Текст книги "Boone's Lick"

Автор книги: Larry McMurtry

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G.T. always skipped out on laundry days. He and Uncle Seth had taken our best wagon into Boone's Lick to the blacksmith, in order to have a few things fixed before our big trip.

"I made this lye soap too strong," Ma said. "It's itching me."

Something was itching me too: the need to talk about the Stumptown raid.

We had been given firm instructions not to get killed and then had almost got killed.

"I stood too close to Jake," I said. "If I'd stood farther away he could never have grabbed my gun."

Ma was standing in the creek, the brown water washing around her legs.

"Life's full of 'almost's,' Shay," she said. "Lots of things 'almost'

happen–some good, some bad. You almost got killed, but you didn't. Don't be studying it too close. It's over–they hung the man. Just be smarter next time."

I wasn't so sure I would be smarter next time. Mostly my life happened slow, but what had occurred on the ridge above Stumptown that day hadn't happened slow. I was just now remembering certain things about it, though the fight had occurred nearly two weeks back. The night before last I remembered that Jake Miller wore a gold ring on one finger of the hand he grabbed my gun with– the fact that he wore a ring just popped into my mind as I lay on my pallet, trying to get to sleep. Maybe Jake had taken the gold ring off some of the travelers he had robbed; or maybe it was his wedding band. I saw the ring when he had his hand on my rifle barrel, but it didn't register on me for two weeks, which was a peculiar thing.

"I've had plenty of 'almost's' in my life," Ma said. "So has my sister Patty and so has Rosie McGee."

"Tell me about them," I said. I didn't know much about Ma's family, just that they came from Kentucky.

36

Ma stopped rubbing soap into one of Uncle Seth's old shirts and looked at me, with her head tilted to one side a little.

"I oughtn't to be yarning with you," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because you couldn't keep a secret if you tried," she said. "Neva or Seth or Bill Hickok could worm all you know out of you in nothing flat."

That was true, I guess. I usually just come out with whatever I knew, hoping somebody would tell me some interesting secrets in return.

I guess Ma decided she didn't much care if I told her secrets, because she smiled a little and told me a whopper of a secret.

"One 'almost' was that I almost married your uncle Seth and not your pa,"

she said. "And while that was happening, your pa was courting your aunt Patty, who turned him down and married your uncle Joe, who got killed in a train wreck when you were just a baby."

Ma looked at me solemnly for a moment, to see what I made of all that–

then she laughed her good deep laugh and went back to soaping the shirt.

I was flabbergasted, of course. What Ma told me that morning gave me enough to think about for the next several years. Just hearing it was not the same as understanding it, either–but Ma wasn't through. I guess she decided I was old enough to know all the family history that I had been too young to handle, before.

"My mother was married twice," Ma said. "Her first husband was a drunk who fell off a barn and broke his neck. His name was McGee, and they had one child, a girl named Rosie."

At first what Ma said didn't mean anything. I knew it was possible for a woman to marry twice, if one husband died or got killed in the war.

Sometimes when Pa was up in the Indian country I wondered what Ma would do for a husband if he got killed. I even had the secret hope that if Pa did get killed Ma would marry Uncle Seth. Since Uncle Seth already lived with us he would know how to take care of us in case something happened to Pa.

The point about the baby girl that Granma had had with Mr. McGee, the drunk, didn't register at first. But Ma was still looking at me funny, as if she were waiting for me to solve a riddle or a puzzle or something.

"McGee. Rosie. Does that ring any bells?" she asked, with mischief in her look. Then the truth came to me like a clap of thunder: Ma was talking about the Rosie McGee who lived over the saloon and smoked cheroots at night. Ma was trying to tell me that Rosie was kin to us.

"That's right, Rosie's my half sister–she's your aunt," Ma said.

I don't know much about laundry day–my thoughts were in too much confusion. I helped Ma drape the clothes on the clothesline, not even noticing when they flapped against me and got me wet. Uncle Seth had almost married Ma. Pa had tried to marry my aunt Patty; and Rosie McGee was my aunt. The more I turned these matters over and over in my mind, 37

the more I realized that the main puzzle had to do with Ma and Pa and Uncle Seth. If Aunt Patty, the older sister, had turned Pa down, why did Ma pick him? After all, she already had Uncle Seth, who was probably just as partial to her then as he was now.

Ma could see that I was wrestling with a lot of complicated thoughts: it just seemed to amuse her. I tried to work up a set of questions I could ask her, but Ma put me off with a look. I had the feeling that she had said what she wanted to say about these matters and had no intention of saying another word–or at least not a word that made sense to a person my age, who didn't know much.

Next day when she and Neva and I were in the garden, digging spuds and putting them in a sack, several crows came flapping over the barn–they soon flew on toward the river, cawing as they went.

Ma pitched a potato into the sack and gave me a little smile.

"I pity the fate of the carrion crow," she said. "Those black birds mate for life."

"Who cares what a crow does?" Neva said. A little later she took herself off to Boone's Lick. The news was that Wild Bill Hickok was back in town.

12 WOMEN will even sniff bread," Uncle Seth informed me. We were out hunting Little Nicky, the biting mule. He had had a wild, biting fit during the night; in order to get clear of him Old Sam and the other mules had kicked down the pen and went running loose. We had got back six of them, but Little Nicky and a mule named Henry Clay were still missing.

They had gone in the general direction of Stumptown, which led Uncle Seth to speculate that Little Nicky might have gone back to try and bite the bear.

"Why do women sniff bread?" I asked. It was something I often noticed Ma doing, when she made bread.

"To see if it's fresh, I expect," Uncle Seth said.

"I have never sniffed bread in my life, which is the difference between me and a woman.

"And when a woman comes to decide who to marry it comes down to the same test," he added.

"You mean they sniff men?" I asked. I could not imagine what it would feel like to have a woman sniff me.

"Yes, to determine if the fellow's fresh," Uncle Seth said. "I guess I don't smell fresh, which is why I'm a bachelor still."

"That's pretty peculiar," I said.

"Oh no, I expect it's a fine method," Uncle Seth said, trying to make out Little Nicky's tracks on the trail.

"Women don't know why they choose who they choose," he went on. "If they say otherwise it's a lie. A good fresh scent's probably the best thing they got to go on."

38

I was wanting to tell him–since we were on the subject–that I knew he had once courted Ma, but seeing how partial he was to her still, I wasn't sure how he'd take it.

"Damn a mule that will wander," he said. "I could be in Boone's Lick, playing cards and winning money, if I wasn't halfway to Stumptown, looking for a goddamn ungrateful biting mule."

We had just heard the news that Sheriff Baldy Stone had quit his job.

That bullet that bounced off his saddle and hit him in the stomach had done more damage than it seemed at the time. Sheriff Baldy had so much trouble just holding down his food that he lacked the energy to go out and arrest bandits. I thought it was a pity. I liked Sheriff Baldy, although his untimely faint had nearly got me killed.

G.T. was on the mule hunt too, only he was lagging so far behind he couldn't take part in the conversation.

"Maybe they'll make Mr. Hickok sheriff," I said.

"Oh no, Bill couldn't be bothered to keep a jail," Uncle Seth said.

"Anyway, he's a half criminal himself, which is what you find in a good many of these sheriffs.

"I expect they'd offer the job to me, if I wasn't leaving," he went on.

"It's bad luck for the town that Mary Margaret's got her mind set on this expedition. She's determined to find Dick if it kills us–which it might."

"I expect Pa will be glad to see us," I said. I didn't want to think about us all getting killed–in my thinking it would just be a nice fall trip, with lots of buffalo for us to chase.

Uncle Seth gave me a strange look, when I suggested that Pa would be glad to see us.

"Shay, you have not been around your father enough to figure out the first thing about him," Uncle Seth said. "The truth is he won't be glad to see us–it's more likely to make him boiling mad."

"Why?" I asked. "We're his family."

"That's why!" Uncle Seth said. "One reason Dick's a wagoner is because he's got no tolerance for family life. Your pa ain't sociable–at least not with white people. He didn't leave me behind because I'm a little gimpy–that was just his excuse.

He never wanted me hauling with him anyway. Too much company."

"If he don't like white people, who does he like?" I asked.

"Cheyenne Indians, maybe a few Sioux," Uncle Seth said. "I have no doubt he's got a plump little squaw to cook him dog stew and keep him warm when it's chilly."

39

It seemed I was learning something new about my family almost every day now. I always thought we were just an ordinary family–and maybe we were; but then, maybe we weren't.

"If Pa doesn't want us to come, then why are we going?" I asked.

Uncle Seth never answered that question. We weren't far from where we'd seen the bear, a fact which made G.T. nervous. He came thundering up to join us about that time, but what really distracted Uncle Seth was something he noticed on the ground.

"Somebody's found our mules," he said. He dismounted and walked around on the trail for a few minutes, studying the tracks. There were a lot of tracks, but they were just a blur to me and even more of a blur to G.T.

"Well, Little Nicky ain't traveling alone anymore, and neither is Henry Clay," Uncle Seth said, after a thorough examination of the trail. "That damn Newt Tebbit must have come upon them and decided he'd help himself to two fine mules–the damn scoundrel.

"I should have whacked him harder, when I whacked him," he went on, swinging back on his horse.

"What makes you think it's him–it could be anybody," G.T. said.

"I was not born a fool, like you, G.T.," Uncle Seth said. "I noticed when we were following the Tebbits that Newt's horse was shod. Few people around here can afford to keep their horses shod, though it was common until the war. Bill Hickok keeps his shod, but then he's in a profession that might require rapid flight and a surefooted horse. But Bill ain't a mule thief. Newt Tebbit's our mule thief."

"I guess we'll have to get up another posse," G.T. said.

"Having to educate you is a heavy burden, G.T," Uncle Seth said. "We are the posse, this time. Be sure there's a cartridge in your gun."

Then he went loping off. Soon we were past Stumptown and were in the wooded country where the Millers were said to live. Uncle Seth didn't study the tracks much–he just kept going.

"I wish I'd brought a biscuit," G.T. said.

We were well into the wooded country before Uncle Seth slowed down.

"I believe some of the Tebbits are married to some of the Millers, and vice versa," Uncle Seth said. "I expect we'll find the bunch of them in camp together. I feel confident we can lick a barn-ful of Tebbits, but I'm a little worried about Ronnie Miller, who's said to be a good shot.

He's the one whose horse flipped, remember?"

I remembered the horse flipping, of course, but I had never had a good look at the rider–I just remembered that he hadn't moved for a while.

"I'll deal with Ronnie, if he shows fight," Uncle Seth said.

About that time we heard Little Nicky neigh.

40

"He smells our mules," Uncle Seth said. "If he runs up and tries to bite one of you, get a halter on him."

"I smell something cooking," G.T. said. "Maybe they've killed a beef."

"Or a mule," Uncle Seth said.

I knew that some of the families that camped or homesteaded around in the woods lived poorly– the more so since the war, when nobody in the vicinity of Boone's Lick suffered from too much to eat–but I forgot all about being part of a posse when we rode into the Millers' camp and saw all the skin-and-bones people. There were so many children that it might have been a schoolhouse– only there was no proper house, just three or four shacks with no windows or doors. Uncle Seth later said that he counted sixteen children, none of them older than ten and many of them babies, in the crawling or toddling state. Uncle Seth had guessed right when he said it was a mule cooking: Henry Clay, fully skinned out, was hanging from the skinning pole. Parts of him were already in the stew pots and a haunch was spitted over a big campfire. Several women were tending to the pots and camp-fires, while Newt Tebbit and Ronnie Miller cut up the meat. At our house Ma fought constantly to keep us fairly clean, marching us off to the creek for baths at least once a week, and sweeping and doing laundry to combat dirt; but the men and women at the Miller camp had long since given up trying to be clean. Most of them were black with filth. Several hounds came out and yapped at us– they were as skinny as the people. It was plain that the Millers and the Tebbits lived off the wild: deerskins and pigs' heads were scattered here and there.

Newt and Percy Tebbit were both there, cutting Henry Clay into strips of jerky. Lester Miller was there–he had been let off light by the circuit judge, and also Lyle and Jody, the two men who had hobbled away after the bear got them pitched off their horses.

Several rifles were in sight, leaned up against stumps here and there, but no one made a move for them, when we rode in. Little Nicky was tied to a bush not far away.

Ronnie Miller, who seemed to be the boss of the family, was sitting on a stump, sharpening his knife on a whetstone. He didn't seem particularly hostile, nor did anyone else. Probably they were all so starved down that all they could think about was eating our mule, Henry Clay.

"It's surprising how quick a knife will go dull when you're cutting up a tough mule," Ronnie said.

"Yes, or any large critter," Uncle Seth said, in a friendly tone. "I believe buffalo are the worst–an old buffalo is a damn task to cut up."

"That's a pleasure I've not had, Seth," Ronnie Miller said. "You're a little too late to rescue your big mule. As you can see we've got hungry mouths to feed. Besides, you're the man who cost us three horses, including one that nearly broke my neck, it threw me so far. On the other hand, you did us a big favor when you caught Jake–he was a terror to live with–anybody here can tell you that.

"I would have hung the son of a bitch myself, if I could have ever caught him off guard," he added.

41

"It's no surprise that Jake wasn't well liked in the family," Uncle Seth said. "He cursed all of you thoroughly while they were settling the hang rope around his neck."

Just then there was a screech from Percy Tebbit, who had sidled up beside Little Nicky. I imagine he meant to leap on Nicky and run off with him, before we could stop him, but Little Nicky, who had been baring his teeth at Percy, reached down and bit him right in the hand.

"Dem, he's nearly bitten my hand off!" Percy said, blood spurting from his hand.

"It's unwise to approach this particular mule unless you have a stout club," Uncle Seth said. "He'll bite anybody that conies in reach."

He rode over and untied Nicky, an action that drew unfriendly looks from some of the Millers and the Tebbits.

"You see, I told you we should have shot both mules," Newt Tebbit said.

"We had intended to eat both those animals, since we found them running free," Ronnie Miller said–still, he didn't strike a very fierce pose. I don't think he expected Uncle Seth to just give him two mules free, and if he had tried to start a fight there were several women and children right in the way.

"Newt's right–if you wanted to eat him you should have shot him," Uncle Seth said. "Though I despise a biting mule I have to take this one home.

I can give you a fine tip about that bear, though– he's got himself a den under that little rocky spur, about two miles west of Stump town. If I was you I'd smoke him out. A bear is just as tasty as a mule."

"They can't bite much worse than this son of a bitch bites, neither,"

Percy Tebbit said, trying to wring the blood off his hand.

"Did you really see that bear go into a den?" G.T. asked, once we had left with Nicky.

"Mind your own business, G.T.," Uncle Seth said, and that was all the answer he ever made.

Ma was not happy about the loss of Henry Clay, either.

"How do you know we won't need to eat a mule, before we're through?" Ma asked.

If Uncle Seth made any answer I didn't hear it.

13 PEOPLE think Bill Hickok can't miss, but he can miss," Uncle Seth said. Qj We were walking to Boone's Lick. Ma had sent me off to the dry goods store to get a thimble–she was always losing thimbles. Her theory was that baby Marcy was swallowing them, though we could never catch her at it. When he saw me leaving, Uncle Seth fell in with me, although he had no particular errand–none that he mentioned to me, anyway.

"People think Bill always gets his man, but he don't," he went on–the thought of Mr. Hickok's big reputation seemed to irritate him for some reason.

42

"Look at what happened when he took off after Little Billy Perkins,"

Uncle Seth reminded me. "It was clear in a minute that Little Billy had the faster mount, but would Bill quit? Not him! Little Billy swam the Missouri River twice and then headed west–he outran Bill all the way to the Smoky Hill River, which is in Kansas–and Bill still didn't get him.

They say Bill Hickok wore out three horses before he admitted defeat."

I think Uncle Seth meant to leave me at the dry goods store, to purchase my thimble, while he went on to the saloon, which was only three doors away, but just as I was about to peel off from him, who should step out of the store but Rosie McGee. She was surely pretty–now that I knew we were kin I could see that she resembled Ma, in some ways. They had the same black hair, and the same gray eyes and long fingers. Of course, Rosie looked more like a town lady than Ma did. There was a time before the war when Ma had gone into town now and then, to socials and quilting bees and that kind of thing; but the war dragged on and life at the freight yard got so hard that Ma rarely indulged in visits to Boone's Lick anymore.

"Hello, Seth–I hear you're leaving me," Rosie said, with a little smile.

She was carrying a fan, although it wasn't hot. The fan looked as if it was made of pearls, or something.

"It's likely–there's talk of a trip to try and locate Dick," Uncle Seth admitted.

"You could introduce me to your nephew, the wagoner's lad," Rosie said.

"I hope he's quick on his feet, if you're heading into the Cheyenne country."

"Well, his name is Sherman but we all call him Shay," Uncle Seth said.

"You can call him what you like but I intend to call him Sherman," Rosie said. "I don't like these little names."

She offered me her hand and I took it–I didn't know if I was supposed to bow, or what.

"Pleased to meet you–I guess I'm your nephew, besides," I said–it startled Uncle Seth so badly he nearly fell off the steps.

If Rosie was surprised by my remark she didn't show it.

"Why, so you are," she said. "You're my nephew, but how did you know?"

"Ma told me," I informed her. "She said you were her half sister, so that makes me a half nephew, I guess."

"No halves about it, Sherman," Rosie said immediately. "You're my nephew and I'm your aunt. This is better than beating Bill Hickok at cards. Or any of these bumblers around here."

She smiled at me–such a big, open smile–and I felt something lift inside me. Up to then, there had been no one for me but Ma–everything that came from women came from her; but that had just changed. I didn't know how much I'd get to see of my aunt Rosie, but I hoped it would be a lot. Right off I started liking her so much that I began to wish we 43

weren't going on our trip. Of course, I wanted to see Pa, and the wonderful country up-river, but I was hoping we wouldn't have to start too soon, just when I had my new aunt to visit. At least, I hoped I would get to visit her–and I had hardly made the wish before it came true.

" Seth, you run along now–I see you've got whiskey and dominoes on your mind," Aunt Rosie said. "I'm going to take my new nephew Sherman home with me–we've got a lot of lost time to make up."

For some reason Uncle Seth looked discombobu-lated. The vein popped out on top of his nose and his whole face turned red. The news about Aunt Rosie and I being related seemed to have upset him in some way. Of course, it was no trick for Ma to upset him. She was always doing it.

Evidently Aunt Rosie had the same power.

"This boy's been sent on an errand–he'd best not be neglecting his errands," Uncle Seth said.

"Oh, what errand?" Rosie asked.

"Just buying a thimble–Ma lost hers," I said.

"Shucks, I've got twenty thimbles right upstairs here," Aunt Rosie said.

"I'll just give your ma one and save her three cents."

"Okay," I said.

"Now, this is a mighty hasty arrangement," Uncle Seth began.

"So what?" Rosie said, cutting him short. "I finally met my nephew and I want to visit with him. What's wrong with that?"

Uncle Seth didn't answer. It was plain that he didn't approve of my going off with Rosie, but he couldn't think of a quick reason why I shouldn't.

"Just remember you've got that harness to polish–now don't neglect it!"

he said, before stomping off to the saloon.

I didn't know what to make of Uncle Seth's be havior.

"We never polish the harness," I told Rosie. "'. don't even know what I'm supposed to polish r with."

Aunt Rosie just laughed. "Seth's so mad h< could spit," she said, and then she hooked her arn in mine and led me down the street and up th< steps to her room over the saloon. We were only •<. few yards behind Uncle Seth, but he never lookec back.

"Mad–he's blazing!" Aunt Rosie said, anc laughed a deep hearty laugh, like Ma's. If I hac nothing else to go on I would have picked them as sisters just from the sound of their laughter.

Aunt Rosie led me upstairs to her room, whicl was nicer than any other room I had ever been in There was a settee and a chair, and a little table with a mirror on it, and a fine bed with a prettj coverlet–the coverlet might have been satin, Fir not sure. The windows had curtains–

if you looked out one you could see the Missouri River meandering away to the west.

44

"My, my, you're certainly a handsome youth," Aunt Rosie said, letting me look around to m> heart's content. She went to the table, opened up a little sewing box, and handed me two thimbles tc take to Ma.

"One to fulfill your commission, and one tc spare," she said.

I took the thimbles and put them in my pocket. I was thrilled to be talking to Aunt Rosie but I couldn't quite get Uncle Seth out of my mind.

"I don't know what I done to make Uncle Seth get so upset," I said.

"Oh, he's just jealous," Rosie said. "He wanted me to entertain him and here I am entertaining you. So he's having a little fit, as gentlemen will."

That puzzled me–I didn't know what to say.

"Seth Cecil will sulk and pout, if he isn't made over constantly," Aunt Rosie said. "Your pa's even worse in that regard. Do folks tell you you look like your pa?"

"I don't know many people who even know Pa," I admitted. "He's gone so much I can't remember what he looks like myself."

"Yes, Dick's a rover–I told your ma that, before she married him," Aunt Rosie said. "You look just like him, only not so devilish–do you like whiskey?"

"I don't know–I've not been allowed any," I said. "Once Uncle Seth brought home some Rebel beer, but it didn't have much taste."

"I'll pass on Rebel beer," Aunt Rosie said. "My weakness is whiskey."

There was a bottle and a few glasses on the little table by the mirror.

Aunt Rosie poured a glass about half full, for me, and one a little bit fuller for herself.

"I try to limit myself to a glass a day, but sometimes I slip a little,"

she said, handing me a glass. "Don't gulp it down now–just take a sip."

But I was nervous–despite Aunt Rosie's warning I took a full gulp of the whiskey. It felt like scalding lye had just gone down my throat. The heat of it brought tears to my eyes–Aunt Rosie had to pound me on the back so I wouldn't choke.

"That wasn't exactly a sip," she said. "But it was a start."

A little later I felt a heat in my stomach, as if someone had shoveled a few coals inside me. I sipped a little more whiskey, and a little more still, and soon ceased to feel my legs. It was as if my body ended at my belly. Aunt Rosie sat on one end of the settee, and I sat on the other.

She drank and I drank but our glasses never seemed to quite get empty.

Somehow Aunt Rosie managed to refill them without my noticing. At one point I noticed that the bottle was empty, but when I looked again it was full.

45

"It ain't often I get this full of family feeling," Aunt Rosie said. "I want you to throw a bottle for me. Seth don't like to admit it but I can shoot as well as he can. Come on–I'll show you."

By then it was nearly sundown. Aunt Rosie took a rifle out of the closet behind her bed. She gave me an empty whiskey bottle and we went out on the little landing behind her room. I threw the bottle as high as I could. Aunt Rosie shot, there was a crack, and little pieces of glass rained into a kind of weedy lot behind the saloon. I looked down and saw Wild Bill Hickok standing below, watching us.

"How's that, Mr. Sureshot?" Aunt Rosie cried out. Mr. Hickok made no comment, or none that I can remember.

Aunt Rosie helped me down the stairs, giggling at how clumsy I had become. On the way home my feet kept wanting to get tangled up with one another. I tried to walk normally but my left foot kept trying to cross over to where my right foot ought to be. My left foot was the bad foot–I got so annoyed with it that I wanted to shoot it off. At one point I found myself thirty yards off the trail, in some bushes, though I knew the way home perfectly well.

When I finally got to our cabin I tried to walk through the door but missed and bumped my head on the doorsill. Ma and Neva were at the kitchen table, peeling spuds. I had to make three runs at it before I finally got through the door. Ma and Neva just sat there looking at me, as if I were someone they didn't know.

"What's wrong with him–the oaf!" Neva said.

"Oh, nothing–he's probably just been drinking whiskey with his Aunt Rosie," Ma said.

Then she stood up and ruffled my hair a little, like she had done when I was younger. For some reason I felt like crying, but Ma seemed to think it was all funny. She laughed, but Neva didn't.

I was up vomiting most of the night.

There was no sign of Uncle Seth.

14 THREE days after I got drunk that f _ first time Uncle Seth showed up at the J. cabin again. He walked in with a lordly air–it was his usual air–but he looked as if he'd spent his time in a pigsty. His clothes were filthy and one of his ears was red.

If Ma was put out by his absence she didn't show it, which didn't mean she was prepared to accept his appearance. G.T. had managed to get in a fight somewhere, that afternoon. He looked as bunged up as Uncle Seth.

The sight of them set Granpa Crackenthorpe cackling.

"Here's two fellows who got themselves whipped," he said.

"You shut up or I'll stab you in the leg again," G.T. said.

Granpa started looking for his cap-and-ball pistol, but before he found it Ma gave the two of them some soap and told them to go to the creek and get clean. By the time they came back, considerably cleaner, Granpa had 46

found his pistol, but Ma took it away from him and didn't give it back until he had cooled down considerably.

"I may have to put you on the street yet," she informed Granpa–it was a threat that took the fight out of Granpa real quick.

"She'd let an old man starve," he said, to the cabin at large, but no one paid him the slightest mind.

For the last three days Ma had been stuffing things in sacks and boxes–

potatoes, onions, clothes, pots, tools–anything that she thought might be useful on a trip across the prairies. No sooner would one of us get through with one chore than she would drag up another sack and tell us to put it in the wagon.

At first I didn't really believe we were going to look for Pa. It just seemed like one of the notions Ma sometimes got in her head. Once she had a notion that we ought to raise turkeys, but the coyotes and foxes and bobcats soon got all the turkeys.

Besides, why would we need to drag a wagon off across the plains to look for Pa, when he always showed up in Boone's Lick of his own accord once every year or two? He'd come and stay two or three days and then go.

Usually, a month or so after one of Pa's visits, Ma's belly would begin to swell, and eventually there'd be another baby.

That had always seemed to be Pa and Ma's way–of course, when Pa wasn't around, Uncle

Seth looked after us pretty well. Why go bother Pa if he didn't want to be bothered?

G.T. and I thought Uncle Seth would finally talk her out of the move, but Neva didn't agree.

"You oafs, we're going next week," Neva claimed. She had been calling us oafs for the past few weeks–once Neva found a word she liked she tended to work it hard, until she found a new word she liked better.

It was beginning to look as if Neva was right. Our wagon was nearly full of sacks and boxes, and it still had to hold all of us, including Granpa.

The cabin looked so bare, from all the stuff we'd moved out, that the sight of it seemed to help Uncle Seth recover his sense of humor.

"We're down to the dirt floors, here," he said to Ma. "There's plenty of places outdoors that look more comfortable than this."