Katie and the Mustang, Book 3 by Kathleen Duey Page A

in the wind and rain.
    The next morning, Andrew took his stock out of the wagon circle early. I hurried to finish helping Mrs. Kyler, then ran to tie the lead to the Mustang’s halter. I led him off toward the back of the wagon train, as had become my habit. I headed toward the river, wanting to get a look at it. I came around the last wagon and saw a lot of the menfolk lined up, talking, staring out at the brown water.
    I walked the Mustang past them, going slow, trying to overhear.
    â€œWhy in tarnation didn’t we cross a week ago while it was low?” Andrew Kyler was asking. Mr. McMahon was nodding, but I couldn’t hear what he said.
    I walked the Mustang a little ways off and let him set himself to grazing. I was tired—I had been awake half the night or more, so I sat in the grass holding the long lead rope in one hand, looking off to the west.
    This whole thing made me nervous. Every time we had crossed the Platte before, I had simply led the Mustang along beside the wagons. It wasn’t any more scary than crossing a creek back home; it was just much wider. Mr. Teal had said there could be quicksand mud, so soft a person could get stuck in it—but no one had found any. I’d just stayed in the path of the ones in front.
    There were more clouds gathering to the west this morning—dark clouds. I looked out over the water. There was foam on it now, and the color had darkened to a muddy brown, nearly as brown as the Missouri had been.
    I fiddled with the tattered hem of my dress, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep. The Mustang always grazed quietly now, and I knew it wasn’t likely that he would shy at anything. The sky overhead was clouded thinly; it wasn’t going to rain for a while anyway. I leaned back on my elbows and I might have dozed off if the shouting hadn’t started.
    I snapped up straight, listening. The Mustang lifted his head, too. There were several voices. I got to my feet and looked back down the bank. Mr.Teal was standing at the center of a ring of men. Mr. McMahon was talking loudly, jabbing his finger in the air as he spoke. His wife stood off to one side, and I could see her lips moving, finishing his sentences the way she always did. Her face was flushed, she was as angry as her husband was.
    Mr. Teal shook his head and started to walk off, but Mr. McMahon called him back, and they went on talking, their voices lowered again.
    Mrs. McMahon started away, still glaring over her shoulder at Mr. Teal. The men’s voices had calmed, and I couldn’t hear them anymore. I wanted to lead the Mustang closer, to eavesdrop; but I knew I’d get scolded for it, so I didn’t. Instead, I led the Mustang along, drifting toward camp.
    All the men I passed were grumbling. It was clear how upset they were. It was also clear that they were packing up and getting ready to cross the river.
    â€œIt probably isn’t that deep,” Mr. Kyler was telling his wife as I led the Mustang back into their camp.
    She was frowning, staring at the sky to the west. “If this storm upstream was as bad as it was here—”
    â€œAnd it ain’t over, not by a long shot,” Mr. Kyler interrupted her, squinting to see better. “If we wait, it could keep us on this side long enough to starve the stock.”
    It looked to me like the storm was just getting started. The clouds were the color of charcoal, almost. I almost said it aloud, then I bit my lip. It was not my place to argue with either one of them.
    â€œGot your things all wrapped up, Katie?” Mrs. Kyler asked me.
    I shook my head and tied the Mustang loosely to the side of the wagon so he could nibble at the grass, then I ran to shake the grass and dirt out of my bedding. I folded it, damp though it was, and carried it into the wagon. All our bedding and most of our clothes were damp. They would stay that way until the sun came out for a few days.
    I checked my little bundle, feeling my