with some soldiers to round up Matazel and his braves. I trailed them across the mesa and cornered them. We had a skirmish. Nobody killed. We captured Matazel and sent him back to the reservation with the rest of Geronimo’s outfit. They’ll break out some day.”
“Won’t that be bad for the settlers?”
“I reckon it will. But no danger for us. We are a long way from the Cibeque.”
The wind increased until it began to blow the dust. This, added to the cold, induced Lucinda to crawl back over the seat and wrap herself in the blankets. Lucinda propped herself against the packs and gazed out, thinking wearily of the women who had crossed the plains in caravans. What incredible hardship and privation they must have endured! The dim, dark forest, with its threshing foliage, the open range with its flying dust, the lowering sky, the slow steady roll of wheels, the dry permeating pitchy odor that filled her nostrils—these held Lucinda’s senses until she fell asleep.
When she awakened Logan informed her that the lake was in sight. Cramped and stiff Lucinda crawled back on the seat with Logan. Gray pastures fringed by pine led to a wide sheet of water, dark as the clouds. She saw fences running up to cabins on the shore. The west side of the lake sheered up in a bold bronze bluff, while the road ran along the east shore, a ragged, rocky slope, desolate and uninviting to Lucinda’s gaze.
“Will these settlers want to take us in?” she asked.
“Sure. We’ll eat with them, but we’ll sleep same as last night. They’re crowded in those log shacks. You’ll be more comfortable in the wagon.”
“I’d like that better,” said Lucinda, with a sense of relief.
Lucinda found herself welcomed by Holbert and his womenfolk. If she had not been so cold and hungry and miserable she might have regarded that poor cabin and its plain inmates in some such way as she had the long day and the hard country. But she realized that what counted were protection and nourishment, and the kind hearts that furnished them. Holbert’s wife, two daughters, and a sister lived there with him. She gathered that one of the daughters was married and lived in an adjoining cabin. They seemed to take Lucinda’s advent as a matter of course. The married daughter was younger than Lucinda and had a baby. None of them had been to Flagg since spring—six months—and they were hungry for the news that was easy for Lucinda to furnish.
Presently the son-in-law came in, accompanied by a gray-furred, wild-looking dog. He at once joined Holbert and Logan in a discussion of cattle.
“What a strange dog!” exclaimed Lucinda, who loved dogs. “Is he a shepherd?”
“Half shepherd an’ half wolf,” replied the settler’s wife. “Her mother is John’s best cattle dog.”
“How interesting! Half wolf? I never saw a wolf. What’s her name?”
“Reckon she hasn’t none. She’s no good because she won’t run cattle an’ fights the other dogs. John would be glad to get rid of her.”
“Logan,” asked Lucinda, eagerly interrupting the trio of men, “may I have this dog, if Mr. Holbert will give her to me?”
“Why, sure. How about it, Holbert?”
“You’re welcome, if you can get her to go with you,” replied the settler.
Lucinda made overtures to the unwanted wolf-dog, and they were accepted. When presently Lucinda grew so drowsy from the hot fire that she could scarcely keep her eyes open, Logan came to her rescue. They bade their new friends good-night and left for their wagon. The dog came readily with Lucinda.
“Rustle up to bed before you freeze again,” said Logan, helping her along. “And here’s your dog. I liked his looks. I’ll bet he sticks to you.”
“It’s a she, Logan. What’ll I call her? . . . Come, doggie, you can sleep right here at my feet.”
“A good name always comes. . . . Luce, I’ll go back and finish my deal with Holbert. He’ll sell me some stock very cheap and give me more on credit. The drawback is there’s no one here to help me drive the cattle. But by gosh! If you’ll drive the oxen I’ll drive all the cattle Holbert will let me have.”
“I’ll try,” rejoined Lucinda, suppressing her fears because of his eager hope.
“There’s an old homestead half way to our place. If we can make that tomorrow night and turn the stock inside the fence we’ll be jake. Next night we’ll be home!”
Lucinda pulled off her boots, and folding her coat for a pillow crawled under the blankets. The dog nestled close to her. Outside the wind was blowing a gale. As Logan had laced up the front flaps of the wagon Lucinda was protected. But to hear it was enough. It whistled hauntingly around the canvas and roared through the trees overhead and swept away scattering the pebbles and propelling the dust along the road. Finally Lucinda’s drowsy spell ended in sleep.
Logan’s voice penetrated Lucinda’s deep slumbers. “Daybreak, Luce! Pile out and get going. . . . Did your dog stay with you? . . . Well, she did, by gosh! No man or varmint who ever pleased you would quit.”
“Compliment so early?—Oh, Logan, I can’t get up. It’s so nice and warm in here. Ughh! . . . I guess I’m a tenderfoot.”
“Well, Luce dear, you won’t be one by nightfall, that’s a good bet,” replied Huett, grimly. “I’m going to start you out with the oxen and follow you with the stock. Then I’ll be close to you. So you can’t stop to pick flowers by the roadside.”
The day promised better than yesterday. Clouds were wanting in the brightening sky and the wind had abated. Still Lucinda’s fingers ached again when she had laced her boots. After breakfast the womenfolk detained Lucinda for a little, while Holbert accompanied Logan out to the wagon. But Lucinda soon followed, promising to stop on her first trip into Flagg.
“Hope thet’ll be soon. But winter’s comin’,” called Mrs. Holbert, after her. “Don’t get in front of thet bull John sold your man. He’s wilder’n a skeered jack-rabbit!”
Lucinda’s breast felt as if it had suddenly been crushed. She was glad the Holberts could not see her face as she ran off with the dog leaping at her side. Her husband and Holbert were not in sight, but she heard a halloaing over in the corral. Presently Logan appeared riding one horse and leading another.
“Climb aboard, Luce,” he said, briskly, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Better keep the dog with you. Here, coyote—say! there’s a name for her.”
“Coyote? Oh, it’s pretty,” replied Lucinda, as she climbed up. “Here, lift her up . . . Well! She doesn’t need to be packed. Logan, I believe she won’t have to be tied.”
Huett leaped up to the seat and yelled: “Gadep!” The oxen moved away with the wagon creaking. “Gee! Gee!” They turned into the main road. “Now, Luce, it’s all plain sailing, without a turn-off for fifteen miles—to the old homestead. We’ve got to make it before dark. . . . Put on your gloves. . . . Gosh! if we make it with all my stock—one brindle bull, a mean cuss, eight cows, six two-year-old steers, and five heifers—Oh! I’ll feel rich. But I’ll have to ride some.”
With outward composure Lucinda took the whip he tendered her, and averted her face. Was the man stark mad to set her this task? Or was he paying her the tribute due the women of the Oregon Trail? She
