the inner edge of the circle, stopping just short of that spot where Hargrove was holding court among his loyal supporters.
One of the faithful leaned in and whispered something to the captain.
Hargrove turned. “Ah, I see the principals have finally arrived,” he gushed with enthusiasm and a metallic smile. “It’s time we call this council of the Hargrove Oregon Company to order.”
Titus leaned close to Amanda and whispered, “Ain’t gonna be the Hargrove Oregon Company for much longer, is it?”
“Maybe call it the cowards-run-to-California company,” she whispered back to Titus just before she stepped over to her husband’s elbow and squeezed one of his big, rough hands. Just as quickly she inched back through that front row of men until she stood among the other women and children who would serve only as spectators for this rare practice of frontier democracy.
Only adult males possessed the right to vote. Their wives and children did not hold such a privilege. From that outer fringe of this assembly, Amanda could only watch what was guaranteed to have a bearing on her family’s fortunes and its future from here on out, no matter how the vote came down.
Scratch watched his daughter take up her position with the other women, who all looked on in silence. Come what may this warm summer evening as the land finally cooled, he realized that the vote Hargrove would call for would affect his daughter’s family, one way or the other. If Hargrove convinced enough of the emigrants to vote against Bass and Sweete tagging along to Fort Hall, then it was a certainty the two of them would have to push on ahead of the train so they could go through with their plans to help scratch up an old comrade from the beaver days to guide the farmers on down the Snake to the Columbia, on into Oregon country. But if enough of these emigrants turned aside the wishes of their wagon master, there might well be a chance that Hargrove would retaliate against the Burwells for what the wagon master would see as mutiny.
Titus Bass hadn’t lived fifty-three years not to recognize an oily-tongued, snake-bellied, duplicitous bastard when he saw one. Dangerous thing was, Hargrove seemed just the sort of man mean enough to make anyone who turned against him pay for that transgression, and pay dearly. Throughout that day after the long procession had formed up and slowly rambled out of that meadow along Black’s Fork, pushed for Muddy Creek, then dawdled through that easy crossing, Scratch had weighed out the heft of that dilemma.
Would it just be all the better for him and Shad to tell Hargrove that they would turn around and start back for Fort Bridger in the morning, then secretly slip around the far side of the Bear River Divide and march on to Fort Hall on their own—so there would be no more confrontations with the man and his bullies that might end up hurting his daughter and the ones she loved in the long run? Maybeso, the two of them didn’t need to ride on to Fort Hall in any event. Wasn’t it entirely possible that Roman and the others who would not be turned away from Oregon could find someone to pilot them to the Willamette on their own? Did these farmers and settlement folks really need two old hivernants throwing in to see them through to Fort Hall and their digging around for a pilot? Maybe this matter of his tagging along to the Snake River was causing more trouble than all the good he could ever do.
Phineas Hargrove stepped to the center of that open ground surrounded by the men who had selected him to serve as their captain all the way to Oregon, while his seven hired men dispersed among the others. Titus began to cipher how many men there were, how many votes there would be to count when it came down to a show of hands.
“I’m going to assume that most of you don’t have any idea why I’ve heralded this meeting tonight with our trumpet,” Hargrove began, his stentorian voice clear as a clarion bell over the crowd of hundreds.
“You don’t want my father-in-law to ride along to Fort Hall,” Burwell roared as the throng fell quiet. “Him and his friend, both men good on the trail—”
“They did not sign on at our Westport depot, the way the rest of you did,” Hargrove interrupted. “If there is a rule, there must be a good reason for that rule. You all joined our company according to the rules, agreed to abide by the rules, and this wilderness is by far the last place we should be letting those rules slide—not here in the lawless wilderness.”
“What harm does it do to bend a rule this one time?” asked a man at the edge of the crowd.
“I’ll tell you what harm it does, Mr. Bingham. It begins the breakdown in civil order,” Hargrove preached with that booming voice of his.
Another settler asked, “How will they break down civil order?”
Turning, the wagon master said, “Mr. Iverson, all a man has to do is look at these two … two ruffians Burwell wishes to bring along to see that there can be no good come of this to our wagon company.”
“What are you claiming they’re gonna do, Hargrove?”
He turned slightly again to address the new speaker, “Dahlmer, isn’t it? Agreed, we have no idea what men such as these might do to disrupt the law-abiding orderliness of our company. These roughs have been freed of the constraints of civil society for more years than we could ever guess. They have lived without the fetters of responsible, God-fearing men, like the rest of you.”
“How safe are our wives and daughters around these two strangers?” one of Hargrove’s backers prompted.
“Yes, yes,” Hargrove said. “Wouldn’t you fear for your wives and daughters with such lawless, unscrupulous creatures as these ruffians and scoundrels along on the journey?”
“Hold on a minute!” cried a man standing near Burwell. “Why the devil we have to fear for our wives and daughters from these two? You know something about them you ain’t told us?”
Hargrove took two steps toward the doubter. “Just look at them, dressed like Indians, their hair long and unkempt like a pagan savage keeps his hair. Dp you want that specter residing in our camp?”
Off to Bass’s left a man took a step into the ring before he spoke, “So what the blazes do you call that?”
Turning on his heel, the wagon master looked in the direction the farmer was pointing. “What, Ammons? Call what?”
“That pilot you hired back at Fort Laramie.”
With a hearty laugh, Hargrove asked, “Harris? You mean Harris?”
“Yeah,” Ammons responded with a tug on his soiled suspenders. “These two who came along with Burwell don’t look no worse than your handpicked pilot.”
“For God’s sake, the man is our pilot!” Hargrove shrieked.
Roman Burwell snorted, “Sure as the devil looks like he’s
“Listen, Burwell,” Hargrove snarled as he whirled on the big farmer, “ever since Laramie, Harris has been our pilot. Each and every one of you trusted in me to engage a pilot when we reached Fort Laramie. This man is our guide. He’s not like those other two who threw in with your family at Fort Bridger.”
“The man’s my father-in-law,” Burwell growled. “An’ the other’n is his good friend. That makes ’em both near kin to me.”
“But we do not have room for any travelers to throw in with this company!” Hargrove said, frustration crimping his features.
A new voice called out, “What’s it hurt?”
He turned on the man, “Why, Fenton—it hurts the rule of law and orderliness here in the wilderness. If we let things slip out here, even a little, then we truly are not bringing God’s order and civilization to our new homes.”
“These two won’t ruin nothing!” another shouted.
Then a voice seconded that opinion, “And I haven’t seen either of ’em coming round my wife and daughter like you claimed they would.”
Hargrove countered, “This is but the first day! There hasn’t been time for these beasts to show their true stripes.”
“Maybeso we oughtta put it to a vote!” called a voice.
“No, Pruett!” cried the wagon master. “We haven’t had our full debate.”
Bingham took two steps away from Burwell and yelled, “We can call for a vote now!”
“No!” Hargrove bellowed his desperation, wheeling to gesture at his supporters. “We haven’t heard anything from the other side!”
“I say let’s vote!” Burwell called.
Titus felt the palpable surge of electricity that shot through the murmuring crowd like a jolt of lightning.
