"It's pretty slushy."
"I'll mind my step."
"Well, go ahead. But don't go too far."
Mike padding beside him, Tad trotted back to get the rifle. Snedeker looked after him.
"Ain't you scair't to let him tote a rifle?" he asked Joe.
"I would have been back in Missouri, but not here. He's learned a lot."
"Likely little sprout," Snedeker asserted. "I mind the time—"
Snedeker was off on a long, rambling story about a young Mexican they'd found in Santa Fe and Joe listened with half an ear. Missouri, somehow, seemed very far off and unreal, as though they'd never lived there except in a dream. Oregon was the only reality, and they had already covered a good part of the Trail. If they started from Snedeker's as soon as travel conditions permitted, they would reach Oregon long before those who started this spring from Independence. There would be plenty of time to find land they liked, build a cabin, and probably to plant some crops.
"—the kid went to Texas," Snedeker finished. "The last I hear about him he's doin' right well for hisself stealin' hosses an' cattle in Mexico an' runnin' 'em over the border. Joe, you ain't payin' me no mind!"
"Oh—Oh yes, I heard you. Jim, when can we expect grass?"