Page 58 of My Darling Clementine

“Yes, but here are some women,” Clem nodded as several walked from their wagons toward the fire, some with small children in tow. “Maybe you can make friends.”

“Let’s go find out,” said Kizzy, jumping up. “I’ll clean up later.” She laughed. “I don’t think we should keep Mr. Cushing waiting.”

“’Kay, Jed,” they heard an old man call as they approached. “Everybody’s comin’.”

With his audience assembled, the trail boss got down to business. “Every last one of you signed an agreement before you paid, and shook on it, but I’m going to tell you the rules once more, for anyone who needs reminding.”

“Or can’t read.” Someone snickered.

The trail boss glared around the group. “I’m Jed Cushing, and this is my wagon train. I’m its master, and yours. Yes, you heard me, and let me be very clear; you will do everything I tell you until I get you where you’re going.”

Clem admired the figure he cut, tall, built like a bull, and authoritative, an imposing figure striding before the fire. She studied his movements, taking note. This man knows how to command attention.

“There are only three rules on my wagon trains, but you will follow each of them without question. For those who don’t, there are consequences.” Mr. Cushing did not look at the Abercrombie brothers, one with both eyes swathed in bandages, the other with similar wrapping from his mouth to chin, but others did. “You get one warning before being cut out of my train and left on your own.” He took a long moment to look at those gathered, taking their measure. “If you’re not of a mind to follow my rules, save everyone some trouble and turn back toward Independence tomorrow.”

“He ain’t kiddin’,” spoke up the older man sitting close to the fire, warming his hands. “My boy’s the best at crossin’ this here prairie ‘cause he don’t allow no trouble on his train.”

“That’s Paps,” said Mr. Cushing with one of his rare smiles. “He drives my wagon, which is always mid-line, and knows a thing or two that comes in handy once in a while. If you can’t find me right away, tell Paps what you need, and he’ll pass along the message.”

He held up a finger. “First rule; you will respect each other’s property. What starts out in your wagon, unless you lose it along the way, will arrive at your destination with you. Theft is not tolerated and thieves will be shot.” He looked around as someone gasped, black eyes hard as coal. “Welcome to the new frontier. Until we get to California I’m the only law. I will be your judge, jury, and executioner.”

He cleared his throat and raised a second finger. “Second, you’ll do the duties I assign you because I’m getting as many of you to California alive as I can.” His hooded eyes took in those around him. “We will probably dig graves for some of you.”

He waited as they looked around. “Unless you obey rule number three.” A heartbeat passed before he raised his third finger. “Follow my orders without question, in any situation, even if you think you know better. Do what I say when I say it, then later you can tell me how you’d have done it, and I’ll listen. Go off on your own, and that’s where you’ll be … on your own.”

Mr. Cushing thrust his hands in his pockets and squared his shoulders. “You’ve been assigned a position in line where you stay until I change the order. Be ready to leave every day at dawn, keep up to speed, and don’t stop until the entire train makes camp, about an hour before dusk. If anything slows you up, tell me right away, especially if someone grows ill. If anyone in your group is sick, drop back to the last place in line and wait for me to come to you. Paps and I carry a limited number of medicines, and know a fair amount about natural cures, but we’re not doctors. We’re on our own out here, so avoid accidents, and stay healthy.”

His attitude softened. “It’s a hard journey, but it needn’t be unpleasant. Make friends, share meals, and listen to each other’s stories. Maybe someone brought a musical instrument and can play, or a storyteller could spin a tale, or singer teach us a song; we’ll make our own amusements as we travel.”

The trail boss’ gruff demeanor returned as he held up his hand in warning. “But my patience with you greenhorns is running thin. Today you found out how untethered, badly stacked, and loose items make your wagon tilt at faster speeds, and that was an easy stretch of trail. Spend the rest of this afternoon repacking, battening down, tying up, and for all our sakes, put all the heaviest things as low as you can. There’s less than two hours until sunset, make use of it.” Before walking off, he called out, “Lead drivers of wagons one through five, join me in my tent to go over trail plans for next week.” Then he walked away.

A murmur rose from those assembled as they broke up to return to their individual wagons. Clem and four other men followed Mr. Cushing into his tent, and later filed out, carrying maps of the trail, and a planned itinerary.

“Tomorrow we drop to fifth place in line, the next we move up to fourth, and so on,” she explained to Kizzy, helping her hoist the ropes for the chuck box, raising it into place and securing it. “Ow,” she said, as a sore shoulder muscle twinged.

“I know,” Kizzy laughed. “Where’s Gabby with her hot baths when you need her, huh?” She clambered up into the wagon bed, waiting for Clem to follow. “But you’re in luck, husband. I packed two bottles of liniment and I’ll give you a rub down if you give me one.”

“Deal,” agreed Clem, with an eager step. “And after, I’ll have my way with you.”

But their exhausted bodies said otherwise. Once massaged with warming liniment, they curled up in a nest of pillows and blankets, listening to the sounds of animals in the night all around them. Nestled like spoons, they sank into deep slumber.

Chapter sixteen

The Great Outdoors

They followed the Little Blue River, making excellent time and enjoying beautiful weather along the way. Moving north, they noticed the change of colors in the leaves, the slight chill at morning and night a welcome respite from the still fierce summer sun.

From day two, Kizzy learned the importance of covering her nose and mouth with face-sheltering bonnets to keep the dust from blinding and choking her. Clem shared from her stash of bandanas, and Kizzy modified her everyday bonnet to extend the brim further, sheltering more of her face. Even so, each time their wagon fell back in line she coughed, hacking and spewing as she gasped for fresh air.

During the second week, when they were fifth wagon, Clem, who was walking beside Molly, dropped back alongside the wagon. She jumped up to the seat, tucked the brim of her hat down low, and took the reins from Kizzy. “You can ride, right?”

She nodded, coughing too much to answer.

“Then I’ll swing you down to the ground. Get on Molly, and keep pace with us from about a dozen feet away. That’ll take you outside most of the dust.”

They made the exchange, and Kizzy could soon breathe and see again, although she spent a few minutes using her apron to wipe eyes and nose free of dust. “Oo-wee,” she said to Molly, “That’s better, girl.”

After that, she and Clem traded off time holding the reins, and walking with or riding Molly. The closer their place in line to the front, the less dust they dealt with, only to drop back again. During their fourth turn in fifth place, she asked about those even further back in line. “If it’s this bad for us, what’s it like to be wagon thirty-four?” she mused aloud.