Salt Lake was far, the Big Tent farther by perspective if not by miles. I recognized the legal rights of her husband, but no ruffling Daniel should quash the undeniable rights of Yours Truly. I indeed felt virtuous and passing valorous, with that commonplace note in my pocket.
We all broke camp at sunrise. She rode for a distance upon the seat of Daniel’s wagon—he lustily trudging alongside. Then I marked her walking, herself; she had shortened her skirt; and presently lingering by the trail she dropped behind, leaving the wagon to lumber on, with Daniel helplessly turning head over shoulder, bereft.
“Bet you the lady up yonder is aimin’ to pay you a visit,” quoth friend Jenks the astute. “And Dan’l, he don’t cotton to it. You ain’t great shakes with a gun, I reckon?” 199
“I’ve never had use for one,” said I. “But her whereabouts in the train is not a matter of shooting, is it?”
“A feller quick on the draw, like him, is alluz wantin’ to practice, to keep his hand in. Anyhow I’d advise you to stay clear of her, else watch him mighty sharp. He’s thinkin’ of takin’ a squaw.”
We rolled on, in the dust, while the animals coughed and the teamsters chewed and swore. And next, here she was, idling until our outfit drew abreast.
“Mornin’,” Jenks grunted, with a shortness that bespoke his disapproval; whereupon he fell back and left us.
She smiled at me.
“Will you offer me a ride, sir?”
My response was instant: a long “Whoa-oa!” in best mule-whacker. The eight-team hauled negligent, their mulish senses steeped in the drudgery of the trail; only the wheel pair flopped inquiring ears. When I hailed again, Jenks came puffing.