Katie and the Mustang, Book 4 (11 page)

I found myself talking aloud to the Mustang more and more when I was off with the three horses by myself. I told him how scared I was and he stood close to me and blew his warm, windy breath across my face and down the collar of my dress. I was so glad to have him as my friend, so grateful he was with me. I told him that, too. He tossed his head and whinnied, long and loud, as though he had understood me. It echoed off the mountainside.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A
s we came down into the Willamette Valley, everyone began to brighten a little. It was beautiful land. This was the place the Kylers had dreamed of farming. This was the land the Taylors and the Craggetts had wanted more than anything. The McMahons were smiling, even Toby.

Mr. Kyler dragged his saddle out of the wagon and began riding off to look for land. So did the other men. They'd ride back near sundown and tell the others what they had seen. It all sounded good. I began to get excited again. If the farmland was all good and so much of it still unclaimed, then there was a good chance that my uncle Jack was doing well, that he would be able to take me in. I kept an eye on Grover. He spent most days with Andrew Kyler now, helping with the stock. I knew he wanted to earn his suppers.

Mr. McMahon and Mr. Taylor hoped to be neighbors, and they began to ride the valley together as we traveled, too, looking for 640-acre plots that bordered on each other.

Mr. Silas and his friends packed up one morning and left. No one had any idea where they were going or why. We all stared after them. They headed southwest—that's all we would ever know.

The Craggetts had been quiet and grim for months, and they were thawing out now, chatting more with everyone and looking for land. Mrs. Craggett still walked out of her way to avoid talking to Miss Liddy.

I remembered the times that Miss Liddy had done more than her share for everyone's safety. I made myself a promise that I would never treat anyone like Mrs. Craggett treated Miss Liddy.

Miss Liddy and her friends weren't looking for land—and they spent the time practicing their show. I got to ride Genevieve a little, and one evening I managed to stand on her back for a stride or two before I had to slide down and sit astride again. It was thrilling.

Oregon City was a bustling place the day we got there. The Willamette River was wide and deep, and the mill wheels for a sawmill and a gristmill turned steadily as we passed them. There were shops and stores up and down the long street we came in on. No one so much as looked up when we went by—until Miss Liddy's party drew close.

Genevieve, with Miss Liddy riding tall—and without bridle or saddle—led the way. The other horses were tethered behind the wagons, and people stared at their odd coloring and conformation. Mr. Swann, Mr. Dillard, and Mr. La Croix had changed into bright-colored shirts, and Miss Liddy wore a hat with an ostrich plume.

Grover and I watched the faces of the people on the sidewalks change as they spotted Miss Liddy. Some people actually gaped. We didn't laugh aloud, but we kept having to bite our lips.

The wagons had been draped with red and yellow banners that read MCKENNA CIRCUS CO. I was sure they would give a show as soon as they could. If they waited too long, winter weather would set in. At least we would get to see that before they left.

We went through town,then kept going. We passed four or five other wagon camps and finally camped along a slough a couple of miles north of town at the base of a swale that led back up into the mountains. No one knew how long it would take them to find land to claim, and the stock would need water and grass.

The nights were getting chilly, and Mrs. Kyler insisted that Grover and I both borrow more blankets from her. The next morning, I wanted to go into town and begin asking about my family. I waited until after morning chores and went to make sure the Mustang was settled with the herd before I told Mrs. Kyler.

“It's about a half hour's walk or a little more each way,” she said. “You make sure you get back before dark.” She looked past me. “Grover? Will you go with her?”

He nodded.

She smiled at me.“Good luck, Katie.”

As we walked toward town, I glanced at Grover. “I will have to tell my uncle about the fever, about my parents and sister.”

Grover exhaled slowly. “That will be hard news to bring him, Katie.”

We walked for a time without saying anything else. I thought about how I would say it, how I would explain. I would have to tell him about the Stevenses and Hiram, too.

Grover picked a grass stem and chewed at the sweet end, then sighed and turned to me. “He will be glad to see you. I wish I had an uncle.” He was silent another long moment, then he said, “I'm going to run away, Katie. I have to get clear of my father one way or another.”

I met his eyes. “Maybe my uncle Jack can take you in, too.”

Grover looked at me, blinking, his face lighting up. “I'd like that, Katie. I'd work hard for my keep.”

I nodded. “I know you would.”

Grover smiled. I lifted my chin as we got to the outskirts of town. I would go into every place in town, then stop farmers on the road if I had to. My uncle Jack was here somewhere, and I intended to find him.

The street was full of people, and we had to thread our way through the crowds. The first place was a hotel. The owner there said he had never heard of my uncle. Neither had the desk clerk nor a woman who was cleaning the floor with lye soap.

The livery stable was next to the hotel. It was big and full of spent-looking horses. “Never heard the name,” the man said. “But I don't go to the saloons, and I don't talk to all that many folks. Your party have stock to sell?”

“We'll let our folks know that you buy,” Grover said. The man turned back to his work.

“Your uncle could be farming somewhere a ways out of Oregon City,” Grover said as we went on. “Maybe he doesn't come to town much.”

I nodded and smiled at him, determined not to scare myself any more. We walked into three more establishments, and no one had heard of my uncle in any of them. Then we talked to two men who were working at the blacksmith's forge.

One of them scratched his head. “Never heard of him.” He rubbed his eyes. “No, wait.”

My heart leapt. I glanced at Grover, and he smiled at me. I held my breath.

“That's the man got in trouble over a card game, ain't it, Pete? The one who owed Sam Preston all that money?”

The man pumping the forge bellows paused in his work. “Maybe so. Yes, I believe it was. Jack Rose. Head of black hair, blue eyes—tall fellow. I heard he went to California by wagon. I also heard he jumped a ship in San Francisco and went whaling. Either way, he hasn't been in Oregon country in more than two years, miss.”

I felt Grover take my hand. I don't remember thanking the men or even walking back into the rutted dirt street. All I remember is that Grover walked me along until I was steady on my feet again. Then he let go of my hand and moved off, but not too far.

“I should have known,” I said as we got closer to the wagons. “I just
wanted
him to be here so bad.” I wiped at my eyes and drew a shuddering breath. I started to cry. “I wanted him to have a nice wife and two daughters about my age.”

I shook my head at how silly it all sounded, even to me. I had been believing a daydream. And now, here I was, two thousand miles from Iowa and no closer to having a home than I had been when I lived with the Stevenses.

“You all right?” Mrs. Kyler called when she saw us coming. I knew my face was blotchy from crying.

“Katie? Did you find out something?”

I nodded and bit at my lower lip. “He isn't here. He got into some kind of trouble and went off to California two years ago.”

“Ah, child,” Mrs. Kyler said. “Oh, Katie, I am so sorry.” Before she could say or do anything else, I ran off, picking up my dress hem so I could go faster. I heard Grover call me, but I didn't answer. I just kept running until I had the Mustang on his lead, then I ran again, with him trotting beside me.

I didn't stop until the Mustang and I were a mile above the camp. The wagons looked like toys in the distance, and I was breathing hard.

I told the Mustang everything. He grazed quietly, lifting his head now and then to nuzzle at my face and neck. There was a breeze rising, and it fluttered my skirt as I started off again.

The Mustang moved with me, as he always did. I kept on, walking stiff-kneed, my hands clenched. I was so angry with myself. I felt so stupid and so helpless. What could I do now? The Kylers were wonderful people, kind and good. But they were getting old, and they had a big family of their own, all grown up and married, and they had grand-children born—and unborn—to think about. The last thing they needed was an orphan girl begging for a place. And poor Grover. I had all but promised him. Maybe the Kylers would take him in. I hoped so.

They had never once talked about my staying with them and why would they? Farming the first few years would be rough. There would barely be enough to eat for the people or the stock.

Andrew had offered to buy the stallion; he had never offered me a place in his family. He had one baby, and his wife was pregnant. Taking someone in meant sharing scarce food. The Mustang blew a long, warm breath along the nape of my neck, and I looked at him.

“If Miss Liddy will have me, maybe we can...” I trailed off. It would be a long time before I could ride well enough to add anything to their show. And maybe I would never get good enough. Miss Liddy was no one's fool. She hadn't offered me a place in her company, and there was no reason on the green earth why she would.

My thoughts were such an unhappy tangle as I kept walking uphill that I was wading through good, tall grass without even noticing it until the Mustang tugged at the rope. I stopped and he fell to grazing.

I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I was beyond crying, and I leaned against the Mustang's shoulder, moving when he did, letting my thoughts spin because I could not stop them. I could hear birds overhead and the sighing of the breeze and the sound of the Mustang tearing grass off in eager mouthfuls. It was as though everything else in the world had disappeared.

Then the Mustang lifted his head so sharply that I turned, expecting to see someone or something coming toward us. Grover? But no one was there.

The Mustang lowered his head again. He was half starved from the hard miles in the sagebrush country and the mountain pass we had come over. He hadn't seen grass like this in months. “Good,” I told him. I took a deep breath. “Tomorrow morning, we can bring the mares up here and—”

The Mustang struck at the ground with one hind hoof and tossed his head, arching his neck. I fell silent. He turned away from me and faced the wind. I moved closer to him. “What?” He blew out a long breath and lifted his head to scent the air.

I tugged gently at the lead rope, but he didn't react. “If it's a wolf or something, we should start back now.” I looked over my shoulder toward the wagons, expecting to see the tiny white dots of the canvas covers in the distance. But the swale had curved, and I couldn't see them.

The Mustang pawed at the earth. I couldn't spot whatever it was he had scented. But it didn't matter; it was smarter to go back. I turned, expecting the Mustang to turn with me, but he didn't. I was so surprised that I stumbled, jerking on the lead rope without meaning to. The stallion was startled into rearing.

I instinctively loosened my grip on the rope to keep from being dragged upward as I scrambled aside and waited for him to settle. But he didn't. He pranced a little, then shook his mane and reared again.

“Easy now. Just be easy,” I singsonged, scanning the woods upwind. I couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean much. “Come on. Let's go.” I tugged gently at the rope, but he didn't respond at all. “I'll bring you back here in the morning,” I promised him. He refused to move.

I was nervous. I couldn't remember his ever acting like this. I had no idea how long it would take to gentle him into following me back, but I knew I shouldn't have come this far out of sight without telling someone. Mrs. Kyler would worry. So would Grover, I was sure. I'd just been so upset that all I had wanted was to get away from everyone.

“Please,” I begged the Mustang, talking to him the way I always had. I explained that people would worry about us, that it was time to go back now.