“Now, gentlemen, just by way of friendly advice to you,—like as not I’ll be stepping in front of some of you in the next hour. But it isn’t going to worry me any, and I’ll tell you why. I’d feel awful sad for you all if anything was to happen to me,—if the Injuns got me, or I was took bad with a chill, or a jack-rabbit crept up and bit me to death, or anything. You see, there’s a train of twenty-five big J. Murphy wagons will be along here over the San Bernardino trail. They are coming out of their way, almost any time now, on purpose to pick me up. Fact is, my ears have been pricking up all morning to hear the old bull-whips crack. There were thirty-one men in the train when they went down, and there may be more coming back. It’s a train of Ezra Calkins, my adopted father. You see, they know I’ve been here on special business, and I sent word the other day I was about due to finish it, and they wasn’t to go through coming back without me. Well, that bull outfit will stop for me—and they’ll get me or get pay for me. That’s their orders. And it isn’t a train of women and babies, either. They’re such an outrageous rough lot, quick-tempered and all like that, that they wouldn’t believe the truth that I had an accident—not if you swore it on a stack of Mormon Bibles topped off by the life of Joe Smith. They’d go right out and make Amalon look like a whole cavayard of razor-hoofed buffaloes had raced back and forth over it. And the rest of the two thousand men on Ezra Calkins’s pay-roll would come hanging around pestering you all with Winchesters. They’d make you scratch gravel, sure!
“Now let’s get to work. I see you’ll be awful careful and tender with me. I’ll bet I don’t get even a sprained ankle. You folks get him, and I’ll show you where he said the place was.”
Two hours later Follett came running back to where Prudence lay on the saddle-blanket in the warm morning sun.
“The wagon-train is coming—hear the whips? Now, look here, why don’t we go right on with it, in one of the big wagons? They’re coming back light, and we can have a J. Murphy that is bigger than a whole lot of houses in this country. You don’t want to go back there, do you?”
She shook her head.
“No, it would hurt me to see it now. I should be expecting to see him at every turn. Oh, I couldn’t stand that—poor sorry little father!”
“Well, then, leave it all; leave the place to the women, and good riddance, and come off with me. I’ll send one of the boys back with a pack-mule for any plunder you want to bring away, and you needn’t ever see the place again.”
She nestled in his arms, feeling in her grief the comfort of his tenderness.
“Yes, take me away now.”
The big whips could be heard plainly, cracking like rifle-shots, and shortly came the creaking and hollow rumbling of the wagons and the cries of the teamsters to their six-mule teams. There were shouts and calls, snatches of song from along the line, then the rattling of harness, and in a cloud of dust the train was beside them, the teamsters sitting with rounded shoulders up under the bowed covers of the big wagons.