I fell asleep and was awakened by a stirring about. The sun was already low, and Doug Farley was harnessing his horses. It was something he always did himself, allowing no one to even help. He always wanted to be sure everything was just as he wished it in case Kelso and Finney spotted trouble. “Check your weapons,” he said. “This here’s liable to end in a fight. Don’t be skeered. Just shoot low and take your time.
“I don’t want a fight, but if we get one, we’ve got to win it or die. I figure we’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of swimming the river without bein’ spotted, but no better than that.
“Just gettin’ across ain’t the end of it, for they might chase us into the desert, seein’ we’re only one wagon. We’ve got to be ready for that.” Farley turned to my father. “Verne? What do you think our chances would be, startin’ now? We’ve got a canyon about three miles long to get through, with some big rocks in the trail. That’ll take us the best part of an hour. By that time it will be dark.”
“I’d say start now.”
“Finney? Kelso?”
Both men nodded. “We can miss some of the rocks if we can see, otherwise well bump over them an’ make a racket.”
Kelso rode out ahead, keeping well to the left, as close to the canyon wall as the fallen rocks would permit. He rode with his rifle in his hands. Fifty yards behind and on the opppsite side rode Jacob Finney. Riding warily, eyes searching the canyon ahead and the rock walls and rims, the small group moved slowly down the canyon.
Papa called it a “cavalcade,” and it sounded strong and good to me. He had his own rifle out and now he had a shotgun too, which he took from his blanket roll. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Now, Johannes, I have taught you how to load and fire a gun. Today I want you to load for me. As I put down the rifle, take it up and reload. The same with the shotgun. If, when we are fighting, some Indian tries to crawl into the rear of the wagon, take this pistol and shoot him. But you be sure it is an Indian, because Finney or Kelso might have a horse shot from under them.”
“Yes, Papa.”
My heart was beating with great, heavy thumps. He was trusting me. He was depending on me. I must do it right. Step by step I went through the reloading process in my mind. There might be many Indians, and I would have to work very swiftly and surely.
Surely. Papa had always said not to be too hasty. Not to be nervous, not to waste time.
We were moving at a walk, the wheels grating on the sand. My mouth was dry. I inhaled deeply. My father always said if I was nervous to take a few deep breaths and tell myself to be calm.
Mrs. Weber looked around at me. She was on her side with a rifle in her hands, and surprisingly, she winked at me. “Don’t you worry, son. We’ll be all right.” “Yes, ma’am. I was worried about Mr. Kelso and Mr. Finney.” “Well you might, son, well you might. If they attack, those boys will take the brunt of it, but they are good men, mighty good men.” She looked around at Miss Nesselrode. “If I was you, miss, I’d set my cap for that Jacob Finney. There’s a right upstanding young man. He’d make a good husband for a girl like you. He’s knowledgeable, he’s steady, he ain’t no drinker, and for the right woman he’d make a fine husband.” Miss Nesselrode tried to look shocked. She didn’t make it very real. “I am sure he would,” she said primly, “but I am not coming to California to look for a husband.”
Fraser looked at her; then, as their eyes met, he looked quickly away. Fletcher simply snorted, and Miss Nesselrode blushed. My father looked at her and smiled. “The young men of California will be the losers, ma’am. It will be a disappointment to them.”
“There are other things than marriage,” she said with dignity. “There surely is,” Mrs. Weber said, “an’ I tried one of ‘em. There’s bein’ a spinster and there’s bein’ a widow, an’ I don’t care for neither. Not that I was ever a spinster. I married when I was sixteen an’ seen my man die when a log jam broke on the river whilst he was runnin’ logs.
“Two years later I married up with a gamblin’ man. Flashy, he was, a handsome man with diamonds and all, an’ for a while we had everything. Then he had a run of bad luck and I taken in washin’ to help us live. Then he hit it big again, a run of luck that lasted three year, an’ we bought us a fancy house in Dubuque, had us a carriage drawn by four black hosses, an’ then he run off with a red-headed woman from Lexington.”
The wagon slowed down and Doug Farley spoke over his shoulder. “A little open through here. Stand ready.”
It was dark inside the wagon. Outside it was still light, but it would not be so for long. I saw Doug Farley’s hand come back to his six-shooter to see if it was where he wanted it. I could see Jacob, sitting easy in the saddle, but Mr. Kelso was away off ahead of us now, around a bend in the canyon. Now the horses began to trot, Doug Farley talking easy to them. Rounding the bend in the canyon, we could see a silvery gleam of water far ahead. My mouth was dry, and I tried to swallow.
My father put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, son, all right. These are good men.”
Farley was talking softly to my father. “You know the place, Verne? Cottonwood Island?”
“I do.” My father paused; then he said quietly, “Unless they’ve spotted us, it’s unlikely the Mohaves will be around there at night. That big mountain on the left ahead is Dead Mountain, where the Mohaves’ spirits go when they die. They don’t like to be around there at night.”
Farley slowed the horses through some soft sand. The wheels only hissed slightly as the sand fell from them.
Kelso suddenly came in out of the dark. “Looks good, Doug. Water’s no more’n twenty inches deep this side of the island.”
“Pray to God we don’t have a flash flood upriver,” Farley muttered. It was all downhill now, and Farley held the horses back, saving them, I guess, for a hard run if need be. I had listened to my father talk with other men and with my mother and could understand some of what was happening. It was dark and still. The stars were bright in the sky, and we could smell dampness from the river. Farley swung the team to avoid a boulder and bumped over another. He swore softly at the sound.
“Deep cuts in the gravel here an’ there,” Farley commented. “Kelso will find one we can use, somewhere the bank’s broken down. You know the Colorado-changes all the time. You can’t count on the channel one time to the next.” “There are waves of mud underwater, too,” my father said. “I’ve known them to take down strong swimmers.”
After that, nobody spoke. In the darkness of the wagon, I could hear the people breathing. My father took a drink from a bottle. He was not a drinking man, but sometimes it stilled his cough, and nobody wanted that now. “Is there a road?” Miss Nesselrode inquired.
“Ma’am,” Farley spoke over his shoulder, “there ain’t even the ghost of a trail beyond what moccasins leave.”
It was quiet again. Even Fletcher was still. I heard him grunt a little as the rear wheel hit a rock. Then we heard the click of hooves on stone and Farley drew up, resting the horses. A shape loomed out of the dark. It was Kelso. “I don’t like it, Doug. I don’t hear the frogs.”
“Maybe we aren’t close enough.”
“I was right up there. I haven’t heard a coyote in the last half-hour.” “Not much choice now,” Farley said. “Better to try it than get caught out here in the open.”
“There’ll be aplenty of item.”
“Nobody said this was a picnic. There may be deeper water on the other side.
Worse comes to worst, we can cut loose the horses and try to float downriver.” Kelso agreed. “Water’s deeper in Pyramid Canyon, right below here, but that takes us right into the heart of Mohave country.” “Where’s Jacob?”
“Ain’t seen him in a while.”
My father said, “If it’s all right with you, Farley, I’ll ride up there on the seat with you. This looks like close work, and I can handle my pistols better.” “Glad to have you.” He clucked to the horses and slapped them gently with the lines. “All right, Kelso, stay close now. We’re going in.” There was no sound but the creak and bump of our wagon and of the hooves of the horses as they walked. Kelso was ahead and a little to one side, and I could see he was holding a pistol in his right hand.