Page 8 of Wagon Train Hope
“Let’s move.” Joe’s call rang out.
Walt rode forward to join Joe, ignoring Irene. Not until the calls and whistles to the oxen died down and the creak of the wagons settled into a steady rhythm did he glance back.
Cecil rode by the first wagon. A place where Walt often noticed him.
At the third wagon, Pa walked beside his oxen, Marnie at his side, the pair laughing about something.
Where was Irene? Usually, she’d be on horseback either out front or trotting beside one of the wagons. Or, just as frequently, galloping helter-skelter across the countryside as if…as if… Why did the word freedom come to mind when he meant wild?
He angled to the right. Her mount was tied to the second wagon. Another few feet to the right, and he saw her on the wagon seat beside Angela.
A ragged breath left his mouth. At least she wouldn’t be riding at his side, making unnecessary comments about things such as flowers and clouds and fluttering leaves. The first day on the trail, she’d stopped the whole lot of them to call her mother forward and point out a field of flowers.
To be sure, they were pretty and colorful and brought a welling up of…well, something. He’d gladly joined Pa and Cecil in singing a hymn. And to be completely honest, his annoyance had dissipated as they’d sung.
He pushed away the memory. Life couldn’t be all flowers and singing.
Moving closer to Joe, he commented, “Lots of rocks.”
“Yup.” They eased around a particularly rough area. “Only smooth spot is ten miles to the north.”
Walt waited for the scout to explain.
“Close to the tracks and a little town.”
Walt grunted acknowledgment. He understood—they all did. They stayed away from trains, towns, and peoplebecause of Bertie’s fears. Poor man. A childlike mind stuck in a rather large man-sized body.
Another moment of nothing but the clip-clop of their horses and the rattle of the wagons. “Guess you’d be dreamin’ some to call it a town. Mostly a water tower and a handful of houses.”
Walt chuckled at Joe’s deadpan description.
They continued onward, choosing the least rocky places for the wagon.
Joe reined in and leaned forward, eyeing the distance.
Walt did the same. What were they looking for?
“I’m going to ride ahead to look for a better route. You lead them down this slope and wait by that big boulder.” With that, Joe rode away.
Walt waved the wagons forward, picking his way through and over the rocks. Several times, he glanced back to check on the wagons. They bounced and thudded across the rough trail. It must be torture to ride. In fact, only Irene and Louise did, each driving a wagon.
Seeing all was well, he continued onward.
A cry rang out, followed by a scream and yells to stop.
3
Bertie’s cry and her mother’s scream jolted Irene from boredom.
She pulled her oxen to a halt, jumped to the ground, and raced around to the back.
Bertie sat on the grass, his arms hugging the neck of his three-legged dog.
Ma reached him before Irene and knelt beside him. “Bertie, what’s wrong?”
The others gathered close as Bertie choked out an answer, but his words were too mangled to understand.
Alice butted her head to Bertie’s, offering comfort the only way she knew how. Limpy licked his face. Fluff pressed to his side.
