The Emigrant Trail

came down to report a large train a few miles ahead of th

glare of the glittering river. Men and women, who daily crowded by them unnoted on city streets, now loomed in the perspective as objective points of avid interest. No party Susan had ever been to called forth such hopeful anticipation. To see

r. While yet the encamped train was a congeries of broken white dots on the river's edge, they cou

the neighing of horses, the high, broken cry of a child. They felt as if they were returning to a home they had left an

he defensive bulwark of the plains. The wheels, linked together by the yoke chains, formed a barrier against Indian attacks. Outside this interlocked rampart was a girdle of fires, that gleamed through the

me lapping on the singed grass, humanity in the loud welcome that rose to meet the newcomers. The doctor had known but one member of the Company, its organizer, a farmer from the Mohawk Valley.

bout them savory odors rose. Fat spit in the pans, coffee bubbled in blackened pots, and strips of buffalo meat impaled on sticks sent a dribble of flame to the heat. The light was strong on

ongue of a wagon, a girl of perhaps sixteen, sat ruminant, nursing a baby. Children were everywhere, helping, fighting, rolling on the grass. Babies lay on spread blankets with older babies sitting by to watch. It was the woma

ard along the front of her body, painting with an even red glow her breast, her chin, the under side of her nose a

aren't any girls in the train. I and my sister are the youngest except Mrs. Peebles over

e sisters. A band of gold gleamed on her wedding finger and her short skirt and loose calico jacket made no attempt to hide the fact that another baby was soon to be added to the already well-supplied train. She smiled a pl

Turn the bacon, Lucy, it makes my back ache to bend"; and as the s

ry was not rough. It had something of the quality of the mother tiger's admonishing pats to her cubs, a certain gentleness showing through force. The foot propelled the children into a murmurous drowsy heap. One of them, a little

pressure pried them out of the way. "And you," to Susan, "better bring your

s on which an artless interest was so na?vely displayed, their pleasant voices, not cultured as hers was but women's voices for all that, gave her spirits a lift. Her depression quite dropped away, the awful lonely feeling

as a lawn. Here they sat in little groups, collecting in tent openings as they were wont to collect on summer nights at front gates and piazza steps. The crooning of women putting babies to sleep fell in with the babblings of the river. The men smoked in silence. Nature had taught them something of her large reticence in their day-long companionship. Some few lounged across t

plause, sounding thin and futile in the evening's suave quietness, and the player began a Scotch reel in the production of which the accordion uttered asthmatic gasps as though unable to keep up with its own proud pace. The tune was suf

ncing and retreating with mincing steps, her face grave as though the performance had its own dignity and was not to be taken lightly. Her partner, a tanned and long-haired man, took his part in a livelier s

e the reel again? There wasn't a gir

ss of the woman whose endless patience ba

ered her desire to draw the hand away. All her coquetry was gone. She was cold and subdued. The passionate hunger of

at me for? Is there

in a rough

I lov

ghbors. The man, all passion, and the woman, who has no answering

spered

so. You don'

his face. His eyes, meeting hers, were full of tears. It surprised her so

ashamed of his e

nd. It's so sacred.

let him hold her hand because she though