out. Only a man and a horse drawing nearer.
"We'd better go down," she said, "Pa is hitching up the team."
They walked down the hill together, and Susanna saw that Duncan had both his shotgun and rifle near the seat, but she made no comment except to mention Vallian's approach.
They moved out, walking beside the team, and a few minutes later Con Vallian skirted the trees near their last camp and rode up the slight grade.
"Figured you might need some help," he said dryly, "with the unloading."
"Unloading?"
"Uh-huh. Right ahead of you is some sand-hills. You're going to have to get shut of that load there or kill them mules. Arkansas River's not far from here."
"We'll manage," McKaskel spoke stiffly, resenting the assurance in Vallian's tone. "My mules can handle it."
"Mighty fine mules," Vallian agreed, "ain't quite as pert as they was. Reckon it's the climate?"
He rode on ahead, and Duncan stared after him. "That man--! I wish he'd--!"
"Don't say it, Duncan. He has helped us, and he will again."
Yet when the mules leaned into the harness and strained to start the wagon, he felt guilty. They were pulling too hard. It was stupidity to continue on in this way, and his own stubbornness was at fault. For some time he had known they must discard something ... but what?
Susanna loved her furniture. The bed they might keep, but that chiffonier...
He could see the drift-sand ahead.
"We can hitch the sorrels ahead of the mules. They aren't draft animals but they can do it. They've been driven to a light wagon."
Twice in the next quarter of a mile, they stopped. It was then he went to the wagon and looked for the other sets of harness. The extra harnesses had been brought along for repairs, and he had little idea of actually working the sorrels. He got the harness out and threw it on the horses, glancing into the wagon as he did so. The sheen of the mahogany made him turn his head. He was irritated by his feeling of guilt.
They moved forward again, with Tom walking ahead, trying to scout the best route among the sand-hills. Even with the horses the load was heavy.
Before them were the breaks of the Arkansas, a rough, wooded and brushy area where any danger might lurk. Emerging into a small open space they found three graves. From the brief words scratched on the crosses two had died from cholera, one from Indians.
Vallian noticed them, and shrugged. "Riding back from Californy I counted more'n a thousand graves of folks that died or were killed last year."
His amusement was ironic. "I reckon some of them tried to go through to the gold fields with their wagons loaded too heavy."
"Possibly," Duncan said quietly, "possibly they did just that. And perhaps some of them managed to get through, even though they were overloaded."
"Mr. Vallian, were you ever married?"
"Me? Never."
"Women, Mr. Vallian, often build their lives around things. The proper things in their proper places give women assurance, a sense of lightness and stability. Perhaps we men lack that, for better or worse, or maybe we have other things to which we give our attention.
"In this wagon we have a bed that my wife's family brought over from Devonshire almost two hundred years ago. We have several other articles of furniture equally as important. We could very easily have left those articles at home and loaded the space with food or implements, but the happiness of Susanna is very important to me, and wherever we are, those things will be home to her. Do you understand, Mr. Vallian?"
Con pushed his hat back from his face and gave one shake of his head. "Yes, I expect I do. I understand mighty well. My own pa fetched things over the mountains with him that he never found use for, but that still ain't gettin' this wagon through that sand, nor along the Arkansas bottom, either, where there's quicksand."
"When we come to a bridge, Mr. Vallian, we will cross it."
"Quicksand ain't no bridge, and as far as these sand-hills are concerned, you don't have to
"We'd better go down," she said, "Pa is hitching up the team."
They walked down the hill together, and Susanna saw that Duncan had both his shotgun and rifle near the seat, but she made no comment except to mention Vallian's approach.
They moved out, walking beside the team, and a few minutes later Con Vallian skirted the trees near their last camp and rode up the slight grade.
"Figured you might need some help," he said dryly, "with the unloading."
"Unloading?"
"Uh-huh. Right ahead of you is some sand-hills. You're going to have to get shut of that load there or kill them mules. Arkansas River's not far from here."
"We'll manage," McKaskel spoke stiffly, resenting the assurance in Vallian's tone. "My mules can handle it."
"Mighty fine mules," Vallian agreed, "ain't quite as pert as they was. Reckon it's the climate?"
He rode on ahead, and Duncan stared after him. "That man--! I wish he'd--!"
"Don't say it, Duncan. He has helped us, and he will again."
Yet when the mules leaned into the harness and strained to start the wagon, he felt guilty. They were pulling too hard. It was stupidity to continue on in this way, and his own stubbornness was at fault. For some time he had known they must discard something ... but what?
Susanna loved her furniture. The bed they might keep, but that chiffonier...
He could see the drift-sand ahead.
"We can hitch the sorrels ahead of the mules. They aren't draft animals but they can do it. They've been driven to a light wagon."
Twice in the next quarter of a mile, they stopped. It was then he went to the wagon and looked for the other sets of harness. The extra harnesses had been brought along for repairs, and he had little idea of actually working the sorrels. He got the harness out and threw it on the horses, glancing into the wagon as he did so. The sheen of the mahogany made him turn his head. He was irritated by his feeling of guilt.
They moved forward again, with Tom walking ahead, trying to scout the best route among the sand-hills. Even with the horses the load was heavy.
Before them were the breaks of the Arkansas, a rough, wooded and brushy area where any danger might lurk. Emerging into a small open space they found three graves. From the brief words scratched on the crosses two had died from cholera, one from Indians.
Vallian noticed them, and shrugged. "Riding back from Californy I counted more'n a thousand graves of folks that died or were killed last year."
His amusement was ironic. "I reckon some of them tried to go through to the gold fields with their wagons loaded too heavy."
"Possibly," Duncan said quietly, "possibly they did just that. And perhaps some of them managed to get through, even though they were overloaded."
"Mr. Vallian, were you ever married?"
"Me? Never."
"Women, Mr. Vallian, often build their lives around things. The proper things in their proper places give women assurance, a sense of lightness and stability. Perhaps we men lack that, for better or worse, or maybe we have other things to which we give our attention.
"In this wagon we have a bed that my wife's family brought over from Devonshire almost two hundred years ago. We have several other articles of furniture equally as important. We could very easily have left those articles at home and loaded the space with food or implements, but the happiness of Susanna is very important to me, and wherever we are, those things will be home to her. Do you understand, Mr. Vallian?"
Con pushed his hat back from his face and gave one shake of his head. "Yes, I expect I do. I understand mighty well. My own pa fetched things over the mountains with him that he never found use for, but that still ain't gettin' this wagon through that sand, nor along the Arkansas bottom, either, where there's quicksand."
"When we come to a bridge, Mr. Vallian, we will cross it."
"Quicksand ain't no bridge, and as far as these sand-hills are concerned, you don't have to
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