to be milked twice a day. Once in early morning and once in the evening,” Zane instructed as they moved toward the end of the stable.
“Are those our wagons?” Dianne asked, pointing to an open area opposite the stalls.
“Sure are,” Morgan replied. “Ma paid extra to have them kept here. She thought they’d be safe from riffraff.”
Dianne paused for a moment and looked at the wagons with a sense of disbelief. “Doesn’t it seem strange to have our entire household packed up in those?”
“I think it’s a good thing to be rid of so much stuff,” Zane said. “I don’t mind at all that we’re starting over. I’ve always wanted to go west.”
“But won’t you miss having a table to sit down to for supper?” she questioned, looking first to Zane and then to Morgan. “Won’t you miss having an indoor bathroom and a pump right in your kitchen? We’ll have to haul water from rivers and creeks on the trip—it won’t be easy.”
Morgan laughed. “Doesn’t matter how easy it is. It’s going to be an adventure and a heap of fun. You girls might miss your fancy duds and conveniences, but I’d trade them all for a chance to explore where no white man has ever stepped.”
Dianne went to the stall where the horses were kept. The mare she’d taken as her own moved toward the gate. No doubt she hoped for a treat, as Dianne had spoiled her over the last few days as they had become acquainted with each other.
“Sweet Dolly,” Dianne said as she rubbed the buckskin’s black mane.
“Come on, you can spend time with your horse later. We’re supposed to teach you how to milk,” Zane protested.
Dianne stepped over to the pen where the cows were nervously bunched together. Morgan grabbed a rope and fashioned a loop. Without any qualms about his task, he stepped into the stall. The cows moved away from him, as if uncertain as to whether he meant to do them harm. Dianne and Zane watched as Morgan easily laid the rope over the nearest cow’s head and tightened the loop down.
“Zane, you open the gate real easy-like and keep the others back.”
Zane did as instructed while Dianne moved to stand behind him, almost frightened of what might happen. What if the other cows decided to rush toward the opening? Would Zane be able to stop them from escaping? How in the world would she ever be able to do this task on her own?
Morgan moved out with the cow and walked her around to the far side of the stall. Roping her to the fence, Morgan threw a few handfuls of hay into a feeding trough and waited until the cow settled into eating.
“I’m not exactly sure how this will work on the trail, but I figure to ask around and see what other folks do to handle this.” He reached around and took hold of a bucket and three-legged stool. “These both belong to us. I had Ma buy them yesterday. Up until today, Mr. Smith has been having a couple of the locals take care of the milking, but since we’re set to leave day after tomorrow, I figure we’d better show you how it’s done.” He put the bucket down beside him, then placed the stool in position.
“If you touch her like this,” he said, running his hand alongside the cow as he lowered himself to sit, “she knows where you are and doesn’t get so nervous.” He pulled the bucket under her udder and reached to take hold of two teats.
Dianne came around to better see what Morgan was doing. “Does it hurt her?” She couldn’t bear to think that she might cause the animal pain.
“Nah. In fact, Mr. Smith says it hurts ’em if they aren’t milked.” The swishing sound of milk hitting the pail sounded almost melodic.
Dianne smiled. “She doesn’t seem to mind it too much.”
Morgan continued milking. “I told you.”
Zane joined them. “Better have Dianne give it a try or she’ll never learn just standing here jawing.”
Morgan nodded. “You ready?”
“I don’t know; it seems …”
“You’ll do just fine,” Morgan said, moving the bucket. He
“Are those our wagons?” Dianne asked, pointing to an open area opposite the stalls.
“Sure are,” Morgan replied. “Ma paid extra to have them kept here. She thought they’d be safe from riffraff.”
Dianne paused for a moment and looked at the wagons with a sense of disbelief. “Doesn’t it seem strange to have our entire household packed up in those?”
“I think it’s a good thing to be rid of so much stuff,” Zane said. “I don’t mind at all that we’re starting over. I’ve always wanted to go west.”
“But won’t you miss having a table to sit down to for supper?” she questioned, looking first to Zane and then to Morgan. “Won’t you miss having an indoor bathroom and a pump right in your kitchen? We’ll have to haul water from rivers and creeks on the trip—it won’t be easy.”
Morgan laughed. “Doesn’t matter how easy it is. It’s going to be an adventure and a heap of fun. You girls might miss your fancy duds and conveniences, but I’d trade them all for a chance to explore where no white man has ever stepped.”
Dianne went to the stall where the horses were kept. The mare she’d taken as her own moved toward the gate. No doubt she hoped for a treat, as Dianne had spoiled her over the last few days as they had become acquainted with each other.
“Sweet Dolly,” Dianne said as she rubbed the buckskin’s black mane.
“Come on, you can spend time with your horse later. We’re supposed to teach you how to milk,” Zane protested.
Dianne stepped over to the pen where the cows were nervously bunched together. Morgan grabbed a rope and fashioned a loop. Without any qualms about his task, he stepped into the stall. The cows moved away from him, as if uncertain as to whether he meant to do them harm. Dianne and Zane watched as Morgan easily laid the rope over the nearest cow’s head and tightened the loop down.
“Zane, you open the gate real easy-like and keep the others back.”
Zane did as instructed while Dianne moved to stand behind him, almost frightened of what might happen. What if the other cows decided to rush toward the opening? Would Zane be able to stop them from escaping? How in the world would she ever be able to do this task on her own?
Morgan moved out with the cow and walked her around to the far side of the stall. Roping her to the fence, Morgan threw a few handfuls of hay into a feeding trough and waited until the cow settled into eating.
“I’m not exactly sure how this will work on the trail, but I figure to ask around and see what other folks do to handle this.” He reached around and took hold of a bucket and three-legged stool. “These both belong to us. I had Ma buy them yesterday. Up until today, Mr. Smith has been having a couple of the locals take care of the milking, but since we’re set to leave day after tomorrow, I figure we’d better show you how it’s done.” He put the bucket down beside him, then placed the stool in position.
“If you touch her like this,” he said, running his hand alongside the cow as he lowered himself to sit, “she knows where you are and doesn’t get so nervous.” He pulled the bucket under her udder and reached to take hold of two teats.
Dianne came around to better see what Morgan was doing. “Does it hurt her?” She couldn’t bear to think that she might cause the animal pain.
“Nah. In fact, Mr. Smith says it hurts ’em if they aren’t milked.” The swishing sound of milk hitting the pail sounded almost melodic.
Dianne smiled. “She doesn’t seem to mind it too much.”
Morgan continued milking. “I told you.”
Zane joined them. “Better have Dianne give it a try or she’ll never learn just standing here jawing.”
Morgan nodded. “You ready?”
“I don’t know; it seems …”
“You’ll do just fine,” Morgan said, moving the bucket. He
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