Jo's Journey by Nikki Tate Page A

sickened.
    â€œI can’t take no more of this,” Louie said. “You fellows got room for one more?”

    The men who had startled Tucker nodded and then, as if nothing untoward had happened, made their way over the bridge, Louie right behind them. Without a word of discussion, several more men from our party followed.
    â€œCowards!” Mr. Emerson said, gasping. He was bent over at the waist, puffing as if he had run a mile. He straightened up, coiling his rope as he did so, and looked over the rest of us. “Anyone else want to go? Do it now. There is no place in this godforsaken land for weaklings.”
    Beside me, Bart stiffened, but he held his ground. If the circumstances hadn’t been so grim, I might have smiled.
    As Joshua struggled to cut the dead horse’s burden free, I no longer thought only of my dreams of gold. Yes, gold lay hidden in the rivers and mountains, but in that moment, watching the men salvage what goods they could from the dead horse, I knew that I could leave Mr. Emerson without a shred of guilt. I also knew that I would not abandon Bart. If he decided to return to California,I would travel with him and see him safely back to Emily Rose.
    â€œWe’d best be going,” I said, sternly keeping the quaver from my voice. “We’ve got to get these horses a place to rest and eat. Bart? Will you come on ahead with us and find a place to camp?” I turned to Joshua, who was still struggling at his grim chore on the bridge. “We can leave Jacko with you so you can pack on a few extra things.”
    Joshua nodded, and Mr. Emerson, having coiled his rope, pulled out his pipe for a smoke.
    With one last look at the place where the deserters had disappeared, Bart took the halter rope and we trudged off, leading the two exhausted horses away.

Chapter 12
    â€œWhere are they?”
    The next morning I jerked awake to the sound of Mr. Emerson yelling like an injured moose.
    â€œDon’t stand there and tell me you had nothing to do with this, you lousy good-for-nothing —”
    â€œI don’t know where they’ve got to.”
    Apparently Joshua was the target of Mr. Emerson’s rage.
    I nudged Bart, pulled on my boots, and staggered outside into the bright early morning sun.
    â€œSomething must have spooked them—bear, maybe?”
    â€œI’d say it was you who spooked them. I want my money back.”
    â€œYou know that ain’t possible. My partner’s got it back in Lilloet.”
    Lilloet. Seemed like Lilloet was a thousand miles and a couple of lifetimes away.
    Mr. Emerson stalked off, flinging cuss words this way and that way until I thought the grass would wilt beneath his feet.
    Our remaining three horses were gone, and a lengthy search on foot turned up nothing—not even a tail hair to remember them by.
    An evil mood descended on us as we divided up the goods and hoisted packs heavier than ever onto our own backs.
    Three days of hard marching later, Joshua stopped in the middle of the trail and pointed off down a canyon.
    â€œHallelujah,” Mr. Emerson added.
    Our missing horses stood together, snoozing in the sun. They looked none the worse for wear and gave us no trouble when we caught them.
    In record time we set off with lifted spirits. Joshua’s whistling stopped soon enough when, just beyond Little Lake, we found ourselves in another stretch of swamp and dead trees.
    â€œWhat the —”
    Halfway through the maze of fallen trees, Joshua stopped and pushed back his hat, shading his eyes so he could see better.
    Strange-looking creatures stumbled and stopped, heading slowly toward us. Our own animals froze, horrified at the sight of these peculiar animals with their huge humps and curvy necks. The horses pulled back on their lead ropes, determined to flee from the bizarre creatures.
    I rubbed my eyes because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Sure enough, when the pack train drew closer,