The last hour the Towers spent at their old home was a time of bustling confusion and great activity. Joe shook hands with all the men, and stood awkwardly while all the women kissed his cheek and wished him well. The women gathered about Emma, and tears flowed as they embraced. Joe gulped, more than ever realizing the enormity of the task they had undertaken and what it involved. The people gathered about were the friends of a lifetime, and living together had cemented more than superficial friendship. There was love too, and respect, and Joe had a sudden wild desire to ask everybody to go with him. He tried not to look at the weeping Emma, and knew a lighter moment when he saw Tad, knife at his belt, swaggering before the younger set. Then he saw Helen Domley with Carlyle in her arms and turned away so no man would see the tears in his own eyes.

Under no circumstances could Joe have described exactly how they started for Oregon; he saw the over-all picture but not the details. He did know that the mattresses, the last articles to go into the wagon, were carried there and placed exactly right by an army of willing workers. The same army literally overwhelmed and hitched the mules, and tied the placid cow to the wagon's rear. Joe's four younger children, still sleepy, promptly went to sleep on the mattresses. Tad, who had already asserted his determination to walk all the way to Oregon, refused to ride and Mike stayed at his heels. Barbara walked hand in hand with Marcia Geragty, and Emma was in John Geragty's wagon. Nobody else was going to Oregon, but the Towers would have plenty of company for at least the first part of their journey. Not everybody could see them off, for some had to return to their work. But most went.

The mules, overawed at being caught and harnessed by so many expert muleteers, were completely tractable. They strained willingly into their harness when Joe gave the order. Ahead, behind, and one both sides, rode or walked the people they were leaving. One by one they had to turn back and start in the other direction, and the last to turn was Marcia Geragty. Though Joe could not be positive about many other details of their leave-taking, he was never to forget the parting of his daughter and her best friend.

They were walking ahead of the wagon, still hand in hand but not shoulder to shoulder. They were not looking at each other. Suddenly, and Joe thought that no word passed between them, they stepped off the road and embraced. Joe stopped the wagon so Barbara could climb in, and because he did not want her to know that he saw tears in her eyes, he stared straight ahead. Emma came from John Geragty's cart to climb up on the wagon seat beside Joe and the last thing the Towers heard from any of their Missouri friends were the Geragtys shouting,

"Good luck, and God bless you!"

Except for the stubborn Tad, who obviously intended to make good his boast that he would walk all the way to Oregon, Joe's family was in the wagon. The accustomed routine of the youngest children had been interrupted sufficiently to keep them sleepy and subdued. The others spoke little, for Joe, Emma, and Barbara, had stayed up until the dance ended. In addition, for the first time each in his own way was beginning fully to realize that they were definitely on the way. They thought of all they had left behind, and wondered about what was to come. There seemed so much to wonder about. Yet everything they might expect to find had only a vague shape in their minds. Emma reflected, as she moved with the jogging motion of the wagon, that to wonder vaguely about a vague future is in itself a tiring thing, more tiring even than a hoedown.

At the first night's camp there was much to do, and all of them too weary to do it. But Joe did cut wood for a fire, and chain the mules so they couldn't break away and go home, and tether the cow in a place where she could find good grazing, and feed Emma's poultry. He was glad that he had to do no more. Emma spread out some of the remainders of last night's feast, but no one had much interest in eating. At the same time no one regretted any part of last night. A rousing hoedown was the right way to take leave of your friends.

The little ones nodded over their food and then, with the familiar faces of Emma and Barbara hovering over them and the familiar arms of Emma and Barbara holding and hugging them, they snuggled down into their places in the wagon as if nothing here were in any way new or different. Joe made a pallet for Emma and one for Barbara, and then he and Tad rolled up in their blankets and lay down a few feet away.

Tad fell asleep in an instant, and slept so deeply that he snored a little, something he did only when he was completely exhausted. The occasional snort, emerging at intervals from the bundle of blanket that was Tad, brought a smile to Joe's face as he lay beside him. That young one was going to live this trip to the hilt, every minute of it. For a moment Joe felt good that Tad was to have this tremendous adventure while he was still so young. But the good feeling gave way almost at once to a medley of thoughts that shouldered each other out of the way for his attention—thoughts of possible accidents, and plans to be made—plans that would be revised from day to day according to the hazards and needs of the moment. As the land beneath them changed, they would all need to change, to make the best of whatever might come, to adapt themselves to each day's demands on them. The older ones would have to fend for the younger ones. He thought of Emma and Barbara and Tad, and his heart warmed at the thought of their courage and their loyalty. And then his heart froze at the thought of the dangers that might overtake them. And so, with this turmoil of feelings in his breast, Joe Tower slowly, reluctantly, unwilling to leave his problems unsolved, dropped off into an uneasy sleep.

Barbara looked up at the stars and at the soft depth of the night sky. She thought there was something eerie and yet wonderful about sleeping in the open with her whole family around her. Tonight we are God's children, she thought. We are closer to God here, with no roof between us and Him. How fragrant was the night air! How mysterious and beautiful was the soft rustling of grass and brush, stirring in the gentle summer breeze! The scratching of a field mouse, the chirp of a cricket—everything was full of life and promise for the future. She stretched luxuriously, thinking of great mountains and wide, wild rivers, and of vast western plains where they would meet strapping farmers and ranchers, some of them, perhaps, with tall handsome sons, sons with strong arms and laughing eyes. She grinned at herself then, and curled into a ball and dropped off to sleep, wondering whether the grass would be as fragrant in Oregon.

Emma lay staring into blackness. Without a familiar tree or rooftop silhouetted against it, the sky was a vast and awesome thing. It was limitless, remote and indifferent. Her family was a few scattered scraps of humanity, fallen down here to rest on the unfriendly ground under the distant, disinterested sky. She twitched when a cricket chirped and, shivering, drew the blanket closer around her. She wanted to go to Joe, and to lie close to him, but she dared not show him that she was afraid. From this point on, for the children's sake, she must be the woman they thought her to be—endlessly resourceful and forever serene. Her eyes ached with staring, and she hungered for the familiar walls of their little room, or failing that, at least a familiar fence, a familiar tree, a familiar anything. Then she thought of the babies, of their dear familiar faces now placid in slumber. She thought of Barbara's familiar grace as she walked beside the wagon, of Tad's familiar bounding and leaping as he led his dog a merry chase. And she thought of Joe, of his familiar voice as he talked to the children, of the strength of his arms as he helped her down from the wagon, and of his willing, unstinting devotion to all of them. She knew then that all the dearest and most familiar parts of her life were right here, all around her.

Tears welled into her eyes, and she let them run down over her cheeks, and she prayed that she would be strong enough and brave enough, and that they would reach Oregon alive and well and that, on the new land, they would all be happy and at peace.

By the next morning the passing of time had already started to heal their wounds. With baby Emma and little Joe beside her, Emma chose to walk for a while. Alfred and Carlyle, swelling with pride at being elevated to a place of such importance, rode on the seat beside Joe. Barbara danced down the trail, filling her arms with summer-blooming flowers. With Mike always at his heels, Tad left the road for the more exciting country on either side. He would disappear for an hour or more, but he always reappeared, sometimes waiting ahead of the wagon and sometimes running to catch up with it.

After three days and a few hours on the road, they came at last to Independence. Everybody except Tad chose to ride.

Joe took a little firmer grip on the reins, and he felt a growing tension that he tried to conceal. He had been born only five miles from Tenney's Crossing, and until now, never in all his life had he been more than forty miles from his birthplace. He knew Tenney's, Hammerstown, and the other settlements and he felt at home in them. But he had never been to a city. Joe smiled nervously. Maybe, if a man realized all the implications in all the decisions he made, he would decide some things differently. It was one thing to decide to go to Oregon, but quite another to go, and Joe was honestly frightened because he had to pass through a city.

He set his jaw and growled inwardly to himself. He had no quarrel with anyone in Independence. There was no reason why anyone there should quarrel with him, and whoever minded his own business usually got along all right. But he had never seen, or imagined, such imposing buildings or so many people living near each other. A little excitement stole his nervousness and he said to Emma,

"Quite a place, huh?"

Her voice was shocked, "Joe, did you see what those women were wearing?"

"Nope."

"I never heard of such a thing! I'm glad we're not going to live here!"

"Don't worry," he said gently. "We're not going to live here. The tight pants some of those men got on wouldn't last too long if they got off in the brush, huh? Don't the place smell sort of funny?"

"Yes it does. And isn't it exciting?"

"It's a real big place. Lots of houses."

"Oh yes, and—I don't know, Joe,—it makes me feel crowded."

"Is this Oregon?" Alfred wanted to know.

A high-piled heavily loaded wagon drawn by six oxen came up the street they were going down, and two women riding side saddle swerved around it. Next came a cart—Joe had never seen one just like it—driven by what must be a dandy of the town. The cart was pulled by two high-stepping perfectly matched bays and trailed by two black and white dogs of a curious breed. They looked somewhat like hounds, but they weren't hounds. Mightily Joe wished that Percy Pearl or Les Tenney was along to explain these wonders to him. Joe gasped,

"Oh my gosh!"

He was too late. The two coach dogs swerved from the cart to take Mike, one on either side. There was a shrill yelp as Mike slashed the first one, and a scream of pain as he got the second. The two dogs streaked back to their cart and the driver made a U turn that brought him up beside Joe's wagon.

"Is that your dog?" he demanded furiously.

"Now, see here. Your dogs tackled—"

"Is that your dog?" the other repeated.

Joe's anger flared. "Yes! What do you aim to do about it?"

"Give you a horsewhipping."

He took a ridiculous little whip from a socket in his cart and shook it threateningly. Joe caught up the long-lashed bull whip that he sometimes used on the mules.

"If you want to play—"

The lash snapped within an inch of the other's ear and the mules jumped nervously. With a practiced hand, Joe held them in. He faced the dandified youngster in the cart.

"Smart thing for you to do is leave me alone, stranger. Your dogs started the fight."

"You barbarians from the back country—!"

"That'll be enough too."

Without another word, the outraged young man wheeled his cart and drove on. Joe started the mules, and for a second he remained furious. Then he chuckled.

"Give me a horsewhipping, huh! He couldn't break a soft-shelled egg with that little switch!"

Tad came alongside the wagon and looked into it, grinning and starry-eyed. "Gee, Pa, that was great! Why'nt you tease him into fightin'? You could of cleaned his clock like nothin'!"

"There'll be no fights anywhere if I can help it. Speaking of that, keep your dog on a rope while we're in Independence. It might save trouble."

"Aw, Pa—"

"You heard me." Joe tossed the youngster a length of rope. "Use this."

Joe drove on and all except Mike, who sulked under confinement or restriction and who was doubly offended now because there were plenty of dogs on the street, marveled at the sights and sounds of a bustling metropolis like Independence. There were more ox, horse, and mule teams on any one street than passed through Tenney's Crossing in three months. Joe didn't like the place because he preferred the open country and villages, and he'd be just as happy when he got out of it. But it was interesting, and since they had to go through anyway, they might as well look. Somewhere was a ferry that would take them across the Missouri, and Independence was the last great city they'd see. Except for Salt Lake City—and the Oregon Trail did not go through there—everything between Independence and Oregon was still settlements, missions, and army and trading posts.

They passed the houses and a row of shacks, and beyond them came to the corrals. The stock traders of Independence did a thriving business, for many of those going over the Oregon Trail came to Independence by river boat, horseback, stage, or on foot. Then they bought the wagons that were to carry their goods over the Trail, the beasts that were to pull the wagons, and in some instances goods to carry in them. Some of those who came from the east did not know how to handle stock, so that frequently it was footsore or sick by the time they arrived at Independence. Thus they had to replace their animals anyway.

However, most of the wagons started over the Oregon Trail in spring, with the first ones leaving as soon as the grass was green enough to furnish good grazing. Naturally the heaviest stock sales occurred when there were the most emigrants wanting to buy, and now some of the corrals were empty. But there were still more oxen, horses and mules than Joe had ever before seen in one place.

He halted his team abruptly as a man holding one end of a rope in his hand raced into the road. On the rope's other end was a big, dappled-gray, fighting-mad mule. Just as the man stumbled and fell, Joe handed the reins to Emma and leaped from the wagon.

The gray mule was pounding toward the fallen man when Joe came between them and seized the lead rope. Instantly the mule transferred its anger to him, and Joe dodged aside. He shortened the rope as he did so, getting closer to the gray mule. It was, he saw, as much frightened as angry and Joe spoke soothingly. At the same time, his anger rose. Some men should never handle mules, and obviously the man now picking himself up out of the road was one of them.

Bit by bit, never making a fast move and always sure of himself, Joe calmed the mule. He got his hands on the halter's check strap, and continued to utter soothing words with his mouth the while he talked with his hands too. He did not look around when the man who had been mishandling the animal said defiantly, "I quit!" and stalked off down the road. His departure seemed further to reassure the gray mule.

"Howdy, friend."

Joe turned to face a man as tall as he was, and as wide through the middle as he was tall. He had sparse hair, shrewd eyes, a pudgy nose, and flabby lips behind which gold teeth flashed. A frayed, unlighted cigar was clutched firmly in his teeth, Joe said,

"Howdy."

"You're a mule man, huh?"

"Just wanted to keep that idiot from getting killed."

"You shouldn't have bothered; sooner or later he'll get killed anyhow. He told me he could gentle some mules."

"He must have used a club."

"He did. You Oregon-bound?"

"Yup."

"You'll never make it this season."

"I know that."

"How about taking the job you just saw left vacant? I'll pay you well. My name's Jake Favors."

Joe said, "I'm Joe Tower and I'm on my way to Oregon."

"And I have to get some mules gentled. Tell you what, if you can break me in a team of six, I'll give you ten dollars a head."

Joe grinned. "Have to get to Oregon."

"How much do you think it's worth?"

"Fifty dollars a head."

Jake Favors raised both hands in mock horror. "Man! I can't sell mules for fifty dollars a head!"

"You must be a mighty poor salesman."

"Tell you what. I'll lose money on it but I'll give you twenty five dollars a head for breaking in a team of six that will work together."

Joe hesitated. Certainly a hundred and fifty dollars more would be a godsend. It would assure them of enough money no matter what happened, but it took time to break mules properly. However, it would take less time if Joe could choose his own mules. He looked at the corral from which the gray had come.

"That your stock?"

"That's part of it."

"And I pick my own mules?"

"Any you want."

Joe said doubtfully, "I could wagon break six, but somebody else will have to polish 'em off."

Jake Favors looked narrowly at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'll break six to harness and teach them to pull together, gee, haw, stop, and back. It'll take more practice before they're really a fine team."

"Why can't you make 'em fine?"

Joe looked him straight in the eye. "I haven't got time."

"Do I pay you before you start or after you finish?" There was more than a trace of sarcasm in the question.

Joe said grimly, "After I finish. But I also want a clean place to camp and feed for my stock."

Jake Favors said, "You've made yourself a deal. Drive into the meadow behind the corrals and make camp. There's a good spring rising under the apple trees, and it's far enough from the corrals so you won't get much smell."

Joe swung his team off the road and onto the dusty, dry ground adjoining the corrals. A little way farther on the wagon wheels ground clean grass, and Emma looked nervously back at the city. Independence had its allure, but she had her children to think of and who knew what evil lurked in a place like this? She asked,

"How long do you think it will take you, Joe?"

"I'm going to try to make it in three weeks, but it might take longer."

"Isn't that cutting our time very short?"

"I doubt it. I figure that we can make thirty miles a day. We'll be in Laramie well before the fall storms hit and we certainly need the money."

Emma moved uneasily and murmured, "Yes, we need it."

Because it was secluded and out of the city, she was less nervous when Joe swung the team into the grove of apple trees. There were eight of them that had had no attention, and as a consequence they bore knotty little apples that clung tightly to the branches with a few ripened ones on the ground. But the place was clean, and the spring that rose in the center of the trees and trickled itself into a reed-bordered rill, was cold.

Joe got down from the wagon seat and turned to help Emma. Leaping gracefully from the rear, Barbara turned to catch the younger children in her arms. Carlyle looked with intense interest at a red apple that had fallen from one of the trees and lay gleaming in the grass. Little Emma smoothed her dress and Joe looked soberly about. Alfred turned a disappointed glance on his parents.

"Is this Oregon?" he wanted to know.

Emma said, "It's a long ways to Oregon, Ally."

The youngster wandered down to the rill, and stooped swiftly to catch a green frog in his hands. He cupped it there, and the rest gathered around to marvel at this prize. Tad said impatiently,

"Let's make camp, Pa."

Joe warmed to his freckle-faced son, so unpredictable and wild one hour and so dependable the next. He reflected with a sense of gratification that Tad had been no trouble whatever on this trip. Maybe the trek was already beginning to take some of his wildness. Joe looked around at the camp site.

Since they were going to be here for some time, and not just overnight, they could have more comfort than overnight camps afforded. There were stones lying around and a good fireplace might be fashioned from them. He said,

"How about gathering stones for a fireplace, Tad?"

"Sure."

The youngster went willingly to work, and after she had tied the cow securely, Barbara helped him.

Joe unhitched the mules and staked them. His eyes lighted on two chunks of wood that had been cut from a felled apple tree. He pointed them out to Emma.

"Suppose I borrow some boards from Jake Favors and lay them across those chunks? We'd have a passable table. Plenty of wood around. Might make us some benches, too."

Her heart leaped at the thought of a real table again, but she subdued it quickly. "You don't want to take time for that, Joe. A table's the last thing in the world we need to bother about."

He looked at her sidewise and winked solemnly, and she was caught between laughter and tears. His look told her more plainly than words that he knew what the small domestic comforts meant to her, and that he didn't intend to be prevented from wasting an hour for her comfort.

Barbara and Tad had collected a good heap of stones, and Joe started building a fireplace. Emma knelt beside him.

"Let me do this."

"Aren't you tired?"

"I've done nothing except ride for three days," Emma said scornfully. "You can leave the camp to us."

"Well, if you're sure you can make it—"

Emma's eyes twinkled, "We're sure."

Joe left and walked to Jake Favors' dingy office. The stock dealer rose to meet him.

"Wonder if I can borrow boards to make a table and benches?" Joe asked.

"Sure," Jake Favors agreed. "If chairs would do as well as benches, I have some."

"They'll be fine."

"Don't you be wasting your time with them, though. I want you to work on mules." He bellowed, "Sam!"

The biggest, slowest-moving colored man Joe had ever seen shuffled into the office. When he smiled, gleaming white teeth flashed in an enormous mouth. He rolled friendly eyes at Joe.

"Sam," Jake Favors directed, "make a table for this gentleman's family and take some chairs down. If they want anything else, you get it. All right?"

There was a long pause and Sam said, "Shu-ah." For a moment Joe was torn. He'd wanted to build Emma that table with his own hands. Then he realized that time was a precious thing for all of them, and he'd do best to leave it in Sam's hands.

Sam ambled off toward a lumber pile and Jake Favors turned to Joe. "You want a free hand, huh?"

"Yup."

"Well, you've got it."

"I'll take a look at your mules."

Joe strode toward the corrals. Wagon and pack stock was worth whatever the dealers could get for it, and what they could get depended on how much prospective purchasers knew about what they were buying. A good, well-broken work mule was worth a hundred dollars or more. Because they didn't know any better, some emigrants paid that much for any mule at all. Harnessing them after they parted with their money was their problem, but obviously Jake Favors knew someone who wanted six good mules. It was also evident that whoever wanted them had no intention of buying unbroken stock; he must know something about mules.

For three hours Joe did nothing except study mules in various corrals. Mules have a wide range of temperament; some respond swiftly to handling and some remain stubborn. If Joe could choose six that were gentle, his task would not take so long. But there were other considerations. Since these mules were intended to work as a team of six, they must be intended to pull heavy loads and no mule is fitted for heavy work until it is five years old. Also—Joe felt that he was being fairly paid and was conscious of his obligation to do a good job—a matched team would probably be easier to sell than an unmatched one.

With extreme care he selected the animals he wanted.

Emma looked covertly up from the fireplace she was building to see where Joe had gone, and when she discovered that he remained within sight of the camp, she felt a rising relief. Reason told her that there was nothing to fear in Independence, but she was afraid anyway. Her whole life had been spent in sparsely settled country; she had never been in any town bigger than Tenney's Crossing. Here she felt hemmed in. Even so, and in spite of fears, she was excited. Emma mulled over a plan that was forming in her mind while Barbara and Tad brought more stones. Barbara knelt beside her mother.

"I'll help you."

"All right, dear."

For a while they worked in silence, fitting the uneven stones so that they made a solid fireplace. Then Emma voiced her plan,

"Barbara, before we leave, you and I are going shopping in some of these big stores."

"Oh mother! Really?"

"We'll go."

The girl sighed, "That will be wonderful!"

Emma worked on, secretly relieved and at the same time puzzled. She had thought that she understood her daughter thoroughly, but apparently she didn't. Emma herself wanted desperately to shop in Independence, but knew that she'd never dare go alone. She'd expected Barbara to be a little afraid too, and thought the two of them might lean on each other. But there had been only happy and eager enthusiasm in the girl's voice. Barbara had a self-confidence and self-assurance that Emma had never possessed, and that was good.

"Ahm heah to help you, ma'am."

Emma turned, a little startled, but when she saw the enormous colored man, she smiled. She had an instinctive perception that enabled her to understand people, and there was no harm in the colored giant. Emma looked at the load of boards, a load that any ordinary man would have found difficult to carry over his shoulder, that Sam held almost effortlessly under his arm. The Negro said,

"Ahm s'posed to make you a table, ma'am."

"Well, let's see," Emma smiled again. "We shouldn't have it too near the fire. How about over there under the first tree?"

"Shu-ah, ma'am."

At a snail-like pace, the colored man carried his load to the shade of the first tree and began building a table. Tad came with more stones and Emma told him,

"That will be plenty, Tad."

"Can I help you, Ma?"

"There doesn't seem to be anything to do right now."

"Can I go up by Pa? He might need help."

"Yes, but be careful."

"I will," and Tad raced off with Mike leaping at his heels.

Emma glanced at her younger children, who were still occupied with their captive frog. Somewhere they had found a discarded jar, put wet grass in it, and were keeping their pet there.

Little Emma said, "Now we must give him some bread."

"They don't eat bread!" Joe said scornfully. "Frogs eat worms and bugs."

Little Emma said, "Ugh!"

Emma and Barbara took the mattresses from the wagon, laid them on canvas brought along for that purpose, and arranged comfortable beds. The big colored man came to stand beside them again.

"Ahve got youah table an' chaihs."

Emma looked up, a little surprised. She had noted the pace at which Sam moved, and decided in her own mind that they would be fortunate to have a table within the first week, but it was all built and the chairs stood around it. Emma smiled her delight.

"I do thank you. That's a real fine table."

The colored man smiled back. "Ah'll fetch you some fi' wood."

He ambled off while Emma and Barbara busied themselves arranging cooking utensils and the wooden dishes on the table. Emma shook her hair back. She recognized, with a trace of shame, that she was far more contented here, even in this strange spot, than she had been while traveling. The road was a gypsy life. Even though they slept under the stars and cooked and ate in the open, for at least a short time this was home. Emma planned in her mind the meals she would make.

Barbara suddenly exclaimed, "Mother!"

Emma followed her daughter's anguished gaze, and she suppressed a gasp. The rooster and six hens hadn't been out of their crate since they'd been put into it, though Joe had cleaned the crate every day. Now, somehow, the crate had come open and the six hens were scuttling about the grass while the rooster flapped wings that longed for exercise.

Barbara said, "We must catch them quickly!"

"No," as always, Emma rose to the occasion. "Leave them alone and do nothing to frighten them. They'll roost somewhere tonight and we can catch them easier."

She kept an anxious eye on the chickens as she mixed bread dough. The chickens were very precious and Emma did not know whether or not they could be replaced. But she would not let her children know that she worried or they might be troubled too. Barbara got a pailful of water from the spring and started peeling potatoes. Emma cut a generous chunk from the ham Yancey Garrow had given them and got it ready for baking. Sam returned with a huge armload of wood.

"You want a fi'?" he asked.

"Oh, thank you. If you will, please."

The Negro built a fire in the fireplace and Emma dismissed him. Tired of playing, the younger children had cached their treasured frog somewhere near the spring and were lying listlessly in the grass. Twilight came, and with immense gratification Emma saw the chickens go back into their crate. It was a good thing, for certainly they could not ride all the way to Oregon without being out of the crate, and if they would go back of their own accord they could be freed every night.

Not until twilight started to fade into night did Joe and Tad return.

"By gosh!" Joe exclaimed. "You really have a camp set up!"

Emma said, "The colored man helped a lot. Anybody hungry hereabouts?"

"Hungry as a bear and three cubs."

"Good."

She put the food on the table, cutting generous slices from the ham and serving the children first because Joe wanted it that way. There was milk for them, coffee for Joe and herself. Emma placed a heaping plate of fluffy biscuits beside the potato dish. Joe ate in silence, noticing the new gaiety in Emma's face and manner, and he thought that maybe now she was feeling better about the whole trip. He finished, leaned back in his chair, and sighed happily.

"I've got the six picked."

"Did you have any trouble?"

"Nope. Just had to look over a lot of mules. Got me six blacks, alike as six peas in a pod. Put 'em together in a little corral, and there won't be a prettier six-mule team in Missouri."

"Ma," Tad spoke up. "Pa says it's all right with him if I go into town tomorrow."

Emma said doubtfully, "I don't know—"

"He'll come to no harm," Joe assured her.

"Well, if your father thinks it's all right, you may go."

"Oh gee! Good!"

Emma put little Emma to bed and washed the dishes while Barbara took care of the other children. Barbara sat alone, dreaming, and for a little while Joe and Emma sat side by side before the dying fire. Their hands met, and they did not speak because speech was unnecessary. Joe was thinking of Oregon, of good land, free for the taking. And Emma was thinking how good it felt to be camped in this one place, and to know that they would be in the same place tomorrow evening again. The live coals cast a bright glow over them.

The next morning, shortly after sun-up, Joe left for the corrals. A half hour later, with Mike on a leash, Tad set out to explore Independence. Emma worried, but reassured herself. If Joe had said that Tad would be all right, he would be. She heated water in her dish pans, emptied it into a tub, and scrubbed the clothes they'd been wearing. This was a fine opportunity to catch up on all chores such as washing and mending. Emma wondered how she would do her washing on the trail ahead. But there had to be a way and she would find it. Barbara, brushing out the wagon, leaped lightly to the ground and unwrapped the cloth that bound her hair.

"There was dust half an inch thick," she grimaced. "I don't see how we picked all of it up in this short time."

"It will gather," Emma said thoughtfully, "and I don't know what we can do except clean it out."

"What are you going to do now, Mother?"

"There doesn't seem to be anything." Emma, who must always be busy, knew a feeling of disquiet because there was no task at hand. "Let's take the children for a walk."

Joe and Alfred scampered ahead, overturning stones and picking up worms for what was probably the best-fed frog in Missouri. Little Emma gathered daisies, wove them into a chain, and proudly presented it to her mother. Carlyle stared, wholly entranced, at a horde of bright orange butterflies that clung to a wet place on the ground. Barbara strolled gracefully beside her mother while they talked of events to be. Then it was time to get lunch. Joe came, but there was no sign of Tad. He'd been permitted to explore the town on condition that he be back for lunch.

"Do you suppose he's in trouble?" she asked worriedly.

Joe muttered, "He just forgot. Doggone that kid! I'll—Say! What the dickens!"

Across the meadow came a large and determined woman whose right hand had a firm grip on Tad's right arm. Mike sulked behind, ears flattened and tail drooping. Emma gasped. Blood crimsoned Tad's upper lip and had spattered from there onto his shirt. His nose was still bleeding. The woman approached the group at the table and pushed Tad toward them.

"Is this your little beast?" she said fiercely.

Joe knew a rising concern and a quick flash of anger, but he controlled himself. "This is my son."

"Keep him here or I'll have him jailed for assault!"

Joe asked wonderingly, "Who did he assault?"

"First my Jeremy, then my Tommy, then my George! They—! All of them have bloody noses!"

"They called me a hayseed," Tad muttered grimly.

The woman turned on her heel and strode away. Tad stood expectant but defiant, awaiting the punishment he knew he would get. His eyes widened when Joe said quietly,

"Wash your face and come have some lunch, Tad."

"But, Pa—"

"When it's three to one," Joe explained, "it's not entirely sensible. But neither is it assault. Besides, didn't they call you a hayseed?"

Emma controlled a smile.

The days passed, and because there was little to do, Emma began to find them tedious. She still cherished a desire to shop in Independence, but she had given up hope of doing it, for Joe was working all day long and there was no one else whom she would trust with the children. Because Barbara knew how her mother felt, she contained her own crushing disappointment and said nothing. Then the bomb exploded. Joe came to lunch, but instead of rising and going right back to work, which was his usual routine, he lingered at the table.

"Your afternoon off, Emma," he said cheerfully. "I'll wash the dishes."

"But—"

"I'm going to let the mules rest this afternoon," he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, "and I've been doing some pondering. I pondered that you and Bobby might like to see some of Independence. Go ahead. Take some money along so you can buy yourselves something."

Emma felt a leaping excitement which immediately conflicted with a strong sense of duty. She wanted desperately to go even while she thought of numberless reasons why she should not.

"Go ahead," Joe laughed. "It's all planned."

"Well, if you're certain—"

"I'm certain, and I'll take care of the kids. Now hurry up and get started."

Emma put her arms around Joe's neck in a quick, tight hug. Barbara, astonished at the unusual show of emotion, giggled, and then followed suit.

Emma and Barbara dressed in the wagon, and for the first time Emma regretted desperately the fact that she had not brought one of her prettier dresses. But she did the best she could, and her heart leaped when Joe looked admiringly at her. Emma glanced at her daughter, radiant in a simple brown dress, and pride swelled within her.

"Have a good time," Joe called as they departed.

Emma was completely in the grip of excitement. Firmly she clutched her purse, in which five dollars reposed. She would not put it beyond city people to snatch a woman's purse if they could. Then she began to worry about her appearance. She felt awkward and out of place, and when a young man stared hard at her she blushed, for she decided that she was betraying her rustic upbringing. Then she knew that the young man was merely exercising the right of all young men when lovely girls are present, and that he was staring at Barbara.

They stopped before a store in whose windows a variety of groceries were arranged, and after a moment they entered. Emma began to feel more at ease. The man who came forward reminded her of Les Tenney.

"Is there something I may do for you?" he asked.

Emma murmured, "We thought we might just walk about and—and not decide for a while." She looked him firmly in the eye and he bowed, and moved away. Reassured by the success of her first encounter, she held her head high.

They passed a glass counter that was divided into compartments, and each compartment was filled to the top with candy. Then they went down the other aisle and out on the street again. Emma gave herself wholly to the spirit of the thing. There were stores in which nothing except drugs were sold, others that dispensed only clothing and shoes. They examined a hardware store and when Emma looked at the gleaming new tools she thought wistfully of Joe, and how he would love them. She envisioned Barbara in a dazzling gown that sold for the staggering price of thirteen dollars. Carefully they examined the latest in kitchen ware and utensils.

Then their day was done. They had spent an afternoon in Paradise and their souls had been lifted. Their eyes had been filled with visions of beautiful, incredible things. They had had a glimpse of another way of life, and it was exciting, but it was not their own. Emma knew that they would have to stock up on provisions before they left Independence. But as they trudged wearily wagonward, they went again into the first store they had entered and Emma made her only purchase of that day.

"Give me," she said, pointing at a mound of horehound candies, "five cents' worth of those."

Finally Joe's work was done. With the six mules in harness and Jake Favors riding beside him, he took a heavy wagon through Independence. Joe turned the wagon where Jake wanted it turned, halted the mules when that was desired, backed them, made them trot and canter. Back at the corral, without a word of protest, Jake Favors paid him in gold and looked him squarely in the eye.

"Want to stay and work for me?"

"Can't. I have to get to Oregon."

"It's late in the season, and almost 700 miles to Laramie. You'll have to have smooth going all the way to get there ahead of the fall storms. If the storms don't get you, the Indians might. There won't be anybody else heading out this late in the year. You're all alone, a lost wagon."

"We'll get there and we're not lost."

"I'll make it thirty dollars a mule and promise you work all winter."

"Have to get to Oregon."

"You emigrants for Oregon," lamented Jake Favors, who had grown wealthy selling them horses and mules, "don't have a lick of common sense among the lot of you!"

The Towers broke up camp, and returned to Jake the boards and chairs they had borrowed. Barbara scoured the camp site for toys and scraps of clothing the young ones might have dropped in the grass.

Emma stood quietly for a moment looking at the charred stones of the fireplace where she had prepared so many meals in the past three weeks. She reflected that the spot where a woman prepares meals to feed her family has the oddest way of becoming precious. Even though she wanted, just as much as Joe did, to move on now to their final camping site, to the land on which their new home would stand, she had a queer little hankering to stay on here under these trees.

When the wagon began to move away from the apple trees, she looked back, winking angrily to dispose of the tears that came into her eyes. Joe, without turning to look at her, laid his hand, just for a moment, over hers.