“Quiet, you fools.” Hayes’s patience was drawing thin. “Nielsen, if you won’t spare the horse, what about an ox?”
“We need them, sir, to pull our wagon. Unless . . .” Could just one ox pull the Durhams’ wagon with no one riding in it? Perhaps some of the belongings could be emptied out and left behind to lighten the load further. “What if we gave them one from the Durhams’ wagon?”
The wagon master nodded. “Do it.”
Lark ran to the wagons as Little Bear went back to make the proposal. She explained the situation to her sisters, and Forsythia and Lilac helped her unyoke the ox while Del held a confused Robbie.
Little Bear appeared beside her. “They will take that.”
Lark nodded, fighting resentment. They could manage, but any loss of animals was a huge one. She didn’t like the other men’s attitudes toward the Indians, but it did seem an unfair exchange for a few pieces of beadwork. But for everyone’s safety . . .
Little Bear helped her lead the ox over to the band of Pawnee. Two men dismounted to receive the bellowing animal being dragged away from the others. They patted the animal over, smiled, and nodded. The other Indians collected the gathered provisions and handed their beaded items to Hayes.
One young man handed an intricately decorated purse directly to Lark, with a gesture she didn’t understand. She glanced at Little Bear.
“For you, he says.”
Shock coursed through her at the feminine gift. Did he . . . ? She looked up at the smiling young Indian.
“For your woman,” Little Bear continued.
Oh. Her scalp heating, Lark nodded her thanks.
The band rode away, horses laden with goods, the ox trailing behind.
Lark watched them go with a mingling of relief and heaviness in her chest.
“Thank you.” Little Bear walked alongside her as they returned to the wagons.
“Didn’t seem I had much of a choice.” Lark glanced back at the riders disappearing over the prairie. “Those were your people?”
“Different band. They are South Band. I am Skiri. But we’re all what you call Pawnee.”
“So that was why you needed sign language to understand them?”
He tipped his head. “Some. Our languages are similar, but not quite the same. But they need food. That is the same.”
Lark frowned. “Your people are short on food?” For the first time, she thought about how thin the bare chests and shoulders of some of the men had been.
“We used to eat buffalo. Now many are moving west because of the settlers. My family is on a reservation in Nebraska. The government is supposed to give us food, but it doesn’t always come. We need to go west to find the buffalo but cannot leave the reservation.”
“Oh.” She’d never heard Little Bear talk so much. “Is that why you work as a trail guide? To help your family?”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then hurried off at a call from Hayes.
Lark slung her rifle over her shoulder and headed back to her own family. They might have lost the ox, but she’d learned a bit. And maybe made a friend.
Heading to a nearby stream to draw water after they made camp that night, Lark passed a small knot of men gathered around Otis Bane, who sat on his wagon seat with his injured leg on a pillow. Though he’d missed all the excitement today, he seemed full of opinions, as usual.
“I say Hayes doesn’t know what’s best for this wagon train,” Otis was saying. “You can’t just give Indians whatever they ask for. What if they ask for our women and children next?”
“And we’ve already lost far too much time.” Manning leaned in. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so you know what that means.”
“That’s what I’m saying. A whole ’nother day we could be on the trail.” Otis raised his voice as Lark passed. “And a good ox, eh, young fella?”
Lugging her buckets, she ignored him. She hated the sense of unrest that hung over the camp. What would Hayes do about it? What could he do?
The next morning, families gathered in the sunshine for the worship service. Sitting beside her sisters near the front, Lark breathed in the sweet scent of dew on grass. A meadowlark warbled nearby, singing its song of praise even as the Nielsen sisters tuned their instruments.
“Let’s begin with ‘Fairest Lord Jesus.’” Forsythia strummed a chord.
At first only their family’s voices raised in song, but little by little, more joined in, swelling the sound into a chorus.
“Beautiful Savior! Lord of all the nations!
Son of God and Son of Man!
Glory and honor, praise, adoration,
Now and forever more be thine.”
The darkness and heaviness over the wagon train lifted away under the beam of sunshine and praise.
Thank you, Lord. Lark closed her eyes. Maybe we’re going to make it after all. If Mr. Hayes can shut down the complainers.
17
Somewhere they had crossed into Nebraska. Forsythia hupped the oxen, taking her turn at droving. Her sunbonnet flapped against her face in the hot prairie wind. They were making progress toward the land that would be their new home.
Anders had sent the same letter to Topeka that he had to Independence, wanting to make sure they received it. He’d included the address of the attorney he wanted them to meet in Salton, with instructions for Lark to see him when they arrived. But there was no further word of that awful gambler, Ringwald, nor of Deacon Wiesel. Thank you, Lord.
“Guess what.” Lilac came riding up on Starbright, her hair windblown, and slid off the horse. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Little Bear just sighted a small herd of buffalo ahead.”
“Really?” Forsythia craned her neck to try to see around the wagon train, but the billowing clouds of dust blocked her vision. “What will we do?”
“Mr. Hayes says we’ll stop till it passes. Some of the men are trying to get him to let them shoot a couple, but he says no, we’re not prepared for a proper hunt.” Lilac pushed back her sunbonnet. “I just want to
