Read Online The Journey of Josephine Cain by Nancy Moser - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nancy Moser
Ads: Link
The sky is a bowl of blue, rimming the land on all sides. Periodically we pass piles of construction debris, proof that the line is stretching out before us, waiting for the rails
.
He read it over, nodding. She’d like to hear about wildflowers. Back home she was so proud of the zinnias and asters that she’d planted in a rickety window box.
General Cain says we’ve reached the 100-mile mark. That’s a nice round number, but it’s more important than that. Congress gave us a deadline. We needed to measure 100 miles of track by July 1—with watering facilities, fuel facilities, and sidetracks, all good enough to have passenger and freight run out of Omaha—or the Union Pacific would lose its charter. And we’ve made it. I’m hoping my back and shoulders hold out for the next hundred miles
.
He hadn’t meant to mention his aches and pains and considered crossing it out. But he left it. It didn’t hurt to have her know how hard he was working.
For her.
Chapter Six
“
Le Grand Isle?”
Raleigh asked, as the track they laid reached an existing town that was just sitting on the prairie, waiting for them to arrive.
“That’s what some French fur trader called it seventy years ago. We’re supposed to call it Grand Island,” Hudson said.
Oscar added, “It’s a forty-mile island in the Platte River.”
Hudson liked the sounds of that. He missed water. Pittsburgh was built on a river. “I wouldn’t mind doing a bit o’ fishing at the end of the day.”
Another worker shook his head. “We all need to be careful with that river. It’s not like most. I’ve heard it said that it’s two miles wide and will have six inches of water sitting over six feet of dangerous sand. It’s too thin to walk on, too thick to drink, too shallow to put a boat on, too deep for safe fording, too yellow to wash in, and too pale to paint with.”
Hudson laughed. “Sounds pretty useless—as rivers go.”
“Which makes me wonder why we’re following it all the way to Wyoming.”
Hudson shrugged. But he’d heard a reason. “It’s a path. Along with the wagon ruts of the Mormons who’ve come before. When you have hundreds of miles of open land, some path is better than starting out from noth—”
“Indians!”
Every eye looked to the south. There, near the river, was a band of more than a dozen Indians on horses.
“Guns! Get the rifles!”
Workers scrambled back into the bunk cars where a cache of rifles was stored by the ceiling. Within seconds a line of men formed from inside the car to out, handing the guns down the line into eager hands.
Some men climbed on top of the rail cars, lying low with guns pointed. Every man put the train between them and the Indians.
Someone up top yelled out, “General! Come back!”
Hudson and Raleigh hopped over the coupler between two cars, needing to see.
General Cain was riding out to meet the Indians. “What is he doing?” Hudson asked.
Raleigh crossed himself, mumbling a prayer. “He’s one brave man.”
Or stupid
.
As one moment moved into the next, it became apparent that these Indians were not going to attack. And even more surprising was the fact that the general seemed to know the lead man. They spoke back and forth, and . . .
They shook hands.
Then they all rode toward the end of the line, toward the place where Hudson and the others would be laying track.
When General Cain turned around and saw the workers and the guns, he raised a hand. “At ease, gentlemen. Spotted Tail is a friend. He and his men would like to see how we lay track.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Raleigh said.
Hudson watched the Indians surround the track on their horses. “They’ve told us not all the Indians are dangerous. The Pawnee are friendly, and the Sioux. It’s the Cheyenne we have to worry about. And the hotheads in every tribe.”
“How can we tell them apart?” Raleigh asked.
“I have no idea,” Hudson said. “But I think we’ll have to learn.”
Hudson tried
.
He read it over, nodding. She’d like to hear about wildflowers. Back home she was so proud of the zinnias and asters that she’d planted in a rickety window box.
General Cain says we’ve reached the 100-mile mark. That’s a nice round number, but it’s more important than that. Congress gave us a deadline. We needed to measure 100 miles of track by July 1—with watering facilities, fuel facilities, and sidetracks, all good enough to have passenger and freight run out of Omaha—or the Union Pacific would lose its charter. And we’ve made it. I’m hoping my back and shoulders hold out for the next hundred miles
.
He hadn’t meant to mention his aches and pains and considered crossing it out. But he left it. It didn’t hurt to have her know how hard he was working.
For her.
Chapter Six
“
Le Grand Isle?”
Raleigh asked, as the track they laid reached an existing town that was just sitting on the prairie, waiting for them to arrive.
“That’s what some French fur trader called it seventy years ago. We’re supposed to call it Grand Island,” Hudson said.
Oscar added, “It’s a forty-mile island in the Platte River.”
Hudson liked the sounds of that. He missed water. Pittsburgh was built on a river. “I wouldn’t mind doing a bit o’ fishing at the end of the day.”
Another worker shook his head. “We all need to be careful with that river. It’s not like most. I’ve heard it said that it’s two miles wide and will have six inches of water sitting over six feet of dangerous sand. It’s too thin to walk on, too thick to drink, too shallow to put a boat on, too deep for safe fording, too yellow to wash in, and too pale to paint with.”
Hudson laughed. “Sounds pretty useless—as rivers go.”
“Which makes me wonder why we’re following it all the way to Wyoming.”
Hudson shrugged. But he’d heard a reason. “It’s a path. Along with the wagon ruts of the Mormons who’ve come before. When you have hundreds of miles of open land, some path is better than starting out from noth—”
“Indians!”
Every eye looked to the south. There, near the river, was a band of more than a dozen Indians on horses.
“Guns! Get the rifles!”
Workers scrambled back into the bunk cars where a cache of rifles was stored by the ceiling. Within seconds a line of men formed from inside the car to out, handing the guns down the line into eager hands.
Some men climbed on top of the rail cars, lying low with guns pointed. Every man put the train between them and the Indians.
Someone up top yelled out, “General! Come back!”
Hudson and Raleigh hopped over the coupler between two cars, needing to see.
General Cain was riding out to meet the Indians. “What is he doing?” Hudson asked.
Raleigh crossed himself, mumbling a prayer. “He’s one brave man.”
Or stupid
.
As one moment moved into the next, it became apparent that these Indians were not going to attack. And even more surprising was the fact that the general seemed to know the lead man. They spoke back and forth, and . . .
They shook hands.
Then they all rode toward the end of the line, toward the place where Hudson and the others would be laying track.
When General Cain turned around and saw the workers and the guns, he raised a hand. “At ease, gentlemen. Spotted Tail is a friend. He and his men would like to see how we lay track.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Raleigh said.
Hudson watched the Indians surround the track on their horses. “They’ve told us not all the Indians are dangerous. The Pawnee are friendly, and the Sioux. It’s the Cheyenne we have to worry about. And the hotheads in every tribe.”
“How can we tell them apart?” Raleigh asked.
“I have no idea,” Hudson said. “But I think we’ll have to learn.”
Hudson tried
Similar Books
