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the sun, eat, pack
up and saddle up and ride, make camp just before dark, eat again, gab
a while, sleep. And ford the rivers, the Deschutes, the John Day, the
Umatilla, and maybe take time to wash the dirt off.
    The trail, so far as they followed it, was empty of
travelers. The Oregon-bound had passed this way, the men, the women,
the children, the wagons and livestock, and had pushed on by water or
trail to the promised land that he and Summers were putting behind
them.
    They had met some Indians along the Umatilla, a
tatter-assed, beggarly bunch to whom Summers paid little attention
except to call back, "Watch your outfit, Hig. They got quick
hands."
    The days and nights were the same but the country
changed, from forest and ferns to pieces of prairie and cottonwood
patches. It was good to take note of them all but bad not to know
what was seen. What's the name of this plant? What kind of tree's
that? A damn shame that a man went through life ignorant of the life
around him. Too late, though, to do anything about that.
    At the edge of the Blue Mountains Summers slanted
them to the left, to the northeast. He pulled up where water ran from
a spring and let the horses drink. He pointed. "Whitman
Mission's over there a piece, and, I hear, a fort. Can't see 'em from
here."
    " You aim to skip both?"
    " Palaver would just hold us up. Besides, we got
what we need."
    True enough, Higgins thought, though they'd have to
find game for the pot. The list of things bought at the Dalles ran
through his head. Two blankets to add to their bedrolls. A couple of
plugs of cheap tobacco. One jug of whiskey. A square of canvas big
enough for a tent. Powder and ball. A packet of salt. And for Higgins
himself Summers bought a short heavy coat like his own. He called it
a capote. He added warm wool pants and the Kentucky rifle. For good
measure the man had thrown in a piece of salted deer meat and, at
Higgins' hint, some corn meal and a trifle of honey. That wasn't all.
"In them old felts you men will freeze your goddamn ears off,"
the man had said. "Now I got just the right thing. Can't sell
'em to sod-lovers, not in rainy country, so I'm makin' a gift."
He poked through a pile of goods and came out with two coonskin caps.
And he wasn't from Kentucky or Tennessee, huh?
    As they were about to leave the Dalles, Higgins had
said to Summers, "Dick, how in hell am I going to pay you back?
You spend money like you got no use for it."
    " Used it, didn't I? And where we're goin' it
don't count for much. As for payin' me back, I'll worry about that
when my taxes come due."
    That meant never, of course, and all Higgins could
think to say was, "Well, shit. Thanks."
    So there, day by day, was Summers riding ahead,
pushing his horse to a good clip. If he ever got tired, he didn't
show it. The damn man was made of whang leather. At the end of the
day he'd say, "Best just set a spell, Hig. You look fagged. I"ll
tend to things."
    But a man couldn't let him do that, not if he had any
pride, not when he must be twenty years younger.
    Sometimes Higgins wondered why he trailed along.
Sure, to get yonder. To see things not seen before. Just to mosey
along, careless, and think free and easy. To be away from folks and
close to God if there was one. All the same, he wouldn't be where he
was but for the man that Summers was.
    They lived on meat, deer meat mostly. It was Summers
who shot it. He could see game where there couldn't be any. A time or
two they ate rabbit or fool hen that Higgins bagged with his old
scattergun. They were easy targets even if a man aimed at the head
so's not to get birdshot in the carcass.
    One morning Higgins mixed corn meal with melted meat
fat, added a dab of honey, poured in hot water and made what his maw
called corn dodger. Eating it, Summers smiled and said, "Please
to pass the butter and buttermilk."
    That was the morning Summers heated water, took from
his possible sack a hunk of homemade soap brown as dung and then
started to sharpen his