what he told her to do while he
was gone. He warned her he might be away for some time. He said she
shouldn’t make a fire after dark. Even a day time fire shouldn't be
very smoky. That would disclose her location if Indians happened to
be in the area.
If only the horse
hadn’t run off, thought Miranda. She
rubbed a few strands of brown hair back along side her head as she
took in her surroundings. She liked what she saw better than any of
the countryside they had traveled through.
At least, it was a sunny day full
of bright promise. Miranda busied herself doing laundry in the
creek which she spread over some bushes to dry.
She made a cake in the camp fire
oven while she waited for Anselm. Toward evening, she held her hand
over her eyes and studied the distant horizon, hoping she'd see
Anselm with the horse in tow. That was when she plan to start
supper.
By the time dark took over, Miranda
decided Anselm probably camped out somewhere until morning. That is
if he caught the horse yet. No need to start a fire to cook. She'd
worry about fixing a meal when Anselm came back.
Anselm heard in Portland the valley
had its share of wild animals. Since they tended to prowl at night,
Anselm told her to get in the wagon before dark and stay there
until he came back or until daylight. Which ever came
first.
Twilight set off the whippoorwill
cries. Such a lonesome call they seemed to make now that she was by
herself. In the middle of nowhere and alone, Miranda felt as
lonesome as those whippoorwills.
For the first time in a long time
an overwhelming homesickness came over her. She had second thoughts
about this trip. She longed to see her family again. She wished she
hadn’t agreed so quickly to pick up stakes and leave Minnesota.
Perhaps after the other farmers left, Anselm would have lost his
desire to go west. Now she would never know for sure.
Four months was long enough for her
to be away from her folks. She wondered if her mother and father
were well. Were they missing her? They would be so proud to know
she was having their grandchild.
After a walk around the grove,
Miranda watched the western horizon fill with red streaks as the
sun sank. It would be dark soon so she'd better take Anselm's
advice while she could still see what she was doing.
She started for the wagon and froze
when she realized how close she was to the source of their problem.
Stretched out in the grass lay a cougar, teeth bared in an ugly
grin and eyes sightless, with a gaping, bloody hole Anselm had shot
in his side. She felt sorry about that beautiful animal’s death. If
the large cat had only stayed away from the clearing for the night,
he’d be loping among the trees now, searching for a
meal.
Just the sight of the dead cougar
made a frightened knot in the pit of her stomach. They were asleep
in the tent, which wasn't a very safe place, when that hungry
cougar was on the prowl. He might have picked them to prey on,
before he was through hunting.
The remembrance of his blood
curdling scream as his long, sinewy body lunged out of the tree on
to the back of the dozing horse was enough to bring Miranda and
Anselm out of a sound sleep.
Anselm shot the cougar before he
injured the horse, but the bay's fright was enough to make the
horse break loose and run away.
Just the thought of that wild
animal's horrifying scream hasten Miranda's climb into the wagon.
She eased down on the pile of quilts, hugged her legs to her, and
relaxed back in the small space between the coffin and stack of
canned food. She untied her bonnet and slipped it off her
head.
On edge now that she didn't have
anything to occupy her mind, she got up and peeked out the canvas
opening again. With her ear cocked, she listened intently for horse
hooves or her husband’s good natured whistling. It had been a long
day since he took off across the prairie, following the horse
tracks. Now her idleness and loneliness made time crawl.
Tree frogs commenced to sing. Wings
fluttered on
was gone. He warned her he might be away for some time. He said she
shouldn’t make a fire after dark. Even a day time fire shouldn't be
very smoky. That would disclose her location if Indians happened to
be in the area.
If only the horse
hadn’t run off, thought Miranda. She
rubbed a few strands of brown hair back along side her head as she
took in her surroundings. She liked what she saw better than any of
the countryside they had traveled through.
At least, it was a sunny day full
of bright promise. Miranda busied herself doing laundry in the
creek which she spread over some bushes to dry.
She made a cake in the camp fire
oven while she waited for Anselm. Toward evening, she held her hand
over her eyes and studied the distant horizon, hoping she'd see
Anselm with the horse in tow. That was when she plan to start
supper.
By the time dark took over, Miranda
decided Anselm probably camped out somewhere until morning. That is
if he caught the horse yet. No need to start a fire to cook. She'd
worry about fixing a meal when Anselm came back.
Anselm heard in Portland the valley
had its share of wild animals. Since they tended to prowl at night,
Anselm told her to get in the wagon before dark and stay there
until he came back or until daylight. Which ever came
first.
Twilight set off the whippoorwill
cries. Such a lonesome call they seemed to make now that she was by
herself. In the middle of nowhere and alone, Miranda felt as
lonesome as those whippoorwills.
For the first time in a long time
an overwhelming homesickness came over her. She had second thoughts
about this trip. She longed to see her family again. She wished she
hadn’t agreed so quickly to pick up stakes and leave Minnesota.
Perhaps after the other farmers left, Anselm would have lost his
desire to go west. Now she would never know for sure.
Four months was long enough for her
to be away from her folks. She wondered if her mother and father
were well. Were they missing her? They would be so proud to know
she was having their grandchild.
After a walk around the grove,
Miranda watched the western horizon fill with red streaks as the
sun sank. It would be dark soon so she'd better take Anselm's
advice while she could still see what she was doing.
She started for the wagon and froze
when she realized how close she was to the source of their problem.
Stretched out in the grass lay a cougar, teeth bared in an ugly
grin and eyes sightless, with a gaping, bloody hole Anselm had shot
in his side. She felt sorry about that beautiful animal’s death. If
the large cat had only stayed away from the clearing for the night,
he’d be loping among the trees now, searching for a
meal.
Just the sight of the dead cougar
made a frightened knot in the pit of her stomach. They were asleep
in the tent, which wasn't a very safe place, when that hungry
cougar was on the prowl. He might have picked them to prey on,
before he was through hunting.
The remembrance of his blood
curdling scream as his long, sinewy body lunged out of the tree on
to the back of the dozing horse was enough to bring Miranda and
Anselm out of a sound sleep.
Anselm shot the cougar before he
injured the horse, but the bay's fright was enough to make the
horse break loose and run away.
Just the thought of that wild
animal's horrifying scream hasten Miranda's climb into the wagon.
She eased down on the pile of quilts, hugged her legs to her, and
relaxed back in the small space between the coffin and stack of
canned food. She untied her bonnet and slipped it off her
head.
On edge now that she didn't have
anything to occupy her mind, she got up and peeked out the canvas
opening again. With her ear cocked, she listened intently for horse
hooves or her husband’s good natured whistling. It had been a long
day since he took off across the prairie, following the horse
tracks. Now her idleness and loneliness made time crawl.
Tree frogs commenced to sing. Wings
fluttered on
Similar Books
