Katie and the Mustang, Book 3 (7 page)

I pulled the Mustang around, leading him away as fast as I could, circling him when he balked. He reared again, raking at the air with his front hooves, and I jumped back, then stepped forward again when his hooves struck the earth.

I rubbed his neck with the flat of my palm, talking a blue streak, explaining over and over that the Indian's bay was leaving, that he was no threat to any of us. Finally, he walked a straight line and lowered his head a little. His nostrils were still flared, but the wildness was leaving his eyes.

When I looked back, I saw a ring of faces. Half the wagon party had gathered to watch. The Indian man sat his horse easily and gracefully; he pivoted the horse so tightly that he had to half rear to spin around. At that instant his eyes met mine, and he smiled, gesturing at the Mustang.

I was unsure what his gesture meant, and I had no idea what was rude and what was polite, but I didn't want to offend him. It had been my fault, not his. I had been so eager to see, not to miss anything. I wanted to apologize, but I could only lift my hand and smile back at him.

He held my eyes an instant longer, then he was turning again, shouting to his friends, leading the way as they rode out of our camp. The big bay sprang into a long-striding gallop that none of the other horses could match. The Indian man didn't look back.

My heart was going like a rabbit's in the dog yard. I blushed at all the people staring at me. A few of the boys whistled through their teeth and clapped like I had meant to put on a show of some kind. The Mustang danced a little at the noise. Mr. Kyler shushed them.

My knees shaking, I led the Mustang away from the wagons so he could settle down and graze again—and so I could watch the Indians ride away. I glanced back once to see the crowd breaking up, everyone going back to their work, only a few still watching me. After a few minutes, I thought to look for Grover among the ones still standing and talking about the Indians' visit with Mr. Kyler. If he had been, he'd lost interest; he wasn't there.

That night it clouded over and started to rain. Lying under the wagon, I was glad the Mustang had the mares to stand close to for warmth. I was grateful that the Kylers were so good to me. And I wondered if the Indian men had made it home before the storm started.

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

 

T
he sun blazed overhead.Every day brought more walking, more seed burrs in my dress hem, more miles of the shallow, warm-water Platte, more of the endless ocean of waving grass. We stayed on the south side, where the grazing was better. Most of the stock was holding weight. The Kylers lost one ox that just dropped in its traces. It took an hour to get the harness off and back the wagon away from the carcass so another ox could be harnessed in its place.

The day after that, it began to rain. It stormed for ten days off and on. Even when it let up and we could travel, we could still see thicker clouds to the northwest. The storms were noisy and windy, but it didn't cool down much. The air got steamy and thick, and we saw sheets of purple-black rain hanging over the western horizon. For the first time since we had begun traveling beside it, the Platte began to rise.

“The river forks a few miles up, north and south,” Mr. Teal said one night. “We have to end up north of it to go on up into the Wyoming country and Fort Laramie. If we wait, we'll have both forks to cross.”

A murmuring went through the men.

“You saying we should cross it now,” Mr. Kyler asked, “not wait for the water to go down?”

Mr. Teal nodded. “It ain't that deep, and the bottom won't have had time to wash out that much. If we wait, it could get worse for a week or more, not better.”

I listened to the men talking to one another in low voices. The river
was
high. I could hear it rushing past in the darkness beyond the wagon circle. Mr. Teal was the last one to say anything that was loud enough for me to hear. “Rise early and pack tight,” he shouted over the murmuring. “We cross tomorrow.

It rained again that night, a wild storm with lightning that cracked the sky, scaring the stock into milling around inside the wagon circle. I checked the Mustang four or five times—he wasn't as spooked as the mares were. They were both pressed close to him, shivery in the wind and rain.

The next morning, Andrew took his stock out of the wagon circle early. I hurried to finish helping Mrs. Kyler, then ran to tie the lead to the Mustang's halter. I led him off toward the back of the wagon train, as had become my habit. I headed toward the river, wanting to get a look at it. I came around the last wagon and saw a lot of the menfolk lined up, talking, staring out at the brown water.

I walked the Mustang past them, going slow, trying to overhear.

“Why in tarnation didn't we cross a week ago while it was low?” Andrew Kyler was asking. Mr. McMahon was nodding, but I couldn't hear what he said.

I walked the Mustang a little ways off and let him set himself to grazing. I was tired—I had been awake half the night or more, so I sat in the grass holding the long lead rope in one hand, looking off to the west.

This whole thing made me nervous. Every time we had crossed the Platte before, I had simply led the Mustang along beside the wagons. It wasn't any more scary than crossing a creek back home; it was just much wider. Mr. Teal had said there could be quicksand mud, so soft a person could get stuck in it—but no one had found any. I'd just stayed in the path of the ones in front.

There were more clouds gathering to the west this morning—dark clouds. I looked out over the water. There was foam on it now, and the color had darkened to a muddy brown, nearly as brown as the Missouri had been.

I fiddled with the tattered hem of my dress, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep. The Mustang always grazed quietly now, and I knew it wasn't likely that he would shy at anything. The sky overhead was clouded thinly; it wasn't going to rain for a while anyway. I leaned back on my elbows and I might have dozed off if the shouting hadn't started.

I snapped up straight, listening. The Mustang lifted his head, too. There were several voices. I got to my feet and looked back down the bank. Mr.Teal was standing at the center of a ring of men. Mr. McMahon was talking loudly, jabbing his finger in the air as he spoke. His wife stood off to one side, and I could see her lips moving, finishing his sentences the way she always did. Her face was flushed, she was as angry as her husband was.

Mr. Teal shook his head and started to walk off, but Mr. McMahon called him back, and they went on talking, their voices lowered again.

Mrs. McMahon started away, still glaring over her shoulder at Mr. Teal. The men's voices had calmed, and I couldn't hear them anymore. I wanted to lead the Mustang closer, to eavesdrop; but I knew I'd get scolded for it, so I didn't. Instead, I led the Mustang along, drifting toward camp.

All the men I passed were grumbling. It was clear how upset they were. It was also clear that they were packing up and getting ready to cross the river.

“It probably isn't that deep,” Mr. Kyler was telling his wife as I led the Mustang back into their camp.

She was frowning, staring at the sky to the west. “If this storm upstream was as bad as it was here—”

“And it ain't over, not by a long shot,” Mr. Kyler interrupted her, squinting to see better. “If we wait, it could keep us on this side long enough to starve the stock.”

It looked to me like the storm was just getting started. The clouds were the color of charcoal, almost. I almost said it aloud, then I bit my lip. It was not my place to argue with either one of them.

“Got your things all wrapped up, Katie?” Mrs. Kyler asked me.

I shook my head and tied the Mustang loosely to the side of the wagon so he could nibble at the grass, then I ran to shake the grass and dirt out of my bedding. I folded it, damp though it was, and carried it into the wagon. All our bedding and most of our clothes were damp. They would stay that way until the sun came out for a few days.

I checked my little bundle, feeling my mother's book and the one I had bought in Council Bluff through the thin blanket. I had barely read since we'd left Council Bluff. I wondered if the Kyler girls were reading the magazines that Annie had gotten for them.

I was so chilly and so worried that I found myself daydreaming. Maybe once I was settled in my uncle Jack's house, I could read to his children every night. The idea made me smile as I climbed out over the wagon gate.

I looked at the river. The Platte wasn't half as big as the Missouri. And it couldn't be that deep. The banks were so wide it had just spread out.

“I'm ready,” I called out, jumping off the wooden step at the back of the wagon.

Mrs. Kyler nodded and smiled at me. I looked around. Mr. Kyler had gone.

“Benton said they're trying to decide where to cross,” she told me, pointing. “But they're still arguing, I think.”

I turned to see the men walking along the edge of the water, talking and gesturing. Mr. Teal was there and Mr. McMahon, and Mr. Silas and a dozen others, but they kept their voices low, and we couldn't hear anything they were saying.

Mr. Kyler finally came back. “We're going to go on across,” he said evenly. “Down there a little ways.” He gestured.

I heard Mrs. Kyler sigh. Mr. Kyler heard her, too, and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Don't worry, Mary. Mr. Teal waded out nearly halfway. It isn't that deep. We aren't even going to string up the ropes.”

I breathed out in relief, but then he turned to me. “But it's too deep for you. No one is going to walk stock across, Katie. Andrew and the boys are going to run the horses across last.”

I started to argue, but he shushed me.

“Katie, I want you to ride in the wagon and leave that stallion to the men.”

I lifted my chin, stunned into silence. Then I found my voice. “What if he runs off?”

He shook his head. “Child, Andrew knows how to handle a horse. The mares won't run, and the stallion won't leave them behind. I want you in the wagon.” The last sentence was a command.

“He's right, Katie,” Mrs. Kyler said before I could speak. “We promised Hiram to get you safe to Oregon and we don't take promises lightly in the Kyler family.”

“But I'll be fine walking him!” I managed.

They both shook their heads.

“I'm going to take him over to Andrew right now,” Mr. Kyler insisted, then turned to go.

I started to run toward the Mustang, but Mrs. Kyler caught me in her arms and held me tight. Mr. Kyler walked up to the Mustang slowly and untied the lead rope. He tugged it lightly, and the Mustang followed him. “See?” he said, glancing back. “He's gentler than you think he is.”

“Andrew will take good care of him, Katie,” Mrs. Kyler said. “You know he will.”

I felt my heart miss a beat, then start again. I wriggled against her, and she let me slide to the ground. I was breathing hard, my heart slamming against my ribs. I felt almost ill. It was wrong for me to be separated from the Mustang. He
needed
me. What would happen if he did get spooked?

Mrs. Kyler set her hand lightly on my shoulder, and I moved away from her. I watched Mr. Kyler leading the Mustang away for as long as I could stand it, then I ran to the back of the wagon and climbed in. I slumped down against my blanket and started to sob. I used my old trick, the one I learned at the Stevenses' house. I opened my mouth wide, letting the convulsions of breath pass out of my body almost silently. If Mrs. Kyler heard me, she left me alone, and for that I was grateful.

After a time, I managed to stop crying, and I stood up to straighten my dress as much as I could. Then I went down the ladder and forced myself to look toward the milling band of stock that Andrew Kyler and his brothers were herding. They were just holding them until the wagons were ready to move. I had seen them do it dozens of times. And there was the Mustang, grazing quietly beside Delia and Midnight.

“You ready?” It was Mr. Kyler, behind me. I whirled around.

“Yes,” I told him. My voice was high and patchy. He was kind enough to act like he hadn't noticed. I looked back at the Mustang. He seemed perfectly content. He wasn't looking around for me.

“That horse loves you as much as a horse knows how to love a human,” Mr. Kyler said. “Now, let's get across the river.

I dragged in a long breath. Mr. Teal was riding the outside of the wagon circle, talking to the men as he went. We were supposed to line up just like usual, except that the front wagons would turn sharp right to cross dead-on—not at a slant.