The Lost Wagon Part 10

"That's my man and boy. Have you had breakfast, Mr. Tower?"

"No, ma'am."

"And you rode from Tenney's! I'll get you something right away! Just put your mule in back."

She hurried into the house and Joe led the mule toward the outbuildings.

He'd brought a tie rope because, no matter how hospitable a host might be, one didn't just ask for corn to help catch his mule. Joe looped the rope around the mule's neck and tied her to a fence post before he slipped the bridle off. He turned to meet the man and boy who, by this time, were very near the barn.

John Seeley was a stocky, square-built man, and apparently he never made a fast move if a slow one would serve. But there was about him that which was as solid and dependable as the land he worked, and Joe warmed to him. He had an approving glance for the youngster who, Joe suspected, was a mirror of what the father had been twenty years ago.

"Are you John Seeley?" Joe asked.

"That's me," the other's voice was as deep as he was stocky. "What can I do for you?"

"My name's Tower," Joe introduced himself. "Joe Tower. I didn't exactly come to talk with you, but with your father. Les Tenney told me he's been west."

"And you," the other guessed, "aim to go?"

"I've been pondering on it. First I wanted to talk with somebody who's been there."

"I've been there."

"You have?"

"That's right, and I'll take Missouri."

"You didn't like it?"

"I like this better. Man, the west's no land of milk and honey. The rain's as wet there, the snow's as cold, the bugs bite as hard, and it's to heck and gone from any other place."

"How about free land?"

"There's that if a man has to have it."

"Depends on how you look at things, don't it?"

The other gave him a searching glance. "That's right. When do you aim to leave?"

"Don't know yet that I will leave. I just wanted to find out."

"Tell you what," John Seeley suggested, "I've been only once over the California Road or, as some call it, the Oregon Trail. But my father spent most of his life in the west. Talk to him; he'll be up soon.

Reckon you saw Sophie?"

"That I did. She's kind enough to get me some breakfast and I can't say I'm sorry. Left before sun-up."

"Goshamighty! Fifteen miles with nothing to eat! Come in fast!"

Joe followed the other into his house, and sniffed hungrily at the good smell of pancakes baking and sausage sizzling. He knew a moment's envy.

John Seeley must be very prosperous if he could afford sausage in July.

To most people, by that time good meat was only a luscious memory or something to look forward to when the weather should again make it possible to keep meat. The children trooped out to play and the dog frolicked with them. Sophie Seeley filled Joe's plate with golden-brown pancakes and sausage patties, and his cup with coffee. Joe ate, and n.o.body spoke while he was eating because it was impolite to talk under such circ.u.mstances. When a man was hungry, it was most important that his hunger be satisfied.

Joe finished and pushed his plate back. He heard the lifting of a wooden latch, and his eyes strayed toward the door that was opening. Joe sat forward in his chair.

The man who came into the room was old as a rock and big as a hill.

Taller than his tall son, Grandpa Seeley was stocky like John and straight. Snow-white hair tumbled down his ma.s.sive head and rippled about his shoulders. A white beard strayed down his chest. His movements were firm and graceful. He came straight to the table and sat down, and not until he was seated, staring straight at Joe without seeing him, did Joe understand that his clear blue eyes saw nothing. Grandpa Seeley was blind and probably he found his way around the house because n.o.body ever moved anything.

His son got up and stood by the old man's shoulder. He did not raise his voice when he spoke,

"There's a man come to see you, Grandpa."

"Yes," the old man's voice had within it the blending of gentle winds, and stormy ones, and rippling streams, and strange bird songs. "Who is it?"

"My name's Tower," Joe spoke for himself while he reached across the table to grasp the old man's hand, "Joe Tower. I rode from Tenney's Crossing to ask you about the west."

"Glad to know you, Joe."

"I'd best get back to my work," John Seeley said.

He left, and Grandpa asked Joe, "What do you want to know about?"

"I--" Joe fumbled. He had come to ask about the west, and only now did it occur to him that he hadn't the slightest notion of what to ask. "I'm thinking of going there," he said lamely.

"You don't aim just to point your nose west and follow it?"

"No. That's why I came to see you. I want to find out how to do it."

"The west is a big place. What are your wishes?"

"A fellow named Townley told me he staked out land by riding three days in each direction and finally coming back to his starting point."

"Townley's a liar," Grandpa a.s.sured him. "Though some of the ranches and land grants in the southwest are most as big as the state of Missouri.

They need a lot of land; takes maybe eighty acres to feed one cow in some of that country. You going in for cattle?"

"No. I'm a farmer."

"Oregon," Grandpa said. "Oregon's the place you want. Get yourself a quarter section there. That's all the land any farmer needs in that country."

"How do I get to Oregon?"

"Go out to Independence and get on the trail. Even if anybody in Independence can't put you on it, which they can, you won't miss it.

Last time I was through, it was a few miles wide in some places and I expect it's wider now. With all the wagons that have gone through, people would have to branch out to find gra.s.s for their stock. Follow the Trail after you get on it and you'll be all right. But May's the time to start for Oregon. Unless you want to travel alone, you should wait until next spring."

"Can a lone wagon get through?"

"Sure, but it can be almighty lonesome. The prairies are a right sizable place to be in all by yourself. But you can do it alone. Some of the Mormon companies pushed hand carts all the way from the Missouri, and there were plenty of women pus.h.i.+ng right along with the men. But, starting this late, you won't get through to Oregon this summer."

"How far can I get?"