“I have not decided. Go tend to your duties, Daniel.”
Daniel bestowed upon me a parting stare, and lurched away, snapping the lash of his goad.
“And with your permission I will tend to mine, sir,” I said. “Mr. Jenks doubtless has work for me. I thank you for your hospitality.”
“We are commanded by the prophet to feed the stranger, whether friend or enemy,” he reproved. “We are also commanded by the Lord to earn our bread by the sweat of our brow. As long as you are no trifler you will be welcome at my wagon. Good-day to you.”
As I passed, the young woman, Rachael—whom I judged to be his daughter, although she was evidently 160 far removed from parent stock—glanced quickly up. I caught her gaze full, so that she lowered her eyes with a blush. She was indeed wholesome if not absolutely pretty. When later I saw her with her sunbonnet doffed and her brown hair smoothly brushed back I thought her more wholesome still.
Mr. Jenks received me jovially.
“Got your belly full, have you?”
“I’m a new man,” I assured.
“Wall, those Mormons are good providers. They’ll share with you whatever they have, for no pay, but if you rub ’em the wrong way or go to dickerin’ with ’em they’re closer’n the hide on a cold mule. You didn’t make sheep’s eyes at ary of the women?”
“No, sir. I am done with women.”