away, the heels of his high, western-style boots clacking on the floor.
“Come over here and sit down,” Pennington ordered Emmalee, in a manner that was both businesslike and courteous. “What can I do for you?”
Emmalee approached the table and showed Pennington the newspaper ad. Lottie looked over, saw the ad, and dismissed the whole subject with a stifled yawn.
“I want to sign up for your train west, sir,” Emmalee said. “Are there any places left?”
“Just for yourself? You alone?”
Lottie showed signs of life now. “You’re not married or anything ?” she asked.
“Lottie, mind your manners for once. This is my daughter, Lottie Pennington. And you are?”
“Emmalee Alden. And, no, I’m not married. But I want to travel west.”
“Well, I probably could squeeze in a few more fares. You got relatives out there, or what?”
“No, sir. I plan to claim land in the Territory of Olympia.”
Burt Pennington’s incredulity was too great to be concealed, although for the sake of good manners he made an attempt to mute it.
“Pretty ambitious for a girl your age,” he said. “You are serious?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, it’s a free country since Honest Abe let the slaves loose. What you want that land for?”
Emmalee recalled Pennington’s derogatory remark about farmers and remembered that his ad in the paper had addressed itself in particular to those with an interest in ranching. “Naturally, I’d fit right in with the other people in your group,” she said.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Lottie said.
“I told you once to be quiet,” her father warned. Then he said to Emmalee, “You intend to ranch in Olympia?” This time he was frankly disbelieving.
“Oh, yes,” she lied.
“Where you from?” Pennington inquired suspiciously.
“Pennsylvania. That is, originally.”
“Lots of ranches there,” he said dryly. “What’s a dogie?” he demanded abruptly.
“A-a what?”
“A dogie. You say you grew up on this ranch in Pennsylvania, so you must know what a dogie is.”
It must be some kind of ranching word, Emmalee realized. Pennington was testing her.
“I think I used to know but I forgot,” she said.
Lottie laughed, and this time her father did not chide her.
“Look, young lady,” he advised Emmalee. “They got farms in Pennsylvania. But it don’t matter anyway. You got no business going out across Kansas and Colorado by yourself. Wagon trains are tough stuff, and the trip is even worse. Then you got to cross the mountains…”
If Garn Landar did it eight times, I can do it once, Emmalee was sure.
“…and then you got to claim and settle your land. And there won’t be any farms in Olympia anyways.”
“Why not?”
“On account of us ranchers is gonna get there first and take the place over. We got to. Farmers tear up land, beat it down, ruin it. Land is the only thing that counts, and farmers destroy it. Look, take a piece of advice from a man who’s seen a bit in his time. Find yourself a nice young fellow—”
“If she can,” Lottie said, snickering.
“—and settle down here in St. Joe. You must have read too many books or heard too many stories. You’ll never make it out to Olympia.”
“Someone else thought so too,” said Emmalee, thinking of Garn. Maybe she would have a test of her own. Those who told her she should settle down here and get married, those who said she wouldn’t survive the trek west, well, they would just fail her test, that was all there was to it.
“Thank you for your time,” she said to Pennington.
He stood. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he said, not ungallantly. “I stand behind the advice, though.”
Lottie could not restrain herself. For whatever reason, fate or chemistry or bad bile, who knew? Lottie Pennington had taken an instant dislike to Emmalee, a feeling that was reciprocated.
“If I owned me a calico dress like that,” Lottie oozed, assaying Emmalee’s serviceable but unstylish
“Come over here and sit down,” Pennington ordered Emmalee, in a manner that was both businesslike and courteous. “What can I do for you?”
Emmalee approached the table and showed Pennington the newspaper ad. Lottie looked over, saw the ad, and dismissed the whole subject with a stifled yawn.
“I want to sign up for your train west, sir,” Emmalee said. “Are there any places left?”
“Just for yourself? You alone?”
Lottie showed signs of life now. “You’re not married or anything ?” she asked.
“Lottie, mind your manners for once. This is my daughter, Lottie Pennington. And you are?”
“Emmalee Alden. And, no, I’m not married. But I want to travel west.”
“Well, I probably could squeeze in a few more fares. You got relatives out there, or what?”
“No, sir. I plan to claim land in the Territory of Olympia.”
Burt Pennington’s incredulity was too great to be concealed, although for the sake of good manners he made an attempt to mute it.
“Pretty ambitious for a girl your age,” he said. “You are serious?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, it’s a free country since Honest Abe let the slaves loose. What you want that land for?”
Emmalee recalled Pennington’s derogatory remark about farmers and remembered that his ad in the paper had addressed itself in particular to those with an interest in ranching. “Naturally, I’d fit right in with the other people in your group,” she said.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Lottie said.
“I told you once to be quiet,” her father warned. Then he said to Emmalee, “You intend to ranch in Olympia?” This time he was frankly disbelieving.
“Oh, yes,” she lied.
“Where you from?” Pennington inquired suspiciously.
“Pennsylvania. That is, originally.”
“Lots of ranches there,” he said dryly. “What’s a dogie?” he demanded abruptly.
“A-a what?”
“A dogie. You say you grew up on this ranch in Pennsylvania, so you must know what a dogie is.”
It must be some kind of ranching word, Emmalee realized. Pennington was testing her.
“I think I used to know but I forgot,” she said.
Lottie laughed, and this time her father did not chide her.
“Look, young lady,” he advised Emmalee. “They got farms in Pennsylvania. But it don’t matter anyway. You got no business going out across Kansas and Colorado by yourself. Wagon trains are tough stuff, and the trip is even worse. Then you got to cross the mountains…”
If Garn Landar did it eight times, I can do it once, Emmalee was sure.
“…and then you got to claim and settle your land. And there won’t be any farms in Olympia anyways.”
“Why not?”
“On account of us ranchers is gonna get there first and take the place over. We got to. Farmers tear up land, beat it down, ruin it. Land is the only thing that counts, and farmers destroy it. Look, take a piece of advice from a man who’s seen a bit in his time. Find yourself a nice young fellow—”
“If she can,” Lottie said, snickering.
“—and settle down here in St. Joe. You must have read too many books or heard too many stories. You’ll never make it out to Olympia.”
“Someone else thought so too,” said Emmalee, thinking of Garn. Maybe she would have a test of her own. Those who told her she should settle down here and get married, those who said she wouldn’t survive the trek west, well, they would just fail her test, that was all there was to it.
“Thank you for your time,” she said to Pennington.
He stood. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he said, not ungallantly. “I stand behind the advice, though.”
Lottie could not restrain herself. For whatever reason, fate or chemistry or bad bile, who knew? Lottie Pennington had taken an instant dislike to Emmalee, a feeling that was reciprocated.
“If I owned me a calico dress like that,” Lottie oozed, assaying Emmalee’s serviceable but unstylish
Similar Books
