The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [38]
The embers of our fire faded and died, the moon rose higher and diminished to the size of a small coin. Mr. Graves and Thomas slept on, Mr. Graves, it appeared, in perfect comfort, as his loud, moist snores were uninterrupted and nearly mechanical in their regularity. My husband had a worse time, often turning and jerking against the hard ground, or sighing, or groaning. But I thought he was sleeping, at least lightly, while I seemed to myself wide awake, though in retrospect, I would say, my anxious resolve to keep my eye on that box indicated that I, too, was partly dreaming. Nevertheless, I did hear the very first approach of men on horses, the only ones since early in the evening. After some minutes of only the clopping sound of shod hooves, one of them said in a low voice, "Now what do we have here?" The tones were distinctly Tennessee, and I, who had always expected to be bold and enterprising, closed my eyes at once and played possum. The men were not drunk, or if they were, they were very quietly drunk, because another man answered as softly, "Found us some Yankees, huh?"
"Could be."
Then a third horse came up, and this man was drunk, because he started shouting, "Git up, you G— d— Yankees! Sun’s up early this morning! Git up! Haw haw haw! Time to greet the G— d— day!"
Thomas was on his feet in half a second, no playing possum for him, but Mr. Graves took a moment, and then only sat up in his blankets. I opened my eyes. It was nowhere near dawn. Even though I hadn’t been asleep, I felt shocked and groggy—my flesh seemed to be ringing with the suddenness of the intrusion. Then I felt a hard edge like the end of a pole poking into my side. It was the barrel of a long rifle. One of the men had dismounted. He said, "You, too. You git up, too." I stood, and my hair fell down my back to my waist.
"G— d— if it an’t a woman. A big, ugly one, but—"
"Dick, shut up! You’re drunk and I’m tired of you and I might have to shoot you one of these days if you don’t quit spouting off your mouth."
Mr. Graves, still sitting in his blanket, said, "How are you boys tonight? Is there something we can do for you?"
"Where ya headed?"
"California road," asserted Mr. Graves.
"You an’t taking this wagon to any California, haw!"
"Well, sir," said Mr. Graves, "I can fully comprehend your skepticism, though folks have made it all the way to Utah Territory on foot and with handcarts, but no, this vehicle don’t look like a California-bound vessel— no covering, for one thing, and the sun gets high and hot out there—but I myself am not going to California, nosirree. I myself am going back to Missoura as soon as I join these folks with their party out past Lecompton. They got their mas and pas waiting, and nearly a regiment of sisters and brothers and all. We’ve been hurrying to meet up with them." I noticed that Mr. Graves’s mode of speech had shaded perceptibly toward "Tennessee."
"Late in the year to be going to California."
"That’s what I said," declared Mr. Graves. "That’s exactly what I myself told them."
I could still feel the mark where the rifle barrel had touched me, and even in the dark I could see that one of the men was looking through the wagon, pushing boxes around and lifting up lids. Thomas saw it, too. Though he kept his eyes on the two men talking to us, he kept his arm tightly round my waist, and every time I stared in the direction of the wagon, he pinched me gently.
"They said, ’All the better opportunity to trust in the Lord.’ Can you believe that? These folks are from a sect out Indiana way. They don’t believe in marriage nor having children, nor anything like that. Go ahead and talk to them, but all you’ll get out of ’em is the children of Israel and the blood of Isaiah and suchlike. This trip an’t been nothing for me in the conversation line."
"Shut up," said the leader of the three men.
Thomas cleared his throat. I felt mine close up. He said, "That’s not quite right. We do believe