Seven inches of snow covered the ground, but where it lay smoothly on both sides, the Trail itself was deeply rutted with crowns between the ruts, and snow followed the road's contours. It was easy to see, and mules had a feeling for trails that horses and oxen did not possess. But the mules were walking more slowly now, and when they came to a slight rise Joe halted to let them breathe.
Tad said, "They're gettin' tired, Pa."
Joe heard Emma crooning to her sick daughter. "They can go on," he said. He drove to the top of the rise, halted again, and handed the reins to Tad.
"Hang on to them, will you?"
He took the pail from the wagon and milked. The cow stood patiently and let him do it, then backed to the full length of her lead rope and looked at him questioningly. It was time to camp and the cow knew it, but Joe merely petted her and handed the milk up to Barbara.
"Can you feed the youngsters and yourself in the wagon?"
"Yes, Daddy. We'll have milk and there's buttered biscuits left."
"Good." Joe looked at his wife. "How is she?"
Hollow-eyed, Emma looked back at him.
"Very feverish. Is there any chance of getting out of the storm?"