“What do you mean it’s yours?” John asked.
“ ’Cause Mark hisself told me,” Luke said. “He said, Luke, if’n anythin’ ever happens to me, I want you to have my red-and-blue shirt.”
“You’re a lyin’ son of a bitch. He never said such a thing.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Well, it don’t matter none, anyhow. You can have the shirt. I want his boots.”
“I want his pocketknife.”
“Listen to you two,” Revelation said, scolding them. “Mark isn’t cold in his grave yet, and you two are fighting over his things. Can’t you feel a moment of sorrow over his death?”
“Don’t know why you so broke up over it,” Luke said.
“Because he was our brother,” Revelation said. “Can’t you understand that?”
Luke and John looked at Revelation for a long moment, then John looked at Luke. “I get the saddle,” he said, completely ignoring his sister’s remarks.
“The hell you do. That saddle is mine,” Luke replied.
Realizing that her admonition had meant nothing to them, Revelation shook her head and walked away from her quarreling brothers.
Twenty miles northwest of the present location of the herd, with the Meechum Party Wednesday, August 13, 1862:
The wagon train was called the Meechum Party because it was under the command of Captain Louis Meechum. It was quite small when compared to the wagon trains of a decade earlier. Then, trains of more than one hundred wagons were not unusual. This train consisted of only twenty wagons.
The Meechum Party was one month out of Omaha, bound for Dakota, not for gold but for land. As the steel-rimmed wheels rolled across the hard-packed earth, they kicked up dirt, causing a rooster tail of dust to stream out behind them. The wood of the wagons was bleached white, and under the sun it gave off a familiar smell.
Young Millie Parker sat in the sun on the dried seat of the wagon, reading over the latest entry in her journal.
The Magnificent Adventure
of the Parker Family
by
Millie Parker, age 16
Our days begin before dawn. The wagons have been drawn into a circle for the night, because Captain Meechum says this is the most convenient way of encampment. We are greeted each morning with the whistles and shouts of those who have been standing the last hours of the night watch.
Sometimes I like to wake up early so I can watch as the men and women begin emerging from their night-quarters. It is interesting to watch the new day start.
Some sleep inside the wagons, but these are mostly very young children. Most sleep under the wagons. That’s where I sleep. Sometimes it is hard to get up in the morning, but we do it for we know we must get to our new homes before winter sets in.
The livestock spend the night inside the circle of wagons. They must be milked each morning, and that is the responsibility of the children.
I help the other women prepare the breakfast meal, which is eaten between the hours of six and seven. The men and older boys are busy during that time, too, connecting teams to the wagons, striking the tents, loading the wagons, and getting everything ready to begin the day’s journey. When it is nearly time, Captain Meechum climbs onto his horse, then examines the pocket watch he carries with him. At exactly seven o’clock he lets out with a mighty roar of “Move ’em out!”
Each day we change around who shall lead and who shall ride at the rear. Today, it is our turn to be the wagon in the rear. I don’t like it when it is our turn to be in the rear. If you are in the rear, dust gets in your clothes, hair, eyes, and in your nose. It is very uncomfortable, but we do it because we know that tomorrow we will go to the front and it will be several days before we work our way to the rear and have to do it again.
While we are underway, some ride in the wagons and some walk alongside. Captain Meechum rides on a magnificent horse, sometimes alongside, other times at the head, and sometimes way off, somewhere, scouting for us. The wagon train moves at a steady pace until noon. At noon, we stop for a meal and the teams are cut loose from the wagons to allow them to graze. They aren’t unyoked though, and this makes it easier to get underway again when the meal is over.
By evening, humans and animals are tired. We have been on the move since before dawn, and as the sun is sinking slowly before us, we look for a suitable place to spend the night. Each night we set our guards to watch for Indians, but though we were cautioned about the savages, we have, so far, seen not so much as one Indian.
Suddenly there was a creaking, snapping sound, and the wagon lurched so badly that Millie was nearly tossed out. She looked up from her journal, startled.
“Oh!” she gasped. “What was that?”
“Whoa, team,” Mrs. Parker shouted, pulling back on the reins. The team stopped and the wagon sat there, listing sharply to the right.
“Mama, what is it?” Millie asked.
“I think we’ve broken an axle,” Mrs. Parker said grimly. “Clyde! Clyde Parker!” she called to her husband, who was walking alongside one of the wagons ahead.
The wagons in front of them, unaware that they had stopped, continued on at their same dogged pace and were slowly but surely pulling away.
“They are leaving us,” Millie said.
“Clyde!” Mrs. Parker called again, and Millie added her own voice so that her father heard them and looked around.
“Louis! Louis, stop the train!” Clyde called.
Louis Meechum held up his hand and the wagons stopped. Clyde trotted back to his wagon and Meechum joined him on horseback.
“Oh damn,” Clyde said as he saw the broken axle. “I was afraid of this.”
“You were afraid of it,” Meechum asked. “You mean you knew the possibility of breaking an axle, but you came on without changing it?”
“I knew that the axle was cracked, but I didn’t want to spend the money for a new axle,” Clyde said. “I was hoping it would hold.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“Well, I did pick up a spare axle. It’s used, and is cracked nearly as badly as this one. But at least it isn’t completely broken. And if it will last as long as this one did, we will be there before we have any more trouble.”
“How long will it take to change it?” Meechum asked.
“Oh, ’bout half a day, I reckon.”
Meechum took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t hold up the train for you. If you want to, you can unload your wagon, maybe we can find enough space in some of the other wagons for your things.”
Clyde shook his head. “You know everyone is packed to the limit. No, I’m going to have to change the axle. It’s going to be a long day for us, but we’ll catch up with you after you’ve made camp tonight.”
“All right,” Meechum said. He looked around the horizon. “You should be all right, we haven’t seen any Indians, not even any sign of them.”
Mean To His Horses, an ambitious Cheyenne subchief, lay on the top of a nearby hill. He watched the wagon train pull away, leaving one wagon behind. It was obvious that the white eyes had no idea they were in danger. He slithered back down the hill to where the others were waiting.
“Did you see them?” one of the others asked.
“Yes.”
“When do we attack?”
“Now.”
Chapter Fourteen
With the Golden Calf Cattle Company, mile 840
Wednesday, August 13, 1862:
After supper, when Revelation had finished all her chores, she saddled a horse and rode out toward the herd. It took but a minute or two of riding, and she was completely away from the camp, swallowed up by the blue velvet of night. The night air caressed her skin like fine silk, while overhead the stars glistened like diamonds. Revelation was aware of the quiet herd, with cows standing motionless at rest. An owl landed nearby, his wings making a soft whirr. He looked at Revelation with great, round, glowing eyes, as if he had been made curious by her passing.