Katie and the Mustang, Book 2 Read Online Free Page B

would come close to the mares—and I got up early enough to get him back on the lead rope before other camps were up and stirring.
    I began to think that we should stay away from Council Bluff and anywhere else that was crowded—maybe we could set out alone and join a wagon train once we were away from the crowds.
    I explained all that to Hiram one evening. “He’s calmer than he was,” I said. “But maybe not calm enough to walk through a crowd.”
    â€œWell, no one will ever mistake him for a farm horse,” Hiram answered.
    I knew he was right. Other horses looked sleepy and lazy next to the Mustang. He was always alert, always listening and watching. I looked up at Hiram. “Do you think we could strike off a little to the north or to the south and miss the worst of the crowds?”
    He was silent. I had expected him to agree. When he didn’t, I just waited, unsure what else to say.
    â€œHow are we going to cross the Missouri?” Hiram asked finally. His voice was gentle. “The ferries operate where the crowds are.”
    â€œCan’t we find a ford like we did with the other rivers?”
    He shook his head. “The Missouri is a mile or two wide, Katie.”
    A river a mile or more wide? I pulled in a long breath. I had no answer for that.
    The next morning it started raining, a cold miserable rain. Hiram and I wore our new woolen hats—and they soaked through in an hour. The Mustang plodded along like a plow horse, and the mares walked with their muzzles nearly on the ground. Hiram and I barely spoke. I sat in the wagon by the gate, leading the Mustang along, my hands so cold that I kept fumbling the rope, almost dropping it more than once. I finally looped it around my wrist.
    We came upon a slough that had standing water in it. Hiram reined in the mares. He got down out of the wagon and stood beside the swampy hollow.
    Rain dripping off my nose, I blinked to squeeze the water out of my eyes and looked around. The rain had filled a long, shallow depression in the ground with water. I couldn’t see the end of it in either direction.
    Hiram set the brake and had me get down out of the wagon. “Get that rope off your wrist,” he scolded. “What if he bolted?”
    I nodded, feeling foolish, my teeth chattering.
    â€œStay here,” Hiram said. “Keep the mares on the road. I’m going to walk that way and see if I can find the end of it.”
    I was too shivery-chattery to answer, so I nodded again and watched him go. The Mustang stood quietly beside me, and I could feel warmth rising from his sodden coat. I put my hands beneath his mane and leaned close. He didn’t seem to mind, and I was grateful. In a few minutes, my shivers had calmed a little.
    â€œI wish we could just be somewhere warm and dry tonight,” I told the Mustang. He arched his neck and shook the water out of his mane. I stood close again, trying to keep warm.
    He lifted his head sharply. I looked past him and saw a group of the big, arch-topped Conestoga wagons sliding and jolting down the track. They came slowly, the oxen picking their way through the muddy ruts. I kept hoping Hiram would turn around and come back before they got too near, but he didn’t.
    â€œYou alone?” a man called out once they were in earshot.
    I shook my head and pointed. “Mr. Weiss went that way, trying to find a route around the slough.”
    The man reined in his horses and climbed down. His wagon had a rounded canvas top. It was a prairie schooner, I was sure. I had never seen one, but Mr. Barrett had described them clear enough.
    â€œYou need a canvas hat,” he said, walking toward me. I put myself between him and the Mustang.
    â€œI’ll have to get one before we start west,” I said. My teeth were chattering again, and I clamped them shut. I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me.
    â€œHere comes your pa,” he said, gesturing. I could just