Jo's Journey by Nikki Tate Page B

there was no doubt that these weren’t huge mules or strange horses, but camels! Their big soft feet were hopeless in the swampy ground, and their attitude reflected their misery. The men who drove them were beside themselves with fatigue and frustration.
    It’s hard enough to get a stubborn horse to move, but an unhappy camel? The great beasts stopped dead, sometimes lying down with their legs folded underneath then. They closed their huge brown eyes and seemed oblivious to the men pulling on their lead ropes or poking them with sticks. A hideous stench made our horses snort and dance sideways as we passed the camels, and we all covered our noses with our sleeves and sucked air in through our mouths so we would not have to smell them.
    With the loss of several horses and many of our provisions, we had no choice but to purchase supplies at the Forks of Quesnelle, even though the size of our group had dwindled to just over a dozen.
    â€œHow much should we buy?” Mr. Emerson asked Joshua, standing outside one of several general stores in town.
    â€œBuy what you want. I’m resting the horses another two days and then heading back to Lilloet.”
    â€œLike hell!”
    â€œLook —”
    Joshua pointed at two men, who shuffled like whipped dogs down the main street. One of the men wore a bell around his neck.
    â€œI talked to those two a little while ago. That bell is from the neck of their lead mule.”
    I didn’t want to hear the rest of the story.
    â€œThey left here with thirty mules—heading for Antler Creek.”
    Antler Creek was only twenty-five miles away.
    â€œThirty mules. More sure-footed and level-headed than any horse. And all they’ve got left now is a bell.”
    Mr. Emerson worked his mouth but said nothing.
    â€œYou think the trail so far has been bad? The worst stretch lies between here and Antler Creek.”
    Mr. Emerson slapped a mosquito on the side of his neck, leaving behind a bloody smear.
    â€œVery well. You are dismissed. Though I refuse to pay you another penny. Your contract was to get us to Antler Creek—not twenty-five miles shy. Hell—not
two
milesshy. I was going to reward you with a healthy bonus once we had arrived.”
    Joshua shook his head. “I’m certain you were. I’ll take my life and my animals—that’s bonus enough for me.”
    Bart squatted beside a fuzzy brown and black dog that had run up to say hello. He stayed beside the dog, stroking his head while Joshua led the horses away. No fewer than seven more men turned to follow. As I watched them go, a thousand thoughts twisted and turned in my head. Without horses, without Joshua, what would the rest of the journey be like? We were so close now—three or four days to go. That was nothing after all we’d been through.
    Bart watched Joshua retreat down the street, glanced once at me, and then bent back over the dog.
    My heart ached with sadness when Joshua and the other men turned a corner and disappeared. The ache was so strong it nearly pushed my legs down the road after them.
    The dog twisted his head around and licked Bart’s hand. Bart grinned, and the ache oflonging changed to an ache of gratitude. Bart was not going to abandon me.
    I moved to squat beside him, and the dog flopped on his back and squirmed with delight when I scratched his tummy. How wonderful to be a dog with no worries about what the next day might bring, no fears that a choice might lead to bitter regret, but only the pleasure of a belly scratch on a rare sunny morning.
    And so it was that when we shouldered our packs in Quesnelle Forks to tackle the final days of our journey, there were only six of us left—Mr. Emerson, me, Bart, Nigel, George and another tough old miner from California called Becker. Of the more than forty others who had set off with us from Lilloet, three dozen and more had suffered enough and returned home to wives and families, better