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And the Lord ha' mercy on your soul!" Now the arrival of so large a new contingent as this of the Liberty train under young Banion made some sort of post-election ratification necessary, so that Wingate felt it incumbent to call the head men of the late comers into consultation if for no better than reasons of courtesy.
Threading the way past many feast fires, he did find the Wingate wagons at length, did find Molly Wingate. But there his memory failed him. With a skinny hand at Sam Woodhull's collar, he flung him forward. "Here, Miss Molly," said he, "this thing is somethin' Major Banion sont in ter ye by me. We find hit stuck in the mud. He said ye're welcome."
"Yes," rejoined Banion. "But we came near losing it and more. It was Woodhull, Jim. He followed us in." "Yes, I know. His wagons was not fur behind ye on the Humboldt. He left right atter ye did. He made trouble, huh? He'll make no more? Is that hit, huh?" Bill Jackson slapped the stock of his rifle in silence. Bridger nodded. He had been close to tragedies all his life.
"What's up?" demanded Banion. "Anything worse?" "Yes. The old fool's had a row over the ferryboat. Hit'd take two weeks to git us all over that way, anyhow. He's declared fer fordin' the hull outfit, lock, stock an' barrel. To save a few dollars, he's a goin' to lose a lot o' loads an' drownd a lot o' womern an' babies that's what he's goin' to do.
I think I'm the wickedest woman in all the world, and the most unhappy. Oh, Will Banion, I I love a thief! Even as you are, I love you! I guess that's why I sent for you, after all. "Go find the scout Jim Bridger!" she broke out suddenly. "He's going on ahead. Go on to his fort with him he'll have wagons and horses. He knows the way. Go with Bridger, Will! Don't go to Oregon! I'm afraid for you.
But maybe the emigrants themselves knew about these singular matters, or would when they had read their letters. Yes, of course, the Missouri movers had left a lot of letters, some for their folks back East next year maybe, but some for people in the train. Banion, Woodhull had they left any word? Why, yes, both of them. The trader smiled. One each. To the same person, yes. Well, lucky girl!
"You've not escaped," said Banion, coldly now. "Rope him, Jackson." The thin, soft hide cord fell around the man's neck, tightened. "Now," shrilled Jackson, "I'll give ye a dog's death!" He sprang to the side of the black Spaniard, who by training had settled back, tightening the rope.
By now the crowd surged between the two men, voices rose. "He struck me!" broke out Woodhull. "Let me go! He struck me!" "I know he did," said the intervener. "I heard it. I don't know why. But whether it was over the girl or not, we ain't goin' to see this other feller shot down till we know more about hit. Ye can meet " "Of course, any time." Banion was drawing on his glove.
Are you for Oregon?" "Yes. I seen ye comin'. Thought I'd projeck some. Who's that back of ye?" He extended an imperative skinny finger toward Jackson. "If it hain't Bill Jackson hit's his ghost!" "The same to you, Jim. How!" The two shook hands without dismounting. Jackson turned grinning to Banion.
Will Banion pulled back the flap, stooped and entered. "How!" exclaimed Bridger, and with fist smitten on the blankets made the sign to "Sit!" Banion for a time also smoked in silence, knowing the moody ways of the old-time men. "Ye came to see me about her, Miss Molly, didn't ye?" began Bridger after a long time, kicking the embers of the tepee fire together with the toe of his moccasin.
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