Nevada (1995) (15 page)

She had a powerful impulse to look back, but she resisted it unti
l
they had passed over the hill. When at last Hettie turned to loo
k
her eyes were so wet that she had to wipe them so she could see.

How far they had already come! The cluster of houses tha
t
constituted the village of Hammell lay at the foot of the lon
g
hill. Beyond widened the green valley, for miles and miles, wit
h
its threads of bright water and its shining remnant of lake, an
d
the great squares of grain, waving in the wind. She located th
e
Ide ranch, the fields, the barns, the dark patch of maples, th
e
white house. Home! She was leaving it, surely forever. Yet sh
e
whispered to herself that she was glad to go; her heart had almos
t
broken there; she would never return unless--unless . . .

Hettie had overestimated her powers of resistance. That on
e
lingering last look back at Tule Lake was her undoing. She crep
t
through the curtains again and sought her couch, where she hid he
r
face and let emotion have its sway. Following that, a relaxatio
n
from the weeks of excitement and work set in, and she was glad t
o
rest and sleep. Late in the afternoon she awoke, refreshed an
d
calm, soon to feel a lively interest in the present.

At this juncture a halt was made for the first camp. Hettie sa
w
that wagons and horses had stopped off the road in a level plac
e
where gnarled oaks stood far apart and a trickling stream woun
d
between green banks. She walked here and there to stretch he
r
legs, conscious of the return of a vague delight. She had alway
s
loved camping out, of which she had experienced but little. Thi
s
indeed was to be a real camping adventure. The horses were rollin
g
on the ground, in all kinds of violent action to scratch and dus
t
their sweaty backs. Some of the more spirited animals were bein
g
hobbled. Ben was coaxing California Red with a nosebag of grain.

The driver of the chuck wagon, who was also the cook, staggere
d
under a load of firewood. Rolls of bedding were being thrown fro
m
another wagon.

When Hettie got back to her wagon and Ben's, which were clos
e
together, she found her mother, Ina, and Blaine all out, smilin
g
and interested. Just then Marvie Blaine strode up with an ax o
n
his shoulder. He was a tall, well-built youth, freckled and homely
,
with fine clear eyes. He wore overalls, high boots, long spurs
,
and he packed a gun. Ina espied this latter simultaneously wit
h
Hettie.

"Marvie Blaine!" cried Ina, pointing at the gun. "What's that?"

"Why, my six shooter, of course!" retorted Marvie, with importance.

"What're you going to do with it?" queried his sister, i
n
consternation.

"Ina, I'm sure not wearing it for ornament," replied the lad.

"Gracious! It might go off and hurt somebody!"

"Ahuh! That's the whole idea of packing a gun," replied Marvie
,
and strode on.

"Hettie, did you hear him?" asked Ina, wide-eyed.

"I sure did," said Hettie, with a laugh. "Marvie's awakened t
o
reality."

"And Ben swore to dad he'd keep that boy from going wild,"
e
jaculated Ina.

Ben, who approached on the moment, heard his wife's exclamation
,
and he picked up little Blaine to toss him up and catch him. "Ha!

Ha! reckon here's another gunman in the making."

"There's nothing funny about that remark," said Ina, reproachfully.

Just then the cook came shuffling up to Ben, manifestly in a hig
h
state of dudgeon.

"Boss, your mother says she's a-goin' to do the cookin', an' thet I
c
an wait on table an' wash dishes," he asserted.

"By George! I forgot about mother," rejoined Ben, struggling wit
h
his mirth. "Now, Hank, that's nonsense, of course. But you mus
t
use some tact. Mother wants to help along. Can't you let he
r
putter around?"

"Putter, hell!" sputtered Hank. "She calls me dirty an' greasy--
t
hrows out my sour dough--an' snooks into everythin'. . . . Now
,
boss, I'm a-goin' to quit."

"Hank, you wouldn't go back on me," returned Ben, in alarm. "Come
,
I'll talk to mother."

When Ben had gone with the irate cook, Ina and Hettie burst int
o
merry peals of laughter.

"Hettie, I wouldn't have--missed this trip--for the world," sai
d
Ina.

"Neither would I. But I've begun to have glimmerings."

"Of what?" asked Ina, curiously.

"Of lots besides fun," replied Hettie, soberly.

Presently Ben returned, somewhat crestfallen. "By George!" h
e
said, throwing off his sombrero and pulling at his dark locks. "I
f
ixed it up, but I'm scared stiff. I reckon all camp cooks ar
e
more or less rough and not very particular. It's sure fire mothe
r
won't stand for dirt. She knows, too. I forgot she used to trave
l
with dad years ago. She wouldn't even consider the plan Hank and I
h
ad agreed on--that we'd eat first, then the men. No, says mother.

Waste of time and work. We'll all eat together."

"That's sensible," replied Ina.

"I am reminded that I'm starved," interposed Hettie.

"I's hungry," chirped up little Blaine, from the grass.

"We all are, son," agreed Ben.

Presently they were called to supper. The picturesque significanc
e
of that scene was vividly impressed upon Hettie--the smoking fire
,
and smell of burnt wood, the steaming pots, the new white tarpauli
n
spread under an oak, the hot biscuits, and sizzling bacon with it
s
savoury fragrance; the tall, lean, dark-faced young riders, stil
l
in chaps and spurs; her mother, bustling and happy as Hettie ha
d
not seen her in years; young Marvie with his shining freckled fac
e
and conscious air; Ina, with violent eyes alight; and the tumbling
,
disheveled Blaine, at last in his element, and Ben, both gay wit
h
the zest of this journey and thoughtful with its responsibility.

Then after supper came the hour beside the camp fire. As dus
k
settled down and the night wind arose there were comfort an
d
pleasant sensation in the heat from the red logs.

Hettie watched and listened, conscious of a mounting interest i
n
all that pertained to this overland journey. The men talked wit
h
Ben about the practical details of travel, the need of shoeing
a
certain horse, the greasing of a wagon wheel, the night-watches
,
and especially of the road ahead.

"We'll have fust-rate goin' fer a couple of days," said Raidy, on
e
of Ben's older hands. "I've been over this hyar road lots o
f
times, far as Jefferson. We turn off, howsomever, about day afte
r
to-morrer. An' that road used to be a terror for a wagon. Ove
r
the foothills into Nevada. But I heerd in Hammell thet it's bee
n
improved by travel. There's new minin' towns sprung up, Salisba
r
is quite a town."

"How about that thar border place, Lineville?" asked one of th
e
riders.

"I ain't never been there," replied Raidy. "All I know is hearsay.

Reckon it's growed, too, along with the booms. But she shore was
a
wide-open town once. Not so long ago, either, as time goes. We'l
l
hit Lineville along late the fourth day from hyar, if my figgerin'
i
s correct an' we have any kind of travelin' luck."

"Boss, do you aim to go through Salt Lake City?" queried another.

"No. We'll strike Utah far south of Salt Lake," replied Ben.

"Then we don't hit Tombstone?"

"I'm not sure. How about that, Raidy?"

"We don't run into Tombstone," returned Raidy, "an' thet's jest a
s
well. Our trail zigzags across Nevada, workin' down. Bad road
,
but passable. We go into Marysville, Utah. Thet burg is prett
y
far across the line an' pretty far south. Thar's a road fro
m
Marysville down over the line into Arizona, an' way around to
a
crossin' of the Colorado called Lee's Ferry. Mormons have bee
n
comin' across the head of the Grand Canyon thar fer years. Recko
n
we can travel whar any Mormons go, though thet country is said t
o
be the grandest an' roughest in all the West. It'll save us
a
thousand miles."

When Hettie retired to her wagon that night she had a cleare
r
realization of the tremendous task of travel Ben had set himself.

Almost it daunted her. But there came a strengthening and endurin
g
memory.

Her little tent room was as cozy and comfortable as she could hav
e
wished. Evidently her mother had found it likewise, for she wa
s
fast asleep. Hettie prepared herself for bed, put out the lamp
,
and slipped into her blankets. The novelty and strangeness of th
e
situation precluded sleep for the time being. She lay wide-eyed
,
staring at the flickering shadows on the canvas. After a while th
e
low voices of the men ceased and the firelight faded. Black nigh
t
and deep silence enfolded her. What had become of the horses? Th
e
wind swept through the oaks, now softly and again with a rush. Sh
e
felt it blow cold through the curtains, fanning her cheek. The
n
lonely sharp wild barks made her flesh creep. Coyotes! She was o
n
the edge of the wilderness.

Ben's cheery call seemed to rend Hettie's slumbers. To her dismay
,
she saw the sunlight gilding the canvas and that her mother ha
d
arisen without awakening her. Hettie made such haste that she wa
s
not late for breakfast. The men had eaten earlier, despite the la
w
laid down by Mrs. Ide.

It was a wonderful moment when the horses came trooping in behin
d
the yelling riders. After that all seemed action and noise, colo
r
and life. Breakfast over, Hettie helped in what few tasks sh
e
could find, then made her bed and was ready for the long day'
s
ride. She found she had to kill time, however, while the horse
s
were hitched and the chuck wagon packed. So she gathered wil
d
flowers until Marvie rode up on her, proud as a peacock in hi
s
chaps and mounted on one of Ben's spirited horses.

"Hettie, you don't want to get left, do you?" he asked, gruffly.

"I should smile not, Marvie," she replied, secretly amused at him.

"Well, rustle to your wagon," he replied, and spurred his hors
e
away.

Hettie watched the lad. He could ride. "I wonder," she mused.

"Some Arizona girl will fall in love with him."

"Men, here's the deal," Ben was saying as Hettie reached th
e
wagons. "We're in no hurry. Save the horses and stick clos
e
together. About mid-afternoon look for water and grass."