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going, taking the road that led west from Wiota. Mr. Bunderly asked me to walk beside his oxen team (with a prod stick). He sat in the driver’s seat, reins in hands, his sad-eyed wife by his side. Miss Eliza began in the wagon, but she soon got out and started walking by my side, talking nonstop about her pet pig, Apollo, who trotted at our heels. She told me all about what she hoped to do out in the Cherry Creek diggings.
    When I gave but scant reply, she fell into silence.
    “Mr. Early?” she suddenly asked. “Do you not care for young ladies?”
    I felt my face grow hot. “Don’t know anything about them.”
    She made a quick glance back at her parents, and then she whispered, “Mr. Early, my mother keeps telling me to be ladylike, but I say it will only prove to be a hindrance in the uncivilized lands to which we go. Have you any opinion on that subject?”
    Hardly knowing what to say, I fetched up with, “I suppose you’re fine the way you are.”
    She laughed, tossed her red hair back, scooped up the squealing pig, and left me.
    No, sir, I hardly knew what to think of such a creature.
    The weather proved decent when we began, but in late afternoon a violent rainstorm came down. My first thought was that was good for our farm. In haste, I helped us camp near a village whose name I didn’t know. I don’t think we had gone but five miles.
    When the storm passed over, lightning cracked close enough to send the milk cows scattering. I was told to go after them, which I did. When I had led them back, I was asked to light a fire in the rain so a meal could be cooked. It took a while, but I did that, too. That’s when I began to grasp how little Mrs. Bunderly, with her poor health, would do. But since it was considered women’s work to do the cooking, Lizzy—without complaints—was the one who dodged the smoke and set forth the bacon, corn cake, beans, and coffee, which were good enough. She took pains to feed her mother first.
    Chores done, I crawled beneath the wagon on the wet ground and wrapped myself in a blanket provided by Mr. Bunderly, for such was the bed he had promised in his notice.
    Lizzy, who had brought the blanket to me, squatted down and peered in. “Wish they’d let me sleep under here,” she announced, before retiring to the comfort of the wagon.
    I began to consider that she might be daft.
    May 3
    The day dawned agreeably and so we started early. Then one of the wagons (Mr. Hicksby’s) had to stay back so his brake lever could be adjusted. Mr. Mawr showed himself to be a forceful man. Though he was a hired hand, he debated with Mr. Wynkoop, insisting we move forward. Mr. Bunderly took no part in the debate. Whether Mr. Mawr was right or wrong, I don’t know; but his will prevailed, and we went on.
    I kept alert regarding this Mr. Mawr. He was a large, imposing man with broad shoulders, clean shaven enough to show a constant scowl. Dressed himself in buckskin. Now and again he took note of me, a nod here and there, but we exchanged no words. That was fine with me. I tried to convince myself that perhaps I was wrong: that he had no particular interest in me or Jesse.
    All told, that second day we went about seven miles and camped near a slow creek.
    May 4
    Shortly after we started, we came upon a half-mile of marsh. Though we tried to go forward, our wagons sunk up to their axles. We had to wait till Mr. Hicksby’s wagon joined us. He grumbled and said we should have waited before starting across the marsh. In the end we had to empty the wagons, then haul long and hard to pull the wagons forward one at a time. Then reload them. Miss Eliza helped.
    That day I believe we did not go a mile.
    It was odd to be with strangers all the time. I’d forget their names, or they mine. Different ways of talking, too. I said “bucket.” Mr. Griffin said “pail.” Mrs. Wynkoop was wont to complain about hardship. You had to stand close to Mr. Hicksby to hear his soft talking. In the miles we had