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Indian agent there at Boone Creek, outside Westport, and had in his charge the Delaware nation. It would be a good thing; Jessie under a roof by night, in camp by day, where she would observe and take her impressions back to Saint Louis men who counted. I had brought her this distance for a purpose.
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    â€œAnd Alex. Mrs. Frémont is grieving the loss of her infant.”
    The Creole tugged the lines, slowing the mules. “Loss, Colonel?”
    â€œOur boy, Benton. On board.”
    Godey hawed the mules forward. “I’m sorry, Colonel. That is a hard thing. It’s a bad omen. Should the company be told? Maybe not a word?”
    â€œI will, at the proper time,” I said.
    â€œThen my lips are sealed.”
    That was Godey, I thought. No man more reliable, and none more faithful to me.
    The burdened wagon creaked through rain-softened lanes, past gloomy oak groves and sullen wet meadows. West of Westport little existed except those copses and creeks where the wagon companies fitted themselves for the great haul west. Ours would be entirely a pack-mule expedition once we reached the mountains, and we would need scores of them to carry ourselves and our truck. But where I was going no wagon could go. I would take a few horses but would trade them if possible. They were no good in the mountains and flighty on the plains.
    I planned to take a good look at the men, several of whom were entirely new to me. I have good instincts. It is a gift. I know in an instant what a stranger thinks of me and am prepared for him even before he opens his mouth. Cathcart, now, he might be alright even if I didn’t much care for him.An officer in the Queen’s hussars would understand command. But those Kerns. They would take some study. Ben’s surgical tools might be a valuable asset, but the man hadn’t the faintest idea what this trip would be about. Fine Pennsylvania family, privileged sons. Not a bit like their leader. I had never known a day of privilege.
    I shifted uncomfortably on the seat. Would a day ever go by, in all my life, when I wasn’t reminded of my origins? We drove through swelling hills clothed with tawny grass and copses of trees. The air was chill and more autumnal than it should be in October.
    â€œLast night, Colonel, we were treated to northern lights. No one had ever seen them this far south,” Godey said.
    â€œIt is a good omen,” I replied. It was my habit to turn superstition to my advantage, lest it work against me. “Now, what is our condition, Alex? Are we ready?”
    â€œAlors, non. A lot of green mules need to be broken to pack saddle, and only half of our equipment’s come in. We’re lacking tack, pack and riding saddles, those India rubber sheets you ordered, some kettles and kitchen goods. Most of the provisions are here. Flour, sugar, molasses, all of that. We’re not ready, and it’ll be a week or two.”
    â€œThat’s fine. Winter passage is to our advantage.”
    Godey eyed me sharply, but I meant it.
    We reached Major Cummins’s Delaware Agency mid-afternoon. It proved to be an odd assortment of shabby log structures, strung in a row on a flat devoid of trees, which had all been sacrificed to the woodstoves within. The gouty old agent greeted us effusively and set several nubile maidens to work settling Jessie and Kitty in an empty cabin. I saw at once how it was with the major, whose face bore the rosy hue of dissipation. He did not lack for comforts.
    â€œAh! Colonel, I’m at your service. We’re all at your servicehere,” the major announced. “Whatever you need, anything at all, any little thing, you have only to call on me.”
    â€œMrs. Frémont will be here nights only,” I said. “She’ll be in camp by day.”
    â€œA most admirable arrangement,” Cummins said. “We will entertain her accordingly. I’m available late afternoons for