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take me long to close the gap.
    It was a lovely day, not too hot or too cold right then and I got to feeling if I could figure out how to eat on the fly I might make it. I left those mules to follow on their own accord and climbed back into the wagon to check what food I had. The beans were soaked and ready to cook; I'd fix them tonight regardless of how tired I was.
    For now I fixed up a mixture of uncooked corn meal, water and sorghum molasses and drank it. It wasn't too bad and made my stomach happy. I climbed back up front to see my mules were still following the train but they had lagged quite a bit and had to be urged to close up ranks again. I had brought my comb up with me and combed out that long mane of hair I had before covering it over again with my hat and scarf.
    People came by to visit on and off all day and to offer their sympathy, so I didn't get much rest. To some folks, visiting is relaxing, but I've never been that big on words and they don't come that easy to me. But it was thoughtful of them to make the effort and I thanked them for their words.
    Even better, when Hedda came by at the noon rest, she brought me a hunk of bread and cheese. And a message.
    It seemed the word was out not to help me any more than they would help another man. Thus I could expect help if my wagon wheel busted and another needed to be put on, but I would have to pull my own weight and lift my own burdens as I had claimed I could.
    I would also have to hunt my own meat and gather my own fuel. Axel and Hedda figured Mr. Hayes was planning to force me into marriage, preferably with his son, Elliot, and they were very upset.
    Doing double work was wearing me down already and I remembered how hard it had been on the mountain farm with Pa gone and Ma sick. This was worse, for then at least there was time to eat. I wolfed down Hedda's food, pondering the situation, and didn't like it at all.
    "You could leave this wagon and come with us, Mallory," she suggested. It was kind of her, but she and Axel were overly crowded the way it was. I had learned that during our long journey to the Missouri River.
    Back then, with nothing, I had been able to help them and them me. But now that I had possessions I was tied to them. I could give up the wagon and Uncle Dem's plow and seed and food, but then I'd be right back to where I started.
    A woman alone had a hard time of it in the west, but a woman without any assets whatsoever would find it impossible. I would be a constant burden to them that way. This way...well if I had to, I could always trade or sell Uncle Dem's outfit for enough money to get me started somewhere.
    It would even buy me a husband, I thought. There were several young men in that train driving beat-up wagons that would marry me instantly to get their hands on that outfit. The wagon alone was a prime possession, better than Mr. Hayes' and better than Calvert Smith's and they were both well off.
    Uncle Dem had been an artist with tools and his work reflected it. He had built the wagon himself, over a period of a year, making something that would last for years. I wasn't about to leave it on the plains, and the man I sold it to would have to come up with enough money to persuade me to part with it.
    Cash money was scarce. There would be no one in this train able to buy this outfit from me. If any of these lads wanted it they would have to marry me. Knowing this helped me understand what was happening over the next three days.
    I wouldn't see nothing but dust from those wagons all day long and no help either morning or night with any of my labor. I'd gotten my beans cooked and was living on them, eating them cold all day and cooking them anew at night. My mules were used to following by now—trail broke—and I would pick up buffalo chips for fuel.
    Trouble was, so was everyone else in the train, and I was the last wagon. They would send their kids scampering out for them and the women would pick up the closer ones and throw them