So we set out upon our doubtful journey, our saddle-horses
in front of the lumbering wagon.
We had five miles of fairly level road through open forest along the
rim, and then we struck such a rocky jumble of downhill grade that the
bundles fell off the wagon. They had to be tied on. When we came to a
long slow slant uphill, a road of loose rocks, we made about one mile
an hour. This slow travel worked havoc upon my mind. I wanted to
hurry. I wanted to get out of the wilds. That awful rumor about
influenza occupied my mind and struck cold fear into my heart. What
of my family? No making the best of this! Slowly we toiled on. Sunset
overtook us at a rocky ledge which had to be surmounted. With lassos
on saddle horses in front of the two teams, all pulling hard, we
overcame that obstacle. But at the next little hill, which we
encountered about twilight, one of the team horses balked. Urging him,
whipping him, served no purpose; and it had bad effect upon the other
horses. Darkness was upon us with the camp-site Edd knew of still
miles to the fore. No grass, no water for the horses! But we had to
camp there. All hands set to work. It really was fun--it should have
been fine for me--but my gloomy obsession to hurry obscured my mind.
I marveled at old Doyle, over seventy, after that long, hard day,
quickly and efficiently cooking a good hot supper.
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