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  Tremayne studied Studdart, knowing he was a natural leader, but he thought he knew why the other members of the company looked to Gwilym Morgan. “I think it would be best to go by the old Mormon Trail.”

  “What’s wrong with the Oregon Trail?”

  “Nothing, but we’ve got a long way to go until we hit the Oregon Trail. I plan to go by Nauvoo, then hit Council Bluffs. We’ll cross the river there, and then we hit the Platte River. We’ll have good water for about a third of the way until we get to the South Pass. One good thing about the old Mormon Trail is that it won’t be crowded, but the others will already have gone before us and gotten the best of the grass.”

  The meeting went on for some time, and finally Charity saw Tremayne shake his head as if in doubt. “Whatever you decide, you better decide quick. We’re late as we are.” He turned and walked away, and Charity left the group. She caught up with him as he was headed toward the general store.

  “I wanted to talk to you for a minute, Tremayne. How do you feel about all this?” She was interested as were the rest because they were, in effect, putting their lives in the hands of this man. “You seem doubtful about everything.”

  “It’s a doubtful trip.” That enigmatic reply seemed even more uncertain, and he added quickly, “It’s a hard trip, and I’ve never been on a journey to Oregon when someone didn’t get hurt or killed. It’s the nature of the trail.”

  “Well, I don’t like it that you’re so negative. God will take care of us.”

  Her words agitated Casey Tremayne, and he looked down at her. Her eyes were sharp and alert. She was in a gray dress that seemed to deepen the color of her eyes and turn her hair more golden red. “Were you ever married?” he asked abruptly.

  The question caught Charity off guard, and she flushed. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s none of your business, but just so you know, if the Lord wants me to have a husband, he’ll send one to me.”

  “You don’t plan on having to catch one? Setting your cap, I think folks call it?”

  “I’ll have no man I’d have to run after and catch,” Charity said. She turned and walked away quickly and was aware he was smiling at her, which for some reason made her very angry.

  * * *

  THE CREW HAD BEEN sleeping in the church, for the most part, but Tremayne had had enough of four walls pressing in on him. He had chosen a spot out underneath a huge hickory tree where he had built a fire and was sitting in front of it across from Elsworth Charterhouse. The Englishman was staring at him with curiosity, and now he leaned forward, picked up a stick, and stuck it into the fire. When it caught, he held it up like a small candle and stared at it fixedly. Tossing it into the fire, he said, “Well, how does it look, Casey?”

  “It looks like it’s going to be a lot of hard work, and a lot of trouble these folks don’t even dream about.”

  “Well, as you know, Casey, Nil sine magno vita labore dedit mortalibus.”

  Tremayne smiled across the fire. “I don’t think those words mean anything. You’re always spouting stuff in some language that you call Latin. I think you just make it up.”

  “No, indeed! Those are the words of Horace. It means, ‘The prizes of life are never to be had without trouble’.”

  “Well, we’ll be pretty well tested, you and me.” The words were gloomy, but Tremayne seemed placid and even happy. “I’m so glad to get out of that prison nothing seems bad to me.”

  “Well, Horace may be wrong.”

  “I don’t think he is. The Sioux believe that hard things make a man strong. Either that or they kill him.” Elsworth smiled. “I expect the Sioux know as much about things like that as Horace did.” The two men were quiet for a while.

  Then Elsworth said, “That Charity is a good-looking woman, but she’s pretty strong willed.”

  “That may not be the worst thing in the world, Elsworth. That’s what it’s going to take to get this bunch across the plains and through the mountains—strong-willed folks!”

  “When are we leaving?”

  “Day after tomorrow, and that’s too late.” He lay down, pulled the blanket over him, and stared up at the skies. Elsworth stared at his friend and wanted to talk more, but when Casey Tremayne grew silent, not even the Sioux, he figured, would be able to get a word out of him.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER EVERYTHING was ready for the departure. Everyone, according to Tremayne’s instructions, had gotten up before daylight. As he strolled among the houses, he saw some women crying, others biting their lips. He considered trying to make a speech encouraging them, but he decided against it. They’ll have to find out the hard way that going to Oregon is not like a Sunday picnic.

  Karl Studdart had given him a horse, at least for use on the trip. Tremayne had not asked for it, but Studdart had said, “You’ll need a horse, won’t you, since you’ll be doing the riding ahead and hunting new grounds for the night?”

  “That’s right, Karl. Maybe I can bring in some grub too. Lots of antelope and deer, and buffalo later on.”

  “I’m worried about this trip, Tremayne. It’s more than I bargained for.”

  “It’ll be all right if we just keep our heads about us.”

  He lifted his voice and said, “All right. Get to your wagons, It’s time to leave.”

  Jack Canreen was seated behind four mules he was driving for York Wingate. Frenchy Doucett walked by and grinned up at him. “Some of these women are not so bad looking, are they, Jack?”

  “After being without a woman for three years, any woman would look good.”

  Elsworth was standing close enough to overhear. “You better be careful. You know what Casey says about leaving the women alone,” he said.

  Canreen glared at the Englishman. “I’ll do as I please. He’s not so much.”

  “Better be careful. You know that he’s a hard man to best in a fight.”

  “I’m a better man than Tremayne in any case,” Canreen retorted. “Some of these women are not as holy as they look.”

  Elsworth shook his head but said no more. Canreen had been the man who had given him the most problems when he had first entered the penitentiary, and only Tremayne had saved him from disagreeable circumstances. “Don’t get him stirred up, Canreen,” he said and walked off, leaving the man cursing.

  * * *

  CHARITY WAS STRUGGLING TO pick up a chair and lift it over the back of the wagon. Suddenly she felt it leave her grasp and gasped with surprise. She turned and saw Tremayne holding the chair easily.

  “Just put it in the wagon, Tremayne.”

  “Can’t take it, Miss Morgan. It’s too heavy.”

  “It’s my chair, and those are our animals. If we want to take it, we can.”

  The small drama attracted several people who had gathered. All of them knew Charity Morgan as a willful woman who would have her own way, all other things being equal. But Elsworth was smiling slightly. She’ll be sorry she started this, he thought, and he was exactly right.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to leave it.”

  “My grandfather made that chair for me.”

  “I’m sure he did, but you’ve got too much weight on this wagon already. Your animals will give out on you.”

  Charity’s lips grew tight and her cheeks were flushed. “I’m taking the chair,” she said.

  “No, Miss Morgan, you’re not taking the chair. That’s what I’m here for, to keep you from doing foolish things.”

  Gwilym Morgan had been standing by the oxen, waiting to start. He came back now and listened for a moment. “Daughter, I expect Tremayne is right.”

  “But, Pa, it’s Grandfather’s chair. Your own father made it. You brought it all the way from Wales.”

  “It’s just part of the cost, Charity,” Gwilym said. “I’m sorry.”

  Furiously Charity stared at Tremayne, and then she turned and walked away blindly.

  “You shouldn’t have argued with him, Sister.” Ch
arity turned to see Bronwen had joined her. “He’s already told us we couldn’t take any extra furniture.”

  Knowing that Bronwen was right did not help Charity’s feelings. “He’s just a tyrant.”

  “You don’t like him because he’s the boss. You never did like to be bossed.”

  “Go away, Bronwen.”

  Bronwen grinned impishly and then skipped away. Even as she did, the call came from Tremayne who was mounted now on his big roan gelding. “All right. We can start now. It’s a long way to Oregon.”

  Gwilym, standing beside the oxen, said, “Hup, you beasties, come along now,” and was gratified when the big beasts surged forward, and the wagon wheels creaked. Gwilym watched the wheels turn and whispered, “Just keep turning, wheels. You turn enough, and you’ll get us to Oregon.”

  * * *

  NEARLY EVERYONE WALKED EXCEPT those who had mules to drive. The proper way to drive an oxen surprised Charity. Some of the men simply walked alongside the lead oxen, and others after a time, jumped on the broad backs. Charity relieved her father in midmorning and walked along. She was afraid of the big animals at first, but she had been surprised by their gentleness.

  They stopped at noon for a cold lunch, which Tremayne called nooning, then Charity got in the wagon and rode for the next three hours. It was an uncomfortable ride for there was no padding on the hard seat. Once Tremayne came by and stopped the roan long enough to say, “Are you making it all right, Miss Morgan?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, call me Charity!”

  “That’s a nice name. I’ve always liked it. Seems like there’s a sweetness in it. I think that’s the word for love in the Bible, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, you’re doing fine.”

  Meredith, perched on the seat beside Charity, piped up. “Her bottom hurts, Tremayne.”

  Charity’s face flamed. “Be quiet! Don’t talk about things like that.”

  “Well, I expect everybody’s got a bottom. What’s wrong with mentioning it?”

  Tremayne laughed aloud. “Going to be an interesting trip for you, Miss Meredith. You do know how to amuse a man.” He touched his spurs to his horse and rode off.

  “Don’t talk about bottoms in front of a man,” Charity said.

  But all that did was start an argument, for Meredith could see nothing wrong with mentioning anything.

  Two hours later they stopped beside a small creek. Tremayne led the first wagon around so that all the wagons formed a circle and evidently had measured well because there was precisely enough room for the last wagon to fit.

  “Is this the way we’ll camp every night?” Elsworth asked.

  “Yeah, we’ll sleep inside the circle. There are no Indians around here, but it’s good practice.”

  The women got out, and the men started fires. A wood box was on the back of each wagon, and Tremayne had instructed the people to throw dead wood in it so that they wouldn’t have to hunt for firewood. Soon the darkness was falling, but the campfires penetrated it with bright and cheerful dots.

  Charity was cooking steaks, and when she called her family together, Evan took his plate with beans and steak and said, “You know, this isn’t bad.”

  “It’s a long way to Oregon,” Gwilym said. He was not tired for he was used to hard work, but he knew others were tired. At that moment Tremayne walked by, and Gwilym said, “Stop and have a bite, Casey.”

  “All right, I think I will.” He sat down and took a plate from Bronwen who smiled at him. “I cooked this steak myself.”

  “It’ll be good then.” He began to eat.

  “Did we make good time today, Tremayne?” Evan asked.

  “Very good for the day. Almost ten miles. But this was easy going. We’ll have to do better on these easy stretches so when trouble comes and we have to hold up, they’ll make up for it.”

  “You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?” Charity asked. She still felt defensive about the big man.

  “Well, man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.”

  “Ah, you know your Bible,” Gwilym said, pleased to hear it.

  “Know it. Don’t do it. I guess that’s my story.”

  Meredith had wolfed her supper, and then began, as usual, to pepper Tremayne with questions. He answered them easily, and finally she said, “Are you going to heaven when you die, Tremayne?”

  Tremayne seemed unable to answer for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he said and studied the young girl’s face. She was a beautiful child, and he had never seen one with such an inquisitive mind. She was, he thought, probably the smartest person on the train.

  “Well, if you don’t go to heaven, you’ll go to the pit.”

  “I guess that’s right.”

  “You shouldn’t do that. Jesus died so that we could all go to heaven. Did you know that?”

  “I believe I heard it a time or two.” The rest of the family listened. They were accustomed to Meredith’s straightforward questions. “Jesus died for our sins. That’s what the Bible says, and it says that anybody who wants to can be saved.”

  “She’s a good Calvinist,” Gwilym said, “and she preaches a pretty good sermon too.”

  “Why don’t you ask Jesus to come into your heart, Tremayne? Then you wouldn’t have to go to the pit.”

  Tremayne could not remember a time when he felt as awkward. Everyone was looking at him, and finally he said, “I guess it just never come to me, Miss Meredith.”

  Charity had been listening. “Meredith, don’t be so forward.”

  “Well, if I can get Tremayne to believe in Jesus, he’ll go to heaven. That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  Immediately Meredith turned and started quoting Scripture, and then, in the middle of a sentence, she saw one of her friends, jumped up, and ran off. Charity was still irritated with Tremayne over the chair, but she knew the conversation with her sister must have been painful for him.

  “I’m sorry about that. You’ll have to tell her to hush.”

  “She’s a bright girl. Smart as a whip.”

  “Are you afraid to die?” Evan asked curiously.

  “Well, when everything is still, I am.”

  “Still? What do you mean still?” Charity asked, tremendously interested.

  “I mean when things are going fine, I don’t think about things like that, but when I’m alone, maybe at night, then the thoughts come trooping in. And I know what Meredith says is true.” A silence fell over the small group. The Morgans could hear the music of someone playing a guitar and singing in an off-key fashion. They were all interested in Casey Tremayne who seemed as foreign as someone from another planet to them. Finally he lifted his head and said, “I saw a bird die once.”

  “You mean you killed him?” Evan asked, not understanding the man.

  “No, I was crossing a prairie, and this bird flew across, and suddenly, right in the middle of his flight, he just dropped out of the sky. I don’t mean anybody shot him. He just fell as if he were shot.” Tremayne rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and the memory seemed to come flooding back to him. “I went over and picked him up. There wasn’t a mark on him. You know what I thought? I thought that bird didn’t have any idea when he woke up that morning he’d be dead before dark. For some reason that scared me because I knew I wasn’t in any better shape than that bird.” He smiled ruefully and stood up. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

  Evan, who was a fine Christian himself, said, “Well, Jesus is the friend of sinners, Casey. He’ll be your friend if you let Him.”

  The words surprised Tremayne, and he fastened his eyes on Evan Morgan. “I expect you’re right,” he said. Then he turned and left. Later that night he related the conversation to Elsworth. “I wonder why I told that story. I’ve never told it to anybody else.”

  “So you told them you were going to the pit, did you?”

  “Yep, true enough.”

  “What did Charity
Morgan say about it?”

  “She was against it, I think.”

  The two were silent for a while, and finally Tremayne said, “Don’t you have a Latin saying for something like that?”

  “I can’t think of one offhand, but I remember my father told me once that dead is a long time.”

  “I expect he was right.”

  The two lay down in their blankets, and for a long time Casey Tremayne watched the stars as they made their silver spangle against the dark sky.

  Chapter Nine

  THE SOUND OF A rifle exploding close by brought Charity out of a sound sleep. She started and for an instant was tempted to throw the quilt over her head, but that was impossible. She reached over and shook Bronwen. “Time to get up.”

  Bronwen stirred and peered at Charity in the dim light of the canopy. “All right,” she said, and then the two got up. They had formed a routine and set about cooking breakfast at once. From all over the camp came the sound of voices. A man was whistling, and Charity wished he would stop.

  She first splashed tepid water into a pan from the water keg and washed her face. She felt gritty and dirty for the days on the trail from Pittsburgh had offered no opportunities for more bathing.

  As she cooked breakfast, she heard Evan talking to her father as they yoked the oxen to the wagons. Evan’s voice was cheerful, and Charity knew that he was far happier than she was herself. The fifteen miles a day that they had had to cover for what seemed like many weeks had drained her strength. She had tried not to let the strain show.

  Now the daily routine began; young and old poured out of their tents and out of wagons. Slow spirals of smoke began to drift up in the sky from many campfires. Glancing across the way, Charity saw that in the wagon right behind her the oldest couple on the train, Konrad and Minna Dekker, was cooking, and their voices sounded cheerful. Charity shook her head, wondering if she would be that lively when she was in her seventies.

  When the breakfast was ready, the men ate, and they threw down the bacon and eggs quickly. “I’ll cook biscuits if we camp early enough tonight,” Charity said. She was learning the cooking routine in a whole new way with no stove, and the change was unnerving.