As they were going off, Newt saw that the tail of Lippy’s old brown coat had gotten pinched in the wagon seat—which explained his not having jumped. The wagon tipped straight down, bounced once, and turned completely over just as it hit the water. The mules, still hitched to it, fell backwards on top of the mess. All four wagon wheels were spinning in the air when Newt and the Raineys jumped off their horses. The trouble was, they had no idea what to do next.
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Jim Rainey was in the rear, and, thinking to be helpful, turned back to try and head the mules. In fact, the mules refused to be headed, and all Jim accomplished was to turn them out of the easy track where the herd had crossed, which caused them to strike the creek at a place where the bank dropped off about three feet. Newt saw there was going to be a terrible wreck, but short of shooting the mules, had no way to stop it. What he couldn’t understand was why Lippy didn’t jump. He sat on the seat, frozen and helpless, as the mules raced right off the cutbank.
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The herd had just crossed a little creek when Newt heard stock running and looked back to see the wagon racing for the creek like Comanches were after it. Bol was not on the seat, either—the mules ran unchecked. Lippy was on the seat, but he didn’t have the reins and couldn’t stop the team.
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“Dern you, why can’t you talk?” he said one night as she was making the campfire. Deets, who stopped by their camp almost every day to see that they were all right, had shown her how to make a fire. He had also taught her how to pack the mule and do various other chores that Jake mostly neglected.
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“Thank you, men,” he said. “I believe if my mule hadn’t got out soon, he would have learned to live on fish. They’re self- reliant creatures.” “I’m July Johnson and this is Joe,” July said. “You didn’t need to throw away your baggage.” “I’ve suffered no loss,” the man said. “I’m glad I found a river to unload that stuff in. Maybe the fish and the tadpoles will make better use of it than I have.” “Well, I’ve never seen a fish that used a bedroll,” July said.
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“Let me have your rope,” July said to Joe. He tied their two ropes together and managed to fling the man a line. After that it was no great trouble to drag the horse and the pack mule out. The man waded out with them.
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From Roscoe, Joe had heard terrible stories about quicksand—in the stories, men and horses and even wagons were slowly swallowed up. He had suspected the stories were exaggerated, and the man and his animals proved it. All might be bogged, but none were sinking. The man wore a tall beaver hat and a long frock coat. Both animals had numerous parcels tied to them, and the man was amusing himself by untying the parcels and pitching them into the river. One by one they began to float away. To their astonishment he even threw away his bedroll.“The man must be a lunatic,” July said. “He must think that horse will float if he gets off some weight. That horse ain’t gonna float.” The man noticed them and gave a friendly wave, then proceeded to unburden the mule of most of its pack. Some floated and some merely lay in the shallow water.
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“I guess that’s the Red,” July said. “That means we’re about to Texas.” When they rode up to the banks of the river they were greeted by an amazing sight. Though running freely, the river was shallow and evidently boggy. Evidence for the bogginess was visible in the form of a tall man over toward the far bank. He was standing in knee-high water, between a gaunt horse and a little brown pack mule, both of which had sunk past their hocks in the river mud.
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“Why, I guess so,” Louisa said. “I’ve put up with worse than you, and probably will again.” Roscoe rode off, though Memphis didn’t take kindly to having the tarp flopping at his flank, so he had to get down and retie the roll. When he finally got it tied and remounted to ride on, he saw that Louisa had already hitched her mules to a stump and was giving them loud encouragement as they strained at the harness. It seemed to him he had never met such a curious woman. He gave her a wave that she didn’t see, and rode on west with very mixed feelings. One moment he felt rather pleased and rode light in the saddle, but the next moment the light feeling would turn heavy. A time or two Roscoe could barely hold back the tears, he felt so sad of a sudden—and it would have been hard to say whether the sadness came because of having to leave Louisa or because of the uncertain journey that lay ahead.
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“Roscoe, you’ve went to waste long enough,” she said. “Let’s give it a tryout.” “Well, I wouldn’t know how to try,” Roscoe said. “I’ve been a bachelor all my life.” Louisa straightened up. “Men are about as worthless a race of people as I’ve ever encountered,” she said. “Look at the situation a minute. You’re running off to catch a sheriff you probably can’t find, who’s in the most dangerous state in the union, and if you do find him he’ll just go off and try to find a wife that don’t want to live with him anyway. You’ll probably get scalped before it’s all over, or hung, or a Mexican will get you with a pigsticker. And it’ll all be to try and mend something that won’t mend anyway. Now I own a section of land here and I’m a healthy woman. I’m willing to take you, although you’ve got no experience either at farming or matrimony. You’d be useful to me, whereas you won’t be a bit of use to that sheriff or that town you work for either. I’ll teach you how to handle an ax and a mule team, and guarantee you all the corn bread you can eat. We might even have some peas to go with it later in the year. I can cook peas. Plus I’ve got one of the few feather mattresses in this part of the country, so it’d be easy sleeping. And now you’re scared to try. If that ain’t cowardice, I don’t know what is.” Roscoe had never expected to hear such a speech, and he had no idea how to reply to it. Louisa’s approach to marriage didn’t seem to resemble any that he had observed, though it was true he had not spent much time studying the approaches to matrimony. Still, he had only ridden into Louisa’s field an hour before sundown, and it was not yet much more than an hour after dark. Her proposal seemed hasty to him by any standards.
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“I got the solution to both our problems,” Louisa said. “You let that sheriff find his own wife and stay here and we’ll get married.” She said it in the same confident, slightly loud voice that she always seemed to use—after a day of yelling at mules it was probably hard to speak in a quiet voice.
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“No,” Roscoe admitted. “I generally eat at the saloon or else go home with July.” “I can’t neither,” Louisa said. “Never interested me. What I like is farming. I’d farm day and night if it didn’t take so much coal oil.” That seemed curious. Roscoe had never heard of a woman farmer, though plenty of black women picked cotton during the season. They came to a good-sized clearing without a stump in it. There was a large cabin and a rail corral. Louisa unharnessed the mules and put them in the pen.
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Louisa took off her hat and fanned herself with it as they followed the mules down one edge of the field. Roscoe led his horse.
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“Roscoe, you’re invited to supper,” she said, before he could make up his mind to go. “I bet you can eat better than you chop.” “Oh, I ought to get on after July,” Roscoe said, halfheartedly. “His wife run off.” “I meant to run off, before Jim went and died,” Louisa said. “If I had, I wouldn’t have had to bury him. Jim was fat. I had to hitch a mule to him to drag him out of the house. Spent all day pulling up stumps and then had to work half the nightplanting a husband. How old are you getting to be?” “Why, forty-eight, I guess,” Roscoe said, surprised to be asked.
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“No, we didn’t get on,” Louisa said. “He drank whiskey and talked the Bible too, and I like a man that does one thing or the other. I told him once he could fall dead for all I care, and it wasn’t three weeks before the fool just did it.” Though Roscoe had been hopeful of staying the night, he was beginning to lose his inclination. Louisa Brooks was almost as scary as wild pigs, in his view. The mules drug the stump over to where the others were and Roscoe walked over and helped Louisa untie it.
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The woman didn’t even look around. The mules had the stump moving, and she kept at them, popping them with the reins and yelling at them as if they were deaf, while Roscoe lay there and watched the big stump slowly come out of the hole where it had been for so many years. A couple of small roots still held, but the mules kept going and the stump was soon free.
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While he was half blinded by the sweat, the mules gave a big pull and one of the roots that he’d been about to cut suddenly slipped out of the ground, uncurled and lashed at him like a snake. The root hit him just above the knees and knocked him backward, causing him to drop the ax again. He tried to regain his balance but lost it and fell flat on his back.
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The woman looked disgusted. “If I had a piece of rawhide I’d tie it to your hand,” she said. “Then the two of you could flop around all you wanted to. What town hired you to be deputy sheriff anyway?” “Why, Fort Smith,” Roscoe said. “July Johnson’s the sheriff.” “I wish he’d been the one that showed up,” the woman said. “Maybe he’d know how to chop a root.” Then she began to pop the mules again and Roscoe continued to whack at the roots, squeezing the ax tightly so it wouldn’t slip loose again. In no time he was sweating worse than the woman, sweat dripping into his eyes and off his nose. It had been years since he had sweated much, and he didn’t enjoy the sensation.
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The woman was looking Memphis over while she caught her breath. “We might could hitch that horse to the team,” she said. “My mules ain’t particular.” “Why, this horse wouldn’t know what to do if it was hitched,” Roscoe said. “It’s a riding horse.” “Oh, I see,” the woman said. “You mean it’s dumb or too lazy to work.” It seemed the world was full of outspoken women. The woman farmer reminded Roscoe a little of Peach.
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Roscoe had little interest in the work, but he did have an interest in the presence of the farmer, which must mean that a cabin was somewhere near. Maybe he could sleep with a roof over his head for one more night. He rode over and stopped a respectful distance away, so as not to frighten the mule team. The stump was only partly out—quite a few of its thick roots were still running into the ground.
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The mules were tugging and pulling at a big stump, with the farmer yelling at them to pull harder.
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Now the man was trying to get the clearing even clearer by pulling up the stumps, using a team of mules for the purpose.
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“You oughtn’t to provoke me like that,” he said, looking a little hangdog. He tried putting his hands on her, but Lorena shrugged them off and went to the other side of the pack mule.
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“I’ve got to go,” Augustus said. “Captain Call will be mad as a hornet if I don’t get back. Much obliged for the breakfast.” “That’s two you owe us,” Jake said. “I hope you’ll ride into town and buy us a feed when you’re up that way.” “Why, the two of you won’t be in town,” Augustus said. He trotted down to where Lorena was quietly packing the mule..
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AS SOON AS THE SUN got high enough to be warm, Lorena spread their gear on trees and bushes to dry. It seemed astonishing to her that she was alive and unhurt after such a night. Her spirits rose rapidly and she was even reconciled to having to ride the pack mule. But Jake wouldn’t hear of that. His own spirits were low.
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