stir up trouble, we should go quite a
distance."
"Fair enough," Sam said. "I'm sure you
realize as well as I do that the wagons are too
flimsy for winter living and that buffalo will be harder
to find once the snows come. So that brings up the question of
finding a campsite near forests, where there will be enough
wood for cabins and fires, and close enough to salt
licks that buffalo use."
"You're right, Sam," Arnold said. "In all the
trips I've
made out into the plains, I've found very few 21
patches of woods. I'm sure that Whip and I,
between us, can pick a site in an area that buffalo
frequent, even when the snow is thick. But finding
forests is something else."
Whip continued to pace. "I'm going to trust my
instinct President Van Buren has been pestering
us, and so has Sam's friend, Andrew Jackson. I
want to put as many miles as I can between the wagon
train and Independence. Well keep our
eyes and ears wide open. We know there are a few
forests out in that Godforsaken wilderness, and somehow
well find one of them before the snows come."
II
Members of the wagon train were frantically busy as
they made their final preparations. The women emptied
the few stores in Independence of their supplies of
bacon, flour, beans, and other essential
foodstuffs. Those who had traveled from the East
Coast replaced the worn canvas covers of their
wagons. Ted Woods worked from daybreak until
night fitting new steel rims on wheels. The men
bought lead, bullet presses, and gunpowder.
Everyone reacted to the approaching trip into the unknown
in his own way. There was a good deal of tension between
Lena and Terence Malcolm, one of the wagon
train's most popular young couples. Lena had
Joined the caravan on her seventeenth birthday with
her father and her illegitimate baby daughter,
Lenore, in the hope of creating a new life.
Terence Malcolm, nineteen, Who had believed when
he first joined the train that he
was dying of consumption, had married her in order
to give her baby a name. But the rugged life in the
open disair had cured
him
and subsequently he and Lena had fallen in love.
The others believed that Lena and Terence had found
happiness together, but no one seeing them as they sat on
the rear stoop of their wagon would have thought so. 23
Terence stared off into the night, running a hand through his
hair, while Lena glanced at him furtively.
At moments Like this he made her think of her father,
now dead, Who had become violent under the influence
of alcohol.
"Terry," she said, speaking softly so they wouldn't
awaken the baby who was asleep inside the wagon,
"you pulled into a shell right after we got
to Independence. Please-what's wrong?"
Her young husband continued to look at the few stars
shining in a cloud-filled sky. She put a hand on
his arm, and Terence felt her trembling. He could
remain silent no longer. "I'm scared," he said.
Lena was shocked. "Of what?"
"Not for myself. For you and Lenore. You came this
expedition because your pa made you do it, no because you
wanted to go to Oregon. I've been talkin to some
of the older men, and they say we face terrible
risks. I have no right to subject you and Lenore
them.-You might be killed by Indians or
die of starvation AD kinds of awful things could
happen to you."
"What ate you trying to tell me, Terry?"
"I have to go to Oregon. I have you and the baby "I
support. At six dollars an acre, I can't
afford to buy farm anywhere in the East, or even in
Illinois.
No matter how rough the travel may be, I'm
obliged to go on to Oregon and stake my
six-hundred acre claim"
"You'd leave Lenore and me?" Lena was on the
verge of tears.
"The way I see it, we have enough cash to pay for your
room ami board right here in Independence, where you'll
be safe. Once I get to Oregon and build us
home, I'll send for you,"
She was silent
"All right?" he asked, sounding apprehensive.
Lena exploded. "If I didn't believe it's
wrong for people to hit each other, I'd box your ears
good Terence Malcolm. Nobody made you marry
me. You did it of your own free will, and I'm your
wife!"
"Sure you are," he said, trying to soothe her.
"Thai the reason I suggested-was
"I don't want to hear one more word!" Lena cried,
I'd rather starve with you or have all three of us killed
by Indians-together-than to be separated from you for even
one single day. if you want us to drop out (of the
wagon trail, we'll do it, and maybe we can find
Jobs as a hired couple somewhere."
That isn't practical. I want the best of
everything
for
you and Lenore."
"Then we're coining with you, and that's the end of
. the discussion," she said. "Goodness mercy, I was
afraid you didn't love me any more."
I "There's no chance of that," he replied softly,
his voice shaky.
Lena looked at him, her eyes shining. "We took
when we got married. We promised to stay with
teach other for better or worse. So far everything
has
been pretty wonderful, and that's the way it will always
If, The sound of her voice awakened the baby.
"Mamal
Rfapal" she called.
"We're right here," Terence called. "Go back
to sleep,
Lenore'" He looked at his wife, his
expression sheepish.
You just don't know how worried I've been."
Lena pulled Us head toward her, and they kissed.
percnce's worries vanished, and he knew he was
the
ipiost fortunate of men.
bar Whip Holt had no wagon, preferring
to sleep in the men. Now, returning to the train late
in the evening per a busy day that had started at
daybreak, he got his blanket and spread it on the
ground Mt inside the circle of wagons. But he
was delayed by the approach of a portly man in an
expensively suit, who was accompanied by two
exceptionally handsome young people.
Whip had met them only two days earlier but knew
them" by sight immediately. They were not a family one
Bold easily forget
Major Laurence Woodling was a South Carolina
KisI'dcrat whose military title bad been
earned in his Kite's militia during the War of
1812. He had lost his
plantation in the financial crisis that now gripped
the United States, just as so many smaller farmers
had gone bankrupt, and be was traveling
to Oregon in the hope of starting life anew.
With ban were his twenty-one-year-old son,
Claibome, whose arrogant strut indicated he
knew he was good looking, and his daughter
of
nineteen, Eulalia. As spoiled as her brother,
Eulalia was a beauty, with a full, ripe mouth and
seductive eyes. She wore a skin-tight
dress with a daringly low-cut neckline that left little
to the imagination.
Whip instantly sensed trouble.
"Mr. Holt," Major Woodling said in a
deep, soft drawl, "we've been waiting for you
all evening."
"What can I do for you, Major?" Whip was
cordial but not effusive.
"We have two requests. We find one wagon very
crowded for the three of us, and I wonder if we might
be able to buy another."
Whip shook his head. "You'll have to travel thousand
miles or more toward the Atlantic to find wagon
and a team of horses or oxen that you could buy,
Major."
"You see, Papa?" Eulalia was so annoyed she
barely avoided stamping her foot. "I've
been telling and tellin your
Her father ignored the outburst. "What do you suggest
we do, Mr. Holt?"
"You have two choices, Major. Either you make out
with what you have, or you make other arrangements He
turned to the son. "You look as though you can ride and
shoot"
"I was practically born in the saddle,"
Claiborne Wooiling declared. "And if you'd care
to make a wager on a shootmg contest, you may
pick your own type of firearms and the target"
"I don't shoot for pleasure," Whip was abrupt
it happens, I've been putting together a team of
scoul line monitors and. the like. If you can shoot and
ride as well as you seem to think, we'd gladly have
you Join us. Certainly I'm willing to give you a
tryout 26
We'll be sleeping in the open most of the time, so your
I wagon wouldn't be as crowded."
As he spoke, be realized that Eulalia Woodling
was I flirting with him. She was so open in her
approach that I she wasn't offensive.
Unaccustomed to women flirting, I he warned himself
to be careful. But her violet eyes I exerted such
a magnetic power that he couldn't ignore
her gaze, nor could he ignore the slight smile
that parted I her lips.
"I'm not that partial to the outdoors," Claiborae
f said. "What do you do when it rains?" Whip
grinned wryly. "We get wet" I "I see."
The young man fingered his silt cravat
"I
I could use some spare money for entertainment on our
journey," be said. "How much do these positions
pay?" "Pay?" Whip stared at him incredulously.
"Boy,
we're
heading into country where the odds against survival are
two or three to one. If you're a gambler, just think
about that for a spell. Everybody in the train has
chores to do. You'll be given your assignment tomorrow,
Major, as will you, miss. You, too, boy, unless
you try be out for a monitor's job and are good enough
to hold it Folks in this company volunteer their
services for the good of everybody, and they're happy
to do it We work together or we diel"
"You give me little choice, sir." Claibome
bowed stiffly. "I accept your offer. Just tell me
what I'm to do."
"You'll work for Tonie Mell, who with
give you your Instructions in the morning." Whip
turned to the Major. "I believe you said there were
two matters you wanted to take up with me,
Major."
"There are, Mr. Holt. I still have some funds,
fortunately, and I'm willing to pay a reasonable
sum for a slave who can attend to the chores of
wagon-train Hving."
Whip didn't know whether to be annoyed or to laugh.
"Major," he said, "you'll be driving your own
wagon, hitching and unhitching your team, and looking
after your horses all the way out to Oregon.
Miss, you'll be Hashing clothes, keeping the inside
of your wagon tidy, wiping fix meals, and drawing
water. From here to the 27
Pacific. The Oregon country is free soil.
There are no slaves there. What's more, most
members of this company come from the North and wouldn't
tolerate slavery in the caravan."
Major Woodling's eyes burned, but he remained
courteous,
"I
thank you for your information and interest, sir," he said,
then turned and started off toward his own wagon.
Claiborne clicked his heels, bowed, and
walked off with his father.
Eulalia lingered for a moment "Don't mind Papa
and my brother, Mr. Holt," she said. "They've
only known one way of life, and they haven't yet
learned how to get along in the world." She turned
away and, aware that he was watching her, allowed her
hips to sway as she walked to her wagon.
She, too, had a great deal to learn. Whip
reflected. If she flirted this brazenly with others
on the journey, she would create aa uproar. As he
took his blanket from his saddlebag, he wished she
were less attractive, and he warned himself to be wary
of her.
Whip Holt had announced they would make an early
start, so most members of the company had retired
early. Bytellin the evening, the campsite was
quiet, and everyone seemed to be asleep.
Shortly before midnight, however, fifteen-year-old
Chet Harris sneaked out of the wagon he occupied
Witk his mother and two brothers and walked to Ted
Woods's small, ramshackle wagon. Standing
there, he coughed gently. Instantly Danny, who
shared the wagon with Ted, crept Kuenuy into the open.
The two boys hurried down to the bank of the broad
Missouri River, following it to an area
where the grass was waist high.
There they halted, and Danny called softly,
"Hoseal"
Most members of the company would have thought they were dreaming
if they had seen the man who emerged like a wraith from
the thick, deep grass. Totally bald, witk
skin of shining ebony, he was attired only in a
loincloth.
Much shorter than Danny and Chet, he was so more
than five feet tall, but he was fully
developed physically, 28
with powerful shoulders, strong arms, well-muscled
legs and a thick torso. Around his middle, on a
thong, he wore rows of what appeared to be
decorations disresembling small tenpins. Actually
they were small weapons-wooden throwing clubs
weighted with metal. Unknown in America, they were
used in Africa by the Ashanti tribe to kill
small game and, when necessary in battle, to stun an
enemy whom the Ashanti wanted to capture rather than
kill.
Over one bare shoulder, the black man also carried
a leather container no more than six inches long. It
appeared harmless, but he had already shown the two boys
the contents-a blowgun and darts that
he
had dipped in the venom of snakes he had killed.
He grinned at the boys, waved, and then joined them,
making no sound as he moved forward through the tall
grass.
"Did you find the supper we left for you?" Chet
asked. "We didn't dare call you because there were too
many people around."
"Hosea find," the man said. "Good supper.
Plenty much to eat." He patted his flat
abdomen.
"We march in the morning," Danny said. "Well
take you to the special wagon and show it to you. Make
sure you hide there before dawn and stay there until
it's dark. Well bring you food whenever we can."
"Hosea like food!"
"If you stay hidden until we put Independence
fat behind us, they won't send you back."
Danny felt a great sympathy for this African
who had been captured by Arab traders and sent to the
United States as a slave. Only recently
had he removed his identification anklet, with a
file the boys had brought him.
Danny had been a fugitive, too, and knew how
difficult it was to live on the run. He was
awed by Hosea's remarkable journey, all the way
from the plantation in Georgia where he had been given
his Biblical name, to Independence, Missouri.
Anyone who could travel all that distance on foot,
wearing only a loincloth, had to be an
extraordinary person. No matter 29
what Ted Woods might think, no matter how
Whip Holt might react when he learned what the
boys were doing, Danny intended to help the man he
and Chet had befriended.
"The special wagon," he said, "is filled with
all kinds of things. Barrels and sacks of
emergency food supplies, medicines, spare
wagon parts, and harnesses. Firearms and
ammunition, too."
Hosea smiled slightly as he touched his blowgun
container, then let his fingers'slide over one of the tiny
clubs hanging from his middle. He remained silent,
but his reaction was plain: others could use firearms
if they wished; he would place his faith in the
ancient weapons of his people.
"There are lots of odd corners in the wagon, so it
shouldn't be too hard for somebody of your size to hide
there," Danny said.
"Easy," Hosea replied, then laughed.
"Just be careful, that's all," Chet said. "Somebody
win be inspecting the wagon every day to make sure
everything is in place. They won't go through it
carefully, but they'll take a long look inside from
the back flap. So stay up near the front, where
nobody ever goes."
"Not worry," the escaped slave assured them.
"Hosea be very safe in special wagon."
"Lets go, then." Danny was nervous, afraid that
one of the adults, Whip in particular, might wake
up and see them.
The boys walked together, assuming an air of
nonchalance they were far from feeling, and Hosea
followed them at a distance of a dozen paces. He
managed to blend in with his surroundings in some mysterious
way. The boys glanced repeatedly over their
shoulders to make certain he was still behind them.
When they reached the special wagon, they halted behind
it. Danny pointed to a burlap sack outside the
circle of vehicles, which he and Chet had filled
with a loaf of bread and dried buffalo meat
Hosea's sense of smell, as highly developed
as his other senses, immediately told him the contents of the
sack. He scooped it up and slung it over his
shoulder in a 30
single, swift gesture. Opening the rear flap, he
climbed inside the special wagon and closed the
flap behind him.
It was astonishing to the boys that he could be so quiet;
those who were asleep In the wagons to the front and
rear were totally unaware that anything unusual had
taken place. Danny and Chet stood outside for a
moment, exchanged uncertain smiles, then went off
to their own wagons.
Ted Woods opened one eye when Danny stealthily
. crept into their wagon. By Danny's movements,
Ted knew that he had been up to something. Turning
over on his pallet, Ted smiled as he went back
to sleep. No secrets could be kept for long on the
wagon train, and soon whatever it was would come out into the
open.
St. Joseph, Missouri rivaled Independence as
the principal frontier outpost in the United
States, although it was gradually losing ground. The
atmosphere was similar: fur buyers purchased the
wares of trappers, traders, and hunters, and the
saloons and brothels in the town quickly separated the
mountain men from their hard-earned money.
There were very few respectable boarding houses in town,
and Henry St. Clair lodged in one of
them. A man in his thirties, dashing and trim, he
wore expensive clothes and was i sometimes mistaken
for a sharp-witted representative of a fur company.
Henry did nothing to discourage such ideas.
He had arrived in St. Joseph more dead than
alive after being viciously beaten by the leader of a
gang of army deserters who, at his instigation, had
attacked the wagon train and, after suffering a
catastrophic defeat, had taken out their anger on
him. The one physician in town had been taking
care of him. He was mending very well and considered himself
fortunate-none of his bones had been broken and, although
he was still somewhat battered, he could get around without
too much difficulty.
Fortunately, the army deserters had not known about the
money belt he carried around his waist. On the
frontier, men would kill for much less. It was
filled 31
with gold and United States coins, more money by far
than he would require to complete his mission. That
task was a simple one, or so he had believed when
his superiors in the British secret service had
given him the assignment He was under orders to slow the
progress of the first major wagon train to cross the
continent and, if possible, to prevent it from
reaching Oregon. Obviously it would be far easier
for Great Britain to claim all of the Oregon
country, which it now held jointly with the United
States, if Queen Victoria's subjects rather
than American citizens were the first to- settle
there in large numbers.
The job was proving to be more difficult than Henry
had imagined. When he had passed himself off as a
settler, his sabotage attempts had been
ineffective. He had suffered an even worse
defeat after
he
had been discovered, fled, and enlisted the aid of the
deserters.
Not that he himself cared whether the caravan reached the
Pacific-he had no personal interest in the
matter. But he was a professional agent, with a long
history of achievements in Europe, Africa, and
Asia. His reputation did not allow him to tolerate
failure.
St. Clair also had high hopes for his future.
He had been promised that he would be permitted
to retire from the field once he ruined the plans
of the United States. He would be given an
orBce in London and a title, and he would
remain in that city, spending the rest of his
professional life as a supervisor.
London! Just the thought of returning there dazzled
Henry St. Clair. It was his favorite place
on earth, filled with inns that served the kind of food
he most enjoyed and studded with taverns that employed
amenable barmaids. After a long career devoted
to hard work in unpleasant and uncomfortable
surroundings, Henry was ready to retire to a desk and
"the joys of London.
Walking slowly up the dirt road that constituted St
Joseph's main street, he went to the office of the
physician and, because he always paid his bills immediately,
he was admitted without delay.
The doctor gave him no more than a cursory 32
examination. "You're healing," he said. "You were
lucky you didn't do much worse to yourself falling down
that cliff."
"How soon may I leave?" St Clair demanded.
He had to get on with his assignment.
The doctor tugged at his chin. "Well, if you could
rest for another couple of weeks, it sure wouldn't
do you any harm."
"But would it hurt me if I took off as soon as
I get my gear together? I have urgent
business elsewhere, sir,"
The physician hesitated. "You seem to be in
fairly good shape, I'll admit. I won't
take responsibility if you suffer a relapse,
but if you want to take that chance yourself, I'm not in a
position to stop you."
That was all Henry wanted to know. He paid his bill
and left the office. Wasting no time, he headed
straight for the market district that faced the Missouri
River. He approached a barn where a sign hung
over the entrance:
For Sate or Rent
-
Horses and Carts.
The proprietor smelled of the stables, and Henry
wrinkled his nose in distaste. Americans were still a
barbaric people. "I want to buy the largest wagon in
your shop and a suitable team to pull it," the
Englishman said.
The man gaped at him. "You ain't thinkin' o'
gettin' a prairie schooner, Mister?"
"Whatever." Names meant nothing to Henry, and he
shrugged, wanting only to complete the transaction as
quickly as he could.
"Prairie schooners are as scarce as
white buffalo, Mister. You got pick them up in
New York Or Hartford or Boston. Where are
you aimin' to travel?"
Perhaps the man thought he was being helpful, but in England
no tradesman would dream of asking such a personal
question. "I intend to do rather extensive traveling on
behalf of my employers," Henry replied
curtly.
The proprietor shook his bead. "The best I got
is a freight wagon I bought last month when the
owner got himself killed in a bordello fight down
the street. It'll carry merchandise, with room left
over for people live in,"
"I'd like to see it"
The man took him outside to the rear of the barn where
several vehicles, most of them ui bad condition,
stood. "There you be," he said, pointing.
Henry stared at the largest wagon he had ever seen.
It had twelve wheels and a yoke for six horses.
This wagon was not only huge but cumbersome; on the
other hand, it could easily accommodate all the goods
he planned to purchase. And there would be more than enough
room for him to sleep under the arched canvas roof.
The proprietor saw that he was impressed and began
to push. "Do you want horses or oxen?
We got both."
"If you have a strong team of horses, I'm
interested. I know nothing about oxen."
The man frowned; never had he encountered anyone
unfamiliar with oxen. But a major sale was pending,
so he did not dwell on the matter. Instead he
took the prospective client to a string of stables that
stood at right angles to his other buildings.
There Henry found a team of six workhorses in
prime condition, sturdy animals that appeared to be
in robust health. His luck was better than he had
dared to hope, and he exulted inwardly. "How much
for the freighter and the team?" he demanded.
Judging by the stranger's clothes, the expensive
dueling pistols he carried in his belt, and his
superb, English- made rifle with a polished
walnut butt, the proprietor knew Henry was a
man of means. "Five hundred dollars," he
said.
Henry grinned at him. "Ill give you two
hundred."
The stranger wasn't a fool, after all, the
proprietor thought, then sighed aloud. "Make it
two hundred

fifty, and you've got a deal."
"That includes harnesses, of course," Henry said,
driving a hard bargain.
The man hesitated. Then, unwilling to jeopardize
a sale, he capitulated. "You got a deal,
Mister," he said.
Giving him no opportunity to change his mind,
Henry counted out the sum in American paper money.
"Have 34
the team hitched and ready to go by early this afternoon," he
said, and gave the man an extra dollar.
Next he went to St Joseph's largest general
store and, in less than an hour of whirlwind
buying, he had purchased everything he needed for his own
use. He found two sets of buckskin shirts and
pants that fitted him reasonably wen, along with, a
buffalo-skin cloak to wear when the weather got
colder. He could have planned to shoot his own on the
Great Plains and cure the skins, but this would save
him the trouble. He laid in a generous store of
rations, including salted fish and smoked venison, as
well as barrels of such staples as pickled beef,
sacks of flour, beans, sugar, and salt, and
sides of bacon and ham.
Even more important, he bought a
mattress and several blankets, two pairs of
oiled boots, and several rolls of canvas
to replace the covering on his wagon. He found
extra wheels, two axles, and a spare yoke lor
his team and, as a final precaution, he bought a
hammer, a keg of nails, and two knives. Now
he was almost ready.
Arranging to pick up most of his purchases later,
he took one set of his new clothes with him and went
to the better of St. Joseph's bordellos. It
might be a long time before he would have another
opportunity to bed a woman. He acquired the
services of a blonde who satisfied him, even
though she wasn't up to his London standards. Then
he dressed in his new buckskins and boots.
Returning to his lodging house, he picked up his
few belongings, paid his bill, then went to the stables for
his waiting team and freight wagon. His next stop
was the general store, where his morning's purchases were
loaded into his wagon.
Finally, he went to a warehouse with a somewhat questionable
reputation, where he had engaged in intensive bargaining
the previous day. A dozen unmarked,
innocent-looking crates containing rales were loaded
onto the wagon, along with containers that were
filled with gunpowder and heavy boxes loaded with lead
bars from which bullets could be fashioned. Finally a
large number 35
of barrels of cheap whiskey were rolled onto the
wagon. Ever since colonial days, it had been
against the law in the New World to sell or give
liquor to Indians, but Henry had paid more than the
asking price for the whiskey, so the owner of the warehouse
had conveniently forgotten to fill out the form required
by the federal government when alcoholic beverages were
sold in quantity.
Ready at last, Henry St. Clair drove his
team to the bank of the Missouri River. There he paid
the operator of a ferry fifty cents-double the usual
price-to take him and his heavy load to the west
bank. "Where are you headed?" the operator asked.
Henry gave him the first answer that came to mind.
I'm starting a new land of business. I'm taking
supplies out to the Rockies to sell to mountain men."
The explanation made no real sense, but it
satisfied the ferry operator.
Sitting on the front of the wagon and keeping hia
team under tight rein while the ferry traveled across
the broad river, Henry St Clair smiled
to himself. He was truly pleased. Ahead lay
the Great Plains, and he felt reasonably certain
he would be moving into the area before the wagon train
reached the region. He could travel far more
rapidly than could a caravan of fifty or sixty
wagons.
The unknown did not frighten him, the wilderness held
no terrors for him. The liquor and weapons were
virtual guarantees that he would be able to make a
mutually satisfactory arrangement with one or more
of the Indian tribes. The odds against him had been
overwhelming, but he told himself he had every right to be
proud of his accomplishments so far. The wagon train
was doomed.
Sam and
Claudia
flrentwood intended to bid a last farewell to their
friends on the wagon train, so they awakened two
hours before dawn, dressed hastily, and hurried to the
kitchen. There they found that Cathy, who had decided
to spend the night with them, was not only fully dressed
but had already made coffee. 36
Once on the road into Independence, Claudia
exchanged a glance with Sam, and he raised the question that
both had been reluctant to ask. "Cathy, you still
haven't told us your plans, and you can't
really hold off any longer. Are you staying with us and
turning your wagon and team over to somebody, or are
you going on to Oregon with the train?"
Cathy smiled faintly and sounded very sure of herself as
she said, "I'm going to Oregon."
Claudia was surprised. "I thought that nasty
experience you had in town a couple of days ago
might have robbed you of any spirit of adventure you had
left,"
"I'm not interested in adventure," Cathy said,
"What I enjoy is the freedom to live my own
life in my own way. I went straight from papa's
supervision to Otto's, and now, for the first time ever, I
can do what I please."
Sara reflected that he would never understand any
woman. "I know you and Otto worked a farm on
Long Island," he said, "but I thought that life
didn't appeal to you very much."
"It's the only life I know," Cathy replied.
"Then," he persisted, "you'll
take
six hundred acres from the government, build yourself
a home, and start to farm the property?"
Claudia couldn't help smiling at the note of
astonishment in his voice, and she couldn't
blame him. A girl as pretty and petite as
Cathy didn't look capable of cutting down huge
trees, uprooting the stumps, and plowing the earth for
planting, much less putting up her own house in the
wilderness.
Cathy's smile indicated that she was fully aware
of the difficulties that lay ahead of her. "I still have
Otto's money, and if I can't work this out in some
other way I can always pay somebody to do the hard
physical labor for me."
Sam wondered what she meant by "Vorking this out
in some other way," but Claudia knew instantly.
"I know you've entertained a rather high opinion of
Whip Holt ever since you first met him,"
Claudia said directly, "and I suspect your
opinion of him is even higher since he saved you from
those roughnecks." 37
"Claudia!" Cathy grew scarlet, mortified
because her sister had raised the matter openly in
Sam's presence.
Claudia knew what was going through her sister's mind
and was firm. "Sam is family now, so we'll
keep no secrets from him. You can trust Mm to be
discreet."
"Of course," the bewildered Sam said.
Cathy was badly flustered and peered off into the night
The stars had disappeared, and she could see only a
short distance down the road, "It-it so happens I
have a very high regard for Michael Holt."
At last Sam understood. He had never heard
anyone else refer to Whip by anything other than his
nickname.
"But I have no intention of throwing myself at him,"
Cathy went on. "I'm not a hussy. And I have
no intention of marrying anyone so soon after Otto's
death. What's more, I have no idea whether Michael
Holt will ever want to settle down with any woman.
I may be young, Claudia, but I'm not giddy, and
I do try to be realistic."
"Are you sure there's nothing more to all this,"
Claudia asked, "than gratitude to Whip for
rescuing you the other dayThat
"I'm not sure of anything, but I plan to find out!"
Cathy retorted.
Sam decided to intervene. "Cathy," he said,
"watch your step. JT-VE known Whip for a long
time, and I've been as close to him as anybody can
get, which isn't all that close. He's a good
man, but he holds everybody at arm's length. And
he values his freedom more than life itself.
I don't think, any girl, not even one as
pretty as you, could ever lasso him and put a brand
on him."
Cathy absorbed her brother-in-law's words in
silence. Then suddenly the clouds parted, and the moon
appeared, illuminating the wagons that stood in a
circle high on a hill overlooking the Missouri
River.. Dark figures scurried around a roaring
breakfast fire. She felt a lump in her
throat, and for a few moments her heart raced faster.
"No matter what," she said, "I'm going on
to Oregon!"
The mad who called himself Andrl Sebastian arose
early, as he always did. He ate a substantial
breakfast 38
in the dining room of the one respectable inn in ST
Louis, then lingered at the table over coffee. He
lit one of the disexpensive Latin American
segaros
that were his only weakness.
Perhaps he would leave today on the next stage of his
journey, but he felt no'need to rush. It wouldn't
matter if he waited an extra day or an
extra week. He could cover fifty miles in a
day without exerting himself, while the most the
American wagon train could manage
wastellmiles. There was no way the train could move
fast enough to leave him far behind. And his own timing was of
primary importance: he had no desire to make his
approach in Independence. It would be far easier
to strike after the wagons moved out into the lonely,
unending reaches of the Great Plains.
That was something the charge
d'affaires
of the Imperial Russian Legation in Washington
failed to understand. But the
charge,
like so many desk officers in the employ of the secret
police, was an imbecile. In order to serve in a
supervisory capacity, one had to have family
connections in St. Petersburg, but common sense would
indicate that men with field experience should be
promoted to the higher posts.
Not that Andrl Sebastian sought or would accept a
desk job. He was too restless to shuffle papers,
and his distinguished career, almost all of it served in the
New World, proved that he was superbly efficient in
the field.
It was difficult for anyone to tell whether he was
twenty-five years old or forty, and that was
one of his advantages. His hair was dark, his
features were ordinary and his suit of broadcloth,
although made for him by a tailor, was a duty gray
color. Andug Sebastian was not a man whom people
remembered, which was precisely the appearance he had
long cultivated.
Now that he was closing in on his quarry, he thought the
time was appropriate for a review of this case. His
one regret was that he hadn't been given the
assignment to begin with. He had been on another job
at the time, and Tonie Mell, who had been chosen
for this one, had obviously failed to act.
This assignment required great finesse and stamina,

Sebastian reflected. Only a man who had
crossed all of Siberia on horseback could be
asked to follow the Yankee wagon train into the
untamed vastness of the Great Plains.
At an appropriate moment, he would approach
Antoinette Melichev, the girl who called herself
Tonie Mell, St Petersburg's terms had
become harsher. He would notify her that if she
failed to cooperate-perform acts of sabotage that
would bring the wagon train to a halt-her mother and father not
only would be required to remain in
Russia, but might be imprisoned, sent in exile
to Sirens or even executed.
Andre Sebastian hoped the threat would mean enough to the
stubborn girl to convince her to act on behalf of the
Russians. If not, he was authorized to take
any steps necessary to force her compliance. Only if she
continued to refuse did he have orders to intervene
directly to perform acts of sabotage that would
disrupt and disorganize the train.
The reasons for this had been stressed to him repeatedly
by the
chargg,
who had treated him like an idiot, but the purpose
of the order was plain. Russia was posin? a@. the one
great power that was friendly to the United States; Martin
Van Buren and his State Department were taken in by the
ruse, just as Andrew Jackson the previous
President, had been. Great Britain, France,
and even failing Spain might connive against the young,
growing nation that was expanding so rapidly across the face
of North America, but the government in St.
Petersburg stated that it had no conflict with
Washington.
The facts were far different. Imperial explorers
and settlers had been the first to find and make
their homes in the fertile lands of Alaska. The
Oregon region then stretched from Alaska
to California. Based on their explorations along the
northern Pacific coast, Russia had laid
claim to parts of the Oregon country.
The Americans and British, the United States
and
Canada, lying relatively close to the Oregon
territory,
also had laid claim to the area. Russia had faced
a
cruel choice: either withdraw or go to war. Granted
that Oregon was a paradise, rich with timber and
salmon, marvelously fertile soil, and precious
minerals in her mountains. But she was not worth a war
with Great Britain, at present the strongest nation
on earth, or even with the Yankees, who had
demonstrated in their War of Independence and War of
1812 that they continued to fight until they achieved
victory. So Russia signed treaties with Great
Britain and the United States, giving up its
interests. Now Russia wanted the lands back and was
taking a subtle approach to accomplish its goal.
Andre
1
Sebastian knew he was the right person for the task that
lay ahead. He was a crack shot, a deadly
knife thrower, and capable of sustaining himself in the
wilderness for long periods. Studying the glowing tip
of his
segaro,
he calmly sipped his coffee. He felt confident
that, one way" or another, he would persuade or
compel Antoinette Melichev to perform the deeds that
the government of the czar demanded of her. And no one would
ever learn of the Russian secret police's
involvement
Members of the wagon train ate a hearty
breakfast of pancakes and bacon and, while the
women washed the dishes and tidied the campsite, the
men hitched their teams of horses and disoxen. There were
four barges used for river crossings in
Independence, and Whip Holt hired all of them.
The transfer of the animals and wagons took the
better part of the morning, but at last the task was
completed, and.the company assembled on the west bank
of the Missouri in a land occupied by the Kama
Indians and a few white men.
The route selected by Whip was simple. The company
was so large-four hundred and seventy-six
persons--that the need" for water was constant. So he
intended to travel almost due north along the
Missouri until they came to one of its principal
tributaries, the Platte, in the land of the Omaha
nation. There they would turn west and would follow the
Platte-and subsequently the North
Platte-all the way to the Rockies.
The grass was high, but there were only a few,
small, scattered trees dotting the landscape. The
land that 41
stretched out toward the horizon was flat. There were no
hills here, no rises; it was evident that the Great
Plains had been aptly named.
The absence of natural obstacles made it
possible for Whip to arrange his caravan in three
parallel columns of about fifty wagons each.
The place of honor of the first wagon of the right
column was held by Baron Ernst von Thalman
He had been elected president of the train by a
unanimous vote-a rare sign of confidence in a
foreigner. As the head of the community, he would act as
judge in disputes between members of the company and would
also act as spokesman for the travelers in dealing with the
wagon master.
To lead the center column, to the surprise of
many, Whip placed a couple who had been the butt
of numerous jokes when they had joined the caravan
months earlier. Nat Drummond, in his
mid-forties, was short, slender, and balding, a
quiet man who minded his own business and rarely
raised his voice. His wife, Grace, towered above
him by a head, outweighed him by fifty pounds, and
subjected him to a constant barrage of criticism,
which he ignored. Others had learned-and perhaps Grace
was discovering, too-that little Nat was a solid man, a
valuable member of the expedition. He never became
flustered and never lost his head in a crisis.
The position of the first wagon of the left column was
awarded to Cathy van Ayl. Some thought she had been
given the place because of Whip's personal interest in
her, but they were mistaken. She, her late husband and
her sister had been the first members of the wagon
train, so she held the coveted post by right of
seniority.
Three scouts fanned out ahead of the wagons. After
today they would depart every morning after an early breakfast
and not rejoin the group until evening. Later, when the
company traveled further and further from civilization,
they might absent themselves for two or three days at
a time, reporting back only when necessary.
All three were the best men available. In the center
was Stalking Horse, who had left his Cherokee
Village in Tennessee as a boy and bad spent much
of his life in the West-which he knew intimately-and

who had no ties to any of the Indian nations of the
Plains. On the left was Arnold Mell,
tireless in spite of his age, as experienced as
Stalking Horse at smelling danger and reading
signs that indicated bands of hostile Indians or
other dangers.
On the right was a hunter whom Whip had known in the
Rockies. Mack Dougall was almost fifty years
old, stocky andwitha potbelly. When he had joined
the expedition at Independence, he had immediately made
arrangements for Ted Woods to carry his
supplies-which consisted mainly of two barrels of
cheap whiskey. His thirst was insatiable, and his
complaints about the aches in his bones were endless, but
Whip knew from experience that Mack allowed nothing
to interfere with his duty. When necessary, he could stay in the
saddle day and night
Danny was driving Tonie Mell's wagon. She
had happily accepted when Whip promoted her to the
post of chief monitor, and she and her
assistants rode up and down the lines of wagons,
making certain there were no breakdowns and that no
annuals became lame. If a serious emergency
occurred, a halt would be called.
The buckskin-clad Tonie was introduced to one of
her assistants, young Claiborne Woodling, at
breakfast, and there was an immediate dash when he
announced, 'Taking orders from a woman will be something
new for me. A man should be in charge of the
monitors."
Tonie eyed him coldly. "I've been
monitoring the line for months and I know what I'm
doing. That's why Whip put me in charge. So you'll
be working for me." Trying to be conciliatory, she
added, "But I see no problems. The work is
routine. As a matter of fact, sometimes it gets
dull. You've got to resist the temptation to gallop
as you go up and down the
line."
"What's wrong with a gallop?"
"You tire your own horse unnecessarily," she
replied, "and sometimes the workhorses and oxen get
too excited. Just maintain a nice, steady pace
and make sure you keep checking-wagon by wagon-as
you ride. That's all there is to it."
Claiborne made no reply, but he had his own
ideas. 43
When he felt like galloping, that was precisely what
he intended to do.
Claiborne wasn't the only member of his
family causing trouble. Eulalia was seething as she
sat with her father on the board of their wagon.
"I just can't believe it," she said, shaking her head
so her long black hair swayed. "That woman is
impossible."
"What woman?" Major Woodling asked.
"That Van Ayl person. She actually had the
nerve to ask me whether I wanted to join the
dishwashing detail or the water-fetching group. When
I told her that neither appealed to me, she said that was
my choice. I refused, and she plain assigned
me to washing dishes."
Her father sighed. "This is a new way of life for
us, Eulalia. We've got to accept chores when
they're given to us."
"Well, I went straight to Baron von Thalman
during breakfast, and that's what he said to me, too.
But I won't!"
"You win, Eulalia," the Major said firmly.
"If we had any choice, we'd be back
home, not riding in this convoy all the way across the
continent But we've got no alternative, so we have
to accept their rules."
"I'll do it-for now," she replied grudgingly, "but
I'll get even with that bossy Van Ayl woman.
Just you wait and see."
A short distance from them, in the next line, Danny
maneuvered the Mell team into place directly behind
the special wagon. Waiting nervously for the march
to begin, he hoped Hosea wouldn't get curious and
peer out of the wagon. It would be all too easy for
Whip and Baron von Thalman to send the escaped
slave back across the river to Independence. And that
would be the end of him. Many people there would be happy
to pocket the reward given for any slave returned
to his master.
At last all of the wagons reached their assigned
places. The scouts had long since vanished, and
Whip Holt took 44
his place at the head of the column, "I reckon
we'll be on our way," he said quietly
to.tonie Mell. His horse started forward toward
the northwest only a short distance from the banks of the
Missouri.
Tonie, who had taken the center line for
herself, started to ride toward the rear, giving the
signal that the caravan was beginning to move. The moment
was very special to her, but it was spoiled when she saw
that Claiborne Woodling, on her right, was
deliberately disobeying orders by galloping.
Soon the entire caravan was in motion. Between each
wagon there was a comfortable gap so no one would breathe
too much dust The sun shone almost directly
overhead in a hazy sky, and the gentle breeze from the
west carried the faint but distinct scent of sweet
prairie
Now, after the long halt at Independence, the
veterans in the caravan heard the familiar music
made only by a wagon train. The newcomers,
aware of it for the first time, soon would become accustomed
to the harmonies. The hoofbeats of the horses set a
steady, sharp rhythm on the hard ground, and the
surprisingly softer, more delicate drumming of the
hoofs of the oxen provided a counterpoint. The leather
of harnesses creaked in time to the pounding, pulsing throb,
and the squeaking wheels of the wagons provided the
major theme. These pioneers to Oregon had no
way of knowing that, until the coming of the railroads a
half-century and more later, the music of their
wagons and of all the wagons to come would echo
and re-echo across the continent.
The days of organizing, planning, and arranging were
over. The longtrip was under way.
III
By the third day of the journey into the wilderness, even the
most inexperienced of the new arrivals had become
accustomed to the routines. Back morning, the men of the
fire-making detail were the first to arise, leaving their
wagons as soon as the glow of the false dawn
appeared in the sky. Since wood was scarce throughout
many portions of the Great Plains, the men learned from
Whip to make their fires of what were called
"chips." dried buffalo dung, available in large
quantities and sanitized by long exposure to the
elements. A score of women volunteers led
by Cathy van Ayl prepared breakfast each
morning, and by dawn the entire company was assembled.
All major chores, including the gathering of water
and washing of dishes, were organized communally, but
individual householders harnessed their own animals
and moved into their assigned places in the three
lines. The breakfast fires were extinguished, and the
sun was rising by the time the caravan began to roll.
At midday the train always halted for an hour or more
to rest the horses and oxen. This period was
known as "nooning," and those who were hungry usually
ate cold leftovers. Some people took naps, but the
security- conscious Whip Holt assigned the men
and older boys to sentry duty on a rotating
schedule, and a watch was 47
kept for bands of hostile Indians or stray,
wild animals. Whip made it very plain that, in the
event a buffalo herd was sighted, all male
members of the company who could handle firearms should be
summoned without delay.
The journey was rescued after the nooning, and the company
rode on until about four in the afternoon. Whip knew
where to call a halt for the night, the scouts having
told him in detail what lay ahead. The first
task was that of forming the wagons in a protective
circle. The oxen and horses were set free inside
the circle, to safely graze. Meanwhile water was
carried from the Missouri, the older boys gathered
buffalo chips and firewood when it was available,
and the women went to work to prepare supper, the main meal
of the day.
While the women cooked, foraging parties went out
Into the prairies to search for game. Deer were
plentiful as were rabbits, and there were wild geese and
ducks to be found in ponds partially concealed
by tall grass. Few fish were found in the Missouri
River, but the smaller streams that fed into it were filled
with them. The company tried to be self-sufficient.
The provisions carried by every family were to be kept for
emergency use only.
It was during this pre-supper time that Dr. Martin
treated those who needed it; fortunately, most of the
ailments were minor. On days when Ernie von
Thalman didn't go hunting, he listened
to complaints and tried to settle quarrels and
disputes.
Supper was the highlight of the day. Newcomers tended
to go off
by themselves, but they swiftly learned that everyone mixed
freely during the social hour. Many lasting
friendships were formed. People who had been total strangers
planned to become neighbors when they reached the
Oregon country.
The scouts ordinarily arrived before the meal was served,
and reported
in
detail to Whip concerning what lay ahead. It was
during this hour, too, that the wagon- master's other
sheutenants reported to him.
Tonie Mell waited for several days before
going to Whip, but on the fourth night of the journey,
she 48
announced bluntly, "I may need a new
monitor in place of Qaiborne Woodling."
Whip pulled a blade of grass out of the ground, then
nibbled on the white portion at the base. "What's
wrong with him?"
"He'd be fine if he did what he's told. But
he wears out his horse galloping up and down the line
all day, and he's so busy showing off to the women that
he doesn't really check to make sure there are no
problems with any of the wagons."
Whip nodded, rose, and sauntered off toward the
Woodling wagon, where Claibome was chatting with his
father and sister.
The wagon master stopped and beckoned
to Claibome. "You're a good rider," he said when
the young man joined him.
Claibome grinned, pleased that he was winning
recognition.
"Your trouble," Whip continued, "is that you don't
follow orders."
The younger man's smile faded. "I don't like working
for women."
"That's what I figured. But nobody in this
company is more competent than Tonie, and nobody
has contributed more to our safety. You can go back
to-helping your father drive his wagon, and I'll
find another monitor."
"Hold on." Claibome enjoyed his assignment
because he felt it set him apart from the other settlers.
"It isnt fan- to-was
"I'll give you one more chance," Whip said,
interrupting. "In this train, folks work together and do
what they're told. If Tonie comes to me again,
you're finished."
lust then, Cathy van Ayl, standing near the fire,
banged a cooking spoon on the bottom of a frying
pan, the signal that supper was ready.
Whip did not look at the young man again. He
turned and went off to eat with his scouts. Their good
news caused him to forget Claibome. Arnold had
bagged a buck on the way back to the campsite, and
Mack Dougall had shot a doe in the same
vicinity. 49
Tiere wasn't time to cook 'em tonight," Mack said,
reeking of whiskey as usual, but sober. "But Nat
Drum- mond says hell butcher 'em before he
turns in, so well have plenty o" venison for
tomorrow's supper-well, not quite enough for this many
folks."
Stalking Horse was annoyed because, unlike the other
scouts, he had not found any deer. "Where you
catch?" he demanded.
"About five miles up the Missouri and three
miles to the west," Arnold said. "There's a salt
lick hidden behind some high brush near a little stream that
flows into the river."
Stalking Horse said nothing, but his eyes indicated
he had no intention of being ouI'done by his older,
white colleagues. As soon as the meal was over,
he slid a pair of knives into his belt,
picked up his bow and his quiver of arrows, then went
to fetch his gelding, a farewell gift from Sam
Brentwood.
He led his mount beyond the circle of wagons and was about
to vault onto the horse's back when he sensed that
someone else was near. He stared, then reached for one of
his knives just as a wraith-like, curious figure
emerged from (he special wagon and came toward
him.
The man was blacker than the night, as short as a
child, and almost totally bald. Hosea halted, then
raised a hand in the Ashanti greeting.
The gesture was remarkably similar to the
Indian sign of peace, and Stalking Horse
loosened his grip on the hilt of the knife. He had
never seen this little man before, and it was odd that he should have
come out of the special wagon. But the Cherokee,
unlike his white friends, had a live-and-let-live
philosophy, and he felt a twinge of sympathy for
this strange creature who was clad only in a
loincloth.
Stalking Horse raised his own hand in reply
to Hosea's gesture, then leaped onto the back of
his horse and started off toward the north, quickly
increasing the gelding's pace to a canter.
Hosea ran beside him, moving effortlessly. The
Cherokee was startled-he had never encountered a man.

who could keep up with a cantering horse. But he
admired the man's speed and stamina, so he allowed
him to come along. Besides, he appeared harmless,
carrying nothing other than a small container slung
over one shoulder and some strange little objects tied
to his middle.
Stalking Horse wondered how long the man could
maintain the pace. Mile after mile the horse
continued to canter, and mile after mile Hosea ran
beside the horse, untiring, his breathing easy and
unlabored, his gait steady.
Then, when they came to a place within a mile of tie
salt lick Arnold had described, Stalking
Horse slowed to a halt, dismounted, and walked beside the
horse. Hosea followed him. He must have
overheard the conversation with Whip, Stalking Horse
thought, and somehow figured out that he was going hunting.
They came to a small tree, and Stalking Horse
tethered his gelding. Making no sound, he moved
forward again. Hosea was equally silent.
The wind was blowing from the south into their faces, which was good
since any deer in the vicinity of the lick wouldn't be
able to get the scent of humans. The grass grew
higher, and the pair snaked through it side by side.
Stalking Horse telling himself that whoever this, stranger
might be, he was an accomplished hunter.
They circled the pond that Arnold had mentioned and
saw the lick ahead. Peering through the thick grass,
they saw a buck and a doe feeding.
Stalking Horse reached into his quiver and notched
an arrow on his bowstring. As he did, his small
companion removed one of the unusual objects
hanging frora his waist.
They struck simultaneously, Hosea hurling his
miniature, weighted club at the same
instant that Stalking Horse fired the arrow.
The Indian fully expected to kill his quarry and
was in no way surprised when he put the arrow into the
doe's heart. What amazed him was that the black
man's club, aimed with unerring accuracy, had .
caught the buck on the head, and he toppled to the
ground, too. 51
"Wait here," the impressed Stalking Horse
commanded, then hurried off to fetch his horse.
Returning with the mount, he and Hosea loaded the deer
onto the gelding's back. Because the horse was so
weighted down, the walk back to the campsite took
several hours.
Some members of the expedition had already retired, but the
cooking fire was still burning. A number of people were
sitting and standing around it, drinking coffee. Stalking
Horse baited and removed the deer.
Hosea stopped outside the circle of the wagons.
"Use knife," Hosea said. "Need shirt and
pants,"
At last Stalking Horse understood. He handed him
a knife, took his gelding and, entering the circle,
immediately found Whip. He began to explain what had
happened, deliberately speaking in his own
language so that others wouldn't know what he
was saving.
Whip immediately accompanied the Cherokee, who was still
explaining when they approached the place where he had
left Hosea. Working with great speed and dexterity,
Hosea had already skinned the buck and was butchering the
carcass. He looked up, the knife still in his hand,
but he appeared resigned now to whatever fate might
await him. He neither ran away nor tried
to defend himself.
Whip had his hand on the butt of a pistol, but
refrained from drawing it. "Who are you?"
The little man drew himself up proudly. "Hosea,"
"Somebody had to hide you in the special wagon and
bring you food. Who helped you?"
The black man hesitated, but knew that shes would
only complicate his situation. "Boys."
"What boys?"
"Name of one Danny. Name of other Chet."
"Fetch them," Whip said, and Stalking Horse
hurried back to the fire.
"Is it true," the wagon master demanded, his
curiosity disovercoming him, "that you actually killed
that buck with one of those clubs?"
Hosea grinned and handed him one of the little clubs.
Whip held it in his hand, noted that it had a
perfect 52
balance, and handed it back to him. At that moment
Stalking Horse reappeared with the sheepish boys.
Danny was eager to explain before he received a
tongue-lashing. "Hosea here is a wonderful
fellow," he said. "He escaped from a plantation in
Georgia and crossed the whole United States
all the way to Independence without being caught."
"That's why we had to help him," Chet added.
"Please, Whip, we don't care how you punish
us, but don't send him back."
"Let him stay with us!" Danny begged.
Whip raised a hand for silence, then turned to the
black man. "Anybody who can keep up with a
cantering horse for miles and can kill a buck with a
crazy weapon like this doesn't need to hide. Besides,
all men have a right to be free." He grinned, then
extended his hand. "Welcome to the wagon train."
Hosea shook his band with great dignity.
The boys whooped with delight
"Help him finish skinning and butchering these deer,"
Whip told them. "Hosea, tomorrow night you'll eat
roast venison, and you'll eat with all the rest of
us."
The little man bowed to express his
appreciation, then suddenly waved the boys away from
the deer. "No!" he told them. "Hosea take
off skins. Best skinner in world. Then boys cut
meat. Need skins for clothes."
Whip had skinned more wild animals than he could
recall, and watching Hosea skin the doe, he had
to concede that his boast was justified. He was
remarkably nimble, Ms speed was dazzling, and at
no time did he injure the skin. Had he chosen a
career as a mountain man, he would have succeeded, and
Whip could think of no higher praise.
"Sleep beside the fire, Hosea, until you can
make yourself some buckskins. The nights are
chilly." He turned and went back into the circle.
Stalking Horse continued to watch until Hosea was
finished, and then, as the boys butchered the carcasses,
Hosea allowed Stalking Horse to help prepare
the skins. He and Hosea cut away the hair,
scraped the insidea clean of flesh, then rubbed the
skins vigorously, using 53
a mixture of salt, fat, and the brains of the deer,
along with bunches of grass. It was late before they were
done. Danny, returning after a final trip to the
fire with the venison, which would be cooked lightly before
being roasted the following night, brought word that
Ernie von Thalman would allow the skins to be
cured in the sunlight on the roof of his wagon.
Finally, Hosea retired to the side of the fire.
In the morning, he created a sensation, and by the time the
entire company assembled for breakfast, he was the
center of attention. In spite of his scanty
attire, he continued to conduct himself with grave
dignity, bowing courteously to everyone who approached
him and shaking hands with those who held out their hands to him.
He answered all questions the members of the company
asked, although some of his replies were vague.
Most of the travelers seemed to accept him, although some
appeared uneasy when, in response to requests,
he showed them his blowgun and miniature, weighted
clubs. A few southern farmers and their families
avoided him, but only the Woodlings were openly
hostile. Eulalia solved the problem by pretending
he didn't exist, but her father glared at the black
man, and Claiborne went out of his way to
be
rude. "He should be sent back to Georgia in
chains and whipped every day for a month," he announced
to no one in particular.
Others more than compensated for this hostility, however.
Ernie von Thahnan and Dr. Martin
offered him places in their wagons during the march, and
Tonie said she would be pleased if
he
rode in her wagon with Danny. Cathy van Ayl
and Cindy made certain he had enough food for
breakfast
Still courteous but offering no explanations, he
refused all offers of places in various wagons.
Then, when the workhorses and oxen were harnessed and the
wagons broke up their night formation to start moving
into line, he walked quietly to Whip, who was just
mounting his stallion.
"Hosea go with chief," he announced.
Whip was puzzled. "That's fine with me, but I'm
afraid I don't have a spare horse for you." 54
"No need horse. No want horse," Hosea
replied. When the caravan began to move, he
trotted amiably beside Whip's mount, never showing
any sign of fatigue, never complaining.
During the nexttelldays, the weather gradually
became cooler, and on two nights rain fell.
On the second occasion, lightning filled the sky,
thunder rumbled across the plains, and several wagon
owners insisted that Hosea sleep under cover. He
refused with the same gentle dignity he
always displayed, but he did accept a blanket from
Dr. Martin and consented to sleep under Ernie von
Thalman's wagon.
Hosea was clever with his hands, but when
the
skim were finally cured, Cathy noticed that he
appeared puzzled and sat for a long time after supper
studying the shirts of several of the men. Realizing that
he didn't know how to sew, she insisted on making his
new wardrobe for him. She cut the skins for him,
and for the next three days he drove her team while
she sat on the board beside him and sewed his new
shirt, pants, moccasins, and the short outer cloak
he would wear when the weather turned still colder.
Her kindness won his loyalty. Thereafter, when she was
preparing meals, he invariably appeared beside her and
quietly performed tasks that required physical
strength.
One evening, refusing food until Cathy was done
with her work, Hosea finally accepted a dripping
chunk of meat, which he placed on a slab of bread.
The conversation near the fire was too noisy for him, so
he retreated to the shadows near the special wagon.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he began
to eat Suddenly he raised his head,
listening intently.
Danny was coming toward him, but Hosea gestured for
silence, then rose quietly and hurried to the far
side of the fire, where he beckoned urgently
to Stalking Horse, Arnold Mell, and Whip.
They followed him without question.
Hosea halted near the spot where he had been
eating his supper and stood still. Stalking Horse,
too, heard the sound that had alarmed him. Then Whip
and Arnold 55
picked it up at the same instant and, exchanging
glances, cocked their rifles. Although none of the others
who were gathered around the campfire realized it,
intruders had broken into the wagon directly behind the
special Wagon.
Whip took charge, indicating with gestures that he and
Arnold would go into the open through the narrow space between the
vehicles while Stalking Horse and Hosea
crawled out under the special wagon.
Danny, curious and excited, wanted to accompany
the men, but he was halted by a sharp, curt wave from
Whip, who didn't want the burden of the boy's
safety on his mind. Danny reluctantly
stopped.
Rifles were less effective at short
range than smaller firearms, so Whip and
Arnold both carried their rifles in their left hands
and drew pistols from their belts with their right.
As soon as they moved out into the open, they flattened
themselves against the outside of the special wagon. They
took in the situation at a glance. Six horses were
tethered a short distance away, and a half-dozen
Kansa warriors were systematically looting a
settler's wagon.
Tlie braves, their nationality identifiable by the
bright red and deep purple stripes of paint on their
cheeks and foreheads, had slashed the canvas at one
side of the wagon. Making silent trips between the
wagon and the spot where their horses were tethered, they were
apparently stealing everything-sacks and barrels of
emergency food supplies, bundles of clothing,
and an old clock. They had piled more on the ground
than they could comfortably carry, and were
so
intent on their thievery that they didn't realize they
were being observed from the shadows a few yards away.
Two of them, after jointly carrying a barrel of
pickled beef, started back to the wagon.
Stalking Horse was the first to strike. Leaping to his
feet and bounding forward, a knife held
above his head he gave his intended victim no
opportunity to defend himself or even to shout a warning
to his companions. Before the Kansa realized what was
happening, the 56
Cherokee had slashed his throat, and he crumpled
to the grass.
While Whip and Arnold watched, Hosea
proceeded to dispose of the second Indian. Waiting
only long enough to make certain that Stalking Horse was
not in his line of fire, he sent a tiny dart from his
blowgun at the warrior, who was reaching for the knife in
his own belt. The needle-sharp point of the dart
penetrated the Indian's face, and he grimaced,
as though stung by a bee or wasp. He raised his
free hand to his cheek to brush away the insect, but
by that time the poison was taking effect- For a moment he
stood erect, a bewildered expression on his
face. Then the knife dropped from his nerveless
fingers, and he collapsed in a heap, dying as he
sprawled on
the
ground.
Whip and Arnold exchanged a quick glance. The same
thought had occurred to both of them. The silent
tactics instinctively employed by their
companions were proving remarkably effective. The
other Kansa who were rummaging inside the wagon
didn't even know they were under attack. So Whip
silently indicated to Stalking Horse and Hosea
that they were to continue. Not only did Whip not want
to warn the Indians, but he was afraid that any
gunfire might attract members of the wagon
train to the scene. The presence of hostile Indians
could easily start a panic among the less
experienced members of the wagon train, and it was
possible that some of them might be injured.
Stalking Horse placed himself in the open space between
the wagons, where it would be more difficult for him to be
seen, and Hosea seemed to melt into the night as he
dropped to one knee in the shadow of the special
wagon. Soon two more of the Kansa emerged from the
wagon, carrying a sack of grain. Stalking
Horse literally flew as he hurtled toward the
warrior closest to him and plunged his knife all the
way to the hilt into the man's back. The brave had
no chance to fight back, and, sprawling face forward
onto the ground, he died without realizing what had
happened to him.
Then there was a faint, popping sound as Hosea
directed a strong puff of breath into the
mouthpiece of 57
his blowgun. The tiny dart was invisible as it flew
toward its target. Again his aim was accurate-the dart
penetrated the back of the other Kansa's neck.
He dropped the sack of grain, and began to reach up
to swat what he thought was an insect. Then he
staggered in a circle, agony reflected in his
eyes. Dropping to his hands and knees, he
crawled a few feet in the direction of the tethered
horses and then silently collapsed.
Before Stalking Horse could remove his knife from the
back of the" warrior he had just killed, a fifth
Kansa emerged from the wagon. The man carried a
pile of clothes in his arms, but he immediately took in
the situation. Quicker and more agile than his
colleagues, he flung the stolen clothes aside,
drew his own bone- handled knife, and leaped at
Stalking Horse.
The Cherokee was still unarmed, and he rolled to one
side to avert the full force of the impact,
deflecting the Kaosa's vicious attempt
to knife him.
The Kansa landed on top of Stalking Horse. A
deadly tug of war began for possession of the blade,
with the Cherokee hanging on to his foe's
wrist while the Kansa struggled ferociously
to free himself. They rolled over and over in the
grass, both men kicking, both hitting and punching with
their free hands. Neither spoke, and only their deep
grunts indicated the intensity of their combat.
Whip and Arnold were helpless. The two men writhing
on the ground were twisting and turning so rapidly and
convulsively that it was impossible to shoot at the
Kansa without running the risk of killing Stalking
Horse.
Hosea dropped his blowgun into its container and took
one of his tiny clubs from the loop around his middle.
Again and again he raised the dub, but could not throw it for
fear of striking his friend.
Whip had counted the intruders' horses and had
realized that if each of them had ridden a separate
animal and had brought no spare mounts, then one
Kansa remained inside the wagon. So, even as
he watched Stalking Horse, awaiting an
opportunity to fire, he knew that at any
second the last Kansa might appear and join in the
fight.
Stalking Horse's opponent was taller and more
powerful than he was, so the Cherokee had to rely
on cunning as well as strength. Still unable
to gain possession of the knife that meant life or
death, he relaxed his grip for an instant. Then, as
the Kansa gathered himself for the final blow, Stalking
Horse drove a knee into his groin. The other
Indian gasped and involuntarily doubled over.
The
opportunity was momentary, but Stalking Horse
took full advantage of it and punched his
opponent in the solar plexus. The blow was sharp and
deft, and the Kansa gagged.
Now the Cherokee had gained the upper hand. He
seized the. knife the Kansa had dropped, then
stabbed the man repeatedly. Spurred by the violent
intensity of the fight, he struck again and again, thrusting
and stabbing, slashing and cutting in a frenzy until
long after his foe was dead.
Arnold started forward, intending to stop bun, but just then
the last of the raiders emerged from the wagon.
Hosea immediately reached for his blowgun, and Arnold
raised his pistol.
"No!" Whip ordered, his tone urgent
Both stopped, without question.
The Kansa took in the scene of carnage, realized
his companions were dead, and wanted only to save his
own life. Dropping the hammer and saw he
had been about to steal, he sprinted madly toward" the
little grove where the horses were tethered. Leaping onto
the back of one of the mounts, he galloped off, not
once looking back as he crouched low over his
horse's neck.
Arnold knew why Whip had prevented the killing
of the last Kansa, as did Stalking Horse. But
Hosea was still confused. "Why Whip let Indian
go?" he asked.
"Because I wanted him to go back to his own people and
tell them what happened here. I want every warrior
of the Kansa nation to know that any of them who try to steal
from us will pay with his life."
Whip turned away, slipped through the opening between the
wagons and called to everyone to join him outside.
By the time the settlers assembled, Stalking Horse
had scalped all five of the dead Kansa. Trying

to be generous, he offered three of the scalps
to Hosea, but they had no value to the black man,
so he refused them. Stalking Horse promptly
hung all five from his belt.
Some of the women became sick, and a number of the children
wept when they saw the grotesque corpses
illuminated by torchlight. Many of the men
didn't seem too happy, either, but an angry
Whip insisted that everyone look at the bodies.
Standing between two of the warriors' bodies in the dark
field, he spoke. "Folks," he said, "if it
wasn't for our friend Hosea being alert, we might not
have learned we were being robbed. Thanks to him and
Stalking Horse, all but one of the thieves were
killed. I'm hoping the Kama will take heed and
keep their distance from us from now on. I know you dont
enjoy looking at dead, mutilated bodies, but I
wanted all of you to look comand look hard-at these
warriors. I hope that this will help you remember
we're a long way from civilization, and we're going
a heap further. Those of you who carry firearms,
keep them with you at all times. Don't wander away
from camp without permission, or you may end up looking
like these dead Indians. Keep your eyes and ears
wide open, and don't take chances."
Somberly the families filed back into the
circle. There was little conversation. A number of
volunteers remained behind, some of the men removing and
burying the braves' bodies while others gathered the
scattered property of the family whose wagon had
been ransacked. Several of the women, directed
by Grace Drum- mond, got out needles
and heavy thread and began to repair the slash in the
side of the canvas. The woman to whom the wagon
belonged sobbed silently with relief. Her husband
put his arm around her and thanked God that their small
children had not been in the wagon at the time. He tried
not to think what the savages would have done to two
pretty blonde girls.
These tasks were soon finished, and as the campfire
burned lower, the company retired. But the circle of
wagons no longer seemed as secure and safe as it
had
been, and many of the travelers lay awake listening to
the strange and no longer friendly sounds of the night. The
plains, which had seemed so similar to the prairies of
civilized, settled Illinois, were desolate and
wild. The Indians in these parts weren't dependable
friends like Stalking Horse; they were savage
creatures eager to rob and murder those who
trespassed on their territory.
Somewhere in the distance a wild animal, probably a
coyote, howled dismally.
Many of the travelers-burrowing beneath their blankets because
the winds blowing across the Plains felt increasingly
colder-wished they had never come on this lonely
journey.
Mack Dougall was filled with a sense of excitement
when he returned to the campsite from his scouting
duties one evening. He indicated he wanted a
conference with the company's leaders. Whip, Arnold
Mell, and Ernie von Thalman sat down with him
in the Baron's comfortable wagon, but Mack wasn't
yet ready to talk.
Removing a bottle of whiskey from his hip
pocket, he pulled out the cork with his teeth, wiped
off the mouth with a grimy hand, and took a long
swallow. "My joints are achin' somethin fierce,"
he said, "and this here is the only medicine there is that
saves me from being' a complete cripple." Looking
as though he felt sorry for himself, he offered the
bottle to the other men, but they all declined.
Mack belched, drew the back of his hand across his
mouth, and settled back in the Baron's only padded
chair. "About twenty miles from here," he said, "I
seen the biggest herd of buffalo I ever set eyes
on. There had to be a thousand of them."
Whip whistled under his breath.
Arnold explained for Ernie's benefit "Most
herds run to two or three hundred buffalo. A
really big herd may number as many as five
hundred. Fve only seen that many once
or twice."
"I don't believe I ever have," Whip added.
"The way I figure it," Mack said, "two or
three herds got together because they liked the taste of the
grass. They was nibblin' and munchin' away like
crazy." 61
Whip nodded.
"It seems to me," Mack said, "that if we send out
a big enough huntin' party-and can get anywheres near the
combined herd-we can have enough meat to see us into the cold
weather and enough hides to make winter cloaks for as many
as wants "em."
Arnold nodded but said nothing, lost in thought. Whip was
silent, too, thinking.
Ernie became impatient. "Why. do we wait?
With the extra horses we got from the Kansa
raiders, we must have enough mounts for at least twenty
men. We can take the twenty best riflemen and go with
Mack at once to find the herd."
Whip shook his head. "You don't understand, Ernie,"
he said. "It isn't that simple."
"Buffalo," Arnold added, "are strange,
skittish critters. They're bound to hear twenty
horsemen coming toward them, and they'll get so jittery
they'll take off. And once they start
to move, there's no telling which direction they'll go."
The Baron frowned. "Suppose we make. a
circle around to their rear-a few of us, that is-and
drive the herd toward our main body of hunters,
who will be waiting for them."
The others laughed. "Before we reached Independence,
Ernie, you saw one small herd of buffalo
stampede, and even that was a scary sight."
"I shall never forget it," Ernie replied.
"Just thinkin' about a stampede of a thousand buffalo
freezes my innards," Mack said, reaching into his
hip pocket for his whiskey.
"Mack is right," Arnold said. "Not only is it
impossible to point them in the direction we want them
to go, but there's no way to control even fifty
buffalo. A thousand of them could tear a forest apart or
destroy a town."
There's something else to be considered. We can't make
a detour to their grazing grounds with the whole wagon
train." Whip was emphatic. "We'd need at
least two days to get there, and then we'd have to spend
two more days hauling ourselves back to the right trail."

"Why would we have to do that?" Again Ernie was confused.
"Consider this," Whip told him.
"Suppose we take twenty hunters and kill as
many as seventy-five buffalo."
"A reasonable assumption. Perhaps we could bring down
even more," the Baron said enthusiastically.
Whip's smile was wry. "A bull may weigh a
ton or more. A cow runs at least a thousand pounds.
After we butcher the carcasses, well have to smoke the
meat, Which means building some mighty extensive
trenches and fires. But that's just the beginning. Unless
the entire wagon train is nearby, how can we
transport thousands and thousands of pounds of smoked
meat to the wagons? We'd need at least fifteen
freighters-which we don't have."
At last Ernie von Thalman grasped the
enormity of the problem. In tiie long silence that
followed, Mack Dougall took another swig from
his bottle.
"I see no way to solve this," Whip said at
last. "I'd love to bring down enough buffalo to feed us
for many weeks. But I see no practical way of
doing it."
"Neither do I," Arnold agreed. "What's more,
even if we go after them, they may have disappeared by the
time we reach the grazing grounds. The worst thing about
buffalo, Ernie, is that they're
completely unpredictable. Nobody knows what
sparks a stampede. Oh, it can be something obvious,
like a rifle shot, or it can be nothing at all that
any human being can figure out."
Mack chuckled.. "I've seen it many times. One
second the damn buffalo are just standin' around like
cattle, chewin' away on grass as peaceful as you
please. But the very next second, for no rhyme or
reason, they're high-tailin' across the plains as
though Beelzebub himself is chasin' "em."
"They do have a marvelous instinct for avoiding large
objects," Whip said. "Even when they stampede,
they'll never run down a horse and rider, for
instance, or a wagon. But they get so crazed that they
probably wouldn't even notice a man just standing in
the prairie."
"I believe they'd trainple him to death," Arnold
said. was Me, I don't intend to try the experiment.
But that's 63
not the point. There doesnt seem to be a way we can
handle this oversized herd."
There isn't," Whip said regretfully. "None of
us has ever faced a situation that's involved so many
people. It's too big a headache for us."
The next morning, however, there was an
unexpected development The scouts were served their
breakfast early, and Whip was eating with them, as was his
custom. Suddenly, Stalking Horse dropped
to his hands and knees; placing an ear close to the
ground.
Whip immediately followed his example. After a moment
or two, he heard a faint, rumbling noise.
Shaking his head in astonishment, he scrambled to his
feet "Until now I never believed in
miracles, but that herd of buffalo seems to be
heading this way. There's no telling whether they'll
veer off, but we want to be ready. Mack, get
Ernie for me, quick. Arnold, start rounding up the
best riflemen in the train."
The group worked with frantic speed to prepare for the
possibility that the giant herd might come close
to the campsite.
While Ernie von Thalman sifted through the many
volunteer hunters, selecting only those whom he
knew were marksmen, Whip issued succinct orders
to the entire company. AH workhorses and oxen were
to be kept penned inside the circle of wagons.
Even if they became nervous and tried to bolt, they
were not to be allowed out into the open, where they might be
trainpled by the stampeding herd. No women
or children were allowed to go outside the circle, and every mother
was to be held accountable for the whereabouts of her own
family.
Tonie Mell protested. "Whip," she said, "you
know I'm a better shot than most of the men. Why
can't I join the hunt?"
"Because you're needed right here," he told her.
"You've had more experience than anyone else in
controlling the animals. You'll know how to calm them
if they get panicky."
The girl sighed, bat knew he was too busy for
an argument.
"If I needed your rifle," Whip assured her,
"I'd call on you, believe me."
Claiborne Woodling started to make a scene when
he wasn't included in Ernie's band. "None of you
has ever seen me snoot, so you don't know whether
I'm good or bad. I have my own horse, and I
demand-was
"All right," Whip told him, interrupting
curtly. "Join us, then, provided you do what
you're told-without argument-was
Every few minutes Stalking Horse placed his ear
to the ground and reported on the location of the herd. "Still
coming this way," he said repeatedly.
"Coiming fast!"
Twenty-two horsemen followed Ernie into the open
beyond the circle of wagons. Breakfast was forgotten
by all but a few inside the compound.
Whip remained behind for the moment, giving final
instructions. Realizing that Tonie couldn't handle such
a large number of horses and oxen alone, he
appointed Nat Drummond to help her. "Call
on as many men as you need to keep the animals
quiet," he said. "Panic is contagious, and we
don't want them smashing into wagons and hurting people
by trying to break loose."
Hosea was loitering nearby, looking anxious.
Whip could read his mind. "You want to join us out
yonder, I know, but you don't have a horse."
"Never need horse," Hosea replied.
"This is one time you'd need one." Whip was firm,
"Stay here, and if any of our animals get too
upset, put them to sleep for a while with those little
clubs of yours. Gently."
Pleased because he had been given a major
responsibility, Hosea bowed, then glided
away.
As Whip headed toward his stallion, he found his
path blocked by Danny, who held a
gelding's rein in one hand and Tonie's rifle in the
other. "Please, Whip," she said. "Let me join
the fun."
Not only could Whip remember how he himself had
felt when he had been in his teens, but he knew
Danny deserved a reward. Hard-working and eager
to help every65
one, the boy with no family of his own had a harder
lot than most. And Whip knew that a boy could grow
to manhood only when he was given a man's
duties to perform. "Come along," he said.
An ecstatic Danny followed him through the opening
between two wagons into the high grass.
Ernie had arranged the riders in a single line, as
though they were cavalrymen ready to charge an enemy.
Whip held back the laughter that rose within him, not
wanting to hurt his friend's feelings. He would have
to reorganize the column, but first
be
needed more information.
Stalking Horse had already anticipated Whip's
desire and was squatting, his ear close to the'ground.
"Buffalo come very fast," he said, "This way," He
pointed off to the left, then mounted his own horse and
started in that direction. Willing to let him
take the lead, Whip rode behind him, beckoning to the
others to follow. , No one spoke as they made their
way in single file tocrosa the prairie, halting
after they had ridden about three-quarters of a mile. The
rumble of the approaching buffalo could now be heard
by everyone, and the roar was quickly growing louder and louder.
Whip lost no time reorganizing the party into two
columns. They formed in a V, and he placed himself
at the critical point in the center, facing the
direction the buffalo would approach. The next most
important places were those on the flanks, at the
outermost open ends of the V. Because of their experience,
as well as their marksmanship, Arnold Mell and
Mack Dougall were given those positions.
In the distance they could see a cloud of dust that grew
thicker and rose higher as it came closer. The thunder
of four thousand hoofs was so loud that Whip had to shout
to make himself heard. "Hold your fire until I
shoot," he told the party, "and make certain you
hold your horses steady. That's as important as
anything else you'll do. A horse gets skittish
when he sees an army of buffalo charging toward him.
All right?"
Everyone seemed to understand. 66
"Most important of all, there will be one
bull in the lead. Leave him be."
"What would happen if we shot the lead bull?"
Claiborne Woodling interrupted.
Whip curbed his irritation. "None of us would live
long enough to find out. If he is brought down, the whole
herd will lose its sense of direction. They would
panic, and roll over us like a tidal wave."
The roar was so loud now that conversation was no longer
possible, but Whip made a final adjustment
Pantomiming what he wanted, he moved Danny
directly behind him to the left. The boy, excited and
pleased, grinned at him, then kept checking his
borrowed rifle.
The buffalo loomed on the horizon. They ran
shoulder to shoulder in a solid mass nearly half a
mile wide. Whip was awed. Mack was right; never
had he seen a herd that spread out so far.
Glancing back over first one shoulder then the other,
he saw that the hunters were holding their positions.
None were openly panicked, and what was more
important, all of them were in control of their
horses. Rifles had been checked, and the hunters
were ready for action. Whip looked at Danny and
winked at him.
It was possible now to make out individual
animals. The buffalo's eyesight was less
acute than his other senses, and the leader, attracted
by the blurred mass of the hunting party, galloped
toward the men, unaware of the danger. The ground
trembling beneath his churning hoofs, he ran
recklessly, his head lowered.
The waiting men could see the buffalo clearly. The
leader was a massive, mature beast, shaggy and
unkempt, who weighed at least a ton and a half.
Whip couldn't help admiring him, secretly glad
that such a magnificent beast would be spared.
The organization of the herd was remarkable. Behind the lead
bull were scores of other adult males, all of
them in the prime of life, their horns fully
grown. Others were stretched out on both flanks in
single files, to keep strays in line. In the
center, pounding forward, came the younger bulls,
adolescents who had not yet reached 67
maturity but had great strength and stamina. Behind them
came the old bulls, whom seasoned hunters
preferred to ignore because then- meat was so tough. Their
horns were gnarled, their fur was matted, and many of them
found it difficult to maintain the pace. But still they
ran, for their lives depended on their ability
to keep up. Frequently an old
bull's strength finally drained away, and he
crumpled to the ground. The others then ran around him,
never trainpling him, and it was not uncommon to find the
rotting carcasses of old bulls on the plains.
Next, although invisible in the surging mass of beasts,
came the cows and their calves, the mothers nudging their
young and driving close on their heels to force them
to keep running. And at the very end of the formation were
several more rows of strong, mature bulls who would not
permit stragglers to drop out.
At the moment there was no way of determining the depth
of the charging, seething mass of animal flesh. The
herd charging toward the men reminded Whip of towering
waves he had seen rolling toward the shore of the
Pacific Coast wilderness.
Whip's stallion, ordinarily calm and
responsive to his master, became skittish,
pawing the ground and tossing his mane. His instincts
urged him to throw his rider and flee, but Whip patted
him, stroked him, and, hoping the animal could hear him
above the roar, spoke to him soothingly. The stallion
grew quiet
The buffalo now stretched as far across the plains as the
eye could see. Arnold and Mack, the only
members of the party other than Whip who were
experienced in dealing with buffalo, were even more awed by the
size of the herd than the newcomers. The ground shook
as though from an earthquake, and the thickening cloud of
dust threatened to choke the riders and their horses.
But the hunters maintained then- tight, V-shaped
formation. The size of the group presented a large enough
obstacle for the buffalo to notice it in the midst of
their mindless charge, and so the men would be relatively
safe-if the herd followed the usual patterns. But
anyone who left the formation surely would be
trainpled. 68
The lead buffalo, in spite of his size, was
remarkably swift and sure-footed. He actually
seemed to pick up speed as he thundered across the
prairie. The bulls in the rows directly behind him
were being challenged and had to exert themselves to keep up the
mad pace. Aa the females and older bulls
tired and fell back, the size of the herd spread
menacingly.
It seemed certain that the lead bull intended to smash
through the barrier of men and horses. His momentum was so
great that not even a hail of bullets would have
prevented him from rocketing into the riders and their
mounts. Whip's only protection was his knowledge of the
buffalo's habits. If this leader and his
followers were unpredictable, however, Whip would be the
first to die, and it was doubtful if any of the others would
be able to save themselves.
Whip could now see the red eyes of the lead buffalo.
They were glazed, and there was no way of knowing what the
maddened beast might do. He was almost close enough to touch
when, suddenly, he veered to the right and swept past the
point of the V-shaped formation.
The danger was far from over. Most of the butts in the
rows directly behind him followed his example, but
others appeared leaderless; they could smash at any
moment into the men and their mounts.
But the instinct for survival was as strong in the
buffalo as it was in humans. A powerful, mature
bull took it upon himself to become a sub-leader, and
rather than crash through the barrier, he swerved to the left.
The hunters were like an immobile obstacle in a
swift-flowing river, as the buffalo charged past them
by the hundreds on both sides. Men and horses
choked on the dust, their eyes stinging and watering: the
stench of the herd was so unbearable that many of the new
hunters retched.
Whip had won his gamble. He raised his rifle.
It Would have been difficult to avoid hitting a
buffalo in that roaring, thundering mass, but he
chose his target with care. He squeezed the trigger,
and a bull in the prime of life staggered, lost
momentum, and pitched forward onto the ground. Others
in the herd instantly made 69
detours around his body without slackening their pace.
The men had been waiting for Whip's signal.
Arnold and Mack immediately opened fire, too.
Stalking Horse let fly with an arrow, and
Claiborne Woodling demonstrated that he was as
good a marksman as he claimed, bringing down another
bull with a single shot
Rarely had hunters enjoyed such an opportunity,
but suddenly a new crisis developed. Danny's
gelding, already unnerved by the charging herd, was further
upset by the sound of rifle fire. The boy could no
longer handle him, and the horse reared, then plunged
forward, throwing Danny to the ground.
Whip was powerless to save the horse. The frightened
animal moved into the path of the onrushing buffalo, who
knew only that he was not one of their number. The
gelding was knocked off balance by the bulls and then
disappeared from sight as he was trampled by the buffalo.
For a moment or two, the horse's screams rose
above the thunder, then faded away as he died.
Whip's only concern was Danny. The boy
was dazed and stood indecisively, wavering on his
feet. If he lost consciousness, he would fall
directly into the path of the buffalo.
Whip quickly freed the rawhide lash from around his
middle and took aim. The whip coiled around the
boy's body. Meanwhile buffalo were charging so
close to. him that they missed him by inches. Little
by little, Whip hauled him closer, finally bringing him
to relative safety behind his own stallion.
Stalking Horse, who was next in line on that
side, needed no instructions to close the gap; he
moved his horse closer to Whip, and the two horses
provided a wall for the boy, who now stood safely
inside the point oftheV.
The rawhide whip fell away, and Danny
recovered his equilibrium. Gradually, as his fear
and confusion subsided, he was filled with a sense of
shame. He felt responsible for losing a horse,
and he was afraid the men would regard him as a child who
was unfit to become a member of their company.
He felt the-urgent desire to redeem himself, and
there 70
was, only one way. Shielded by Whip and Stalking
Horse, he could prove he was a man by bringing down
buffalo, and that knowledge made him calmer. When
he had been thrown, he had retained enough presence of
mind to hold on to the borrowed rifle, and he still
held it in his hands. He raised it and fired, and was
pleased when a young bull stumbled and dropped.
Seeing this, Whip was relieved. He knew that
Danny -- would do nothing foolish now.
As the cows and their calves were running past the
V-shaped formation, Whip saw a young, calf that was
pure white. He was stunned-a white calf was very
rare and extremely valuable.
Stalking Horse saw the calf, too, and caught his
breath. Less superstitious than the Indians of the
Plains nations after having spent long periods with
civilized men, he nevertheless shared the deeply
ingrained belief of the plains tribes that the rare
white calf was a reincarnation of the moon god. The
skin of such a calf brought its owner great good fortune
and could not be sold or bartered. When presented by its
owner as a gift, however, the fortunate recipient
then became blessed by good health and prosperity.
Whip, knowing the value of the white calf, didn't
want to mar the hide. Steadying himself, he took
particularly careful aim and put a bullet combbt the
eyes of the young buffalo.
Soon the bulls at the rear of the herd
appeared. The hunters continued to shoot, firing and
reloading as rapidly as they could, until the last
of the column roared off across the prairie. Ernie
took out his pocket watch and announced that almost forty
minutes had passed since the buffalo had first started
to move past the formation.
The ground was littered with the carcasses of bulls,
cows, and calves, and Whip immediately sent a rider
to fetch the wagon train. The detour would take the
caravan out of its way, but that couldn't be helped. The
entire company had to be put to work.
Whip himself first skinned the precious white calf,
taking great care not to inflict any unnecessary cuts on

the hide. That one skin could mean as much to the members
of the caravan as the entire supply of carcasses.
As soon as he was done, he went to Danny and
clapped the boy on the shoulder. "I'm proud of
you," be said.
Danny looked up from the young bull he was skinning and
flushed. "I feel terrible, Whip. I let
everybody down."
"What happened to you could have happened to anybody.
What I liked was the way you got hold of yourself and
started shooting. You're doing fine."
Danny grinned, his self-confidence restored.

Without delay, the hunters went to work skinnirig the
carcasses of the buffalo they had killed. Only
Claiborne Woodling balked. "I'm a hunter,
not a butcher," he de- dared.
Whip had no patience with him. "Winter is coming," be
said, "so we'll need meat and hides. Anybody
who won't work for the good of all can get out-and try
surviving by himself."
A sullen Claiborne picked up his knife.
The caravan caught up with the hunters early in the
Afternoon, and everyone in the company was given a
Specific assignment Mounted groups using
wagons for hauling went off to the nearest woods and
returned with piles of dead brush and logs. After the
buffalo were skinned, some of the women began the tedious
process Of curing the hides. Meanwhile, the
carcasses were butchered, long trenches were dug, and
fires were lighted in them. The meat had to be smoked
for seventy-two hours, and in all the journey was
delayed by a week.
But no one minded. There were few who actually enjoyed
the taste of smoked buffalo meat, but at least the
travelers knew they wouldn't starve. And the
cured bides would be used for coats, cloaks, and
blankets.
Whip allowed no one to touch the skin of the white
calf. After preparing it himself, he stretched it on the
roof of Ernie von Thalman's wagon to dry.
At last the task of preserving the meat was done, and
every family was given an appropriate share.
Skins were
spread on the canvas roofs of wagons by day, then
removed at night when the air was damp. Cathy
van
Ayl, who had already made herself a doeskin shirt and
skirt, as well as Hosea's clothes, was besieged
with requests for advice on the making of leather
garments.
The younger children had a new game, buffalo hunt, and
every evening they raced up and down inside the circle of
wagons, screaming and shouting as they altercated
playing the roles of hunter and buffalo.
The hunters in the company remained active, bringing
venison and small game to the campsite at night
The smoked buffalo meat was intended strictly for
winter use, when other meat would be unavailable.
Wfiip Holt breathed more easily after the encounter
with the giant herd. He knew there were many
dangers threatening the future of the wagon train, but
the possibility that people would starve before spring was now
remote.
IV
Hosea acquired the skin of a large bull
buffalo, and after the westward journey was resumed,
he spent most of his time in the evenings working on a
special project of his own.
Danny and Chet, still fascinated by him, noted that one
night he had cut several boughs of strong oak.
Working with meticulous precision, he fashioned the
wood into a double, diamond-shaped frame, binding the
sections together with lengths of rawhide. Over the
frame, be stretched buffalo hide until it was
taut When he was " satisfied that it was snug, he
added a second layer of" rawhide.
Not until Hosea placed a crossbar over the
middle"
of his contraption, on the inner side, did the boys
realize
he had made a shield.
"Like Ashanti make in jungle," he said
proudly.
Danny examined it and was dubious. "If anybody
plus
shoots at you with a rifle, Hosea, it won't stop
bullets.i
It isn't that strong."1
"No good for guns," the black man agreed. "But
stop bar
arrows, stop tomahawks, stop knives."
"'i
Two days later Hosea and Stalking Horse set
off
hunting. The Indian was mounted, as always, and carried
Ms bow, arrows, and a spear. Hosea, trotting beside
him, carried no weapons other than his clubs and
deadly blowgun. There were those who claimed he was
inadequately armed, but Whip did not agree.
"Hosea," he said, "will do as well as somebody
carry+ a whole arsenal."
There were many prairie dogs in the high grass of the
plains-animals resembling woodchucks but
smaller. Prairie chicken were everywhere, too. These
were a variety of plump grouse that mountain men and
others who traveled through the plains regarded as
delicacies. The animals and birds were very shy,
sensitive to the approach of humans, so they were
difficult to catch.
The pair, far more silent than most white
hunters, soon devised a system of their own.
Hosea moved ahead, planted the base of his
shield in the ground, then crouched behind it There he
stayed, making no sound and no movement, while
Stalking Horse remained at a distance, ready
to take part at an instant's notice.
Eventually a pack of prairie dogs or a
flock of prairie chicken appeared, and curious
about the immobile rawhide shield, they moved
toward it Once they came within range, Hosea
threw his little clubs, always striking at least one or
two. The others fled, and Stalking Horse was able
to kill some of those with his arrows.
Hosea was a perfectionist so he devised something
new that aided
him
and his partner. Picking tufts of the long grass, he
arranged them in his shirt and hair, making himself
virtually invisible as he concealed himself behind his
strange shield.
At noon the man paused beside a small brook
to drink, water Stalking Horse's mount, and eat
some smoked buffalo meat. Hosea left his shield
a short distance away in a field of tall grass.
Stalking Horse had begun to teach the
escaped slave the language of the Kiowa nation, which
virtually all the tribes of the plains used, and as the
two men sat near the brook, relaxing, Stalking
Horse took the opportunity to teach Hosea a
few new words. But even when they were relaxing, the
two men did not forget they were in the wilderness, and they
remained alert 76
At the same moment, both heard a faint but alien
sound. Stalking Horse leaped to his feet,
instinctively Teaching for his bow and an arrow from his
quiver.
Hosea dropped to his hands and knees and,
virtually invisible thanks to his camouflage,
snaked through the high grass until he reached his
shield. Leaving it standing in the ground like a miniature
fortress, he crouched behind it and peered out
cautiously.
Five Indians, who had been hiding In the
grass, approached on the far side of the brook.
They were armed with bows and arrows, spears, and knives.
Their scalp locks were stiffened with heavy grease, and
their faces and torsos were smeared with streaks of white
and yellow paint, identifying them as warriors of the
small but warlike Topeka tribe. Silently
one of them hurled a spear at Stalking
Horse.
They had seen Hosea, too, although they didn't know
what had become of him, but they weren't concerned with
him, at least for the moment. They were concentrating on
Stalking Horse.
The Indians moved closer. Perhaps they could
capture their victim alive and take him back
to their village as a slave.
But they had not reckoned on Hosea. While
Stalking Horse held the Topeka at bay
momentarily with his bow and arrow, Hosea fitted a
dart into his blowgun. There was a scarcely audible
popping sound, and one of the braves clapped a hand
to his cheek. The man's scream of agony broke
the silence, and he collapsed.
One of his companions threw a stone-tipped spear with
all his might at Hosea, but it struck the
rawhide shield, bounced off it, and fell
harmlessly to the ground.
The Topeka were astonished, and a hail of arrows
followed the spear. All but one fell into the grass
after striking the shield, while one became embedded in
the rawhide and remained there.
Hosea blew another dart from his blowgun. Again he
found his target, the dart cutting into the lower
Up of a warrior who stood for a moment, stunned, before
he, too, dropped to the ground as the poison took
effect
Stalking Horse fired an arrow at the foe, but he

too angry to concentrate, and for the first time in years, be
missed his target.
A third Topeka boldly approached the shield.
Neither he nor the other survivors had actually
seen the tiny darts that had felled two of their
number, and he was determined to destroy this strange and
lethal contraption.
Hosea removed one of the little clubs he carried
around his middle and hurled it. It struck the warrior
in the temple, and he fell unconscious.
Only two of the braves were still in the fight, and
Hosea, still protected by his shield, coolly
killed one with another dart from his blowgun. He could
have dispatched the last one, too. But, himself a
warrior, he was conscious of the pride that Stalking
Horse took in his own prowess. So he left the
last of the warriors for his companion to kill.
This time Stalking Horse did not miss. His aim was
true, and his arrow penetrated the brave's chest.
As he fell backward onto the ground, the
Topeka struggled briefly and tried in vain
to remove the arrow.
Now only the warrior who had been knocked
unconscious by the club was stfll alive, and again
Hosea left the honors to his friend. Stalking
Horse went over to the man, stared him at coldly
for a moment, then drew his knife, and cut the man's
throat
Emerging from the safety of his little fort, Hosea began
to collect his spent darts and club.
While he was retrieving his weapons, Stalking
Horse scalped all five of the Topeka and
collected their weapons. In an attempt to be
fair, he offered them to his companion, who had
played the larger role in their victory.
Hosea regarded the spears as cumbersome, heavy
weapons, so he had no use for them. He had never
tried a bow and arrow, so he had no need for these
weapons, but he finally selected a bone-handled
knife that had belonged to one of the Topeka and slid it
into his belt. Spoils meant nothing to him. He
also declined an offer of the Topekas"
scalps-wanting only what he might find useful.
Leaving the bodies where they had fallen, the pair
resumed hunting.
"Not much time left," Stalking Horse said as he
shaded his eyes and looked up at the sun. "Maybe
we catch more chicken." The battle having ended, he
saw no need to dwell on the matter.
But Hosea had something on his mind more important
than prairie chicken. "Need more poison for
darts," he said.
Stalking Horse recognized the urgency of the
request, so they forgot the grouse and prairie dogs
and searched instead for large rocks, which they
cautiously overturned. They found no snakes,
however, and they were about to give up their quest when
Hosea stopped and pointed. Directly ahead the
prairie grass was much thinner, and the area, stretching
out for a distance of about two hundred yards, was strewn
with a jumble of rocks. With unspoken accord they
divided the field, taking care to leave Stalking
Horse's mount safely behind. They hunted
silently, swiftly-two wilderness men who knew
precisely what they wanted.
At last Hosea's patience was rewarded. As he
pulled apart a nest of rocks, a rattlesnake more
than four feet long slithered into the open.
Hosea's quiet grunt of satisfaction told his
companion that he had found what be had been
seeking.
The snake halted, saw the man, and instantly
coiled Itself, head swaying and fangs showing. Hosea
remained calm. He had dealt with many kinds of
snakes in his native Africa and with copperheads in
the United States. If rattlers were new to him,
that fact was irrelevant. He knew what he
needed to do, and although he entertained a healthy
respect for his deadly enemy, he felt no fear.
Grasping his shield in one hand and the knife he had just
acquired in the other, he took two steps
backward, then waited.
Stalking Horse wanted to put an arrow into the
snake. But the confidence of the little black man was so
obvious that he decided it was wiser not to interfere and
to let
him
handle the delicate situation as he saw fit 79
Hosea could see that the snake, angry that its rest
had been disturbed, was positioning itself to strike. He
tightened his grasp on the handle of his shield,
balancing his weight on the balls of his feet He
was reminded of an old Ashanti saying, that'a
battle with a serpent was a dance in which the loser died
and the victor was rewarded with life.
The reptile stopped swaying, and the rattle in its
tail sounded a warning that it was about to strike. A
split second before the snake's head shot forward,
aiming at its enemy's calves, Hosea lowered his
shield to the ground. The snake struck viciously,
its fangs making two tiny holes in the rawhide
cover.
At that same instant Hosea retaliated, his own
timing perfect. Leaning around the edge of the shield,
he brought the knife down hard in a swift, slashing
movement. His aim was as accurate as the rattler's,
and before the snake could recover sufficiently to strike
again, Hosea had severed its head from its body.
The head dropped to the ground, and Hosea picked it
up. Placing it on a flat rock, he cut it
open, his hand as steady as a surgeon's. At the
back he found what he was seeking-the snake's twin
sacs of venom. Taking all his darts, he inserted
their needle-sharp points into the sacs. Poison
oozed out onto the flat stone, and he took care not
to' touch it. Slowly, cautiously, he removed
the darts from the venom sacs one by one, holding them by the
blunt end, and placed them on another rock to dry.
Stalking Horse had joined
him
and stood a short distance away, watching.
Next Hosea picked up the body of the
rattlesnake and deftly skinned it. Leaving the
body for ants to devour, he placed the skin in his
rope belt
"Make new belt," he said, breaking the silence.
Then he picked up the darts and dropped them into the
container hanging from his shoulder.
It was dusk when the pair reached the campsite, and
they went straight to Whip. For Hosea's sake
Stalking 80
Horse spoke in English as he emptied the
saddlebag of grouse. "Hunting not too bad today,"
he said.
Whip took note of the five scalps, not yet
dry, which were hanging from the Cherokee's belt and saw
the rattlesnake skin, yet to be cured, which
dangled from Hosea'9 waist. These two could take
care of themselves anywhere, any time, but apparently they
did not consider their day's exploits worthy of
mention. So Whip felt compelled to- treat the
matter lightly, too. "It seems to me," he
replied, his voice dry, "that this was a pretty
fair day for hunting."
The wilderness of the plains seemed
desolate, devoid of all human life, but it was
an illusion. Every evening, when the scouts returned
to the campsite, they reported to Whip that they had
seen Indians, some riding their ponies in parrs,
some traveling alone and, occasionally groups of them.
Arnold saw Kansa, Mack was certain he had
spotted several Wichita, and Stalking Horse
twice made out Topeka warriors in the distance.
The warnings to members of the wagon train were repeated.
Men who owned firearms were once more reminded to carry
them at all times. And under no circumstances were any
members of the company to leave the circle of wagons
after dark.
Cindy, who was now working on the cooking detail with
Cathy van Ayl, found that order irksome. One
night, their work done and their own supper eaten, they
retired to the back stoop of Cathy's wagon for a
chat.
They were a pretty pah-. Cindy had given up the
heavy makeup she had once worn, and both of them
had given up trying to avoid the sun and were
attractively tan. They wore shirts and
skirts of doeskin.
Cathy was feeling depressed and, for reasons she
couldn't quite understand, wanted to enjoy a few
confidences with a friend. As nearly as she could figure,
it was the vast emptiness stretching out endlessly in every
direction that gave her a feeling of being lost,
rudderless.
Recently she had found herself thinking more and 81
more of her earlier life, and she was able to see where she
had gone wrong. It had started in New Haven, after
Mama had died and her older sister, Claudia,
had moved into the old house with her first husband.
Richard had been so unsure of himself, so insecure
that he had turned to the bottle in a vain attempt
to bolster himself, and his drinking had not only made
Claudia miserable, it had influenced her little
sister, too.
Only now was Cathy beginning to perceive that her contempt
for
weak men had come from that period of her childhood.
Then, the very night she had attended her first grown-up
party, wearing a lovely pink silk dress that she and
Claudia had made together, she had met Otto
van Ayl, Papa's friend and a man old enough to be her
father, who had been visiting the family. Shortly
after that, he had asked Papa for her hand.
How eager she had been! She had mistaken
Otto's rigid ways, his autocratic
manner, and his insistence that he was right in all things, for
strength of character. How stupid she had been. An
innocent sixteen-year-old, an adolescent who
had nurtured romantic dreams, she had been
unprepared for the realities of life and marriage.
No, it wasnt. the mistake of marrying Otto that
was bothering her. She had slept with him only on their
wedding night, and after that disastrous experience, ha had
treated her like a daughter rather than a wife. For all
practical purposes, although she could not admit it
to anyone except Cindy, she was still almost a virgin,
even though she had been married to Otto for six
years.
And now, whatever her married life had been, she was
alone, left to fend for herself on this journey across the
trackless plains.
"You know, Cindy," she said, "I think it's the
emptiness out here that bothers me. Life wasn't
easy on our farm-on Long Island. But the scenery
was so varied- something different no matter which way you
looked. We had a little brook out in back of the
house that flowed into the Atlantic. And sand dunes!
Sometimes I'd climb to the top of a dune and sit for
hours, just watching the waves rolling in."
Cindy nodded. "From the window in my room
at the -" she paused, "comhouse I could see the
Ohio River. And watching the river is what saved
my sanity in Louisville more times than I can
remember. It was so dependable."
"We're very much alike."
"There's one way we aren't," Cindy said. "Now
don't be offended, Cathy, but you're much more of a
romantic soul than I-especially about
Oregon."
"I'm looking forward to settling in the Oregon
country," Cathy replied, "but I don't expect
it to be the land of milk and honey that some people on this
wagon train are so certain it will be. No land could
be that perfect. But there will be mountains and forests and the
sea. At least I hope we'll settle somewhere
near the ocean. What I miss most is the sight of
waves. Even that won't be enough, though." She
became pensive.
"It sounds like you want a man." Cindy smiled.
"Not Chat I necessarily
want
one. I-I just have the feeling that I
need
one."
"Sex is overrated. Believe me, I
know what I'm talking about, honey."
Color rose in Cathy's face. "I wasn't
even thinking about that part of it!" she exclaimed.
"I've come to know myself better in the months since this
train left our farm. And I've pretty much come
to the conclusion that I'm the sort of woman who needs
a man to lean on."
"Don't you believe it, not for a minute!" Cindy was
emphatic. "You're pretty, and I-well,
I've got an air that makes me attractive
to men, even though I couldn't compete with you in looks.
So neither of us will ever have 8 lack of suitors, I
can promise you. But we certainly don't need any
of them."
Cathy became uncertain. "After being around people all
day, dealing with all those women when we're fixing
meals, talking to a couple of dozen men every time we
stop, I'll admit I need privacy-was
"Of course you do. That's why we eat so quickly and
leave the fire. I'd give anything if I could just

wander out Into the prairie by myself for an hour, but I
know Ted Woods would follow me."
Cathy giggled. "He's terribly shy, but it's
plain enough that he's sweet on you."
"I'm not ready for a romance with him-or with anybody
else. I'm too busy getting men out of my
system. The very idea of marrying anybody and
settling down makes me a little bit in."
"I can imagine how you feel," Cathy said,
sobering, "but it isn't that way with me."
Cindy grinned at her. "From what you've told me
about your life with Otto, you'll really be marrying for the
first time when you do get married again."
"It scares me half to death, but it's what I
want."
"Anybody special in mind?" Cindy raised an
eyebrow.
Cathy shook her head. "Wen, yes and no."
"You mean Whip, of course. Sometimes, when he
looks at you, he just melts."
"And other times he doesn't seem to know I even
exist I tell myself it's because he has so many
responsibilities for the whole train and has so much
on his mind."
"You're the only one who can decide, but don't be
to too big a rush."
"Oh, I won't."
Cindy's eyes became bright "The way I look
at it, a man is convenient to have around. On
occasion. He can do all kinds of physical work that
a woman doesn't have the strength to do. But I'll
never let any man become my lord and master."
"I wouldn't want that, either."
"In the marriage service," Cindy said, "you're
obliged to promise you'll obey your husband. That's
not for me. There isnt a man in this world I could ever
respect so much that I'd agree to take second
place to him for the rest of my days."
"When you put it that way," Cathy said, sighing, "I
can't possibly argue with you. It's just that I feel
helpless when I don't have a man of my own to look
after me and protect me."
"It strikes me you're taking care of yourself these
idays without a man."
Cathy paused, then laughed. "Why, so I am,"
she said. "I never thought of it that way."
"You see? You can do whatever you please, and you're not
accountable to anyone but yourself."
"That's fine for now," Cathy said. "But I don't
really think I'd like it this way forever."
Cindy sighed. Her friend's traditional background
made it difficult for her to realize that marriage was
not necessarily the right goal for every woman. Sometimes
it was the beginning of a new way of life in which
her freedom would be restricted. On the other hand,
she wanted to be fair. "I'm not claiming that all
marriages are bad. All I'm saying is that I
don't know anybody I could love so much that I'd
be willing to marry and make all the sacrifices and
compromises that marriage "demands from a woman."
"You'll agree, won't you, that frontier life
isn't easy for either of us?"
"Easy?" Cindy looked out beyond the wagons at the
endless prairie, as vast and uninhabited as the
oceans that seemed to mean so much to her friend. "If I
had known how hard it would be, I'm not sure I would
have joined the train."
"A man," Cathy said, "could help make it more
bearable. That's why I'd like a-well, a
partnership."
Cindy's smile was cynical. "If there is such a
thing as a partnership. Just remember this. A marriage
to the wrong man is far worse than a marriage
to no man!"
Suddenly Cathy sensed that they were not alone. She
turned slightly, and a chill crept up her spine
when she caw two tall, husky Indian warriors
standing only a short distance from the opening between her
wagon and the wagon behind it in the circle.
They were so close they could almost reach out and touch her.
Their scalp locks were greased stiff, and each
sported a feather. They carried bows, with quivers of
arrows slung over their shoulders, and the bone hilts of
knives protruded above their belts.
They continued to stare, making no hostile moves, but
Cathy found it difficult to catch her breath.
Cindy was saying something she didn't hear, and Cathy
managed to touch her on the arm and incline her head
silently in the direction of the two braves.
Cindy saw their glittering eyes and the heavy streaks
of dark brown and pale green paint on their faces.
She screamed involuntarily at the top of her
lungs.
In a moment Ted Woods appeared. Whip wasn't
far behind him, and a score of others started toward the
girls. The warriors held their ground, continuing
to stare.
Immediately Whip took charge. "Folks," he
called, "I'll handle this. Go back to the fire,
drink your coffee, and tend to your own business."
Reluctantly they obeyed.
Cathy noted, however, that Arnold Mell, Mack
Dougall and Stalking Horse remained, and Ted
Woods retreated only as far as the next
wagon. Hosea came up beside him, a hand resting
on one of his miniature clubs. Then Tonie
Mell appeared, looking like a boy in her buckskin
shirt and pants. She was also holding a rifle.
The support of so many armed friends was comforting, and
Cathy felt somewhat relieved. But she was afraid
a fight with the two Indians would erupt at any
moment Her experience with Indians was limited. She
had no idea what the savages would do next.
Whip raised an arm, his hand held palm upward in
a greeting that indicated friendship. The warriors
returned the salute. Whip addressed them in
Kiowan, his tone courteous, and they replied in the
same tongue. Then they entered the circle, leading
two Indian ponies.
As Whip conversed with the Indians, Cathy realized that
social amenities were being observed. It bothered
her, however, that the two braves continued to stare at
her and at Cindy while they talked. She couldn't
help fidgeting uncomfortably.
Then one of the warriors launched into a long,
impassioned speech, occasionally flinging his arms wide.
To Cathy's astonishment, Tonie Mell exploded
in silent
laughter. Afraid she would laugh aloud,
which would
have been discourteous, she hurried away and went
back to the fire.
Arnold was grinning openly, as was Mack. But
Stalking Horse remained wooden-faced, and Whip
looked grave. After the warrior finished speaking,
Whip replied at length. Ordinarily brusque in
his speech, he now seemed to be indulging in flowery
rhetoric. The two braves listened intently, but
their eyes remained fixed on the two frightened girls
huddling together on the stoop.
At last Whip offered a partial explanation in
English. "Our visitors," he said, directing his
gaze toward Cathy and Cindy, "are senior
warriors of the mighty Omaha nation. They welcome
tis to the Great Plains and offer us peace. We
haven't yet come to their land. They are on a scouting
trip because their people are at war with the Kansa. They saw
our fires, so they investigated, and they wish us no
harm."
The two girls remained tense.
Whip sounded more casual. "Ted," he said to the
blacksmith, "go to the special wagon. Bring me
a little iron frying pan and a blanket. Don't
appear to be in any hurry-I dont
want our visitors to be alarmed."
Ted Woods was reluctant to leave while Cindy
appeared to be in any danger, but he had received a
direct order, and he obeyed it, sauntering off
toward the special wagon. Again Whip and the two
Omaha engaged in a spirited conversation.
Cathy became restless. "I'm cold," she said.
"Let's go to the fire, Cindy."
Whip interrupted himself in the midst of a long statement
to the Indians. "Stay right where you are," he said, his
voice suddenly urgent. "Don't MOVE!"
Cathy, who had started to rise, sank back onto
the stoop and sighed. It was absurd that she and Cindy
had to remain while Whip held his endless discussion
with the Indians. She didn't want to argue in
front of the others, however, so she obeyed his
request, but she made her feelings clear by glaring
at him.
After a short time, Ted returned with a small frying

pan and blanket Whip took them from him and made
another interminably long speech to the two
warriors. At the end of his address, he handed the
skillet to one and the blanket to the other.
The braves examined then- gifts at
length, then replied to Whip's address with even
longer speeches. Then the warriors raised their arms
in the peace gesture. Whip did the same, and the
Omaha departed, leading their horses out of the
circle.
Before they rode off, however, they turned for one long,
final, lustful look at the two girls. Then they
mounted their horses, and in the silence that followed, the
retreating hoofbeats of their mounts sounded clearly.
Standing, Cathy asked with elaborate courtesy,
"May we know what that was all about?"
The other men decided that discretion was advisable and
retreated. Only Ted Woods remained.
Whip tried to keep a straight face. "The
Omaha," he explained, "are one of the biggest and
strongest of the Great Plains tribes, and these men were
two of their senior warriors, which means they sit in
the council of elders that decides questions of war and
peace. The friendship of the Omaha will be very important
to us when we move through their territory. They don't
attack friends, so well he saved running battles
and many casualties. That's why I treated the
warriors so carefully and presented them with gifts."
Cathy nodded impatiently. "That's fair enough.
Fin sure, but why did we have to stay?"
He hesitated for an instant, then said, "Because you
two were the subject of our negotiations. They
wanted to buy you and take you home to live with them as
their squaws. In fact, their interest in you was so great
they offered me their horses for you."
Cathy was outraged. "I don't take that as a
compliment You could have told them that in our world
freeborn women aren't for salel"
"But we're in their world now," Whip said quietly.
"All the same, you could have sent them on their way!"
she retorted angrily.
"Not without offending them. I had to go through the 88
motions of considering their offer. I let them believe
you were my squaws, and I finally told them I needed
you more than I needed two new horses. But I
gave them the gifts to show thenvl didn't resent their
offer."
"I
resent it very much," the furious Cathy said.
Cindy giggled. "No wonder Tonie was laughing so
hard."
Cathy realized the situation had certain amusing
aspects, comb her sense of humor had deserted
her. It didn't bother her that a barbaric Indian
brave had wanted to trade her for a
horse-the man simply didn't know any better.
But it upset her that Whip had even pretended
to negotiate, instead of putting the savage in his
place. Suddenly, to her mortification, she burst
into tears. Unable to stop crying, she raced into her
wagon and pulled the flap down behind her.
Cindy could have explained her reaction to Whip, but she
had no chance. Turning, he stalked off, angry that
his efforts had not been appreciated.
Ted Woods vanished, as he always did when there was
a chance to be alone with Cindy, so she walked back
to her own wagon. She knew that Cathy would want
to be alone.
Cindy envied Cathy who was a near virgin. She
would marry again, be it to Whip or someone else. But
no man, she thought, not even the lonely
TedeaWoods, would seek more than a temporary
attachment to a woman who had been a whore. At
moments such as this, Cindy wondered if she had been
wise to stake her whole future on the Oregon-
bound wagon train. Perhaps she should have saved more
money, then gone to an Eastern city like New York
or Philadelphia, where she could have kept her past
secret.
As she drew near her own wagon, she
saw a man standing in the shadows. Even before she could
make out his face, she knew his identity by the cut of
his expensive clothes and the sheen of his boots.
Claiborne Woodling came to her, smiling
broadly. The expression in his eyes, which she had
seen so often, told her what he wanted.
"I hear you had quite an experience tonight," he said.
"Everybody is talking about it." 89
"Let them talk." Cindy tried to brash past him.
Claiborne grabbed her arm. "Don't be in such a
hurry.i'mjust trying to be friendly."
"Take your hands off me," Cindy toffd him, "and
don't ever touch me again. I know your kind of
friendship, and I want no part of it"
He tried to protest.
Suddenly she pulled out a knife, which she had bought
in Independence, from the pocket of her dress.
Ordinarily she would have tried to be civil to this
arrogant young man. It didn't pay to make
personal enemies on the long journey. But his
appearance at that particular moment was unbearable, and
her patience was exhausted.
"Fin not going to warn you again," Cindy said, blandishing
the knife.
Claiborne was tempted to take the knife
from her, but too many people were still awake, and he didn't
want a scene. "You're a shrew," he told her
in a low, menacing voice, "but one of these days I'm
going to tame you." Then he turned and stalked off
into the darkness.
Cold autumn rams fell steadily every day for a
week, turning the vast prairie into a quagmire and
forcing the wagon train to halt. Rivers overflowed,
soaking the ground even more, and when the journey was
resumed, it was difficult for Whip to pick a path
wide and dry enough for the train to travel in three
columns. The alternative was to place the wagons
in single file, but he refused to consider the idea.
"If we move in one line," he told Von
Thalman, "the train will stretch out for nearly three
miles, and that's a risk we can't afford to take.
We'd be too tempting a target for roving bands of
Indians. Warriors could attack the rear of the
train, kill the monitor, and those of us up front
wouldn't even know what happened until hours
later."
So the three-column formation was maintained, even
though less ground was covered. The horses and oxen
grew tired because the footing was uncertain, and several
times a day the entire company had to halt
because a
wagon's wheels had become mired in deep mud.
The train did well to cover eight miles in a
single day.
By mid-November the sun rarely appeared, the sky
overhead remained a dull, dark gray all day,
and the winds that swept across the Great Plains grew
steadily colder.
A number of people became fll, all suffering from sore
throats, high fevers, and aches in their bodies that
lasted for days. Dr. Martin made the rounds every
morning, at the nooning hour, and again after the train
halted each day. There was little he could do for his
patients other than give them doses of an
elixir of coal tar
v
along with oil of sassafras to rub on their chests.
It was essential, he told them repeatedly, that they
remain In bed. He would not allow anyone who was
Ql to drive a wagon, so the healthy pioneers from
other wagons were pressed into service.
Available throughout the night to those who needed his
services, Bob Martin refused to spare himself and
began to look haggard. Tome Mell worried that
he would fall ill, insisted on helping him
each day after she completed her own duties.
Then Mack Dougafl became ill even though he
tried to ward off the disease by fortifying himself with larger
quantities of whiskey than usual. In spite
of Mack's protests, Dr. Martin put him to bed
in one of the wagons, thus leaving the wagon train with
one scout less. No other member of the company was
familiar with the Great Flams or the ways of the
Indians. Tonie volunteered, but Whip
rejected her offer.
"That would be tempting Providence," he told her.
"If a band of warriors discovered that one of our
scouts, operating alone, was
a
woman, they would haul you off to one of their villages
and keep you there as a slave for the rest of your days."
"You forget that I'm a first-rate shot," she said.
"I'm well aware of it," he replied, "but dont
yon forget that you're a woman."
It was necessary to appoint a scout to act in Mack's
place, and with great misgivings, Whip gave the
position to the only other volunteer, Hosea, who
refused the 91
offer of a horse. Early each morning he went off
at a run, carrying his rawhide shield,
and every night he returned, still energetic. He
learned his duties quickly and, somewhat to Whip's
surprise, soon became expert in the difficult
art of spotting the presence of Indians. Stalking
Horse patiently coached him until he could
easily distinguish one tribe from another. In aa
area where different tribes held different
attitudes about white men, this identification was
crucial.
One afternoon in late November, there were snow
flurries in the air. That night Whip held a
private conference with Ernie von Thalman.
"Once the snow really starts to fall, we'll have
to call a halt," he said. "So from now oh, we've
got to search for a likely place to make a winter
camp, and that won't be easy."
Ernie was well aware of the problems. "We'll need
wood to build cabins because people can't spend the winter in
their wagons, Buffalo chips are all right for
cooking, but they don't give off much warmth, so
well need wood for fires. And we've got to have
shelter for the horses and oxen, too. Where can we find
all that wood in a country where there's little but
grass?"
"If many more people get sick, well have to stop
out here in the middle of nowhere," Whip said, "and that
means trouble. We're coming intp the Nebraska
country now, so we have two choices. There's a fine
forest just south of the junction of the Platte and
Missouri rivers, but I don't Like it much."
"Why not?"
"Just a little ways to the north, on the Missouri, is
one of the biggest towns of the Omaha, almost directly
across the river from a trading post in the Iowa
territory called Council Bluffs. By and large,
the Omaha are a peaceful tribe, but they're
strong, and there's no telling what they might do if a
wagon train filled with horses and oxen,
blankets and kettles and guns-not to mention.
good-looking womenfolk-made winter camp less
than a day's ride away."
"I don't believe in putting my head into a
noose and 92
handing someone the other end of the rope," Ernie said,
frowning.
"Our alternative," Whip told him, "is to head
west as well as north. About forty or fifty
miles west of the Omaha town, right on the Platte
River, there's another, even bigger forest. There's
everything there-oak, maple, elm, pine,
hickory, and juniper. It's a huge forest that
spreads northward for many, many miles, so you can bet
that plenty of deer and other game will be foraging there
throughout the winter."
"That sounds better to me."
"I
agree," Whip said, "although there's a possible
problem. I'm told the U.s. Army has built
an outpost at the edge of the forest, right on the river,
called Fort Madison. The soldiers might not
want us as near neighbors for the whiter."
"But the government is sponsoring this expedition, and
we have the personal approval of President Van
Buren," Ernie said. "I don't see how the army
could object to our making winter camp nearby."
"Not officially." Whip's smile was wry. "But,
hellfire and damnation, Ernie, you were a colonel
in the Imperial Austrian Army. Put yourself in the
place of the commander of Fort Madison, which was just
built and was put into operation only this spring. He's
a king in his own realm, and he leads a pleasant
life except when the Indians kick up a
ruckus. All of a sudden he has to share his forest
with a company of almost five hundred civilians. People
will die; civilians will need help and
protection; and his soldiers will start messing around with
our young women. Van Buren or no Van Buren,
he may tell us to take ourselves to the far end of the forest
and not bother him."
"It's possible," Ernie said, "but there's only one
way to find out"
Whip grinned broadly. "Ah, that's what I
wanted to hear. As long as I have your support,
we'll do it. And if the garrison commander doesn't
like us, that's just too bad. He doesn't own either the
forest or the Platte River."
"Hie next morning Whip spoke briefly to the
scouts, and that day the wagon train changed
direction, moving more toward the west than the north.
Progress was still painfully slow. The caravan could
travel no more than eight miles each day. The
weather continued to grow colder, and frost killed much
of the prairie grass. Mack Dougall, who had
recovered and had resumed his scouting duties, was
heard to remark that he couldn't remember a year when
winter had threatened to come to the Great Plains this
early. His dire comment spread through the camp, and some
of the newcomers panicked.
But the veterans reassured them, "Trust Whip
Holt," they said. "He knows what he's
doing."
A week after changing direction, the wagon train
approached the Platte River, one of the principal
tributaries of the Missouri. The scouts returned
during the nooning hour to report the news. In
mid-afternoon the caravan came within sight of the river, which
was swift flowing and more than a half-mile wide.
On the far bank stood a large, solidly
constructed log fort, with the flag of the United States
flying from its highest ramparts, and behind the fort stretched
what appeared to be an endless forest.
Many of the Oregon-bound settlers cheered when they
saw the flag. However, there was one member of the
company who was thinking seriously of returning
to civilization. Arthur Ehvood, who was approaching
forty, had joined the expedition in the hope that he could
buy some of the colonists" land-grant claims of
six hundred acres per householder, and resell
them, at a profit, to land speculators. He had
offered cash for such tracts. But so far no one had
responded to his offer, and he was tired of the
inconveniences of wagon train, living.
The wagons were moved into their customary circle for the
night Even before the task was completed, two officers
in blue army uniforms trimmed in gold
started across the river. To the surprise of many in the
caravan, they rode rapidly across the Platte, which
appeared to be very shallow.
Whip and Ernie walked to the river bank to meet
them.
"Captain Haskell and sheutenant Thompson,"
the senior officer said after they dismounted.
Whip introduced himself and the Baron.
"So you're Holt," the Captain said, smiling
broadly. "The Colonel has been wondering
whether we'd be seeing you."
"Then you've heard of our expedition," Whip said.
Both officers laughed heartily, and the Captain
said, "We've heard of little else in the past two
months. Two entire battalions of our regiment
haven't shown up here yet, and it doesn't look as
though we'll see them before spring. But the War
Department has sent Colonel Jonathan at least
three letters of inquiry about your wagon train, and
even President Van Buren has written to him.
The Colonel has been so nervous he's been on
the verge of sending out patrols to search for you."
Whip and Ernie smiled at each other. The company
would be welcomed at Fort Madison.
"We're relieved you decided not to make
a crossing today, Mr. Holt," sheutenant
Thompson said. "There are only a couple of hours
of daylight left, and you're going to need a full day
for your crossing."
Ernie von Thalman was surprised. The water
appeared shallow.
"The problem," Whip said succinctly, "is quicksand."
The two officers nodded.
Ernie was dismayed. "Obviously well have to move
either upstream or downstream to an area where there Is
no quicksand."
Captain Hasfcell shook his head.i'mafraid
that isn't feasible, Baron. In those places the
river is much narrower, and the water is deep, with the
current so swift that no wagon could make the
crossing."
"If the bed of the river here is similar to what
I've seen elsewhere on the Plane," Whip said,
"the quicksand acts fairly slowly. I watched you as
you came across, and I saw you didn't give your
horses much chance to tarry, so I figured there was
quicksand here."
Whip turned to the Baron. "Ernie, well have no

trouble as long as each wagon stays in
motion. The minute a team of horses or oxen
stop, though, they'll be mired, and the only way
to save them will be to cut them loose, drag them
ashore on the far bank, and sacrifice the
wagon-and its contents,"
"A fair analysis, Mr. Holt," Captain
Haskell said. "This Platte River quicksand is like
glue. It may be slow acting, but once it catches
hold, it sucks up anything and everything that gets
stuck in it. Any team that tries to haul a
trapped wagon will be mired, too, and the only thing
left to do is shoot the poor beasts before they get
sucked under."
"Our people," Whip said, "have been driving their wagons
day after day for a long time. Those who came from the
Eastern Seaboard have been traveling for more than a
year. They're good at it. They know what they're
doing, they don't get rattled, and they don't
scare easy. I'm sure well make out just fine,
provided we take a few precautions."
Ernie was dubious. "What sort of precautions?"
"Perhaps I can be of help to you, Mr. Holt,"
Captain Haskell said. "I have the honor of
commanding what I believe to be the finest cavalry
troop in the army- eighty men, all of them
veterans. I suggest you send two wagons across
at a time, about one hundred yards apart. I'll
assign a full platoon to each passage, with
Thompson here in command of one and my other
sheutenants in charge of the second. Til keep
myself free to supervise the enterprise, and Fd be very
pleased if you'd join me, Mr. Holt. Between us,
I believe we can keep those wagons rolling."
They shook hands after agreeing to start early the next
morning.
Whip and Ernie strolled together toward the wagon
circle, where campfires had already been lighted.
"As I see it," Whip said, "the problem is
strictly one of confidence, especially for those who have
to wait for hours on this side of the river for their turn
to cross."
Ernie nodded thoughtfully. "I suggest that anybody
who might get nervous be sent across fairly early.
It won't bother the more experienced people to wait" 96
"Fair enough," Whip said, "and well start with women
we know won't panic. Like Cathy van Ayl."
Without realizing it, he was paying Cathy a compliment.
"I like that," Ernie said. "Any men who have doubts
about their own abilities will feel much better after
they've seen a couple of ladies
negotiate the crossing. Do I gather you'll have no
use for our own riders?"
"None," Whip replied flatly. "Our scouts do
good wort in their own operations, but they wouldn't know how
to deal with quicksand, and neither would' the monitors. Besides,
young Woodling is so arrogant and unpleasant that
somebody might get ornery just to spite him and stop
dead in the middle of the river."
When they reached the fire, Whip summoned the entire
company and told them in detail about the next day's
operation. He didn't overemphasize the dangers
of the quicksand, but at the same time he concealed nothing.
You'll have no trouble," he said, "as long as you keep
moving. I've crossed the Platte dozens of times
myself, and I know what I'm talking about"
The brief meeting came to an end, and Whip immediately
sought out Cathy. "You'll go first in the column on the
right," he told her, "so you'll have to be awake and
ready extra early. You can turn over the cooking
detail to somebody else for breakfast"
"Why me?" Cathy asked in surprise.
Why, he asked himself, did he always become
tongue- tied in her presence? Unable to repeat what
he had told Ernie, he replied curtly, "It
makes sense, that's why." Then he walked
away, leaving her staring angrily after him.
The fire-making detail started to work an hour before
dawn the next morning, and Cathy organized the
breakfast cooks before preparing for her departure.
Whip joined her for a quick mug of coffee, but she was
cool to him, and little conversation passed between them.
The stars vanished, and the sky was growing lighter
as Whip rode his stallion into the chilly waters of the
Platte, the scouts and male monitors strung out
behind
him, with each man carefully leaving a gap of about
ten yards between him and the rider in front of him.
Whip's stallion could feel the soft sand giving beneath
his hoofs, and he responded instinctively. Lifting
his legs high, almost as though he were prancing, he
made the crossing without difficulty.
The others encountered no problems, either. But
Claiborne Woodling, who brought up the rear,
couldot resist showing off. He walked his horse at
a crawl most of the way across the Platte, then
raced the final hundred feet, his horse splashing
water madly.
The cavalry troop was already drawn up on the
north bank, ready for action. Captain Haskell
was standing near the water, holding the reins of
his horse, and beside him was a handsome, white-haired
officer with a small beard whose silver epaulets
identified bun as a full colonel
"I'm Bert Jonathan," he said, extending his hand
as Whip dismounted. "Welcome to Fort Madison.
You can't imagine how pleased I am to see you,
Mr. Holt. Now, perhaps, Washington City will
stop pestering me."
"My people and I are grateful to you, Colonel,"
Whip replied. "We haven't enjoyed many
luxuries on ourtrip."
Daylight had come, although the sky remained sullen and the
river, ruffled by a cold, damp wind from the west, was
leaden. Captain Haskell led his troop across the
Platte, Whip riding with him at the head of the
Hne, and the veterans proudly moved in formation.
Whip had decided that Tonic would lead the left-hand
column, and the cavalrymen brightened when they saw her
and Cathy van Ayl seated on the boards of the first
wagons. Pretty girls were unknown at this
remote wilderness outpost, and the men stared at them,
grinned and saluted, then began to call greetings
to them.
Whip felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy when
he saw the attention Cathy was drawing. But
there was no time now for personal reflection.
"Let's go!" Whip called sharply, and Cathy and
Tonie drove their teams into the water, a soldier
riding beside each wagon.
Whip and Haskell gave them a head start, then
caught up with them, passed them, and led them to the far

bank. The girls had become expert drivers.
Their wagons moved at a slow but steady pace, and
they came ashore safely.
The foot soldiers who would act as guides to the
campsite were as delighted by the appearance of
attractive young women as the cavalrymen had been,
and even Colonel Jonathan and the three
middle-aged officers who comprised his staff looked
pleased. Again Whip felt a twinge of jealousy.
The second wagons in eack column were arriving
now, and the third wagons were beginning to cross. The
operation was proceeding smoothly.
Extreme precautions were taken to get the special
wagon with its irreplaceable supplies across.
Twenty horsemen accompanied it, holding ropes
that were tied to its wheels and axles. Trusting no one
else to the delicate task, Whip drove.
The wagon master uncoiled his whip, and the
twenty cavalrymen picked up their ropes. "All
set, Mr. Holt?" Haskell called.
"Ready, Captainl"
The whip cracked over the heads of the eight oxen, who
slowly moved into the chilly water. Two
cavalrymen on each side accompanied them, and as
the wagon inched forward, the other horsemen followed.
In spite of the cold, Whip discovered he was
sweating. The regular driver who sat beside him
shuddered slightly.
The oxen didn't like the feel of the soft sand under their
small hoofs, and two of them hesitated. Before they
could stop altogether, however, the wagonmaster whip lightly
touched one on the back, then the other. The blows were not
hard enough to break the animals' skins, but stung them just
enough to keep them in motion.
The cavalrymen strained at the ropes, forcing their
mounts, unaccustomed to such degrading labor, to keep
in motion. The wagon's progress was maddingly
slow.
Having once- established a rhythm for the oxen.
Whip knew it had to be maintained.
"Ee-yup-hol" he shouted, standing on the platform so
he could keep a sharp watch on the entire team.
"Ee-yuphol"
The oxen responded to the cadenced call and con99
tinued to trudge forward through the chilly water, their
pace unvarying.
Captain Haskell moved back and forth constantly
behind the wagon, veering first to the left, then to the right
"Flint, hold your rope tighter!" he called.
"Budman, don't slow your pacel Not too fast,
Harrigan. Hold your place or you'll upset the
balance."
"Ee-yup-ho!" The wagon had passed the center
of the Platte and was crawling closer to the north
bank, where soldiers and members of the train who had
already made the crossing stood and watched anxiously.
The wind increased, and a wave struck one of the lead
oxen, splashing the animal's face. Bewildered by the
unexpected cold alap, the beast halted.
The whip sang out immediately, touching him lightly, then
struck again with somewhat greater force. As everyone held
their breaths, the animal began to move again, and the
rhythm of the other oxen continued unbroken.
The special wagon inched nearer to the north shore.
The worst was over now. If necessary, members of the
cavalry troop waiting on the bank could ride
into the water and assist their comrades with the ropes. But
Whip kept up his cadenced call, and
Captain Haskell called a steady stream of
orders to his men.
At the bank, Arnold Mell plunged into the
water, caught hold of the front end of the yoke, and
guided the oxen ashore. The heavy wagon followed,
its wheels cutting deep furrows in the bank, then
rolling more smoothly on the hard ground.
Whip halted the team, turned the wagon over to the
regular driver, and jumped to the ground.
Captain Haskell joined him, and they shook hands.
"That was greatl" the officer cried. "I owe you a
drink!"
Til take it, tonight," Whip said, "when our day's
work is done."
Meanwhile the crossings of the other wagons had been
resumed, and in midstream Whip passed the wagon
driven by Major Woodling, who was concentrating his
full attention on his horses.
Eulalia, sitting on the hoards beside him, looked
as though she had just left her father's plantation for aa

afternoon's ride in the country. Her eyes were rimmed with
kohl, her lips and cheeks were rouged, and she "
wore a fur-collared coat with a. matching,
frivolously feathered hat. Smiling
broadly at Whip, she removed a hand from a fur
muff to wave at him, and then, unable to resist the
temptation, she smiled provocatively at
Captain Haskell.:
The officer made no comment, but Whip could see that the
girl had sparked his interest, and Whip couldn't
blame him. Eulalia might be somewhat
irresponsible, but she was far friendlier than some
members of the expedition comparticularly Cathy van
AyLike
No serious accidents marred the crossing of the rest
of the wagon train. Occasionally a horse balked or
a frightened team of oxen faltered, but the drivers and the
cavalry escorts "kept the animals in motion.
The cavalrymen and their commander were tired after
the
long ordeal. Only Whip still had a spring in his
step.
Members of the train had followed the usual
practice of arranging the wagons in a circle, this
time in the clearing behind the fort. The wood-gathering
detail had done its work, and the women in charge of
meal preparations were gathering. No soldiers intruded
because, Whip was told, the area had been declared out of
bounds.
He was just completing his own inspection of his charges when
an officer approached him. "Mr. Holt," he
said, "the Colonel would like to see you and the president
of your train in his office as soon as you find it
convenient"
V
Colonel Bert Jonathan leaned back in his
leather- padded chair. Folding his hands on the plain
pine table that served as his desk, he smiled at
Whip and Ernie.
"I've had many weeks to think about the offer I'm
going to make to you, gentlemen. I can get no information
from Washington about why my men-two
battalions-haven't arrived. That's typical of the
War Department In any event, I'm dead certain
the rest of my regiment won't be here before spring.
Now then, I assume youVe been intending to build
cabins for your winter quarters?"
"That's right, Colonel," Whip replied. "I've
hunted in the forest behind your fort many times, so I know it
well."
"There's no need for you to build anything," the
Colonel replied. "You have about five hundred people
in your train, so there's ample room for you here. The
quarters my new battalions will occupy
are empty. There are barracks, as well as
private quarters for officers and noncommissioned
personnel. The fort is solid, you'll have access
to two large kitchens, and there are a number of
fireplaces scattered throughout the quarters. You'll
have to supply your own food and firewood, I'm
afraid."
Whip was overwhelmed by the offer.
"I
don't know bow to thank you. Colonel. Food will be
no problem. There's plenty of game in the forest, and
there are more fish in the Platte, winter or summer,
than your troops and our people can eat."
The Colonel smiled. "I neglected to mention that
we also have extensive stables to house your horses and
oxen. You may need to send foragers out to find food for
them before the heavy snows come, but they'll certainly be
dry and warm."
"Your kindness is so great I can scarcely believe
it," Ernie said, bowing slightly.
Bert Jonathan chuckled. "Not at all. Fm not
charitably inclined, but I'll be obeying
President Van JJ-UREN'S request to extend
every hospitality to you. And I have something else in
mind, too. Some of the Indian tribes in
my area are beginning to kick up their heels."
Whip nodded. "I've heard that the Kansa and
Omaha may be going to war against each other."
You're well informed," the Colonel said. "So
I'm sure you can appreciate my dilemma. I
don't have enough troops to police the region, and if
trouble does break out, I have too few men to halt
it."
"Perhaps," Ernie said politely, "we might be able
to assist you."
"That's what I had in mind," Colonel
Jonathan replied candidly. "How many
effectives could you put into the fleldr
Whip and Ernie pondered the question. "I'd guess about
eighty," Whip said. "What do you think, Ernie?"
"As part of a larger force, not acting independently,
I would place the total closer to ninety."
"I bow to greater knowledge." Whip turned to the American
officer. "Baron von Thalman is too modest
to tell you this himself, but he gave up command of a
cavalry regiment in the Imperial Austrian
Army when he came here and joined us on the march
to Oregon."
"Splendid," Colonel Jonathan said. "I'm
delighted to have a colleague on hand."
Ernie smiled. "You may be less happy if you
caHave on us. Our scouts are the best anywhere, and
if Whip 104
Holt goes scouting for you, there's no man in his
class. But don't expect too much from the bulk of
our people. They are American civilians, which means
they are strong individualists who resist
discipline. They work together best in a crisis. But
some are ahle horsemen and expert shots, so I
think we can give you solid support if you call
on us."
"That's comforting to know," Colonel Jonathan said.
"I just hope I won't need your help. Now, before
you start moving your people Indoors, there's only one more
question to be resolved. I shall speak frankly. At a
frontier outpost like Fort Madison, the men see
no women for months at a time. There are a number
of attractive-very attractive-young ladies in your
train. I trust that my officers are gentlemen, and
ril place your quarters permanently off limits
to the enlisted cadre. I trust you can exert some
controls, too, in order to hold untoward incidents
to a minimum."
Whip sighed, and Ernie said, "We cannot act as
nursemaids, but I've observed that most
of our, younger women are sensible, and I'm certain
they'll avoid problems. Our older women are a
stabilizing influence, of course, so I think-at
least I hope-you'll find that everyone will settle
into routines here after the novelty wears off."
"Until then," Whip said, "It might create more
problems to try to keep people apart. Colonel, well
be pleased if you and your officers will join our company
for supper tonight."
Colonel Jonathan accepted graciously, then
sat back in his chair and smiled. "You may be
having problems on your train, but your people are having
smooth sailing compared to what they'd face back
home."
"How so?" Whip demanded.
"I had some dispatches from Washington City and a
couple of letters from New York when the mail pouch was
delivered the other day. And frankly, gentlemen,
between us, the United States is going through the worst
period in her history." The Colonel became more
serious. "The panic has been growing worse, and
President Van
Buren and his Treasury Department don't seem
to be
able to cope with it. There are thousands upon
thousands of men out of work in New York, Boston,
Philadelphia- and every smaller city and town. There
were bread riots in New York, and troops had
to be called out to restore order."
Ernie whistled under his breath,
"The banks," the Colonel said, "have had to crack
down on people who can't pay their debts. Not only are
factories going out of business, but farmers and city
folks alike are losing their homes and property.
And more than one hundred banks have failed. Think of
it-more than a hundred!"
"That means Oregon will start looking better and
better to the dispossessed," Whip said thoughtfully.
"So will all the free land between Independence and the
Pacific."
"That's why this fort has become so important," the
commander explained. "We've got to keep order and
stop Indian wars here for the sake of the settlers who
are going to pour out here. Free land is the only
salvation for people who would otherwise starve to death."
"We're lucky to be the first," Ernie said.
"Well have our choice of a place to settle when we
reach the Oregon country. I hadn't realized that
conditions in the East were so bad."
They're bad," Colonel Jonathan
said. "Henry Clay's giving Van Buren no
peace. A friend of mine in the War Department says that
Clay is making an average of three or four
speeches a week, attacking the administration.
All the newspapers that don't care much for Van
Buren-and that includes most of them-reprint every last
word that Clay and the other Whigs say. Van Buren
was a first-rat? diplomat, but I'm afraid that the
present situation is more than he can handle."
"What we need," Whip said, "is Andy Jackson
back in the White House."
The Colonel grinned. "I served with Jackson a
great many years ago, in his Florida campaign.
There's never been another like him, I can tell you.
He had an instinct for knowing the precise moment
to attack, but he also knew when to she low. He's
no financial genius, any more 106
than Little Van is, though, and I'm afraid that
even if he were still president, he'd have to she low,
too."
"What I don't understand," Ernie said, "is how a
growing country like the United States could be in such
great trouble."
"You've just explained it, Baron," the Colonel
said. "We're suffering growing pains.
We've been primarily an agricultural nation
since our founding, but the industries of the East are
growing as rapidly as the frontier is moving to the
West The whole nature of our society is
changing."
Whip looked glum. "I reckon you're right,
Colonel," he said. "I can see the changes coming
out this way- and beyond."
Ernie was surprised. "Really?"
Whip nodded. "Before we took off from Independence,
Sam Brentwood and I ran into a couple of
mountain men we knew. They had just come from trapping
on the Green River in the Wyoming country, and they
said it was pretty damn sad. The old haunts are
trapped out-y cant make a living at it these days.
I guess the country isn't fit for anything but
settlers. It won't bo long before the whole
region is civilized-people and more people every place you
look."
"Yes, it's coming," the Colonel said. "The
Indians sense it, too, you know. That's why so many
of the tribes that have been living in peace for centuries
are suddenly so touchy, ready to go to war with anyone who
comes near their territory. They realize that things are
changing."
"Forgive me," Ernie said, "but I come from the Old
World, and I am not accustomed to seeing this huge amount
of space. Both of you talk so blithely of
settlers moving in. But how will they be supplied?
How will they build then- cities? How will they
trade with other parts of the United States and the world?"
"I reckon they'll use wagon trains that carry
only freight," Whip said.
"Not for long," Colonel Jonathan said. "Moving
freight by wagon train is slow and cumbersome.
I'm
looking ahead twenty years now, but I believe-and a

number of my War Department colleagues agree with
me-that the day isn't too far distant when a network
of railroads will extend to the Pacific in the West
and as far as Texas in the South."
"Texas?" Whip was startled.
"In case you haven't heard," Colonel
Jonathan said, "the Americans who have been
settling down there won their war of independence with
Mexico and have set up their own republic. It's
only a matter of time before Texas is admitted
to the Union. Sam Houston was the general who won
the war, and now he's President of
Texas."
Whip chuckled and shook his head. "I would have
guessed if I'd known Houston was involved."
"Sam Houston was one of Andrew Jackson's
proteges," the Colonel explained to Ernie, who
looked puzzled. "He became Governor of
Tennessee, and one day he quit. Nobody has ever
found out why. He went to live with the Cherokee for
three years-he had lived with them when he was in his
teens-and he was known as the Big Drunk. Now
he's the head of a new republic and certainly will be
the first governor when Texas becomes a state.
What's more, I'm told he doesn't touch
liquor any more."
Ernie shook his head. "The more I find out about the
United States, the more convinced I am that there's no
other country on earth like it"
"That's the truth!" Whip said. "I remember an
old bear out in the Rockies, mean and tough and
ornery. He was wounded by an Indian arrow one
autumn, and he went off to his lair. Everybody
expected he'd die there. But he showed up the next
spring, meaner and tougher and more ornery than ever. That's
the United States. We may have unemployment, and
banks may be fatting, but don't think this
country will shrivel up and die."
Afterwards the Colonel took them to inspect the
quarters that members of the wagon train would occupy.
When Whip and Ernie returned to the campsite, they
called a meeting. When the settlers heard that they
would be spending the winter indoors, they were elated.
Emily Harris suggested that sheets could be hung in
the barracks to create separate areas where families
would be able to enjoy a measure of privacy. The
idea was enthusiastically received.
Ernie, who was acting as chairman of the meeting,
announced that there were thirty private rooms, each
large enough to hold two people. "So that everyone has a
fair chance," he said, "I suggest we draw lots
for these quarters."
Everyone agreed, but Emily Harris had a further
idea. Still attractive and vigorous after losing not
only her husband but also, in the earlier stages of the
journey to Oregon, one of her four sons, she
spoke in a loud, clear voice. "Mr. Holt and
Baron von Thalman carry more
responsibilities than the rest of us," she said.
"So I propose that they be exempt from the lottery
and that we simply give them one of the private
rooms."
Whip intervened quickly. "I appreciate the thought,"
he said, "but I can't accept."
"Neither can I," Ernie added, "but I thank you,
Emily. We'll take our chances with everybody
else."
Straws were prepared, with sixty of them shorter than
the others. They were placed in two bundles, and all
who were eligible, including single people and die heads of
households consisting of two persons, filed past the
youngest of the Harris boys and a little girl who held the
straws.
The first winners were Cathy van Ayl and Cindy, who
promptly agreed to room together. Terence and Lena
Malcolm, who were considered a family of two because
their baby was so small, were elated when they drew a
short straw. Arnold Mell was a winner, followed
by Mack Dougall, and people roared with laughter when
Arnold announced with mock ferocity that he didn't
think he could survive a winter spent in close
quarters with Mack.
A small barracks was assigned to the single women
and another to the single men, with the four remaining rooms,
all of them larger, turned over to families. Some
people began to move bedding and other belongings indoors
immediately. All property had to be taken
into 109
the barracks because the canvas covers would be removed
from the wagons to prevent the canvas from rotting during
the winter.
Eulalia Woodling was furious when she failed
to win a place in one of the private rooms and
complained to anyone willing to listen to her that the drawing
had been unfair. But she quickly recovered her good
humor when the officers arrived en masse for
supper. Soon she was flirting outrageously and
impartially with them; five of them were particularly
attentive to her throughout the meal.
The other single women were far more reserved, and Cindy
whispered to Cathy and Tonie, "Eulalia is
really asking for trouble. God help her before we get
out of here in the spring. She'll need all the help
she can get"
The members of the expedition, some of whom had fived in
their wagons for more than a year, could scarcely
believe their good fortune. To them, Fort Madison
seemed palatial. The outer walls were made of
thick oak logs, fined in with clay, and the floors were
fashioned of rough-hewn wood. Thick oilpaper
covered the windows in the sleeping quarters. There were
brick fireplaces in the infirmary, the
dining halls, assembly rooms, and the larger
barracks. The wood-burning ranges in the two
kitchens provided their own heat.
Work schedules were reassigned. The best marksmen were
made permanent members of the hunting party. Others
were given the duty of fishing in the Platte River and
in a lake about a half-mile to the northwest, and still
others became foragers who would collect grass and
hay for the animals and find edible roots in the forest
Cathy remained in charge of one kitchen, and Emily
Harris took firm command of the other. When
Eulalia Woodling tried to win release from the
kitchen detail, Emily firmly put her in her
place.
"I don't know who you think you are, young lady," the
robust woman boomed in a voice that everyone could
hear, "but if you want to eat, you'll work, just disl the
rest of us."

Hosea, who was given no immediate
responsibilities, found what Colonel
Jonathan later described as the "junk shack,"
located behind the main fort. In it were two defective
three-inch cannon, the smallest size used by the
army, each complete with its own carriage and
firing platform; sheets of tin, the remains of the
roofing used in the Colonel's office and the
officers" mess hall; and a number of broken
tools, bent nans, and used, discarded horseshoes.
Hosea went at once to Whip, who agreed to go with
him to Colonel Jonathan, and the amused commander of the
fort gave him permission to take whatever he wanted.
Ted Woods volunteered to provide new
horseshoes for the cavalry rnounts whenever it was necessary.
He had already moved into the fully equipped
blacksmith's shop adjoining the stables. These
quarters were so large that he was happy to allow
Hosea to use one comer of the shop.
Hosea promptly went to work on projects of his
own but offered no explanations to anyone.
A scant seventy-two hours after disthe wagon
train had reached Fort Madison, Whip announced
that he smelled snow in the air. All of the men and
older boys, with the exception of a small hunting
party, quickly went off into the forest to chop down dead
trees and bring firewood back to the fort.
The men labored for two and a half days, cutting and
chopping so much wood that they had to harness workhorses
to three of the combare wagons in order to haul the wood
back to the fort They returned with enough wood
for a month, but Nat Drummond, who had shown a
remarkable aptitude for the task In spite of his
small stature, argued that more should be cut as soon as
possible, before the winter weather became too bad,
The next morning the snow began to fall, drifting
down lightly at first, then becoming thicker. "This will
be a heavy one," Whip predicted, and Stalking
Horse agreed.
The snow fell for two days and nights. During that
time, only the military sentries ventured
ouI'doors. Ill
When the snow finally let up, hunting, fishing, foraging
and wood-gathering activities were renewed. The
temperature continued to drop, and a thick layer of
ice formed on the nearby lake. Stalking Horse
showed the fishermen, including a fascinated Danny and
Chet, how to cut a hole in the ice, drop a
baited line into the water, and haul up fish, which
responded to the lures more rapidly than they did in
warmer weather.
The company's quarters were snug, and the settlers were
grateful for their good fortune. Tonie, however, always
restless unless she spent time in the open, persuaded
Whip to allow her to accompany the hunters. She
proved her worth by bagging more game than many
of the men. Cathy and Cindy made a point of going out
for a brisk walk each day, but took care to obey
Colonel Jonathan's firm order that no
individual-and no woman, in particular-wander more
than a mile from the fort. Only armed groups of men
were granted that right.
Some people rarely left the warmth of the fort, and one of them
was Eulalia. Other than performing her kitchen
duties, which she did with ill grace, she had little
to occupy her time. She made it her business to learn
the off-duty hours of the officers who were showing interest
in her, and at those times she could invariably be found in
one of the assembly halls, which members of the
expedition were using as social gathering places.
Hosea continued to work long hours in private.
Only Ted Woods knew what he was doing, and he
kept it secret. It was two weeks before the
Ashanti was ready to reveal the results of his
activities, and then he invited Whip, Ernie, and
Arnold to accompany him to the blacksmith's shop.
The astonished visitors could only stare at what
he had accomplished. A grinning Ted Woods
stood nearby, watching them.
Hosea had'built a tiny forge, a replica of the
ones he had used in Africa. It was
only two feet long and eighteen inches wide and was
made from scrap metal.
Near it stood a pot he also used, and Ted
explained how it had been created. "Damnedest thing
I ever saw," 112
tie said. "He made a little pot out of clay, and
he fired it in a tiny mound filled with charcoal.
You'll notice there's a hole in the pot Well,
damned if he didn't make himself more charcoal,
smash it into hunks no bigger than my fingernail, and
then he fired the pot still more. Show them the special
tool you made for the pot and that you use on your forge,
Hosea."
The Ashanti held up for inspection a miniature
bellows, fashioned of wood, metal and discarded
chunks of leather.
That was Just the beginning. With little persuasion Hosea
showed the men some of the objects he had been making with
his tools. Among them were arrowheads of steel and
strong, tiny fishhooks for Stalking Horse. He
presented Whip and Arnold with tiny knives, their
blades razor-sharp. And he gave the surprised
Ernie a pipe reamer only two-and-a-half inches
long.
Ted picked up some nails. "The army
uses a finer grade of nail for horseshoes than
I use," he said, "and there plain aren't any here
right now. So Hosea made me these nails.
They're an exact, perfect fit for the cavalry
shoes."
Whip shook his head. "I reckon you can make just
about anything," he said.
"Make anything," Hosea replied, then showed them
several pairs of delicate earrings, no two
pairs alike, which he had made for Cathy and some
of the other ladies.
At supper that night Hosea's handiwork created a
sensation. He basked in the admiration of the people who had
become his friends.
Then Bulalia approached him. "There's a
necklace Fve been wanting for a long time," she
said, "ever since I saw a friend of mine wearing the
original. I'll describe it for you, and you can
make it for me."
Hosea shook his head.
"But I want it!" the girl declared.
He met her gaze, but said nothing.
"If I must," Eulalia said, becoming angry,
"I'H even pay you for it."
"No make," Hosea said, then turned
away from her. 113
Angrily she stalked off, her heels clattering
on the rough wooden floor.
Hosea would do anything In his power for those people he
considered friends, but he would have nothing to do with anyone who
looked down on him or treated him with contempt
Two days later a sudden, critical need
developed for Hosea's special skills. A
breathless Danny brought the word to the blacksmith's
shop. "Dr. Martin wants to see you, Hosea, in
(he infirmary. Right away."
The Ashanti sprinted to the fort so rapidly that he
far ouI'distanced the boy.
He found Terence and Lena Malcolm standing in the
examining room. They were obviously worried.
Hosea heard Dr. Martin's voice on the far
side of the operating chamber door and went inside
without bothering to knock.
Tonic was holding the Malcolm baby in her arms,
taking care to keep her upright, while Dr. Martin
searched frantically through his instrument case.
"Lenore swallowed a thimble," Tonie said.
"I believe the thimble has lodged in her wind
pipe," the doctor said, indicating that portion of the
anatomy on his own body. "If she
starts to cry or makes any sudden, jerking
movement, she could dislodge the object comand choke
to death. And because she's so small, I have no instrument
I can use to fish up the thimble. If I draw you a
picture of what I want, can you make an
instrument for me?"
"Hosea can do," the little man replied without
hesitation.
Bob Martin took a sheet of paper, dipped a
quill pen into a bottle of ink that stood on a
small corner table, and began to draw. "Fm no
artist," he said, "but I'm making this picture as
precise as I can. Here's the instrument and here's the
handle. It must be as
thin
as a hair, as
thin
as you can make it. It will have to bend and conform to the shape
of the baby's wind pipe as it goes down, but if it
breaks, it will surely kill her."
Hosea watched carefully as the doctor drew.
"How long will it take you?" the physician asked.
"I know you can't do the impossible, but every minute
counts.
"Already working with forge today, so charcoal
plenty hot. Will make in one hour. Maybe not so
long." No one had ever heard Hosea deliver such
a long speech. Snatching the sheet of paper, he
bolted from the room.
When Hosea returned to the blacksmith's shop,
Ted, who had just learned of the crisis, was at work,
building up his own bed of coals, bringing them to a
deep, intense red with a large bellows. "Anything
I can do to help?"
"Make fire very hot," Hosea replied, and
began a swift, systematic search through the
objects he had taken from the junk room.
Soon he found what he wanted, the thin crossbar
of a cavalryman's broken spur. He handed it
to Ted, who immediately placed it directly over his
roaring fire and used his great strength to coax still more
heat from the coals with his bellows.
In a short time the steel strip was glowing, and
Hosea went to work on his own forge. With two sets
of pliers he made the bar thinner, then began to shape
it
with a little hammer and a curious, all-purpose tool
that had a knife blade, a hook, and a sharp point
Occasionally he glanced at Dr. Martin's drawing
of the instrument, but he had the shape
sufficiently clear in his mind to use the sketch
only as a general guide. His fingers seemed
to fly, and Ted marveled at his delicate, sure
touch and complete concentration.
Hosea sighed gently. "Is done," he sf id,
and holding the instrument with a pan of tongs, he
plunged it into a bucket of cold water until it
cooled. Then, still grasping it by the tongs, he raced
back to the infirmary.
Lena Malcolm was cradling the baby in her arms,
taking care to hold her upright while she and Terence
tried to keep Lenore amused.
Bob Martin eagerly inspected the instrument.
"Perfect," he said, and banded it to Tonie, who
carefully dropped it into a bowl of brandywine to clean
it. 115
"Lena," the physician said crisply, "give the
baby to Tonie. You and Terence wait outside and
please close the door behind you."
The young mother obeyed reluctantly.
After the door was closed, Dr. Martin said,
"Toni, place the baby's feet on the table.
Stand behind her, hold her arms and body steady, and no
matter what happens, don't let her move."
Tonie did as she was told, but Lenore,
still too startled to cry, began to kick her feet.
Hosea stepped forward and standing beside Tonie, he
gently but firmly grasped the baby's feet and
held them still.
The physician worked swiftly, his touch sure and
delicate. Taking the dripping instrument from the bowl
with one hand and opening the baby's mouth with the other, he
inserted the remarkably thin strand of steel down
Lenore's throat.
Tonie spoke to the baby in a steady, calm
voice, trying to soothe her.
Bob Martin seemed to know precisely what he was
doing. He jiggled the handle slightly, for what
felt like an eternity to Tonie but actually was only
a few seconds. Then he grunted with
satisfaction and slowly removed the instrument.
Attached to the end was the thimble.
But there was still work to be done. As the angry, frightened
baby opened her mouth to wail, the doctor snatched
a glass containing a milky liquid and poured some of
it down her throat
Lenore almost gagged, swallowed a quantity of the
liquid in spite of herself and then let loose with a
scream of protest
The smiling Bob Martin opened the door and
beckoned, "She'll be fine now," he said as
Tonie handed the shrieking baby to Lena.
Suddenly, abruptly, Lenore stopped wailing and
dropped off to sleep.
"Here's your thimble," the physician said, handing it
to Terence. "You may want to keep it as a
souvenir."
The young couple stammered their thanks, but were 116
Somewhat bewildered. "I'm worried," Lena said.
"Why did she drop off to sleep the way she
did?"
"Oh, that. I gave her a diluted dose of
laudanum. It's an opiate, rather unpleasant to the
taste, but very effective. She'll sleep for several
hours, and when she wakes up she'll suffer no ill
effects except a slight sore throat."
Lena managed to smile as she cradled the baby in
her arms.
Bob Martin picked up the instrument, then silenced
the couple as they tried to express their gratitude
to him. "Don't thank me," he said. "Any
experienced doctor could have done what I did. It
was Hosea who performed the miracle, making this
instrument to my exact specifications in less than
half an hour. I'll never understand how he
did it."
"Hosea," Terence said fervently, shaking his hand,
"our whole family is in your debt as long as we
live."
Hosea was embarrassed. He shuffled his feet,
stared down at the floor, and suddenly bolted. His
air of self- confidence had deserted him, and all
he could murmur as he fled was, "Much work to do."
Snow continued to fall intermittently, and the weather
turned bitterly cold. Whip said the whiter
promised to be the worst he had ever known in
thetellyears he bad spent in the West. But the
hunters and fishermen continued to enjoy good fortune. The
foragers and woodcutters remained active, too,
and the women busied themselves indoors making clothes of
buffalo hides and preserving winter berries.
Fears of friction between the civilians and soldiers,
spending the winter together in a place remote from
civilization, gradually subsided. The troops
discovered that the ladies were much like the mothers and sisters
they had left at home. Occasionally there were disputes
between individual soldiers and male members of the
wagon train that developed into fist fights, but
Colonel Jonathan and Ernie von Thalman
wisely ignored these eruptions.
To be sure, the future settlers did not find
living conditions at the fort easy. The men who went
hunting or fishing, woodcutting or foraging, always in
groups, considered themselves fortunate to get away; the
others were forbidden to go beyond the "palisades and soon
became restless.
Although accustomed to communal living, here they were forced
to remain in close quarters. The scene was
unchanging, and they bad to find ways to keep busy.
"I'm beginning to hate this place," Tonie said
to Cathy one day. "Whip and Ernie make such a
fuss about my going out with the hunters that
I
hang around here most of the time. I'm not used to being
confined and having so little to do. Even
if I
do work at the dispensary, sometimes I have to keep myself from
screaming from boredom.
"So do I," Cathy said. "Would you believe that I
actually miss the farm? I hated living there mainly
because of Otto, but it's the
place
I miss. My own snug bedroom. My own
kitchen, where I could keep my pots and pans and
knives exactly as I wanted them. And
my own parlor, even though I didn't sit in it
all that often."
"I know what you mean," Tonie replied. "When the
wagon train was moving, we had a feeling of
accomplishment. Now we're just twiddling our thumbs,
so we think of home."
"Because we have no homes other than the wagons parked
out yonder," Cathy said sadly.
"It must be harder for you than for me," Tonie said,
"because you're basically such a homebody."
"I suppose I am. I never had much of a spirit of
adventure, you know, and it was Otto who decided that
we were going to Oregon. I had no say in the
matter, and if he had given me my choice, we'd
have stayed home. Home. How I like that word."
"For someone who didn't want to go west and who
wanted to stay put," Tonie said dryly, "it
seems to me you've performed miracles. You've
adjusted better than most to wagon train life."
"That's sweet of you to say,- 'b you'd change your

mind if you worked on one of my kitchen shifts. I
scream and shout and carry on something awful when some of
those women don't work as hard as they should. Really,
Toni, I'm becoming'an awful shrew."
"You couldn't say an unkind word to anybody," her
friend assured her.
"What really bothers me," Cathy went on, "is
what we're going to dp about celebrating
Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not that I mind for
myself. I honestly don't care. But some of the children were
asking me the other day, and I didn't know what
totellthem. There's no point in going to Ernie because
he's not familiar with American customs. But
I'm wondering if I ought to speak to Whip. And
Colonel Jonathan. What do you thinkr
Tonie laughed. "Don't speak to anyone," she
said.
"But-was
"Uncle Arnold let something slip a couple of
days ago, so don't dare repeat it-it's a big
surprise. The hunters have found wild turkeys in
the forest and have been shooting them, then freezing them in
snow so they'll keep until Thanksgiving.
Believe me, youll have more birds to clean and stuff
and roast than youll ever want to see again."
Cathy was delighted. "How wonderful! Who thought
of the surprise?"
"Whip, I believe. He's much more sensitive
than some people realize, and he knows that with
everyone just sitting around doing nothing for day after day,
morale is low."
"He really
can
be sensitive," Cathy said. "I suppose that's
why I become so furious with him when he behaves
like-like such a lump of callous old mountain man."
What she was really saying, Tonie thought, was that she
became angry when Whip, who found it difficult
to overcome his shyness, could not express himself clearly
in her presence. The way he looked at Cathy,
however, particularly when she wasn't aware of his
gaze, indicated his interest in her. But obviously
Cathy hadn't made up her mind about Whip. His
way of life was so alien to 119
all she had ever known ttat she would need more time before
she decided, as Tonie felt sure she
ultimately would, that she wanted him.
"I have an idea," Cathy said, clapping her hands
together in childlike enthusiasm. "Why don't we
get some of the women together and make dolls" and other
toys we can give to the children at Christmas?
Presents from an of us that they can open under the tree.
We'll need a tree, of course."
Tonie laughed. "There are enough pines out beyond
the palisades that the tree will be the least of our
problems. As for the gifts, let's do it. That should
help raise everybody's spirits."
They began work on the project that same day.
The first visitor to Fort Madison after the arrival
of the wagon train was Andre' Sebastian. He
rode a handsome stallion and traveled with two
heavily laden pack horses. Claiming to be a
surveyor, he said he was on his way to the Rocky
Mountains, and that he had been hired by a new fur
company to determine approximately how many years
beaver, lynx, and other
animqla
whose pelts were in great demand would continue to abound in the
Rockies.
Colonel Jonathan welcomed him, as did the people
of the Oregon-bound caravan, and he accepted the
invitation to stay for a few days. At mealtimes he
always managed to find a place beside Tonie Mcll
at one of the long tables. A few people noticed and
speculated that he was attracted to her.
Whip happened to be sitting on the far side of the
table on the second night of Andre

Sebastian's stay at the fort and engaged
him in conversation. "It's none of my business,
Sebastian," he said, "and I don't want
to shove my nose into places where it doesn't
belong, but I think you have more courage than good
sense."
"How so?" Sebastian was smiling faintly.
"The worst of the winter is still ahead. Crossing the
Great Plains at other seasons is no joke. And
if you've spent any time in the Rockies, you know that
mountain men hole up at this time of year. So do the
Indians." 120
"True enough, and I certainly can't get much of my
work done before the thaws come," Sebastian said, "but
I want to be there when the weather turns nicer."
Whip made no further comment, but his shrug spoke for
itself.
Andr6 Sebastian felt the need to offer some further
explanation. "I have friends who have cabins in the
mountains. I plan to stay with one of them. "I
Whip's interest was sparked. "Really? Fve been
spending about half of each year in the Rockies for a
long time, so I know a good many of the hunters and
trappers. Maybe I've run across your friends."
Sebastian's bland smile indicated that he had no
intention of identifying his future hosts.
Whip immediately let the subject drop, but afterwards,
he took Tonieaside. "There's something odd about that
fellow," he said.
Tonie agreed.
"I can't figure him, Tonie, but it may not
matter. He'll probably be leaving the fort soon,
and it could be we'll never see him again. On the other
hand, I had warnings from the government in Washington
City and from Sam Brentwood-as you know better than
most- that there are people who would do nearly anything to break
up the wagon train. This Andre

Sebastian seems kind of sweet on you, so
maybe you could keep your ears open for as long as
he's here, and you might just find out something."
She had tried hard to forget that she had ever been
requested Jo commit acts of sabotage against the
train, and she was happy that she was treated like other
members of the company. But what Whip said made
sense, and she agreed to do what she could.
The thought depressed her, however, making her restless,
so at an early breakfast the next morning, she
asked for permission to join her uncle. Whip, and
Mack, who were going hunting in the forest.
Arnold Mell frowned. "There's snow in
the air."
"If I get wet, I'll dry off when we come
back here," Tonie replied. "I promise you
I won't get lost in the forest."
The
men
had to laugh, and Arnold MeHave raised both hands in
a gesture of surrender. "You win," he said. "You
always do."
They went off to their separate quarters for rifles,
ammunition, and powder horns, and Tonie donned
her new, hooded buffalo cloak.
When the little group reassembled at the back gate
of the fort, they were surprised to see that Andr6
Sebastian was waiting for them. He, too, carried
a rifle.
"I don't want to intrude," he said, "but I'm
hoping you'll allow me to come with you. I'm leaving
soon for the mountains, and I need to get in shape again
after several days of soft living."
It would have been rude to reject his request, so disthe
hunters nodded, and he fell in beside Tonie as they
entered the forest and made their way through underbrush mixed
with patches of snow,
"What game have you been bagging here?"
Sebastian asked the girl.
Tonie didn't want to encourage conversation with him,
but she remembered what Whip had said the previous
evening. "The usual," she replied. "Plenty of
deer and all kinds of small game. An occasional
wild boar, although I haven't been lucky enough
to spot one myself. And one day we came across a
small herd of bufialo grazing on young evergreens.
That was to the west of here, at the edge of the forest.
Andre Sebastian listened as though be cared. "Any
bearsr
She shook her head. "Whip Holt has seen them
here tfuring the summer, but none of us has even
caught a glimpse of bear tracks. Whip has a
hunch they
go
up farther north to the Minnesota country
to hibernate."
"Quite a fellow, this Whip Holt."
"That he is," Tonie said. "The best hunter and
guide in the West, and a good, loyal friend. But I'd
hate to cross him."
"I'll remember that," Sebastian said.
Tonie glanced at him obliquely, but his
expression seemed innocent enough.
They trudged for the better part of an hour, covering
two to three mfles, and then they scattered, agreeing
to meet at noon at a place Arnold called "the
red rock."
Sebastian looked blank.
"I assume you're planning to tag along with
Toni," Arnold said.
"Yes, if she doesn't mind," Sebastian
declared. She felt compelled to agree to the man's
company, and nodded.
The girl toot the lead, heading eastward, with Andre
Sebastian following several paces behind her, and she
set a lively pace-too lively, she thought, for
successful hunting. Wildlife would be sure
to scatter when they heard the thumping of her boots on
the frozen ground.
Sebastian must have known she was behaving like an
amateur, but he made no protest and remained
silent until she halted beside a patch of winter
berries to search for deer tracks. "I've been
waiting," he said quietly, "for an opportunity
to have a truly private chat with you."
She looked at him, saying nothing, and waited. "You
are Antoinette Melichev," he said.
Tonie's heart pounded. Only the staff
of the Imperial Russian Legation in Washington and
agents in the employ of the czar's secret police
knew her by the formal name under whicb she had come to the
United States as a small child. "Who are you?"
she demanded.
"My identity is unimportant."
"You're on the payroll of the Russian secret
police."
"That is also unimportant. Miss Melichev,
I bring yon a message." His eyes seemed
to bore into her.
"Don't bother repeating it," Tonie said
wearily. "I'm sure I know the message."
"I think not" Andr* Sebastian's voice became
gentle, almost caressing. "Many months ago, in
Washington, when you applied for a visa for your parents
to come to America, you were asked to help your native
country in a time of need. And in return, you were
told the visa would be granted."
In spite of her attempt to remain calm, she could
feel herself growing angry. "That isn't quite
accurate.
I was told that unless I cooperated, no visa would
be
granted. Well, I understand why the
Russians don't want
to sabotage the wagon train themselves. They don't
want to become involved. It's so much better to have
someone else do it But I've made it clear I
don't intend to be that person. I'm an
American, not a Russian, and I'll do nothing
to harm
this
country-even if it means that the mother and father I
haven't seen since I was very little stay in St.
Petersburg for the rest of their lives."
"The nature of the bargain has changed." His voice
was barely audible now. "So I beg you to be
sensible. The conditions here at Fort Madison are
perfect for what has been asked of you. All you
need to do is collect a number of pine branches.
Surely you know how fiercely they burn. Place
them on the flooring of the empty wagons that stand behind the
fort, then take a tinderbox and flint to them. The
winter wind will do the rest, and the wagons will bum to the
ground. Your friends will be forced to return to their
homes-traveling some distance on foot, to be
sure-and it will take years for the Americans
to organize another venture to the Oregon
country."
"I think you're contemptible," Tonie said
quietly. Suddenly she raised her rifle to her
hip. "Come just one step nearer, and I'll kill you.
I assure you I can fire from this position."
"I don't doubt your word," Sebastian said,
seemingly calm, "but such heroics are unnecessary. I
am merely a messenger."
She watched him narrowly.
"I mentioned a moment ago that the essence of the bargain
that was offered to you has been altered. I have been asked
to inform you that if you fail to accomplish what has been
asked of you, Ivan and Olga Melichev will not
spend their declining years in Still Petersburg. A
formal charge of treason will be lodged against them. They
will be found guilty and sent to a work camp in
Siberia. They will remain there for the rest of their
days-and the elderly do not survive long there."
"But they've committed no treason, and you know it
They've done no harm to anyone," Tonie
protested, aghast
"I form no personal opinion in these matters.
They 124
are not my concern. I was sent into this wilderness to carry
a message to you, and this I have done." He bowed
mockingly and turned away, disappearing into the
forest with surprising speed.
A blind cage enveloped Tonie; she wanted
to follow him and shoot
him
down. But in spite of her fury, she could not do it.
Besides, as he had said, he was only an agent, and his
death would not remove the threat to her parents.
She could hear him running and knew she could not match
his speed. Also, it would be dangerous for her to follow
him alone. His one desire now had to be that of
escaping before he could be captured, turned over
to Colonel Jonathan, and taken to Washington
City as a foreign agent. To avoid being captured,
he would become the hunter rather than the hunted, and she
was sure he would not hesitate to shoot her down.
Tonie cupped her hands at the sides of her mouth
and gave the piercing cry of the owl-the prearranged
emergency summons that indicated she was in distress.
She waited a few minutes, then repeated the cry,
again and again, to guide her companions to her. The wait
was agonizing.
Mack Dougall was the first to arrive.
He knew nothing about Toni's troubles with the
Russians, and there was little he alone could do for her.
Rather than give him a detailed
explanation, she said, "There's a nasty problem.
Wait until the others get here."
Mack shrugged, then helped himself to a generous
swallow of whiskey from his flask.
Tonie repeated the owl cry, and this time it came
back to her from a distance. But another quarter of an
hour passed before Arnold and Whip arrived. By now
over half an hour had elapsed since Andre
Sebastian had left In spite of Toni's
attempt to speak dispassionately, her voice shook
as she gave them a verbatim report of her
conversation with the agent.
Arnold Mell cursed volubly in Russian.
"I made my decision months ago," Tonie
said. "No matter what happens or becomes of
anyone, I refuse to commit treason against the
United States."
"You owe nothing to Ivan and Olga," Arnold said
angrily. He paused before speaking the next words.
"They were happy to get rid of yon. Toni, when
Sophie and I offered to bring you to America. My
brother's position as court jeweler to the czar gave
him an inflated sense of self-importance, and they
were having so much fun that they didn't want to be
burdened with a daughter."
"Thank yon for telling roe, Uncle Arnold,"
she said softly. "This makes my decision easier
to bear."
Until now Whip had said nothing. A white line
had formed around his mouth, and when he spoke, there was a
snap of authority in his voice. "I knew there was
something strange about that bastard. You say he has at
least a half-hour head start on us, Tonie?"
"By now it must be closer to an hour." It was
difficult totellthe time, for the sun was hidden behind
dark clouds.
"We've got to catch him if we can," Whip was
grim.
"I want the pleasure of dealing with him," Arnold
said.
They all started off, walking as quickly as they could,
through the forest in
the
direction of Fort Madison.
Walking rapidly, Whip called over his shoulder,
"We've got to turn him over to the Government.
Depending on what President Van Buren and the
State Department want to do, this could mean breaking
relations with St. Petersburg."
"First," Arnold replied, his voice
harsh, "we must catch the man."
At last they saw the log palisades of the fort
looming up through the snow that was now swirling about them.
As they moved through the gate, Whip slowed his pace.
Not Knowing how Andrf Sebastian might react, he
didn't want to give the man warning.
Ernie von Thalman was just emerging from the
blacksmith's shop, and when the group saw him, they
came to an abrupt halt.
Tonie was sobbing for breath, on the verge of
collapse, and her uncle placed an arm around her
for support
Ernie knew something was amiss, but before he could say
anything, Whip asked him curtly, "Have you seen
Andre

Sebastian?"
"Yes," Ernie said. "As a matter of fact, he
behaved very strangely. He came dashing in from the
forest and went straight to the stables, where his horse was
already saddled and his pack horses were ready
to travel. He saw me-I was just going to have some words
with Ted Woods-but Sebastian didn't even stop
to say hello or goodbye. He hist went riding out
of the fort as though he were being chased by the
devil!"
"How long ago was that, Ernie?"
The Baron removed a thick, gold watch from a
waistcoat pocket and looked at it. "At least
an hour."
Arnold cursed again in Russian.
Whip looked down at the ground. The snow was falling
so rapidly and heavily that the footprints he and his
companions had made only moments earlier were already
obliterated. "There's nothing we can do," he said
wearily. "We can ride much faster than a man on
the move with two pack horses, but we don't know
whether he's gone east, west, or south across the
Platte."
"It doesn't really matter," Arnold said harshly
as he squeezed his niece's shoulders
reassuringly. "Our path and that of Mr. Andr6
Sebastian will cross again, and when that happens, we
have a score to settle with him."
Tonie Mell sat alone before 8 roaring fire in
what had been one of the small officers' parlors in
the fort Brooding and withdrawn, she stared into the
flames, not noticing that Ernie had entered the room.
Ernie, aware of what Tonie was feeling and wanting
to help her, had searched for her until he
had found her. He knew that she had undergone a
shattering experience and needed comfort and support. More
objective than her uncle could be, he felt that
his worldly background and his understanding of human nature
on many levels would make it possible for this proud
young woman to lean on him; yet he hoped he could
help her without her quite knowing what he was doing. 127
He cleared his throat gently.
Startled, Tonie looked away from the fire,
blinking at
"You needn't tell me," Ernie said. "You're still
upset over your experience with Andr Sebastian."
"I'm angry," Tonie replied brusquely.
"Furious, if you must know. If he came into this
room right now, I could murder him with my bare
hands."
The Austrian nobleman nodded calmly. "You
wouldn't be human if you reacted in any other
way."
"How dare he threaten me? And what makes the
Russians think I'd harm my friends and be disloyal
to my country? I'm an American, not a subject
of the czar. Just because the parents I haven't seen since
I was a baby happen to be living in Russia is
no reason for me to become a hostage!"
"It makes no sense," he agreed. "But
governments frequently are neither logical nor
ethical. They do whatever they think is in their own
best national interests, and they give no thought
to individuals who may be made to suffer the
consequences of their policies."
"It isn't fair!"
i "Of course it isn't. But what you fail
to take into account, my dear Tonie, is that life
itself isn't fair. Animals kill in order
to survive and so do humans. That's the basic law
of nature, like it or not."
The girl stood, moved closer to the fire and,
averting her face, looked into the flames again. "If
you must knoweaI'mfrightened. And until this experience,
I was never in all my life afraid of anything."
Ernie smiled. "You sound as though you're ashamed of
your fear."
"I am. I hate being weak!"
"Fear very often is a sign of strength, Tonie, not
weakness. The hunter who knows no fear when he
faces an angry mountain lion intent on
destroying him is more than a dolt. He's an
idiot Fear sharpens one's reactions and enables us
to be among the survivors."
"You really think so?"
"I know it," he replied quietly. "Before I
came to 128
America, I took part in three major
campaigns and fought in eight battles. Before and
during those battles, I was badly frightened."
"But the Emperor of Austria personally decorated
yon several times."
"Only because I had the good sense to be afraid.
Brother officers who knew no fear are in their
graves today, but I'm here. There's a difference between
recklessness and bravery, you know. The wise person
knows when to she low, when to protect himself or herself,
when to fight back. There are moments when one should be
bold, when one should press an attack. But there
ate times when one simply covers one's flanks."
Tonie slowly turned toward him. "Why are you
telling me all this?"
"Because you're one of the few people I know who does this.
There are women in this wagon train who would become
hysterical if they had gone through your experience with
Andrbled Sebastian. There are women who would give
up the struggle, who would succumb to the pressure he
was putting on you."
"I have no intention of doing that," she said,
clenching her fists.
Ernie looked at her as she faced him
defiantly, her eyes blazing, and he chuckled.
"You prove what I've been saying about you. Of
all the women I've ever known, you're better able
than any to face whatever may lay ahead. Because
you're self-reliant, my dear. You have faith in
yourself."
"Well," she admitted, "I won't let the
Russians or their agents stomp on me. I
don't start fights, Ernie. But I fight
backl"
"Every word you say proves my point," Ernie said.
was As the Russians are learning to their sorrow, they
chose the wrong person to intimidate."
For the first time since he had entered the room, she
laughed. "You're giving'me a swollen head, you
know."
"Not at all. I'm merely being honest. And I'm
enjoying this experience myself. It isn't often that
I've seen a powerful nation being humbled. The inner
strength you 129
provide and the help that your loyal friends give you
make a formidable combination, Tonie." He crossed
the room and kissed her gently on the
forehead. "This is one battle that Imperial
Russia simply cannot win."
The girl was silent for a few moments, then nodded.
"No, they won't win," she said softly. "I will,
because I'm doing what I know is right."
VI
Roaring fires burned in the hearths of the adjoining
dining halls providing warmth for members of the wagon
train, who, grateful to be spending the bitterly
cold winter indoors, sat at the long tables and
ate their supper quietly. The lack of privacy
was creating friction, but so far common sense had
prevailed, and no serious quarrels had disturbed the
peace of the community. Eulalia and Claiborne
Woodling were being ignored by many people who regarded the
brother and sister as obnoxious, but their far less
abrasive father had won general acceptance.
In the midst of the meal, an aide to Colonel
Jonathan came into the dining halls looking for Whip
and Ernie, and when they went off with him, leaving their
meal unfinished, people exchanged apprehensive
glances. Obviously something was wrong.
The commander of Fort Madison was waiting for the men in his
office, and when they entered, be wasted no time on
preliminaries. "I need your help, and
I need it fast. Holt, what do you know about the
Ponca nation, whose territory is north of the
Omaha's land?"
"I can't tell you much about them, Colonel, because
I've always avoided them," Whip said. "You know where
you' stand with most tribes, but not with the Ponca.
They're shifty, always trying to gain an advantage
over
everybody else. They break alliances as fast as
they make them. A friend of mine-a chief of the
Cheyenne-told me yean ago to stay away from them,
and I've always followed his advice."
"Is it true that they're good fighters?"
"From what I've heard, they're tricky," Whip
said, "They wait for their enemies to make a
mistake, and then they pounce. What's happening,
Colonel?"
"Just a few minutes ago," Bert Jonathan
replied, "one of my scouts arrived with word that the
Ponca are on a rampage."
Whip whistled under his breath. "How many are there?"
"About fifteen hundred, all mounted," the
Colonel said. "They're looking for loot-as
well as women and children to take prisoner. I'm not
worried about an attack on Fort
Madison. They're too clever for that, and I'm
almost certain they'll stay away from us. But they're
bound to raid Omaha and Kansa villages and
maybe attack other tribes."
"They'll stay out of Blackfoot country," Whip
said. "No Plains nation would dare to raid a
Blackfoot town."
"Attacks on the Omaha and Kansa would be bad
enough, with those nations already sparring with each other. Before
you know it, all of the minor tribes of the area will be
joining in a free-for-all. And When Indians go
to war with each other, the fighting can last for years.
I've got to put a stop to it before it starts. My
directive from the War Department is to keep the
peace in this region."
"With your limited personnel," Ernie said
bluntly, "I don't see how you can do it."
"I'm leading an expedition against the Ponca tomorrow
morning, leaving here at daybreak," Colonel
Jonathan declared. "I need your help, and I can
supply you with as many as fifty horses if you
don't have enough good mounts. How many men can you give
me? I want only good ridera-first-rate
shots-men who are willing to obey orders."
Whip thought for a moment. "In warmer weather
I might be able to scrape up ninety, but some of our

people can't function too well in the snow and ice.
Ernie and I will ask for volunteers, and then well
screen those who respond. My offhand guess is that
we can supply you with about seventy effectives."
The Colonel was pleased. "They'll be augmenting
two of my cavalry troops, so that should be enough, and
I'll leave fifty men behind to guard the fort."
Ernie was startled. "One moment, Colonel. You
said the Ponca have fifteen hundred warriors in the
field. Each of your cavalry troops numbers
eighty men. So the addition of our seventy will give
you fewer than two hundred and fifty. Surely you
don't intend to send a force that small into battle
against fifteen hundred mounted braves I"
Whip and Colonel Jonathan exchanged smiles.
Frontier warfare in the New World in no way
resembled the battles to which Europeans were
accustomed.
"An attack on their whole body would be
suicidal," the Colonel said. "Even if we
won such a battle, we'd suffer a defeat. The
Ponca would feel humiliated, and they'd come back
at us again and again. They'd give us no
peace for years."
"Ernie," Whip said, "our aim is to discourage them
just enough so they'll come to their senses and go back to their own
towns."
"I think I can explain," Colonel Jonathan
interrupted. was A few years ago I was an
instructor at the Military Academy at West
Point. I taught our cadets the techniques
used in the Imperial Austrian Army by your
Hungarian cavalry regiments."
"Ah!" Ernie brightened. "Salami tactics!"
"Precisely," the officer replied. "We find
ways to split the main body of the Ponca
into segments, then inflict enough punishment on each
portion to persuade them they ought to give up the whole
idea of waging war. We don't follow the
Hungarian salami tactics to then: logical
conclusion, however. At no time do we try
to annihilate any segment. That would just be borrowing
trouble for the future."
"We'll report back to you as soon as we have our

people set," Whip said. He and Ernie shook hands with
Colonel Jonathan, then left his office and
returned hurriedly to the dining halls.
There, they announced the Colonel's request for
aid, and Whip made their own position clear. "When
Colonel Jonathan took us in for the whiter, comwe
promised to help him in situations like this. But we
want only men who can tolerate the hardships of a
winter campaign. Anyone who might have to give up
and return to the fort will be a burden."
He was not surprised when virtually every one of the men
volunteered, and even the older boys begged for the right
to go. A notable exception was- Arthur Elwood,
who had confided to various members of the company that he
was thinking of leaving the wagon train.
Grace Drummond made a scene when her husband
rose to volunteer. "I forbid you to gol" she cried
in a loud voice. Nat ignored her protests.
Whip found it difficult but necessary to reject the
services of Major Woodling. "Let your son
represent your family," he said. "Your daughter
needs protection. What would happen to her if both
you and Claibome were killed?"'
The Major knewawas unlikely that both he and his
son would suffer mortal wounds. "Mr. Holt,"
he said with a wan smile, "you've found a
diplomatic way to tell me I'm too old for a
venture like this."
Whip nodded.
"Thank you, sir, for being diplomatic." Woodling
returned slowly to his place at the supper table.
The others felt sorry for him.
Hosea was refused the right to accompany the party,
too, and was distressed. "Hosea plenty good fighting
man," he said with an injured air.
"There's none better," Whip agreed. "But no
matter how long you can run without getting tired, the
Colonel wouldn't approve of having one man on
foot while almost two hundred and fifty others are
mounted. Don't worry. You'll have plenty of other
chances to show your skills as a warrior before we reach
Oregon."
The following morning Cathy van Ayl and her
helpers 134
went to the kitchens far earlier than usual to prepare
breakfast for the departing men. Most members of the
wagon train were on hand to see the group leave.
The cavalry troops were assembling on the
snow-laden parade ground. Each volunteer was
given a saddlebag containing enough dried beef and parched
corn for a four-day journey, a blanket, and those
whose supplies of ammunition were limited were given
additional powder and bullets.
Colonel Jonathan had a brief talk with
Whip. "I assume your scouts will join mine. Will
you take charge of all scouting yourself, Mr. Holt,
and coordinate your three men with my eight? Mine will
be directly under your command."
"Sure. Glad to oblige."
The Colonel unfolded a map. "Here's where
we'll camp tonight, on the western tip of this lake."
Whip borrowed the map, brought all the scouts together,
and showed it to them, instructing them to rejoin the regiment
whenever they could after sundown. All of them were
veterans long familiar with the terrain. Whip then
assigned each man a separate sector, reserving
for himself the area in which he believed it most likely that
the Ponca warriors could be found.
"It isn't enough just to locate the braves," he said.
Try to get a fairly accurate estimate of their
numbers."
Whip said goodbye to Ernie, who was commanding the wagon
train contingent and whom he would rejoin later, then
bade farewell to the Colonel. After saluting
Cathy, who had followed him out of the kitchen, he
returned to the waiting scouts. "There's no need for
us to wait for the main body," he said. "We'll be
on our way."
Dawn had not yet broken as Whip led his scouts out
of the rear gate of Fort Madison. They immediately
scattered, each moving off in the direction of his
assigned sector. The hoofs of the horses made a
squeaking sound on the snow, and the cold was so intense that
Whip gave his stallion his head.
The horse quickly began to canter to keep warm, as his
master had known he would. When he tried to increase his
pace to a full gallop, however, Whip had to give

reins a gentle tug. "No, boy, we'll do no
galloping on this ground until we have to. Both of
us will be in trouble if you take a tumble on the ice and
break a leg."
The stallion settled back into a canter. Dawn
came, and then the sky grew brighter, but the clouds
overhead formed a thick, gray mass, and the sun did
not appear. Whip was warmer now, but he kept his
buffalo-skin cloak closed and his fox hat pulled
low on his forehead. A man who grew careless in such
weather could suffer frostbite long before he realized
it.
Riding toward the northwest, with the edge of the forest off
to his right, Whip saw the endless prairie stretching
out ahead and to his left. This was his world,
silent, forbidding- and alien to the outsider, but comforting
to those who truly knew and loved the wilderness. The
prairie looked deserted, but that was an illusion.
There were herds of buffalo here if one knew where
to find them. There were antelope and deer as well as
small game, and somewhere in the vast space ahead there
were fifteen hundred Ponca warriors intent on
making war.
Whip was enjoying himself thoroughly. Although he liked
leading the wagon train because the job was a challenge,
this was infinitely better. On the other hand, he
realized he couldn't spend the rest of his life as a
scout and mountain man. Mack Dougall had lived
such a life and was now forced to find his companionship in
a bottle.
Some day, Whip reflected, he would settle down,
establish a homestead claim, marry, and raise
children. Until this moment the idea of staying in one
place and putting down roots had not crossed his
mind. He had taken it for granted that he would
deliver the company to its destination and then return
to his own way of life in the Rocky Mountains.
What, he wondered, had caused this sudden change?
He suspected it was Cathy van Ayl. He
couldn't put her out of his mind.
Ridiculous-no woman was going to tie him down.
The worst of it was that he could imagine himself married
to her, living to a house he built himself near the great
blue-green forests of the Oregon country, He
tried to get rid of that mental picture, but it
refused to disappear.
Whip sighed and reassured himself he wasn't being
forced to make any drastic decision in the immediate
future. Another year at least would pass before he
guided his charges to Oregon, and many things could
happen to change the situation. Cathy might fall in
love withand marry someone else. She had the money she
had inherited from Otto, in addition to her natural
talents and beauty, so any bachelor in the wagon
train who didn't court her was being shortsighted.
Not that he himself gave a damn about her money, but it
made her independent, and less likely to be
interested in a mountain man like himself.
Cathy aside, Whip told himself, he had to think in
terms of his future. But he found searching his own
mind a painful process. He was a mountain man,
no more and no less, and for years he had been content with
his lot He loved the thrill of pitting himself against the
unknown, of using the forces of nature as his allies.
He gloried in his ability to react
instantly in an emergency, to act quickly and
instinctively when danger threatened. But those
abilities wouldn't be enough in the future. The world he
had known and loved for so long was changing rapidly.
The five hundred men, women, and children in the wagon
train represented the future. These pioneers
soon would be followed by countless others, until the
whole continent would become populated. The wilderness
was vanishing, and the day was not far distant when the mountain
man would become a figure of the past. In his place
there would be the patient, steady fanner, the persevering
rancher, the solid townsman who sought rather than
shunned the company of others.
Where would he fit into this America of tomorrow? He
doubted that he could ever be happy in a small town,
much less a city. The regimen of a farmer, who
performed the same chores again and again, did not appeal
to him. He understood horses, though, and could handle
cattle, so perhaps he could be happy as a rancher.
It shocked him when the thought occurred to him that he
might be wise to claim a parcel of land for himself in
the Oregon territory and settle there. He could,
of course, lead other parties across the country to the

Pacific, and perhaps he could cling to his
present way of life for as long as another
decade. But intellyears he would be nearly forty,
perhaps lacking the qualities needed to buckle down and
start a new career. He knew mountain men who had
turned into hopeless drunks when they had grown too
old for the rugged out-of-doors life they had chosen, and
he had no intention of becoming a member of that
pathetic band.
Not that he had to make a decision today. The wagon
train was still far from Oregon. Whip turned to the
task immediately at hand.
At noon he paused beside a small lake, cutting
a hole In the ice so he and his stallion could
drink. He ate some smoked beef, along with, a
handful of parched com, and was satisfied.
About an hour later he made out a smudge on the
horizon that he first guessed might be buffalo. But
the smear was spread out across the landscape, moving
toward him, and he well knew that buffalo herds
formed in depth as well as laterally.
It must be the Ponca. He needed to confirm the
supposition, however. After making certain his rifle
and pistols were ready he headed off in the direction
of the blur on the horizon.
The next quarter of an hour passed
slowly, Whip's suspense mounting. By the time he was
sure that he was indeed approaching braves on
horseback, the Ponca were well aware of his
presence, and a group of twenty warriors separated
from the main body and disraced in his direction.
Thanks to his civilian attire, which they could
distinguish at this distance, they had no idea that he was
performing a task on behalf of the United States
Army, so that much was to the good. It would not be difficult
for them to tell immediately that he was a white man,
however, as Indians of the Plains tribes rode far
smaller horses. So those who had come in pursuit
of him probably wanted to kill and scalp him, then
take his stallion and his firearms.
He knew he could hold his own against a fairly
large force, particularly when he was carrying a
rifle and two 133
pistols, and his foes were armed only with bows, arrows,
and spears. But the odds of twenty to one were too great
on the prairie, where there was no place to hide.
Whip's courage was unlimited, but he was
practical, and he realized the time had come for him
to retreat. The Ponca were reckless horsemen,
indifferent to their own safety or that of their mounts, so
he had no time to lose. He wheeled, then
headed back in the direction from which he had come.
Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the braves were
gaining on him. He would have to risk his stallion's
neck and his own. He gave the horse his head, in
spite of the ice and snow underfoot, and the stallion
accepted the challenge, breaking into a full gallop.
If he skidded or stumbled, he would fall, and that
would be the end of him-and perhaps the end of his rider.
Again Whip looked over his shoulder and was relieved
to see that the distance between him and his foes was increasing.
Compelled to keep up his dangerous pace, however,
he had to trust the stallion's instincts. In
places the snow was at least a foot deep, and a
hoof striking a hidden rock would mean sudden disaster,
but
he had no alternative.
He was ouI'distancing his pursuers, and a few
minutes later the braves gave up the chase. The
Indians were realists, too, and the prospect of the
limited quantity of loot they could take from a lone
traveler wasn't worth the effort they were making.
Whip immediately slowed his stallion to a safe canter.
Only then did he realize that, in spite of the
cold, he was covered with sweat. He shivered as he
turned in the direction of the rendezvous
point.
He rode for two more hours. The day was dying, and the
regiment obviously had just arrived because only now were
sentry outposts being established.
"Where's the Colonel?" Whip shouted, scarcely
slowing his pace.
The sergeant of the guard pointed. Tents that would
provide a minimal shelter were being removed from the
backs of pack horses, and Bert Jonathan, who
had himself dismounted, was watching the operation, 139
Whip Jumped to the ground, noting that Ernie von
Thalman, the commanders of the two cavalry troops,
and members of the regimental staff, having seen his
rapid approach, were hurrying to the Colonel's
side.
"I've located the Ponca," he said, wasting no
words, and gave a succinct but full account of what
had happened to him.
Colonel Jonathan did not interrupt him, but
waited until he had finished before questioning him. "How
many were there?"
"I had no chance to make even a rough head count,"
Whip replied, "but there were so many that I know I saw
their main body. On the other hand, I couldn't even
guess whether there were five hundred or
two thousand."
"At least we have an idea where to find them tomorrow,"
Captain Haskell said.
Ernie nodded in agreement.
"I hate to contradict you, gentlemen, but you're
dead wrong," Whip said. "I know where they were a
couple of hours ago, riding at a moderate
pace, and I know the direction in which they were heading.
But it doesn't necessarily follow that we can
figure out where they'll be by morning. By then they could be
blame near anywhere. Finding them again could be as hard
as locating a kernel of corn you dropped in a
field of tall grass."
Frowning, the Colonel asked, "Are you suggesting that
we ought to make direct contact with the Ponca tonight?"
"That's right, Colonel. By this time they'll be stopping
and making camp for the night. But they travel lighter
than we do, and they don't have tents to pack.
They'll be on their way again at dawn, and by the time
we get organized and on the move, they can be far
away. We might not locate them again for at least a
week."
The Colonel glanced up at the darkening sfey. The
heavy, solid clouds would be certain to hide the
moon and stars. was A night attack can be
tricky. What do the unit commanders think? Captain
Haskell?"
"My men are up to it, sir."
"'Captain Smith?"
"So are mine, sir."
"Baron von Thalman?"
"I have no idea, Colonel Jonathan. Our people
did defend their wagons admirably once when they
were attacked by a band of army deserters, but they've
never operated together as a formal cavalry troop, so
I can't make predictions."
Whip felt compelled to interrupt. "Colonel,"
he said, was I suggest you hold the civilian
troop in reserve. Once they see the way the army
troops act, they'll have an example to follow, and
I believe they can do it. But they're not up
to initiating a complex maneuver."
"If our objective was to destroy the Ponca,"
Colonel Jonathan said, "I wouldn't even
consider a night attack. Under those circumstances
I'd prefer waiting until tomorrow, even if we lost
them for days. However, since our aim is that of giving
them a good case of cold feet that will send them back
to their own towns for the rest of the winter, I'm willing
to try. Gentlemen, reassemble your units
and call in your outposts. We'll march again in tea
minutes."
The officers hurried away.
"One more suggestion," Whip said. "The scouts are
going to start trickling in soon and will be arriving here
for the next hour or so. They won't know quite what to do
if no one is here, so I suggest you leave a few
men behind to direct them. I'm sure they'll catch
up in time to join in the fight. And my own scouts can
double as Baron von Thalman's sheutenants once
we're all reunited."
"You think of everything, Mr. Holt." There was
admiration in the Colonel's voice.
Less than a quarter of an hour later," the
regiment was on the move again, with Captain
Haskell's troop in the lead, Captain
Smith's following, and the men of the wagon train bringing
up the rear. Whip rode alone. There would be no
opportunity to pause for supper later, so he ate
some smoked beef and munched on parched corn in the
saddle.
Within an hour he was joined by Arnold Mell and
Mack Dougall, and ultimately Stalking
Horse appeared. One by one the cavalry scouts
also joined him.
"I'm worried about Stalking Horse," he confided

Arnold. The soldiers don't know him, and in the
dark- with those feathers stock in his scalp lock-he
looks like any other Indian to them. So they might not
be able to distinguish between him and the Ponca once the
fighting starts."
They rode on for another hour, with Whip selecting
the route by estimating how far the Ponca might have come
if they had maintained their same pace and had not
changed direction. He was guessing, he knew, but
at last his gamble paid off-he and Arnold spotted
several glowing clumps in the distance. Then the army
scouts saw them, too, and tensed.
"Ponca campfires, Whip said, and called a
halt. Summoning the commander of the vanguard, he said,
"Send someone to the rear and ask the Colonel if
he'll join us."
The request proved unnecessary. As soon as the
column halted, Colonel Jonathan rode
forward, followed by members of his staff.
The scouts counted eleven fires.
"There aren't as many Ponca in the main body as you were
originally informed, Colonel," Whip said.
That's right," Arnold declared. "Not that the
difference is all that significant, but we've
counted eleven fires, and I happen to know the
Ponca traditionally assign one hundred to a
fire. So well be facing about eleven hundred
instead of fifteen hundred."
"It's still far too many for a full-scale attack,"
the Colonel said.
"I believe we can ride about a mile closer without
being detected by their sentries," Whip told him.
"What would be the advantage, Mr. Holt?"
M
I don't know-yet But the closer we are the better
we can make out their defense perimeter."
"Fair enough," Colonel Jonathan said.
"Just one thing, Colonel. We don't want to let
the Indians know we're breathing down their necks.
So I suggest you impose silence on the whole
regiment. Don't allow anyone to light a pipe
or
segaro."
Whip waved the column forward again, and, with Arnold
still beside him and the army scouts spread out in 142
a line behind them, they rode on for another quarter of
an hour. The eleven fires became more distinct,
although it was too dark to make out anything
else.
One fire, the fourth from the left, was bigger than the
others, and attracted Whip's attention. Arnold
reached out to tap him on the shoulder, and he nodded in
agreement. They had advanced far enough. At this
distance they could still consult, and the Colonel could issue
orders without fear of being heard. Whip halted the
regiment again and engaged in a low-pitched, earnest
conversation with the army scouts and Arnold.
Again the Colonel moved forward to join them.
"We have noticed something we all find interesting.
Look at the fourth fire from the left."
"Now that you mention it," the Colonel replied, "it
looks twice the size of any other fire. What
does it mean?"
"We think the sachem-the leader-of the Ponca is using
that fire," Whip said.
Colonel Jonathan nodded. "I gather by your tone
that you have a specific plan of action in mind."
"We've just been discussing it. I'll try it out on
you. Just suppose," Whip said, "that you spread the
regiment out in a semicircle-a thin line that starts
parallel to the fire on the left and extends all the
way to the fire on the right. At a given signal,
the entire regiment-after first moving as close
to the Ponca sentry outposts as we can- will open
fire. Have the men reload and keep firing as
rapidly as they can."
"But they can't possibly hit any target at that
distance," the Colonel protested, "especially on
a night as dark as this."
"I hope not," Whip replied. "The idea of the
fireworks display is to confuse and frighten the Ponca
and make them think they're being attacked by a force far
superior to their own. Two hundred and thirty
rifles can make a hell of a lot of noise."
"Aside from the fact that your wagon train
civilians won't be making a direct attack,
I don't see the advantage."
"While you're putting on your show, your scouts,
Ar143
nold and I will ride to the big fire. By now the
Ponca are either sleeping or on their way to sleep.
Tell
him
the rest, Arnold."
"It's this way. Colonel," Arnold Mell said.
"A few years ago I visited a Ponca town
and slept in the local chief's hut. The chief had
a special blanket-beaded, with a lot of
feathers stuck in it, so that even when he was asleep,
people would know he was the chief."
"The principal sachem must be using a fancy
blanket like that," Whip said. "He's our goal.
We'll scoop him up and ride back to our lines
with him. We'll arrange some signal with you so you'll
know we're coming, and when we give the signal, the
whole regiment pulls back, falls into formation, and
rides back this way, fast. The sachem will be
expecting us to kill him, and in the dark he'll have no
idea how many of us are taking part in the overall
attack. But you'll spare his life and send him
back to his people unharmed-provided he gives you his
word that hell take his warriors home and stay there.
When an Indian's honor is at stake, he'll
keep his pledge."
"Astonishing," Colonel Jonathan said.
"We'll be holding casualties down to an
absolute minimum," Whip explained. "We may
have to put bullets in some of the senior warriors who
are sharing the sachem's fire, but only if they get
in our way. We may get out of this without any of my
men or your troopers being killed or even hurt."
The Colonel shook his head, then stamped his booted
feet to keep warm. "What about those of you
who are taking part in this raid?" he demanded. "It
strikes me you'd be taking a frightful risk."
"Not that bad." Whip shook his head. "Obviously
the whole regiment will avoid shooting in the direction
of the sachem's fire so we aren't hit by our own
bullets."
"I'm thinking in terms of the Ponca capturing and
murdering you!"
"If we do this right, we'll be in and out before they
realize what's happening. And once we've
captured the sachem, they won't dare to fire at
us. They'll be afraid of hitting him."
The Colonel appreciated Whip's daring, but
continued to
bar disapprove. "I still think you're taking too
great a risk. I
ihardly need remind you that your first obligation is to the
people of your wagon train. If you should be killed,
injured, or captured, they'd be forced to return
to Independence and wait there until another wagon
master competent to lead them could be found. The expedition
to the Oregon country could be delayed for many months,
and you know as well as I that the President is eager
to settle that territory as soon as possible."
"I won't fail the wagon train
company," Whip replied. "I've been in far more
ticklish spots and have come through without a scratch.
Believe me, Colonel, I've weighed the
odds."
The expressions on the faces of the army scouts
indicated they agreed with him. One of them, a
grizzled trooper with leathery skin, spat into the
snow. "I'm due to retire on a pension next
year. I'm buying me a little farm near my
brother's in Kentucky, and I aim to spend the rest
of my days there, all peaceful and quiet. I'll be
damned if any good-for-nothing, lazy Ponca
warrior is going to deprive me of something I've
been waiting for ever since I first volunteered for this
army after the British burned Washington City more
than twenty-three years ago."
There can't be more than
a
hundred or so warriors at that fire," another
scout, leaner and younger, said contemptuously. "In
hand-to-hand combat or when they're making a raid of
then- own, they're dangerous. But withtellof us, all
carrying rifles and pistols, I don't see how
they can stop us."
"They can't," a third scout said flatly.
"We're not treating the Ponca lightly,
Colonel," Whip said. "But conditions are perfect
for an action that could solve all our problems.
Sure, we'll be taking a measure of risk. But
I didn't join you on this outing to sit back,
twiddle my thumbs, and enjoy the winter air."
"I'm afraid I'll have to go along with you, Mr.
Holt," Colonel Jonathan said, "but I'm
doing it against my better judgment"
The Colonel summoned his unit commanders and gave
the specific instructions. The two army troops
moved to the flanks, leaving the weaker and less
disciplined wagon train civilians to hold the
center. Then all three units moved further apart
until they formed a rough semicircle around the
Indian encampment. There was a distance oftellto
fifteen feet between each man, sufficient space
to give the Ponca the impression that the attacking
force was far larger than it actually was; yet the
distance was not so great that the units would find it
difficult to close ranks quickly in case a
sudden, unexpected emergency developed.
When Whip told Stalking Horse that he did not
want him to accompany him into the Ponca camp, he
faced a personal problem. It was evident
that Stalking Horse was hurt. "Whip no longer
trusts his brother," he said in his own tongue. 
"That is untrue," was the instant reply. "Whip
has trust and faith in his brother as he has in no
other man. It is because of his love for his brother that
Stalking Horse must stay behind."
The Cherokee bristled. "Does some man question my
courage?"
"I question the mind that was given to you by the great god of your
nation," Whip said tartly. "You have a scalp lock
with feathere in it. The Ponca have scalp locks with
feathers in them. The animal skins you wear are like the
animal skins they wear. You carry a bow and arrows,
and so do the Ponca. It is very dark, and there will be
great confusion when we ride into the camp of the enemy.
I want no army scout to fire at you because he
mistakenly thinks you are a Ponca warrior. I
won't take that chance."
A reluctant Stalking Horse returned to his
place in the wagon train line.
The scouts started forward again, moving cautiously as
they advanced two hundred yards beyond the three
units following them. They remained close enough to each
other to see signals given by hand, and eventually a
message was passed to Whip from the far left
side of the formation: a Ponca sentry outpost was
only a short distance ahead.
Whip permitted the main body to move forward another
one hundred yards, and then they stopped. So far the
conduct of the civilians was as professional as that of the
cavalrymen.
With Arnold beside him, Whip motioned the scouts into a
single line. Then Whip raised a hand, and when he
let it drop, the scouts rushed forward, permitting
their mounts to gallop. Not until they had raced far
beyond the sentry line did the Ponca on guard duty
realize their security had been breached. They
raised a shrill, penetrating cry-a perfect
imitation of a crow's call-to alert their
companions. .
By that time the scouting unit was rapidly approaching the
large fire. One of the scouts recognized the
ornate blanket in which the sleeping sachem of the
tribe had wrapped himself. He rode straight
toward the prone figure, the scouts on either side of
him veering inward sharply.
Leaping to the ground, the scout struck the Indian
leader sharply across the back of the head with a pistol
butt, knocking him unconscious. He threw the
leader across his horse. Then, mounting his
horse again and holding the prone body of the Ponca in
front of him, the scout began a wild dash back
toward the regiment's lines, a scout on either side
of him.
Whip, Arnold, and the five other scouts stayed behind
for a few moments in order to give the others time
to effect their escape. Ponca warriors were
awakening now, leaping to their feet and reaching for their
weapons. One, more agile than the others, managed
to fit an arrow into his bow. Seeing him, Whip
coolly shot him with a pistol, the bullet striking the
unfortunate brave between the eyes.
The sound of the shot not only alerted the entire
Ponca force, but was the ultimate signal that the
regiment awaited. A volley of rifle fire
erupted, the Sashes briefly illuminating a vast
seimcircle.
Dazed, the Ponca believed that they had been
surrounded by a superior force of white men-with fire-
sticks, and in their momentary confusion Whip and
his
companions began their own hasty retreat
Crouching low in their saddles, they urged their horses

forward, and id a short time they overtook the
other members of their party.
Meanwhile, the regiment directed a steady stream of
rifle fire at all of the Yonca fires except
the large one, leaving Whip, Arnold, and the scouts a
narrow channel through which they could escape.
By now the Indians were sending shower after shower of arrows
after the men who had abducted their sachem. But the
warriors were afraid to pursue the fleeing scouts.
The rifle fire held them at bay.
A whistle that Colonel Jonathan had given
Whip dangled from his neck on a rawhide thong.
He blew one high-pitched blast after another,
indicating the successful return of the scouts with the
stUl-unconandcious chief of the Ponca nation.
Only now did it occur to Whip that he had
neglected to make allowances for one vitally
important detail. Instead of heading toward one
of the cavalry troops, he and his companions were
riding directly toward the men of his own wagon
train, who might easily become rattled, think the
riders bearing down on them were Ponca, and direct
their fire on them. But Stalking Horse and Mack
Dougall steadied them, and Whip was pleased to see a
grinning Nat Drummond excitedly waving him
closer.
Only one of the future Oregon settlers failed
to obey orders. Claiboroe Woodling suddenly
moved forward out of the stationary line. Intoxicated by the
success that had been enjoyed so far, he appeared
determined to ride into the Ponca camp, which would have
been a suicidal gesture. Mack raced after him,
caught hold of his reins, and, blistering him with a string
of oaths, forced him to return.
By now the scouts had reached relative safety behind
their own tines, and a succession of whistle blasts
conveyed this information to the regimental commander.
Colonel Jonathan promptly ordered his units
to begin a withdrawal. His own troops obeyed quickly,
still firing as they withdrew, but the maneuver was far more
difficult for the civilians to accomplish. They
managed to achieve it with some hesitation, however, and
then the lines were" contracted so all three units
formed a solid phalanx. 148
Once the regiment halted, it was discovered that two
of the scouts had suffered minor injuries. Dr.
Martin, who had come to the center of the line with
Colonel Jonathan and his staff, quickly took
charge, cutting the arrows out of the flesh, pouring
brandywine on the wounds, and then bandaging them.
The still-unconscious Pone was removed from the
scout's horse and laid on the ground. Two
knives were removed from his belt Then Dr. Martin
revived
him
by placing a container of sharp, dried herbs under his
nostrils.
The dazed Ponca sat up and saw that he was
surrounded by white men, many on horges. Colonel
Jonathan and Whip dismounted and were joined by Stalking
Horse. All three of them faced the dazed
sachem, who was just beginning to realize the seriousness of
his predicament
Colonel Jonathan, long accustomed to dealing with
Indians, knew, as did Whip, that the chieftain
bad to be treated with the dignity his Ugh office
demanded if the ultimate goal of the maneuver was
to be achieved. "Tell him, please, that we mean
him no harm, Mr. Holt. Tell him we want
no war with him and his people and that we seek only peace."
Whip translated his words, adding a few flourishes
of his own.
The sachem drew himself to his full height, even
though his head still ached, and gathered his beaded, feathered
blanket around him. No matter were he looked, he
could see white men with firesficks, many of
them in uniform. The presence of 'Stallcing Horse
indicated there were Indians in this war party, too.
"Why has White Eagle, the sachem of the
Ponca, been taken from his sons? They will not rest
until this insult has been avengedt"
Whip translated, then added, "Let me answer
him, Colonel. I think I can handle this myself."
"The father of our warriors," Whip said to the Ponca
as he inclined his head in the direction of the
white-haired colonel, "means no disrespect
to White Eagle. It is his wish that he and his sons
become the friends of White Eagle and his people. White
Eagle was brought to this place because there was no other
way the father of our warriors could hold a powwow with
him. He and his 149
sons want to live to peace with the Ponca. They wish
also to live in peace with the Omaha, the Kansa, and
all of the other great nations of this land. Only those
tribes that break the peace are our enemies."
Suddenly Stalking Horse intervened with a gesture that
startled the Ponca chieftain. Holding White
Eagle's knives on the palms of his hands, he
gave them to him.
Only an Indian or someone who knew the tribes
intimately could have understood this gesture.
The sachem was being treated as a free man and an
equal rather than as a hostage. Reacting slowly because
undo haste would have appeared unseemly, he took
the knives and slid them into his belt His face
remained stiff, expressionless, but his eyes betrayed
his feelings and indicated that some measure of his pride
had been restored.
Colonel Jonathan took advantage of this
situation by making a gesture of his own. Slowly,
elaborately, he withdrew his own army knife from
its sheath and presentedato the sachem.
The blade was made of tempered steel, the handle was
fashioned of metal and covered with leather. The weapon
was far superior to the crude knives of the Ponca,
and White Eagle was overwhelmed. It appeared that
these men who used nresticks meant what they said and were
not trying to trick him.
Aware of the impression that had been made, Whip
made up his mind to bring the talk to its climax. The
night was already well advanced, and if the negotiations
continued until daybreak, the Ponca warriors would
see how heavily they outnumbered their foes and might
be tempted to launch a full-scale attack in the
hope they could rescue their sachem.
"White Eagle," he said, "return with
your warriors to the villages and towns of the Ponca.
You will go with honor, you win fate with you the friendship of
our chief and his sons. Only if you make war against
the other nations that occupy this land will you and your people be
harmed."
Whip spoke quietly to one of the scouts. The man
nodded, then left, and returned a few minutes
later with a 150
pack horse relieved of its burdens. Whip
presented it to White Eagle. The sachem knew
he was free to leave.8The gifts he had been
given had been presented to him unconditionally. If
he violated the spirit in which they had had been given,
he would be denying the ancient traditions of
hospitality that the Ponca, like all other Plains
tribes, regarded as sacred.
Whip glanced at Bert Jonathan, indicating that
now was the time to strike a bargain.
The colonel extended a hand. "I pledge you
peace," he said.
Whip translated, his voice sonorous. White
Eagle hesitated for an instant, and in that moment the
question of war or peace hung in the balance. Then he
held out his own arm, and he and the Colonel gripped
each other's wrists. "White Eagle
pledges peace," he declared.
The formalities were complete. Solemn promises
had been exchanged, and the sachem would be dishonored if
he violated them. He mounted the pack horse, which
was Sar larger fhan any mounts the Ponca Knew,
and started toward his own lines.
Colonel Jonathan immediately gave the order for the
regiment to withdraw an additional quarter of a mile.
The crisis was not over yet-it wouldn't be completely
resolved until the warriors accepted their
chieftain's agreement
Dawn broke as the dignified White Eagle
rode slowly back to his own camp. He vanished
from sight. His followers were undoubtedly astonished
to see he was alive and well. There was a long
wait, presumably while he conferred with his
sheutenants. Then the Ponca campfires were
extinguished, and the warriors began a quiet,
orderly retreat toward the north.
Colonel Jonathan gave The order to return
without delay to Fort Madison. Peace had been
restored in the eastern Nebraska country at a
cost of one dead Ponca warrior and two comwounded
scouts. What pleased Whip more than anything else
was the knowledge that the men of the wagon train company
had gained valuable military 151
experience. They would need it when they resumed their own
journey through hostile Indian territory.
The two mountain men who arrived at Fort Madison
unexpectedly, on the way from the Rockies
to Independence, were named Welden and Burke. One was
tall and beavyset, the other shorter but equally
brawny. Both were bearded, in their early thirties,
raucously profane, and they were dressed alike in
greasy buckskins.
"They're scum," Mack Dougall said in disgust.
"The minute I saw them, I hid my cask of
whiskey. They're the kind I'd send on their way
if I saw them in the mountains."
"I know their type, too," Arnold Mell
agreed. "When fellows like that showed up at my ranch
in Independence, Fd meet them at the front door
with my rifle in my hands and swear I'd shoot them
if they didn't leave my property fast. I would
have done it, too, but they always took me at my word.
Colonel Jonathan should have sent them on their
way."
"He couldn't," Whip explained. "They're
U.s. citizens, andwitha new blizzard threatening,
he had to give them shelter. I know how you
feel, but we've got to put up with them for as long as
they hang around here. I reckon, though, that we ought
to pass the word for folks to be on their guard."
There were no locks on the doors," so members of the
wagon train company were warned to conceal their valuables
and to keep watch over their other possessions. Most
people tried to be courteous, however, and treated the
mountain men politely. The pair were given bunks
in the bachelors" sleeping quarters.
Tonie Mell was the first to have an unpleasant
encounter with the two men. Since the storm made hunting
expeditions Impossible, she had spent the day working
in the infirmary with Dr, Martin, and at sundown, as
she left to return to her own quarters before supper,
she was somewhat miffed. That day she had put on a
dress, hoping to attract the doctor's attention.
Bob Martin had appreciated her efforts on his
behalf, as he always did, but he had made no comment
on her appearance. If she didn't know better

she would have sworn he was blind. Wiping her hands on the
apron she still wore, she angrily made her way
down the long hallways of the fort, her heels
clicking on the rough-hewn floor.
Suddenly her path was blocked by two
bulky figures. As they lurched toward her, she
could smell the nauseating odor of cheap whiskey.
"Aint she somethin'?" Welden demanded, leaning against
the wall. "Sweetheart, you got no idea how
long it's been since I've had a romp with
somebody like you."
"Me first," Burke said. "I'm the one who saw
her first!"
"Well toss a coin for her," Welden declared,
reaching for her.
Tonie, like her uncle, had dealt with men of their
sort t home in Independence, and she reacted
without hesitation. Reaching into her apron pocket, she
withdrew the long, pointed pair of scissors she had
been using in the infirmary to cut cloth for bandages.
Holding the scissors like a dagger, she pointed them
at the larger man.
"Touch me again, just once," she said, "and I'll
carve out your gut."
Welden could only stare at her, speechless.
Burke laughed. "You goin' to let a woman talk
f you that way?"
"The same goes for you," Tonie told him, "But
your stomach is smaller, so you'll get it in the
groin."
The pair continued to gape at her, then looked at
each other.
Tonie knew she was no match for them, but she was not
intimidated. If they persisted, she would inflict as
much serious damage on them as she could and would make
enough noise to bring the entire wagon train company and a
troop of cavalry to her assistance.
Welden was still sober enough to realize he had made the
mistake of approaching a wildcat He took a
single step backward. His experience with respectable
women was limited, but he could tell by her expression
that she would not hesitate to use the scissors. He
wanted a girl, but he did not want to be stabbed.
"Get out of my way," Tonie said, her green
eyes 151
blazing. I'mnot going to tell you again." Her arm
poised and her body tense, she was prepared
to strike.
Welden wilted and stepped aside.
"You, too," she told the shorter man.
Burke flattened himself against the log wan.
Tonie swept past them, disdainfully, without a
second glance.
"Holy Lord," Burke muttered. Taking a
flask from his hip pocket, he drank so
quickly that some of the whiskey dribbled down his unshaven
chin.
Weldon took the flask from him and helped himself.
"To hell with her," he said, wiping his mouth on his
greasy sleeve. "She ain't the only doe in the
forest."
Tonie didn't mention the incident to anyone. She
knew what her uncle and Whip thought of the pair, and
having defended herself successfully, she put the
matter out of her mind.
An hour and a half passed before the members of the
wagon train company were belatedly called to supper.
As the men, women and children filed into the adjoining dining
halls, a scowling Ted Woods, who stood near the
entrance, tapped Whip on the shoulder and drew him
aside.
"The reason supper is late," he said,
obviously concerned, "is because Cindy and Cathy
didn't show up to take charge."
"It could be they're resting," Whip replied. "They
may have fallen asleep and not wakened."
"That
isn't like either of them," Ted said stubbornly. "I
don't like this one bit, and I aim to find out what's
going on." He started off down the long
corridor.
Sighing quietly, Whip decided to accompany him.
He knew about Ted's volatile temper. If
Cathy and Cindy were sleeping through the supper hout, a
luxury they deserved, he didn't want Ted
making an unwarranted scene.
They walked together in silence. Then, as they drew
near the officers' room the two girls were sharing, they
heard sounds of a scuffle and increased their pace. The
door was closed, but they could hear a man's harsh
laugh. "Hold still, sweetheart, you're goin' to like
this!" 154
Whip quickly opened the door. Cathy and Cindy were
lying on their beds, sprawled on their backs, their
hands tied behind them and gags in their mouths. Looming
over them were Burke and Welden, but the girls had not
been completely subdued and were kicking violently,
then- skirts flying high, as they tried to ward 08
their attackers. Furniture had been upset, and
clothing was scattered around the room. Cathy and
Cindy had fought hard.
Just as the door opened, Cindy managed to free
herself, from her bonds and, reaching up, she clawed
Welden's face.
He cursed her and cuffed her hard across the
face.
Seeing this, Ted Woods gave a low, animal-like
growl and hurled himself at Cindy's attacker.
Burke had been in the process of towering himself
onto Cathy's body when he heard Ted, and he
looked across the room in surprise. At that moment
Whip grasped him by the collar, hauled him to his
feet, and drove a fist into his face.
Burke was drunk, but he had enough sense to realize
he had to protect himself. He drew a knife.
Whip gave him no chance to use it. He put all
of his weight behind a short punch to Burke's stomach
and, as Burke doubled over, Whip took the knife
from his hand and threw it under Cathy's bed.
"Fight like a man," Whip said, moving forward again.
Burke tried to protect himself from the hammer-like
fists that battered his face and body, but even if he
had been sober, he would have been no match for the
thoroughly aroused Whip.
It was one of Whip's maxims that the man who wanted
to win a battle had to keep his head. Now, even
though he was angry, he was able to follow his own
advice. His mind continued to function clearly as he
"gave Burke one strong blow after another.
One of Burke's eyes was closed,
blood trickled from 8 corner of his mouth, and he
retreated to a comer where he cowered, trying to escape the
beating by covering his face with his arms. But his feeble
attempts were useless. ,
Whip broke through his guard with a right to the face that
straightened him. Then a well-placed left caught
Burke in the stomach, again doubling him over, and
another right caught him full in the face again,
slamming him against the wall. He crumpled to the
floor and stayed there.
Cindy had removed her own gag and Cathy's, then
untied the other girl's wrists. They huddled together,
still dazed by the rape that had so narrowly been averted.
Whip had temporarily forgotten Ted and the other
intruder. He turned to see the blacksmith sitting
astride Welden's chest. Ted's powerful hands were
clutching the man's neck, choking the life out of him,
while at the same time he was raising the man's bead
and smashing it repeatedly on the floor.
"Enough, Ted! You've finished him, so leave him
bel" Whip shouted.
Ted didn't hear him; he was conscious only of the
man who had assaulted Cindy. There was a wild,,
maniacal expression in the blacksmith's eyes,
and it was plain he was determined to kill the
man. Welden tried in vain to remove the hands that were
choking him. No man could long survive the
punishment he was getting. Whip came up behind the
blacksmith and tried to pull him away, but Ted's
strength was too great
All at once the room was filled with soldiers.
Two of them joined Whip, and all three, straining
together, finally managed to pry Ted away from Welden,
who sucked in air painfully.
Colonel Jonathan was standing in the entrance to the
room, and Whip quickly told him what had happened.
By the time he had finished, Ted Woods had regained
his senses. He stood quietly, flexing his fingers
and gazing at Cindy. "I-I hope you're all
right, ma'am," he said diffidently.
Cindy could only nod. Not only was she shaken by her
own experience, but Ted's violence had frightened her,
too. She knew that if Whip and the officers had not
intervened, Welden would be dead by now. She couldn't
yet think straight, but it was frightening to know that a man
with Ted's temper and bull-like strength had appointed
himself as her protector.
"Haul those two into the corridor so the ladies can
compose themselves' the Colonel directed.
Soldiers propelled tile guilty
pair into the hallway. Burke was still bleeding, trying
to focus with one eye, and Wei- den, not yet breathing
normally, grasped the back of his head, his gaze
flicking apprehensively in the direction of Ted,
who was following behind, along with Whip and Colonel
Jonathan.
"What do you have to say for yourselves?" Colonel
Jonathan asked, after closing the door to the girls'
room.
There was a long silence before Burke mumbled, "We
was just havin' an innocent little jamboree. Nobody
got hurt until these two bulls came into the
room."
"Are you suggesting that the ladies were accepting your
advances willingly?" The Colonel spoke
quietly,
Welden nodded as best he could.
"You she!" Ted roared, and would have started forward again
had Whip not laid a restraining hand on his arm.
"If that's the case," Whip said, "perhaps you'll be
good enough to tell me why the ladies' hands were tied and
gags were placed in their mouths."
The accused pair had no reply and remained
silent.
Hearing what Whip had said, Colonel
Jonathan said, "You're guilty." His voice was
icy. "You were granted the privilege of a
sanctuary here, and you abused our hospitality
commine, the army's, that of our civilian guests, and
above all, that of the people of the United States, who own
this property. Gather your belongings and leave. At
once!"
The two men were shocked by the severity of the sentence.
"We told you when we got here how we lost our
horses," Burke said, speaking with difficulty.
"Lord Almighty, Colonel! It's more'n forty
miles from here to the tradin' post at Council
Bluffs!"
Desperation made Welden eloquent. "Even in good
weather, we'd have the devil's own time tryin' to reach
Council Bluffs, what with all them towns o' the
Omaha b'tween here and there. But there ain't nobody
can. make it there in the kind o

weather there is out yonder right now."
Colonel Jonathan was unyielding. "Where you go
or how you proceed there is none of my concern."
"But we'll die out therel" Burke was alarmed.
Colonel Jonathan ignored him. "lieutenant
Myers," he said to his aide-de-camp,
"see to it that these men are escorted to the back gate.
Make sure all of their belongings are delivered
to them there, and have them escorted off Government
property. Notify the sentries that if they
return or are caught loitering in the barns or
elsewhere, they're to be shot on sight"
"Yes, sir," the aide said, and saluted.
"I deeply regret this incident, Mr. Holt,"
the Colonel said. "Ill be grateful if you'll
tell the ladies I'll apologize to them in
person tomorrow, when they'll be better able to receive me."
He turned and went off to his own quarters.
Welden and Burke knew they could not disobey the
order, so they allowed themselves to be led away.
Whip and Ted found themselves alone in the corridor.
The door opened, and the two girls emerged. They
bad changed into clean dresses and combed their hair.
"We heard Colonel Jonathan's verdict, but
I can't say I feel sorry for those two,"
Cindy said.
Cathy went straight to Whip. "Thank you," she said
simply. "It would have been ghastly for me if you
"hadn't arrived when you did-and taken care of that
beast."
Whip was embarrassed and shrugged aside
Cathy's thanks. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, yes. My wrists are raw, but they'll heal
fast enough."
Still uneasy because of Cathy's obvious gratitude,
Whip turned to the other girl. "What about you,
Cindy?"
"Oh, one side of my face may be black and
blue tomorrow, but I'll cover it with rice powder and
nobody will know." She laughed, and there was an element
of bravado in the sound. "I knew worse in the
place where I worked in Louisville."
It was the first time Whip had heard her refer to her
previous life as a prostitute, and he hastily
changed the
subject, pointing to Ted. "It was Ted who got me
to come
here with him to investigate. He's the one who figured
there was something the matter when you didn't show up to fix
supper."
Shuffling his feet Ted stared down at the floor. This
shy, tongue-tied giant bore scant resemblance
to the wild- eyed demon who so easily would have
killed a man only a short time earlier. For the
moment his murderous impulses had been quieted.
But his problem, as he knew better than
anyone else, might flare up again without warning, and the
consequences could be disastrous.
VII
Henry John Temple, Third Viscount
Palmerston, was irascible, imperious, and endowed with
unlimited energy, qualities that caused him to be
feared by his subordinates, shunned by his peers,
and disliked by his superiors, of whom he
recognized only one, the young "Queen
Victoria, Palmerston held an Irish
peerage, which made it possible under the rules of
Parliament for him to hold a seat in the House of
Commons. Passionately devoted to the protection and
expansion of the world's greatest empire, he was, in
his mid-fifties, universally recognized as perhaps
the best Foreign Secretary in his nation's
illustrious history.
One of the few men in England who was not afraid of him
was the equally aristocratic Sir Edwin Knowlton,
who had been his classmate at Harrow four
decades earlier. Their goals were identical, but
Knowlton elected to serve the Crown in the shadows.
Not only had he created an espionage and
counterespionage service of extraordinary
efficiency-an organization that operated with
precision around the globe-but his own desire for
anonymity gave him a leverage in his dealings with the
mighty, even the powerful Palmerston. Although such people
knew him to be extraordinarily competent, they also
knew he would never be a threat to their power or
position,
Knowlton sat quietly in the enormous office
overlooking Pall Man, a faint smile on his
face,
making no comment as he listened to the Foreign
Secretary speak.
"The Oregon country," Palmerston said in his
booming voice as he paced the length of the Persian
rug that covered the magnificent hardwood floor,
"is ours. By right of discovery, by right of occupation, and
by right of international law. The Americans go too
far when they claim it, and I refuse to tolerate
their impudence!"
"Do sit down, Temple," Sir Edwin said
mildly. "Or you'll lose your voice before you
make your policy speech in the Commons this afternoon."
"Quite so." Palmerston retreated to his desk,
sat, and drummed his restless fingers on the polished
surface. "Obviously the Americans want an
outlet to the Pacific, and I say to them,
take California from the Spaniards. Everything
north of it belongs to us!"
"Temple, you're wasting your time and mine by telling
me a policy we've been following for years."
"Edwin, you're being impertinent"
"Who has a better right? Get to the point."
"Very well," Palmerston said crisply.
"American newspapers and magazines are filled
with articles about the excitement being created by the first
wagon train to cross North America.
Congressmen make patriotic addresses on the
subject, and a dozen new wagon trains are being
organized. We must act-quickly-to prevent that first
wagon train from reaching Oregon, or we'll be
forced to compromise our own claims. Last year i
made it clear to yon that the train now in motion must be
halted."
"So it shall." Knowlton spoke with confidence. "One of
my very best agents is in the field attending to the
matter."
"Who is her
"A chap named Still Clair. He has a distinguished
record, and he's completely reliable."
"Whatishedoingr
Knowlton was deflated. "To tell you the
truth, Temple, he hasn't been in touch with my
office in recent months. He's functioning somewhere
in that Godforsaken American wilderness, and until
he can get in touch with our
garrison at Fort Vancouver, his means of
communication with us are limited."
Palmerston's temper rose. "Then send out another
agent, Edwin. Send a dozen! You know the stakes
are highl"
As Sir Bdwin Knowlton's subordinates
knew, he, too-, had a short temper.
"Obviously you haven't considered the consequences.
A mission of this sort is extremely delicate.
If the American government should get wind of what
we're doing, there will be hell to pay. The former
President, Andrew Jackson, will demand that
America go to war with us again, and he'll be supported
by public opinion, even though President Van
Buren is a civilized man who wants peace."
"I don't want war with the United States,"
Palmerston said slowly. "I'm not certain our own
people would tolerate it. But the Oregon territory is
a rich prize, Edwin, and we can't let it slip out
of our hands. The American claim is as valid as
our own, and if they settle there first,
we'll have the devil's own time trying to squeeze them
out"
"It will be the better part of a year before that train
reaches Oregon. Long before then, I expect a
report from St. Clair telling me he's
succeeded. On the off- chance that something untoward should
happen to him, of course, I have several competent
agents I can send from Fort Vancouver to help him."
Again Paunerston drummed on his desk. "The
situation does seem to require patience."
"I have faith in St. Clair," Knowlton said.
The Foreign Secretary stared at him. "For your
sake, Edwin, for his and for the Empire's, I hope
your confidence in him isn't misplaced."
Henry St. Clair was annoyed with himself. Driving
his wagon across the Great Plains with his riding horse
tethered to it, be bundled himself in his heavy cloak,
pulled his hat lower onto his head, and reflected that
he was stupid. A senior British agent, engaged
in carrying out a delicate, vital mission had
to think in terms of the present, and he had been
remiss. He should have known he was leaving St.
Joseph far sooner than necessary, since
he could cover three or four times as much territory
in a single day as the accursed wagon train
could manage. St. Joseph wasn't London, not
by a long way, but at least he had slept in a
comfortable bed there, consumed edible meals, and had found a
whore to his liking. Now he found himself in the middle
of nowhere. Regardless of where the wagon train might
have halted during the cold weather, he had to find
adequate shelter for himself and his horses during the
rough winter months that still stretched ahead.
Certainly he could take no action against the wagon
train until spring, no matter what his superiors
ordered. Men who spent their entire careers behind
London desks had no real understanding of what went
on in the field, so he usually ignored their
specific directives. When he became an
executive, he wouldn't demand miracles from his
subordinates.
His problem, as he well knew, was that he had
performed seemingly miraculous feats in India,
North Africa and Siberia, so London was
expecting him to produce again. Very well, he would,
but he had no intention of moving alone against the wagon
train. He had tried that approach and had almost been
captured for his pains. His last venture had been
ill-starred from the outset, but now he was confident he
had a workable plan, both for surviving the
winter and for sabotaging the wagon train.
Since leaving Still Joseph, he had encountered bands
of Indians from several tribes, and thanks to his
ability to speak Kiowan, which all of the Plains
nations understood, he had avoided trouble. Now he was
driving into territory controlled by the ferocious
Cheyenne, who were alleged to be the equals of the
dreaded Blackfoot He hoped the Cheyenne would
stop him, for they were part of his plans.
That morning he had been sighted from a distance by a lone
warrior, riding bareback, who had watched him across
the snow-laden prairie for a time and then had cantered
away. The brave had been a Cheyenne, easily
identified by his multi-feathered headdress, and
Henry expected a return visit at any time.
No tribe, the Cheyenne
in particular, would be able to resist the temptation of
killing a lone white traveler who owned several
horses.
The day dragged on. Henry was chilled and wanted
to halt to build a fire, but it was wiser not to change
his plans at this point. At last his patience was
rewarded. He saw four riders in the far distance,
all of them moving rapidly toward him.
He halted his wagon team, mounted his
riding horse, and waited confidently. Tactics
he had used in dealing with other savages would be
effective again.
The riders were coming toward him at a breakneck
pace, obviously intending to overwhelm him. Holding
his rifle across his knees, Henry St. Clair
drew a pistol and fired it into the air, then took
care to reload it with all possible speed.
As he had anticipated, the riders immediately slowed
to a trot and became more cautious, which was just what he
had anticipated. Their headgear told him they were
Cheyenne, so he was pleased.
The braves were carrying bows and arrows. They
realized, however, that he was carrying a rifle, which had
a far greater range, so they conferred on how
to subdue this stranger without being hurt themselves.
Henry cut short their talk, astonishing them
by raising his right hand in the universal Indian sign
of friendship and greeting. "The son of the great sachem,"
he called at the top of his voice in Kiowan,
"bids his brothers of the Cheyenne nation welcome."
His words and his fearless attitude bewildered the
Warriors, and they inched closer.
Henry had aroused their curiosity, which was precisely
what he wanted. Now he had to dispel their
suspicions. "The son of the great sachem brings
gifts for all," he told them. Reaching into his
saddlebag, he withdrew four old pistols, which
dated back to the American Revolution. He
held them over his head so the warriors could see them.
The Cheyenne, fascinated, continued to draw nearer.
The black-and-white streaks of paint smeared on their
faces gave disthem a gruesome appearance.
They were close enough now for Henry to throw each of them a
pistol, which he did. Then he repeated his initial
gesture of firing one of his own pistols harmlessly
into the air. While the warriors continued to observe
him closely, he reloaded it. Now came the
critical moment: he took a handful of bullets
from a pouch and showed them to the Cheyenne.
His pantomime needed no explanation. The braves
knew this white man was offering them the magic arrows
he used in his firestick. They also knew that, although
It would be easy enough to cut down this lone traveler with
their spears, they didn't know how to use these powerful,
alien weapons.
They had risen to the bait, and Henry became even more
confident. "The son of the great sachem across the sea,"
he told them, "has many firesticks for other
Cheyenne. And he will teach them how
to shoot."
Greatly impressed, the Cheyenne communicated with
each other with gestures.
Then Henry provided the final, clinching argument.
He reached into his saddlebag again, and, drawing out a
small flask of the cheap whiskey he had procured
in St. Joseph, he tossed it to a brave whose
intricately fashioned headdress indicated that he
was the leader of the group.
The warrior examined the container, frowning in
puzzlement as he turned it over in his hands. Then
he saw the cork, pulled it out cautiously, and
sniffed. Suddenly his stern expression vanished and,
grinning broadly, he raised the flask to his mouth
and drank. He shuddered in pleasure and passed the
flask to the nearest of his companions.
Henry waited patiently until each of the
Cheyenne had consumed a portion of the whiskey. There
was no doubt in his mind that he would achieve his
objective. "The son of the great sachem has drink
for all of the braves of the Cheyenne."
The last resistance evaporated. The senior
warrior raised his arm and gave the peace sign, and the
others followed his example.
The rifle remained in place across
Henry's knees as he calmly repeated the sign.
He had dealt with too many
savages in too many parts of the world to take unnecessary
risks.
"Will the son of the great sachem ride to the town of the
Cheyenne?" the senior warrior asked.
"It will be a great honor," Henry St. Clair
replied gravely. He bent down and picked up the
reins of the horses that pulled his wagon, then
indicated he was ready to depart.
The Cheyenne formed a protective escort, two
riding on the left and the other two on the right as
Henry moved ahead, leading the wagon team. Even
if they should encounter a war party of another tribe,
none would dare attack a man who was enjoying
Cheyenne hospitality.
The British agent rejoiced silently. He had found
the perfect shelter for himself and his animals and would be
safe through the rest of the winter, regardless of whether his
hosts lived in huts or tents of skins. And, although
the Cheyenne didn't yet know it, they would become his
allies and would become the best of all instruments that
would destroy the Oregon-bound wagon train.
The latest blizzard was the worst yet, and it raged
for seventy-two hours. When the skies
cleared, the reflection of the sun was dazzling, and the
civilians and soldiers at Fort Madison saw
that the snow covering the prairie was at least three
feet high, while some drifts were mountainous. Whip
predicted there would be a thaw soon, ultimately
to be followed by another freeze, and that during the
temporary warm spell the snow would melt
appreciably. Arnold, Mack, and the army scouts
agreed with him.
Until the temperature rose, however, it was
impossible for anyone to leave the fort-even to hunt,
fish, or gather wood. Now everyone understood why
Whip had insisted that large stores of meat and fish be
smoked and preserved and why he had demanded that high
stacks of wood be cut and stored.
Many people had little to occupy their time. Small children
became cranky, crying for no apparent reason,
while older boys and girls were mischievous,
playing tricks on
their elders and trying to blame each other. Men
became edgy, and women started to snipe at one
another.
Ernie von Thalman, in his capacity as
president of the train, was required to act as judge
of countless petty disputes. He performed
ably, doing what was required of him, but
privately told Whip he was weary of senseless,
infantile arguments.
No one was more bored than Eulalia Woodling. The
young officers of the garrison had discovered, one by one,
that she had no real interest in any of them and was
flirting with them only for entertainment, so they now
tended to avoid her. Members of the wagon train
company, who resented her patronizing airs, were
polite when necessary but paid her little attention.
The worst of her predicament, in her own eyes, was
working as a kitchen assistant. On her father's
plantation, all cooking had been done by slaves, and
she hadn't even been responsible for planning meals
or approving menus. Now, wearing an apron
covering dresses that would have been more appropriate
at a lawn party than in a frontier fort, she
made pancakes by the hundreds, rolled dough for
bread, butchered meat, and cleaned winter berries and
root vegetables. Eulalia deeply resented the
authority exercised by Cathy van AyLike She was
convinced that the other women working in the kitchens were
united against her and forced her to perform the most menial
tasks.
Her weary father was not sympathetic to what
Eulalia regarded as her plight. "We aren't the
first people to lose a fortune during hard times," Major
Woodling said, "and we won't be the last. You and
Claiborne should be glad for the opportunity to make
new lives for yourselves. It's for your sakes that I
joined this expedition to the Oregon country, and your
lack of gratitude and understanding pains me. I know
of no reason you should be spared when all the other women
are doing their fair share. Besides, you spend only a
few hours in the kitchen every day, and the rest of your time
is your own, so I can't feel sorry for you."
Unwilling to accept advice that conflicted with her own
desires, Eulalia devised a scheme that, she
hoped, would
win her release from the kitchen detail that she
loathed. Perhaps, she thought, if she demonstrated her
incompetence, she would be discharged.
She put her plan into operation that same afternoon.
Sitting alone in a corner of the kitchen, she paid no
attention to the chatter of the others as she peeled
potatoes.
There an apron-clad Cathy van Ayl, holding
a wooden spoon she used for tasting, came upon her.
Stopping and watching her for a few moments, Cathy
became irritated. "Really,
Eulalia."
"Is something wrong?" Eulalia's wide eyes were
innocent
"Food is our most precious commodity, and we're
lucky to have the luxury of enough potatoes for a meal.
But look what you're doing to them!" She reached down
and picked up a length of peel, to which almost a
half-inch of potato still adhered. "This is wasteful.
You're throwing away almost as much as you're using."
Eulalia became sullen. "If you don't like what
I'm doing, give the work to someone else. You won't
hurt my feelings."
Cathy kept a firm grip on her temper.
"You've been. assigned to the kitchen staff, so
we're stuck with each other. I don't enjoy giving
orders any more than you like taking them-
his
"Oh yes, you do! You just love lording it over me!"
The other women stopped talking and listened to the
confrontation.
"What I think or feel isn't important,"
Cathy said, still speaking quietly. "It's my duty
to see that no food is wasted and that our meals are
well prepared. I didn't ask for the job. I was
given it, and I try to discharge my duties
to the best of my ability. I suggest you do the same.
Not for my sake but for your own and for the sake of everyone
else in the company."
Several of the women nodded in sympathetic agreement.
Their opposition infuriated Eulalia. Not one of
them had enjoyed the advantages she had known throughout
her childhood. Not one of them had ever lived in a
great
mansion and had an army of servants to wait on her.
Not one had ever owned a huge wardrobe of silk
gowns or had been known throughout several counties as a
belle. They were jealous of her, and the worst was this
blonde who put on airs without cause.
"If I don't peel potatoes to your liking,
Miss High and Mighty," she said, "get someone
else to do it." She started to rise.
Cathy surprised herself by putting a hand on the
girl's shoulder and pushing her back into the chair, then
brandishing the wooden spoon only inches from
Eulalia's face. "Anyone in this wagon train
who wants to eat must do a fair share of the work, and
that's final," she said. "If you don't know how
to peel potatoes, I'll show you. Watch!" She
dropped the spoon onto a counter, snatched the
knife from Eulalia, and expertly,
swiftly, peeled a potato. There," she said,
"Even a child can do it, and I'm sure you're not all
that clumsy."
Reluctantly Eulalia returned to work. That was
the end of the unpleasant incident, but the basic
problem remained.
The next day Eulalia complained to Whip about her
situation, but he firmly rebuffed her. Next she
flirted with Dr. Martin, much to Tonie Mell's
irritation, but stopped when she realized he was not in a
position to help her.
Gradually it dawned on Eulalia that Ernie
possessed considerable power and influence because of his
position as president, and because he was an Austrian
baron, she regarded him as a social equal who
should understand her situation. So she went to him. He
succeeded in curbing his annoyance at her requests,
but nevertheless made it plain that no one was exempt from
duties. Girls of thirteen and fourteen were
required to perform chores, he told her, and
suggested that if she disliked the kitchen so much, she
might be able to trade responsibilities with one
of the girls who curried and watered the horses.
Suspecting that Ernie was laughing at her,
Eulalia dropped the subject
So she continued to work in the kitchen, and the rest
of the time she was restless and bored. She had no interest
in sewing or preserving berries, and she shrank from
such activities as smoking meat and fish or curing
buffalo or deer hides.
Whip was unfailingly courteous to Eulalia because he
was polite to all women. However, she was so eager
to win approval from men that she misread his attitude
and assumed he was interested in her. So she made up
her mind to make another attempt to win his
support, and this time she planned her campaign with
care.
She made it her business to spend at least a few
minutes each day chatting with him..aware of his
basic shyness with women, she adopted a subtle
approach rather than flirting with him openly. She
spoke to him only on matters that she knew were of
concern to him, such as his hunting trips, and she made
no mention of her own situation. She went out of her
way to make certain he was served his favorite
cuts of meat at meals.
Cathy knew that Eulalia was making a play for
Whip, but she refused to compete. If Whip wanted
to develop a closer relationship with her, Cathy
told Tonie and Cindy, he would have to do it
on his own initiative. Consequently she withdrew
even further disthan she intended or realized: the
result was unfortunate. It gavp Eulalia an
even better chance to strengthen her ties with Whip.
In the days that followed the big blizzard, Whip
spent all of his time at the fort, so Eulalia was able
to talk with him more frequently. Observing his
routines, she discovered that he visited the kitchens
late each afternoon, before the cooking staff reported for
duty to prepare supper. So she made certain to be
the first of the cooks to appear.
Eulalia learned that Whip checked the contents of the
cold bins, shelters partly exposed to the winter
air, where frozen and smoked meats and fish were stored.
It was no accident that he usually arrived just in time
to find her braving the elements in the open
passageway outside the twin kitchens, taking meat
or fish from one of the shelves.
These tactics failed to bring him any closer to her,
however. Although he was still pleasant and polite to her,
he remained somewhat remote. Eulalia made up
her mind to step up the pace of her campaign.
One afternoon, after dressing in one of her prettier
frocks and applying cosmetics, she made certain
she arrived at the kitchens before he did.
She listened for his approaching footsteps, which she
recognized, then quickly went out into the freezing
passageway and began to tug at a heavy, frozen
section of buffalo meat.
The cold chilled her, the frozen meat stung her
hands, and she dropped the heavy piece of meat onto
the snow underfoot. As a child, she had learned to weep
at will when she had wanted something that she could attain in
no other way, so when Whip came out into the
passageway, he found her shivering in the cold, her
cheeks wet "What's thisr
"I dropped this meat," she sobbed, pointing at it.
"I can't leave it on the ground, but it's too heavy
for me to carry."
"I see no problem, ma'am," he said, hoisting the
section onto his shoulder and carrying it into the kitchen for
her.
Eulalia's lashes were still attractively damp,
but her smile was radiant as she followed him.
"I'm so grateful to you, Mr. Holt," she said
fervently.
"I didn't do much of anything," he protested.
"Oh, but you did. You don't understand. I don't
know much about cooking, and the women are always teasing me.
You've saved me from an unpleasant
night. They would have spent our whole time here this evening
finding ways to tell me how clumsy I am."
He was embarrassed by her frankness.
Seeing this, Eulalia instantly changed her
approach. "If you have a moment to spare, Mr.
Holt, perhaps you could help me."
"I'll be glad to try, ma'am."
"Until we came to Fort Madison and the weather
turned so cold, I'd never even heard of frozen
meat. In fact, I was afraid to eat any of it for
days."
"No need to be," he said. "Throw a frozen
buffalo steak or a leg of venison on a
campfire, and it tastes as fresh as if it had been
shot just an hour earlier. What most folks don't
know is that frozen meat won't keep long after thaws
come. Then, if the weather becomes very cold again, you have
to throw it away. Meat that's been frozen twice
makes people sick. I learned that from the Cheyenne
tribe when I spent a winter with them."
"That's very good to know. I'll remember it" She
actually didn't care in the least what they were
discussing. "My problem is that I have a dreadful time
cutting it. This section is too big to put on a
kitchen fire, and it takes forever to thaw.
So it has to be butchered now."
"Show me how you do it," Whip said.
Eulalia selected a long knife from a rack and
began to saw the hard buffalo meat.
"No wonder it takes you so long. Here, I'll
show you." Whip picked up a large cleaver and,
wielding it deftly, cut about halfway through the
entire section. "That's the first step. Now, try your
knife again."
The girl made another attempt to saw. "You
see? Nothing happens."
"Your knife is plenty sharp, and the point Is just
right, but you're using it the wrong way. I'U show you
what I mean." Whip placed his hand over
Eulalia's. "Push the point into the frozen meat this
way, following the seams. As deep as you can. Then
slowly push down on the handle so the metal blade
digs into the rest of what you're trying to slice."
Eulalia paid scant attention to the instructions.
At last she was making progress with this incredibly
bashful man. They were standing so close together that their
shoulders and hips touched. What's more, whether he
knew it or not, he was actually holding her hand!
At that moment Cathy came into the kitchen, saw the
couple in what looked like an intimate
pose, and stopped short.
"Point and press, point and press," Whip said,
unaware of Cathy's presence. "That's all there is
to it."
Cathy inadvertently caught her breath. Eulalia
turned
for aa instant, saw the other girl, and couldn't
resist smiling in triumph. Cathy picked up her
skirts and swept out of the kitchen, her head high.
"Now you try it by yourself," Whip said, not aware that
Cathy had entered and left the kitchen.
Trying to concentrate for his sake, Eulalla made
an attempt to cut the meat alone.
"That's better. Keep practicing, and you'll soon
get the hang of it."
"Thank you, Mr. Holt," she said. "You'll never
know how much these few minutes have meant to me."
He thought her expression of appreciation was
overdone, but decided that was just her way of talking.
"Glad to oblige, ma'am," he said.
Going back out to the passageway, Whip checked the
contents of the bins, then went back inside by way of the
Other, adjoining kitchen.
He went through to the corridor beyond it and there came
face to face with Cathy. Why, he
wondered, was her only greeting an icy glare?
The thaws came, as those experienced with plains
winters had predicted, and vast quantities of
snow melted. The weather gradually became colder
again, but it was now possible for men to penetrate the
forest, either on horseback or on foot. Early
one morning several parties of hunters left the fort.
Meat supplies were shrinking, Whip said, and needed
to be replenished. Even Ted Woods was pressed
into service because his great strength would speed the
process of hoisting the carcasses of game onto the
backs of pack horses. So Hosea was alone in
the blacksmith's shop, where he busied himself at his
miniature forge.
In late morning a visitor arrived, riding a
gelding and leading two pack horses. His name, he
told the officer of the guard, was Emmett Watson,
and he had business with the wagon train company. He
was admitted to the fort and taken to the section occupied
by the future Oregon settlers.
Dr. Martin was busy in the infirmary, and both
Whip and Ernie had gone hunting, so he was received
by the
two oldest men on hand, Nat Drummono
1
an3 Major Woodling. Watson, who was
husky, bearded and fair- bailed, was disappointed
when he learned that neither the wagon master nor the
president of the company was on hand. He preferred,
he said, not to discuss his business with anyone else.
The noon meal was about to be served, and since so many
of the men were hunting, everyone who had stayed behind could be
accommodated in one dining room. Watson was
invited as a matter of course to stay for the meal, and
he quickly accepted, going into the dining room with
Major Woodling while Nat moved off to join his
wife.
"You're a Southerner, judging by your accent," the
Major said.
"I make my home in Georgia, sir. But I
travel all over the United States. This trip,
I must admit, is the longest I've made."
Watson kept an eye on the door and stiffened when
Hosea came into the dining room, but he made no
comment.
The mam course consisted of a thick soup, made of
beans and buffalo meat flavored with wild onions,
one of the company's favorites. Major Woodling,
enjoying the dish, noticed that the visitor continued
to watch Hosea, who sat on the far side
of the dining hall.
'This isn't bad," Watson said. "But I'd
give my soul for a bowl of real gumbo. Well, it
won't be long before I'm eating it again."
The Major made a shrewd guess. Although they were
sitting by themselves at one end of a long table, he lowered
his voice. "You're a bounty hunter," he said.
The man made no attempt to deny it. "Doesashow
all that much?"
"Only to me, I imagine," the Major replied,
smiling. was I lived my whole life in South
Carolina before I came on this expedition. Whenever
one of my slaves ran away, I hired somebody
like you to find him and bring him back." "I've spent
a half-year on the trail of that one," Watson
said, his voice quietly menacing as he nodded in the
direction of Hosea. "He's led me one merry
chase."
"Six months." The Major was musing. "He must
be valuable."
"His master comis paying me twenty-five hundred
dollars, plus all my expenses, to return him
alive."
"That's a small fortune."
"So it is, but this one is no ordinary
slave. They claim fce's very clever."
"Indeed he is," Woodling agreed.
"What's more, his master owns a very large plantation,
and he's afraid hell lose many more slaves unless
this one is returned. So the bounty is cheap in the
long run."
"You're not going to earn it," Major Woodling said.
Watson eyed him.
"Hosea is enormously popular with everybody on
the expedition. He has more than made himself useful.
He's made some valuable contributions to the
company's welfare, and he's regarded as a free
man."
"Is that the way you regard him, sir?"
Major Woodling was uncomfortable. "The way I
feel doesn't matter. There are hundreds of people in
this group, and if a vote were taken, I'm sure it
would be unanimous in Hosea's favor."
. "Nobody has asked for a vote," Watson
said, and ate the rest of his meal in glum silence.
People began to file out of the dining hall, Hosea among
them, but Major Woodling continued to sit with the
visitor. "There's no chance that Whip Holt,
who's the wagon master , or Baron von
Thalman, our president, will agree
to let you take that black man away with you."
"I dont plan to ask them," Watson said. "Where
do you suppose he's going now?"
The Major hesitated, and there was a long silence.
"You claim you're
a
Southerner and that you owned a plantation," Emmett
Watson said. "I don't want your active
help. I wouldn't even think of asking for it. I know
you've got to live with these people, that they're going to be
your neighbors in Oregon. All I want from you
is a simple answer to a simple question."
Woodling stared down at the table, looking ashamed.
"He spends most of his time in the blacksmith's
shop."
"Where's that?"
"In back of the main buildings, near the stables."
Watson stood and held out his hand. "I'm glad
te have made your acquaintance, sir," he said.
"If you ever come back and have a need for my
services, my partners and I have our office in
Savannah. Anybody there will tell you where to find
me." He strolled away, looking unconcerned.
Major Woodling sat at the table for a long time, his
face buried in his hands.
Eulalia saw him and came to him. "What's
wrong, Papa?" she wanted to know.
"I have a touch of indigestion, that's all," he
told her harshly. "I'm going to lay down for a
spell."
She watched him as he left the dining hall, his
face averted.
At least an iour later, Danny and Chet
returned from the lake, where they had been fishing. Their
catch filled a large basket, which was so heavy that
both boys had to carry it to the kitchens.
"We lost a lot of our hooks today," Chet said.
"If Hosea isn't too busy, maybe he'll
make some more for us. Come on." Danny led the way
to the blacksmith's shop. There they found a small
fire burning, but Hosea was nowhere to be seen.
"Ill wait here for him," Danny said. "Why
don't you see if you can find him somewhere in the fort?"
Chet agreed and dashed away.
Danny wandered around the shop, looking at a set of
horseshoes Ted had just made, and pausing to admire
some metal arrowheads that Hosea had fashioned for
Stalking Horse. Then something on the Ashanti's
work, table caught his eye, and he picked it up.
It was a partly eaten chunk of a sugar
confection known as a praline, and without thinking, he
raised it to his mouth, then stopped himself. Holding it
there, he reminded himself that the praline was Hosea's,
not his. All at once he realized it had a
disagreeable odor, and still holding it, he stared at it.
It certainly didn't smell like sugar.
He was still holding it when Chet returned.
"I can't find him anywhere, Danny. There was a
visitor
nere earlier in the day, and the last anybody knows, he
was on his way out here to see Hosea. My mother and one
of my brothers saw the man."
"Smell this," Danny said, and handed
him
the praline. "I found it on Hosea's worktable."
Chet held it beneath his nosCj inhaled deeply, and
then sniffed more cautiously. "This is strange. It
smells like the medicine we had to give Pa when he
was so sick. He took it every single day before he
died; it's a smell I'll never forget."
"What did the medicine do for him?"
"It was supposed to make him hurt less. I'm not
sure it did him much good, but it sure did make
him sleep." All at once Chet realized what
he had said and stared at his friend.
"It's a drug!" Danny exclaimed.
"Do you reckon this stranger used it to put Hosea
to sleep? Why would he do that?"'
"He's gone, isn't he? We'd better see the
officer of the watch!"
The boys sprinted to the front gate of the fort, paying
no attention to the slush through which they had to wade. There
the officer of the watch confirmed that the visitor who had
arrived earlier in the day had already departed, his pack
horses heavily laden.
"Which way did he go?" Chet demanded.
The young sheutenant shrugged, indicating that he hadn't
noticed and didn't care.
Chet thrust the piece of praline into his shirt
pocket and spoke frantically. "Danny, we
got to find Whip- fasti"
They raced to the rear of the fort, ran into the open, toward
the forest. Melting snow impeded their progress, and
they stumbled and slipped frequently, sometimes
falling. But they refused to slow their pace. Although
they were breathless, once they were in the forest, they shouted
Whip's name again and again. The forest remained silent.
The boys moved deeper and deeper into the woods, not
knowing how much time was passing, and after an eternity, they
heard an answering shout. Soon an
angry
Stalking Horse came into view, leading his pony.
"Why boys make noise?" he demanded. "Deer
run away!"
In their excitement, they spoke simultaneously.
The Cherokee raised a hand to'silence them, then
pointed an accusing finger at Danny. The boy
explained until his breath failed, and then Chet
took up the narrative, concluding by taking the partly
consumed praline from his pocket
Stalking Horse's eyes narrowed, but his expression
did not change. "Man put Hosea to sleep?
Steal Hosea and go away?" he asked
incredulously.
"That has to be what happened," Chet replied.
"Right," Danny added. "Hosea isn't in the fort.
And the last anybody knows, the visitor was going out
to the blacksmith's shop."
"My ma and brother saw them," Chet said. "We
talked to the officer of the watch, and he told us the
visitor is gone. He only stayed a few
hours, and that's mighty peculiar all by itself."
"He was riding one horse, and he had two pack
horses, piled up with bundles. You know how little
Hosea is. He could have been inside one
of the bundles." Danny was still in a frenzy.
The Cherokee's eyes glittered, and he took
charge. "Boys go back to fort. Wait for Whip,
then tell. Stalking Horse go now. Find
Hosea. Bring back." He leaped onto the bare
back of his small mount, and the animal started off through
the melting snow and slush.
The Indian had no intention of returning to Fort
Madison; he wanted to waste no time. Going around
the fort rather than through it, he halted outside the main
gate, facing the Platte River, and studied the
ground, searching for prints in the rapidly melting
snow.
Stalking Horse proceeded methodically. There was
virtually no chance that the man who had abducted
Hosea had crossed the river, which was overflowing its
banks. The Platte was filled with rapidly moving
ice floes, and no one trying to handle three
horses would be able to cross it safely. No man
in his right mind would try.
Logic dictated that the kidnapper was more likely
to have taken his victim in the direction of the white
man's
civilization rather than out across the endless plains. So
Stalking Horse first searched the ground that
extended eastward. Crouching and moving slowly, he
carefully studied the snow, ice, and slush. Nothing
escaped his notice. He covered one hundred
feet, then another hundred, hut did not pause.
Something off to his right, a few yards from the waters
of the swollen' river caught his eye. He went to the
spot at once, squatted, and looked more
closely. There, in the melting ice, was a partly
obliterated hoof print, a portion of the mark made
by a metal horseshoe still visible. It was the only
sign he needed.
Now he understood the kidnapper's tactics. The
man was riding close to the water's edge
deliberately, in the hope that the overflowing waters
of the Platte would wash away his trail. Clever, but
not quite clever enough.
Mounting his pony again, Stalking Horse rode
eastward at a canter, staying close to the bank of the
river. Unless the abductor knew the
areaea.intimately, he would use the river as his
guide, at least for a time.
Dusk came, and Stalking Horse slowed his mount
to a walk, waiting for night. The sky overhead was
clear, he noted. That was all to the good. A
three-quarter moon would be a great help.
Now that the sun had vanished, the weather was growing
colder again, and the Cherokee grunted in quiet
satisfaction. The slush and melting snow were starting
to freeze. Within an hour it would be impossible
to hide hoofprints. And the ice floes continued
to move swiftly toward the junction of the Platte
with the Missouri some fifty miles away, so there was
virtually no possibility that the man would try
to cross to the south bank.
Stalking Horse grunted again when the moon rose.
The ice was becoming slippery, so he moved farther from
the river bank, certain that his quarry would be obliged
to do the same.
The moon rose higher, and suddenly the Cherokee
dismounted. There was no need for him to bend low now as he
studied the ground. He could make out the hoof- prints
of three horses, two of them the huge beasts that
white men used to pull their wagons and freight
carts.
He knew beyond all doubt now that he was on the
trail of the right person.
He checked his bow, which he replaced over his
shoulder, then touched the point of his knife with his
fingertip. He was in no hurry now. A tracker
traveling alone and unencumbered could move
far more rapidly than a man burdened with a prisoner
and two pack horses. The moonlight was
sufficiently clear for Stalking Horse to easily
follow the trail in the snow. He was relaxed but
alert, conscious of the possibility that he could
overtake the bounty hunter and his victim at any
time.
Another hour passed, however, before the sound of a
man's voice somewhere ahead told him that he had
reached the end of the trail. Apparently the man had
made camp for the night. The voice rolled on, but
the Cherokee couldn't yet make out what was being said.
Now Stalking Horse saw three horses, tied
to trees, and he made a wide detour around them,
then dismounted, telling his superbly trained pony with a
double pat on the neck not to wander away.
Now the man's voice was clearer. "Damn you," he
said. "You've got to eat, or you won't live long
enough to get back to Georgia. I tell you plain,
I'm going to collect that bounty, so you'll eat if
I have to cram the food into you."
The man was crouching with his back to the Indian, speaking
to Hosea. The Ashanti was propped in a sitting
position against a saddlebag, his hands and feet
tightly bound.
The moonlight enabled Stalking Horse to see that his
friend's expression was indifferent. Apparently he was
still under the influence of the drug.
Nevertheless, Hosea was conscious. He beard the
Indian, a sound his captor failed to discern, and for
an instant, he raised his eyes. No recognition
showed in them, but he lowered his gaze again so swiftly
that Stalking Horse knew Hosea realized that
help was at hand.
The distance between the Indian and his quarry was so short that
it was impractical to fire an arrow. Stalking
Horse silently laid his bow and quiver on a
snowbank, then reached for his knife.
Watson was holding a chunk of dried beef in
front of his prisoner's face, waving it angrily
as he tried to force the captive to eat
Hosea was sufficiently recovered from the effects
of the sleeping potion to cooperate actively with
Stalking Horse. He had been on the verge of
giving in to the demands that he eat, but now hs
stubbornly closed his mouth and clenched his teeth.
The bounty hunter cursed him, then pressed the fingers
of one hand against the sides of his captive's cheeks
in an attempt to force his mouth open. At that instant
Stalking Horse leaped across the intervening
space, his upraised knife ready to strike.
Watson had not achieved success in his unpleasant
trade by being unaware. Instinct told him he was being
attacked from the rear, and he rolled to one side.
Stalking Horse brushed against him, but the full
impact of the collision was lost, and it was impossible
for the Cherokee to wield his knife.
All he succeeded in doing was toppling
the
helpless Hosea onto his side. Because of his
bonds, the Ashanti found it extremely
difficult to struggle back to a sitting position.
Watson started to reach for the pistol he carried in his
belt, but Stalking Horse knew, once his
initial rush had failed, precisely how his foe
would react. Unable to use his knfe for the moment because
he had thrown himself out of position, Stalking Horse
reached out with his free hand, caught hold of the bounty
hunter's nose and simultaneously tried to jam his
fingers into the man's eyes.
UnaccusTonied to this primitive but effective form
of attack, Watson emitted a scream of pain and
rage as he groped in vain for his pistol. Then the
Cherokee's knee landed with full force in his groin.
The bounty hunter doubled over.
He was immobilized for no more than a second or
two, however, and Stalking Horse realized his first
move must be to disarm the man. He took hold of the
pistol and managed to yank it out of the man's broad
belt. Having used firearms only infrequently,
he threw it aside,
It landed on the ground only inches from Hosea. But
Hosea, unable to free his wrists, comwas powerless.
Again Stalking Horse struck with his knife, but
Watson caught hold of Was attacker's wrist with
one hand, andwiththe other he punched him in the face.
It had been a long time since Stalking Horse had
utilized the techniques he had been taught as a
boy by the senior warriors of his nation. Now he
smashed a knee into the pit of his foe's stomach, then
raised a foot and brought his heel down with
hammerlike force. It caught Watson on the
kneecap. The pain was excruciating, and the bounty
hunter fell back onto the ice, releasing his
grip.
Now Stalking Horse was free to use his knife, but
to the surprise of the still helpless Hosea, he
didn't drive it into the white man's body. The
little Ashanti thought he was must be dreaming as he
watched a scene that no man could have
predicted.
Stalking Horse had chosen to fight in the style of the
whites rather than his own people. Hauling the bounty hunter
to his feet, the Cherokee battered him with punches,
smashing his face and body with a succession of blinding
lefts and rights.
The bounty hunter made an attempt to protect
himself and fight back, but he was bloodied and groggy.
The few punches that Watson managed to land were
feeble and meaningless.
At last the punishment he received was more than he could
tolerate, and he sank to the ground, unable to move.
Stalking Horse quickly picked up his knife and
severed Hosea's bonds. Then he took the same
rawhide thongs and used them to secure Watson's
ankles and tie his hands behind his back. In a final
gesture of contempt, he propped the man in the
same sitting position against the saddlebag lying on
the ground that he had used as a cushion for Hosea.
Hosea managed to drag himself to his feet, but the
effects of the drug had not yet worn off, and he
wobbled
in a precarious circle as he tried to walk. It
was obvious
to Stalking Horse that the Ashanti could not
return to
Fort Madison on foot. He was still too weak.
Picking up his friend, the Cherokee put him in the
saddle on the back of the bounty hunter's gelding.
Then he mounted his own pony and picked up the
gelding's reins. As a final gesture, he took
up the reins of the two pack horses, too.
Watson realized he was being abandoned to his fate
in the wilderness. He was being left with no mount, no
supplies. Even if he managed to loosen his
bonds, he would be forced to make his way back
to civilization alone and on foot through hard-packed
snow. And there was always the strong possibility that he
would be attacked and killed by braves of the Omaha
nation that patrolled the area.
"You can't leave me here to die!" he said in
desperation, his speech thick because his lips were swollen
and split
Stalking Horse raised a hand in salute, then
started off in the direction of Fort Madison. He
had lived his whole life in a world where mercy to a
defeated foe was unknown, and he felt only
contempt for the man who had kidnapped his friend.
Hosea was too dizzy to look back; he clung
to the saddle as his Indian friend led him back
to safety and a future as a free man!
Watson heard the sound of hoofbeats growing fainter.
He was alone in the snow and ice, struggling feebly
to break his bonds, his own future sealed.
Spring came early and unexpectedly to the Great
Plains. Little by little the weather became warmer during the
last few days in March, and a week later the snow
bad virtually disappeared. Soon a pale green
mantle of young grass began to spread across the vast
prairie.
One of the first to be affected was Cathy van Ayl.
After supervising the preparation of breakfast one
morning in early April, she climbed the stairs
to an empty watchtower and stepped into the open. She
didn't quite know what bad impelled her to come here, but
the sun was gentle, its warmth covering and soothing her,
and she sighed aloud.
The sight of the new grass extending as far as she could
see was a startling sight. A wave of homesickness
swept over her.
In her native Connecticut the oaks and maples
would he budding now, bushes that had been brown and inert
would be coming to life, and the apple trees in the orchard
behind the house would be showing the first signs of green on
their new branches. On Long Island, the
earth would have a sweet smell and the new owners of her
farm would be planting beans, squash, lettuce,
cucumbers, and sweet corn. Flounder would be starting
to appear in Long Island Sound, and within a few
months great schools of bluefish would provide
food for everyone. Even now there
would be clams, oysters, and crabs waiting to be
plucked from the sea. How she missed that world she had
left behind.
And yet, in spite of her regrets and her desire
to look back, she found herself staring hardest toward the
West, the land of her future. Oregon still lay
half a continent away, but in her new mood she
felt confident she could make the journey.
Certainly after all these months at Fort
Madison, the Great Plains were no longer alien and
frightening to her. Their very size inspired awe, and now that
the land was turning green, it reminded her of the ocean
she loved.
Yes, she told herself, there is beauty here. Perhaps
she had been clinging to her love of home because the
future she faced was so uncertain. Now, with the sun
smiling from a cloudless sky andwiththe earth itself coming
to life, something within her stirred. Perhaps it was the spirit of
spring, perhaps it was something more.
She thought for a time, enjoying the warmth of the sun's
rays, and all at once she knew. The Great
Plains, like the Connecticut and Long Island she
had left behind, like Oregon that lay beyond the
horizon, were part of America. All of it was her
land, all of it was her home.
That knowledge strengthened her resolve.
"When are we leaving?" she asked Whip later that
day.
"Spring is giving you itchy feet," he said,
grinning broadly. "Me, too."
"I'm ready," Cathy said, and at that moment she
left the last of her idealistic, romantic dreams
behind her. She was a woman meeting the frontier on
its own terms, realistically prepared for new
hardships because the goal she and her companions sought was
worth any struggle.
"If the weather stays like this," Whip told
Colonel Jonathan, "we'll soon be on our
way."
Preparations for the journey to the Pacific became more
intense. Axles and wheel hubs were greased, the
floors of wagons were checked carefully, and those
planks that had rotted during the harsh winter were
replaced. Women devoted themselves
to repairing rips and holes in
the canvas covers of their diswagons. Ted Woods
received so many requests for new metal wheel rims
that he was swamped, and Hosea pitched in to help him
fill the orders.
The hunters and fishermen stepped up the pace of their
activities, too, and there was considerable excitement
when Mack Dougall reported that he had sighted a
herd of buffalo grazing on the new prairie
grass just beyond the forest. Whip was eager to add to the
store of smoked and dried meat before thetrip was
resumed. The army garrison was in need of more food,
too, so a hunting party was formed, the regiment's
scouts joining the civilians.
Thirty hunters were in the group that left Fort
Madison early the next morning. They skirted the
western edge of the forest and after about two hours they
reached the prairie. Whip moved up to the bead of the
column to join Mack, who was acting as the guide.
The sun was pleasantly warm, in spite of a cool
breeze from, the Rockies, and there seemed to be an
elasticity to the drying ground. The men were in high
spirits.
Late in the morning Mack sighted the buffalo herd
not far from the place where he had seen them the
previous afternoon. The beasts were still grazing peacefully,
and Whip estimated that there were three to four hundred
head in the herd. The buffalo were hungry so they
continued to eat, and there was no indication they might
stampede. Whip motioned for the group to move still
closer. With luck they could bring down a good food
supply before the beasts were aware of their danger and
raced away.
Suddenly Stalking Horse pointed to the north.
"Omaha," he said.
The men stared and could make out a party of at least
fifty mounted warriors also riding toward the
buffalo. It appeared that they, too, needed
to replenish their meat supplies.
The Omaha edged slightly closer to the white men but
continued to ride in the direction of the herd without
slackening their pace.
Many of the men grew tense. They had heard that the
Omaha were belligerent, refusing to acknowledge the
peace offers that Colonel Jonathan- had sent
them, and some of the troops had told hair-raising
stories about encounters with them. No one knew whether
the stories were true that the Omaha tortured a
white captive for days, scalping him before allowing
him to die and no one wanted to find out
Whip remained complacent, however, and Stalking
Horse, Arnold, and Mack were equally
unperturbed, as were the army scouts. Like the band of
Omaha, they continued to ride toward
the
buffalo.
We're outnumbered!" an anxious Claiborne
Woodling declared. "We've got to protect
ourselves."
No one replied, but one of the army scouts
snickered.
The young man moved up to the head of the column.
"Whip," he said, "you're going to attack first,
aren't you?"
"I don't aim to attack anybody," Whip
replied calmly. "I came out looking for
buffalo. I found them, and that's good enough for me."
"My God!" Claiborne's temper began
to flare. "You heard Stalking Horse say those
braves are Omaha. Sure, we have rifles and
they don't, but if they're just half as mean as
I've heard, they can kill and wound a lot of us before
we drive them off."
"Sonny," Arnold said gently, "leave be,"
Claiborne's anger increased. "Maybe
all of you are afraid of the Omaha and don't think
you can drive them off, but I'm not built that way!"
He raised his rifle and began to take aim at the
moving line of warriors.
Whip reacted instantly. Grasping his own rifle
by the barrel and wielding it like a club, he struck the
younger man's rifle so hard with the butt that the weapon
fell to the ground

, forcing the column to halt.
"Never open fire untfl you're given the order,"
Whip said in a mild tone of voice that belied his
anger and the violence of his act.
A red-faced Claiborne dismounted, retrieved his
rifle, and returned to the saddle.
"Those of you who are worried can just sit back in your
saddles," Whip declared, raising his voice so
everyone in the party could hear him. "The Omaha aren't
on the warpath any more than we are. At thistime of the
year, after game has been scarce through the winter,
they're more interested in hides than in scalps. Just
pretend you don't even see them, and well have no
problems." .
Claihorne still was not satisfied. "Then why do they
keep moving closer to us?"
"We're about to do the same," Whip said, and nodded
to Arnold.
Arnold immediately rode off toward the south. The army
scouts, Stalking Horse, and Mack followed him,
and soon they moved into a formation parallel to each
other.
"We're forming a single line now," Whip
explained. was The Omaha are doing likewise.
Between the two groups, we'll make a semicircle
to prevent the buffalo from heading back this way when the
shooting starts. If we don't bag enough game before
they panic, it will be easier to follow them than
to meet their charge."
It was inconceivable to Claiboroe that the wagon
train hunters and the Omaha warriors could be working
together without either group acknowledging the other's presence.
But that was precisely what was happening. Whip took
the innermost position at the right end of the line. As he
moved into place, the senior Omaha warrior
shifted into the position adjoining his, less than a
stone's throw away. The two leaders studiously
ignored each other and both concentrated on the
buffalo.
The attack on the herd was coordinated in the same
uncanny manner. "Get ready," Whip
called. "We're going to open fire soon."
As he spoke, the senior warrior raised an arm
in a signal to his own party. Both groups
simultaneously slowed their pace. Then Whip
raised his rifle, and the senior warrior aimed an
arrow. "Fire!" Whip called, and as the rifles
discharged a volley, the Omaha sent a stream of
arrows into the herd.
Both groups continued to advance, shooting as rapidly
as they could.
A large number of buffalo, most of them bulls but
a few of them cows and calves, fell to the groud before
the herd quite knew what was happening. Then a mature
bull
took command and raced westward. In almost no time, the
surviving members of the herd fell into place behind
him. The stampede was under way.
But the men from the wagon train continued to press forward
for a few more minutes, as did the Omaha. Whip was
the first to call a halt, and shortly thereafter the
Omaha pulled to a stop, too. Dead buffalo
littered the ground.
Then the task of removing the skins and butchering the
carcasses began. The men of both parties dismounted.
There was enough game available so the two
groups remained on either side of an invisible but
definite line. The inexperienced members of the
wagon train had the feeling that if just one man of either
group stepped over that line, a wild battle would
begin.
But no man stepped over the line, and no battle was
even contemplated. Mack rode back to Fort
Madison to summon several drivers and their
wagons, and the warriors did not even glance in his
direction as he galloped off.
The unrepentant Claiborne, forced to do his share
of the dirty and unpleasant work of butchering, was the
only man who seemed even remotely conscious of the
presence of enemies dison the prairie. The rest of the
wagon train party followed Whip's example and
concentrated on the task at hand.
Even when Mack returned, leading two wagons
to the site, the Omaha stolidly continued to tnind their
own business. More experienced than the Oregon-bound
settlers, they were finished first. Lacking the convenience
of wagons, they hung their game on either side of
their heavily burdened ponies and rode away toward
the east, skirting the forest as they headed back to their
own villages. After they had gone, some of the wagon
train men mentioned that they felt as though they
had been dreaming. The meeting still seemed unreal
"From now on, we're going to see plenty of
Indians,"
Whip said, "so let this be a lesson to all of you.
When a
brave minds his own business, do the same thing.
Always
wait until he proves to be unfriendly before you go
after
him. And when you do shoot, make sure your aim is
accurate!"
For several days everyone at Fort Madison ate
fresh buffalo meat. Meanwhile every available man
and boy went to work smoking some of the meat and packing the
rest in barrels filled with a mixture of salt and
vinegar. The regiment took its fair share, and
Whip was pleased to discover that the wagon train's
portion was large enough for him to give each family a
barrel of pickled meat as well as a smoked
shoulder or hind quarter. What with more game moving
into the prairie, where the grass steadily grew
higher, it was certain that no one would starve during the
spring, summer, and autumn to come.
Canvas roofing was taken out of storage, spread on
the wagons, and then made secure. The people
began their final task of moving their personal
belongings from the fort back into the wagons where they would
once again have to live.
On their last day at the fort, Whip wrote a letter
to President Van Buren and one to former
President Andrew Jackson, whose idea it had
been to send the wagon train to the Oregon country
hoping to strengthen the United States's claim.
Whip also wrote to Sam Brentwood and
considerately told Cathy that if she wanted
to write to her sister, he would see to it that the letter was
included in the packet that an army courier would
carry.
In his letter to Sam Brentwood, Whip wrote with
candor to his old friend and one-time fellow mountain man
who was responsible for his role in the wagon train
adventure.
By now the tenderfeet are getting calluses on their
" hoofs. The wild stallions and a few stray
mares who were trying to break out of the corral are
broken to saddles. I'm not saying there won't be
stampedes now and again, but I'm keeping the herd under
control.
I couldn't operate without Stalking Horse. And
Ernie is the best president the company
could have elected.
We're in for some rough times when we come across some of the
mean Plains tribes, but I'm not alarming
anybody just yet. We'll take our troubles one
at a time.
Give my regards to your wife and tell her that her
sister is surely a fine lady. She does her
work, she never complains, and she inspires many of the
other women. There are times I don't believe she
likes me much, but I can't blame her. I never
had much to do with ladies, and I can see in her face
that sometimes I offend her without meaning to. Don't
bet either way on whether she'll be speaking to me by the
time we reach Oregon.
His letter to Martin Van Buren was formal.
I beg to report, Mr. President, that all v
goes well with us. As you've already heard from me, we
now number almost five hundred persons, all in
reasonably good health. Most are eager to go on with
our journey. Like it or not, there's no turning
back.
I reckon the War Department has shown you
Colonel Jonathan's full report on our
brush with an Imperial Russian agent. No
harm was done, but we're keeping our powder
dry. So far we have had no more trouble with the British,
but we're alert to the danger and can deal with it.
God willing, we should reach Oregon next year.
I hope we'll hit our goal of arriving at the
mouth of the Columbia River by the early autumn of
1839 or thereabouts, if not sooner.
So far there's no need for military reinforcement, but
I'll pass along the word in a hurry if a bad
crisis develops.
In his communication to former President Andrew
Jackson, Whip expressed the sentiments closest
to his heart.
Not a day passes, General, but I wish you were
making this trip with us. Every time I shoot a buffalo
or meet up with ornery Indians or have a tangle
with renegades, I think of you. I know how much you would
enjoy this greattrip.
It isn't all adventure and excitement, of
course. I never let myself forget that we've got
to beat the English and get to the Oregon country first.
For all I know, they're sending a wagon train
across Canada to get there first If they are, put your
bets on me, even though I don't know anything about
diplomacy. I keep remembering what you said one
time, that the best diplomacy comes out of the
muzzle of a rifle.
What surprises me is that leading a wagon train
can be such a heavy responsibility. i try
to live up to it.
When we first talked about it, I didn't give much
thought to the people. Now they are in my mind all the time.
Most of them have strong guts and high spirits. They
don't let bad happenings discourage them. All the
same, they're civilians, not soldiers, and I
know that often they're terrified, so scared they don't
know what to do.
I can feel, in a very small way, how you must have
felt when you were President. I not only have to look
out for these folks and set an example for them, but I
have to be father and mother to them, too. They depend on me
for everything. A few natural leaders have been
developing, but they don't know the country (except
for a couple of old scouts, men you'd like to know).
Some days, and I'm sure you'll know what I mean,
I feel like riding off by myself and never coming back to the
train. I can't do that, of course, and I won't.
Some nights I feel fifty years older, and for a
man who has always been proud of his stamina, I
get an ache in my legs I've never had before.
But what we're doing is worth all the
effort and danger and hardship. The names of the folks in
this train may not be written in the history books
of the future, but they're going to make your dream come
true. Thanks to them, America will stretch from the
Atlantic to the Pacific. I'm proud to be one
of them.
Cathy van Ayl's letter to her sister was personal.
Claudia dear, your baby sister is growing up.
I have no choice, really, and I'm finding that being an
adult has Its advantages.
I've stopped being homesick for Connecticut and
mooning over the Long Island farm. For some reason
I don't understand, this wilderness no longer frightens
me the way it did. Don't think I'm all that
brave, of course. I am afraid, sometimes. But
I see how good- humored all the people are (well,
most of them, not including a newcomer who I think you
met, that horrid Eulalia Woodling). They put
up with so much; this journey would try the soul of a
saint, but they're cheerful, and even the smallest children
show great courage.
Cindy has become my good friend. Tonie is
wonderful, as she has always been. I miss you
badly, but they help cushion my loss.
I know that you and Sam have been hoping that
Whip Holt and I would get together, but don't set
your hearts on it, dear. You were none too subtle
in hinting, and at thetime I was inclined to agree with you,
but now I'm not so sure.
Not that I dislike Whip in the least. On the contrary,
I find him fascinating. I wouldn't have thought that
someone who appears so simple on the surface could
be so complex. He really cares about the people on this
train, although he tries not to show it. I guess
he's embarrassed by the idea of showing even a little of
what he feels. At least that's the way I
interpret him.
He's the most infuriating man I've ever known.
One day he's kind and considerate, actually
sweet. The very next day he becomes so remote that
he doesn't know I exist. He's so frustrating.
I've met no one else who really interests me.
Most of the new people (they aren't all that new any more)
who joined us at Independence are married already.
All I know is that, although I'd prefer to be mar
ried than stay single, I have no intention of making the
kind of mistake I made when I married Otto.
As Cindy says, and she's right, no man is
better than the wrong man. I've learned that
lesson, and I intend to abide by it.
Civilians and soldiers mingled that night at a
final celebration supper. The women who worked in the
kitchen baked dozens of cakes in honor of the
occasion. Drinking was strictly forbidden on government
property, but glasses of dandelion wine appeared
rather mysteriously, and Colonel Jonathan took
care not to notice them.
A final breakfast was eaten before dawn the next
morning. Then pots and pans, dishes and knives were
packed, and bedding was carried out to the wagons.
"I wish I had a troop or two of cavalry
to send with you as escorts, at least as far as the
Rockies," Colonel Jonathan told Whip as
they shook hands in the clearing behind the main buildings
of the fort "This was a rough winter, so the Indians are
going to be rambunctious, and you'll need all the
help you can get."
"We'll get along on our own," Whip replied,
feeling as confident as he sounded.
"I hope so."
"We'll have to, Colonel. There's little choice."
Tonie Mell, wearing her buckskins for the first time
in weeks, rode up to Whip, smiling broadly.
"Everybody is set and raring to go," she said.
He quietly mounted his stallion and rode
to the open rear gate of Fort Madison. "We're
Oregon bound," he said, but his voice was so soft that
only Cathy, who sat with Hosea on the boards of
her lead wagon, was able to hear him.
No band played as the wagon train moved out and
resumed the longtrip along the north bank of the
swiftly flowing Platte River, but the train
made its own music. Harnesses creaked, and the hoofs
of work horses and oxen provided a background
rhythm. Wheels squealed until the grease worked
its way in, and occasionally objects that had been
insecurely packed inside wagons clattered
as
they fell to the floor.
Tonie brought up the rear, waiting until the
wagons moved into the three-column formation that had
become so familiar to everyone the previous autumn.
As she turned in her saddle to wave a final
farewell to the officers and soldiers gathered in the
clearing, two seven-inch cannon boomed, their roar
echoing across the Great Plains, bidding farewell to the
pioneers.
Progress that first day was slow, as Whip had
anticipated. The work horses and oxen had received
too little exercise through the whiter, and
consequently were out of practice; they had also eaten
well and were fat and lazy. People took too long
to unhitch their teams and then hitch them up again after the
midday break. The scouts returned early
to report that all was well, as they had known it would be
so close to Fort Madison. When a halt was
called that day and the wood- and water- gathering
details went to work, Whip estimated they had
covered only seven miles. But he wasn't
worried. He knew that the wagons would increase their
speed little by little as members of the company got back in
stride.
Everyone had been in good health for at least a week,
and that first evening only Eulalia Woodling excused
herself, from work as a cook and went to Dr. Martin's
wagon.
"Tm feeling poorly," she told him.
Bob Martin thought she looked radiantly healthy,
but nevertheless took her into the wagon, which was used as a
traveling infirmary, and asked her to lie down on the
cot.
Eulalia stretched sensually as she lowered herself on
the cot.
"What seems to be the matter?" the physician
asked, placing a hand on her forehead and
assuring himself that she was not running a fever.
"I'm not sure."
his
What are your symptoms?" he asked patiently.
"Well, I keep thinking I may faint,"
Eulalia told him, managing to flirt with him as
he studied her.
He had a hunch she was malingering. "Sit up,
please." He held out a hand to help her rise to a
sitting position,
and Eulalia clung to his band while he examined
the pupils of her violet eyes.
At that moment Tonie came in through the open flap,
intending to resume her practice of helping the
physician after her own day's work was done. Bob
stood with his. back to her, but she saw Eulalia
grasping his hand and looking soulfully at him. Quickly
and silently, she retreated.
There was one sure way of finding out whether his
diagnosis was right, the doctor thought. He went to a
chest at the far end of the wagon, unlocked it,
searched through drawers filled with powders, elixirs,
and other medicines until he found what he wanted.
Fashioning a cone out of a small sheet of paper,
he poured something into it, then closed and
locked the chest
"Take this in a cup of hot water," he said.
'IM-AKE certain the water is boiling when" you
pour it into the cup and let this substance soak for about
five minutes. Then drink all of the brew."
"What is it, Doctor?" She managed to look
attractive even when she was apprehensive.
"An herb tea that should cure your condition. If you
need more, don't hesitate to come back." As he
escorted her firmly to the rear flap, he was
willing to wager that she would enjoy a remarkably
rapid recovery. She would indeed be drinking an
herb tea, as he had told her, but he had
deliberately refrained from mentioning that the brew was
bitter, difficult to swallow, and left a
thoroughly unpleasant aftertaste. It was a
prescription frequently used to effect rapid
cures in people suffering from imaginary ailments.
Eulalia thanked him profusely before making her
way back, to her own wagon, her hips swaying just
enough to insure that he continued to watch her.
The doctor was watching her, all right, but she wouldn't
have been flattered by his thoughts. Smiling slightly
and shaking his head, he reflected that he had never
known a more badly spoiled, self-centered
young lady. Perhaps the right man could tame her and bring
her to her senses, but he had no intention of becoming that
man,
Meantime, a furious Tonie had stormed off to the
cooking fire, and there she found Cathy. "A few
weeks ago you wanted to kill that woman," she said,
"and I wish you had!"
Cathy had rarely seen her friend so angry.
"Eulalia?"
"Who else? Don't blame Whip for letting her
confuse him. No man on this expedition is
immune!" Still spluttering, Tonie related what
she had just seen.
"Perhaps it didn't mean as much as you think," Cathy
said.
"I reckon it means as much-or as little-as her
flirtation with Whip in the kitchen. I keep trying and
trying to get Bob to look at me, but nothing
happens. I guess I'll have to develop a
Southern drawl and some bold manners!"
Cindy, who was working on the other side of Cathy,
had been listening quietly. Now she dried her hands
on her apron, took Tonie firmly by the arm, and
led her away from the fire. "I want you to listen
to me," she said.
Tonie was in no mood for a lecture from anyone.
"Why should I?"
Cindy's smile was wry. "Because I've forgotten more
about men than yon know."
Tonie felt chastised. "Sorry," she muttered.
"What will you do when you see Dr. Martin?"
"Either slap him across the face or pretend he
doesn't exist."
"You'll do neither," Cindy said. "You'll forget what
you just saw. You'll be as sweet as ever toward him.
When I've been sick, I've had to she down on
that cot, too, but that doesn't make me Dr.
Martin's mistress!"
Tonie was so startled by the other girl's frankness that
she didn't know what to say.
Aware that she had made an impression, Cindy
went a step further. "Was he stretched out with her,
making love to her?"
"Hardly!"
"Then you're playing a childish game. You're as
bad as Eulalia Woodling, and you're doing just what
she'd do if your positions were reversed."
"That's unfair," Tonie protested. 198
"Unfortunately, it isn't," Cindy said. "Most
men are polite-and embarrassed-when a
woman flirts with them. Instead of telling her to go
away and leave them alone, they tolerate her. But that
doesn't mean they like her or admire her or want
to have anything to do with her."
Tonie was incredulous. "You're sure?"
"Dead sure," Cindy said. "Cathy made a
mistake when she started to snub Whip, although your
experience may open her eyes and cause her
to change her tactics. But you're making the same
mistake. Few men are so stupid they can't see
through somebody like Eulalia. She's all front, with
no substance behind it. We had a saying about girls like
her in Louisville. She promises, but she never
delivers. And men know it."
Tonie was in no position to argue with her. "I
guess I'll have to take your word for it.""
"Please do. I'm sure Dr. Martin has put
her out of his mind, so you'll be smart to forget her,
too."
All at once Toni's manner changed. Her
anger faded, and she shrugged and smiled. "You know,"
she said, "I sound as though I desperately crave
a man, which I don't. Not all that much. If Bob
were foolish enough to fall for Eulalia's tactics,
he'd be a simpleton I couldn't
respect, and I'd want nothing more to do with him."
"Precisely!" Cindy declared.
"We're in the same boat," Cathy said, "all
three of us."
Her friends looked at her.
"We're young and-without throwing bouquets-reasonably
intelligent and more than reasonably attractive.
All of us have been brought up to believe that marriage
is the final goal in life-was
"Not I, thank you," Cindy interrupted, her
voice dry. was My mother was a whore, and I never
knew any other life, except that I learned
to read and write-and think for myself."
"All the same," Cathy insisted, "you've been
influenced by the society around you, just as Tonie and
I have. But now we're in a completely different
situation."
"I see what Cathy means," Tonie said. "This
wagon train has changed us from ordinary
stay-at-home women, into pioneers, whether we like it
or not." 199
"I didn't like it at first," Cathy said, "but now
I'm becoming accusTonied to living on my own, and
I have to admit-just between us-that in many ways I enjoy
it. Even though I'm still frightened at times."
"I wouldn't say frightened," Tonie said.
"Occasionally I'm uneasy." She paused, then
shook her head vigorously. "I'm a liar, or
I'm fooling myself. Of course I get scared."
"Would the plains be any less strange or
terrifying if you had husbands?" Cindy demanded.
They thought about the question.
"I guess not," Cathy said.
"Definitely not," Tonie declared. "The hardships
and the hazards are real, very real, and no man could
cushion us from them."
"The right man just might make me feel happier--
if not more secure-because we'd be sharing the risks,"
Cathy admitted. "But the risks would be just as
great."
"I find it challenging, not frightening, to face the
hazards of the trail by myself," Cindy said. "Even
to looking forward to a life alone in Oregon."
"Do you actually want to be alone?" Cathy asked,
"Yes and no," Cindy replied. "This winter at
Fort Madison has been good for me. I've
learned for the first time that men aren't necessarily lusting
after me and that they-some of them, anyway-respect me
as a human being. So the only way I can answer
your question, Cathy, is to say that if I found
the right partner, I'd be happy to live out my days with
him. If not, I won't feel any great loss."
"I don't think I'd want to do without a man
forever," Tonie said, "any more than most men would
want to do without women for the rest of their lives. But
I do see what you mean, Cindy, about our situation
being a challenge. I think I'm in love with Bob.
I'm not sure, really, because I've never felt like this
before. But I'd want to be married to him only in a
partnership, he'd have to respect me as much as I
respect him. You'd never find me trailing four
feet behind him the way Muslim women trail after
their husbands on the Barbary Coast of North
Africa, or so Ernie says."
Cathy laughed. "There was a time in my life when I

did trail around behind Otto. But I'm a big
girl now, and I'll never do it again. That shouldn't be
necessary in a happy marriage, and the women who behave
that way are responsible for all the grief they
create for themselves. Not for me!"
"Are you two telling me that you've come around to my
way of thinking?" Cindy demanded. "That you're willing
to cope alone-was
"I will if I must," Tonie said
firmly. "My pride in myself must come first."
"I'm afraid there's no choice," Cathy said.
"No matter what troubles lie ahead for us on the
trail and in Oregon, if the choice is between staying
single and making a bad marriage, I'll stay
single, thank yon. I've had the bad marriage,
and nothing is worth that kind of life."-,
Routines were reestablished by the third day out of Fort
Madison. The men, women, and older children knew
what was expected of them and, for the most part, performed
their tasks cheerfully. By now they realized they had
entered a new phase of life; they had put the last
outpost of civilization behind them, and they would see no
towns, no villages, and no forts hereafter. The
Great Plains and two chains of mountains, where
potential enemies and other dangers lurked, stood
between them and their longed-for destination.
On the fourth morning Grace Drummond made a
discovery that she shared at breakfast with anyone who would
listen to her. "You know something?" she asked in her
booming voice. "We're pioneers!"
Most of the audience laughed heartily, but her words
stuck in their minds. What she said was true: they
were
pioneers. Even though they had recognized
then- role, within themselves, the statement brought with it a
stronger realization of that role, and gave them greater
pride and dignity, as well as an increased sense
of purpose.
Many people were still eating pancakes and drinking coffee,
among them Lena Malcolm, who sat on the ground
chatting with several other women while Lenore toddled
off through the grass in the direction of a pile of
rocks. Terence, who was now in charge of the water
detail, had
Just gone off with members of his group to the river, where
they would fill their pails so the cooking fires could be
extinguished.
By now the travelers had regained their sense of
timing. Those who were assigned the task of washing
dishes were busy, but the others knew they could linger
over their mugs of coffee for another quarter of an.
hour before the teams had to be hitched.
Lena kept her little daughter under observation as she
talked with her friends, and suddenly she broke off in
horror. Lenore had reached the pile of rocks and
was bending down to examine something emerging from the pile.
Even at a distance, the young mother recognized it was a
copperhead snake. About three feet long, it
shimmered in the early morning sunlight.
Lena could only scream in terror and point.
Most of the others were too petrified to move, but
Whip went into action instantly and raced across the
wagon circle. Lenore was unaware of her
danger. Talking to the snake, the
eighteen-month-old child extended her hand, hoping
to pat the shiny creaturee.
Again Lena screamed.
Whip swiftly unwound the long lash that encircled his
middle. At that moment the snake drew back its
head to strike. Only inches separated its fangs
from Lenore's chubby hand.
If the wagon master missed his target, he ran the
risk of doing serious harm to Lenore. But he did
not hesitate. He let fly with the whip, which made a
hissing, singing sound as it cut through the air. Just at that
moment the copperhead struck, but the rawhide severed
its head, which seemed to disintegrate as the body
writhed on the rocks.
Lena's fear propelled her across the grass, and she
snatched up her baby. Lenore was not in the least
frightened by the experience. On the contrary, she was
amused by the sight of the harmless wriggling of the snake's
body.
Lena was so relieved she began to weep and
found it difficult to thank Whip. Then several
members of the company who had hurried after her
surrounded her and the child, all of them talking
simultaneously.
Hosea approached Whip, who was winding his lash,
and the Ashanti's expression was doleful. "Bad
to kin snake," he said. "Hosea could use."
Before Whip could reply, he became aware of further
movement in the rocks. "Folks," he called,
"move away, please, and give this pile a wide
berth. It looks like there's a whole nest of
copperheads in here." The women needed no urging,
The news galvanized Hosea, who stared at the
rocks for an instant, then sped off to Dr.
Martin's wagon. Soon he returned with a glass
container, and while others watched in fear and
fascination, he removed the glass stopper, then
moved close to the rocks.
Suddenly his hand darted into a crevice, and when he
removed it, he was calmly holding a copperhead
directly behind its head. The snake thrashed in his
grasp, but he knew precisely how to render it
harmless, and its fangs could not touch him.
Whip was on the verge of telling him to stop flirting
with almost certain death, but changed his mind.
It was plain that Hosea needed no advice and was
well able to look after himself.
Some of the women were so sickened by the spectacle that they
left the scene, but other members of the company
gathered, watching from a safe distance. Soon the
Ashanti had a silent, tense audience of more than
fifty people.
Hosea was concentrating so completely on his task,
however, that for all practical purposes he might
have been alone. He placed the glass container on a
flat rock, held the copperhead's head a
fraction of an inch above it, and, with his free hand,
began to stroke its lower jaw. The snake's fangs
shot out, touched the inner rim of the container, and soon
drops of a pale, somewhat milky fluid began
to trickle from them down to the bottom of the glass.
Throwing the now harmless copperhead onto the far side
of the rock pile, Hosea coolly reached into the
crevice again and withdrew a second, even larger
snake, which he proceeded to milk in the same
manner. Totally fearless, his manner was brisk and
businesslike. Whip marveled, as did Ernie von
Thalman, who joined
him. "If I weren't seeing this with my own eyes,
I wouldn't
believe it," the latter murmured.
The morning departure of the train was delayed while
Hosea milked a third, then a fourth snake.
By now the container was almost full, and Hosea sighed
regretfully as he threw the fourth snake onto the
rocks. "Two more in nest," he said, "but no more
room in bottle."
Placing the stopper carefully into the container and making
certain it was airtight, he dropped it into the
pocket of his buckskin shirt and casually began
to round up Cathy's workhorses.
Cathy moved her wagon into her regular place at
the head of the line, and Hosea climbed up beside her.
As they waited for other wagons to move into place,
he removed the glass container and proudly showed it
to her.
She had to use all of her willpower to force herself
to look at the deadly fluid, for the sight of it made
her ill. But she didn't want to hurt Hosea's
feelings, and for his sake she faked an interest.
"That's-uh-wonderful, Hosea," she said.
He grinned and nodded complacently. Then, soon after
they began their morning's ride, he reached into another
pocket for some small, seasoned oak twigs.
Removing a small knife from a hip
pocket, he began the task of making darts,
whittling and slicing, cutting notches and fashioning
sharp points.
Absorbed and cheerful, he looked up only after he
had finished making a half-dozen darts, a task that
took him no more than an hour. Resting before he
made still more darts, he took the glass container from his
pocket and held it up to the light, somewhat
disappointed because the sun had vanished and banks of
dark clouds were rolling in rapidly from the western
mountains, and he could not clearly see the fluid.
"Kill many bad men now," he announced.
Cathy was relieved that he expected no reply.
Gradually the clouds overhead became thicker, the
wind increased and the feeling of spring vanished as the
air became raw and damp. In mid-morning, to the
surprise of
Cathy and others who rode in the front portion of the
train, Arnold Mell returned from his scouting
duties and, riding beside Whip, conferred with him at some
length. Those who realized he had come back to the
train assumed that a problem with Indians might be
developing, or perhaps another large herd of buffalo
had been sighted.
Mack Dougall was the next of the scouts
to arrive. Shoving his wad of chewing tobacco to the
side of his mouth, he joined Arnold and Whip.
Ordinarily undemonstrative, Mack gestured
frequently, sometimes jabbing a finger skyward as though
emphasizing a point.
Then Stalking Horse also returned to the train.
Now Cathy was certain that something was happening. Never
before had all three scouts rejoined the caravan so
early in the day.
Whip raised two fingers to his mouth, and a sharp
whistle summoned Tonie to the head of the line. He
spoke to her briefly, she passed the word to her
assistants, and then the entire company was notified
that a halt was being called for the rest of the day.
Nearby was a wooded area where oak, elm, jumper,
and pine grew. Nat Drummond was sent with his
wood- gathering detail to bring back as much
firewood as possible.
"Comb the woods for dead trees," Whip said. "I
want enough to keep a roaring blaze going for at least
twenty- four hours. If you must, chop down a few
trees and cut them up, too. They'll take longer
to burn, of course, but eventually they'll catch."
Although it wasn't yet noon, the wagons were placed
In their overnight formation, the horses and
oxen were set free to graze inside the circle, and
Whip called a brief meeting of the entire company.
"Folks," he said, "some of you may find this hard
to believe, but we're in for a day or two of
unusual weather. Make sure your canvas wagon
tops are secure. Keep the sides fastened, and
stuff extra blankets along all the openings. I
see that many of you are no longer wearing your greatcoats
and cloaks. Get them out of your clothing boxes,
along with your wool caps and mittens. The best
frostbite, and the physician, helped by the tireless,
hart!" working Tonie, treated more than fifty men,
women, and children.
Members of the train congratulated themselves, believing
they had escaped lightly, but their optimism proved
premature. A woman's scream of anguish coming
from one of the wagons indicated that one family, at
least, had suffered.
People hurrying to the wagon found Ellie Fairbank,
of Pennsylvania, hysterical. Her husband,
Eb, was in agony, screaming deliriously that his
left foot was on fire. In the other bed the two
little Fairbank children, daughters of seven and five
years, were dead, their tiny, pinched faces a pale
blue color.
Women from neighboring wagons tried to comfort the
distraught Ellie, while several men carried Eb
to Dr. Martin's wagon. He fought them, cursing and
shouting, flailing his arms and trying to escape from the
"fire" that he screamed was consuming him.
Three men had to hold him down on the
physician's operating table. A powerful man, he
managed, nevertheless, to knock a glass of
laudanum from Tonie's hand.
Without hesitation Dr. Martin amputated three of
Eb Fairbank's toes. The task was grisly and
difficult; Martin worked in grim silence, realizing
the excruciating pain his patient was suffering. But he
realized, too, that if he faltered or delayed,
Fairbank well might lose his whole leg.
After the operation was completed, the doctor himself
managed to pour a quantity of laudanum down the
still- struggling patient's throat while the sweating
volunteers continued to hold the man still. Gradually
Fairbank calmed down, then fell into a deep
sleep.
Ellie Fairbank no longer knew what was
happening around her. Dr. Martin hurried to the
Fairbank wagon and was able to persuade the
hysterical woman to take a somewhat
milder dose of the laudanum. Soon the sedative
had the desired effect, and she, too, drifted off
to sleep.
Meanwhile, another party of volunteers cleared
away a patch of snow, and while Ted Woods and a
carpenter 208
from Kentucky hastily made two small coffins,
another group of men quickly dug two graves in the
soggy, drenched ground.
The two little Fairbank girls were buried there in a
ceremony that was mercifully brief, and many of the women
wept without shame, silently thanking God that their
own children had been spared.
Ultimately the crippled Eb and his wife would have
other children. But they would never recover completely from
their tragic loss, and for the rest of their days, they would
grieve for the daughters buried in shallow graves
somewhere in the unmarked wilderness.
Everyone in the company realized anew that the price
they were paying for. their journey to Oregon was very high.
Some even wondered as they stood by the two tiny
graves whether the.goal was worth it. But there was no
turning back now.
There were some who were eager to leave the site without
delay. But the snow was still too deep, and in
many places the ground was too soggy for the journey
to be resumed. Whip announced they would remain at
their present campsite until further notice.
Numerous volunteers accompanied the wood-gathering
detail, and at Cathy's instigation, plans were
made to prepare a hot meal at noon, the first
since breakfast the previous day.
As the weather continued to improve, the owners of
wagons came out into the open to feed and water their
teams. Only then was it discovered that horses were
missing. It seemed unlikely that the beasts could have
wandered off during the blizzard, particularly as it would
have been difficult for them to squeeze through the openings
between the wagons.
A complete count was taken, with every wagon owner making
a careful check. Nine horses were missing. The
atmosphere became increasingly tense, and no one
saw Whip and Stalking Horse quietly slip out
and make a slow, thorough examination of the melting snow
that surrounded the circle.
When they returned, Whip made an announcement.
"I'm sorry to be telling you this," he said, "but
it's plain that we were invaded during the storm. A
party of Indians 209
"I can't tell you their tribe offhand-stole
nine of our horses."
"How could they get around during a blizzard when I
couldn't see more than a foot or two in front of
my face?" a farmer from Tennessee demanded.
Whip's smile was thin. The braves are
accusTonied to such weather, I reckon Stalking
Horse and I could have done it, if need be.
We've traveled in worse. But we're not
accepting the theft as final. We've just found some
prints out yonder, so I'm asking the scouts
to follow them before the sun melts what's left of the
snow."
Arnold and Mack immediately went off to saddle their
horses, and Stalking Horse fetched his pony.
Hosea approached Whip. "Hosea go, too,"
he said, making a flat statement rather than a request
Ordinarily Whip would have said no, but Hosea bad
amply demonstrated his ability to keep up with
horsemen for long hours at a time. Whip also knew
that Hosea felt he had been humiliated by his
kidnapping and obviously wanted to restore his
image as a warrior and scout in the eyes of the
wagon train members. So Whip agreed.
Hosea carried his miniature clubs, blowgun, and
poisoned darts with him at all times, but
now he raced off to fetch his rawhide shield. He
was ready to depart even before the three scouts gathered.
The hoofprints left by the raiders mounts and the
horses they had stolen were plain to see, and once
assembled, all four members of the group moved off
together, following the trail. The riders quickly
increased their pace to a rapid canter, and Hosea
ran beside them. When he went on a mission of this
kind, he discarded his moccasins and preferred to be
barefooted. Not until much later did he reveal
privately to Stalking Horse that he had smeared his
feet and calves with a coating of thick grease
to protect them from the snow.
In places the drifts were still two and three feet
high, but the group neither floundered nor paused. In.
a few hours, the snow would be reduced to puddles of
water, and then the trail of the fleeing Indians would
become more difficult to follow. Also, everyone in the
party knew 210
it was imperative to cut off the thieves before they
reached a larger body of their own people. It was apparent
from the prints that the raiding party had been fairly
large. If reinforced by scores of other braves, it
would be too strong to be attacked.
One factor favored the pursuers, as they
well realized. Although their foes had a long head
start, they could travel far more rapidly than men who
were herding nine lumbering workhorses, incapable of
attaining speeds faster than a riding horse's
trot.
It seemed miraculous to Arnold and Mack that
Hosea could keep up with them. Never faltering, never
out of breath, the little man ran easily, his wiry
frame relaxed, his heavy rawhide shield
seemingly weightless
as
he held it several inches ofi the ground. He was
extraordinary, and the day was not far distant when true
stories told about him would become legends.
In late afternoon, when the pursuit had already lasted
five hours, Stalking Horse finally raised a hand
in warning. He was even more adept at reading signs
than his companions, and now he saw something in the thin,
remaining layer of snow that made him cautious.
"Indians and wagon train horses not far now."
he said. "Maybe a mile. Maybe not that much."
Arnold peered hard at the signs and had to nod in
agreement. The indentations in the snow and the soft earth
beneath it were fresh. The old man immediately assumed
command.
"I'll take the left flank, and Mack will take
the right," he said. "Stalking Horse, you and Hosea
keep moving forward right smack on the trail."
Mack spat a stream of tobacco juice at a
diminishing snowbank. "Do we attack together after
somebody gives a signal?"
Arnold shook his head. "That's not practical You
and I will be making detours, traveling greater
distances, so Stalking Horse and Hosea will come upon
the braves before we do. And once they're close enough
for an assault, there's no way to hide. I
recommend that they open fire as soon as they think
it's practical. Then you and 211
I will pitch in as soon as we reach the scene. It
shouldn't take either of us more than an extra minute
or two to get there."
"Is good," Stalking Horse said, and Mack nodded
in agreement
Hosea made no comment. As always, he was indifferent
to matters of strategy and tactics; it was enough for him
that he would be engaged in a fight.
Arnold and Mack fanned out, one going to the left
and the other swinging to the right Stalking Horse continued
to move forward at his same, steady pace, Hosea
calmly running beside him.
Soon they caught a glimpse of four warriors
bringing up the rear of the raiding party and keeping the
stolen horses in line. At first it was difficult
to determine their nationality, but then Stalking Horse
managed to see one in profile. The man's face
was smeared with streaks of bright blue paint that
identified bun as anoffage. Members of that
tribe had a reputation as stubborn fighters, although
not particularly imaginative ones.
Stalking Horse notched an arrow on the string of his
bow and drew the arrow back. The braves did not
yet realize that enemies were moving up behind them.
Hosea was at a distinct disadvantage. Neither his
clubs nor darts could carry far enough.
Stalking Horse did not slow his pace as he sent
an arrow flying
in
the direction of the rider on the left end of the
irregular line. The shaft penetrated the left
side of the brave's back, and a spreading patch of
crimson stained his buckskin shirt. He slumped
in his saddle, quietly pitching forward onto the
neck of his pony. But the animal continued to move
forward, carried by its own momentum, and the other members
of the rear guard were still unaware of the
assault.
Stalking Horse knew his good fortune could not last
Indefinitely, but he was determined to take full
advantage of his opportunity while he could. He
aimed at the back of the brave on the right side of the
line.
This time he missed the center of his target by two or
three inches, the arrow merely wounding the brave,

who screamed in pain and anger. At the same moment
the corpse of the man on the left tumbled to the ground.
Hie alarm was given. The other two members of the
rear- guard turned and saw the approaching pair, and
their warning shouts alerted the entire raiding party.
Theoffage halted, ignoring the wounded brave. Most
of the raiders wheeled and moved back to join their
comrades at the rear, with only a few staying in
place at the front and flanks to hold the riderless
horses in line and prevent them from bolting.
Stalking Horse fired another arrow, and again he
hit his target But he realized that he and Hosea were
now facing a group of at least twenty-fiveoffage;
no matter how courageously they fought, the odds against
them were overwhelming.
Hosea was enjoying himself. Sticking the
sharpened center rod at the bottom of his rawhide
shield into the ground to hold it in position, be was
protected by his mobile, miniature fort. Now that
theoffage were closer, he could use his darts, and he
showed himself at the left side of his shield for an
instant, then at the right, each time firing one of his
poison-laden darts.
The Ashanti rather than Stalking Horse drew the
bulk of theoffage return fire. A man on
foot appeared more vulnerable, especially when he
seemed to be armed with no weapons of consequence and
depended on a curious leather shield for safety.
As Stalking Horse let yet another arrow fly,
he noted that dusk had come, and he was relieved.
Thanks to good fortune rather than planning, the timing of the
attack was perfect Theoffage would find it
difficult to count their enemies and discover how few
there were in the attacking force.
An arrow grazed the Cherokee's shoulder, slicing
through his shirt and breaking the skin, but he suffered no
real harm. He could still fire his next arrow.
Spears were bouncing off the rawhide shield, and
arrows were digging into the outer layer, but none could reach
Hosea, who had killed several warriors.
Suddenly a rifle shot erupted on one
side of the field, 213
and even as a brave dropped and sprawled on the
ground, another rifle shot roared on the opposite
flank. It, too, claimed a warrior.
By now at least six of the raiders were dead, and no
fewer than three others wounded. The Indians
seemed to be surrounded, and the firesticks of the white
men filled them with terror. Convinced that they could not
compete against such odds, they held their positions
only until the senior warrior in command shouted at
the top of his voice, urging every brave to save himself.
That was the only signal theoffage needed. The healthy
fled, leaving their dead and wounded-as well as the
captured horses- behind them.
Pursuit would have been impossible, but there was no
need for it-they had recovered the horses. The
horses had become skittish and would have scattered,
but Mack and Arnold gave them no chance. The
experienced scouts herded them together, speaking to them
soothingly until they became docile again.
Hosea appeared from behind his shield and, as the stars
appeared and the moon rose, quietly retrieved his
spent darts.
Meanwhile, Stalking Horse was performing a task of
his own, systematically scalping the
deadoffage. Each time he came across a brave who
was still alive, he quickly plunged his knife into the
warrior's body, then added another scalp to his
booty.
Some of the Indians' ponies had bolted, following
the retreating war party. But five were rounded up
by Arnold and Mack. The battle was ended, and the
victory was complete; not only had all nine of the
stolen horses been recovered, but five enemy
mounts had been captured, too.
"Take your pick, Hosea," Arnold said. "You
can ride back to camp in style."
The Ashanti shook his head. "Hosea walk," he
said.
The four men placed themselves at the points of an
invisible square and started back in the direction of the
wagon train, keeping the workhorses andoffage
ponies inside the square. After they had traveled
for more than an hour, they halted briefly to eat their
only meal, dried 214
buffalo meat and parched com.
Then they
resumed their march.
Sentries bad been posted around the circle of
wagons, and their shouts of joy, mingled with
disbelief, aroused most of the company. Only the youngest
children and a few women slept through the commotion.
Whip seemed unruffled, having expected no less
of the group he had dispatched on the difficult errand.
Theoffage ponies would be distributed the following
day, he said, and as the better part of the night was already
spent, the wagon train would stay at its present
site for an additional twenty-four hours in order
to give the scouts and Hosea the opportunity
to rest.
As the members of the company headed back to their
wagons, their joy over the outcome was tempered by a
sobering thought Nat Drummond expressed it best
when he said, "I wouldn't have thought anybody could have
been abroad during that blizzard. Well, the
Indians not only did it, but they even sneaked
into our camp without anybody knowing it. If they can
perform that kind of magic, just imagine all the troubles
we have waiting for us on the Great Plains."
IX
Real spring finally came to the Great Plains in the
wake of the late blizzard. The ground dried iri the
balmy breezes so the thin metal rims of the wagon
wheels no longer cut into the earth and became mired.
People and animals seemed to have greater energy.
Sometimes, as they rode, the pioneers sang songs
about the good life that awaited them in Oregon, making
up new words to the tunes of familiar favorites.
The grass grew higher, and prairie flowers of
scarlet and bright yellow, pini, white, disand orange
dotted the landscape.
Terry and Lena Malcolm held hands at every
opportunity, Eulalia Woodling flirted with
any man who would talk to her, and many of the unmarried
people became restless. Tonie Mell confided to Cathy
van Ayl that she dreamed of Bob Martin, and a
red-faced Cathy told her in return that she found
herself thinking of Whip Holt in unguarded moments.
For no. apparent reason, Ted Woods began
to keep an even closer watch on Cindy than he
had in the past. He changed the position of his wagon
so he now rode directly behind her in the center
column; he kept her under observation when she worked
at the cooking fire before breakfast and supper; and on
evenings when he wasn't working, he loitered in her
vicinity. 217
His surveillance was harmless, but it made Cindy
nervous. Unlike the girls who had led far more
sheltered, inhibited lives, the had long been
accusTonied to speaking her mind candidly
to men. So she ignored the well-meant advice of
Cathy and Tonie. One night after supper, when she
felt Ted lurking in the shadows of the fire behind her,
she turned suddenly and went straight to him.
"I'd like a word with you, Ted," she said.
The burly blacksmith became uncomfortable.
"What about?"
"Let's go sit on the stoop of my wagon, shall
we? There are too many people around here."
With great reluctance he accompanied her to the far
side of the circle, where her wagon sat in the
shadows.
Cindy sat on the top step, motioned Ted to a lower
step, and instinctively fluffed her red hair.
"Now, if you please," she said, "I want to know
what all this is about."
"All what, Cindy?"
"I'm not angry with you, Ted, and I'm not upset.
You've been grand to me, and I appreciate it.
Particularly the night you saved me from that loathesome
mountain man back at Fort Madison. But I
can't help wondering why you're always following me."
Ted's shock was genuine. "I wouldn't do a thing like
that!" he protested.
She had guessed that he wasn't actually
aware of what he was doing. So she spoke even more
gently as she said, "Every time I turn around, there you
are, keeping an eye on me. Before and during
breakfast, before and during supper-even during the
nooning. You were doing it just now when I asked you to come
with me."
For a long time Ted was silent, thinking. Then he
nodded. was I mean you no harm," he said.
"Oh, I know you don't," Cindy assured him,
impulsively touching his bare forearm for a moment. When
she removed her fingers, he clapped his hand over the
spot she had touched and unconsciously ran his
fingers back and forth across it.
"I've got to be honest with you," she said, "and I
hope you'll be the same way with me. All right?"

"I always tried to be honest." He spoke slowly
and with dignity. "I ain't much for lyin'."
Subtlety was
a
waste of time in dealing with a man of his temperament.
"I believe," Cindy said, "that you're sweet on
me."
Ted was so surprised at Cindy's frankness that he
lost his voice. His Adam's apple
bobbed up and down, and when he opened his mouth, he could
make no sound.
"I'm not asking you to confirm it," Cindy told him.
"Both of us know what we know.
I
just think you're making a mistake, that's all,
Ted."
He looked as though she had stabbed him with a knife.
"If there's somebody else, somebody I don't
know about, all you got to do is say the word, Cindy;
and I'll leave you strictly alone."
"I give you my word there's nobody else," she
said. "There's no man in my life."
He looked relieved.
"No man now," she repeated. "And no man in the
future, as far ahead as I can see."
"Then it's all right," Ted said.
"Nol" Cindy cried fiercely. "No man! That
includes you!"
"You're tryin' to tell me you don't think very
highly of me, is that it?" He looked crushed.
"What I think or don't think of you is beside the
point, Ted. You seem to have forgotten something I can't
allow myself to forget I'm a whore."
Ted's eyes blazed. "Nobody can tell
you that, not even you. Maybe it's what you were, but you
ain't one now."
"I'm not practicing the trade any more, if that's
what you mean. And I'd rather die than go back to it.
But that doesn't change what I am."
He refused to accept her logic. "AH right
Here's some- thin' I never told you. I killed my
wife and my brother. I put a bullet into her and a
knife in him when I caught them in bed together. That's
why I spenttellyears in prison. So I'm a
murderer."
Cindy had already learned about his background, so his
revelations neither surprised nor shocked her. "You
paid 219
for your mistakes in jail, so you wiped your slate
clean. Nobody can call you a murderer any more,
Ted."
"If you're a whore, then I'm a murderer.
There's no two ways about it," he insisted.
"You don't understand. I just stopped what I was doing,
but nobody sent me to jail for it. Society has
not punished me."
"You're sayin' a body has to be punished before the
slate is wiped clean, huh?"
She hadn't thought about it in those terms before.
"Something like that."
"Then you're absolved the same as I am. Because you
been punishin' yourself. It's my guess you been
doin' it for a long, long time. Long before you ever left
that whorehouse in Louisville, I'll bet."
"Maybe so." Cindy had no intention of discussing the
inner agonies she had suffered. "But that isn't
important What matters is that I'm not for you, not
for anyone."
"You aimin' to live your whole life alone? A
lady as pretty and young as you?"
"I'm not all that young," she replied indignantly.
"I'm almost twenty-two."
Ted chuckled, then sobered. "Cindy," he said,
"I ain't forcin' myself on you. I respect the way
you feel, even though I think you're wrong. All
I'll say is I'll be around comprovidin' you're
sure it really doesn't matter to you that 2 killed
two people."
"I can understand your reasons, and I don't blame
you."
"Then I'll be waitin'. I won't push, and
I'll do my best not to make you uncomfortable
by hangin' around you too much. But any time you need
help-in anythin'-all you got to do is
holler for me."
"You're very sweet, Ted," Cindy said. It was
astonishing that someone who had such great strength could be so
gentle.
"Don't talk like that," Ted said. "I'm tryin'
to behave myself."
She held out her hand to him. "We can be real friends
now. I like that."
He stared at her small hand for a moment, then, wiping
his palm on his trousers, he enveloped her hand in
his, treating it as though it were a live bird that
might be crushed to death if he squeezed it
Abruptly, he released her hand, then stood.
She smiled up at him.
Unable to speak again, Ted suddenly bolted, hurrying
to his own wagon, which stood directly behind
Cindy's in the circle. He was too embarrassed
to look around at her and quickly lowered the flap, even
though Danny, who still shared the wagon with him, hadn't
yet come to bed.
Cindy continued to sit on the top step of her own
wagon. Perhaps she had been wrong to speak so
frankly. It had been her intention to discourage Ted
Woods, but instead she had caused him to show an even
greater interest in her. Cindy sighed. It was
infuriating that her past life as a prostitute in
no way turned him against her. Well, she had
tried, and she couldn't be responsible for him or his
feelings. She didn't want to hurt him, but having
warned him that she wanted no man, she couldn't do
anything more.
On the other hand, she wondered what life would be like
as Ted's wife. A man like Ted didn't give his
love easily. Certainly she could persuade him
to do anything she wanted. She also knew she would have
to be careful not to make him lose his temper-she would
not like his rage to be directed against her.
What rubbish she was thinking'. She was sick of men,
and no one, Ted included, interested her physically.
She supposed she was drawn to the blacksmith because of
his desire to protect her. After all, every woman
wanted to be cherished. But the mere thought of physical
contact nauseated her.
Well, she couldn't marry Ted-or anyone
else-while she felt that way. Too many of her
Louisville cusToniers had confided that they had
come to her because they were married to women who didn't care
for them physically. She had been good at pretending
she cared. But when she joined the wagon train, she
had sworn that she would never again allow herself
to be placed in a position where pretense would be
necessary. And that was one promise that she fully intended
to keep. 221
So goodbye to Ted Woods and everyone else! In
years to come she might change her mind, bat she
hadn't changed it yet-although she knew that to an
extent, she was recovering from the injuries to her
"soul that
she
had suffered. She was able to see men like Whip,
Ernie, and Dr. Martin in their true perspective
now, and she had learned, however reluctantly,
to admire them for being upright, gallant, and
courageous. The mere fact that she did not hate them
and could recognize their good qualities was art
improvement. She recognized the change and was
grateful for it.
She had her friends to thank, at least in part, for that
improvement. Cathy van Ayl and Tonie Mell
accepted her without reservation, even though they knew of
her past. Cathy, at least, was a lady, and
Tonie, although harder to define, nevertheless was someone
who had great inner strength. The mere fact that they had
extended their friendship to her, sharing with her their inner
thoughts, was something of a miracle. Never before
had Cindy enjoyed such relationships with anyone; at
the Louisville bordello, the other girls had
been selfish and suspicious ready to fight for what
they regarded as their rights.
She was prepared, in return, to do anything she could
to help both Tonie and Cathy. They had won her
total loyalty.
At the same time, however, Cindy bad to admit
to herself that she envied them. They were living
straightforward, honest lives, uncluttered
by shadows. Oh, it was true that Cathy had endured
an unhappy marriage with a difficult, crabby
miser, but she had done nothing of which to be ashamed,
nothing that haunted her and kept her awake at
night.
How wonderful it would be to clear the slate and start a
fresh life, unsullied by the past! In a sense, of
course, that was what she was trying to do by joining the
wagon train and going off to Oregon.
Ultimately she would put her past behind her, forget
it, and emerge as a new woman. She was well on
her way and would keep trying. Nobody, including the
girl she herself had been, was going to stand in her way.
At length, Cindy disbbcame weary of her own
thoughts. 222
StUI too restless to go to bed, she rose from her
seat on the wagon, walked slowly down the stairs,
and then wandered around the inner edge of the circle. She was
in no mood to make small talk with anyone, so she
wandered aimlessly, then paused between two wagons
to look out across the dark prairie. On a night like
this the quiet of the wilderness was soothing.
Suddenly a hand touched her shoulder, causing her
to jump, and a man's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"You look lonely tonight."
Cindy brushed aside the hand as she whirled around,
then grimaced when she saw Claiborne Woodling
facing her. She still disliked the young man. The mere
fact that he sought her company was irritating.
"I'm not in the least lonely, thank you," she said, and
her tone was glacial.
Claiborne refused to recognize the rebuff.
"Well, I am, and you're just the person to cure that
feeling for me."
"I'm sorry," she said firmly, "but whether you're
happy or sad-you or anyone else-is none of my
concern."
"It was, not so long ago," he replied, moistening
his lips.
Other members of the company were careful never
to mention Cindy's past to her. Only this thoroughly
unpleasant young man went out of his way to remind her
of what she had been-as if she needed any
reminders.
"I choose not to debate the point with you. Let me
pass, please," she added when she saw he was
blocking the opening between the wagons.,
Claiborne did not move. .instead he folded his
arms across his chest and grinned at her.
Cindy realized she had allowed herself to be placed in
an uncomfortable position. The wagons on either
side of her were dark; their owners were obviously still
enjoying conversation over coffee at the fire. If she
raised her voice, people would come running, but she
dreaded creating an embarrassing personal situation.
This was something she preferred to handle herself, if she
could.
She was uncertain whether she was sorry or pleased that
Ted Woods had given up watching her for the night
The proximity of the brooding giant might have
deterred 223
Woodling. On the other hand, had Woodling
persisted, Ted might have lost his temper-with
consequences that even at this moment caused her to shiver.
"You're cold," Claibome said, "but I
can take good care of that."
"I don't care for your hints. If you really want
to know, I don't like you."
"You'll change your mind when you come to know me
better." His grin broadened.
"I don't intend to. Just because we happen to be
traveling in the same wagon train doesn't mean
we've got to be friends, you know." Cindy spoke
stiffly, wondering whether to take the risk of pushing
him aside and trying to squeeze past him. If she
could time her move in a way that caught him off
guard, she would be able to quietly rejoin those still
lingering at the fire.
"What I've had in mind," Claibome said,
pulling her to him, "isn't exactly what I'd
call friendship."
No escape was possible, but
Cindy still
wasn't ready
to call for help. Virtually everyone
in
the train
knew
she
" had been a harlot. Some of the women still
didn't like
her, and she felt certain that many of them would believe
that she had led Claibome on.
Struggling,, she pushed against his chest, but she was unable
to break free of his viselike grip.
Claibome laughed, his hold tightening. "I like it
when a woman shows a little spirit-before
I
tame her."
"You'll never tame me," she gasped, fighting still
harder to break loose.
He bent his head down to kiss her forcibly, but
suddenly he released her and slumped to the ground. The
astonished Cindy, breathing hard, saw that
Claibome was unconscious.
She turned around. There was no one there. Her
deliverance seemed to be a miracle. Then she saw
something lying on the ground; only a few inches from young
Woodling's head. She bent down for it, then held
it up to the dim light of the fire. Not until she
saw it was a little wooden club did she realize
what had happened.
Hosea materialized out of the dark and stood beside her.
"Ted sleep," he said, "So Hosea keep
watch." Calmly 224
taking the club from her, he returned it to the loop
around his middle.
Cindy thanked him profusely, feeling that anything
she said would inadequately express her
gratitude. At the same time she was worried.
Claiborne had not moved, and she became
increasingly fearful. "Did you-kill him?"
For an instant a faint smile hovered at the
corners of Hosea's mouth. "Not kill," he said
solemnly. "Whip and Ernie no like if kill.
Get mad." He nudged Woodling with a foot, the
gesture almost clinically impersonal. "Hosea
make man sleep. Wake up in morning. Then
head hurt all day."
A slight, barely perceptible shrug of disdain
indicated his total lack of interest in any
discomfort the young man might suffer the next day.
Only one thing was important to him; again nudging the
motionless figure at his foot, he said, "Not be had
with lady again."
Cindy's tension evaporated suddenly, and she hugged
Hosea, In the future she felt
certain Claiborae WoodI'mg would take care
to avoid her.
She knew, too, that there was no need for her
to ask Hosea not to mention the incident to anyone. She
trusted his discretion, and she realized, too, that he was
wise enough to say nothing to Ted, who might be all too
inclined to lose his temper.
Cindy, her spirits remarkably improved, decided
to return to the andence for a last cup of coffee before
turning in.
Hosea walked beside her. He
had developed an insatiable craving for the hot
chocolate that the children drank instead of coffee, and
Cindy decided that from now on, she would prepare a
cup for him at every meal. That was the least she could do.
When they reached the fire she heard a man speaking in
an. angry, clear voice. Nat Drummond
stood, feet spread apart and thumbs hooked in his
belt, glaring at his wife. No one had ever heard
Nat defy the overbearing Grace,
"Woman," he thundered, "I'm tired of being ordered
around. Do this, Nat. Do that, Nat I do my share
and more. I supervise the wood-gathering detail, and
I do it well. I hitch up our team twice a
day, and I drive our wagon. I feed and water
our team. I raise and lower the 225
flaps on our wagon, and I repack the insides
whenever anything is loose. That's all I
aim to do!"
Grace glowered at him. "What about me? I work
with the other women cooking meals-was
"Sure!" he interrupted, shouting. "But that's all
you do!"
Some of those still gathered around the fire were embarrassed
and turned away, talking to each other in low tones and
pretending not to hear the surprising argument, But
Cindy was fascinated, and she saw that Cathy van
Ayl was listening, too, making no attempt to hide
her broad smile. Obviously Cathy felt as
she did, that Nat had been dominated for too long
by a wife who treated
him
more like an indentured servant than a husband.
But that era appeared to have come to an abrupt end. Nat
had gained a measure of self-respect on the
longtrip that he had never before known, and he was
asserting himself with remarkable force. "It's too damn
much when you order me to collect our dishes and take
them back to the wagon. My sweat back home
earned those dishes and mugs. Yes, and the knives we
use when we eat. It's your place to wash them and
keep an eye on them and take care of them. So
you'll blame well do it from now on. Just as
you're going to do a heap of other things!"
His rebellion was so strong and unexpected that
Grace could only gape at him in stunned silence.
"I never believed in beating a woman," Nat said,
"but I'mmighty tempted. Do what I tell you,
Grace, and do it quick!" He clapped his hands together
sharply.
All at once Grace sprang into action.
Curdy thought she intended to pick up her husband and
shake him. Instead she meekly went over to the
fire, where piles of washed dishes were drying,
picked up her crockery and a large kettle, then
silently trudged off to her wagon.
Nat watched her for a moment or two, without any
emotion. Then he quietly joined a group of people who
were talking with Arnold Mell.
Cindy caught a glimpse of Grace
Drummond's face as she turned away. The
girl was surprised to note that Hat's tall,
rawboned wife did not appear in the least upset.
On the contrary, she was smiling and seemed to be at

peace with herself. Some women were inexplicably
contrary, and Cindy, suspected that Grace would
enjoy the new role she was being forced
to play. When a woman truly loved a man, she
didn't want to maintain the upper hand all the time.
Cindy thought it unlikely that she could ever love any
man that much. Yet she knew she had been wrong, a
short time earlier, about her ability to handle Ted
Woods. Why was she even concerned about her
relationship with Ted? She had promised herself that she
would remain independent. Her freedom was too
precious to her, and she fully intended to allow no
one to interfere with it.
Chet Harris and Danny had developed into the most
accomplished fishermen in the company. Armed with books
made for them by Hosea, lines fashioned from
remnants of cloth that Cathy van Ayl gave
them, and poles cut under Ernie's quiet
supervision, the pair organized all of the older
boys in the caravan. Each night they returned to the
circle with strings of fish. Trout were plentiful in the
Platte River, but the boys preferred lake and
pond fishing because they came away with larger, meatier
catches. They were delighted when the train halted
each night at one or another of a chain of lakes and
ponds in the Nebraska country. These ran
parallel to the route of march for more than sixty
miles, so Danny was indulging in no
idle boast when he said, "We'll be eating fresh
fish for breakfast every day for at least a whole
week."
On the third night of the journey past the chain of
unnamed lakes, the older. boys hurried away, as
soon as camp was made, to start fishing in a small
pond.
Mack had sighted a small herd of buffalo only
a few miles from the campsite as he returned from
his scouting duties, so a party had gone out hunting.
Whip stayed behind deliberately-he didn't want
the company to become too dependent on his efforts.
Even those who had been new to this type of hunting were
experienced by now.
Whip wandered through the woods that stood between 227
the campsite and the small pond, noting with
approval that the wood-gatherers were concentrating their
efforts on fallen and dead trees. The boys were
hauling in a catch of fish and were completely
absorbed in the task, while some of the older girls
and women were busily gathering berries and edible roots
nearby. The Oregon-bound settlers didn't yet
realize
it,
but they were becoming increasingly efficient and more
self-reliant in wilderness living. By the time these people
reached Oregon they would be able to survive on their
own.
Pleased with the progress they were making, Whip
strolled back to the circle, where women were beginning
to prepare supper. He stiffened slightly when he
saw a strange gelding and a pack horse. Then be
spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a
shirt and trousers of heavy wool and store-bought
boots. His rifle slung over his shoulder, he was
engaged in conversation with several of the women.
The man introduced himself as Alvin Munson, but
offered no other information.
The code of the wilderness was strict, and although Whip
didn't much care for the man's looks, he had
to extend the company's hospitality. "You'll stay
for supper
and
the night?"
"Thanks," Munson replied. "I'm sure the
ladies can cook better meals than I can prepare
for myself, so I'll be glad to eat with you. Later,
though, I believe I'll be on my way." He
spoke with a faint accent that was impossible for Whip
to identify.
Whip was surprised by the man's refusal to remain
overnight. Only someone in a great hurry
traveled through the Great Plains after dark. "Where are
you headed, Mr. Munson?"
"Either Independence or St. Joseph, I don't
much care which."
"You've spent the winter in the Rockies, then?"
The man nodded.
Again Whip felt a twinge. Munson's clothes
didn't look like those of a mountain man, and he
carried no furs- the only reason for anybody
to endure the hardships of a 228
winter in the Rockies. But common courtesy forbade
Whip to question him too closely. Perhaps he was a
fugitive on the ran, or fleeing from personal
enemies. A man was entitled to his privacy out
here.
The hunters returned in time for supper, bringing with
them the carcasses of three buffalo. One was
lightly smoked so it would keep only until the
following night, when both sides would be barbecued,
and the others were cut up to be preserved in vinegar and
salt, then added to the supply of emergency rations.
"This time of year," Whip said to'Alvin Munson
in an effort to make polite conversation,
"nobody starves on the plains."
"So it seems," the visitor replied.
Very odd. The man spoke as though he were strange
to the area. But that seemed impossible. In order
to reach the Rockies and return from them, every mountain
man had to cross the vast prairie twice, and
anyone who managed that feat-and lived-became something
of an authority on the prairie.
Various members of the company, happy to see a new
face, sought out the visitor. But Munson, Whip
observed, was uncommunicative with all of them.
Perhaps he was naturally silent, as were many who spent
a considerable length of time in the Rockies. Long
months of solitude seemed to rob a man of
his
ability to converse with others. But this man seemed
actively sullen.
Maybe it was wrong to judge the man, Whip thought.
Although his appearance, attitude, and seeming lack of
familiarity with the area belied his claims about himself,
he was minding his own business and was banning no one.
All the same, perhaps it was just as well that he had
refused the invitation to stay overnight.
Only one member of the company seemed to attract his
attention. When he heard someone speak
Tonie Mell's name, he raised his head and peered
at her intently for a few moments. Then he lost
interest in her, too, and devoted himself to his dinner.
Night came long before the meal was finished. Whip again
extended an invitation to remain overnight, but 229
Mimson refused, although this time be was less curt
He expressed his thanks for supper, then mounted his
gelding and, leading his pack horse, rode off into the
darkness. Glad to be rid of him although he couldn't
say why, Whip forgot about him.
The following morning the company stirred at daybreak.
The fire, which had been allowed to die down but had not
been extinguished, was rebuilt. As the flames
rose again, the breakfast preparations began. Also more
vinegar and salt were added to the new barrels of
buffalo meat before they were closed and sealed.
The water-gathering detail went off to the little pond,
armed with buckets, tubs, and other containers. As
sometimes happened, they were accompanied by others who
felt thirsty, among them Ernie von Thalman.
Behind him sauntered Arnold Mell, who had already
eaten breakfast and wanted a drink of fresh water
before going off on his scouting duties.
Ernie dipped his silver mug embossed with his
family crest into the pond, stood, and was
raising the mug to his lips when Arnold suddenly
knocked it from his hand. The startled Baron didn't
know whether to protest the rude gesture or reply
with a swift punch.
Arnold gave him no opportunity. He pointed
to the pond. Dead fish were rising to the surface and
floating there.
"Don't drink that water!" Arnold shouted to those who
were filling their buckets. "Don't touch it!"
"Look at the dead fish]" Ernie called. "This
pond is contaminated!"
"It was fine last night," someone said.
"Well, it isn't now," Ernie replied
irritably.
They were interrupted by a woman's scream. Two men
who had taken drinks of the water were writhing on the
ground in agony. One was an earnest, bankrupt
young fanner from Indiana, passionately devoted to the
future he would enjoy in Oregon. The other man,
easygoing and amiable, often entertained the company with his
jokes and was liked by everyone.
A young boy raced back to the circle for Dr.
Martin, who arrived, running, followed by Tonie.
Whip came, too, 230
find promptly sent everyone not directly
concerned back to camp.
The physician couldn't prescribe an
antidote. The best he could do was administer
emetics, and by this time both of the sufferers were so far
gone that Toniehad to open their mouths and hold their
heads while Bob poured the medication into them.
Neither responded to the treatment. Both were bathed m
cold perspiration, their skin a sickly,
greenish-yellow, and both were struggling feebly.
Dr. Martin searched through Us satchel for something
to give them. "I can't imagine whafa causing this,"
he muttered, "so I'm damned if I know what
medication to use."
The victims were fading rapidly, their breathing now
shallow.
Only the doctor remained calm. "Open then-
mouths again, Toni," he directed. "This one first
Now the other. That's it." He poured quantities
of a white powder onto the tongues of the men, both of
whom had lost consciousness.
The patient stretched on the ground beside Tonie
stopped struggling and lay still. "I-I'm afraid
we've lost him," she said.
Bob examined him quickly, then turned to the other
victim, who had also stopped moving.
"They're both gone," he said. "I don't know
what they drank, and I've never heard of any
substance that would cause death that rapidly after
uigestion."-
Still squatting, resting his weight on his heels, he
pondered for a time, "Tonie, did you notice
anything unusual? Did you detect any strange
odors?"
She nodded unhappily. "Now that you mention it,
Bob, there was an awful smell on their breaths. Like
rotten eggs."
"Sulfur of some kind, I believe. Whip, can you
fetch one of those dead fish floating on the top of the
water? Just handle it with care, please."
The wagon master returned with a fish. Bob sniffed
it, his face contorting with disgust, then asked Tonie
to do the same.
"That's the smell!" she exclaimed.
Bob Martin stood. "Whip," he said, "everybody
drank water from the pond last night, and no one was
hurt. All of us ate fish for breakfast that the
boys caught, and there have been no adverse
reactions."
Whip stared at the physician. "Are you telling me
that somebody put poison into this lake between
fishing and water-gathering time last night and this
morning?"
"So it would seem." The doctor spoke
reluctantly but firmly. "A poison, I'd
say, with a sulfur base, one sufficiently strong
to kill a man within a few minutes. I can't
prove it, of course-but I'm willing to stake my
professional reputation on it."
"Would you say it was deliberate poisoning?" Whip
asked, speaking slowly.
"That I can't say," the physician replied.
"All I can tell you for certain is that twelve
hours ago fish were thriving in this pond. And right now
there are hundreds of them dead out there. It's possible
that an underground sulfur spring was diverted, causing
the waters to become contaminated. It's also possible
that someone poisoned the pond, although I find that
difficult to believe."
"I aim to find out," Whip said grimly, then
beckoned to Arnold and Ernie,, who were standing nearby
and had heard everything that had been, said. "Get
Stalking Horse to find the tracks of that felloWill
who was here for supper last night. Then take a
small party, go after him, and find him. If hell
talk to you and his story makes sense, all
well and good. If you have any reason to doubt him,
bring him back to me."
"You'll stay in the camp right here, I assume,"
Ernie said.
Whip nodded, his expression somber. "We'll have
to bury these poor devils and console their families
as best we can. The whole company is bound to be
upset."
Arnold had already moved off to find Stalking
Horse, who could locate tracks more rapidly
than any of their white scouts.
Tonie hurried after him. "Take me with you,
Uncle Arnold," she said. "I haven't gone out
on the trail in a 232
long time, and you know I can be useful." She did not
explain that she didn't want to spend the entire day
with an indifferent Bob Martin. Arnold nodded, his
mind already on the mission ahead.
Whip was preoccupied, too, or he would have forbidden
Tonie to accompany the group. Certamly the search
for Alvin Munson was no pleasure trip. A
girl, no matter how expert at shooting, had no
legitimate place in the party. Whip was,
however, thinking of what consolation he could offer to the
widows of the men who had died so suddenly and
unexpectedly.
Stalking Horse needed only a short time to find
Mun- son's tracks. It was significant that,
although he had said he was traveling to Independence or
St. Joseph, which lay to the east, he had ridden off
to the west Obviously he had a great deal
to explain.
The search party consisted of the three regular scouts,
as well as Ernie, Tonie, and the shield-bearing
Hosea, who refused to be left behind. Stalking
Horse had no difficulty in following the clear
trail Munson's riding horse and pack horse
had left in the grass, which was now calf high, and he
led the party at a canter. Hosea ran directly
behind him, tireless as always.
If it was true that the poisoning had been
deliberate, a possibility so shocking it was
difficult even to contemplate, the previous
night's guest deserved to die, Tonie
reflected. Ordinarily not vindictive, she
couldn't help wishing that Hosea would kill him. It
would be just retribution if someone who used poison was
himself killed by a poison dart.
Crossing the prairie rapidly, the party headed
inland a short distance from the Platte
River. Arnold realized they were approaching a
small pond, fed by natural springs, which he had
selected as the next night's stopping place for the
wagon train. A thick patch of birch trees and
bramble-laden bushes stood near the pond in the
damp, sandy soil, and there the trail came to an
abrupt end. The party dismounted, waiting while
Stalking Horse studied the ground more closely. The
Cherokee stood, shaking his head, then bent down to the
ground again.
The sound of a rifle shot emanating from the grove of

birch trees scattered the silence. A bullet
passed so close to Tonie's ear that it sounded like the
buzzing of an angry hornet
Reacting instinctively, she threw herself to the ground
The others did the same. Armed with their rifles, they
moved on their hands and knees toward the stand of birch,
concealing themselves as best they could in the high grass.
Again a shot was fired, and again Tonie was the target,
die bullet passing above her by niches.
Why should she be the object of the man's wrath, rather
than one of the men, who presumably would be more
dangerous? All at once the pieces of the puzzle
fitted into place, add she knew. The
man who had called himself Alvin Munson was a
Russian agent He had been dispatched by Andre
Sebastian-or by someone like him comto interfere with the
wagon train's progress. And finding the woman
who had defied Still Petersburg in the party that had
pursued him, he was trying to win extra credit for
himself by killing her. The sun overhead was warm, but an
icy chill crept slowly up Tonie's spine.
She wished she had displayed the common sense to have
remained behind at the camp.
Only Hosea was moving boldly now, advancing a
few yards, his shield held before him, then halting
for a few moments before starting again.
"Dont move for a spell, any of you," Arnold
called softly. "He seems to be alone, so well
wait until he fires again. This next time, keep
watch for the flash of his rifle. Then we'll rush him
before he can reload again." His companions agreed.
Tonie pressed herself against the earth, hoping she was
invisible in the grass that stood almost a foot high.
Only by arching her neck could she see the birch
trees, and she discovered she was afraid to raise her
head, afraid to move.
The heavy silence was almost unbearable. An ant
started to crawl up the side of Tonie's
face, and she felt a strong desire to brush it
aside but managed to restrain herself. Then the insect
began to move down the back of 234
her neck, inside her open buckskin collar. She
could hold disoff no longer. Reaching up
impatiently, she brushed the ant away.
The enemy fired a third shot, agate barely
missing Tonie.
, Her companions took careful note of the spot
where the
shot had originated. As Arnold, Ernie, and
Mack leaped
to their feet and charged toward the copse, Stalking
Horse
sent a single arrow through the brambles.
By the time the onrushing trio reached the spot, the man
who had called himself Alvin Munson was dead, the
Cherokee's arrow protruding from his heart.
It would be impossible to question him now. Arnold and
Ernie were disappointed, but both refrained from
lecturing Stalking Horse. In his world, a warrior
had to kill or be killed.
However, they prevented him from scalping the man, and,
as the others watched, they searched him. But he carried
no documents, no identification of any
kind. A manufacturer's stamp inside his boots
indicated that they had been made in New York.
His rifle had been made in New England, and the
blade of his knife bore an insignia that Arnold
recognized as the mark of a Pittsburgh
metalsmith. Nothing on his person indicated
anything about him.
They searched through his saddle bags, and finally, at the
bottom of one of them, they found a cloth bag
nestled inside a dirty shirt When they opened it,
they found an inner bag, made of thick paper.
Opening it gingerly, they saw a handful of crystals,
each the size of an almond. These crystals
looked harmless, but they exuded the same pungent,
nauseating odor that they had smelled at the pond"
At Arnold's suggestion a deep hole was dug,
and the bag of crystals was buried in it While the men
were engaged in their task, Tonie walked to the bank
of the spring-fed pond, with Hosea quietly keeping
watch over her. Her knees felt weak. Fighting
the desire to wretch, she inhaled deeply.
Suddenly she recognized a faint but thoroughly
unpleasant scent Heavy clubs seemed to be
beating at her temples.
Uncle Arnold!" she called.
Within seconds she was surrounded by the anxious
members of the party.
Tonie pointed toward the pond. "Smell that
water!" she told them. "The stink of rotten eggs
is there. It isn't strong, but it's the same."
Ernie dropped to his hands and knees, sniffing the
pond cautiously. "Tonie is right," he said as
he stood. "This pond wasn't rancid when you first
saw it, Arnold?"
"It was pure and fresh and clean," the old man said
quietly. "That means he must have come here after
poisoning the first pond and poisoned this one, too,
figuring the train would make its next stop here."
"We'll never know why he was so intent on killing
innocent people who have done no harm to anyone," Ernie
said, sighing. "At least we're rid of him, and that's
all to the good."
Stalking Horse carefully removed the dead man's
boots, knife, and pistol, along with his ammunition
and powder, before carrying the body away from the wagon
train's path, where it would be allowed to rot.
"We will give the pack horse or the rifle
to Tonie, whichever of the two she prefers," Ernie
said gallantly as they started toward the wagon train
camp.
"Thank you," she replied, "but I want neither."
Ernie assumed, as did Mack, that the girl was
depressed because the man had been killed.
She did not disillusion them, but signaled discreetly
to her uncle, who fell back to the rear of the line and
rode beside her.
"I wonder if you noticed," Tonie said, "that
all three of the man's shots were fired at me. As
far as he knew, I was the least likely to hit him,
the least dangerous to him, yet he concentrated his
fire only on me."
"I know," he replied, speaking in Russian.
"The secret police is like a snake with many
heads. Remove one, and hundreds of others grow.
That is an old proverb, Antoinette. From now
on, we take no unnecessary risks with your safety."
Tonie shuddered, then felt ashamed of herself. "I was
scared when he was shooting at me, Uncle Arnold.
I'm not a coward, I swear I'm not, but I was
afraid."
"Of course you were," he told her. "You're not
lacking in courage. But anyone who isn't afraid
of a powerful, unseen enemy is a fool."
When they reached the wagon train, they found that
funeral services had already been held for the
two men who had died after drinking from the pond that
morning.
Ernie made a brief announcement. "As we
suspected, the man who poisoned the pond was the
same man we entertained at supper last night.
He has also poisoned the pond at which we would have
stopped tomorrow. But hell cause no more harm to anyone.
Stalking Horse saw to that."
At Tonie's suggestioneathedead man's riding
horse was given to one of the widows and the pack horse
was presented to the other. Then her uncle took her
arm and led her to Ernie's elegant wagon. There the
Baron and Whip were sipping tiny glasses of
colorless Austrian schnapps, and another glass
was filled for Arnold.
"Not until we came back here did I realize
you were personally involved, Tonie. I should have
realized when Munson made you his only target that
he was working for the Russians."
The girl nodded.
"The question now," Whip said, "is whether to tell
everybody that the Russian secret police want
to kill you because yon defied them."
"Do what you please," Tonie said in a dull
voice. "It doesn't matter."
A tap sounded at the door, and Dr. Martin
entered. "May I intrude?" he asked, and
assuming the reply would be positive, seated himself
on the top of a mahogany chest of drawers.
"Mack Dougall was just telling me the details of
your encounter with Munson," he. said. "I knew at
once why he was firing at Tonie, and I figured
that's what you'd be discussing."
Ernie nodded and poured him a glass of schnapps.
The physician handed the drink to the girl. "She
needs this. I don't."
Tonie shook her head, but Bob gave her no
chance to speak. "Drink it," he said. "Doctor's
orders."
She managed to down the drink, and shuddered.
"WeVe just raised the question of whether to tell the whole
company why the Russians want to kill Tonie,"
Whip said. "Myself, I'm torn. I can see
arguments in favor of both sides. I think you have
to make the choice yourself, Tonie."
"I just told you," she said. "It doesn't
matter." The schnapps seemed to be burning a
hole inside of her, but she kad to admit that she no
longer felt lethargic. Perhaps Bob's presence rather
than the liquor was responsible.
"I want to be fair to everybody," Ernie said.
"My only concern is being fair to Tonie," her
uncle declared.
"I see no useful cause being served by making this
information public," Bob Martin said, his manner
unexpectedly vehement. "We'd only be drawing
attention to her, unnecessary attention. In this instance I
say that what people don't know won't hurt them."
Tonie was surprised that he was taking such a strong
interest in her personal situation.
"Arnold," Bob continued, "you understand the Russian
mentality, and we don't. Are they likely
to attempt another attack on Tonie?"
"Perhaps," the old man replied, frowning as he
tried to solve the puzzle for himself. "I would say
they are determined to damage the wagon train because it
is in the czar's interest that we fail to reach
Oregon. Certainly the Russians are
vindictive, and they patently hate Tonie because
she refused to obey their orders. So I would guess
they well might make another attempt on her
life."
"In that case we must change her routines," Bob
Martin said briskly. "I see no reason she
can't continue to serve as chief monitor.
She spends her days riding between the center column and
one of the wing columns, so it would be very difficult
to isolate her there. But I think it would be wrong for
her to go off again as she did with today's search party. And
I believe it would be too dangerous to allow her to go
out hunting again."
"That makes sense," Whip said.
"It does," Enrfe replied.
Even Arnold slowly nodded.
Toniedidn't blow whether to laugn or weep. They
were restricting her future activities, and no
one was even bothering to consult her. Life would be far
more boring if she couldnt go hunting any more, but she could
console herself with the thought that Bob wasn't as
unconcerned about her as he appeared. Certainly his
interest in her welfare was personal, his involvement
greater than that of Whip and Ernie. Or was it? She
had no way of knowing.
X
The longtrip continued, the wagon train creeping
slowly through the heartlands of the Great Plains. They still
followed the Platte River, and some members of the
expedition were surprised when the broad stream rose
higher and flowed more swiftly.
"It always does that," Whip explained, "but
this year there must have been more snow than usual in the
Rockies. The thaws come later on the heights
than they do down below, of course, so the melted snow
is just now beginning to reach us from the North Platte,
the South Platte, and some of the smaller streams that
flow into the big river."
During one nooning, when the sun overhead was actually
hot, Danny arid Chet, along with some of the older
boys, decided to get undressed and go for a swim,
but the water was so unexpectedly icy they soon
changed their minds. They were dressing, threatening to push
the last one who finished into the chilly water, when their
horseplay was interrupted by Whip, who ran toward
them from the circle.
"I ought to skin you lads alive," he said. "I ought
to hang you up by the heels, like we do with dead
polecats. But even that would be too good for you."
Rarely did the wagon master become so angry,
at least
in public, and the boys were shocked. Danny, who had
frozen in the midst of pulling on a stocking, was the
only one of the group who had the courage to raise his
voice. "What-what did we do wrong, Whip?"
"What did you do? You still dont know?" Whip's
fury increased. "You think of yourselves as men,
or close to it But it looks to me like you're
babies. About the same age as the little Malcolm
youngster."
They were still at a loss to understand what they had done
to inspire his wrath.
"Finish dressing!" Whip commanded, glaring at them.
The boys wasted no time.
"Chet Harris!" Whip barked. "See that stick in
the grass? Pick it up."
Chet quickly picked up a portion of a broken tree
branch. It was two feet long, about three inches in
diameter, and it was surprisingly heavy.
"Pass it around!" Whip ordered.
The broken branch moved from hand to hand, and none of the
boys knew what to do with it Some weighed it, others
turned it over and over in their hands, while a few
got rid of it very quickly, as though afraid it would
contaminate them. At last it was passed back
to Chet.
"Bring it with you," Whip commanded, "and all of you come with
me." He led them to the bank of the river, forcing them
to stand with him on the wet, soggy ground. "Look at
the river and tell me what you see."
Again Danny was the only one to speak. "One mighty
lot of water," he muttered.
Several of the boys started to snicker.
"You, Chetl Throw that stick into the river. Heave it
as far as you can toward midstream," Whip instructed.
Using all of his strength, Chet hurled the broken
branch toward the center of the rapidly flowing river.
"Now keep your eyes on it," Whip said, "and
tell me when it disappears."
The boys crowded close to the bank. They saw the
branch bobbing up and down as it was carried eastward
at a rapid speed.
"It's gone!" one of them shouted.
"No it isa't," Chet said, correcting him. "I
can still see H. Well, maybe not. I reckon
you're right. It's gone."
Whip remained firm. "Now," he said, "I want
somebody to tell me what you've just learned."
There was a long, tense silence. Then Danny said,
"That stick got carried away awful fast. The
river looks pretty strong, but the current is
even faster than we think it is- and stronger, too.
So we might have been in trouble if we'd gone
swimming."
"Might
have been in trouble?" Whip raised an eyebrow.
"Some of you-especially you, Chet-think
you're pretty good swimmers. Well, I
guarantee you that every last one of you would have been washed
downstream and drowned in almost no time."
The chastened boys stared down at the river bank.
"After this," Whip said, "you check with Ernie or
witft me before you start doing things on your own.
You're in the wilderness, not on somebody's farm
property, and God help those of you who forget it!
Remember-your life and everyone else's depends
on your alertness. So keep your eyes open every
minute of the day." He turned and walked back to the
circle.
The boys straggled after him, their lesson learned.
Anyone who toyed with the forces of nature in the vast
expanses of the Great Plains was running a
dangerous risk.
As the spring advanced, rain fell more frequently,
and usually at night. The Platte continued to rise,
sometimes overflowing its banks for a distance oftellor
fifteen yards on both sides. Whip kept the
river under close observation and took the precaution
of establishing the campsite some distance from the flowing
waters.
There seemed to be less need to exercise such
extreme care during the nooning period,
however. It was far easier and simpler to form the
circle fairly close to the river so that the
animals could be led to the bank for watering. At
nooning the wagons moved into the circle, experience
enabling the drivers to perform the task quickly. Teams
were unhitched and taken to the river for water
ing then allowed to graze inside the circle.
Hungry children were given smoked buffalo meat or, in
some families, leftovers from breakfast, and any
adults who were hungry did likewise. However,
most of them had gone on a schedule of eating only
two meals a day and preferred to wait until
evening.
No one ever knew who first became aware of the
approach of catastrophe that day. All at once
men began to shout, women screamed, and somebody
called, "My God! The riverl"
The fear in their voices was so intense that virtually
everyone jumped up, and those who had been taking naps
awakened. What met their eyes was so unbelievable
that it paralyzed them.
As they looked upstream, they saw a towering wall of
water bearing down on them. No longer just a
swiftly moving river, the Platte had been
transformed into a wildly raging torrent
The boiling, churning water, carrying entire trees
and other debris, bore down on the wagon train in
a mighty tidal wave.
The initial reaction of fright gave way to frenzied
panic as people struggled for survival in the midst of the
nightmare. Those whose wagons stood nearest to the
river were in the greatest danger. They began to run
across the circle to the far side, some carrying small
childrea
Only Whip's and Hosea's instant response
prevented the damage from being even worse. Reacting
independently, they began to drive the bewildered
horses and oxen toward the far edge of the circle,
away from the raging flood. Whip fired his pistols,
then his rifle, while Hosea roared in a deep
baritone, clapping his hands together repeatedly, trying
to get the animals moving away from the danger.
The animals began to stampede, and even those that had
remained calm joined in the race. In almost no time,
most were pushing against the wagons at the outer side
of
the circle. The horses and oxen had no idea of
what was happening, but their instinctive panic Iebled
them away from the flood.
The wave approached at blinding speed, the
gray waters 244
pelling doom for everything in their path. The wagons that
stood nearest the bank bore the brunt of the
attack. Wood splintered, loose objects were
picked up and swept away, and the roar of the water was
so loud that the screams of the women and children could not be
heard.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wave was gone, still
churning furiously as it raced eastward. Gradually
the waters subsided, and although the Platte had
spread beyond its banks, it once again became
relatively harmless.
A woman screamed. Her husband and small
daughter, who had been napping in their wagon, had
been swept away by the wave, and her teenaged son,
who had been whittling as he had sat on the rear
stoop of the wagon had also disappeared. Some of the men
found his battered, lifeless body about half a mile
downstream later in the day.
Only a head count ultimately revealed that
another family, who had joined the caravan in
Indiana, had been swallowed up by the great wave.
The husband, the wife, and all three of their small
children had simply vanished as though they had never
existed.
A young bachelor, a former bookkeeper from
Cincinatti who yearned for a life on his own farm,
had suffered a broken leg when heavy debris had
smashed into him. "I-I'm lucky I'm still here, I
guess," he muttered through his pain as Dr. Martin
set his leg.
Emily Harris required stitches in her thigh,
where she had been gashed by a tree uprooted by the
raging river. Terence Malcolm had suffered a
sprained ankle, but had no idea how it had
happened.
Grace Drummond was also injured. The wave had
picked her up, then slammed her against a wagon,
knocking her unconscious. As nearly as Dr.
Martin could diagnose, she was suffering from a brain
concussion. For hours Nat Drummond stayed at his
wife's side, applying cold compresses to her
forehead. Late in the afternoon, she stirred and opened her
eyes. Sitting upright, she began to berate her
husband for his idleness.
The grinning Nat knew she had returned
to normal.
Walking away from her bed, he left her to her own
devices. Not until Grace finally realized what
had happened to her did her anger
subside.
Three workhorses were missing, as were a pair of
oxen. One of the riding horses had broken a leg
when it had been rammed by floating debris, and it had
to be shot.
Aside from the tragedy of the man and his daughter, one
entire wagon and its contents had been picked up and
carried away by the wave. No portion of the wagon
itself, nor its contents, remained. The owners, a young
couple who had come all the way from the mountains of
Pennsylvania, were forced to move into another wagon
with the girl's parents.
There was debris everywhere, scattered as if by a
giant hand. Two uprooted trees, one of them a
forty-foot oak, complete with a portion of its
roots, lay in the muddy ooze near the bank of the
now-normal river. Branches of all sizes,
torn from trees along the river, were everywhere. Even
rocks and boulders had been strewn about by the raging
wave.
What shocked the pioneers most was the waterlogged
corpse of a cow buffalo washed up by the torrent
They could scarcely believe their eyes. The beast was
huge and must have weighed at least fifteen hundred
pounds.
Smaller animals had fallen victim, too.
Rabbits and gophers, chipmunks, a raccoon and
an antelope doe had been smashed almost beyond
recognition by the furious river.
Several of the wagons, at least a half-dozen
by preliminary count, were severely damaged, while a
large number of others had been badly battered.
Canvas tops and sides had been ripped away,
then carried downstream by the wave. Struts that had
supported the canvas roofs were either gone or
reduced to kindling. Axles had been twisted and bent
and were now useless, and one wagon teetered
precariously because its wheels on the water side had
been torn off.
It would be a long time before the owners of the stricken
wagons would be able to judge accurately how much of
their property had been lost All they knew was that the
remaining contents of their wagons were a muddy,
soggy
mess. Emergency food supplies were ruined.
Pots, 246
pans, and broken crockery littered the area, as
did odd items of clothing, including a child's shoe
and a torn woman's shift, which was draped around a
bush.
Those who ventured near the river bank sank almost
to their knees, and several had to be hauled out of the
gripping, sucking mud. Hours would pass before the
ground there had drained and dried off sufficiently
to support the weight of a person.
Everyone pitched in to help. The circle of wagons
was moved even further away from the bank
ofthe.platte, although it was unlikely that the
extraordinary phenomenon would be repeated. Then the
remaining contents of the stricken wagons were spread out
to dry, and the women went to work scrubbing down the muddy
interiors.
Men with experience as carpenters made new struts from
supplies carried in the special wagon, which also
provided new canvas and axles to replace those that
had been damaged beyond repair. Whip promised the
dazed owners of the wagons that the hunters and fishermen
would give them enough meat and fish to replace what they
had lost. Other wagon owners contributed jars of
preserves and sacks of beans, coffee, flour, and
sugar.
The lost clothing was yet another problem, but Arnold
and Mack promised to provide enough buffalo and deer
hides so that people could replace their wardrobes.
Tlie task of repairing the damage cost
the company two days on the trail. No one
objected to the extra labor involved, to be sure,
and the hunters kept their word, shooting enough game in the
next forty-eight hours to provide the stricken with
at least the beginnings of new emergency food
supplies and new wardrobes.
Everyone was appalled by the shocking and unexpected
experience, and the entire company suddenly realized that
the forces of nature were capable of inflicting cruel
punishment on the unwary. The very word "wilderness" was
enough to inspire respect
Fortunately game was marvelously plentiful in the
late spring. Whip wanted to replace the losses
as rapidly as possible, so he asked for
volunteers to join the regular hunting parties.
Tonie was the first to offer her services, but Whip
politely declined.
She was furious, telling herself that Bob Martin was
to blame for wrapping her in a thick, protective
mantle. Although she continued to help him in the
infirmary, she made it clear to him that she was
annoyed.
Another volunteer, much to everyone's surprise, was
Nat Drummond. The hunters were working in pairs
now, and Arnold said he would make Nat his
partner. The combination seemed incongruous, but Arnold
withheld judgment. "I want to see how he makes
out before I'll listen to any criticism," he said.
The new team went out late one afternoon, returning a
scant two hours later with a buck. But the initial
flurry of excitement subsided when it was learned that
Arnold, not Nat, had shot the deer.
The next day Arnold returned to the campsite
early, Ms scouting duties completed, and be and
Nat went out again. They headed toward a wooded area
that the scout had seen, earlier in the day, off to the
northwest.
Nat looked clumsy in the saddle, but he had no
difficulty in maintaining the pace set by his
companion, and he appeared to be enjoying the outing
thoroughly. In a talkative mood, he began
to chat as they cantered. "Can I tell you somethin"
private, Arnold? It's taken a lifetime for me
to do what I've always wanted to do."
Arnold nodded encouragingly.
"I grew up near the Kentucky border, you see,
and when I was a boy, I heard all kinds of
stories about Dan'l Boone and the others who tamed
the wilderness."
"Most of those stories are exaggerated,
I'm sure," Arnold said. "I've heard some of
them just as I heard many others about this part of the
wilderness when I lived in Independence. Hunters
and trappers and guides have done some wonderful things,
but a lot of them are also good liars. When a couple
of them would get together with my wife and me in our
kitchen, they'd start bragging, and before long they'd be
trying to tell bigger and bigger stories so they could
ouI'do each other."
"I reckon you're right," Nat said. "But you still
dont
know what this means to me, ridin' across the wilderness
in search of game. When I grew up, I had a
lot of hopes
and dreams, but then I got married. And you know
Grace.
I had to buckle down and make a living on the
farm, or she gave me no peace. But this is a
grand life. I couldn't ask for anythin' better."
They rode on in companionable silence, and
ultimately the woods came into view on the
horizon. As the pair drew nearer, six
Indians rapidly rode out of the woods toward them.
"Oh-oh," Arnold said softly. "Now well see
how your daydreams have prepared you for a real
crisis. They're warriors-I'm not sure of their
tribe at this distance- and they're bent on making
mischief. I wouldn't be surprised if they were
heading for the wagon train when they spotted us.
They'll pause long enough to knock us out of commission,
if they can."
Nat displayed remarkable calm. "First they got to do
it," he said, eyeing the onrushing braves. "Just
tell me what to do, Arnold. You're the boss."
Shading his eyes as they continued to canter, Arnold
grunted. "We're in for real trouble. They're
Paiute. I'd rather walk barefoot into a nest of
rattlesnakes. Paiute can't be bluffed. Either
we kill them or they kill us. There's no
halfway measures, no evasions. If we run,
they'll chase us and catch us. If we stop and wait
for them, well be sitting targets, and we'll never
get off a shot."
"Are you tellin' me we keep ridin'?"
"Right! No matter what happens, don't slow your
pace. You understand?"
"Sure."
"All right," Arnold said. "Get your rifle
ready. After you fire, reload as fast as you can, then
fire again. Keep doing it."
"All right." Nat still seemed calm.
"They'll spread out as they come closer. We may
move through their formation-provided they don't hit us
first. Then we'll turn and come at them again from the
rear," Arnold turned for an instant to look at his
companion, afraid that Drummond would begin to show
signs of panic when he realized how badly the
odds were against them.
But the stubby farmer grinned, showing two rows of
crooked, yellowed teeth. "It seems f me we
got one big 249
advantage, Arnold. These rifles have a much
longer range than their arrows."
Arnold chuckled. Nat was going to weather the crisis
in good shape.
"If we can reload quick enough, maybe we can get
off two rounds before they start sendin' their arrows at
us."
"Not maybe, Nat. Two rounds are a minimum.
And' weVe got to make those bullets count. At
close range they'll overwhelm us. They're
deadly shots with their arrows, and they can handle spears
expertly, too."
Nat checked his rifle, hunching forward in his
saddle. "I'm ready any time you give the
word."
Together as they rode, they kept a sharp watch on the
oncoming Paiute. The braves held their bows and
were reaching for their first arrows.
Arnold Mell calculated the distance coolly.
He felt reasonably sure that at least one of his
bullets would find its mark, and he could only hope
that Drummond would hold up. If the Indians
realized they were dealing with a novice, they would redouble
their efforts.
The two groups drew nearer.
"Now!" Arnold called, raising his own rifle and
firing.
A brave seemed to rise high in the air from the
back of his pony, then toppled to the ground.
Nat took deliberate aim and squeezed the
trigger. A second brave flung his hands over his
head, tried to steady himself in vain and fell to the
grass, where he lay motionless, face down.
Arnold was quietly elated. He hadn't
expected his partner to be this effective. "Keep up
the good work," he called.
Nat reloaded with the speed of a marksman.
Arnold had his rifle up to his shoulder, and again he
fired, then cursed as he saw he had
missed by inches.
Nat's every move was as deliberate as though.he were
firing at a stationary target. He squeezed the
trigger again, and a third brave clutched his chest, then
dropped to the turf.
By this time the remaining Paiute were close enough to 250
the fray actively, and they sent their arrows in the
direction of the pair cantering toward them. But the
warriors were rattled because of the losses they had already
suffered, and their shots went wild.
Seeing their consternation, Arnold knew he and his
companion had victory almost in hand. "Again!" he
shouted.
Nat doggedly reloaded, but by this time the Paiute
had had enough of combat for one day. Swinging their ponies
in an arc, they fled toward the north, quickly increasing
their speed to a full gallop.
Two of the riderless ponies followed, their panic
so' great that they eventually caught up with the retreating
band. The remaining pony was bewildered, however, and
stood uncertainly, near his fallen master.
Arnold slowed his own mount to a sedate walk.
"No point in chasing them, Nat. They won't
want any more fighting today. You did a great job."
Nat slowed, too, and chuckled. "We
didn't do too bad," he admitted as he
followed his partner's example and turned back.
"This takes care of our hunting for the day," Arnold
said, "but we'll bring a few souvenirs back with us
so our friends won't think we're making up frontier
tales."
The chunky little farmer stared at him
apprehensively. was You ain't plannin' to take
scalps, Arnold?"
The old man laughed aloud. "That's one habit
I've never bothered to take up." He dismounted, then
walked quietly toward the riderless pony, moving
slowly and gently so he wouldn't alarm the animal.
Removing a lariat from a hook at his belt, he
twirled it, then threw the loop over the pony's
head.
The animal balked, but as it pulled back, the
noose tightened' around its neck, and it had the good
sense not to fight the inevitable. It stood still again.
Arnold pointed toward the crumpled body of one of the
braves. "Help yourself to his weapons," he
called.
Only now did Nat Drummond become
diffident. He paused for a long time before he
summoned the courage to bend down for the dead
warrior's bow and quiver of arrows.
Arnold had no such inhibitions. Working swiftly as
he led the docile pony, he removed knives from
the belts of the other two corpses, picked up a
spear, and then bent low to take a necklace of
elk's teeth from the body of one warrior. "You may
want to give this to your wife," he said, handing Nat
the necklace. "Here, And take the pony, too,
along with the spear and this knife."
Nat was overwhelmed. "You caught the pony, I
didn't And you're keepin' nothin'."
"Not so. Ill keep this one knife. It so happens
that I've got all sorts of souvenirs from fights
in the past. Besides, you deserve the lion's share.
After all, you took care of two warriors to my
one."
Flushing with embarrassment, pride, and gratitude,
the heavily laden Nat mounted his own horse and,
leading the captured Paiute pony, rode beside the
older man as they started back toward the wagon
train campsite.
"For a fellow who spent his early years daydreaming,
you're a mighty fine partner to have around in an
emergency," Arnold said. "From now on, I'm going
hunting with no one but you."
Supper was almost ready when they reached camp, and a
ripple of excitement passed through the company when they
saw the enemy weapons and the pony. Arnold was
lavish in his praise of his companion and described
his exploits at length while Nat looked down
at the ground and shuffled his feet.
The older boys were awed as they examined the captured
weapons, and people clamored for the privilege of offering
Nat then

congratulations. Whip and Mack pumped Ms hand,
Ernie clapped him on the back, and Stalking
Horse caught hold of his wrist in a gesture of
brotherly affection. Ted Woods and Hosea made
no comment, but their expressions indicated that they shared
the general opinion that Nat was a hero.
The excitement began to ebb when Cathy beat the
side of a kettle with a heavy spoon to indicate that
supper was now prepared. People formed a line to help
themselves to a stew of buffalo meat and root
vegetables, including wild beets. Nat
deposited his booty in his wagon, then joined his
wife in the line.
Grace gave him no chance to speak. "You think
highly of yourself, Mr. Drummond," she
said.
"Now that you mention it, Mrs. Drummond, maybe
I do." He took the bone-handled Paiute knife
from his belt, turned it over in his hand as he studied
it, and decided that from now on he would always carry it with
him. "Behave yourself like a wife should, and maybe
I'll teach you how to ride that pony. He's a
quiet creature, which is what you ought to be, so
by-and-by the two of you ought to get along just fine."
Grace drew in a breath, steadying herself for a
retort. Those who stood near them in the line waited
for the inevitable, loud outburst.
Nat gave her no opportunity to explode.
"Before I forget it," he said, "I brought you a little
present." He reached into the breast pocket of his
linsey-woolsey shirt, then handed her the necklace
of elk's teeth.
Grace looked at the highly polished teeth, and
aHave at once tears came into her eyes. "How-how
do I wear it?"
"See them rawhide thongs? They tie at the back
of your neck."
"Will you tie it for me, Nat?"
He was startled by the unexpected humility in her
usually strident voice. "Sure," he
said, putting the necklace around her neck and tying it
"How does it look, Natr
He glanced at the necklace but was even more conscious
of the tears that were trickling silently down her
weather-hardened cheeks. "Right pretty, Grace.
That necklace suits you just fine."
Not caring who might be watching, Grace Drummond
hugged her husband, squeezing him until he was
breathless. "It was your pa and your brothers who used
to tease you for wantin' to be like Dan'l Boone,
wasn't it?"
Nat nodded. "Now and again they'd have their fun with
me," he admitted.
"Well, I just wish they could see you now!" she
exclaimed, speaking in her normal, booming
voice. "Because you have the last laugh. Gracious, but
I'm proud o' you, Nat Drummond!"
Arthur Elwood was fed up. The discomforts and
hardships of wagon train living were almost
disunbearable, he found the food intolerable and the company
dull beyond endurance. He was a city dweller, and he
missed the luxuries of the East that he had known
only in small quantities. He was dismayed by the
prospect of settling in the Oregon country, and
when others spoke of that supposed paradise
as a land of milk and honey, he refused to listen.
He had joined the train only because he had hoped he
could buy the land claims of the future settlers for a
dollar or two per acre. He had expected to be
able to purchase several thousand acres and then reap an
enormous profit by selling them to speculators in the
East for as much astelldollars per acre. But not one
member of the expedition had been willing to sell to him.
These stub- born fanners had destroyed his chance
to become wealthy.
He should have turned back at Fort Madison. Now
each day's journey carried him farther from the
civilization he craved. To hell with these crude people
and their dreams of the future. He wanted his
creature comforts now, while he was still young enough to enjoy
them. A man in his forties had to think in immediate terms.
So, little by little, Arthur Elwood came to the conclusion
that he should make a break and go back alone. He
had never spent a single day in the wilderness by himself,
but that didn't matter, he thought All he had to do was
follow the Platte until he came to the
Missouri, and he didn't care whether his journey
took
him
to Independence, St. Joseph, or
Council Bluffs. Once he reached a real town,
he' had enough money in his belt to arrange for
transportation to Chicago or Cincinnati.
How he would live once he returned to the East was
a problem he would solve later. His immediate task was
that of getting away. He could just take off on, his
own, he supposed, but it wasn't that easy.
Stupidly, no doubt, he hadn't bothered
to collect any emergency supplies, and he needed
them badly. If he could sneak into the special
wagon, he could fill his saddlebags with
quantities of smoked buffalo meat or venison,
along with parched corn, none of which he would ever touch
again when he reached 254
a world where people ate real food. He would be wise
to take a spare rifle, too, along with plenty of
lead, a bullet mold, and extra gunpowder.
In a sense he told himself, he had earned whatever
he chose to take with him. After all, he had worked as
a member of the water-gathering detail, engaging in
physical labor that he abhorred.
His greatest mistake, he knew, was that of having
joined the wagon train in the first place. He had
always had a desk job, working for various-land
speculation companies. He disliked the
ouI'doors and loathed physical exertion.
Other men on the train had become hunters,
fishermen and woodcutters. He was ashamed by the knowledge that
he had been assigned to gather water because he had
proved unfit for any other kind of service.
Well, when he returned to the East, he would sit
at a desk again and wouldn't ever leave it.
He simply had to get away from these people. The life
they were leading and the future that beckoned to them kept
them cheerful, even in the face of the same adversity and
hardships that haunted him. He had no real friends in
the company and had almost nothing in common with anyone.
Claudia Brentwood had been kind to him, but she
had remained in Independence. He had been
attracted to Cindy, but she had rebuffed him. No
one else interested him, and he spent the social
hours alone each day, even eating by himself because there was
so little he could discuss with the other travelers. He
hated the wagon train and all it represented.
Elwood's desire to escape made him
desperate. One warm evening in early summer, he
found it impossible to sleep. After hesitating for a
long time, he screwed up his courage and, sneaking out
of his wagon, made his way to the special wagon.
Just before reaching it, he stumbled, landing on the
ground with a hard, noisy thud, but he ignored the
pain and held his breath, hoping no one had heard
him. There was no sound, and he was relieved.
It was easy enough to untie the back flaps and let
himself into the wagon. First he dropped the flap behind
him, bat quickly realized his mistake. It was so
dark inside that 255
he could see nothing. So he raised the flap again and
left it open.
After fumbling for a time, staring at boxes, crates,
and barrels, he pried open a barrel with his knife.
The strong odor of smoked buffalo meat almost gagged
him, but he couldn't afiord to take enough time to search
for the milder-tasting venison. He crammed meat
into his saddlebag, then carefully replaced the
barrel cover. It took longer to locate a sack
of parched corn, but now he acted quickly, making a
small slit in one end with his knife and pouring enough of the
contents into the saddlebag to fill it.
It took almost an hour to locate the spare arms and
munitions. The rifle he selected was larger and
heavier than his own weapon, but he was in no position
to be particular, so he took it, along with a bar of
lead and a horn filled with powder. Realizing it would be
impossible to locate a bullet press in
this gloom, he knew he had to alter his plans.
He would hide his loot in his wagon. Then, when people
were at breakfast, he would steal a press from a
neighboring wagon that stood behind him. That meant he
would have to wait until tomorrow night before he could leave.
But no matter-he had attended to most of his needs,
and after all these months, it wouldn't hurt him to wait
an extra day.
The lead bar was heavy, but Elwopd managed
to squeeze it into his hip pocket before he climbed
out of the wagon and lowered the flap behind him, carefully
retying it. Then he hoisted the cumbersome saddlebag
onto his shoulder, noting in surprise that day was
breaking. He had finished his task none too soon.
Staggering slightly under the weight of the bag and the lead,
he turned away.
At that moment someone stepped out from between two wagons.
Elwood saw Hosea, his blowgun in his hand, a
dart already fitted into it.
Elwood panicked. "For God's sake, don't
shoot that contraption at me! Look here, I-I have
plenty of money, and I'll pay you well if you'll
just forget that you've seen
"Whip decide what to do," Hosea said, gesturing
in 256
he direction of the fire, which had burned low. "You
come."
Folly aware that the blowgun could kill instantly,
Arthur Elwood had no choice. His stomach, like his
feet, felt leaden
as he
walked ahead of the grim Ashanti.
Whip was already awake, and he listened without comment
to Hosea's explanation. Then he reached for the stolen
rifle, examined the contents of the saddlebag, and
asked, "What else did you take?"
It was useless to she, so Blwood handed him the lead
bar and powder horn.
"Don't say anything now," Whip told him. "I
know what I'd do to you if it was up to me. But it
isn't my place to decide." He led the way
to Ernie von Thalman's wagon.
The Baron, who was just dressing, listened in stone-
faced silence. "Hosea," he said, "keep Mr.
Elwood under guard. Right here."
Soon the whole company was awake and stirring.
Wood was gathered and the fire built up, water was
carried from the Platte, and the women in charge of the
cooking went to work.
Ernie waited until most members of the
expedition had assembled, then made a short speech
in which he explained what had happened. "I'm glad
to say this is the first time we've faced such a
situation, but now we've got to do something about it As
your presidenteaI'masking you-right now-to elect
twelve people as a jury. We dont want to delay
our day's march too long, so I'll ask those who
are elected to join me ovei yonder, in front of
my wagon. Immediately."
Nat Drummond was the first to be elected. Whip
declined the honor, as did the scouts, who departed
on their regular missions as soon as they ate their
usual early breakfast.
Before the meeting of the entire company broke up,
Whip announced that he wanted to say a few words.
"Folks," he began, "some of you may wonder why
we're making so much of whaf s happened this
morning."
"That's right," Cathy called out boldly, always
willing to 257
champion an underdog. "It doesn't seem to me that
Mr. Elwood committed any great crime. The
food in the special wagon belongs to all of us.
Every man here carries a rifle and ammunition, so
I don't see what harm Mr. Elwood
has done. Real harm, I mean. What he's
taken is actually minor, so all this fuss strikes
me as silly."
Whip had to respect her attitude. At the same
time, he was glad she had spoken up because it would be
easier now for
him
to emphasize the point he was trying to make.
"Mrs. van Ayl has a valid point," he
said. "I think you folks know me well enough to realize
I'm not vindictive, and I sure as shooting am not
proposing that we boil Arthur Elwood in oil.
But I'm afraid a lot of you may not realize the
importance of the special wagon and what it means
to all of us."
He paused, looked around at the people gathered in the
circle, then spoke again very slowly. "That wagon
is the key to our survival. It can mean the difference
between life and death to every last one of us."
His words created a stir, and people muttered to each other.
"I mean what I say. Literally," Whip told
them. "After the wave hit us, we'd have been in a
pretty fix if we hadn't carried spare axles
and canvas and wheels and such with us. We may have
troubles with Indians before this trip ends,
serious troubles, and I can see where one rifle and one
lead bar that can be molded into bullets could make the
difference between life and death."
The members of the company were beginning to understand, and Whip
was rewarded by nods and other signs of recognition.
"On the day you joined the train, every last one of you was
told that
nobody
is allowed to go into the special wagon, ever, without
my own personal permission. I told you that
included everybody-Ernie von Thalman, the
scouts-I don't care who it is. Well, Mr.
Elwood chose to disobey that order. I'll grant
you that he didn't take much. But if fifty or a
hundred others get the same idea and 258
start taking things, what then? A rifle here, a
barrel of pickled meat there, some gunpowder, an
extra blanket or two. Pretty soon the
special wagon will be plucked clean, and then-may
God have mercy on all of us."
Cathy was forced to agree with him, her emphatic nod
making the change in her attitude plain to everyone
around her.
"There are no stores between here and Oregon. No
stores once I get you there, either. The
closest place you can buy a nail, a hammer, or
a frying pan is way back in Independence. For
at least two more years, until freight wagons
start crossing the continent, you'll have to make do with what
you already own or can make for yourselves. All that stands between
you and sure disaster is that special wagon and the
supplies it carries." He took a deep
breath. "That's about all I have to say for now. I
hope you'll remember it. For your own sakes, not
mine, because I can get along on my own in the
mountains." He stalked off, and the meeting broke
up.
One by one the jurors gathered. Some of the older
boys, who lingered, curious, in the vicinity, were sent
on their way by a curt and unexpectedly stern
Ernie. At lasttelljurors stood in front of the
wagon, and Ernie opened the wagon door. "You can
come out now," he called.
A miserable Arthur Elwood appeared, closely
followed by Hosea. Ernie thanked the Ashanti and
dismissed him, sending him off for breakfast. Then he
pointed to the saddlebag, rifle, lead bar, and powder
horn. "These are the items Mr. Elwood stole
from the special wagon. Do you admit it, Mr.
Elwood?"
There was a moment's hesitation. "Not exactly. The
saddlebag is my own."
Ernie was surprisingly patient "Very well. But you
took its contents. Meat and corn."
Elwood could-only nod.
"Will you tell us your reasons?"
Suddenly the dam burst, and Arthur Elwood
became
eloquent, explaining in detail that he had long
hated every
aspect of wagon, train living. "I took these
things," he
concluded passionately, "because I need them to get
back
to real civilization. I'm sick of this kind of
living, and I just cant stand it any more. I'm not
sorry I stole, and to hell with Oregon!"
Life listeners were startled. It was unusual enough
to hear someone refuse to express remorse for
committing a crime. But people whose hearts and souls were
devoted to the settlement of the Oregon country found
it inconceivable that one of their number had lost the
desire to make a new life in a land that was
unique. What they failed to realize, of course,
was that Elwood had had different desires
from the very moment he had joined the company.
Ernie broke the heavy silence. "Let me see
if I understand you correctly, Mr. Elwood. You
want to detach your wagon from the expedition and go
back East. Is that correct?"
"No!" Elwood had no idea that his voice was
becoming strident. "I was planning to use one of my
team as a pack horse and simply swap my other
workhorse for a riding horse."
"Leaving your wagon behind?"
"I have no use for the damned thing." The man was
bitter. "I couldn't tolerate the idea of creeping
back across these infernal flatlands in it"
Ernie nodded, then turned to the jurors.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I want to offer you a thought
you can either accept or reject. The property Mr.
Elwood stole from us has a strictly limited
value. It's the theft itself, including that of the rifle,
that's important. It seems to me that we can't
compel a person to endure our company. All of us
are voluntary members of this group, bound together by an
unwritten contract and observing an unwritten
code of conduct for the sake of our mutual good.
Mr. Elwood chooses to break the contract, and in
my opinion that's his privilege."
"We want no more to do with him than he wants with
us," Nat said in a disgusted tone. "It ain't worth
the fuss to turn his wagon into a jail and keep him
in it. Let him go, that's what I say, and good
riddance to him."
"You mean we ought to throw him out?" one of the other
jurors asked.
Ernie shook his head. "We cant quite do that These
plains are inhospitable enough to men like Whip, who know the
area well. I believe Mr. Elwood himself
suggested the solution. We can trade one of the spare
horses we've acquired for one of his workhorses.
Let him take what he can carry of his
belongings-food, clothes, cooking utensils and the like.
Weapons, too, of course. Let him keep the
food he's stolen, along with the rifle and
ammunition. We'll take his wagon in return,
along with any other belongings he chooses to leave
behind. You needn't accept this idea, gentlemen.
All I ask is that you consider it."
The jurors moved off down the line of wagons
to confer privately. Some of the women brought them
breakfast, then Ernie was given a plate, and
Cathy insisted that El- wood be fed, too.
The jurors talked earnestly as they ate
and needed no urging to reach a prompt decision, for
they shared Whip's desire not to delay the start of the
day's journey any longer than necessary.
Ernie ate in silence, refraining from conversing with
Arthur Elwood.
Sipping their mugs of coffee, the jurors returned
to the, outside of the Baron's wagon. "Seem it
wouldn't be right to hang the bastard," Nat said,
"weVe decided your think- in' is pretty good,
Ernie. We'll make the trade, just like you said-on
one condition. He's got to leave this morn- in',
right now. We don't want him hangin' around. And
if you can spare the extra time, maybe you'll keep
an eye on him while he packs to make sure he
don't cheat us."
"You've heard the sentence pronounced by the jury,
Mr. Elwood," Ernie said. "Do you have any
comment?"
"It suits me just fine," Elwood replied
angrily. "I'm happy to leave as fast as I can
get myself organized."
The decision was communicated to Whip, and while the
train made ready to leave on the day's march,
Elwood returned to his wagon to pack another
saddlebag and take his blankets, spare
boots, and a frying pan. Ernie fetched one of the
extra horses to give the man in exchange for his
workhorse and brought it to his wagon, where Elwood
was finishing his hurried task. Just then, a 261
concerned Whip also appeared at the wagon. "I
hope you know what you're doing, Mr. Elwood,"
he said. "Even men who have been hunters and
trappers for years don't like traveling alone in these
parts."
Arthur Elwood shrugged.
Whip looked at the saddlebags filled with food and
made some mental calculations. "You're not carrying
enough provisions to see you all the way to Council
Bluffs or Independence. You'll need to shoot some
game on the way."
"I see no problem, Mr. Holt. I'm not
totally unfamiliar with the handling of firearms."
Whip had intended to enumerate the dangers of
solitary travel in the Great Plains, but the man
was being so hostile that he refrained. All the same,
his conscience forced him to make one last remark. "In
my opinion you're taking one hell of a big risk.
I can't say I like or trust you after the way you
broke into the special wagon, but we can't throw you
out and let you flounder on your own."
"I'll make out fine," the tight-lipped Elwood
replied.
Whip shook his head. "I know more about the Great
Plains than you do, and I think you're wrong to leave
our group at this time. I don't want to scare you,
and I don't want to upset you, but I
am
suggesting you come all the way to Oregon with us. Other
trains will be following us, and it won't be too long
before there's a reasonable amount of traffic going back
and forth between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Be
patient, and eventually you can make the journey
safely in a regular wagon train with an
escort."
Elwood's laugh was unpleasant. "How long will it
be before you reach the Oregon country, Mr. Holt?"
"I hope we'll get there a year from this October
or thereabouts. If our luck holds, we'll be
spending the coming winter in the mountains, and then it will
take us another traveling season to reach our
goal."
"And I suppose it will be another few years before
trains will be moving back and forth regularly."
"Most likely." Whip spoke calmly.
"In other words, I might have to wait for as
long as 262
three years before I could go back East with a convoy,
Mr. Holt!"
Whip nodded. "It's better than starving on the
prairie or being murdered or having a lot of
disagreeable things happen, things I'd rather not even
mention."
"You're very kind." Elwood was sarcastic. "I
guess you mean well, but there's no way on earth that
I could spend another three years with these people and
retain my sanity!"
Whip made a final effort. "Dont give us your
answer right away. I realize there's a lot of
hard feeling against you right this minute, but if you keep
your mouth shut, folks will forget what happened in a
few weeks. Think, Mr. Elwood-and think
hard-before yon decide to work your way back
to civilization alone. It's a long, tough,
dangerous road."
"In another month, you'n be two to three
Hundred miles Heeper into the wilderness, and it would
be that much more difficult for me to go home. No,
Mr. Holt, I'm leaving right now, as soon as
I'm through organizing my belongings."
Whip looked at him sharply, recognizing
a note of hysteria in his voice, and saw that his
eyes were feverish. Until this moment he had thought that
Arthur Elwood was rational, but now he knew
better. Other men had re- " acted to prolonged
stays in the wilderness in a similar way.
There had been a hunter who contracted what mountain
men called "cabin fever" after being cooped up for
too long in a remote hut in the far reaches of the
Rockies one winter. His frozen body was found
weeks later, after he had hanged himself.
Then there was the trapper who had run amok, murdering
and scalping his partner.
Certainly Elwood had lost his balance, too, and
although Whip knew it was a waste of breath to talk
sense to him, at least he might be able to persuade the
man to delay his departure until he recovered
somewhat.
"Mr. Elwood," he said, "for your own good and
well- being, I recommend that you stay with us for just a
few more days."
"Ha! You're just trying to trick me, Holt. A
few more 263
days i this wagon train, and I'll take leave of
my witsl"
"I'm not asking you to take my word that you're
Boomed if you pull out. I only want you to give
yourself a chance to reconsider, to weigh the odds more
carefully than youVe done."
"I'm going!" the man shouted, apparently unaware
he was screaming. "And nobody in the world can stop me.
You hear me, Holt? Nobody!"
"Well, sir," Whip said, speaking slowly, "we
can use the wagon you'll be leaving behind. And we wont
miss the rifle or the supplies you'll be taking with
you. I wish you good luck."
"Thanks," Elwood said curtly, and swiftly
turned to his blankets and frying pan so he
wouldn't be required to shake hands.
Whip exchanged a long glance with Ernie, who had
remained silent during the long exchange. Whip
shrugged. He had done his best to dissuade the man from
his venture and felt he could no longer be
responsible for the consequences. He went off without
another word to prepare for the day's journey.
"I'm compelled to agree with Whip," Ernie said.
"You're being foolish. Just because you made one
mistake doesn't mean you've got to compound it."
"I made no mistake," Elwood said. Leaving
some-of his belongings behind, he tied the saddlebags,
slung them over the back of the pack
horse, and then piled on the remaining property he
was taking.
"Good luck," Ernie said, echoing Whip's
farewell. Rarely at a loss for words, this was one
occasion when he could think of nothing to say.
Elwood mounted his horse, picked up the reins of the
pack horse and moved out of the circle, saying
goodbye to no one. He ignored those who stared after him
and did not bother to return the waves and calls of
those who tried to bid him farewell. He set out
toward the East along the Platte, riding at a
trot.
Long before noon, Elwood had covered far more ground
than the caravan had traveled in the opposite
direction the previous day. When he finally stopped

water his horses and allow them to graze for a time as
he ate a little of the despised buffalo meat and
corn, he figured that he had already gone as far
toward home as the train had achieved in two days.
At this rate he would reach civilization easily
by midsummer. The prospect made him lightheaded.
That afternoon Elwood again rode at a rapid clip,
pleased because he was not pushing beyond his own endurance or that
of his horses. Whip Holt, he
decided, had deliberately exaggerated the hazards
to be found in the wilderness in order to discourage him from
leaving. The wagonmaster's reasons were not hard
to guess. He would be discredited when it became known
back home that the discomforts of wagon train
existence were far greater than the proponents of the
Oregon expedition had ever admitted.
Late
m
the afternoon Elwood came to a small patch of
woods, and there he stopped. First gathering and cutting
some dead birch and maple, he built a fire.
Then, while his horses grazed peacefully, he
fished in the Flatte. Again he seemed to be enjoying
the best of good fortune-within a remarkably short time
he landed a fish considerably larger than a trout,
big enough to provide him with supper as well as
breakfast in the morning.
That night he cooked the fish, and for the first time since
he had joined the train the previous year, he
thoroughly enjoyed his meal. The day had been warm, but
the night breeze carried with it a chill from the
Rockies, so he built up his fire and, wrapping
himself in a blanket, dropped into a deep sleep.
Arthur Elwood awakened at daybreak, but
it wasn't the light that aroused him. Almost immediately he
sensed an alien presence. When he opened his eyes,
he saw three wiry Indian warriors, then-
faces hideously streaked with paint, staring down at
him.
He tried to struggle to his feet, but a blow across
the side of his head from the butt of one of his own
rifles sent him sprawling. Too dazed to move,
he lay crumpled helplessly on the ground while the
braves tied his ankles and wrists with rawhide
thongs that bit cruelly into his flesh.
As he regained his powers of speech, he protested,
but the Indians paid no attention to him. It dawned
on him that they spoke no English.
In any event, they were absorbed in searching through his
belongings. Obviously they regarded his horses as
valuable acquisitions. They admired his two
rifles, passing them back and forth and commenting to each
other in what sounded like grunts". The gunpowder
meant nothing to them; one tasted it, made a wry
face, and then shoved several pinches into the
captive's mouth. They had no idea, either, that the
lead bar was intended for the use of bullets. All they
knew was that it was heavy metal, and one casually
struck Elwood across the side of the face
with it before dropping it onto the ground.
Elwood felt certain that his cheekbone had been
broken, and his pain was so great that he whimpered. Now
he realized what Whip Holt had meant about the
hazards of wilderness traveling, but understanding did not
help him. There was nothing he could do. He could only
hope that the warriors would leave after taking what they
wanted. Then he would find some way to cut his hands
loose and proceed with his journey.
While Elwood watched in terror, two of the
warriors produced knives, then slashed away his
clothes and boats, unmindful of the fact that their
blades sometimes cut into his skin. Meanwhile the
third brave busied himself gathering long pine
needles. The fire was built higher, then all
three lighted needle after needle and applied them
to their victim's body, first to the soles of his feet
and gradually moving higher-
Elwood's screams echoed across the prairie as his
flesh blistered and burned. Never had he known it was
possible for any human being to suffer such torment, and
his mind could no longer function clearly.
Arthur Elwood did not know that the warriors weren't
being deliberately malicious. This was their customary
way, their normal routine in dealing with a
prisoner. He had no idea that they subjected their
own young braves to similar torture before admitting
them to full manhood and its rights.
The screams and sobs of the captive impelled the
war266
"Briors to continue tormenting him. They applied
burning needle after burning needle, until no part
of his body was left untouched.
By now Arthur Elwood was delirious. No man
could be subjected to such intense, constant torture and
remain, sane. He could no longer even hear the
hoarse sound of his own voice as he brokenly begged
his captors for mercy.
Then he felt a new pain, so intense and searing that
he mercifully lost consciousness. One of the braves
had scalped him while he still lived, and torrents of
blood cascaded down his sagging, hideously
distorted face.
There was no more the warriors could do. Taking the white
man's horses and rifles, blankets and food,
they mounted their ponies and rode away. Just as
Elwood had not looked back when he had left the
wagon train, the braves paid no further attention
to the remains of the white man who would soon die.
The wilderness was quiet again, and there was no
sound but the crackling of the fire. Elwood's agony
was still so great that, even though unconscious, he
sometimes groaned and stirred feebly.
After a time, several pairs of gleaming eyes peered
out of the woods. Coyote, attracted by the smell of
blood, stood, motionless. Patient as only wild
beasts could be, they waited until the fire died
down, waited until the wounded creature died before
they devoured his body.
Henry St. Clair had good cause to be pleased with
himself and his accomplishments. His long winter with the
Cheyenne had been completely satisfying. In
return for several jugs of cheap liquor and a handful
of rifles, along with instruction in their use, he had
spent the worst season of the year in the tribe's main
town, living in a hide tent that stood near a roaring
fire that never burned low. He had eaten heartily
of venison, fish, buffalo, and corn. He had
been supplied with a squaw, too, and although he
wouldn't have glanced twice at the girl under other
circumstances, she had proved lively enough
to satisfy him.
Most important of all, he had whetted the
appetite of the Cheyenne for booty, and he knew for
certain they would make small, repeated
raids on the Oregon-bound wagon train. The
promise of horses and rifles was sufficient
to insure that such raids would be frequent.
It was unfortunate that he had been unable to persuade
the leaders of the Cheyenne to conduct a major attack
on the train with the hundreds of warriors at their
disposal. Like so many of the Indian nations that lived
north of the Platte, they were apprehensive about the
intentions of their even more powerful and vigorous
neighbors, the 269
Blackfoot, who badly outnumbered them. If the
Cheyenne suffered appreciable losses in an
assault on the wagon train, their weakened condition
would almost certainly invite an invasion by the
Blackfoot
Henry St. Clair was content to leave well enough
alone. The Cheyenne would create innumerable problems
for the train, and that would be enough. Meanwhile, to lessen
the chances of the wagon train ever getting to Oregon,
he would go on to the land of the Blackfoot and try
to persuade their sachem to wage all-out war on the
large company of whites who, in the months ahead,
would dare to pass through their sacred territory.
St. Clair was glad, too, that he had delayed
well into the spring in the land of the Cheyenne.
Their scouts had reported the approach of two
white men, one coming from the southeast and the other from the
northwest, both of them known to the tribe. In need of
civilized reinforcements to help him deal with the
Blackfoot, whom it would he dangerous for him
to visit alone, St. Clan- waited for the arrival
of these unknowns, hoping they would be suitable aides and
trusting in his own powers of persuasion if that proved
to be the case.
The first to appear was Andre Sebastian, whom the
elders of the Cheyenne greeted as an old and trusted
friend. Somewhat surprised to see a member of his own
race, Sebastian made no comment and instead
presented the sachem, the principal medicine man,
and the members of the council of elders with gold-handled
knives. As nearly as St. Clair could
determine, the gold looked real, at least from a
distance of several feet, but for the moment, he said
nothing. It was obvious to him that any man who gave
the Cheyenne presents of such value was no ordinary
visitor.
That night the two guests sat side by side at the
cooking fire of the sachem. St. Clair was quick
to note that Sebastian cut his meat with a knife
similar to that which he had given to the
Cheyenne. The pair were served by the young squaw who
had been living with the Englishman.
Both men sparred cautiously.
"Where are you from?" St. Clair asked in his best
American accent
"St. Louis. How about you?" Sebastian could not
hide the trace of a foreign accent.
"Oh, I hail from Pittsburgh."
"I see. Going to the mountains to make your "fortune
In furs?"
"Something like that." St. Clair's judgment of men
told him the other man was lying, but he bided his time.
An opportunity presented itself when the squaw handed
him a gourd filled with the herb-flavored water that the
Cheyenne customarily drank with their meals.
Pretending it had slipped from the girl's hand, St.
Clair contrived to overturn it in the direction of the
other visitor, Sebastian half-squirmed,
half-jumped- out of the water's path to avoid a
drenching, and, precisely as St.- Clair had
anticipated, he dropped his gold-handled knife.
St. Clair snatched it from the ground. Turning
it
over in his hand as he tried to read the inscription on
the blade by the light of the fire, he
simulated rage at the girl to give himself more time.
"You clumsy woman!" he roared in her own
tongue. "I shall beat you for thisl"
The girl shrank from him, mumbling apologies.
His mission accomplished, St. Clan- handed the other
man the knife and offered his apologies.
Sebastian graciously accepted them, and the incident
was forgotten.
After the meal, however, St. Clair leaned toward
him. "It so happens that I'm carrying some genuine
French brandywine in my wagon. Could I persuade
you to share a glass with me?"
"I don't need much persuasion," the darker man
said.
Henry waited until the Cheyenne went about then"
own business. Then, fetching two generous gourds of the
potent brandywine, he returned with them to the fire.
In spite of the warming drink, Sebastian remained
taciturn. St. Clair was quiet, also.
Extremely aware of the value of perfect timing,
St. Clair waited until they had consumed about
half the contents of the gourds, and then he spoke
quietly. "I see your knife was made in St.
Petersburg. I assume the knives you gave the
Cheyenne came from there, too."
Sebastian's black eyes narrowed. "Sometimes it
doesn't pay to be too observant. Indeed, it can
be dangerous." 271
That was all Henry Still Clair needed to know, and he
smiled lazily. "It's a long way from St.
Petersburg to this Godforsaken part of the world. Even
farther than it is from London."
Andre" Sebastian stared hard at
him.
"London?"
"Your servant, sir." Henry allowed his own
English accent to emerge.
The other man continued to stare at him, then chuckled.
"The only member of the secret police I know is
Vladimir Raskovitch. We worked together in
Constantinople some years ago when the Sultan and his
Grand Vizier were thinking of expelling all foreigners
from the Ottoman Empire. Together we managed
to-ah-persuade them to change their minds."
"Vladimir sits at a desk now in St.
Petersburg."
"Give
him
my fond regards when next you go there." It was
Henry's turn to chuckle. "I was told
before I left London that I might run across
colleagues from another great power engaged in a
mission similar to mine. I assume we have the same
goal."
"I dare say we do." Sebastian sipped his
brandywine with greater relish. "How odd it is that we
should meet here, at the campfire of savages who have
never heard of your great nation or mine. I assume
you played a trick in order to read the printing on
my knife blade."
Just because they were working on" the same mission didn't
mean St. Clair trusted his colleague, and his
shrug was noncommittal. "I divined your
identity," he said.
Sebastian let the question drop. The English were
arrogant and opinionated. He had never liked them.
But he, too, was prepared, for the sake of
expediency, to work with someone who sought the same goal.
"You are alone?"
"Always," Henry St. Clair replied proudly.
"Most helpers are incompetent bunglers."
"How well I know it," Sebastian replied.
"I gave my assistant the simple task of
poisoning some of the wagon train's water holes, but
he was so clumsy he allowed himself to be
killed."
Reasonably assured the man was working without the
assistance of subordinates, Henry felt more
confident. He 272
could handle the Russian, utilizing his services,
telling him only what was necessary, and then dropping him
when his presence became embarrassing. The interests of
Great Britain and Imperial Russia
"coincided to an extent, but only to an extent.
No English secret agent could allow himself to forget
that Russia had once claimed the Oregon
country. "Perhaps we could join forces," he said.
Sebastian had known the offer would be made and was.
ready for it. He would gladly give the English
roan his limJust ited cooperation but would not go so far as
to trust him. "Perhaps it would be to our best mutual
advantage," he said, and the uneasy partnership was
formed.
Martin Van Buren, the eighth President of the
United States, had elected on the day of his
inauguration to use the massive desk of his
predecessor, Andrew Jackson Old Hickory
had been tall and slender, and the desk looked as though
it had been made for him. "Little Van," as he had
been nicknamed, was almost a foot shorter,
so he gave visitors the impression of barely being
able to peer over the rim of the desk. Consequently,
many people came away from the President's office in the
executive mansion with the unfortunate feeling that he
was incompetent.
Nothing could have beep farther from the truth. Martin
Van Buren was a clear-thinking activist, and if
he wasn't an innovator, he was nevertheless
determined to carry out the policies established
by Jackson.
No one knew his real nature better than the two
men now seated in his orderly private office,
John Jacob As- tor and Major General
Frederick Stovall.
Astor was often called the wealthiest man in the
United States, and he, more than any other
individual, had been responsible for striking the
spark that was sending the wagon train to the Oregon
country. His private funds had paid a
substantial portion of the expense. He and Van
Buren had worked together when the latter had been
Secretary of State, and he had a high regard
for the President's abilities.
Major General Stovall, Deputy Chief of
Staff of the 273
United States Army and the nation's second highest
ranking military officer, shared Aster's opinion
of the President. It had been his privilege to act
as Van Buren's aide-de-camp before being
promoted to his present post, so he knew him
well and was one of his strongest admirers and
supporters.
Therefore, the atmosphere was friendly, but there was tension in
the air. "Gentlemen," Van Buren said, "what
passes between us this afternoon must remain within these walls.
If any of the information should leak out or if the
remedies we may devise to solve the problem should
become known, the United States may be at war with
Great Britain, Imperial Russia or both.
Frankly, the economic health of the nation is
insufficiently strong at the present time to permit us
to become embroiled in a war with a major world power.
Such a war would be disastrous."
His listeners nodded, neither of them surprised by his
words.
Van Buren picked up a thin, leather-bound
folder. "As General Stovall already knows and as you
may have heard, Mr. Astor, American
intelligence services have done inadequate work
since the bulk of our information- gathering
apparatus was dismantled by President Madison
after the War of 1812. President Jackson
intended to strengthen those services, but circumstances
prevented it. I've shared his aim, but we've
lacked the funds." He ran a hand across the top of
his bald head. "Consequently, the information that has just
come to my attention arrives here rather late in the day."
He coughed behind his hand.
General Stovall knew that something of great
significance had happened. Van Buren always
paused before making an important statement.
"Our intelligence people," the President said, tapping
the folder for emphasis, "have obtained
incontrovertible proof that both Great Britain and
Imperial Russia are taking active steps
to prevent our wagon train from reaching Oregon."
"I'm not in the least surprised," John Jacob
Astor said. was The stakes in Oregon are high."

"If the British and Russians succeed," Van
Buren said, "the United States stands to lose
hundreds of thousands of square miles west of the
Rocky Mountains. We'll lose a lucrative
fur trade, about which Mr. Astor knows more than I
do. We'll lose salmon fisheries,
lumber, and minerals. Well lose the opportunity
to expand our borders all the way across the continent from
the Atlantic to the Pacific."
"The wagon train can't be allowed to fail, sir,"
General Stovall said.
"Obviously," Astor murmured.
"So far several attacks have been made on the
train," the President declared. "According to information
obtained from Sam Brentwood, who has taken
charge of our new depot in Independence, the
attack launched by Army deserters-which was
repulsed-was British inspired. Several
vicious but relatively minor assaults of one
kind or another have also failed completely or have
been averted. But the people in the wagon train are in
trouble over their heads. Most of them are simple
farmers. Even the few relatively sophisticated
members find it difficult to deal with the problems that
London and St. Petersburg can create. The man
in charge at the present time- Mike Holt-is a
competent guide and hunter, but he's never dealt with
such matters, either."
General Stovall frowned and drummed on the desk,
and John Jacob Astor tugged at the gold-link
watch chain that stretched across his expansive
waistcoat
"Something must be done, gentlemen," Van Buren
said. "The wagon train needs help that only the
United States government can provide. I
await your suggestions."
The General's reply was prompt. "Mr.
President," he said, "we already hive
a
regiment stationed at Fort Madison in the
Nebraska country, and we can form another from
smaller units in garrisons at other frontier
posts. Let the army send two fully equipped
cavalry regiments to help. They can escort the
wagon train all the way to the Oregon
territory, and may the Lord help anyone who gets
in their way, tries any tricks, or inter-
feresl"
Astor was dismayed. "With all due respect
to General Stovall, Mr. President, there's
nothing this country might do that could harm us more."
The General's temper flared, overcoming his sense of
discretion. "I must disagree. If Mr. Astor is
thinking in terms of making diplomatic protests-was
"I'm not. The British and Russians would turn
us aside by insisting they're doing nothing
to harm us. We seen the game played too often."
President Van Buren listened hut made no
comment.
"All the same, Mr. Astor," General
Stovall said, "I believe in the principle of
fighting fire by building a bigger and stronger fire."
"And I believe in using a rapier instead of a
bludgeon, sir," John Jacob Astor
replied. "Mr. President, I don't pretend
to know how London and Still Petersburg would react
if we sent two regiments of cavalry to escort
the wagon train. I assume they'd be annoyed, and
I assume they'd let us know it The one thing I can
tell you flatly is that such a move would be
catastrophic for the fur business-one of the few
industries in the country that remains profitable in these
hard times."
General Stovall was still belligerent. "Perhaps you'd
explain why the fur industry would suffer if we
provide the wagon train with the protection 'the people
need and de serve!"
"Of course." Astor spoke with the self-confidence
of a inan who knew precisely what he was doing and
why. "Dozens of hunters and trappers in Oregon
are working for fur companies, which also buy
pelts from the independents. The British do the same
thing. On the surface they-and we-are friendly. There
is no reason not to be comthere are enough furs for everyone,
at least for the present. But the British, as well as
the United States companies, are looking toward the
day when the supplies will begin to diminish. Still, at
present the two countries cooperate! Keep in
mind that the one military post in the area is Fort
Vancouver, which flies the Union Jack, not the
Stars and Stripes. The British garrison gives
protection to American hunters and trappers, just as
it does those from Canada. If they should withdraw their
support from 276
us-and become openly hostile-we'll have a great many
new problems that will be almost impossible to solve."
"I
see your point," Van Buren said.
"That's not all," the magnate continued vigorously.
"Most fur company employees in Oregon are
Russians, subjects of the czar, who stayed behind
when their government gave up its official claim
to the territory. They're highly temperamental people,
and I know that almost all of them dream about the future
when the czar will reassert his claims. If we send
the wagon train with two cavalry
regiments, we're serving notice that the United
States- is prepared to fight for its rights in
Oregon. Every last Russian will walk out on us,
and the American fur business in the Northwest-a
business that brings this country more revenues than any
other-will collapse overnight That win make the
present precarious financial situation even
worse."
"I understand your reasoning, Mr. Astor," Stovall
said. "But we simply can't leave almost five
hundred American citizens unprotected when
British and Russian agents are conniving against
them."
"I wouldn't dream of leaving them to their own fate,
General," Astor replied. "That would be stupid and
shortsighted."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"The British and Russians are being subtle.
Surely this government isn't so primitive that it
can't find equally subtle means to counter the threat!"
President Van Buren stared out of the window of the
executive mansion at the new gate, where
military sentries were now posted for the first time.
"American citizens have the right to expect their
country to help them when they're threatened
by foreign foes. I quite agree that a subtle weapon
is preferable to an obvious one, but I insist on
giving our people the protection they need."
General Stovall, deep in thought, absently fingered
the hilt of his dress sword. All at once he
laughed aloud and slapped his knee.
Astor looked at
Mm
in surprise.
"You've thought of something, Fred?" Van Buren
asked.
"Lee Blake!"
The President smiled. "Perfect! This situation
is made to order for him."
"Mr. Astor," the General said, "there's an
officer currently on duty right here in Washington
who ia capable of dealing with the foreign agents who
threaten the wagon train. Leland Blake is a
sheutenant colonel, the youngest in the army. He
fought Indians in Alabama, Florida, and
Tennessee with Andrew Jackson. This job suits
him especially well, since he spent three years
as our military attache in St. Petersburg and
four more in London. At present he's the
director of the counterintelligence section
at army headquarters, which means he's in charge of
ferreting out foreign spies. He's been so restless
that he regularly requests transfer from a desk
job to the field. So be'Us welcome an
opportunity such as this."
John Jacob Astor looked pleased. "Your
Colonel Blake sounds almost too good to be
true."
"He's very good," the President said. "He worked
directly for me when I served as our Minister
to Great Britain, and he performed admirably.
Fred, offer him the assignment at once!"
"Yes, Mr. President"
"Give him the authority he needs, but tell him
to handle relations with wagon train members
carefully."
"I know what you mean, sir. I'll see to it!"
The President invited Astor to stay for supper, and
General StovaHave quickly walked the two blocks
down Pennsylvania Avenue to the three-story
frame building that served as headquarters for the
United States Army and Navy.
A few minutes later, sheutenant Colonel
Leland Blake came into his office and saluted.
Tall, slender, and dark haired, with a
deceptively gentle manner, he was in his
mid-thirties, so handsome that Washington hostesses
pursued
him
relentlessly for their dinner parties. Their efforts were in
vain, however. The social life of the nation's
capital bored him. Duty was always paramount in his
eyes, and his only shortcoming, in the eyes of his
superiors, was his refusal to relax.
"Sit down, Lee," StovaHave said, returning the
younger officer's salute. "Read this."
Colonel Blake needed only a few minutes
to peruse the report of the attacks made on the
wagon train by British and Imperial Russian
agents. "None of this is surprising, sir," he
said. "You may recall i had a meeting with Sam
Brentwood, at President Jackson's
instigation, shortly before the wagon train was scheduled
to set out from New York. At that time I warned
him
that these troubles were likely to develop."
"I do remember, Lee. And they've become so
serious that President Van Buren wants a
counterintelligence operative to join the train and
travel with it, at least until the threats
can be ended. If necessary, of course he can see them
all the way to the end of their journey."
"You'll want a competent officer, I imagine,
sir. He'll need to wear civilian clothes so
he'll be inconspicuous."
"Right."
"It seems to me. Lee Blake said, his mind working
with'its usual rapidity, "that no one other than the
wagon- master and the president of the train should know his
real identity."
"A good safeguard," Stovall agreed, concealing a
smile as he asked, "Whom do you recommend?"
"Let me go through my list of available officers,
sir. It won't be an easy assignment to fill."
"I'm aware of it, so I already have an exceptionally
competent officer in mind."
Blake hated top-level interference, but was in no
position to protest, so he waited politely.
"The President," General Stovall said,
"agrees with me that sheutenant Colonel Leland
Blake has all the necessary qualifications."
A broad grin spread slowly across the younger
officer's face. "I can think of no one better."
"How soon can you leave?"
"Immediately, sir! I'll stop off in
Independence, and perhaps I can persuade Sam
Brentwood to guide me out to the train, since I'm
not familiar with the Great Plains. What authority will
I have to mobilize the members of the train?"
"As much as you may want and need. The present
wagon master , a hunter and guide named Holt,
is compe- 279
tent and had President Jackson's confidence. But
you may find yourself in a ticklish situation if he
resents your presence."
That would create unfortunate complications, and I'll
do my best to avoid them,"
"I'm sure you will. Handle the problems of dealing with the
British and Russians as you see fit, Lee.
I have no idea what you might encounter out there in the
wilderness, so it would be foolish to give you any
specific instructions. Do as you see fit. Just
make certain the wagon train reaches Oregon
intact!"
"You can depend on me, General," Lee Blake
said quietly. "And so can President Van
Buren."
Horses and oxen were browsing indolently during the
nooning, the sun was shining from a cloudless sky, and a
pleasant breeze from the west dissipated the
heat that soon would become a problem. Members of the
wagon train rested; the children ate cold leftovers
from breakfast The day was like scores of others, and the
mood of the travelers was relaxed and serene.
Suddenly the quiet was interrupted by a sentry's
shout. "A party of three is approaching from the east
on horseback!" he called. "A white man and
two Indians."
The train's leaders gathered to greet the new
arrivals, and soon a large crowd surrounded the
strange trio. The two Indians, warriors in
their early twenties, were tall and slender, their skins
a darker copper than those of other tribes.
Christian crosses were embroidered in beads on
their buckskin shuts, which were dyed in brilliant reds
and greens. They spoke no English, and both Whip
and Stalking Horse were unable to converse with them in any
of the Indian languages they knew.
The white man was dressed even more unusually. His
moccasins and fringed buckskin trousers were those of a
frontier dweller, but he wore the formal black
shirt and white clerical collar of a missionary. A
Bible protruded from the top of his saddlebag, but he
carried a brace of pistols and a double-edged bunting
knife in his belt. He introduced himself
as the Reverend Jason Lee, and Cathy 280
van Ayl instantly recognized his nasal drawl
as that of her native New England.
"I've just come from Oregon, where I've established
a little mission," he said, "and I'm on my way
to Washington. I hope to persuade President
Van Buren and Congress to recognize the area as
a formal territory and to set up a provisional
government there."
At the mention of Oregon, a surprised and pleased
murmur spread through the throng.
"We're headed for the Oregon country ourselves,"
Whip told the man.
The clergyman was only mildly surprised. "I
had a letter from one of my friends at the New England
Methodist Seminary a few months ago telling
me a wagon train was coming out our way," he said.
"You'll be welcome, very welcome. I'm hoping
to return to Oregon by ship and bring some more settlers
with me. Well sail around South America."
Soon Reverend Lee, who was a husky man, was
besieged with questions from the eager pioneers. Here was
someone with firsthand knowledge of the region to which they were traveling,
the future home for which they were enduring so many
hardships.
The clergyman first told them about his two young
companions. They were members of the peace-loving
Chinook nation, and he had converted them
to Christianity. Now they lived in the tiny
settlement he had established on the Willamette
River, less than a day's journey from Fort
Vancouver.
"What's the attitude of the English there toward
American settlers?" Ernie asked.
Jason Lee's face clouded. "Dr. John
McLoughlin, the chief factor of the Hudson's
Bay Company, is a fine Christian
gentleman," he said. "He doesn't much care
whether the territory is under British or
American jurisdiction, and he's told me himself
that he's prepared to do business with us, no matter
what flag flies over us. I'm sorry to say,
though, that the disofficers of the British military command
at Fort Vancouver are less generous. They make
no bones about their aim. They're determined that 281
people who move there win live under the Union lack- just
as Pm determined that the Stars and Stripes will fly
there. That's the chief reason I'm going East. When
the President and Congress realize the situation is
critical, I'm quite certain they'll give
us their full support."
"I reckon the arrival of this train will tip the
scale in favor of American jurisdiction,"
Whip said.
"Oh, it would," Lee replied enthusiastically.
"You say there are about five hundred of you. How
wonderful that my prayers are already being answered by the
Lord. It will be very difficult for the British to force a
group this large to swear allegiance to Queen
Victoria."
"There's no chance of that," Cathy van Ayl said
firmly, (hen blushed because she had spoken out of
turn.
But the emphatic nods and vocal support of
dozens of future Oregon settlers made her
feel less embarrassed. It was plain that the wagon
train was united in its intention to make Oregon an
American territory.
Further travel for the day was out of the question. An
overnight camp was made, and scores of people spent the
afternoon and evening bombarding the Reverend Lee with
requests for specific information. His replies
fascinated them.
"Oregon truly is God's country," he said.
"The climate is superb, particularly in
the valleys. The higher you go in the mountains, of
course, the greater the probability you'll run
into snow. But there's none in the valleys and on the
Pacific coast"
He was partial, obviously, to the Willamette
Valley.
Whip said, "That's good country, all right, but I'm
aiming to take these folks farther north by about fifty
or sixty miles."
"You prefer the vicinity of the lower Columbia
River, I take it," Reverend Lee said.
"I do. It's strictly a personal feeling,"
Whip said. "The salmon are more accessible, and so is
the Pacific for fishing."
"Well," the clergyman replied, smiling, "it is
all the same country, and there's ample space for
hundreds of settlements, even thousands. You good people
have never seen so much fine land!"
Just about everything that man needed for survival could be
grown in the territory, Reverend Lee said
enthusiastically. At his own small mission he already
had apples, pears, peaches, plums, and a variety
of berries. "Wheat takes naturally to our soil.
So do oats and barley, corn, rye, and buckwheat.
You won't believe the way crops such as
beans and peas grow, not to mention cucumbers and
squash."
The farmers listened intently, their eyes bright
"Oregon is perfect for grazing, too. So far the
only cows in the area are to be found at Fort
Vancouver, but I predict the day will come when the
cattle being raised there will outnumber people by at least
wtelve to one. And I certainly expect that
hundreds of thousands of immigrants will come
to Oregon!"
The mineral deposits of the area were unknown, he said,
because no one had ever explored for them,
"What kind of trees are there?" someone asked.
The clergyman laughed. "No matter where you may be
from, I promise you've never seen so many kinds of
trees, Our forests are endless. Let me see.
There are firs everywhere, and pines, both yellow and
white. There are spruce, hemlock, larch, and
cedar. Some of our Indians use the inner bark of
cedar for food. Cook it the way they do, and you'll
find it delicious."
Someone inquired about the availability of fish other
than salmon.
Reverend Lee grinned. "Well, sir-offhand, I
can think of sturgeon, halibut, cod,
herring, carp, and smelt. There are oysters and
crabs, and strange lobsters that have only one claw
instead of two. There are so many fish in our rivers and
in the Pacific that they could feed the entire United
States, with ample left over. Oh, yes-there's
something I neglected to mention earlier when we were
talking about grazing. Our bills are perfect for
sheep. I myself started with a tiny flock, and right now
I have several hundred."
Far into the evening, the members of the train listened in
wonder and delight Here was a man who had no need
to exaggerate, who by profession undoubtedly was
truthful. The beacon light of Oregon burned
brightly, 283
The heat of early summer was so intense that many
members of the wagon train suffered from stomach
disorders, and the medicines Dr. Martin had brought with,
him failed to cure them. Stalking Horse gave the
physician a small quantity of a prairie herb
that, he said, the Plains tribes used for the
purpose. Bob Martin tried it, giving the herb
to two patients, both of whom recovered overnight.
The next day was Sunday, when the company rested, so
the doctor went out alone, on foot, to gather as many
of the herbs as he could. He began to find the
plants about a mile from the campsite, and he
pulled them carefully, stuffing them into a burlap
sack. To his surprise and pleasure, he also
found another herb, broad leafed and bearing seed
balls that would turn into flowers later in the summer.
This herb, whose Latin name he had forgotten, was
identical to one he had studied when he had attended
medical school in Edinburgh, but he hadn't
actually ever seen it or used it in practice.
As he remembered the information in his textbooks, these
seeds, when, removed from their pods, had strong
antiseptic qualities and could be utilized
to pack wounds in order to prevent infection. He
seemed to recall a lecturer at the university
saying that this herb grew only in one known place, the
vast plains or
pampas
of the Argentine. It was exciting to find it on the
prairies of the American West, and Bob Martin
gathered as many as he could locate.
He would experiment with the seeds, naturally, and
devoutly hoped they were indeed the same as those found in
the Argentine. If that should be the case, he had made
a discovery of importance to the American medical
profession. Ultimately, when mail
service was established between the Oregon country and the
Eastern Seaboard, he would write to a classmate
who was now serving on the staff of Harvard Medical
School and would enclose some samples in his letter.
Then, hearing horses approaching, he looked up and
was startled when he saw three Indians smeared with
paint riding rapidly toward him. A glance over his
shoulder told him he had wandered so far from the wagon

train that it was no longer in sight, and he realized
he was in serious trouble.
His rifle lay on the ground beside the halt-filled
burlap sack, but it was too late now to use it.
One of the braves had a spear poised in his hand,
ready to throw it, and the others had their bows and arrows
ready.
AH he could do was raise his right arm, palm
upraised, in the Indian sign of peace. At least
he was glad he had persuaded Stalking Horse
to teach him enough of the language of the Kiowa to make himself
understood.
The peace gesture startled the braves, and they
hesitated before firing their weapons.
"I am a man of medicine," Bob called, using
the only Kiowan phrase that identified his
profession with any degree of accuracy.
" The warriors remained suspicious, but it was
contrary to custom to kill any medicine man in cold
blood. Besides, this white stranger was speaking a
familiar tongue.
One of the braves dismounted and, after picking up
Bob's rifle, looked in the burlap sack. There
he saw some of the herbs used for stomach disorders, which
he recognized instantly. Snatching one of the
plants, he showed it to his companions.
To Bob's infinite relief, the herb seemed
to provide corroborating evidence for his claim.
"The medicine man," the eldest of the trio said, "will
Come to the town of the Wichita."
The physician had no choice and was forced to mount the
oldest brave's horse, riding double In front
of the Indian, while the warrior. carried the rifle
and the" burlap sack. They rode off in the direction
from which they had come.
Cursing silently, Bob realized that his own careless
preoccupation was responsible for his grim
predicament. The savages of the plains, Whip had
stressed in their many talks on the subject, were
friendly only with whites they knew and had reason
to trust. Strangers who intruded on the
hunting grounds, which they regarded as inviolate and"
sacred, were either killed by torture and scalped, or
were compelled to live as slaves. Neither prospect was
heartening.
A Whip Holt or an Arnold Mcll might
fln'd some clever way to either overpower the warriors
or fool them long enough to escape and return to the
wagon train. Although certainly not lacking in
courage, he was a doctor and a scientist, devoted
to the art of healing rather than the performance of daring deeds.
He was incapable of breaking away from his captors.
So far, at least, they hadn't mistreated him or
bound his arms and legs, fie couldnt help
smiling
wryly. Obviously a middle-aged man with a
slight paunch and graying temples posed no
physical threat to a trio of healthy, (trapping
warriors in the physical prime of life.
The braves rode in silence for about an hour, and then
Bob heard the soft throbbing of a drum, a sound that was
very faint at first but that grew louder and more intense.
What he found odd was that the beat of the drum was slow,
solemn, and unvarying.
At last the braves and their captive came to a
group of buffalo-bide tents, erected
on center poles. In spite of his dangerous
situation, Bob noted that the tent walls were double
skins, with the outer portion heavily greased to ward off
the elements. He even caught a glimpse of
buffalo skins on the ground inside some of the tents.
About two hundred men and women dressed in the skins
of young buffalo were sitting solemnly in a circle,
while a number of naked children and many dogs played
on the fringes. A fire was burning in the center of the
circle, and a naked boy of eight or nine was lying
unconscious on a robe of buffalo bide near the
flames. On the far side of the fire, the drum
beater pounded methodically on an animal skin
stretched tightly over a ketUelike container.
Dancing frenziedly around the fire and pausing
occasionally to hover over the boy was a masked man,
naked except for a breechcloth of buffalo hide.
Streaks of paint covered his body and limbs, and he
carried a bone rattle so large he needed both
hands to shake it, which he did incessantly as he
pranced and leaped.
Bob's escort dismounted and led him to the circle.
The squaws and younger girls were weeping openly,
while the braves stared straight ahead, their faces
expressionless 286
and their arms folded across their broad, bare chests.
The faces, arms, and shoulders of all were smeared with a
heavy coating of what looked like ashes.
Behind the boy, sitting cross-legged, was a warrior
wearing an elaborate headdress of eagle feathers
that descended down his back to his waist.
Apparently he was the chief of this Wichita
community, and Bob guessed he well might be the
child's father. Directly behind the man was a "squaw,
her hands covering her face, who rocked back and forth
in silent hysteria.
But it was the boy himself who most interested the
physician. His left leg and thigh were bloated,
swollen to several times their normal size, and neither
his knee nor his ankle bones were visible. In
spite of his own danger, the doctor paused to look
at the child, who appeared to be suffering from an infection.
A member of the escort addressed the chief at
length in a language that Bob did not understand.
The leader was impatient. "The stranger is a
medicine man?" he demanded, speaking in Kiowan.
"It is so," Bob acknowledged.
"The son of Golden Bear suffers a great
sickness. The Wichita have prayed to the gods of the
sun, the moon, and the wind, but the boy is still
sick. Will the magic of the strange medicine man
cure him?"
"I must examine the boy before I can answer the question
of the sachem," Bob replied.
The man gave a curt nod.
Some of the women stopped weeping, and a number of
braves stared at the outsider as he approached the
stricken child and dropped to one knee beside him. The
tribe's medicine man halted his gyrations. Only
the steady, mournful beat of the drum continued
unabated.
The physician placed a-hand on the boy's
forehead. As he had assumed, the youngster-was suffering
from a high fever. A swift but thorough examination of
his swollen thigh and leg revealed that the focal point
of the infection was located in the calf. This spot was so
tender that the unconscious child stirred when probing
fingers barely touched the spot.
Bob stood and faced the chief. He realized that his
own 287
situation was hazardous, but it was obvious to him that he
had to make an attempt to save the boy. If his
efforts failed, he thought h likely that he would be
tortured until he died. But a combination of instinct
and the little he had gleaned about the ways of
Indians told him to magnify the task that awaited
him, to wrap it in an air of mystery.
"I will cure the son of Golden Bear," he declared
solemnly.
The warriors continued to glare at him, and the tribe's
medicine man pulled off his mask and stared jealously
at the white intruder.
Bob pointed a finger at the hysterical woman.
"Let the mother of the boy place water in a pot.
Let her put the pot over the fire and keep it there
until it makes many bubbles. Let no one else
touch the pot or help her."
The sachem's squaw hauled herself to her feet and
moved off through the crowd, returning shortly with a
huge iron pot dist had been obtained in a trade
with a representative of one of the fur companies.
At the least, Bob thought, the simple function she
had been asked to perform would occupy her attention
sufficiently to let her tears dry.
"Let Golden Bear give me the knife he is
wearing," the physician said.
Reluctantly the chief took a knife from his
belt and handed it to the stranger.
Bob was disappointed because the blade was dull and
badly nicked. "There is no magic in this
knife," he said. "Bring the hunting knife of
Golden Bear!"
A young brave hurried off to the largest of the tents,
returning with a long bone-handled knife that he handed
to the chief.
After another long moment's hesitation, Golden
Bear gave it to the white man.
"Evil spirits fill the son of Golden Bear," the
doctor declared solemnly, after assuring himself that this
blade was what he needed. Obviously it, too,
had been obtained in a trade with whites: it was
fashioned of tempered steel, and was razor-sharp.
"All the people of the Wichita will see the evil spirits
leave the body of the son of Golden 288
Bear." And if my diagnosis is wrong, or if
I'm too late' and the boy dies, he reflected,
I'll pay with my own life.
"Now," he continued, "let two women bring another
pot filled with cold water."
This, too, was done.
The physician needed cloth, but none was available
as the Wichita's clothing was made of leather.
Removing his own shirt, he took the sharp knife and
cut the shirt into strips several inches wide.
By this time the water in the first pot was boiling.
Bob gestured, and the drummer fell silent. There was
no sound now, and everyone could hear the labored breathing
of the patient.
Bob dropped a strip of cloth into the boiling pot,
allowed it to remain there for a few moments, and then
fished it out with the knife. After waiting for it to cool just
enough so that it wouldn't burn the boy, he placed it, still
steaming, on the calf of his patient's leg, where he
doubled it, then doubled it again. While the heat drew out
the infection, he held the knife blade in the
boiling water to sterilize it,
"Let the sack of the medicine man be brought to him,"
he ordered.
The burlap bag that had been taken from him was placed
at his side, and he could only pray that he had
properly identified the herb that had antiseptic
qualities.
Many of the seated braves and squaws could not see him.
Overcome by curiosity, they rose to their feet. The
Wichita medicine man hovered nearby, and all at
once it occurred to Bob to involve him directly
in the proceedings.
"Let the brother of the white medicine man put two
more pieces of cloth in the water that bubbles," he
said. "Let him be ready to remove them with a
stick when they are needed."
Slightly mollified but still jealous, the Wichita
medicine man obeyed.
Bob removed the steaming cloth from the patient's
leg,
dropping it back into the boiling water. Then, taking
the
knife from the pot, he lowered himself to one knee. The
focal point of the infection had risen to a bump, so
he
made an comincision almost a half-inch deep and an
inch long. Then, still moving swiftly, he cut through the
center crosswise.
Large quantities of pus spurted out of the
patient's leg.
"The evil leaves the body of the son of Golden
Bear," he announced loudly.
Then while the wound continued to drain, he cleaned the
knife by plunging it into the boiling water. Motioning the
Wichita medicine man, he watched closely as the
savage, imitating what he himself had done
previously, placed a steaming, folded section of
cloth over the wound, which continued to draw and drain. As
soon as the cloth stopped steaming, Bob ordered the
process repeated. By now the swelling was
somewhat reduced, although the child's leg was still puffed.
When serum rather than dispus began to drain from the cuts,
Bob opened an herb pod. Using the sharp point of the
knife, he pressed the seeds, one by one, into the
wound. Then he took yet another strip of cloth from
the boiling pot and allowing it to cool slightly, he
made it into a bandage, placing it around the patient's
calf and tying it securely, but not too tightly.
The boy opened his eyes, looking bewildered when he
saw the stranger bending over him. Bob gestured to the
chief, and his squaw, who moved within their son's
range of vision. The boy smiled and said something in the
language of the Wichita. The chief replied, and his
squaw dropped to both knees, then bent down
to kiss her son on the forehead.
Bob's relief was so great he felt weak. The
operation had been a success, so he had probably
saved his own fife. But his task was not yet done.
"Let no one lift the son of Golden Bear
until the medicine man gives the word," he said.
Later in the evening he would remove and replace the
antiseptic seeds, and by morning the boy should be able
to hobble around, with the help of a walking stick. The
fever was already lower, and the thigh was less bloated.
The squaw sat on the ground and placed her
son's head in her lap.
"Let the son of Golden Bear drink water,"
Bob said.
Someone handed him a gourd, and he dipped it into the

pot of cold water, then handed it to the squaw.
Certainly the crisis was over, and he felt
confident that the child's recovery would be complete.
Rising to his feet, he took the precaution of
extending his thanks to the Wichita medicine man for the
role he had played. The man's dignity had been
restored, and he was so pleased that he exhibited no
signs of jealousy. Another crisis had been
averted.
Golden Bear enveloped the white man in a hug,
then began to call orders to his people. A squaw
appeared with a shirt of buffalo skin, which had been
chipped so expertly that it was almost as thin as cloth.
Two squaws pulled it over his head.
Then Golden Bear produced a square of buffalo
bone about an inch and a half in diameter, on which a
picture of the sun had been carved. It was attached
to a loop of rawhide, and chanting an incantation, the
sachem placed it around the doctor's neck. Not
until it was in place did Bob Martin
realize that Golden Bear himself wore an
identical talisman.
"The new brother of Golden Bear is the greatest of
medicine men," the sachem said in Kiowan. "Let
all of the Wichita bend their knees to him and praise
himl"
The entire assemblage began to chant, the drummer
beat a lively rhythm, and, much to Bob's
embarrassment, the people approached him one by one,
prostrating themselves on the ground before him. Never, he
thought, had any physician received such homage.
Eventually the men of the tribe feasted on antelope
steak, the first that Bob had ever tasted, and with it they ate
boiled ears of fresh corn, smeared with melted
buffalo fat. The taste was unusual but
surprisingly good.
After the meal, the physician removed the herb seeds
from his patient's leg, and although the operation was painful,
the child did not wince, a sure sign that he was
improving rapidly. This time a poultice filled with
seeds was placed on the outside of the wound, and at the
doctor's orders, the child was moved into a tent.
"Now the son of Golden Bear will sleep," Bob
said. "When the sun returns, he will be well again."
A special tent, complete with several
rich buffalo robes 291
on the ground, was placed at the exhausted doctor's
disposal. Before he dropped off to sleep, the squaw
of the sachem came to him and offered herself to him, showing
bewilderment when he declined the opportunity to spend
the night with her. His willingness to abide by the customs
of his hosts was limited.
lust before he fell asleep, he found himself thinking of
Tonie Mell, and he wondered how she would react
if he offered her his new shirt or buffalo bone
talisman.
The entire wagon train was in an uproar when, at
supper time, it was discovered that Dr. Martin had not
yet returned. The night was cloudy, but the scouts
and Hosea immediately went out beyond the circle of
wagons to begin a search. It was the Ashanti who
followed a trail of uprooted plants and who
eventually found the place where the physician had
been abducted.
Tonie Mell went wild when Hosea brought the
word back to the camp. "We've got to organize a
rescue expedition right now!" she said.
Whip disagreed. "On a night like this, it will be very
difficult to follow signs across the prairie," he
told her. "We'll do much better if we
wait until morning."
"By then Bob could be deadl"
"Indians are never in that much of a hurry to kill their
prisoners," he said.
"Then they could be torturing him," she insisted.
"Not at night," Whip replied. "They won't do
him any serious harm before tomorrow."
Tonie refused to listen to him. "If you won't go
tonight," she said, "I'll do it myself."
Only her uncle's persuasion and authority over
her prevented her from dashing alone across the plains.
She was unable to sleep, and when a small rescue
party was organized before dawn, she made such a
fuss about accompanying the group that Whip decided
to permit her to come along. Only he and the scouts would
conduct the search, he said, refusing her request for a
large party of armed men.
"If there are too many of us," he explained,
"they'll kill Bob before we can disget near him.
You'll have to 292
tnist my judgment and let me handle this in my own
way."
He refrained from telling her that he was taking the
cured skin of the pure white buffalo calf with bun.
If necessary, he would offer it to Dr.
Marfln'i captors in exchange for the
physician's release, and he felt confident that
no Indian would be able to resist such a bargain.
"We want to avoid open warfare with any nation,"
Whip said before they departed, and although his remarks
presumably were intended for all his companions, he
looked only at Tonie. "We can accomplish a
great deal more through peaceful negotiations. Ill do the
talking, and I want no one to fire a single shot
without my express permission. Our aim is to save
Bob, not punish a tribe for abducting him."
Giving the girl no chance to reply, he led his
stallion out of the circle.
Arnold brought up the rear, Tonie riding
directly in front of him, and Stalking Horse
took the lead. It was a simple matter for the
Cherokee to read and follow the tracks made the
previous day by the hand of warriors, and by the time the
sun rose, the group had traveled a considerable
distance from the campsite.
An hour later, as they still pushed forward, Stalking
Horse suddenly raised a hand in warning.
"Indians come," he called.
The group moved into a horizontal line, leaving
ample space between their mounts. Rifles were
checked, and Whip spoke casually to Tonie, who
sat on his left. "Remember," he said, "keep
your trigger finger quiet."
She nodded, but made no comment If Bob Martin was
in great danger, she reserved the right to act in any
manner she saw fit, and to hell with the wagon master.
Stalking Horse recognized the distinctive
warpaint worn by the approaching braves. "Wichita
warriors come," he announced.
There were about twenty braves in the approaching party,
so even Whip, Arnold, and Mack became tense,
and Stalking Horse moved his quiver a few inches
toward one side of his shoulder, where he could draw
arrow after arrow quickly, should the need arise.
Tonie'noticed that these Indians were riding horses

large as those used by members of the expedition.
"They're not mounted on ponies," she said.
"That's because we're in the real West now," Whip
said. "These horses are the descendants of the herds
originally brought to Mexico by the Spaniards.
Wild herds were formed by runaway horses, and the
Plains Indians who know about them go off into the
mountain canyons, catch them, then tame them."
"The Wichita are good fighters," Mack
said, "and they don't like strangers." He took a
firmer grip on his rifle.
Whip waited until the approaching horsemen drew
closer, then raised his arm in the sign of peace.
Two of the warriors responded with the same sign,
much to the relief of the outnumbered little band.
Then one brave, wearing a beaded shirt and a
headdress studded with eagle feathers, detached himself
from the Wichita party and rode forward alone.
Even Whip was confused for a moment because he wore a
white man's trousers and boots. The astonished
Tonie was the first to recognize a broadly smiling
Bob Martin.
"Put down your rifles," Bob called. "My
brothers, the Wichita, are your friends forever."
Arnold chuckled quietly.
"I
might have guessed he'd do something like this!"
The two groups merged and dismounted. Golden Bear
made a long, impassioned speech in which he praised
Ms new brother, the great medicine man. Then, at
his signal, his braves mounted then- horses again,
while Whip and his comrades followed their example.
Before turning back toward his village, Golden
Bear looked at Tonie, then muttered
something that caused every man present to laugh. The
parties separated, and the wagon train group headed
back toward their campsite.
Only Tonie was totally silent, and Bob fell
into line beside her. "Thank you for coming after me," he
said. "You had no idea what might be awaiting you,
and I'm grateful you risked your life for me."
"Not really," she replied, shrugging. "I knew
Whip and Uncle Arnold wouldn't let any harm
come to me." Again she was silent for a time, but something
continued to 294
her, and at last she could not hold h in. "What
e-him think I'm your squaw?",
Ha shrugged, her belligerence making him
defensive. I don't know. The mere fact that you
came after me with Whip and the scouts, I suppose."
"I' m Po man's squaw," Tonie said
firmly. Bob had thought of offering her the buffalo
bone amulet vthat was still hanging around his neck, but
he decided it wa s best to take no chances when
she was in an angry mood.
Prince Nicholas Orlev, the personal
representative of the czar and the most distinguished of his
subjects ever to visit Washington, was weary after
spending a day haggling with State Department
officials In their current trade negotiations.
But now, relaxing in the spacious Russian
Legation office of the
charge if affairs
he brightened as he raised his glass of cooled
Ukrainian wine. "To the czar," he said.
"The czar," Baron Alexis Tarnofi, the charge
,
replied automatically.
"These Americans," Prince Orlev said, after
swallowing half of his drink without stopping, "have the
souls of merchants. All of them, including the
President and Secretary of State. What
boors they are."
"Greedy boors," Baron Tarnoft replied.
"They are always hungry for trade advantages, for
cash, for land-for anything and everything they can take."
"Ah, yes." The guest drained his glass and
immediately refilled it, then belched. "That brings up a
matter I find painful. These trade negotiations
are not my only reason comor even my principal
reason-for coming to America. Surely, my dear
Tarooff, you realize from the dispatches sent to you by the
Ministry of External Affairs that the czar himself
is deeply worried about the status of
New 297
Russia-the land the Americans and the British call
the Oregon country."
"It is always in my mind," the
chargSo
said. "I become distressed when I read that the
English are strengthening their garrison at Fort
Vancouver. I become even more upset when I read
that hundreds of Americans have joined the wagon
train to Oregon and that other, similar expeditions
are being planned. At the moment our own claims are
distinctly small. We take third place."
Hie prince struck the table before him with die flat
of his hand, causing the glasses to jump. Then, rather
clumsily, he rescued the wine bottle before it
toppled. "If you know all this, my dear Baron,
why do you procrastinate? Why hasn't the wagon
train been destroyed? You had a perfect pawn in
the young woman whose parents are still being held in St.
Petersburg as hostages."
The Baron's face twisted. "You refer to the person
who calls herself Tonie Mell. I interviewed
her myself, you know, and offered to send her father and mother
to America if she successfully sabotaged the
train. But she has done nothing. No, that
is not accurate. She has actually dared to defy
Imperial Russia by remaining loyal to , this
upstart country."
"Then you are growing soft, my dear Baron."
Orlev took a small knife from his pocket and
began to dig at the grime that had accumulated beneath his
overly long fingernails. "The woman should be
killed as a lesson to all who defect. And others
should be found who will attend to the sabotage of the
train."
The
chargg
became bitter and spat in the general direction of a
china bowl that sat on the floor beside him, "Do you
suppose for one moment, my good Prince, that I am
insensitive to the wishes of His Imperial
Majesty? I nave served him for almost thirty
years, and I know what needs to be done!"
Orlev's smile was thin. "Why hasn't it been
done, then?"
"Would you have me send a regiment of Cossacks
chasing across the American wilderness? You forget,
Prince Orlev, that the situation in which Imperial
Russia finds 298
herself is complicated by the had advice given
by your Ministry of External Affairs to His
Majesty."
The Prince bristled. "That was done by my
predecessors, not by me. They were stupid and
shortsighted to abandon their claims to New
Russia. But, now that the czar has changed his mind,
we are required to do his bidding. First, the American
wagon train must be crippled so badly it will either
halt or turn back. Then we will notify the world
that His Majesty is restoring his claim to Oregon.
We will demand it for ourselves, and we are prepared to send
a fleet from our colony of Alaska to take full
possession of it!"
"Surely you have agents whose services you can command."
"Naturally. I have already called upon one such man.
I'm sure you'll recall Daunevsky, who did
such splendid work for us in the Balkans and who came
to America under the name of Andre" Sebastian. I
sent him to force the Mell girl to commit sabotage,
to kill her if she refused to halt the train herself."
"But of course. There is no agent in the entire
network superior to Sebastian. His talents are
unlimited."
"Indeed they are, and for that reason I sent him after the
wagon train. I thought surely that between
trim and his assistant Munson the Americans would
be stopped. Alas, I have heard nothing from either
agent."
"It is impossible that Sebastian is dead.
Munson-well, who knows? But Sebastian is
indestructible!"
"That is my reasoning also," Baron Tarnoff declared.
"I remain confident that Sebastian, at least, will
do what is required of him."
"I hope so, but you cannot and must not place your sole
reliance on one man. This Tonie Mell person,
represents a threat to the Imperial Crown,
don't you understand? She was offered a generous bargain,
and she rejected it. It is maddening to think that the
demands of the czar himself are being frustrated by a
stubborn, ignorant peasant girl."
"She deserves slow torture," the
charg
said. "I would like nothing better, myself, than "to spend
a few hours 299
with her alone-with a fire, a pair of tongs, a
knife, and a hearth poker. Her screams would be
music more joyous than the singing of the Imperial choir
at the Church of St. Michael!"
"Then see to it!" the Prince rasped.
"Send still more agents to catch up with the train,
capture the woman, and bring her back to the legation.
I dont care how you dispose of her, but in the name of the
czar, I demand that the wagon train be halted or
destroyed!"
A party of Cheyenne warriors rode out into the
prairie wilderness at a gallop, and an hour
later they returned in triumph, escorting a
red-haired, heavily tanned white man in faded
buckskins. The new arrival was a giant who
stood at least six feet, six inches tall; he
was lean and sinewy, which gave him the illusion of being
even taller. He embraced the sachem, clasped
forearms with the senior warriors, and even hugged a
number of the squaws, a gesture in which no outsider
would dare to indulge.
Pierre le Rouge was a native of the village of
Montreal in French-speaking Canada. He had
spent virtually all of his adult life in the
Rocky Mountains, and his three pack horses,
laden with bundles of furs, were proof of his
skills. He hadn't seen another white man in
almost three years, he told Henry St. Clair
and Andre" Sebastian, so he had interrupted his
season's hunting, intending to take his furs
to Independence and then return to the Rockies for the
autumn season, when even more beaver and lynx would be
available.
The Cheyenne declared a holiday in their visitor's
honor. A bear, two deer, and an antelope were
killed, with the best parts of the meat barbecued for the feast
Pierre seemed to know everyone in the Indian town
by name and was on intimate terms with all of the
Cheyenne, teasing them, joking with them, and playfully
chiding them.
Henry St. Clair rejoiced quietly and bided his
time. As he told Sebastian in confidence, the
addition of such an experienced mountain man to their
company would further guarantee their success. Late
that night, after the Indians had retired, Henry
offered the delighted Pierre a 300
cup of his precious brandywine. "How do you happen
to know these savages so well?" he asked.
"Pierre has made it his business to know all of the
Indians comthe Blackfoot and the Cheyenne in the
plains, the Arapaho in the mountains-even the
Comanche, who hate all foreigners and would rather take
a white man's rcalp than break bread with him.
Most mountain men have partners, but Pierre works
alone. He needs no partners." His words
were boastful, but he spoke quietly, relating what
he regarded as simple facts.
"You make a living that way, I presume?"
"Pierre is not rich, but he cannot complain."
"You're a subject of Queen Victoria, as I
am," Henry St. Clair said.
"That is true." Pierre le Rouge inhaled the
fragrance of the brandywine.
"How would you like to earn more in a few weeks than you
could make in several years of hunting and trapping?"
Pierre's booming laugh echoed across the silent
Cheyenne town. "Pierre always listens when men
speak of money," he said.
Henry was encouraged. "You'd also be performing a
service for the Queen," he said. "I'm sure you'd
be awarded a-medal."
"Pierre likes gold better than medals."
Henry offered him a simplified explanation of the
situation. An American wagon train was
traveling to the Oregon country, and it was in the best
interests of Great Britain that it be halted and forced
to turn back.
"There are farmers in this train?"
Henry admitted that most were farmers.
"They bring their families with them, their
wives and children?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then they must not be harmed."
Henry was relieved that he had not admitted too
much. "We don't want to harm them," he replied.
"It will be enough if they become discouraged and return
to their homes in other parts of the United States."
Pierre le Rouge stared at him for a long time,
sizing him 301
up and making no comment. Then he spoke abruptly.
"Pierre will think about this," he said. "In a day,
maybe two days, he will give you his answer." He
drained his cup, rose effortlessly to his feet, and
went off to his own dwelling.
Henry felt uneasy. The stupid mountain man
hadn't reacted as be had wished, but it would be
unwise to press him for a positive reply, so there
was nothing to be done except wait. Pouring himself more
brandywine, he took it off to his own quarters.
Still restless, Henry remained half-awake until
dawn. Only when day broke did he drop off
into a deep sleep. It was almost noon when he
awakened, and after he emerged into the open, he discovered
that many of the braves had gone hunting, wnile most
of the women and the older children were at work in the
fields where they grew corn, beans, and
sunflowers, whose seeds they prized as a delicacy.
Andre" Sebastian sat with the chief outside the
latter's hut, lazing in the sun, but there was no
sign of Pierre le Rouge anywhere. Neither his
stallion nor his pack horses were grazing in the
fenced compound beyond the dwellings.
"Where is Pierre?" Henry asked, interrupting the
conversation.
The sachem displayed a double row of filed teeth when
he grinned. "Pierre was gone before the sun came,"
he said. "That is his way."
Henry felt stricken.
Sebastian saw his expression and asked in
English, "What's wrong?"
"I tried to recruit him last night. He was
evasive and said he'd give me an answer in a
day or two." Henry made no attempt to hide
his anxiety. "If he locates the wagon train,
he could warn them. I don't like this!"
"Neither do I!" Sebastian replied.
The sachem looked first at one, then at the other,
puzzled by their use of the foreign language.
Henry quickly addressed him in Kiowan. "If the
warriors of the Cheyenne will find Pierre
le Rouge and bring him to me, they will be rewarded with
two barrels of whiskey and many firesticks."

The sachem sat upright. This seemed serious. "What
has Pierre done?"
"He has broken the trust of his brothers," Henry
said.
Virtually no Indian would blame a man for stealing
the property of another, which they regarded as a
legitimate activity, but the breaking of a brother's
trust cast any warrior beyond the pale. The sachem
was shocked.
"The Cheyenne have been told that much booty awaits
them when they attack the wagon train that comes soon
into their country," Henry said. "Pierre has gone
to warn the white men that they will be attacked!"
The sachem was stunned by the revelation.
As a gesture of good will, Henry handed him a knife
with a tempered steel blade. "We will leave this very day
for the land of the Blackfoot so ,they will be ready when the
wagon train enters their land," he said. "Thanks
to flie treachery of Pierre, we cannot stay here any
longer. Send me the scalp of Pierre, and the
warriors of the Cheyenne will be rewarded."
That, he reflected, was the best he could
manage in a difficult situation. The Cheyenne were
already primed to attack the train, and if they could
apprehend Pierre la Rouge, he would pay them a
bonus. He was relieved that he hadn't told the
mountain man too much about his plans, but just the fact
that the wagon train would be alerted would make
attempts to sabotage it more difficult
He had to rely on the Cheyenne now, and if his
mood weren't so vindictive, he could almost feel
sorry for the simple-minded Pierre.
Only a short time had passed since Claudia
Brentwood had learned for certain that she was
pregnant, but she couldn't yet afford the luxury of
daydreaming about the day when she and Sam would be parents,
for they were too busy establishing the depot. Day after
day freight caravans arrived from the East, bringing
supplies and provisions, wagon axles, wheels,
and rifles for the depot. Sam had hired a number
of men to help him load the various supplies in the
outbuildings beyond the ranch house, so it was
Claudia's place to prepare the meals for these
hired hands, some of whom slept in the barns. Sam
fre303
quently needed her help and as frequently consulted
with her, so there was little time she could call her
own,
Today was Sunday, so there were only two extra mouths
to feed. Most of the hired hands had gone
into Independence to spend their week's pay on
liquor and women, but the pair who remained behind would
work until noon.
Jacob Levine sat at the breakfast table in the
kitchen, silently devouring his fried fish and
scrambled eggs. He was short and so slender that he
looked as though a strong wind would break him in
half, but Sam said that no hired hand worked harder.
A former fur cutter from New York whose one
ambition in life was to go to Oregon and settle there,
Levine was hard-bitten and surprisingly
resilient.
So, in his own way, was the Reverendoffcar Cavendish,
who was tall, almost as slender as Levine, and very
talkative. Freely admitting he had been
discharged by his congregation and defrocked for deeds he
refused to discuss, he shared Levine's appetite
for work and food and had been infected with his partner's
enthusiasm for life in the Oregon country.
As Claudia brought a second platter of eggs and
fried fish to the plain wooden table, then joined the men
for coffee, Cavendish launched into a
discussion of his favorite subject.
"As we learn in Ezektel," he said, "the flock
of my pasture are men. Sam has said there are
hundreds of souls in the wagon train that is
traveling across the Great Flams at this very moment.
Other people are beginning to gather in town for the next
train, and still others will follow. It stands to reason there
will soon be several thousand settlers in
Oregon-men, women, and children who will need the counsel
of a man of the cloth. They'll need someone to baptize
them, to marry them, and to bury them. I feel I'm
called by the Lord to help them."
Sam coughed behind his hand to hide his amusement. I
thought you were thrown out of your church, Reverend."
Cavendish was unabashed. "The Lord has forgiven the
congregation's transgression, so I have done the
same. A new pastorate awaits me."
"All I know," Levine said as he helped himself
to more fish, "is that I won't be happy until I
get to Oregon. This afternoon I'm going to spend a
few hours at target practice on the range in
back of the stables. You ought to come with me, Reverend. The
Indians out yonder ain't going to leave you alone just
because you put your collar on backwards."
Cavendish shook his head. "Beasts shall be
at peace with me, just as the Lord promised Job they
would be at peace with him. If I am unjustly
attacked, I'll know what to do, but I cannot prepare
for war."
Levine smiled faintly. "If you were pushed around the
way I was, you'd have a good-sized chip on your
shoulder, too."
"Just exactly how do you both intend to get out
to Oregon?" Sam Brentwood asked them. "It's
a long, long journey from here."
"The Lord will find a way," Cavendish replied.
"Maybe so, maybe not," Levine said. "Me,
I'm saving my money. I've already bought a good
horse and a rifle, and before I'm done, I'll have a
team of mules and a snug wagon, so I'll be
ready to join the next train. But sitting here ain't
earning money. Thank you for breakfast, Mrs.
Brentwood. Come along, Reverend. We got
lots of work to do this morning."
The pair made their way to the barns, where sacks of
gunpowder and piles of harness leather had to be
unpacked and stored.
Sam lingered for another cup of coffee with his wife.
"I'm sorry you have all this extra work to do,
Claudia,". he said. "It's something I
didn't count on when we set up the depot."
"I don't mind, darling," she replied, brushing a
lock of blonde hair away from her face. "If
there's still so much cooking to be done after the baby
comes-well, maybe we'll have to hire a woman
to help. By that time I dare say we'll be able
to afford it. But I refuse to worry about what will
happen six months from now."
Before Sam could reply, there was a knock at the
door.
Lieutenant Colonel Leland Blake stood in
the frame, 305
his uniform and boots covered with dust. He shook
hands with Sam, introduced himself to Claudia, and then
added. "I've taken the liberty of feeding and watering
my horse and turning him loose in your back
pasture, Mr. Brent- wood. We've been on
the move all night, so he's as tired as I am."
Claudia offered the new arrival breakfast, which he
gladly accepted, and Sam waited until he
returned from the pump, where he went to wash away his
grime, before questioning him.
"You're in a hurry to get some place,
Colonel?" he asked.
"This is my first stop," Lee Blake
said, handing him a sealed letter.
The wax imprint on the communication was that of the
President of the United States, and Martin Van
Buren's message was brief. "This letter will serve
to inform you that sheutenant Colonel Leland Blake,
U.s.a., has my full confidence. I will
appreciate your cooperation with him. Colonel
Blake will discuss his mission with you, as the situation
warrants."
As Claudia began preparing breakfast for the weary
officer, Lee Blake seated himself at the kitchen
table and glanced at his hostess, then his host. "Would
you prefer that I wait until later to talk about
business, Mr. Brent- wood?"
Sam shook his head. "You can say anything in front
of my wife that you can say to me."
"As a start, then, perhaps you can give me some information.
I'd like to know everything you can tell me about the
attempts made by British and Russian agents
to sabotage the wagon train that's headed for the
Oregon territory."
Sam spoke steadily and at length. Claudia
chimed in too, having known Henry St. Clair
fairly well after he had joined the train as a
supposed Oregon-bound immigrant.
"He sounds like one of London's upper-echelon
agents," Lee said thoughtfully. "All of them are
dangerous, so I'm stfre I have my work cut out for
me." He went on to explain that he was being sent
to join the wagon train in 306
order to bring a halt to the Incidents that were plaguing
them.
"I can see why youVe been riding hard,
Colonel," Sam said.
"I can't afford to waste time, Mr, Brentwood.
I'm hoping you will be able to provide me with a guide
who can lead me to the expedition. Or, at the very least,
perhaps you can give me a detailed map that will allow
me to locate the train myself."
"I don't know of any reliable guides in
Independence," Sam said. "Anybody who claims
to be a mountain man and is hanging around these parts in
summer can't be worth his salt"
Claudia, sensing what was coming, braced herself.
"Have you ever crossed the Great Plains,
Colonel?"
"Never, Mr. Brentwood. I spent a long time
in the Everglades, and I was part of a group that
prevented the British from moving down into Minnesota
from Canada, but the plains are new to me."
"Then I strongly urge you not to make the journey
alone. Game is plentiful at thistime of year, and
so are berries and other edible plants, so food
wiUs be no problem. But many of the Indians between here
and the mountains resent outsiders-especially the
Blackfoot and the Cheyenne, along with any number
of smaller tribes."
"Certainly no two Indian nations are alike,"
Lee replied, "and any man who values his
scalp tries to minimize the risks he's
required to take. But I don't see where I have
much choice. I've been ordered to join that wagon
train, and if there are no competent guides
available, I'll have to travel alone."
"If my wife will give me her permission," Sam
said, "I'll take you across the prairies myself."
Claudia swallowed hard, resisting the temptation
to close her eyes for a moment Her hunch had been
right. She was certainly competent to take charge of the
growing depot and supervise the laborers who were
putting away the supplies. And even though she was
afraid for Sam's safely, she could not and would not
use her pregnancy as an excuse to keep him at
her side.
"I won't pretend that I'll enjoy
spending weeks-or 307
months-by myself," she said. "And of course I'll
worry. But I have good friends on the wagon train, and
my sister is a member of the company. So I can't be
selfish and refuse you the right to do what you think is
best, Sam. I couldn't Kve here, all safe and
snug, knowing that the train is in constant danger."
Sam reached for her hand. He had known she would make
the sacrifice without hesitation, and he was proud of
her. "That's settled, then," he said. "Get all
the rest you can today, Colonel, and well leave early
tomorrow. How strong is your horse?"
"He's a big, tough stallion. I couldn't ask
for better."
"Then I won't offer you one of mine. But I think
we'll need to take a couple of spare mounts with us.
We can make much better time if we alternate
horses."
After Lee finished his breakfast, he was shown to one
of the guest rooms in the ranch house, and Sam went
out to the stables to check on the work being done by Jacob
Levine and the Reverend Cavendish.
Both reacted instantly when he revealed that he was
leaving the following day to guide a visitor, whom
he carefully refrained from identifying as
an army officer, to the wagon train.
"Take me with you," Levine said. "I already have one
horse, and I have enough cash to buy another. I don't
really need or want a wagon of my own."
"I want to go, too," the clergyman declared. "The
Lord guided Moses through the desert of Sinai, and you
shall be our guide, Sam. I believe I can
scrape together enough cash to pay you for a couple of good
horses."
Sam was impressed by their zeal, even though he
remained dubious about then ability to make the
journey. was I aim to set a fast pace," he
warned them. "I'm not making this trip for pleasure
or convenience. So, if you can't keep up, you'll be
left behind, which could mean the end of you."
Jacob Levine's jaw jutted forward. "Nobody
will leave me behind," he said, "I've spent my
whole life waiting for the day when I can claim land of
my own and farm it. Nobody's going to deprive me
of that chance. Don't worry about me keeping up with
you!" 308
Reverend Cavendish hesitated for a moment. "I've
never. flred a gun or used any other weapon. The
Bible is my only protection, and the Almighty will
give me the strength to maintain any pace
that you choose to set. I refuse to be left behl"
Sam shrugged. He had warned them, and he fully
intended to keep his word. The safety and future of the
wagon train members was of far greater importance
than the fate of two adventurous strays.
When he returned to the house, he found Claudia
preparing Sunday dinner, a rib roast of beef.
She was concentrating on peeling potatoes and
carrots, but Sam noticed that her eyes were red.
Going to her, he put his arm around her shoulders.
"I wouldn't leave you alone if I thought you were unable
to manage, honey," he said. "But you can handle a
rifle as well as any man. You know what needs
to be done here. In fact, you're better at it than
I am."
"I have no worries about myself, only about you." She
smiled up at him, unwilling to let him see the
depth of her concern.
"Have you ever known
me
not to be able to look after myself?" he demanded.
She shook her head. It was true that his
self-reliance was awesome. She put her arms around
him, and she knew he would survive.
Pierre le Rouge knew he was being
followed by a band of Cheyenne warriors, but the
maneuver didn't surprise him, and he easily
managed to ouI'distance his pursuers, simply
by traveling each night for several hours after dark.
Most Plains Indians halted their journeys at
sundown.
So he reached the wagon train without further
incident, arriving late one afternoon, after camp had
been made and the hunters had gone out for fresh meat
He was in high spirits, pleased with himself after his efforts,
and his mood improved still more when the first person he
saw was Bulalia Woodling. She had become a
member of the water-gathering detail and was filling two
buckets in a small lake behind the circle of
wagons. 309
The mountain man halted, removed his hat with a
flourish, and bowed from the saddle. "Pierre je
Rouge knows be has died and ascended to heaven," he
declared, his English strongly accented. "Never tta
ctrth did I see such a lovely angel!"
Eulalia stared up at the bearded, red-haired
giant. In spite of Ms rough attire, this
stranger had the manners of a gentleman, and his
gleaming eyes indicated that his compliment was sincere.
All (he same, she had spent enough time in
the wilderness by now to recognize the dangers of
engaging in conversation with strangers.
Smiling slightly to temper the severity of her
attitude, she said, "Our wagon master has gone
hunting, hut you'll find people in the train who will look
after you until he returns."
"Ah, but you will allow Pierre to cany those pails for
you. Beautiful ladies should not be expected to perform
such hard work."
"I do what I must, Eulalia replied, and
insisted on carrying the pails herself. She tried
to hide her reactions but was flattered by this man's
attention. It had been a long time since she had
been treated with the courtliness she felt she deserved.
Pierre bowed again, then rode on, turning once in
his saddle and grinning broadly to indicate that she had
not seen the last of him.
. Ernie von Tbalman was in camp and greeted the
newcomer courteously but was unable to elicit much
information from him. It was obvious to Pierre that Ernie
was new to the plains, and he would tell his story only
to the wagon master , who would be better able to make his
own judgments.
Then Eulalia returned with her buckets of
water, and Pierre instantly devoted his
full attention to her. He hadn't known any
ladies for more years than he could recall, having
attended to his needs by visiting brothels in
Independence and other towns on his infrequent
journeys to civilized communities. This dignified
young woman had the air of the great ladies he had
seen from a distance coming in and out of the Citadel, the
governor's palace310
fort in Quebec, and perhaps for that reason she
fascinated him.
Whatever the cause, Eulalia was delighted and
flirted with him subtly. At the very least, she was
showing other women in the company that, regardless of their
opinion of her, men were still drawn to her.
A short time later the hunters returned. They had
killed
a bull buffalo, which they had already butchered. Whip
, dismounted and, seeing the new arrival from the rear,
went to him. "What can we do for you?" he asked as
the man continued to chat with Eulalia.
Pierre le Rouge turned, recognized him
instantly, and pounded him on the back. "Whip
Holt!"
"Pierre!" Whip was equally overjoyed,
"Not since we fought the Comanche together near
the South Paw have I seen you! Are you the wagon
master of this train."
"Of course. What are you doing here?"
"Pierre must have words with you in private," the
French-Canadian mountain man declared, his tone
ominous.
They adjourned to Ernie's wagon, where the
president of the company joined them, and there Pierre
told them of the offer made to him by Jhe British
agent "Never has Pierre le Rouge done harm
to ladies and children," he concluded. "So I went
away quickly. I was followed by a band of Cheyenne,
but they couldn't catch me. Or, if they could, they had
the good sense not to attack me."
"Tell us more about this British agent," Whip said,
plainly concerned.
"His name, I believe, is St. Clair-was
"Say no more. That no-good bastard again. I was hoping
we had seen the last of him, but we're in for more
trouble. Real trouble."
Ernie nodded in sober agreement.
"You will need help?" Pierre wanted to know.
"We could sure use your rifle, if that's what you
mean," Whip said. "But if you go along with us, you'll
be heading in the wrong direction, if you aim
to sell those furs your pack horses are carrying."
Pierre's roar of laughter shook the walls of the
hard- roofed wagon. "Pierre was a little crazy for the
company of people, that's all," he said. "The money I
would earn from the furs I would spend in Independence
on women end whiskey. The whiskey I do not need,
and in this wagon train there are beautiful ladies.
So I will be happy to travel with you."
"Just remember they bar re ladies," Ernie
cautioned him, was not the kind you'd find in a town."
"Pierre knows when he must behave like 8
gentleman," was the indignant reply. Turning
to Whip, he added, "How long Pierre will stay with you
I do not know. Long enough to make certain that St.
Clair is beaten."
At supper that evening. Whip announced to the company
that his old friend was joining the train, at least for the time
being, and would act as assistant wagon master. Now
that they were entering the land of the Cheyenne- and the territory
of the even more dreaded Blackfoot lay
ahead-Pierre would be a valuable addition to the
company.
As soon as the meal was finished, Pierre sought out
Eulalia. Now that she had learned his identity, she
was even more cordial to him, rightly
suspecting that her presence was at least partly
responsible for his decision to accompany the caravan
for a time.
"There is a favor Pierre wishes to ask of you,"
he said.
"Tell me what it is," she replied coyly, "and
then I'll decide whether to grant it."
He pointed to the bales of beaver and lynx skins that
he had removed from the backs of his pack horses.
"Do you have the space in your wagon to store my
furs? I would like my pack animals to enjoy the
rest they deserve."
"Ill make room for them," Eulalia replied
quickly. It shouldn't be difficult to persuade this
man, who so obviously liked her, to make her a
gift of enough furs to fashion a lynx coat for the coming
winter. Confident of her powers, she reflected that a
few smiles and an occasional encouraging word should be
enough to win her a prize that other women would envy. 312
Lieutenant Colonel Leland Blake looted like
any other civilian frontier dweller in the old
buckskin shirt and trousers he had borrowed from
Sam Brentwood. Only his boots would have
revealed to a sharp-eyed observer that he might be an
army officer. Not even Jacob Levine
and the Reverendoffcar Cavendish were told his true
identity or the reason for his presence on the
journey.
Sam took the lead, with Lee riding beside him, each
of them leading a spare horse. Levine and
Cavendish rode a short distance behind the pair, and
they, too, had spare horses. After a few days in
the wilderness, Sam's doubts about these volunteers
began to disappear. Levine never complained, gathered
firewood and water, and cheerfully accepted the chore
of cooking breakfast and supper.
Cavendish proved to be even more surprising. In the
saddle, he resembled a loose-jointed scarecrow.
It seemed miraculous that he could keep his seat.
Yet he managed to maintain the blistering.pace that
Sam set He claimed to know nothing about the
ouI'doors, but he caught several fish every evening,
and he proved adept at lighting fires In the
Indian manner, by rubbing sticks together. It was
difficult to actually enjoy the company of a man who
seemed incapable of speaking a complete sentence without
referring to the Scriptures, but he was resilient and
tireless.
By riding one horse mornings and another afternoons, it
became possible to travel even more
swiftly than Sam had dared to hope. They covered
forty to fifty miles each day. If they could
maintain the pace, they expected to catch up with the
wagon train in two weeks or less.
No unexpected incidents occurred during the first
days of their journey. On the fourth morning, however,
the placid routine was broken when Sam suddenly
pointed to some dark objects in the distance.
"There's a small herd of buffalo yonder," he
said. "We'll shoot one-just one-to give us meat
for the days ahead."
"I need the practice," Jacob Levine said.
"I hope nobody will mind if I bring him down."
"All right," Sam told him, "but make a
semicircle north313
ward away from the Platte so you'll approach the
herd downwind. And don't get too close before you
shoot. Buffalo tend to avoid riders, but can be
dangerous to men when they stampede."
Levine handed the reins of his spare horse to the
clergyman, checked his rifie, and directed his mount
on a wide swing so he wouldn't alert the herd. The
others continued to follow the river, slowing their pace,
and for a time Sam nodded approvingly. Then his
attitude changed, and he spoke softly.
"He's close enough now for a clean strike. He ought
to stop and shoot."
Levine continued to move closer to the grazing
buffalo. Lee Blake saw nothing wrong with what
the former fur cutter was doing, but his knowledge of buffalo was
limited. "What's wrong?"
"He isn't a good enough horseman to get out of the way
in a hurry if the herd stampedes. It's an
unnerving experience to have tons and tons of wild
animals galloping toward you. We known men
to become so rattled they've been thrown and then
trampled to death."
"Isn't there some way we can warn him?"
"Not without firing ourselves and maybe scaring off the whole
herd." Sam increased his own pace, quietly
checking his rifle to make certain he could fire it
instantly.
"Ah," the relieved Lee said. "He's slowing
down now."
"But not quite enough."
Reverend Cavendish started to pray softly, but they
ignored him.
At last Levine halted, raised his rifle and,
after what seemed like a very long time, squeezed the
trigger. His shot struck a hull, which
weighed at least two thousand pounds, but it only
wounded the animal. Crazed by the pain, the beast lowered
his head until it almost touched the ground, then charged
hifriend attacker, his hoofs pounding as he advanced.
"Get out of the way, Jacob!" Reverend Cavendish
shouted. "Move, manl"
Levine was so startled by the unexpected assault that
he continued to sit motionless. Finally, instead of urging
his mount out of the path of the crazed bull, he began

to reload his rifle, too confused by now to realize that
he would have no opportunity to fire again before he and his
horse were gored.
The others were two hundred yards away, but Sam
Brentwood knew there was only one way to save the
man's Me. His rifle had a range of no more
than two hundred yards, but he had no choice.
He spurred his stallion, and as the great horse
broke into a gallop, he raised his rifle, took
careful aim, and fired.
His bullet entered the brain of the bull buffalo, who
died instantly, plunging forward and collapsing almost
at the feet of Levine's badly frightened gelding.
The other buffalo in the herd, unaware of the first shot,
were at last alert to the danger. A wise,
elderly bull was the first to bolt, and then the entire
herd of about fifteen buffalo followed him as he
raced off to the northwest, away from the scene.
Levine was still trembling when Sam led the others
to him. "You don't have to lecture me," he said.
"I know aHave the things I did wrong. Next time
I won't make the same mistakes, and I thank
God there will be a next thnel"
He was the first to leap to the ground and begin butchering the
bull, his experience as a fur cutter making him
exceptionally adept at the task. Sam and Lee
Blake exchanged glances. They both had to admire
Levine's courage. Many men who had escaped death
so narrowly would have been useless for the rest of the day.
For the first time, it occurred to Sam that Levine might
prove to be a welcome addition to the wagon train.
Pierre k Rouge quickly became accusTonied to the
routines of wagon train living. Sometimes he
relieved Whip at the head of the column, he had
to be dissuaded from going out with the scouts, and he was as
skilled as Whip and Arnold at shooting game.
Pierre and Hosea frequently went hunting together,
each fascinated by the other's techniques. When they
were joined by Stalking Horse, they made a formidable
trio, and never failed to return with game.
Pierre delighted in teaching the older boys bawdy
songs which they sang at the top of their voices. As
they sang m French, only Ernie voa Thalmah
and Cathy van Ay! could understand the words; the former
kept his own counsel so die fun wouldn't be
spoiled, and Cathy resolutely ignored the
lyrics.
The only objection anyone could find to Pierre was that
he continued to devote too much attention to Eulalia
Woodlrag. No one minded his open interest in the
girl, but there were many-particularly the women-who
resented the way Eulalia used him. She flirted
with him when it pleased her and calmly accepted his
help when, he offered to do her chores for her.
On the night the wagon train reached the junction of the
North and South Platte rivers, Whip announced
to the company that they had reached a significant
place in the Great Plains. Pioneers who chose
to follow the South Platte would travel across
Colorado, then head toward the southwest onto what
was known as the Old Santa Fe Trail,
eventually reaching Spanish California. Their
wagon train, Whip said, would follow the North
Platte to its headwaters in the mountains and would
travel by way of the Wyoming country and the land
of the Ute Indians,.ffthe Great Divide, then
cross yet another range of mountains that would bring
them to Oregon.
They stI'll had a vast distance to travel, but they
had made good progress, and there was at least a chance
they would be able to reach a sheltered, wooded canyon in
the Rockies before they would have to establish a permanent
winter camp.
"You've come a long way from Long Island," Whip
told Cathy. "You have a right to be proud of yourself."
"I haven't done much of anything, except follow
where you've led us," she replied honestly.
A scant twelve hours after starting to follow the
North Platte as it meandered westward, its waters
deeper and less sandy than those of the Platte itself,
Stalking Horse returned early from his scouting
duties. He reported without delay to Whip; then
Pierre was summoned. The three 316
Conversed at length, speaking in an Indian tongue
so no one would know what they were saying. As Whip
pointed out, there was nothing to be gained by alarming the
company prematurely.
At the insistence of Stalking Horse, they sent for
Hosea, too, and Whip explained the situation to him
succinctly. "We've come to the land of the
Cheyenne now," he said. "Next to the Blackfoot
and the Comanche, maybe, they're the meanest tribe there
is. They hate foreigners as much as they hate other
Indians, even more. They've had a quarrel with
Pierre, who was their friend, because an enemy turned against
him. Now Stalking Horse believes they've sent
a large party of scouts to keep watch on us, and that
means trouble. What we need to know, right off, is how
many men there are in the Cheyenne scouting party. That will
tell us something about their intentions. You understand me so
far?"
The Ashanti, listening carefully, nodded but made
no reply.
"Stalking Horse and Pierre are going out," Whip
said. "They'll ride in the direction that Stalking
Horse spotted the Cheyenne."
"The Cheyenne will recognize Pierre,? the French
Canadian mountain man interrupted. "That much will be
good."
"They'll also see Stalking Horse," Whip went
on. "Both of them will keep their distance. That should
attract the attention of the Cheyenne-and, we hope,
should keep that attention. Meantime, Hosea, maybe
you could steal close enough to count their number and find out
how heavily they're armed. That's information
we badly need."
"Hosea do," the little man said, his manner confident
and calm.
He immediately moved out into the prairie and began
to pluck clumps of the knee-high grass. While
members of the company watched, he covered his shield
with grass, then hastily made and donned a
plaited-grass shirt and cap. The members of the
company were astonished at his ingenuity, and the results
were almost magical. The camouflage was so effective
that, at a distance of a scant one 317
hundred fifty yards, Hosea blended completely
into be the landscape
of
the prairie. One moment he could be seen, and the next
he vanished.
Stalking Horse and Pierre left at once,
riding at a canter through the tall grass toward the
northwest. Hosea ran beside them, tireless as always.
Even Whip could follow his progress only because the
grass parted and waved slightly wherever he moved.
Voices carried across the open country, so there was no
talk. After the trio had gone about three or four
miles, Stalking Horse grunted quietly, and the
two horsemen slowed their pace, moving
apart until they were separated by several hundred
feet
Hosea moved off on his own, staying parallel with
them but making his own way. Stalking Horse paid no
attention to his friend, confident of his ability to take
care of himself.
Although Pierre had gone hunting with the Ashanti every day
for a week, he was seeing a new facet of
Hosea's talents and was amazed.
All at once Stalking Horse raised a hand,
pointed, and said in a clear voice, "Cheyenne!"
A cluster of horsemen could be seen in the distance, but
it was impossible to make out their number. The two
riders moved into single file, Stalking Horse in
the lead, and rode parallel to the Indians, neither
closing in nor allowing themselves to drift farther away.
The braves obviously were not intimidated by men who
had no intention of challenging them. They respected
Pierre, whom they were able to identify at a distance
because of his height and beard. But the strange Indian,
who rode with him did not impress them, and they
remained confidently on their own course.
Stalking Horse had learned patience in the long
trials he had been forced to endure as a child and as an
adolescent before he had been admitted to the
councils of the Cherokee as a full-fledged
warrior. He was able to play this seemingly simple
game indefinitely, and be felt no stirring of
impatience.
When Pierre le Rouge went hunting or was about
to confront an enemy in combat, he, too, could be
patient, 318
but this situation annoyed him. He peered continually
across the sea of grass that separated him from the
Cheyenne scouts, but he could make out no sign of
Hosea, even though he looked for a telltale parting
and waving of grass. Perhaps, he thought, the little man
had outsmarted himself. Certainly there seemed to be no
way he could be moving through that grass.
The better part of an hour passed, and Pierre stared
hard at Stalking Horse until the Cherokee
looked at him. Then he shrugged to indicate his
bewilderment. Stalking Horse merely grinned at
him in return. Suddenly a voice was raised
only a few feet from Pierre's mount, causing him
to start violently.
"We go back to train now," Hosea said calmly,
still hidden from view in the grass. "Hosea find out
what Whip want to know."
Stalking Horse immediately turned back in
the direction of the North Platte River, and
Pierre moved up beside, him. There was no sign of
Hosea, however, until they left the Cheyenne
patrol far behind. Then the Ashan- ti moved his
shield slightly and could be seen running only a
short distance from the two riders.
He was so eager to report his findings that he actually
raced ahead of them and was the first to reach the spot where the
wagon train had halted for the night. When the others
arrived shortly thereafter, Pierre found it difficult
to believe that the Ashanti was breathing normally, as
though he had not exerted himself at all.
Whip was waiting.
"Count eighteen warriors in party," Hosea told
him. "All carry bows and arrows. All cany big
spears."
Whip sucked in his breath. "That's exactly what
I needed to know," he said. Eighteen braves in a
scouting party meant reconnaissance in force. The
warriors obviously were ready for a serious engagement
if they carried spears as well as bows and arrows.
That very night a new routine was established. Sentry
posts were set up, and the men of the wagon train, par
..
ticularly those who were able to make out
potential enemy
moves after dark, were on constant duty until
daybreak.
Lee Blake kept up the pace that Sam
Brentwood set, but he had to admit to himself that at
no time in his army career had he traveled at such a
steady speed. Jacob Le- vine pushed hard, his
determination making it possible for him to follow, and
Reverend Cavendish, to the surprise of his
companions, seemed untroubled. His resources were
endless.
The quartet shot enough game to provide themselves with
fresh meat each day, and the clergyman's fishing
provided them with a measure of variety in their diet.
On , two different evenings, Levine found wild
berries, which he presented to his companions. They
slept in the open, rolled in their blankets, and at
dawn each day, before they began their ride, they bathed
in the always-cold waters of the Platte River.
Sam and Lee struck up a firm friendship on the
trail and, after the manner of men who liked each
other, began-to exchange confidences.
"I'm more worried about my wife than I was willing
to admit to her," Sam said. "But she's the most
resourceful, courageous woman I know.
If any man at the ranch steps out of line-well,
I feel sorry for him. Only a mission like this would
have taken me away from home when 321
she's expecting a baby, though. All the same,
I'll be back in Independence long before our son
shows up."
"You know," Lee said, "I can't help envying the
members of the wagon train. Oh, I'll grant you
life can't be easy for them, crawling across the entire
continent in all kinds of weather, facing hostile
Indians and other hazards. But there's something solid
waiting for them when they finally reach Oregon."
"You never married, Lee?"
"An officer in my kind of work never settles in
any one place long enough to have a wife and a family.
Every few years I've been moved to a new
assignment, and I cant ask any woman to share that
kind of a life."
"The right woman wouldn't mind."
"If there is such a woman, Sam, I haven't
had time to find out. Between you and me, I had a
private meeting with President Van Buren before
I left Washington City. He told me there's
a possibility, if I have to travel all the way
to Oregon, that we'll establish an army
post there to protect our citizens. I could have the
command of that post if I wanted it, I'm sure.
It's a temptation, but I'd be out of the mainstream, and
it would take a very special girl to persuade me
to spend the rest of my life on the Pacific."
Sam refrained from commenting that he had been a confirmed
bachelor, too, until Claudia had come into his
life.
Summer was the lush season on the Great Plains, so
most of the nomadic Indian tribes stayed in, one
place, raising the crops they would store until the
harsh winter arrived. Autumn was the season when they
were on the move, hunting the vast herds of buffalo that
had grown fat and sleek on the rich grass of the
prairies.
Even in summer, however, Indian patrols were on
the prowl, constantly watchful and alert, so their nations
would not be subjected to surprise attacks launched
by traditional enemies. On several occasions Sam
and the members of his party saw mounted braves in the
distance, but the warriors showed no interest in a group
of only four white men.
One day, however, eight Kama warriors emerged
unexpectedly from a grove of trees.
"Hold your rifles ready, but don't
shoot," Sam warned. "We may get out of this without
any trouble, but the whole blamed tribe will be after us
if we kill any of them."
Lee nodded and remained calm. Levine clutched his
rifle, waiting for an order to fire. Reverend
Cavendish raised his voice in a recitation from the
Book of Psalms, but his companions paid no
attention to him.
The Kansa came closer, and one of their dumber
approached and raised a hand in greeting. Sam
returned the salute. The Kansa addressed him
In Kiowan, Sam responded in the same tongue,
and then the braves rode off without further ado.
"What was that all about?" Lee wanted to know.
Sam was embarrassed, "Indians may steal," he
said, "but they almost always speak the truth. They were
planning to attack us, but they recognized me and
changed their minds. I guess it occurred to them that
they'd have a real battle on their hands if they
insisted on a fight."
The army officer laughed appreciatively. "Now
I can understand why you wanted to be my guide," he
said. "I had no idea that even Indians were
afraid of you."
"Not of me," Sam replied modestly.
"Only of my rifle, They'd be leery of you,
Lee, if they felt the sting of some of your
bullets."
In the following days, they encountered more Indians on
the prairies, including Wichita andoffage. A band
of the Jailer appeared to be hostile, so Sam put
a single buffet in the head of the leader's pony. The
discouraged braves quickly disappeared.
At last the day came when the quartet caught up
with the wagon train. They reached their destination during
the. nooning hour, and within moments, most of the company
surrounded Sam, eager to shake his hand and inquire
about Claudia. He spent a few moments alone with
Cathy, managing to tell her that Claudia was
expecting a baby, and he promised to spend the
evening with her.
Then, while Levine and Reverend Cavendish began
to acquaint themselves with the men and women they had 323
joined, Sam and Lee Blake went off to confer
privately with Whip. The wagon master read a letter
that President Van Buren had sent him and seemed
perturbed,
"It appears to me that you're replacing me,
Colonel," he said.
"Not at all," Lee replied quickly.
"I don't know the terrain-either here or what shes
ahead. I'm totally unfamiliar with the operation of a
wagon train, and I've never dealt with any of the
Indian nations of the plains or Rocky Mountains.
Even if I wanted to replace you- which I
don't-I'm not qualified. I'm here because the War
Department regards me as something of an expert in
countering
the
work done by foreign agents. I'll step in only when
I think it necessary, and I'll ask you for specific
help only when I believe there's
sat-
opportunity to put British or Imperial
Russian spies and saboteurs out of business."
"Fair enough," Whip said, but he still had
reservations.
"Lee has become my friend," Sam Brentwood
said. "He's our kind of man."
His friend's approval reassured Whip somewhat, and
he brought the army officer up to date, telling him
about the visit of Andre' Sebastian to Fort
Madison, the subsequent poisoning of the lake
water, the death of the Russian agent and, finally, the
current flurry being caused by the
Cheyenne.
"I'm blame near positive the British are behind
the Cheyenne," he said. "Pierre le Rouge saw
St. Clair and another white man in a Cheyenne
town to the northwest of us, and St. Clair tried
to enlist his services. I reckon you'll want
to talk with Pierre yourself."
"So I shall," Lee said. "But I don't want my
real identity revealed to him or to anyone else.
Let everyone think I'm just a new recruit, like
Jake Levine and Reverend Cavendish. I don't
want to restrict myself by starting to sleep in
anybody's wagon, and I prefer not to join any of
your bunting parties. Ill help out with various
chores, but I don't want to be tied down to a
regular job. From time to time, I may ask you and your
assistants for specific help, but mainly I'll
be working by myself."
"I reckon we're going to get along," Whip
said, and 324
extended a hand. Lee's grip was equally firm, and
Sam was relieved. A clash between these two could have
had catastrophic results.
"After I've had a long chat with Pierre le
Rouge," Lee said, "I plan to become
acquainted with every adult in the wagon train. A good
many of them won't require much of a check, but I
want to make as certain as I can that there are no
British or Russian agents currently in your
company."
Whip was startled. "I think that's unlikely."
"I hope so, but it's my job to find out," Lee
replied firmly, "Henry St. Clair once
posed as an Oregon-bound immigrant, and from what
Sam here reported to Washington, he almost wrecked
the train. What one agent has done, another could do
all too easily, so I intend to make good and
sure that the inside of the house is clean before we start
looking outside."
They separated, and that afternoon, while Sam rode in his
familiar place at the head of the column beside
Whip, Lee dropped back a few paces and
fell into conversation with Pierre. Prodding gently, be
managed to elicit the entire story of what had
taken place in the town of the Cheyenne, but he did
it so subtly that Pierre had no idea be was being
interrogated.
When the caravan made camp for the night, Lee had
a few additional words with Whip, in Sam's
presence. "You probably realize this
already," he said, "but I can almost guarantee that the
Cheyenne will launch a serious attack on the train
soon. An agent of Still Glair's caliber
wouldn't rest until he managed to provide them with
strong inducements. Apparently he was planning on
pushing ahead into new territory, so his work with the
Cheyenne seems to be finished. The only reason
he'd move on would be that he's convinced the Cheyenne
will follow through with his plan."
"My hunch," Sam said, "is that his next stop is
the Blackfoot, and then the trouble will be even
worse."
"I've been worried about the Blackfoot and the
Comanche in the mountains-ever since Andy Jackson
asked me to join you in this whole enterprise, Sam,"
Whip said. "They're both strong and mean, and they
hate everybody outside their own tribes. The best
thing that could happen 325
would be a war between them. If they bled each other enough,
there would be peace in the wilderness for a few years. In
the meantime, the Cheyenne are nasty enough."
"I think," Sam said, "that I'll spend a few
days with you before I head back to Independence. My
horses need resting, and I'd be perturbed if I
left too soon to help you put."
"We sure can use you," Whip said.
"What precautions have you taken?" Lee wanted
to know.
"I've posted sentries at night, and all our
scouts are on the alert," Whip replied. "I'll
double the sentry detail, Just to make sure we arent
surprised in trie middle of the night And I'll
tell our hunters not to roam too far from camp.
I've already reminded the men to cany their firearms with
them at all times, so there isn't much more that I'm able
to do."
"How many men can the Cheyenne muster in an
attack?" Lee asked.
Whip thought for a time. "They've never been a nation that
uses mass assaults as a tactic, maybe because
their towns and villages are so scattered. Myself,
I've never heard of them sending more than a couple of
hundred braves into battle at any one time."
"That's pretty much true," Sam added. "Of
course, two hundred determined warriors can
cause one hell of a lot of damage."
"And how many effectives can you use for defense
purposes?"
"A dozen to eighteen marksmen, and another one
hundred and fifty who range from fair
shots to poor."
Lee Blake smiled and patted his own rifle.
"It will be good exercise," he said. "After spending
years sitting at one desk or another, all the
way from St. Petersburg and London to Washington
City, it will be interesting to do what any officer worth
his salt enjoys most."
Supper was almost ready by the time they joined the rest of the
company. Lee saw that Cathy was alone and decided
to join her. For all practical purposes, he
had already ruled her out as a possible enemy spy, but
he told 326
trimself he had done enough work for one day. She was the
most attractive girl in the wagon train, and he
saw no reason he shouldn't indulge himself for a time,
"You and your sister don't look in the least alike,
Mrs. van Ayl," he said as he joined her.
"Oh, you've met Claudia?"
"I stayed with the Brentwoods for a day and a night before
Sam brought me out here," he replied.
Cathy kept her suspicions to herself, but it was
evident to her that Lee Blake was no ordinary
immigrant. Joseph Levine and the Reverendoffcar
Cavendish had tagged along on the journey, but she
realized that Sam wouldn't have left
Independence unless it had been important She was
in no hurry, however, to find out who this man was.
It was enough for her that he was personable, handsome enough to arouse
the attention of any romantically inclined woman, and
well-mannered.
"Then yon found Claudia well and happy?"
"Yes, and busyl"
"That's an old family tradition," she said.
"I've noticed you preparing this meal. It cant be
easy to direct the cooking for so many people."
"I do what I must."
Lee's curiosity about her was aroused. "Forgive me
if I seem to be prying, but Mrs. Brentwood
told me that she and Sam offered you the opportunity
to stay with them in Independence. I find it surprising
that an exceptionally pretty young lady should be going out
to the Oregon country by herself."
"I don't like being beholden to anyone," Cathy
told him. "That's an old family tradition,
too."
"You intend to build your own house and farm your own
property once you reach Oregon?" He was
impressed by the task she was willing to undertake.
"Well, I lived on a farm with my late husband
on Long Island, so farming isn't going
to be a new experience for me," she said. "I
realize I might be intending to try doing more than I
can handle, but I wont really know until I make
the effort, wI'll I?"
"I salute you," Lee said, realizing it was the
type of 327
spirit Cathy van Ayl exhibited that would establish
a solid, viable American colony in the rich
farm country in Oregon.
Their talk was interrupted by Whip, who was carrying his
plate. "Cathy is spoiling fellows like me for
wilderness living," he said. "I'm not sure I'll
ever be satisfied to eat with my fingers again, even though
it was the only way I took my meals for more
thantellyears."
Lee laughed.
Cathy smiled, too, hiding her surprise. This was
the first time in days that Whip had actively sought her
company, and for a few moments she didn't know what
to make of his unexpected initiative. Lee was
standing on her left, and when Whip deliberately
moved to her other side and began to discuss ways
to use leftover buffalo meat for breakfast, she
realized he was deliberately trying to freeze the
other man out of the conversation.
Then it dawned on her that Whip was jealous of the
attention that Lee Blake was paying her. It was almost
too good to be true. Whip Holt was actually
jealous I So he wasn't indifferent to her, and he
certainly wasn't taking her for granted.
Although Cathy showed no sign of "the way she felt,
she was elated. She had been so young when she had
married that she had never had to deal with more than one
suitor, but her instinct came to her aid. She
managed to talk to both men, sometimes separately and
sometimes together, taking care not to show a preference for either
one.
She was very much aware that Whip bristled every time she
addressed a remark to Lee Blake or smiled at
him. Perhaps it was unfair to use this handsome stranger this
way, but she told herself she was doing him no harm.
Certainly the effect on Whip was almost magical.
Cindy, who saw the two men jockeying for position,
looked at Cathy from a distance, then winked
solemnly, It was all Cathy could do to keep from
laughing aloud in triumph. At last she had
proved to herself that Whip Holt was really interested in
her.
Ultimately Sam appeared, put an arm around
her shoulders, and started toward the stoop of
her wagon with her. 328
"Sorry to break in," he said cheerfully, "but
we're going to have us a little family chat."
As they made themselves comfortable on the wagon steps,
he gave her a letter that her sister had written her,
then answered her eager questions about Claudia,
"I think it's wonderful that you and Claudia are so
right for each other," she said at last "I find it
hard to envision her being so domestic and so happy doing
the things she always said she despised. What will the
baby be named?"
"We've agreed to call him Andrew Jackson
Brentwood. After all, it was Old Hickory who
brought us together,"
"What if Claudia has a girl?"
"She won't," he said firmly.
Cathy giggled.
Sam backtracked. "Well, Claudia says
she'd name a daughter Martha, after your mother, and that's
fine with' me. But it won't happen."
She tried in vain to keep a straight face. "Of
course not."
Sam was uncomfortable, and changed the subject
"You're not having any serious problems, I take
it. You look just grand."
"To tell you the truth," Cathy replied, "We
never felt better in my life. Wagon train
living agrees with me. I don't know how I'll
act when we finally get to Oregon. It seems as
though we've been traveling forever."
Sam leaned closer to her and lowered his voice, even
though no one was within earshot. "Claudia and I have
had many talks about you, Cathy. I wouldn't repeat
this outside the family, but she's convinced you're in
love whh Whip."
Cathy hesitated for a long time before she spoke again,
"One day I'm convinced I am, and the next-when he
ignores me-I change my mind. You saw the way
he was hanging around at supper tonight. That's because the
new man, Lee Blake, was paying attention to me,
and Whip was jealous. So that's a good sign, Sam."
"Maybe so." He drew his knife from his belt and
absently slashed the tall blades of grass at his
feet with it. was This isut easy for me, so bear with
me, Cathy. I've got 329
to speak out because I promised Claudia I would. You
know bow Arm she is when she makes up her mind
to something." He paused, then took a deep breath.
"Claudia and I hope you don't have your heart
set on marrying Whip."
She wanted facts, not hints. "Why not?" she
asked bluntly.
"Hellfire, girl, he's a mountain man.
He's spent year after year by himself in the wilderness,
never knowing a permanent home, cooking most of his own
meals, going wherever he wants any time he's felt
like going. Most of all, he's never been
responsible for anybody but himself."
"But you were a mountain man, Sam. You spent longer
in the Rockies than Whip has. Now you're
happily married, settled in a permanent home,
and about to become a father. So it does happen, even
to the best of mountain men."
"For one thing," he replied, cutting the blades of
grass more rapidly, "Claudia kind of crept
into my bloodstream before I even realized what was
happening. Every now and again a mountain man
does
find the right woman, and then they get married. But
most fellows who have been hunters and trappers for
any length of time just cant stand being tied down. When
they see a woman-which doesn't happen very
often-she's the wrong kind--not a lady, if you
follow me. Look at Pierre le Rouge, who
is almost my age and has been living in the
Rockies ever since he was a youngster. A man like that
will never marry."
Cathy thought of Pierre's obvious interest in the
spoiled Eulalia Woodling. "Don't place
any wagers on that."
He slid his knife back into his belt.
"Claudia and I just don't want you to get hurt,
that's all. I've known Whip ever since he first
came out to the Rockies, when he was little more than a
boy. He was a wild one, especially when he was
younger, and he's always been the most independent cuss
I've known. He doesn't get dose to anyone,
and he never lets on what he really thinks and
feels."
"I'm convinced that's a front. People who are lonely
often behave that way."
"Maybe so," Sam replied, sighing. "You'll do
as you 330
please, of course, seeing you're a grown woman.
And if you weren't headstrong, you wouldn't be
Claudia's sister. Just remember that I warned you,
Cathy."
The day began like any other. The sentries reported
that nothing suspicious had happened during the last
hours of the night. The campfire, which had
burned low, was rebuilt. Small children emerged from
their wagons to play, their shouts and laughter awakening
many of the adults who otherwise would have slept later.
Members of the cooking contingent gathered at the fire,
and under the direction of Cathy and Cindy began
to prepare breakfast. Ted Woods, aided
by Hosea, made emergency repairs on an axle
that was sagging suspiciously. Some of the older boys
would have gone fishing in the North Platte River but
were stopped by Pierre, who told them to postpone their
sport until that night's halt, when there would be more
time for it.
Instead the boys were put to work cutting grass to be
set aside as fodder for the horses and oxen. That
noon they would be stopping in a sandy area where nothing
grew, so the fodder had to be prepared in advance.
Members of the water-gathering detail walked off through
a patch of thick elm and pine to a clear,
swift-flowing stream that flowed into the North Platte
farther upstream.
Soon, Whip had announced the previous night,
they would come to rolling countryside where they would catch
their first glimpse of buttes-steep hills, each of
which stood alone. Their appearance would mark the beginning
of the Rocky Mountain foothills.
Everyone was excited by the prospect and was filled with a
sense of accomplishment.
As usual, Eulalia Woodling was the last member
of the water-gathering detail to appear. The others had
already returned to the camp after performing the chore, and
she looked around for Pierre, hoping he would offer
to take her buckets off to the stream and fill them for
her. Unfortunately, he was supervising the
grass-cutting efforts of Danny, Chet, and the other
boys.
So Eulalia sighed petulantly and went off
alone. All 331
through the long spring and summer, she had hated being
obliged to perform such menial duties as cooking,
washing dishes, and hauling buckets of water, but she
had discovered that there was no escape from the chores.
Whip and Ernie von Thalman showed her no
sympathy, and even her father merely shrugged when she
complained to him. Only Pierre showed her any
kindness, but when he was otherwise engaged, she had to do
the work herself.
Eulalia pouted as she left the circle. Instead
of walking around the woods, as members of the detail
had been instructed the previous evening, she elected
to take a shorter route by going through them to the
little river. Sometimes, she thought, Whip and Ernie
deliberately made up rules for the perverse
pleasure of forcing people to work harder.
Nothing stirred in the woods, and there was no sound.
Eulalia dawdled, deliberately postponing her
chore.
Then a brawny, brown-skinned arm. caught her from
behind, encircled her neck, and pulled her backward,
knocking her off her feet. At the same instant,
a soft gag of leather was shoved into her mouth, muffling
her scream.
Eulalia looked up in terror as she fell,
catching a glimpse of a husky Indian brave
bending over her, his face and bare torso streaked with
paint In his scalp lock he wore several eagle
feathers, and the stench of bear grease that was smeared over
his whole body made her sick to her stomach.
She struggled, thrashing her arms and legs, but the man
easily subdued her, binding her wrists behind her
back with a strip of rawhide that he tied so tightly
the leather cut into her flesh. He used another strip
of rawhide to bind her ankles, then threw her over
his shoulder, carrying her as though she were a sack of
grain.
Eulalia realized he was taking her to a
waiting horse, and again she tried to scream, but the
gag muffled her voice. All at once she
noticed that the woods and the open area to the north were
alive diswith scores of other Indians, all mounted
on large horses and armed with bows and arrows,
spears, and long poles padded with dried grass.
The brave who had made her his prisoner threw her

over the folded buffalo robe that he used as a
saddle, then mounted his horse and began to ride through the
ranks of his comrades. The other warriors, intent
on the grim business that awaited them, paid scant
attention to the terror-stricken girl. Obviously
her capture had been an unexpected bonus and
had no bearing on what they were doing.
The brave continued to ride his horse slowly
northward across the prairie. Not until he had
gone several hundred yards did he strike the mount
smartly on the flank. Then the horse bounded forward
swiftly, and Eu- lalia was carried off.
Unaware that anything was wrong, Cathy beat on the
bottom of an empty kettle with a large metal
spoon to indicate that breakfast was ready. People began
to line up for slices of buffalo fat cut from the
center strip across the back of the huge
beasts-a dish that, when fried, closely resembled
bacon. With it the company was being served biscuits
and a jam that some of the women had made from wild
raspberries; pots of coffee were beginning to boil.
Suddenly one of the workhorses screamed and collapsed
onto the ground, an arrow protruding from its head.
Terence Malcolm staggered backward and sat down
hard on the ground, staring foolishly at an arrow that
was sticking out of his shoulder. And an indignant
Grace Drummond plucked an arrow from her
apron and brandished it over her head.
The mountain men were the first to react.
"Cheyenne!" Pierre le Rouge shouted as he
recognized the short, thick arrows used by the
warriors of the most dreaded Plains tribe.
"Cheyenne attack!" Sam Brentwood called in
the same breath.
Whip instantly began to organize the defense of the
circle. The entire company was caught
by surprise, as Indian attacks almost always took
place either at dawn or sundown. This assault,
however, obviously had been planned for a time when it
was least anticipated.
Most of the men moved to the openings between the 333
wagons, and the older boys, knowing from past
experience what was expected of them, raced to the
special wagon for spare ammunition, powder, and the
extra rifles they would load while others were being
fired.
The women, children, and animals were moved toward the
river side of the circle, which was farthest from the area of
active combat. Grace Drummond took charge
of this maneuver, her booming voice rising above the
shouts and the sound of rifle fire that was already starting
to erupt. "Take your time!" she called. "Don't
stampede like cattle or you'll trainple your own
Ijttle ones. Every mother is responsible for her own
young. And look after your animals. Keep them away
from the arrows as best you can. Don't let them
stampede, either."
Whip was everywhere, organizing the resistance. Sam
immediately slipped back info the role he had played
for so long, mustering a number of the best marksmen into a
special group. These included the scouts, Lee
Blake, Pierre, and Ernie von Thalman, and
they were joined voluntarily " by Hosea and
Claiborne Woodling, neither of whose talents Sam
knew. Then Tonie Mell came to them, too,
crawling close to the ground just inside the shelter of the
wagons, and Sam didn't have the heart
to turn her away.
Wiser and shrewder by far than other tribes, whose
tactics usually consisted of a bold frontal
attack, the Cheyenne remained in the woods, where
they could see the deA fenders but could not be seen. From
that shelter, they sent showers of arrows into the circle.
Cathy realized the cooking fire made an easily
seen target. She began to extinguish it, indifferent
to the arrows that fell around her. Cindy came to help
her, and although terrified, the two girls tried
to perform the task alone. Then Ted Woods saw
them, and, his prowess with a rifle being limited, he
came to join them. Wielding a heavy shovel, he
piled dirt onto the flames, and as soon as they were
extinguished, he shepherded the girls to relative
safety on the river side of the circle, then
devoted himself to calming the horses and oxen.
Meanwhile, the members of the elite unit huddled
behind the special wagon, and there Whip conferred with
them.
There's no telling
yet
how many warriors are out yonder," he said. "We
won't know until they show them" selves."
"It looks to me like most of our shots are
going wildi" Sam said. "That's because too many of the
men have never foughtinabatfle."
"I don't believe that matters," Lee Blake
said.
Whip, aware of
his high military rank, paid particular attention to this
remark. "Why not?"
"Any kind of rifle fire is enough to hold
savages at bay until we establish some kind of
order here. And that's a job you seem to have done already.
I'm not at all familiar with the Cheyenne, but if
they're in any way like the tribes I know, they'll
keep firing arrows until they think they've weakened
us, and then they'll charge us on horseback and try
to overwhelm us."
"I'm sure you're right," Whip said. "We've just
got to be extra careful some of them don't sneak
around to the river side."
"Some of us will see to that," Arnold Mell said.
HS worked hta way around to the left, accompanied
by Tonie, while Mack Dongall and Pierre le
Rouge moved to the right Any Cheyenne who tried
to sneak down to the river side of the circle would be
greeted by the accurate fire of sharpshooters who
took pride in rarely missing their
targets.
"Somebody is showing good sense," Lee said.
"Instead of trying to pick targets in the woods, which
is impossible, he's just sending a stream of fire
into the trees to disrupt the enemy."
WJ-NP grinned. "That's the new man, Levine,"
he said.
He beckoned to Chet and Danny, who were waiting
nearby, hoping they would be chosen to reload the
rifles of the marksmen. "Lads," he said, "make
your way to every wagon opening thafs being used for firing.
Tell our men not to bother with individual targets.
Tell them to just make certain their shots go into the
woods. Easy now, boys. Take your time,
don't expose yourselves in the open, and come back here
as soon as you're done passing the message."
Soon all of the wagon train men understood what was
expected of them and concentrated on firing into the
woods.
"There are fewer arrows coming this way now," Lee
observed.
"A lot of the braves must be moving to the back side
of the woods, where it's healthier for them," Whip said.
"But we mustn't be fooled by that maneuver." Sam was
grave. "The Cheyenne dont scare
easy. They won't give up-not with all the booty
and scalps they could pick up here, not to mention
firearms and horses."
Suddenly Arnold and Tonie opened fire,
reloading and firing again as rapidly as they discharged
their rifles.
"Ah," Lee said, "the enemy is growing impatient
Does that couple want any help?"
"Arnold will let us know if they do," Whip said.
The rapid fire continued. The army officer was
impressed by Tonie's speed and dexterity as she
reloaded again and' again. Never had he dreamed any
woman could handle firearms so well.
At last the firing stopped.
"We brought down three of them and got two of their
horses as well," Arnold called. "I don't
think they'll try sneaking around this flank again."
All at once the canvas of a wagon burst
into flames. There was no way of extinguishing the
fire, and not only was the canvas top eaten away
but much of the contents were destroyed.
Now many more flaming spears soared over the roofs of
wagons and landed inside the circle, making the
animals restless and terrifying the women.
Whip made a quick decision. "Hosea,"
he said, "Get Ted Woods to help you and use as
many of the men as you need. Smother those torches before they
cause any more damage."
Hosea streaked away, organizing the task with
astonishing rapidity. Apparently the Cheyenne were
using something to launch the flaming spears, which continued
to clear the tops of the wagons before they came to earth.
But Hosea and Ted were equal to the task. A dozen
men were helping them, but the pair managed to put out more
of the fires than all of the others. 336
"If the savages had more sense," Lee Blake
said, "they'd set fire to every last wagon we have.
Then we'd be in real trouble."
"The Cheyenne are too greedy for that," Whip
replied, smiling grimly. "They're already counting
on all the food and blankets and other loot
they're going to take home with them, and they don't
want to destroy it."
Whip, Lee, and Sam continued to watch the woods for
any sign of a decisive move on the part of the
enemy. They were concentrating so hard that none of them
saw Cathy van Ayl come up behind them. There was
dirt on her hands, face, and clothes, and her
hair-was flying. She started to speak, panting from the
exertion of running across the center of the
circle.
Whip turned at the sound of her voice. "What the
heHave are you doing, going out in the open?" he demanded,
his fear for her safety making him angry.
Cathy ignored his tone. "Dr. Martin needs
help," she said, fighting to regain her breath. "Some
of our people have been wounded by arrows-I can't tell you how
many comanda little girl broke her leg getting away from
one of the workhorses that almost crushed her,"
"Well," Whip said, "Tonie can't be spared.
We need her right where she is, doing what she's
doing."
"Bob Martin knows that, and he isn't asking for her.
Cindy and I would be glad to do what we can for him, but
he needs somebody who knows what to do about the wounded
without having to be told every step."
"Kind that new man, Reverend Cavendish," Whip
said.

A clergyman should be able to help a doctor in a
situation like this. No, Cathy! Not you!" Whip
shouted, as Cathy turned to go and look for Reverend
Cavendish, "Go back to the other side, but work your
way around, and stop taking needless risks with your
life!"
Then he shouted, "Danny! You find Reverend
Cavendish and take him to Dr. Martin's wagon.
And let me know if be doesn't work out all right."
Whip turned back to observing the woods.
Obviously he intended that his orders be obeyed, so
Cathy meekly returned by a circuitous route
to the far side of the circle. She knew that his anger
had been sparked by his 337
concern for her welfare, and that knowledge comforted her.
The shower of flaming spears continued, and Hosea and
Ted gradually developed a new technique for
disposing of these dangerous weapons. The blacksmith
snatched them, sometimes catching them before they landed, his
calloused hands not bothered by their heat And Hosea
calmly stamped out the flames with the hardened feet that
had already carried him across so much of the continent.
The pair's courage and skill were remarkable, but they
could not perform miracles. The roof and some of the contents
of another wagon were destroyed. A farmer from
Pennsylvania was struck by a burning spear; the
man rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames, but
be was burned seriously and had to be carried to the
doctor's Wagon.
The Reverend Cavendish, as calm as ever, understood
exactly what was required of him. He
worked in tandem with the frantically busy physician.
None of the wounded laughed at the uninterrupted stream
of Biblical quotations the clergyman uttered, and
later many would express their gratitude for the comfort
he had given them.
Then tragedy struck blindly. A flaming spear
launched with greater force than those that preceded it reached
the far side of the circle, where the women and children were
gathered with the animals, and the point lodged in the
ground, only inches from where Tommy Harris, the.
youngest of Emily Harris's surviving sons, was
standing.
The nine-year-old boy, disappointed because he could
take no active part in the battle, had been
admiring the efforts of Hosea and Ted Woods.
Now he had his chance to imitate them, and before anyone
could stop him, he seized the flaming spear with both
hands. His scream of agonizing pain and fright echoed
across the circle.
Ernie von Thalman had been prowling the entire
perimeter, doing his best to maintain order until such
time as he was needed by the members of the group who were
shooting into the woods. When he saw Tommy
enveloped 338
in flames, be dashed across the open to the child,
ignoring his own safety.
The stunned Emily seemed paralyzed, unable
to act, unable to move. Ernie threw the child to the
ground, then fell on top of him, smothering the flames
with his own body. After what seemed like an eternity,
he put out the fire. Leaping to his feet and
ignoring his own relatively minor burns, he
picked up Tommy's limp body, and raced with the
boy to Dr. Martin's wagon. Cindy picked up
his rifle, knowing he would soon need it, and followed
behind, as did Cathy, who supported the staggering,
weeping Emily.
Ernie knew even before he reached the physician's
wagon that it was too late. Tommy was no longer
breathing, and his sightless eyes stared vacantly from his
small, scorched face. Gently he laid the
body of the boy on a cot in Dr. Martin's
wagon. Then, refusing treatment for himself, Ernie
hurried to the command post behind the special wagon and
related what had happened.
Whip was the first to break the long, tense silence.
"We owe Tommy Harris a victory," he said.
"Men who make war on little children deserve no
quarter."
The Cheyenne gave the defenders no
opportunity to alter their tactics or reverse the
tide of battle. The attackers continued to remain
hidden in the woods, and the flow of flaming spears into the
compound seemed endless. Hosea and Ted worked
doggedly, as did the men who were assisting them.
Sam Brentwood made a shrewd assessment of the
situation. "I'm not making light of our
casualties or property losses, which hurt,"
he said. "But we're not in too had a shape. The
women and youngsters are less panicky now, and the oxen
and horses are quiet, except when a flaming
torch lands near them. If we can just sit tight long
enough, the Indians will have to try a more direct
approach."
"When they attack another tribe's town," Whip
declared, "their burning lances usually drive the
defenders into the open. Then the Cheyenne divide and
scatter them, which makes it easy for the major part of
their force 339
to capture the town, take the women and youngsters as
prisoners, and go off with as much booty as they can
carry. Right about now they must be getting a mite
upset because we aren't reacting like their other
enemies."
Pierre was aware of yet another
significant development "Their lances become
fewer," he said. "They must be running out by now.
Soon there will be a change."
"It seems to me," Whip said, "they've got
to convince themselves we've been badly weakened. They
can't move around our flanks, so they've just about
exhausted their choices. Before long they'll have to make
a big frontal attack, mustering their full
strength and riding at us hard in the hope they can smash
through the wagons and overwhelm us."
Such an assault sounded suicidal to Lee
Blake, and he shook his head. "I think they'd be
deterred by realizing they'd suffer one whale of a lot
of casualties that way."
"The Plains nations aren't like others," Whip,
explained. "They believe that when a warrior is
killed in battle, his spirit lives on forever in the land
of their gods. That's what makes them fearless."
Gradually the stream of flaming lances thinned to a slow
trickle.
"I reckon we'd best get ready for the main
attack," Whip said. "I want our sharpshooters
spread out-two to each wagon opening between us and the
Mells on the left. Pierre, go back to your
place with Mack, and we'll
fin
in the openings to the right, too."
The men began to move off.
"Danny, I want you to stay right here with Sam and
me," Whip said. "Reload the spare rifles as
fast as you can and keep feeding them to us. Chet, you do the
same for Lee Blake and Ernie at the other end
of the special wagon. We'll be the focal point
of the attack, and we've got to hold them off here in
the center."
The two boys obeyed eagerly.
"Where's Stalking Horse?" Whip demanded.
"Here," the Cherokee replied, materializing beside
him.
"Get hold of Hosea. There's no need to tell
either of you what to do. Station yourselves wherever you think you're
most needed, and move around from one point to 340
another any way you see fit to strengthen
a
position. And while you're at it, tell Ted and the
men working with him to take complete charge of the animals
as soon as the torches stop coming over. The riding
horses are used to the noise and shouldn't be bothered
by it, but the wagon horses and oxen will become
excited when they hear sustained rifle
fire. If they panic and start to stampede, they're
likely to smash out of the circle and leave an opening
big enough for the Cheyenne to pour through. We can't allow that
to happen, no matter what, so tell Ted we're
depending on him to keep the animals quiet!"
Stalking Horse glided away, returning a few
minutes later, accompanied by Hosea. Whip and
Sam had already stationed themselves on either side of the
small opening between the special wagon and the smaller
vehicle that stood adjacent to it, so there was little
room there for Stalking Horse and the Ashanti.
Hosea solved that problem by stretching out fat the
tall grass in the open area between the two wagons,
his shield on the ground in front of him, and Stalking
Horse dropped on one knee beside him.
"We start here," the Cherokee said. "Move if
get had other places."
Whip and Sam agreed. The firepower massed at this
one defense station would be so great that the attackers would
quickly learn to avoid it. Both mountain men were
relying on (he knowledge they ,had acquired over the years
about Indian behavior in battle. They knew that
Pierre, Arnold, and Mack were equally well
aware of the . basic situation. No fighting men
anywhere were more courageous and persistent than
a body of Indian warriors, provided they were
advancing. They would take risks that far more
cautious white soldiers, even seasoned
veterans, would not However, once an Indian
drive was blunted and the braves were thrown onto the
defensive, they quickly collapsed, their bravado
vanishing. When an attack failed, they were inclined
to lose their zest for combat and frequently withdrew from
the field.
"Here they come!" Ernie von Thalman shouted.
A long line of Cheyenne horsemen emerged from the
woods and began to gallop toward the wagons, firing
arrows as they rode. Behind them came a second
wave,
"dis
then a third, and a fourth. It appeared that, as
usual, they were holding none of their band in reserve;
any war- , riors who failed to take part in the
initial assault would feel they had been slighted
and would lose face.:
Lieutenant Colonel Lee Blake, more
experienced than his colleagues in judging the size
of an enemy. force, estimated there were
approximately fifty warriors in each be of the
four lines, or about two hundred in all.
Certainly the attackers outnumbered the defenders in
what would long be remembered as the first major
engagement fought by members of the wagon train.
Claiborne WoodlitJg won the distinction of being
the first to dispose of a foe. His rifle spoke a
fraction of a second before any of the others, and he
caught an oncoming brave between the eyes. The man
was killed instantly.
Then Sam and Whip calmly opened fire.
By unspoken agreement, they concentrated on the
Cheyenne leaders, the warriors who wore the largest
number of eagle feathers in their headdresses.
Both knew that the braves were more likely to lose
heart if they were deprived of their leadership.
Stalking Horse was taking his time, making each of his
arrows count. Unflustered by the fury of the enemy
drive, he fitted an arrow into his bowstring, let
fly, and then reached for another.
Hosea was less fortunate. A number of
Cheyenne arrows had already cut into his shield, but
he himself was unharmed. The darts from his blowgun were
effective only at short range, however, so he
had to wait until the braves in the front row
drew still closer before he could launch his own
counterattack. He waited patiently, his
dark eyes narrowed and gleaming with suppressed
excitement. He knew that the battle presented him
with an opportunity to repay the loyalty and trust
the members of the wagon train had shown him, and his hand
was steady.
After a wait of only a few seconds, which to him
felt like a very long time, he had his chance. One of his
darts 342
caught an onrushing warrior in the throat, and a
moment later the man slumped, then slid to the ground.
Lee and Ernie were methodically sending round after round
of bullets at the foe, with deadly effect Pierre
and Mack more than held their own, and Tonie,
keeping up the pace set by her uncle, brought down
her share of attackers.
Arrows were sticking out of the ground, some were lodged in the
canvas of wagon
tops,
and a number found their targets. Whip suffered a
minor wound ia his left arm but ignored it.
Claiborne Woodling, who was proving his mettle
as a man, discovered that an arrow had dug into his
thigh. He, pulled it out, paving no attention to the
pain, and continued to fire, reload and fire again,
despite the spreading bloodstain on his
throbbing thigh.
Some of the less able defenders didn't fare as
well, One member of the expedition who appeared in
an opening between wagons was killed instantly by an
arrow, and two others were wounded. Then Major
Woodling, accusTonied to the more formal type of
battle fought by civilized armies, became careless.
He allowed himself to be seen in the open for a brief
moment. Those few seconds were enough to seal his doom.
An arrow penetrated his body, killing him even as
he fired his old-fashioned musket
His body sagged, but remained upright, leaning against the
wagon beside him. Frozen on his lips was the faint
smile of pleasure that had mirrored his feelings when
he had peered down the barrel of his musket and seen
a brave.
The thrust of the first wave was broken, and a number of
riderless horses milled around the area just beyond the
wagons. Confused and frightened by the sound of gunfire,
they panicked and took off across the prairie.
The second wave of Indians replaced the first,
and the warriors in the front rank either turned aside
in bewilderment or tried to join their comrades, who were
now suffering the same fate that they themselves had endured.
"I need more gunpowder!" Tonie Mell
called. "Gun- powderl"
She repeated the cry several times, but none of the

older boys who were helping the marksmen heard her
above the roar of gunfire and the hoarse cries of the
warriors who were trying to encourage each other. But
Cindy, who was pressed against a wagon a short
distance farther down the line, made out the voice of her
friend, listened carefully, and knew something had to be
done. She picked up a powder horn lying on the
ground beside one of the fanners, and, not taking the time
to find an appropriate messenger, she began to work
her way toward Tonie, crouching low each time she
came to an opening between wagons.
Terrified by the Indians" arrows, Cindy paid little
heed to the ground underfoot. A harness was coiled there,
and she caught her toe in a leather loop. Losing
her balance, she pitched forward onto the ground. The
powder horn she was carrying flew out of her grasp and
landed on the ground just beyond her reach.
Although she didn't realize it, she was directly in
the path of a Cheyenne warrior who had been thrown from
his horse just beyond the outside of the circle. In the
confusion, none of the defenders had realized that the
brave was still alive and uninjured,
determined to work his way inside the perimeter and kill
enough of the riflemen to permit his comrades to make a
breakthrough.
His presence unseen and unsuspected, the warrior was
moving slowly on his stomach under a wagon,
gradually making his way inside the circle. He
had lost his quiver of arrows and broken his bow when he
had been thrown, but she still had his knife. Carrying it
in his hand, he had no concern for his own safety, but was
intent on killing as many wielders of firesticks as
he could.
All at once, as the breathless Cindy struggled
to rise from the ground, she saw the face and painted
body of this husky brave a scant yard from her.
The warrior saw her at the same instant, and
Cindy screamed in terror.
Claiborne Woodling stood at the next wagon
opening, reloading his rifle after firing at another
oncoming horseman. He heard the girl's cry
above tfee din of battle, then took in the situation
swiftly. The warrior, as startled as Cindy,
took a firm grip on his knife and poised himself,

raising the blade above his head in order to plunge it
into the body of this squaw who was raising an
alarm.
There was no time for Claiborne to reload and fire
at the man. So he took the only course open
to him. He raced down the length of the wagon.
Grasping his rifle by its hot barrel, and wielding
it like a club, he brought the oak butt down with all
his might on the back of the warrior's head, just as the
Indian was about to strike Cindy. The man died at
once, his blood and brains oozing onto the ground.
Cindy felt ill, but she still had a duty to perform.
The din of battle made it impossible for her
to thank Claiborne, who seemed to want no
thanks and had raced back to his post, resuming his
fire. Cindy scooped up the warrior's knife,
along with the powder horn she had dropped, then
delivered the horn to the hard-pressed Tonie.
The battle raged furiously, both sides
realizing that the climax had been reached. The
defenders' burden fell on the marksmen. They were
equal to their task, holding their places and firing
again and again, until their arms grew weary.
The Cheyenne were growing increasingly frustrated by their
inability to penetrate their foes' line. Some of the
braves threw then- spears in desperation, rather than
waiting until they could fight at closer
quarters, but the lances caused no substantial
harm. Arrows were proving useless, too, and the
attackers' casualties were mounting so rapidly that
the surviving senior warriors finally realized they
would be wise to withdraw while they could.
No formal order was given. One moment the braves
were sending arrows at their enemies, trying their best
to keep pushing forward in the face of murderous rifle
fire, and the next moment their ranks broke, and they
were in flight, some skirting the woods as they
retreated, others plunging into the cover immediately.
Stalking Horse and Hosea wanted to pursue the
warriors, but Whip objected. "Let them go," he
said. "We've hit them so hard they won't come
back."
The expedition's casualties were the worst the
Oregon- bound settlers had ever suffered. Six
members of the 345
company were dead, including little Tommy Harris and
Major Woodling, while a score of others,
including three children, had suffered injuries. Dr.
Martin was still at work, looking after the wounded.
As
soon as the warriors had vanished from sight,
Tonie went to help him and Reverend
Cavendish.
Fire had destroyed the contents of several wagons,
but most of the losses could be replaced. There was spare
canvas in the special wagon, and ample food
supplies were on hand, thanks to the successes of the
hunters and fishermen. Clothing of skins could be made
to take the place of wool and cotton that had gone
up in flames. At least the wagons themselves were
intact, and miraculously, the horses and oxen had
all survived.
Whip decided it was best, for the sake of the company's
morale, not to delay the funeral services.
Graves were prepared, and a number of the men helped
Ted cut down trees and fashion coffins.
The hunger of the smaller children reminded their elders that
no one had eaten anything that day. But the adults had
little appetite, so no hot meals were prepared. People
made do with strips of dried buffalo meat, parched
corn, and preserved berries.
Cindy looked for Claiborne Woodling and found
him near the bank of the North Platte, staring down
at the clear, swift-running water. She found it
strange to be in the debt of this brash young man who
had caused her trouble in the past, but she forced herself
to face him without flinching.
"I want to thank you," she said. "I was so scared
I didn't know what to do when I saw that Indian.
You saved my life."
"Anybody would have done what I did," he
replied, showing none of the aggressiveness that had made
him so unpopular in the past
"Not anybody," the girl replied, correcting
him. "Besides, you did it. I never saw anybody
move so fast, and I'm grateful to you."
"I'm glad I could be of help," he muttered, and
turned away to look down into the water again.
Cindy couldn't help feeling sorry for him and touched

his arm lightly, "I-I'm sorry about your father,"
she said.
Claibome looked at her, his expression
reflecting something unfathomable in addition to sadness.
"It may be just as well," he said. "Papa joined
the wagon train only because he could see no other
future for himself or his children. But he never felt at
home in the train, and I know he'd have hated setting
up a homestead for himself in Oregon. He lived a
different kind of life, and in a sense he died when
we lost our plantation."
The girl took a deep breath. "I
suppose-you'll be- going back East with Sam
Brentwood when he leaves for Independence."
"Not Claiborne said, shaking his head. "There's
nothing for me in South Carolina. I'm going all the
way to Oregon with you people, and I'll make a life
for myself there." He straightened his shoulders, but sounded
forlorn as he said, "That's the least I can do in
Papa's memory. If I dont justify the
faith he showed in me when we joined this wagon
train, I'll never be able to look at my face in
a mirror again."
It occurred to Cindy, as she made her way back
to the circla, that Claiborne had grown to manhood
more in a few hours than he had in all his preceding
years.
Not until the funeral procession to the open graves
was about to start did anyone notice 1hat
Eulalia Woodling was missing. Her brother
noticed her absence when he returned to the vicinity.
A hasty search was conducted for her, and when she
couldn't be located the search was temporarily called
off. For the sake of the grieving members of other
families, Whip didn't want to delay the
funeral any longer. When Sam and Ernie agreed
with, him, the procession started slowly
upstream, then turned northward away from the river,
beyond the place where it might overflow in the autumn and
spring. As they made their way to the waiting graves,
they began to sing.
This was not a time for a hymn, even though they were mourning
those who had been taken from them. Their hope for the
future had to sustain them, no matter how much they
missed the departed, and those who first raised their
voices expressed the faith' of the entire company

in what lay ahead by singing "America." By the time they
came to the last stanza, even the members of the
families of those who had died joined in, tears
streaming down their faces:
Our fathers' God, to thee,
Author of liberty,
To thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might,
Great God, our King.
Reverend Cavendish conducted one service for all
who had died, and there was no sound but the gentle whisper
of the breeze through the tell grass of the Great Plains
as he-began to recite the familiar words:
K
I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord:
he that believeth io me, though he were dead, yet shall
he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me,
shall never die... ."
Emily Harris stood with her surviving children, the
younger in front of her and Chet on one side of her.
Ernie von Thalman flanked her other side, as
he had done on a similar, sad occasion in the
past. He placed a comforting arm around her shoulders
to sustain her and hold her upright.
Claiborne Woodling stood alone, his hands
clasped behind his back, his feet apart, as though he were
bracing himself in a strong wind. His eyes were fixed
on his father's coffin. Although his expression was stiff,
betraying no emotion, the arrogance that had been so much
a part of his nature had been drained from him.
Cindy looked at him and had to restrain the impulse
to move to a place beside him and take his hand. She
knew he was suffering from loneliness, and she who had
been alone so much of her life felt a deep pity
for him. But she was. afraid that others, including
Claiborne himself, might misunderstand her gesture;
besides, she was uncertain how Ted Woods might
react. So she made no move and she,
too, stared straight ahead, listening
to
Reverend Cavendish.
Before the service ended, many of the adults were thinking the
same thought: the unknown perils that lay 348
Ahead were many, and before they reached Oregon, other
graves would mark the long trail. But that knowledge could not
deter them from reaching their goal. The promised land
awaited the strong and the brave. They felt compelled
to go on, so those who had lost their lives on the
endlesstrip would not have died in vain.
At the end of the service, a group of volunteers
filled in the graves with dirt and erected markers.
Then a common grave was dug near the woods, and the
bodies of the Cheyenne braves who had died were
placed in it. Forty warriors had been killed in the
abortive attack-a surprisingly large number.
No one knew how many had been hurt because they had
taken their wounded with them when they had withdrawn,
Claiborne Woodling stood alone outside the
wagon he had shared with his father and sister, seeking
solace from no one in his time of grief. Cindy found
him there. Not speaking, she handed him the knife of the
warrior be had killed when be had saved her life.
For an instant her eyes met his, then
she moved quickly away.
Whip quietly asked Stalking Horse and Hosea
to search the entire area for any sign of the missing
Eulalia. No warriors had entered the compound,
except for the one brave Claiborne had killed,
scfit appeared impossible that the Cheyenne had
captured the girl.
Late in the afternoon Hosea returned to the circle,
caught Whip's eye, and beckoned. "Whip come,"
he said.
Together they went out into the woods. At the far side,
near the bank of the little stream that flowed into the North
Platte farther to the west, lay two of the
expedition's wooden buckets. One of them had been
crushed almost beyond recognition beneath the hoofs of a
retreating warrior's horse.
Whip returned to the circle for a private talk with
Sam, and then they went together to Claiborne, taking
him with them into the woods.
"Look yonder," Whip said, pointing to the
buckets. "I'm only guessing, but I think it's
a pretty good guess, and so does Sam. We
believe your sister was abducted by the Cheyenne while
she was
t
gathering water this morning. Before
the
attack even started." 349
The young man nodded. "I imagine you're right. What
to j do we do now to get her back?"
"This isn't easy to say," Whip told him.
"But-for the i immediate future-we can do nothing."
Claiborne looked as though he had been struck;
he started to protest Sam raised a hand to silence
him, be "Hear us out," he said. "The Cheyenne's
hunting grounds ,. are extensive. It's
impossible to know how many towns :
be
and villages they have in the area. At least twenty,
I'd say, and maybe twice that number."
"In order to find Eulalia," Whip said, "we'd
have to send out a search party-not just a few men, but a
really I
strong party, in force-at least thirty well-armed men
who know how to handle rifles. We've just beaten the
tar out of the Cheyenne, and they won't forget that defeat
in a hurry. It wouldn't surprise me any if
Pierre le Rouge would like to hunt for your sister
t
and I'm sure you'd want to join him-was
"Of course!" Claiborne said.
Whip shook his head. "As Pierre would be the first
to tell you, once he cooled down, such a mission
would be suicidal. We can't afford to halt the
entire train for weeks or even months while a
big party of armed men travels from one Cheyenne
town to the next We cant afford to let our people run
the risk of spending another winter on the prairie,
this time in the open, without adequate shelter or
firewood."
"Then you propose to abandon Eulalia?"
Claiborne asked in a choked voice.
"Not at all," Whip said. "There's only one way
to handle a situation like this. We keep on with our own
journey, and that gives the dust time to settle. We
haven't seen the last of the Cheyenne. They wont
dare attack us again in force, but they'll undoubtedly
send small groups of, braves to make nuisance
raids on us."
"That's their way," Sam added.
"When that happens," Whip said, "we'll find some
way to detain one or two of them. They sure can't
be holding any other white girl as a prisoner, and
we'll be able to find out for sure where they're holding
Eulalia. Then we'll go after her.
Until then, well have to be patient"
"What's to stop them from killing her?" Claibome
asked, till visibly upset
"Nothing," Whip said. "But it isn't their style
to murder women." He refrained from mentioning how the
Cheyenne
did
treat any unfortunate females held captive.
XIV
The buttes appeared suddenly in the midst of the flat
prairie, their presence dramatic because it was so
abrupt The first buttes were small, standing
onlytellor fifteen feet high. Their sides were
steep, sometimes almost perpendicular to the ground. Some
were solid rock, like so many in the Dakota country that
lay to the north, but many had soil on them and were
covered with grass and weeds. Vegetation was not as lush
as it was in the flatlands, however, and each butte
stood alone in isolated splendor, rising by itself in
the midst of the Great Plains.
Andr6 Sebastian was familiar with the area, but
Henry St. Clair was seeing the region for the first
time. Although he took pride in his ability never
to show surprise, he realized this terrain was
unique.
They rode side by side, leading the horses that
pulled the Englishman's wagon, and Sebastian
gestured toward the buttes. "We're in the land of the
Blackpool now, God help us."
"Well get along with them." Henry showed his
customary confidence.
"Don't try to trick them, that's all. Even the
Cheyenne are afraid of them, you know. And only the
Comanche
His
of the mountains have an agreement of sorts with them,
with neither invading the land of the other. It's the only way
they both avoid total annihilation. Listen!"
Henry raised his head, strained, and heard the fault
sound of drums in the distance.
"They know we've arrived on Blackfoot soil,"
Sebastian said. "Obviously we've been seen
by their sentry outposts comwho have made certain we
haven't seen them. So we've got to watch our step
now."
"In what way?"
"We do no hunting. It doesn't matter if a
deer stops right in front of u.we ignore him.
If we see a herd of buffalo, we ride around
them. And if we should run across an elk or
a bear, and there are both in the foothills, we
close our eyes to them. Nobody hunts in
Blackfoot country without the permission of then

chiefs. If we brought down even small game,
we'd be signing our own death warrants."
Henry was pleased rather than dismayed. "I believe
I'm going to enjoy my visit with the Blackfoot.
If they are as reliable as they are rugged, they're the
very Indians I've been looking for, ever since I
began my mission."
"Oh, they're reliable. They always keep then- word-
provided you do the same with them." Sebastian shaded
his eyes with a hand and glanced up at the sun, which stood
somewhat lower at this time of afternoon, now that autumn was
at hand. "We'll arrive at one of their larger
towns before dusk."
"Good."
"Most of their warriors will be off hunting buffalo,
of course," Sebastian said. "This is the time of
year when the animals weigh the most and have the best
coats, so all the Plains tribes hunt them in
force. But the Blackfoot are different. The
sachems stay at home, and they keep enough warriors
behind to protect their women and children. They're
like Peter the Great, you know, always staying Ahead of
those who might become their enemies."
"They sound more like our Henry the Fifth." Henry
allowed himself a slight smile.
Sebastian had no interest in a verbal duel with
him. "Even their method of buffalo hunting is
different. Closer to the mountains, where the
hills
become steeper, they 354
send out parties of warriors who light firebrands,
form a semicircle, and approach a herd of
buffalo. The
animals
are afraid of the fire, so they take off in the
opposite direction, and the Blackfoot drive them
off the edge of a cliff. That kills the buffalo rather
neatly, and the warriors simply go to the base of the
cliff and collect the carcasses."
Henry stared at the Russian agent to see if he
was joking but saw he was serious. Certainly he had
made his point. Any Indians who managed to force
buffalo to commit suicide by the hundreds while
putting themselves in virtually no danger, deserved
to be treated with both respect and great caution.
'The sachem we're going to see today is
Gray Antelope. He claims he's fought more
than a hundred battles and won them all. By the
way, hell expect us to prostrate ourselves on the
ground when we first approach him."
"I must draw the line there. As a representative
of Queen Victoria, I'm obliged to remember
Her Majesty's dignity as well as my own."
"You won't look very dignified with your head stuck
on the end of a spear," Sebastian said.
"On second thought," Henry declared, speaking
emphatically, "I won't in the least mind abasing
myself. In fact, I'll do anything the Blackfoot
want if they'll cooperate with us and put an end,
once and for all, to those people in the wagon train who have
been leading such charmed lives!"
Bulalia Woodling labored on her hands and
knees under a hot autumn sun, breathing in dust as
she pulled weeds from the field of corn, soon to be
harvested, in the land of the Cheyenne. She was
barefooted and clad only in a skimpy breastband and
short skirt of buffalo skin. Her hair was
braided in two tight pigtails.
As she worked, she ignored the bugs and worms, paid
no attention when she broke a fingernail, and barely
paused to stifle a sneeze with one grubby
hand. Certainly she didn't dare run the risk of
looking up to see if the squaw who was in charge of the
slaves was anywhere in the immediate vicinity. The woman,
armed with a 355
short, ugly whip made of several strands of
rawhide, liked nothing better than to apply the
whip to the back of any slave she caught malingering.
There were days when Eulalia no longer cared what
became of her. Certainly she had abandoned hope that
the wagon train leaders would send an expedition
to rescue her from her miserable fate. The days ran
together, and only the cold that settled over the
Cheyenne town each night told her the season was
changing and that autumn had arrived.
Nevertheless, today was different, perhaps because there had been enough
buffalo stew left in the cooking pots at
breakfast for the slaves to eat. their fill after the
Cheyenne had finished their meal. They had been able
to eat before the slave mistress appeared with her whip
and drove them like cattle into the fields, to work
until sunset. A full stomach could make a
great difference, even when the only food on hand was a
greasy, somewhat rancid stew of tough buffalo
meat.
There was another reason today was different,
Eulalia realized. A large herd of buffalo had
been seen only a few miles from the town, and almost
all of the Cheyenne had gone off to hunt That meant
none of the older girls were on hand to torment the
slaves when they had nothing better to do. The little
boys had gone, too, so they couldn't prod the
slaves with sharp sticks and then laugh when they
squealed. And even the damned dogs that nipped at the
heels of the slave women had departed. Her relief
was infinite.
Tomorrow, to be sure, Eulalia knew that she and the
others who shared her bleak existence would pay for the
relative peace they were currently enjoying.
Experience had taught her they would be sent to the scene
of the hunt and required to perform the most loathesome of
tasks-disemboweling the dead buffalo. But at least,
if the Taunt was successful, there would be enough to eat
before the remains of the buffalo meat spoiled. She had
learned to be grateful for the smallest favors.
Without warning the whip descended, wielded with such was
cunning that, although it caused welts, it did not break
the skin. Startled, Eulalia straightened
involuntarily, then 356
wearily pulled herself to her feet, and fell
into Hn8bbh the slave mistress. The work in
the fields had come to an end.
One by one, other captives joined her. AH were
Indians, who concealed their feelings as only
Indians could. Two were Wichita, Eulalia
knew, another was an Omaha, and several came from
small tribes whose names were new to her. One squaw
was a Sioux whose nation lived in the Dakota country
to the north. She was treated somewhat more leniently,
perhaps because the Cheyenne and Sioux regularly
exchanged prisoners.
There was one member of the shabby group whom Eulalia
pitied more than herself. A Cheyenne, this miserable
creature was actually a man who had shown cowardice
in battle. He was condemned to spend the rest of his
days as a slave-dressed as a woman. His hair
was braided in long pigtails, and he was accorded the
same treatment meted out to the others.
The captives were marched through the town and taken to a
lake just beyond it. There they were required to strip and
bathe in the chifly waters, itself an ordeal, but only
a taste of what lay a@ddar. As they shivered, their
bodies drying in the air, Jhey were required
to smear each other with pungent bear grease, which the
Cheyenne regarded as attractive. Eulalia was
convinced that, no matter how long she lived,
the stench of that grease would remain in her nostrils.
Then the slaves were required to daub them lips and
nipples with a red berry stain and smear the oQuite of a
black plant root on their eyelids. The women
were marched off to a row of small tents, set apart from
the rest of the town. Each occupied her own tent, which
had a buffalo rug on the floor.
Now the real ordeal began. Each slave was
required
to attend to the sexual desires of the Cheyenne
warriors. A slave had no choice, accepting
any brave who
elected to appear at the entrance to her tent. The
system
was both simple and cunning. The unfortunate
prisoners
were given no food at night and were forced to rely on
their clients for their evening meals. When a warrior was
satisfied, he presented the woman with a portion of a
buf-
falo tongue, regarded as the greatest of
delicacies, part of an elk liver, or a chunk
of grilled antelope heart.
Eulalia had been horrified and heartsick at
first but had been driven by hunger to do what was
expected of her. Some of the braves were stingy and she
soon learned, through necessity, .ff.pose of them as
quickly as possible. Others, who were more generous, she
learned to treat to simulated pleasure,
The intimacies in which she was forced to participate no
longer had any meaning to her. As best she could, she
separated what was left of her spirit from her body and
allowed the savages to use it as they pleased, all the
while hating them and loathing herself.
To her astonishment, she was becoming expert in the
tricks of the alien trade. She soon discovered that
she and the former male warrior were the most popular of the
prostitutes because they were different When she was given
more than she could eat, she shared the excess with the women
the braves had ignored.
Her instinct for survival, she learned, was strong.
Gradually, as she began to understand more and more of the
language of the Cheyenne, she found out there was only
one escape from her hard and degrading existence. A
warrior, if he wished, could make a prostitute
one of his squaws and take her off to his own
quarters. There she would be subjected only to his
authority and that of his senior wife. Such a position
would mean no more beatings, a far less rigorous work
schedule, and the need to take only one man
to bed.
So Eulalia found herself exerting all of her charm
on the senior warriors, the medicine man, and the son
of the local sachem, who ultimately would succeed his
father as the leader of the community. If she had to be an
Indian whore, she told herself repeatedly, she would
be a successful one.
Her endurance and attitudes were limited, however, and
Eulalia found she could not allow herself to think of the
life she had once led as a South Carolina
belle. Even her wagon train existence, which she
had despised, now seemed to her to have been such a
paradise that she closed her memory to those months.
Sometimes she felt like giving in to hysteria, but the
Indians had no patience with tears and tantrums.
The slave mistress 'wd punish her by administering
a whipping that would leave her raw and bleeding, and she
would still have to work the fields by day and service the
braves at night.
She knew there was no way she could make her way
back to civilization, no way she could rejoin the
wagon train. If she was condemned to stay in the land
of the Cheyenne until she died, she wanted greater
comforts and a less exacting, grueling day-by-day
existence. She had to earn them, so that was what
she was doing. There was no way
she
could influence the iarsA slave mistress who ,
supervised her work in the fields and made her
daylight hours sucli a Te8fli on earth. But
ner smues and pretended ecstacy well might
persuade one of. the more powerful men to ease her lot.
n
Fighting her way through the weariness that enveloped her,
Eulalia willed herself to become more energetic. She
ignored the vile stench of the bear grease that covered
her and paid no attention to the sting of the berry stain or the
smarting of her eyes as the plant root oil ran
into them. She walked steadily to the entrance flap of
her tent and forced herself to stand there naked, her pose
provocative, a sultry smile on her lips,
as she waited for the first of her evening's clients
to appear. She was so ravenous that even the prospect
of eating a piece of buffalo tongue appealed
to her.
Everyone in the wagon train had heard by now that
Eulalia Woodling probably had been captured
by Indians, but nothing was being done to rescue the
girl. The arrival of cooler weather, particularly
at night, caused Cathy van Ayl
to worry about Bulalia, and Cathy's own dislike for
Eulalia increased her sense of guilt.
Ernie refused to discuss the problem with her, as did
Arnold Mell. Claiborne, who had become
friendlier with Cindy, kept his opinions to himself. She
hesitated about going to Whip, not wanting
to jeopardize the greater warmth he had been showing
since Lee Blake had joined the train and had
started paying attention to her. 359
The caravan came at last to the buttes. Soon,
Cathy knew, the company would begin to search for an
appropriate site, perhaps even in the mountains,
to spend the coming winter. The realization that the Great
Plains soon would be left behind had a sobering
effect on Cathy, who was increasingly haunted by the
fear that Eulalia would be forgotten. Sam, to whom
she would have gone for advice, had returned
to Independence some weeks before. So, one day during the
nooning rest, she decided to confide in Lee.
He listened with the sympathetic understanding he consistently
displayed toward her, then shook his head. "I've
been concerned, too," he said, "but I'm sure
Whip knows what he's doing. He's waiting until
we can learn for certain whether the girl is being held
by Cheyenne and, if she is, in which of
tfieir towns."
He did not tell her that he had a deep interest of
his own in the developments. The Cheyenne also would know
whether Henry St. Clair, having created a nasty
problem for the wagon train during his visit with them had
moved on to the land of the Blackfoot or that of the
Comanche in an effort to stir up even more serious
trouble.
"Eulalia is no friend of mine," Cathy told
him, "but the Cheyenne are vicious savages and
might be torturing her or-worse. That's a
horrible thought,"
Lee had no voice in the matter and had to admit it
Unable to hold off any longer, Cathy went to Whip
and told him her fears.
"I won't pretend to you that I think Eulalia
Woodling is having an easy time of it as a
captive," he said. "But I'm reasonably sure
she's alive. It might take us months to search the
whole Cheyenne country for her, so we've got
to wait."
"Wait for what?" she demanded.
In recent days Whip had been developing a
scheme of his own whereby it might be possible to obtain
information, not only about the missing girl but
about Henry Still Clair's intentions. But he
wasn't ready yet to discuss his plan. Lacking the
tact of more sophisticated men, he 360
Spoke abruptly, "You'll have to trust me to do
what I'm be able in my own way."
Cathy became angry. "If anything happens
to her, that girl's blood will be on your hands."
"Have I ever shirked my responsibilities?" he
demanded,
Although neither realized it, then near-romance had created
its own tensions, which had been intensified by Whip's
reluctance to tell Cathy of his growing interest in
her. It seemed to her that his years on the frontier
had made
him
insensitive to the feelings and sufferings of others, and
her temper rose higher. "You wouldn't be so calm
if you were the prisoner of the Indians!"
"I'd be dead," he said bluntly. "They wouldn't
keep me alive very long."
"Well, I think-was
"Look here, Cathy. I don't tell you how
to cook meals-was
"NowI'mnot good for anything except cooking!"
She knew she was being unreasonable and that the
argument was no longer sensible, but she couldn't stop
herself. "If you ask me, Michael Holt, you've
lived around savages so long that you've become one
yourself." Cathy turned and stormedoff toward her
wagon, but in spite of her rage she was ready
to stop short and then forgive
him
if he offered her an apology.
Whip was in no mood to apologize, however. He
couldn't remember when anyone had spoken to him so
rudely, and he wanted to shake this headstrong girl
until her teeth rattled-or kiss her until she
melted in his arms. Or both.
His confusion was so great that, although he was almost always in
command of his emotions, he now stood indecisively,
clenching and opening his fists. The argument was --
absurd, and he tried to dismiss it from his mind.
What bothered him most was the suspicion that he was
actually in love with Cathy van Ayl. That
possibility horrified him. She had just now
indicated that she thought of him as a rough mountain man,
unmannered and crude.
His
She was not only lovely, but a lady-and an
heiress as Veil, having inherited two
thousand dollars in gold from 361
her late husband. Whip saw no chance that she would
consider the suit of a man so far beneath her, a man who
had nothing of substance to offer her.
Damnation! He
was
in love with her! But she had made it clear what she
thought of him, and she would laugh if he declared himself
to her. If he had any brains greater than those of a
buffalo, he would keep Ms feelings to himself.
A young woman's scream of terror brought Whip
back to the present. Turning in the direction of the
sound, fee saw that Tonie Mell, who had been
climbing a butte, had fallen forward on the steep
hillside. For some reason she was unable to move.
He noticed she had dropped her rifle, which lay
beyond her reach.
As he started toward the hill, he saw why she had
screamed, and he broke into a run. A
rattlesnake, the longest and thickest he had ever
seen, was coiled on the side of the butte less than
a yard from Toni's face, its head moving back and
forth as it prepared to strike. The girl might have
disescaped if she had rolled down the hBlind, although it
was probably already too late. She
seemed mesmerized, however, and remained motionless as
she stared at the reptile.
Others were hurrying toward the hill, too, and
Stalking Horse was already preparing to shoot.
"No!" Whip shouted at him, unwilling to let him
take the chance of killing Tonie if his arrow
missed."
By the time the wagon master arrived at the base of the
hI'll, he had uncoiled his whip. He made a
lightning calculation, hoped the whip was long enough to reach
his target, and then lashed out with all of his skill and
strength. The leather sang through the air, decapitating
the snake before it could sink its fangs into its
victim.
StI'll Tonie lay where she had fallen. Whip
raced up the be butte, shouting, "Get up,
Tonie! Where there's one rattler, there's often
another."
"I know," the girl replied through clenched teeth.
"But I-I can't move. Something happened to my
leg."
As Whip came closer, he saw that she had stepped
into a gopher hole, which had caused her to lose her
balance. 362
The lower part of her left leg stuck out at
an angle; it was obvious her leg was broken.
"Here," he said, kneeling and gently rolling her
over. "Put your arms around my neck, and I'll
see if I can get both of us back down to the
prairie without taking a tumble that will break our
necks."
Obviously in pain, Tonie did as she was told.
As Whip Carried Tonie down the butte, Dr.
Martin arrived. Hosea, who had witnessed the
scene, had run to get him.
"Bring her to my wagon," Dr. Martin ordered.
A white line showed around his compressed lips, but he
made no comment until Whip had departed. Then, as
he measured and cut straight oak branches that he
kept on hand to use as splints, tie addressed
Tonie for the first time.
"May I ask what in the devil you were doing
climbing tnathilir
"I wanted to see the real foothills of the
Rockies up ahead of us." Tonie gritted her
teeth, swallowed a gasp of pain, and continued.
"Danny and Chet told me they saw the big
hills, so I wanted to see diem, too."
"You're somewhat older than Danny and Chet-or
are you?" he demanded acidly as he tore
a portion of an old sheet into narrow strips. "You
not only broke your leg, but you almost got yourself
bitten and killed by a snake. It's too had you
weren't born wealthy, Antoinette. You need a
governess."
She knew he called her by her fuO Christian
name only when he was exasperated with her. "Don't
scold me, Bob. Please. I was so eager to see
the hills-was
"Since you're not wealthy, what you need is a
keeper," he declared. He fell silent as he
removed her boot, then cut away her buckskin
trousers and stockings above bet knee.
The girl's pain made it difficult for her
to speak. was You're ruining my buckskins," she said.
"And I don't have all that many spare stockings."
"You have only one leg left," he said curtly.
"Hold on to the sides of the table and save your
breath. This won't be pleasant." Before she could
reply, he began to scrub her leg with a cloth
soaked in brandywine. 363
Her leg felt as though it were on fire.
Ordinarily Tonte would have moaned, but under the
circumstances her pride would not allow ner to do so.
"Here," he said, handing her a block of
feard wood about an inch deep, two niches wide
and six inches long. "Bite down on this. It will
help when you start to scream."
She had helped him so often that she knew what would
happen next "I won't chew wood," she said,
"and I promise you that I won't scream."
"Woman, I wonder if you ever do what you're
told. Even a keeper isnt enough for you. What you
need is a jailer!" Bob studied her leg
intently. "All right. I warned you. Now, whatever
happens, don't twitch and don't thrash around. For
once in your life listen-and follow orders!"
His hands firm, his touch deft, he set her leg
swiftly and expertly. Toni's agony was so great
she thought she would faint, but through sheer willpower she
managed to cling to consciousness. And, having given her
word, she not only refrained from screaming but made no
sound.
Bob put the splints in place, then bound them. Not
until the operation was completed did he move to the
head of the table.
Tears were streaming down Tonie's face, but she was
still silent. Bob reached out behind him, his eyes filled
with admiration for the rare, stubborn courage she had
displayed, and then handed her a glass of
milky liquid. "There will be no more pain, Tonie.
Drink this."
"I don't want any laudanum," she declared.
"I won't be put to sleep."
"Tonie," he told her, raising her head.
"You're going to drink this, every drop of it, if I have
to pry your mouth open and pour it down your throat!"
Tonie drank the laudanum.
Bob's manner changed abruptly, and his voice
became tender. "I was wrong," he said. "You
don't need a governess, a keeper, or a jailer.
What you need is a husband. You're so obstinate and
ornery that I can think of only one man stupid enough
to marry you."
He bent down, then kissed her. As his lips met
hers, Tonie reached up, her arms encircling him,
and clung to 364
Mm. Surely the laudanum had already taken
effect and she was dreaming.
The flatlands of the Great Plains gradually gave
way to more rugged terrain. By early October the
wagon train was following the North Platte through the
western reaches of the Nebraska country, where hills
were high. The sense of elation that members of the company
felt after crossing the prairie was tempered
by the knowledge that another winter was on its way and the Rocky
Mountains lay directly ahead.
The days were cool now, and frost was beginning to threaten
at night. At least firewood was plentiful, the
tall grass of the prairie being replaced in many
areas by thick stands of pine and hickory, ash and
juniper.
The buffalo hunting season was at its height, the
cumbersome beasts having grown sleek and fat after
feasting on grass for months. At Whip's
instigation, large quantities of meat were smoked,
and the basic Indian system of preservation was used,
too. Meat was cut into long, thin strips, which were
dried in the open air on crude frames, some of which
were tied to the sides and tops of wagons. It was
essential to put aside provisions for the winter that
loomed ahead, and no one needed to be told the
importance of hoarding. The travelers were veterans
now, acclimated to the tribulations of the trail, and they
were already making preparations for the hardships that awaited
them.
The women put away their dresses of cotton and
dimity, changing into wool, and the men rolled down their
shirtsleeves. Those of both sexes who owned
clothes of buffalo or deerskin changed
into them and were so comfortable that others demanded similar
garments. Cindy and several of the other women began
to learn the difficult Indian art of chipping away
layers from tough buffalo hide to make it thin enough for
wear. These skins were rubbed with mixtures of salt
and the brains of the animals to cure them, then lightly
smoked to keep them flexible, By the time winter came,
virtually every member of the company would own at least one
leather outfit.
Frequently the hunters saw Indians in the
distance, ob365
serving the size of buffalo herds and the direction in which
they were moving. At Pierre's request, he was added
temporarily to the roster of scouts, and Whip issued
the group new instructions.
"One of these days soon," he said, "you're going
to run across a party of Cheyenne keeping watch on a
buffalo herd. Whenever that happens, don't wait
until the end of the day to notify me. Let me know
right off. It's high time we bear down and try
to locate Eulalia Wood- ling."
Although the need to find a site for satisfactory
winter quarters was on everyone's mind, a halt was
called for twenty-four hours to celebrate the
marriage of Tonie Mell and Dr.
Robert Martin. Two antelope and a buck were
shot for the feast, and Tonie herself was one of the hunters
who brought down geese. The splints had been
removed from her leg, and she walked with only a
slight limp that, her future husband said, would
soon disappear. Precious Sour was used to make a
wedding cake. Virtually every family contributed a
jar of preserved fruit for the gala meal.
Tonie owned no white dress, so Cathy loaned
her one, made of silk, and Cindy provided
a-delicate hat with a wide brim and a bunch of
artificial flowers near the crown. The
bridgegroom wore his best suit, a
high-collared white shirt, and a black stock, and
Arnold Mell, who would give his niece away, was
attired in linseywoolsey- the first time on the
journey that he had worn anything other than
buckskins. Cathy was the matron of honor, and
Bob asked Whip to serve as his best man.
The circle of wagons had been formed on a bluff
overlooking
the
North Platte, and as safety precautions took
precedence over the wedding, the horses and oxen grazed
nearby as the company assembled for the
ceremony.
A radiant Tonie emerged from the wagom she had
shared with her uncle. She couldn't stop smiling as she
took Arnold's arm and made her way slowly across
the clearing to the spot where Bob and Whip stood, in
front of Reverend Cavendish. Cindy was already
weeping, and tears came to Grace Drummond's
eyes, too.
Then a hush fell as the minister intoned the words of

the wedding ceremony. During the vows, even the nervous
bridegroom couldn't help smiling broadly when
Tonie promised to obey as well as love and
honor her husband. Certainly he knew, as did
everyone else, that marriage would not change Toni's
fierce sense of independence.
At the end of the ceremony the bride and groom
kissed with tender enthusiasm, and some of the teenaged
boys and girls began to cheer. In a moment or two
everyone joined in.
As people formed a line to kiss Tonie and offer Bob
their congratulations, several younger couples conferred with
each other in whispers, then started to laugh. The
usually sedate Terence Malcolm cupped his hands
and called, "Now the best man has to kiss
the matron of honor!" A dozen others took up
the cry.
Whip's face became red, and he pretended not
to hear. Cathy, unable to look at him, felt her
own face turning scarlet. But there was no escape
for them. Their obvious discomfort encouraged their
tormentors, and it soon became evident that the chant
would continue until they complied.
Whip took a deep breath, mumbled something
unintelligible, and grasped Cathy by the shoulders.
She began to tremble at his touch and hoped he wouldn't
notice. Then he kissed her, lightly but
firmly, and everything else faded from her consciousness.
She didn't even hear the cheers of the company. When
he released her, she refrained from looking at him.
Flustered, she turned and hurried to the cooking fire
to supervise the last phase of the preparations of the
wedding feast.
An even more serious business occupied Whip.
Mack, Pierre, and Stalking Horse had not been
present for the ceremony, having gone out to scout the
neighboring area, and now the Cherokee returned, his
usually expressionless face grim.
Whip hastily left the wedding party, and, feigning
unconcern so he would not put a damper on
the festivities, he sauntered off with Stalking
Horse toward the far side of the compound.
Stalking Horse spoke in his own tongue so
possible eavesdroppers wouldn't understand. "About
three miles 367
from the camp, there are many buffalo. There the son of
Roaring Thunder saw Cheyenne."
"How many?"
Stalking Horse held up five fingers, then added,
"One was a senior warrior, maybe a sachem.
There were seven feathers of the eagle in his bonnet"
"He must be captured and brought back here.
Alive," Whip said emphatically.
The Cherokee nodded. "It will be done," he
replied, a light of anticipatory pleasure
appearing in his eyes. "Ho- sea will come with me, and
we will return with the Cheyenne."
Whip frowned. "It will be best to send a strong war
party to make him prisoner."
Stalking Horse shook his bead. "No. Then many
fire- sticks will be used to kill Cheyenne. Their
sachems will thirst for vengeance, and a new battle will
be fought Hosea and the son of Roaring Thunder will need
no help from their brothers."
Whip trusted him and was satisfied. "Do
what you will," he said.
They returned to the company, and Stalking Horse
next drew Hosea aside. No one noticed the
Cherokee and Ashanti leave the circle together, on
foot.
As soon as they left the wagon train behind, they
began to jog, slowing to a walk only when they sighted
the buffalo herd in the distance. They moved forward
cautiously, and at last Stalking Horse
grunted. "Cheyenne," he said.
Hosea smiled when he saw five horsemen, all
of them loitering near the herd, facing in the opposite
direction. He and his friend were about to engage in a game
of wits, and he was already enjoying himself.
Stalking Horse dropped to his hands and knees in
the tall grass, disappearing from sight. Hosea
advanced very slowly now, seemingly alone. His
companion, accompanying him, could no longer be seen.
At last, as the pair had hoped, the Cheyenne
braves
became aware of Hosea, who appeared unarmed
except
for his cumbersome shield. The warriors turned, their
horses spreading out, and began to move toward him.
Ordinarily they would have killed a man
alone, but they were unaccusTonied to the sight of a man
with black skin, and their curiosity brought them still
closer.
Showing no fear, Hosea continued to advance. When he
was no more than a hundred yards from the mounted
braves, be halted, planted his shield in the
ground, and waited.
One of the warriors began to circle toward the right as
he continued to edge toward Hosea. Hosea made
no move until the man came within his range. Then
he removed one of his little clubs from a loop at his
waist and threw it. The weapon caught the brave on
the forehead, instantly knocking him unconscious, and
be slumped on the back of his mount. The other
Cheyenne were alarmed and immediately reached for their arrows.
Hosea had eyes only for the man who wore seven
feathers in his headdress-be would leave the other three
Indians to his friend. Stalking Horse was still
unseen, his presence in the high grass
unsuspected. Then he let loose an arrow and
brought down a warrior, who fell from his horse without
making a sound.
Several arrows landed almost simultaneously in Ho-
sea's shield, penetrating the outer layer of leather.
But the Ashanti remained unharmed behind the
"wall" of his unique fort.
Again Stalking Horse fired an arrow, and again his
aim was true. Now only two of the Cheyenne
remained. One was the brave with the headdress.
Hosea took careful aim with a club, then sent it
spinning through the air with all of the strength be could command.
It landed against the warrior's temple, and he tumbled
backward onto the ground.
The remaining Cheyenne, having had enough of foes seen
and unseen, galloped away, presumably to bring the
unhappy news back to his town. Some of the
horses followed.
Hosea and Stalking Horse raced forward together.
They were elated when they saw that the Cheyenne with the
fancy headdress had been knocked unconscious.
They used strips of rawhide to bind him to tie
back of his bewildered horse, which had not left the
scene, and were 369
so anxious to take him back to the wagon train that
Stalking Horse regretfully collected no
scalps. Not only had their mission been
successful, but neither the survivor
Vfho
had fled nor the other, still unconscious, would be able
to identify their foes as members of the
wagon train.
Leading the Indian's horse, Stalking Horse and
Hosea returned as quickly as they could to the
campsite. Their captive was still unconscious when
they arrived, so they took him to Ernie von
Thalman's wagon, then quietly summoned
Whip.
The wagon master tried to arouse the captive, but
failed, although the brave's deep, regular breathing
convinced him that the man was not seriously disabled.
The wedding feast had not yet been served, so Whip
drew the bridegroom aside. "I hate to ask you
to work today of all days, Bob," he said, explaining
the situation. "But, as you can see yourself, it can't be
helped."
The physician slipped away from the wedding party, .
went to his wagon to get his medical bag, then went
to Ernie's wagon. Only Whip accompanied him.
The doctor held a small vial of smelling
crystals under the warrior's nose, and he stirred,
groaned, and opened his eyes.
"Who are you?" Whip asked him, speaking the
language of the Cheyenne.
When the brave saw that his interrogator was white, his
eyes became sullen, even though he was still
groggy. He made no reply.
"Do you want me for anything more?" Bob Martin
asked as he packed away the vial in his black
leather bag.
Before Whip could reply, the warrior caught sight
of the Wichita buffalo-bone amulet hanging from the
physician's neck. "You are a sachem," he
said. "I am the son of a sachem!" With great pride
be displayed the amulet that he was wearing.
Bob didn't understand a word, but Whip was quick
to seize the opportunity. "Stay for a couple of
minutes," he said, and translatedthewarrior's
remarks.
Bob's smile was reassuring as he looked down
at his patient on the cot.
"The son of the Cheyenne sachem will suffer no harm,"
Whip told the warrior. "We found you sleeping in

fields, and we will return you this day to your own
town,"
The confused Indian hauled himself to a sitting
position, one hand clutching his aching temple.
Uncertain as to whether or not he was being tricked, he
waited warily.
'The Cheyenne will be our friends." Whip
continued to speak soothingly. "We will prove our
friendship by taking you to your own people. You can also prove you
are our friend."
"How so?" the brave asked cautiously.
'Tell me if a young, white squaw is a
prisoner in the land of the Cheyenne."
"It is so," the warrior replied at once,
relieved because the request was so simple.
"Can you take us to her?"
The man nodded. "She is in the town of Rising
Moon, next to the town of my father."
"Then we will take you to the town of Rising Moon, and
you will be free to join your people there."
"It is agreed," the warrior said, and although he was not
yet fully recovered, he folded his arms across his
chest to indicate that a bargain had been struck.
Bob Martin returned to the wedding festivities, and
Whip asked him to send Mack and Pierre, who had
just returned from their scouting duties, to the wagon.
"You'll have to eat your wedding dinner later," the
wagon master told them. "Our Cheyenne here-who
doesn't realize we kidnapped him-has told
me where we can find Eulalia Woodling and will lead
us to her."
Mack looked incredulous. 'Three of us
will invade a Cheyenne town?"
Pierre was equally disturbed. "That is suicide!
We will be scalped alive and tortured to death!"
"I don't aim to lose the top of my head,"
Whip said. "Just trust me."
Pierre and Mack were still dubious, but Whip gave
them no choice. They got their horses, then
rejoined him as he slung a saddlebag over his
stallion's back. He even had the presence of
mind to saddle a mare for Eulalia. The Cheyenne
warrior was still weak, but his dignity compelled Jbim
to mount his own horse unassisted. The group sneaked
away from the festivities, with no one but 371
the bridegroom knowing they had gone. This was
Torue's great day, and Whip wanted to do nothing that
would detract from it.
The four men rode at a rapid clip. It was
evening by the time they reached their destination, a Cheyenne
town rich in fields planted with corn and beans.
A sentry halted them just outside the community, then
admitted them when he recognized the warrior.
In almost no time the sachem of the town appeared,
surrounded by fifty warriors armed with knives and
spears, bows and arrows. Mack and Pierre
exchanged glances as they clutched their
rifles. If they were attacked, it would- be
difficult to save themselves, but they were prepared to make
the savages pay dearly.
The warrior who had escorted the strangers
explained that these men had saved his life after he had
been attacked by a large, fierce band of Indians
he had been unable to identify.
So far so good, Whip thought, and gave the gathered
Cheyenne no time to think about possible flaws in the
story. Addressing himself to the sachem alone, he said
boldly, "We have come to bargain with Rising Moon.
Give me the white squaw who is your captive,
and I will give you a priceless gift in return."
Before the chief could reply, he dismounted, opened his
saddlebag and, as the warriors crowded around him,
removed the skin of the white buffalo calf. The
braves fell back, muttering to each other in awe.
Mack and Pierre understood now what Whip was trying
to do, but their apprehension" grew. There was nothing
to prevent the sachem from ordering the visitors
murdered and calmly taking possession of the precious
white hide.
But Whip promptly demonstrated that he knew
even more about the ways of Indians than did these
experienced mountain men. "There is magic
in this skin," he said.
The Cheyenne nodded in assent, and Rising Moon's
eyes gleamed with avarice.
"The skin keeps its magic when its owner presents
it freely to a friend. It will bring good luck in the
hunt to 372
its new owner and his people if they keep faith with their
friends."
"It is so," Rising Moon replied gravely.
At that moment Mack and Pierre knew that they were
safe.
The sachem sent two senior warriors for the white
captive. After what seemed an interminable time, they
returned, leading Eulalia by a rawhide leash
looped over her neck. She was barefooted, clad
in the leather breast- band and short skirt that were her
only attire. She had already prepared for her evening
activities, so her skin was greased, her eyelids
were smudged, and her lips were stained with berry juice.
"Don't say a word," Whip cautioned the startled
girl as he took the loose end of the leash from the
warrior, handed it to Pierre, and then helped
Eulalia onto the back of the mare. "Mack,
Pierre-get started back to the wagon train. Ill
make a farewell speech to our new friends
and catch up with you."
The trio promptly rode off, and it appeared to the
Indians that the white squaw was being treated like a
slave by her new owners.
Whip made a long, rambling speech-the kind the
Indians enjoyed and expected-stressing his friendship and
that of his people for the Cheyenne. The words did not come
easily, but he persisted until he felt certain
that Eulalia and her escorts had gone at least a
mile.
At last he left the Cheyenne, letting his
stallion gallop at full speed. Soon be
caught up with the little party. Whip's first act was
symbolic. He slashed the leash with his knife. "I
know you've had a rough time," he said, "but you're
safe now."
Eulalia nodded, but made no reply. Even though
her unexpected rescue was a miracle that gave
her infinite relief, she knew that her appearance
told these men, experienced in the ways of Indians,
that the Cheyenne had used her as a prostitute. She
was so ashamed that she could look at none of them.
She tried to stammer her thanks for her deliverance.
Then, after she fell silent, tears streamed down her
face. 373
Pierre tried to comfort her by reaching out to pat her on the
aim, but she shrank from his touch.
Guessing how she felt, Whip decided it would be
wise to ease her gently back into the mainstream of
wagon train life. So he waited until they were
approaching the campsite before he said, "We'll
take yon straight to youl wagon, and then we'll
tell your brother youVe come back.
his
It would be best if Claiborne told her their father
had been killed.
"Tonie Men and Dr. Martin got married today, so
I don't want to take away from the attention
they're getting. You can get a decent night's
deep and change into your own clothes, and tomorrow morning will
be time enough for folks to know you've returned."
Again Eulalia tried to express her thanks, but
again words wouldn't come.
They approached the Woodling wagon from the outside
of the circle. Not until Whip had seen the girl
safely inside her wagon did he go in search of
her brother. He found Claiborne eating wedding
cake with Cindy, both of them chatting while a
glowering Ted Woods stood nearby.
Whip quietly explained the situation.
"I'm coming with you," Cindy told Claiborne, and
they walked together to the Woodling wagon.
They found Eulalia sitting cross-legged on the
floor, still in her Indian attire. She looked
dazed, and Cindy took charge. "Let me talk
to her alone," she told Claiborne. "Wait
until I come for you."
Claiborne had learned to trust Cindy's judgment
and moved a short distance away. Cindy moved around
the wagon, lighting lamps and, as she did, noting every
detail of the other girl's appearance, including the
welts on her back.
"I'll bring you some water so you can wash that grease
away before you change into your own clothes," she said,
then started to rummage in a leather clothing box.
"Ah, here we are. A brush that will help you
unsnarl those Indian braids."
Eulalia took the brush, then let it fall to the
floor. "I wish I was dead," she said listlessly.
"I often felt like that in my day." Cindy remained
calm. 374
"They shouldn't have brought me hack here. It would have
been better to leave me where I was."
Cindy went to the flap, beckoned to Claiborne,
and sent him for two buckets of warm
water.
"I'm useless here. Nobody will want anything to do
with me," Eulalia said.
Cindy sat behind her on the clothing box, then began
to unbraid and brush her hair. "Maybe it isnt
as had as yon think."
"You don't understand. The Cheyenne made me be a
whore. Man after man, night after night"
"Oh, that I figured as much the second I saw
you."
"It isnt just that they forced me to do it," Eulalia
said. "I-I cooperated with them. I flirted with
them. I pretended I loved every minute of it Because
they gave me food, and without it I would have starved."
"I would have starved, too, if I hadn't pretended
to love entertaining my cusToniers," Cindy said
quietly. "You're no worse than the rest of us."
"Except (hat I had to sleep with savages."
Cindy was still unruffled. "Most men are savages in
bed, especially with the women they pay." She went to the
flap, took the buckets from Claiborne, and
motioned him away again. "Here. Start to wash yourself.
And scrub your face hard. You'll feel much
better."
The lethargic Eulalia made no move.
"Here's one of your washcloths and a little jar of soft .
soap. Go to work, or I'll have to bathe you myself."
Eulalia heard the determination in her voice and,
stripping herself, began to bathe.
"Ill pant youVe had a nasty experience,"
Cindy said. "But those marks on your back will go
away. And so will the marks inside you-if you let
them."
"Everybody wOl know what happened to me."
"I very much doubt that they will-unless yontellthem. But
suppose they
do
find out. Just about everybody on this train knows I was
a whore. But I have plenty of good friends, and I
really wouldn't much want to know the others." She handed
the other girl a towel, then took undergarments,
stockings, a dress, and shoes from the clothing box.
Mechanically, Eulalia began to dress.
"Civilized clothes. You can't imagine!"
"Yes, I can. You should have seen the flashy dresses
I had to throw away." Cindy laughed, then sobered.
"1"! tell you a secret. You can become twice
the person you would have been without this experience."
"You're just distrying to make me feel better. People will
laugh at me-and shun me."
"A few will, I suppose," Cindy said candidly.
"Let them. You don't need that kind. Start feeling
proud of yourself. You had a hard time, but you lived through
it, and you learned something. You'll be surprised, from
now on, how easily you'll be able to distinguish between the
men who just want your body and the men who like you for
yourself."
Eulalia finished dressing, and a faint flicker of
her old pride returned. Staring hard at the other
girl in the flickering light of the oil lamps, she
asked, "Why are you being so kind to me?"
"Because you'd do the same for me if our positions were
reversed," Cindy replied promptly. "The
person you used to be wouldn't have done it, but you're not
that person any more. I can see the change reflected
in your eyes, and I know a little something about what you've
had to go through. Men are men, and it doesnt matter if
they're Cheyenne warriors or the leading citizens
of Louisville."
Eulalia took a deep, unsteady breath. "I
think-I'd rather-let people know tonight that-I've come back.
Instead of-waiting until tomorrow. If you'll come with
me."
"Of course!" Cindy opened the flap, and for a moment
they stood together on the top step. Then with
one accord, they linked arms and started to walk toward
the festive crowd.
Gray Antelope was the most powerful Indian
leader in the West, perhaps in all of North
America, and he knew it. All of the lower-ranking
chiefs of the Blackfoot paid , homage to him. For
more than a decade he had ruled his nation as sachem
of sachems. Although his face was be becoming wrinkled,
his hair was still a deep black, his
build was still muscular, and, above all, he exuded
an air of authority.
He sat cross-legged on the buffalo-hide rug
in his tent of double skins, facing the fire outside,
puffing slowly on his long pipe and studying the two
white-skinned visitors who sat opposite him.
After two long days of intensive discussions, it was
plain to him that this pair were trying to use him. Fair
enough-and he would use them. So he concealed the
instinctive dislike he felt for any men who were not
Blackfoot Adjusting his cape of buffalo skin
adorned with feathers, he spoke slowly so the darker
of the pair could translate his words.
"Twice the sun has risen, and twice the sun
has gone again while we have talked. Now Gray
Antelope has made up his mind."
Henry St. Clair started to speak, thought better of
it, and waited.
"You have told Gray Antelope of the riches in
horses and slaves, firesticks and cooking pots,
blankets and other good things that await the
Blackfoot when they attack the carts of the white
men and squaws who will soon come to this land. So be it.
The Blackfoot can make good use of all those
things. But you offer too little in return. You say you
will give us one hundred firesticks. Not enough!"
"Your senior warriors have counted them in my cart.
I offer you all I own." Henry sat back and
waited for Andre" Sebastian to translate.
Gray Antelope shook his head, and the many feathers
in his ornate bonnet danced. "The Blackfoot can
send more than one thousand warriors against their foes.
The white men of the moving carts have more than one
hundred firesticks. So the Blackfoot will need
five hundred more before they will strike a bargain with
youl"
Henry exchanged a quick glance with Sebastian. He
had been afraid of this development, knowing of the greed
for which Gray Antelope was noted. Fortunately
he was prepared for it. "There are many soldiers of my
country at Fort Vancouver, which stands beside the
waters of the Great Sea," he said. "I will write
to them. Let a swift messenger of the Blackfoot
ride to them. They 377
will send five hundred firesticks across the mountains
at once!"
Gray Antelope felt a surge of elation, which
he did not allow to show on his face. Armed with six
hundred fire- sticks, his warriors could not only
subdue the people of the moving carts, who were only a
minor consideration, but they could use those firesticks
to conquer the Arapaho, the Ute, and, above all, the
hated Comanche. Those fire- sticks would make them
the masters of all the flatlands and the mountains-of the
entire world that was within reach.
"So be it," he said. "And while the messenger goes
and the firesticks are sent, the visitors to the land of the
Blackfoot will stay here. You will teach the warriors
of the Blackfoot to use the one hundred firesticks
you have already given us. You will teach my braves to shoot
as well as you shoot"
The old man drove a hard bargain, Henry thought,
but the price was worth paying. He felt certain the
rifles would be sent from Fort Vancouver, along with
ammunition and powder, no matter how much the
brigadier in command disliked the idea of arming
Indians with modern weapons. Even his own position
as a semi-hostage while he acted as an
instructor in marksmanship would be tolerable.
Now there would be no escape for the American wagon
train, Mtacked by one thousand Blackfoot, six
hundred of them armed with rifles, they would perish. His
own mission would be achieved without the government or people
of the United States ever knowing that Great Britain
had been involved.
"So be it," he replied solemnly.
The autumn wind that blew down from the nearby
Rocky Mountains was chilly, and the sky overhead was
leaden, as it had been for several days. But Cathy
van Ayl was unconcerned about the approach of a new
winter.
The wedding of Tonie and Bob Martin had made a
marked change in her own life. When Whip had been
teased into kissing her after the ceremony, the wall that
had stood between them had crumbled and vanished. He
was no longer as shy in her presence and sought her
company whenever he wasn't busy. For the first time.he
spoke freely-not only about his past, but about his
future.
The day before, he had told her in confidence that he was
seriously thinking of settling in Oregon
after he led the wagon train there.
She
had felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck
her. She hadn't dared to hope that he might be
willing to exchange his hard, nomadic existence for a
settled future. Above all, the mere fact that he
had taken her into his confidence was significant
Her instinct told her that he was thinking of establishing
a homestead of his own because he wanted to share it with
her.
So, at long last, she could admit to herself that she was
seriously interested in him. Her sister had found
happiness with one former mountain man, so it wasn't
too much to hope that she could be equally successful as
Mrs. Michael Holt.
Now, during the nooning halt, he came over to her
again to talk. "This morning while we were riding," he
said, "I got to thinking about a little valley I know in
the Oregon country. There's no place in the whole
world like it. The Pacific is on the western end, and
on the other three sides it's surrounded by mountains.
The forest is thick, so there's wood aplenty for
building snug homes and for firewood. There are so
many salmon in the river that flows along one side that
nobody would ever go hungry. And the soil
is as black and fertile as the soil you saw in
Illinois."
"Is there enough room there for everybody in the wagon
train?" Cathy asked.
"Enough and more," he assured her. "Even with the head of
every family claiming six hundred acres, there's enough
space for a couple of more wagon trains filled with
people."
She was enjoying herself. "Surely there must be something
wrong with it. I suppose we'll have to fight the
Indians who live there."
Whip shook his head vehemently. "That's the beauty
of my valley. Nobody lives there. There are
Indians to the north and others directly to the east.
But my valley isn't 379
occupied.
I've
had a half-dozen sites in mind, but seeing as I
may want to settle out yonder myself, my valley
is going to be our goal."
Before Cathy could reply, someone shouted for Whip.
He excused himself, and Cathy watched him as he
hurried off to greet some unusual
visitors-three mounted Indians, each of whom led
a pack horse.
The trio dismounted, and it was plain that Whip knew them
well. The two warriors exchanged greetings with
him by raising their hands in the peace sign, and then,
to Cathy's surprise, he embraced them each in
turn.
But it was the third of the new arrivals, a young
woman, who most attracted Cathy's attention.
The girl appeared to be in her early twenties.
Her chiseled features were flawless, making her a
beauty by any standards. Her doeskin shirt and
skirt fitted her closely, revealing a tall,
perfectly proportioned body, and her hair,
unlike the thick braids of the Plains squaw,
cascaded down her back in a blue-black wave
to her waist
As Cathy stared at her, the girl prostrated herself
on the ground before Whip. He quickly drew her to her
feet, then embraced her, and a sense of jealousy
surged up within Cathy as she saw the girl cling
to him. At that moment, Stalking Horse came forward
with great dignity and embraced the girl, who, Cathy
later learned was his half- sister. He and his mother had
traveled West many years before, where his mother had
married her second husband, an Arapaho. Then the
trio engaged in a spirited discussion with Whip.
Lee Blake was summoned, as was Ernie, and they
joined in the talk, with Whip translating. The
conversation went on for so long that, contrary to custom, the
nooning was extended for a considerable period of time. The
tali seemed endless.
At last Whip gave the order to resume the march.
The three newcomers mounted their horses.
Apparently they were attaching themselves to the wagon
train. Lee Blake came to Cathy's assistance,
helping her round up her horses and harness them. She
knew better than to ask questions out of turn, but her
memory of Whip's embrace 380
with the lovely Indian girl still bothered her. "Who
are these people?"
"Old Mends and allies of Whip Holt's,"
Lee said.
He refrained from telling her the significance of their
arrival, which she would learn soon enough. Mountain
dwellers with whom Whip had spent several winters,
they had brought word that the dreaded Black foot were being
armed with rifles and were receiving instructions in their use
from two white men. That portion of the news concerned
Lee alone. It was his duty not only to learn more about
the men but to counter their influence.
It was being rumored in the mountain tribes that
the wagon train was coming into the Rockies and that the
Blackfoot intended to annihilate the entire
company. Lee realized be had his hands full, that he
faced an unparalleled challenge. He would think in
depth about the problem after he mounted his horse. Right
now he was conscious of Cathy's steady gaze and
knew he had to say something more to her. "They're
members of the Arapaho tribe," be said.
Their nationality meant nothing to her. "The girl,
too?"
"I believe so," Lee said. "She-ah-appears
to be Whip's woman."
Cathy stiffened involuntarily.
Lee hoped that he hadn't said too much. He
wondered if Cathy had more of a personal interest in
Whip then he knew. Well, that couldn't be helped;
by tonight the entire company would know of Whip's
relationship with the young woman.
Mounting the board of her wagon, where Hosea was already
sitting, Cathy saw the Indian girl look at
Whip. The intimacy in her dark eyes required
no further explanation. Too late Cathy
realized she should have heeded Sam Brentwood's
warning when he had told her not to become too
involved with Whip. While she had indulged
in foolish daydreams about a future in Oregon,
Whip's common-law Indian wife had been
traveling to him, and now she had joined him.
What had happened in the past didn't concern
Cathy. In fact, she would have been surprised if
Whip had
mained celibate through the years. So the fact that he
had chosen to live with a beautiful Arapaho girl was
strictly his own business.
But that girl had pined him and was riding beside him at this
very moment Tonight they would sleep together. The realization was
so crushing, so humiliating, that Cathy felt an
almost overpowering urge to weep hysterically. How
stupid she had been to pin her hopes for the future
on such a man I Only the presence of Hosea
on the seat beside her fueled her pride and kept her
face immobile.
Cathy felt sure that, deep within, something precious
and irreplaceable had been stolen from her.
Out of the comer of her eye, she caught a glimpse of
Lee coming toward her again, his expression
solicitous. Perhaps her preoccupation with Whip had
blinded her to anyone else. How foolish she had
been. Perhaps. Certainly Lee was good-looking and
intelligent, sensitive and a man of
integrity. And obviously, now that she thought about it,
he was developing a deep and sincere interest in her.
But she couldn't think about him now, any more than she
could allow herself to dwell on her disappointment in
Whip. There was something far more important at stake.
Oregon still beckoned. The promise of the land that
lay , ahead was more vital than any personal
relationship. She
was more determined than ever to remain a member of the
wagon train until it reached its goal.