Emma baked bread, broiled buffalo steaks, and divided the milk, giving each of the youngest children a double portion and Barbara and herself a half portion. She liked coffee with her evening meals. But they were low on coffee, she wanted to save what there was for Joe, and it was by no means certain that they would be able to buy any at Laramie. Even if some were available it would probably be expensive, for every pound of everything except meat had to be freighted in wagons or carried on the backs of pack animals.
Barbara and Emma washed the dishes, put them away, and Emma gathered her children around the fire.
"Tell us a story," Alfred begged.
Emma had never been good at story-telling, and she felt a swift pang of longing for Joe. "Let's sing."
She had a sweet and clear soprano, and Barbara's voice was as lovely as Barbara. They sang "Yankee Doodle," the first song Yancey Garrow had played for them and one Emma had learned at her father's knee. It was the marching song of American soldiers in the Revolutionary War, and Emma's father had fought in that war. There was discord at first, but even Carlyle caught the rhythm and carried his end fairly well. They went through the same song four times because the children were entranced with their ability to sing it, and then Tad rose to peer into the enfolding shadows of early evening.
"The fire should be out, huh?"
Emma said, "Yes. But let's make our beds first."
She said no more and was grateful because Tad and Barbara said nothing. The four youngest children knew only that the fire was going out. They did not know that a blazing fire can be seen a very long way at night, and who could be sure what savage beings prowled this lonely land?
Tad tied Mike to the wagon, and Emma knew why he was doing it. Some nights Mike was apt to go prowling, and that was all right as long as Joe was with them. Nobody worried then, for nobody doubted that Joe would hear, in time, any danger that stalked them. But tonight Mike must not prowl, for they depended on him to warn them.
Emma let the drop curtain fall and took Barbara and baby Emma on her side. She peered around the curtain to see Tad, who had chosen to sleep near the partly open flaps, arranging the powder horn and bullet pouch where he could reach them in an instant. The rifle he laid beside him. In the night, when none of her children could watch, Emma's hand stole forth to grasp a long-bladed knife. She took it to bed with her, and only then did she pray.