Katie and the Mustang, Book 3

Table of Contents

 

 

PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road,
Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,
Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road,
Auckland 10, New Zealand
Published simultaneously in the United States of America by Dutton Children's
Books and Puffin Books, divisions of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2004

Copyright © Kathleen Duey, 2004

All rights reserved

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-17674-0

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

T
hat first morning was terrible—it took so long to leave Council Bluff that I had time to wonder if I was doing the right thing, going west by myself. Without Hiram and the wagon, I felt strange, like I was enclosed in lantern glass, somehow cut off from everyone else.

The Mustang was walking stiff-kneed, his head high and his nostrils flared. Holding the lead rope, walking him in circles to calm him, talking to him, kept me busy. He was a comfort in all the commotion.

Babies were crying, roosters crowing, dogs barking. And everyone was talking and shouting. The Kyler girls were laughing, fidget-footed. Julia insisted on carrying around their white cat until Mrs. Kyler finally scolded her.

My blanket bundle, a little box of my spare clothes, and 150 pounds of the bacon Hiram had bought was in Mr. and Mrs. Kyler's wagon. I kept wishing I could catch a glimpse of my gray blanket through the puckered-cloth opening. It felt wrong to have my mother's book and my father's silver shoe buckles in someone else's wagon.

In front of us were families I had never met—people who had signed up with Mr. Teal long before the Kylers had. As the dust thickened from the milling hooves, I saw the shapes of skulking boys in the gray dawn light, doing nothing to help that I could see. They were barefoot like me, like most of the children.

Every five or ten minutes, the Mustang jerked his head up and bugled a loud, high-pitched whinny. Half the mares in the Kylers' band answered him. I was sure that Delia's and Midnight's voices were among the chorus, but I couldn't tell. The Mustang could. He quieted. He tolerated being away from the mares, but he still wanted to know he had a friend nearby.

Poor Mr. and Mrs. Kyler looked stubborn and sad. I could only imagine how they felt. It was hard on them to leave Annie behind, her hands wrapped in bandages, in so much pain. It was a terrible decision, and we all knew what it meant. They would most likely never see their daughter again. They couldn't even stay for the wedding. We had all heard stories of how a day or two at journey's end made the difference between life and death.

We were the second wagon train forming up. The first was Mormon folks. I remembered Hiram saying they'd had trouble back where they were from. Whatever it was, it must have made them stop trusting strangers. They kept to themselves.

Blinking, my eyes stinging from the dust, I walked the Mustang out to one side of the line of wagons. There were nineteen wagons ahead of us that I could see. Most were prairie schooners like the Kylers had; a few were farm wagons.

Mr. Teal had started down the line, shouting advice about harness adjustments and water barrel strapping and a lot more that I couldn't make out.

The Kyler girls were standing in a group now, bunched up behind their grandparents' wagon, holding still for once. I counted. There were five girls. Julia with her long, dark braids and Polly, tall and thin—then the three younger girls, Mary May, Patience, and Hope. I wasn't sure which was which of the little girls. They were holding hands, watching Mr. Teal come closer.

“Keep a distance between the wagons,” Mr. Teal was shouting. “Watch your children. Teach them to walk off to the side, to stay away from the wagon wheels...children have been killed.”

Julia and Polly pulled the little girls off to the side opposite mine. The dust made it nearly impossible for me to see them, even though they had moved less than twenty feet farther from me.

“Some are asking about the war with Mexico,” Mr. Teal shouted. “Word is that it has begun. We won't be crossing anywhere near the trouble, so there's nothing to fear.”

Mr. Teal walked a few more wagons down the line and started over, repeating the same things. For another half hour or more, the wagons all stayed put, the men milling around and shouting, getting people and supplies sorted out. It took a long time to get gathered up behind the party of Mormon folks who were moving out ahead of us.

Mr. Teal wanted the wagons in a certain order. The Kylers argued not to be split up. Mr. Teal agreed to that much, but he wanted a party of all men at the rear of the train instead of Andrew and Hannah Kyler and their baby.

“They got thirty head of horses running alongside. We'll choke on the dust,” one of the men argued. He was a tall man and had a beard as thick as dog's fur. “They joined a good week after us,” he added, then spat. “It ain't fair.”

“We aren't looking to cause any trouble,” Andrew Kyler said.

“It's a simple matter of defense, Mr. Silas,” Mr. Teal said, finally raising his voice. “If we hit trouble, four armed men will be better placed at the end than a couple with an unweaned child.”

Mr. Teal's face darkened when Mr. Silas shot back an angry protest. “Hear me well,” Mr. Teal said evenly. “I won't abide a man who argues away precious time on the first morning. A wagon train has to work like a family or too many of us won't get to Oregon at all.”

The tall man nodded reluctantly. “For now, then. But we ain't staying back there the whole way.”

Mr. Teal acted like he hadn't heard. “We'll see Indians by and by,” he said, turning to face the crowd that had gathered. “I don't like them to think we can't protect ourselves. Most seem as honest as daylight, but we don't understand them or their ways yet, and I like to be careful.”

In order to line up, we had to circle a quarter mile down the valley, turning in a tight curve to come back. Following the wagons, I got a look at the bleak little tents and shacks the Mormon folks had wintered in.

There were a number of men in their line with high-wheeled carts like miniature wagons without mules or oxen hitched to them. They had no setup for harnesses, no singletrees or wagon tongues at all. They were built with U-shaped push bars. These were fastened to the sides of the little wagons and extended far enough frontward so a man could walk inside the U shape. The men pushed the carts by gripping the bar and shoving them along.

The Mormon folks seemed much better organized than the rest of us. We could hear them singing as they started out. I admired that. I sure didn't feel like singing. I was scared.

Once we came back around, the wagons falling into the order that Mr. Teal wanted them, we just kept going. When I realized he wasn't going to stop us again, I turned and ran a little way back, the Mustang trotting to keep up with me.“Thank you, Hiram,” I called. “Good-bye, Annie!”

They both waved, and I could tell that Annie was crying. I felt so sorry for her. In a few minutes at most, she would get her last glimpse of her family as we strung out behind the last of the Mormon families, all of us headed up and over the bluffs that framed the wide, brown Missouri River.

As the plodding oxen pulled the wagons up the first gentle rise, the Kylers kept shouting to Annie, all of them, grinning and waving, wiping at their eyes. The girls jumped up and down, waving their arms. Annie's brothers called out final farewells and wedding blessings.

My throat ached with sadness for them, and a bitter envy I would never admit to anyone. I led the Mustang along a little faster as the road got steeper and did not look back again. I imagined that my parents and sister were in one of the wagons. If it hadn't been for the fever, it might have come true. My father had talked about it off and on.

My mother would have done fine on the trail. She was brave and strong, and she would have been singing hymns along with the Mormon women. Mary Kyler would have loved her.

“My uncle Jack will never believe I've come all the way by myself,” I told the Mustang, trying to calm myself. I was feeling shivery and scared. The Mustang lowered his head to touch my shoulder with his muzzle. Then he tossed his mane and whinnied once, loud and long. The mares answered him.

“You all right, Katie?” Mrs. Kyler called to me.

I looked at her tearstained face and nodded, a big exaggerated motion so she could see it through the dust. She was such a nice woman, asking after me when she was the one leaving a daughter behind. I
was
fine, I told myself. I was on my way to find my family, and I couldn't wait to get there.

CHAPTER TWO