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Lorna heard it all and stared at the two men in numbed amazement. How could they treat such an important decision so calmly? They could have been discussing the weather. She picked up her skirts and hurried across to the Stanton wagon. Mary had squeezed the water out of the last shirt and turned to set it with the others to be spread out on the grass to dry.
“Is it true?” Lorna didn’t wait for Mary to turn around. “Are you coming with us?”
Mary’s face beamed with a warm smile when she faced Lorna. “It’s true.”
But Lorna couldn’t take the news as calmly as everyone else seemed to be doing. With a laugh of delight, she gave Mary a quick hug.
“I can’t believe it!” she declared. “I was hoping you’d come. What changed your mind?”
Although Mary was smiling, there was a serious light in her eyes. “A combination of things,” she admitted. “I finally realized Ely would never be happy being a farmer. He was trying to please me because he felt he’d let me down by not providing a home for us. I was a farmer’s daughter for so many years that I thought I should be a farmer’s wife. All along I’ve been trying to change Ely from a cowboy into a farmer. A man’s work is his pride. You can’t take it from him or you haven’t got a man anymore.”
“I don’t believe you really meant to do anything like that.” Lorna refused to think ill of her friend.
“Not consciously, but I did. And I discovered I had pride, too,” Mary added. “Going back to my relatives in Ioway would be the same as saying we didn’t have what it takes to make it out here.”
“But you do,” Lorna insisted.
“Once I was the one reassuring you,” Mary pointed out wryly. “I’ve never had a real friend before, Lorna. I guess the last reason is you.”
Both of them were on the verge of tears. “If the last half of this trip is like the first, maybe we should paint a sign on our wagon like the fortyniners did,” Lorna suggested in an emotionally tight voice. “‘Montana or Bust.’”
16
The Western Trail angled north out of Dodge City, cutting across the western end of Kansas and taking aim on Ogallala and its railhead on the southern end of the Nebraska sandhills. From there the trail swung west to Cheyenne and the Wyoming Territory north of it.
The herd of two-thousand-plus Longhorns, their numbers depleted by the sale of three hundred steers, was a week out of Dodge City. Since they were handling fewer cattle, Benteen hadn’t hired more trailhands to take Jonesy and Andy Young’s places. The herd was trailing kindly, so his present crew would be able to handle them.
Benteen was scouting ahead on the trail to choose a site to bed the cattle for the night. It was a sweltering July afternoon in the sun. There wasn’t any change on the flat prairie. It seemed they had traveled for miles without seeing a tree. Behind him, the herd made a dust cloud on the horizon.
Off to his left, he heard the distant clatter of a wagon. His gaze swung toward the sound. A pair of mules was pulling a high-sided wagon across the prairie. It looked like a Conestoga with the canvas removed. Some homesteader had probably hauled his family west in it, then converted it for farm use. Not wanting any trouble with farmers if it could be avoided, Benteen reined his horse toward the wagon to intercept it before it reached the herd.
The man pulled in his mules when Benteen rode up. The unrelenting Kansas sun had burned the farmer’s face to a ruddy shade. His eyes were sunken and dull, resigned to his constant war with nature.
“Hot day, isn’t it?” Benteen remarked idly, and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeved forearm.
“Always is. You with that trail herd?” The man spoke in chopped sentences, as if complete ones required too much effort.
“It’s my herd,” he acknowledged. “The name’s Calder. Benteen Calder.”
“Got a place off the trail.” The farmer gestured over his shoulder. “Water in the crick, and grass. Welcome to bed ’em there. Missus and me be needin’ fuel for the winter.”
Dried cow and buffalo manure was often referred to as “prairie coal.” Where trees were scarce, it was the only source of fuel. With a little bacon rind for kindling, it burned with a hot flame.
“I’ll ride over and take a look,” Benteen said.
“Hail took my crop a week back.” Which explained why he was willing to let the cattle graze on his land. They couldn’t damage a crop already destroyed.
Handling the team like the veteran driver she’d become, Lorna followed the chuck wagon to the site Benteen had selected for the night’s camp. The wagons were going to be positioned between the herd and the farmer’s homestead, a hundred yards away.
Their route took them close to the farmer’s home. It was the first time Lorna had seen a sod house, although she’d heard about them. She couldn’t help staring at the strange-looking structure with tufts of grass sticking out between layers of earth. The door and windows were framed with wood and the roof appeared to be a combination of brush, earth, and poles.
A woman was standing in the doorway of the primitive cabin, halted in the act of wiping her hands on the long apron around her waist. Lorna raised a hand and waved to her. Suddenly the woman started running toward the wagon.
“Stop!” she cried out. “Please, stop!”
The woman sounded so desperate that Lorna thought she needed help and hauled back on the reins to stop the team. Tears were streaming down the woman’s face as she ran alongside the wagon. Her hand was reaching out to Lorna while she continued to sob breathlessly for her to stop.
When the wagon rumbled to a halt, Lorna climbed quickly down. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously as the woman stood and covered her mouth with a hand.
