The Lost Wagon Part 18

"I'll be doggoned! Can you tie that one?"

"Nope," Pete admitted. "I can't."

"What would you have done?"

"Same thing you did, Joe. I will say, though, that it's some of the neatest shooting I ever saw. Lard Head was standing against Frawley Thompson's fence, and that bullet whistled close enough to curl his hair. I'll bet there's one Indian scared sober."

"Was he drunk?"

"He's always drunk."

"Makes no difference," Joe declared. "That kid of mine has to have some respect for people, Indians included. And he's got to realize that rifles are dangerous."

Pete said dryly, "I kind of think he's beginning to. Shall we bring your mare mule in and shoe her?"

"Reckon."

They roped the mare mule, dragged her to the forge, threw her, and shoed her. She struck viciously when they let her up, but Joe had expected the attack and he dodged it. They put both mules back in their pasture and Joe looked uneasily at the house. Emma never struck any of the children, and Joe had just administered Tad's first spanking. If there were to be repercussions, they might as well be faced right now. Joe said,

"Excuse me a minute, Pete."

"Sure."

Joe walked nervously toward the house. Beyond much doubt, they would start for Oregon tomorrow and he had had few arguments with Emma. He felt uneasily that beginning their trip with a quarrel would be a bad omen, and sure to bring bad luck. Joe quailed when he looked in at the door, for Emma bristled to meet him.

"What did you do to Tad?"

Joe braced himself, then became a little angry. "I paddled his hinder for him, hard as I wanted to lay it on!"

"If you hadn't, Joe Tower, I'd have paddled yours! The idea! Shooting at that poor, besotted Indian!"

Joe asked in astonishment, "You're not mad at me!"

"I would be, if you hadn't done a father's duty!"

He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment, and gave her a wry smile.

"Did Tad tell you?"

"Tad hasn't been near the house. Barbara told me." She wilted into his arms. "Oh, Joe, do you suppose--?"

Because he knew her so well, Joe knew what she was thinking. At eight years of age all youngsters were harmless, but at eighteen some might be bad and some good. Joe crushed his wife to him.

He said, "We'll teach him. It's just that he has to learn some things the hard way."

"Oh Joe! I'm glad we're going! Oregon will be good for him!"

Joe's heart skipped a beat with delight at hearing her say this. "It will give him a chance to work his vinegar off. I'm not so sure he could do that if he stayed here. He'd want a farm of his own, and Elias would have to loan him some of the money to buy it, and the first time Elias pressed him there'd be fur flying. It wouldn't be Tad's either."

They felt a tender intimacy, a closeness that made them cling together.

Joe cleared his throat. He had deceived her, and now he must undo that deception.

He said, "I didn't give your dishes to Helen."

"But," her eyes puzzled, "I asked you to."

"I know. I made a box for them and put them in the wagon instead."

A little anguished shadow flitted across her face. "I couldn't bear to have them broken."

"They won't be broken," he a.s.sured her. "The Casper's broke because they just didn't know how to pack. We're taking eggs too, aren't we? Every piece will get to Oregon with us."

The anguished shadow faded and she cast him a glance of purest love. But doubts remained, and she was a bit ashamed.

"We have so much to carry and so little room."

"There's room for that little box. You'd like to have your dishes, wouldn't you?"

"I'd love to!"

"Then they're going to Oregon with us. I'd better get the rifle. Left it outside."

Joe walked out to get the rifle, which was still leaning against the sycamore, and he returned to the house with it. He smiled whimsically.

The pegs in his and Emma's bedroom were no longer a safe place for the rifle; they hadn't been in the first place or Tad never would have been able to smuggle the weapon out of the house. Joe set his jaw. Tad would have to use the rifle; it was an indispensable part of any man's equipment on any frontier. But he would have to use it properly. If he didn't, if there was any more irresponsible shooting, he'd feel the flat of his father's hand again.

For the time being, Joe hung the rifle back on its pegs. He turned to smile at his wife.

"The mules are shod, and there's not a darn thing to do except start for Oregon."

Emma clasped her hands together, her one gesture of apprehension. "It doesn't seem possible, does it?"

"Nope. Seems like there must be a hundred things to do yet. We'd best remember to catch your hens and rooster while they're on the roost tonight. Oh my golly!"

"What's the matter?"

"I left Pete standing outside!"

Joe went to the door to call Pete, and just as he did so Yancey Garrow rode up on his gaunt brown horse. He held a package across the saddle in front of him, and his fiddle case was over his shoulder. Grinning, he dismounted.

"Lucy thought you might like to take this along. It's a ham and a side of bacon."

"You butchering now?"

"We always," and Yancey voiced what Joe knew was a bald-faced lie, "kill one hog in summer." Joe gulped. With the possible exception of John Seeley, who could afford it, n.o.body butchered in the summer. But the Garrows had wanted their departing friends to enjoy ham and bacon. Joe said,

"That's right good of you, Yancey."

"It's nothing," the other said airily. He carried the package of meat into the house.

Emma greeted him. "h.e.l.lo, Yancey."