The Claim

By K'Anne Meinel

Anna Schmidt is too independent for a woman of the 1800's.  Worse yet she doesn't have a man to curb her unwomanly like tendencies.  When she takes a claim of 160 acres and then another tree claim of another 160 acres has she taken on more than she can handle?  Its work that could cripple a man, a woman alone can't expect help or understanding when she takes this one on and willingly.  Flooding, blizzards, heat, dust, and an incredible amount of physical labor are all set to do this determined woman in.  She takes it on and through the years succeeds despite the odds, despite not having a man to depend on, showing herself and the world that this woman not only can but will make a home, a farm, a ranch on the wild prairies.  Follow along in her journal telling of her experiences. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadoe Publishing
• Release date: Oct 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781533712868

K'Anne Meinel

K’Anne Meinel è una narratrice prolifica, autrice di best seller e vincitrice di premi. Al suo attivo ha più di un centinaio di libri pubblicati che spaziano dai racconti ai romanzi brevi e di lungo respiro. La scrittrice statunitense K’Anne è nata a Milwaukee in Wisonsin ed è cresciuta nei pressi di Oconomowoc. Diplomatasi in anticipo, ha frequentato un'università privata di Milwaukee e poi si è trasferita in California. Molti dei racconti di K’Anne sono stati elogiati per la loro autenticità, le ambientazioni dettagliate in modo esemplare e per le trame avvincenti. È stata paragonata a Danielle Steel e continua a scrivere storie affascinanti in svariati generi letterari. Per saperne di più visita il sito: www.kannemeinel.com. Continua a seguirla… non si sa mai cosa K’Anne potrebbe inventarsi!

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Yankton, South Dakota.  I stood in line all night.  I am very, very tired.  This is where you need to be to file on a claim though.  So, this is where I am.  I’m about fifth in line unless someone tries to cut in.  I saw this once yesterday.  In ended in fists and could have ended in gunshot if the sheriff hadn’t stopped it.  The others around me have also slept in line.  I didn’t sleep, dozed maybe, but with the cold, yells, gunshots, and general noise of the crowd, who could sleep?  Plus, I needed to stay alert.  Not too many women in this town and the ones I did see were either plying a trade or with their homesteading husbands and thus protected.  Me, they didn’t know what to make of.  Very few of the men I had met had ventured to actually speak to me.  I was an unknown quantity, alone.  Well not totally.  They did occasionally stare at me.  It could be the large German Shepherd sitting at heel next me.  Standing in what should be a male-only atmosphere, I’m a bit frightened but very determined.  This is the second day I’ve stood and sat in this line.  Yesterday was pretty hot.  Yesterday was pretty disheartening.  All day in that line, inching towards the goal of that door.  Then down to the fifth spot when they closed for the day.  The yells of protest around me were very loud and not very considerate of a lady.  I closed my ears to them.  A lot of them didn’t even realize I was there.  The ones who did see me probably thought I was with one of the other men around me or holding the spot for my man.  I don’t have a man, but oh well, no loss there yet.

The hands of my pendant clock read eight and sure enough, the door opens.  There is a surge behind me of bodies leaning forward.  I smell the horrible breath of the man behind me.  Never brushed teeth and with morning breath no less, disgusting.  I elbow him and hear a whoof of air let out of his lungs.  He mutters an oath.  I ignore him.  It takes about twenty minutes for the four in front of me to go into and come out of the building.  I am next. 

Walking in I see a long counter with maps spread along it.  Two clerks behind it are busily writing out paperwork.  I walk up to the counter and one of them looks up, utterly surprised to see a woman before him.  One of them points to the dog and says, He’ll have to wait outside.

I respond with, "You’ll have to tell her that."  Smiling sweetly, trying to appear confident, I ask about homesteading land.  They both chuckle indulgently.  To them I am merely a woman.  What would I know?  What was I trying to pull? 

I look down at the maps and see a bunch of crosses of land already claimed.  Across the map are little railroad tracks of where the tracks will be laid.  Not a lot of it is laid at this time.  Following the tracks, I see where a little town is set to spring up.  There doesn’t appear to be very much in the way of land formations on this prairie.  I’ll have to trust in God and luck that I choose wisely.  Following the map lines, I make a decision: not the first town, not even the second.  After the fifth town proposed on the map, I decide that there is far enough.  I notice there are no crosses marked there yet.  I ask about that.  The agent explains that no claims have been made there yet since the railroad wasn’t expected to lay track there until next year or even possibly the year after.  No one would want to be without supplies that long.  Having made my decision, I always go with my gut instinct.  I examine the town site longer.  Pointing at a claim north of a town with a slough between it and the town I ask for that claim.  The man snorts, laughing.  He still can’t believe that I am serious.  I pull the money out of my pocket and lay it down quietly.  All fourteen ragged dollars.  I’m over twenty-one; they have to sell me the site even if I am a woman. 

Then I ask about something I heard others mention, a tree claim.  This causes the clerk to laugh again.  He explains that I will have to buy, cultivate, and keep alive ten acres of trees on this claim and that I’ll only get the deed at the end of seven years, unlike the other which is only five years.  I count out another fourteen dollars, lay it down and point to the claim that lies east of the first.  He makes out another receipt, shaking his head.  As I leave, I hear the laughter of both the clerks and the man the other clerk was helping.  They are sure they’ve taken this dumb woman for her $28, a substantial sum in this day and age, a full month’s wages to a cowboy or a hired hand if they had a good job.  I don’t care.  I’m in possession of three hundred and twenty acres of land.  I know I can make it work; I’ve got to.  With receipts in hand made out in my name, Anna Schmidt, I leave the office.

I head for my horse, tied up at the livery.  I pay a whole dollar for my horse to have been fed, watered, and boarded for two days.  Outrageous.  But then, at least it hasn’t been stolen.  I’m fond of Misty.  She is named so because of her gray coat.  Like a mist coming off the lakes.  She stands fifteen hands high.  A beautiful horse if I do say so myself.  I’ve been offered one-hundred-dollars for her repeatedly.  I’ve turned it down too.  Not just because she is my horse, but because she is my friend too.  Arriving at the livery, I saddle her, pay the livery owner, and ride east out of town.  My shepherd is following next to Misty.  I notice the line doesn’t seem to have lessened any.  If anything, it’s lengthened with new arrivals coming all the time.

Riding east all day I come to a little claim with a shanty on it.  There is a windmill that couldn’t possibly ever stop.  The wind here never stops, at least as far as I can tell.  The barn, such as it is, is made out of sod with rotting beams of wood.  Parked behind this barn, so as not to be too noticeable from the road, is a wagon.  I ride directly to the wagon.  My dog runs ahead to exchange greetings with another German Shepherd lying in the shade of the wagon.  No trees here.  Nothing but grass as far as the eye can see.  People who say the prairie is flat have never actually been here.  Yes, to a degree it is flat but there are rolls in it, little pickets of hills and valleys.  Beautiful, barren, waiting for who knows what to happen.  I turn at the noise of a door slamming from the shanty.  A young woman in her twenties smiles as she comes towards me carrying a shotgun.

Did you get what you were after? she asks me.

Returning her smile, I answer by nodding and then I add, and more.  Looking over my wagon and the other Shepherd I ask, Any trouble?

The woman shakes her head and says, Ach, no, why would there be trouble?

Something in her tone makes me look up.  There is a hint of humor in her eyes and my eyebrow raises in question at this.  She laughs then proceeds to tell me about some men who came by last evening to buy her ‘extra wagon and horses.’  When she wouldn’t sell they attempted to take what she wouldn’t sell.  My shepherd had taken out the seat of two of the men’s pants before her shotgun had filled another’s seat with birdshot.  They hastily departed. 

I share her laugh but ask, Won’t that cause trouble for you now?

She shakes her head and pats her shotgun responding, Naw, they were just seeing what they could get away with.  I keep my shotgun at hand and they shouldn’t be back.  Not so sure myself, I just shake my head.

Nothing in the wagon is disturbed.  Underneath in the shade of the wagon are cages, each one about two and half square feet.  Four of them contain four chickens each.  One contains five with a rooster as well.  Another two contain three ducks each and the last three contain two geese each.  I begin to pick up these cages and attach them to the wagon on a platform built around the edges for these very cages.  They aren’t all light, especially the geese which are solid, big birds.  The cages have thin strips of wood across the wiring to strengthen the bottoms.  There is enough spacing with the wiring and the wood to allow the birds to peck at bugs and grasses when the cages are on the ground and to allow their waste to fall out freely.  Before placing the first cage on the platform I check that there is seed and water in the dishes wired to the side of the cage, filling a couple of them with water.  I lift the cage and hook it securely to the platform and wagon.  I do this until all ten cages are aboard.  I lift a flap from the wagon and cover the cages to keep them in shade, such as it is.

The woman watches me, not offering to help.  She knows that I won’t take it and that I mean to be on my way.  Heading out behind her shanty where my other horses, cow, and oxen are picketed, I pull up each picket and bring them to the wagon.  I tie the cow to the back with the horses on a trailing rope.  I hitch the wagon with the two sets of oxen.  Traveling with oxen is slow but steady.  They can pull a lot more than most horses, but they plod along until you’re nearly mad.  It does allow for a lot of thinking though.  On a good day you are able to make ten to twelve miles, and on rare days as much as twenty.  On a rainy or bad day, you’re lucky to make five or even worse to still see the previous night’s campsite.  I’ve already been on the road for over a month.  After the oxen are hitched, I turn to the woman and ask how much I owe her for the two nights of watching my wagon.  She shrugs, indicating it’s up to me to give her what’s fair.  I hand over a five-dollar note.  It’s outrageous but I feel with her having to fend off the would-be thieves perhaps it’s worth it.  Silent, she slips the note in a pocket of her dress. 

You won’t get far tonight, she states.

Well, every little bit counts at this time of year, I answer.  I look west at some clouds that seem to be piling up.  It’s hard to measure distances on this prairie but I guess that by nightfall I’ll see a storm.

The woman follows my look.  You should stay the night and begin tomorrow, she states.  I think some of her loneliness is beginning to show.  I’m probably the first woman she has talked to in months.  Holding down a claim isn’t easy.  The government requires you to live on your claim and farm it.  Well, they don’t say nothing about being able to live on it though.  The land doesn’t just give you a living; you have to earn it, over and over again.  Her husband worked for the railroad hauling things that were needed.  It was getting so that she didn’t see him for weeks at a time now as the tracks went on farther down the line.  Someday this farm would be worth something, but for now they must comply with the law and someone needed to stay.  He needed to earn a living.  It wasn’t easy no matter how you looked at it. 

Giving her a smile, I nodded.  Yes, I should, but you know how it is, I have to get where I am going.  She nods in agreement.  Neither one of us are chatterboxes. 

I swing up onto my wagon and shake the whip.  The female shepherd takes a running leap and clambers up my wagon side, climbing the ladder like it’s nothing.  The male takes his place to the left of the oxen, glancing at the oxen as if to warn them to do my biding we begin.  I wave farewell to the woman, lost and alone out there on the prairie.

I was right about the storm.  It held off until nightfall.  By that time, I had stopped at a creek and filled my water barrels, all four of them, with fresh clean water, making repeated trips to dip my buckets and trek back to the barrels to fill them to the top.  That may sound like a lot for one woman to have but I had been warned that the prairie was like a desert in some spots and not to take any chances.  Besides, I had my stock to take care of as well.  I hadn’t brought them along to enjoy the view and their survival was important to my future.  Pulling up back on to the prairie on the far side of the creek I make camp in a dip of the hills.  Hidden from view, I know better than to skyline my camp and make it visible to the curious.  At the creek I had filled my fuel catcher hanging from the bottom of the wagon; it was now full of wood.  On the prairie there was little, if any, fuel.  No trees as far as the eye could see.  You learn to take advantage of what you find even if it is scrub brush and small bushes that normally would be kindling.  I had also heard that camping by a creek can cause your stock as well as yourself to get sick, something about the plants or the air that causes the sickness.  Alone, I am taking no chances if I can prevent it. 

I make my fire very, very small, about the size of a hat, enough to boil some water.  I make a soup of leftovers.  Carrots, potatoes, and beef jerky all go into this Mulligan’s mix.  Anything left over will be eaten for breakfast and lunch if there is enough.  In a couple of days, I will bake enough bread to last a week.  It was enough for one and plenty enough to also feed the dogs.  Good thing the horses, cow, and oxen could eat their fill of the prairie grasses.  The poultry I fed corn, wheat, sunflowers, and other grains as I had them.  This kept them healthy despite their being cooped up and unable to roam.

Making sure the picket pins were in the ground tightly and the ropes far enough apart that the stock wouldn’t tangle itself in each other’s ropes, I made sure the poultry cages were secure under the wagon, leaving the ducks and geese cages a little out from under the cover to take advantage of the oncoming rain.  They sure liked to drink fresh rain.  I do my other camp chores cheerfully.  Feeding the dogs and myself, I clean up what little mess I’ve made.  I douse the fire and put away the leftovers.  I pull the steps down on the back of the wagon and climb into it. 

On top of boxes, barrels, and other stuff stored in the wagon is a bed I have made up.  A deep feather mattress covers all the bumps left by the crates.  I don’t even feel them.  I don’t bother changing out of my dress, but I do pull off my shoes, leaving my stockings on.  It’s still cold at night.  I pull a goose down quilt up to my chest and fold my hands in prayer.  As I finish, one of the shepherds climbs the steps and makes a place for itself on top of my quilt.  There’s enough room for both dogs if they like, but one always seems to stay on guard outside my wagon.  This pleases me, but for additional safety there is a rifle hanging by my head, a pistol within a hand’s breath of my pillow, another rifle attached to the wagon seat, and another pistol in a holster by the footrest.

By the time I am settled and start to doze, the sun has fully set and the wind picks up from the storm.  I subconsciously realize it’s beginning to rain.  It falls on the canvas over my head, the pitter-patter a nice comforting sound, but not a drop comes through the water proofed surface of the canvas.  I have the front of the canvas pulled closed against the western oncoming storm.  The back of the wagon is open enough to allow passage of the dogs, myself, and the night air.  Sometime during the night, it gets chillier; I barely notice as I burrow deeper into my blankets.  The dogs switch places periodically, taking turns getting warm on my quilt and their own blanket I have there for that purpose.  They seem to set their own clocks to the rhythm of the night.

I awake to a blanket of snow covering everything in sight.  It’s still early in the spring and Mother Nature isn’t ready to give up.  I quickly pack up and keep myself moving.  It is very cold.  How strange, the previous day had been so spring-like.  Following the indent of the road, mine are the only tracks for miles.  After a while I glance back to note how lonely they seem on this road forever and then some.  The stock all seem to be livelier this morning, the horses periodically snorting.  The steady oxen even seem to be plodding along a little more rapidly.  It must be my imagination.

I stop at noon near another nameless creek.  The snow has begun to melt, all except in the shade of the bushes along this creek.  I stop the wagon in the middle of the creek to allow the wheels to swell and the oxen, horses, and cow to all take a long drink.  I pull up on the far side of the creek on a hill and then descend beyond it.  Stopping in a little valley I allow the oxen, horses, and cow to graze while I eat the last of my stew and bread, feeding the dogs scraps and allowing them to clean out the stewpot.  After an hour we again begin our steady forward journey.  The stewpot has been washed and is hanging inside the wagon, making a cheerful clanging noise occasionally as it falls against something or another hanging beside it.

It takes us three days to cover the distance back to Yankton that I covered by horse in one.  In the few days I’ve been gone, the town has expanded.  More people, more wagons, more mess.  I stop at a large mercantile.  Leaving the shepherds on guard, one on the ground, one in the wagon, I step up to the boardwalk.  Going inside I am pleased to see a vast variety of merchandise for sale.  Noting that prices are a bit higher here than back home, I quickly calculate my purchases.  A woman approaches me.  She quickly takes note of my appearance.  I am wearing a clean calico dress, but I am carrying a rifle under my arm, almost a part of me.  Smiling despite the rifle, she asks if there is something she can help me with.  I quickly hand her my list.  I have written quite an extensive variety of things I am certain that I will be unable to obtain on the prairie.  I also must have enough grain for my stock.  Looking over at me she says she can have everything ready in two hours for pick up.  I ask if it can be put by my wagon for me.  Smiling, she says it will be ready in two hours and then she will have her husband put it in the wagon for me then, that way I can see what is what.  Thanking her, I take my leave. 

Stepping out on the boardwalk I am not sure where to go.  The town itself does not interest me as I saw all I wanted to see the other day.  Slinging the rifle over my shoulder I begin to walk the length of the boardwalk.  I see a dressmaker’s shop, a sheriff’s office, a saloon, then another, and another.  I steer clear of these, not wanting to create problems for myself.  A woman alone seems to attract unnecessary attention and I want no more than I can help.  What I haven’t noticed is that people are noticing me due to the rifle slung over my shoulder.  I wander about the town for an hour and then begin to head back to the store where I had placed my order.  With half a block to go I notice a commotion in front of the mercantile.  My wagon seems to be at the center of it.  Hurrying, I come upon a small crowd that has gathered.  I move along the edge until I can see the cause of the commotion.  Two men are attempting to unhitch my oxen.  One shepherd has one of the men on the ground; his weight on the man’s chest and his lips pulled back in a sneer is keeping the man there.  The other man had been attempting to take the harnesses off the oxen.

I pull my rifle off my shoulder in one smooth motion and with a little more force than necessary I put it into the ribs of the second man who freezes instantly as I cock it.

Now, now, there’s no need for that.  I hear another voice and glance over to see the sheriff coming through the crowd.  Ma’am, would you please hand me that there rifle? he asks respectfully.  Everyone knows a woman with a rifle is a dangerous proposition.

Nope, I answer cordially as I cheerfully prod the second man with the barrel and inch him closer to the sheriff.  There was no way I was going to give up possession of this rifle.  First of all, it was brand new and expensive, and secondly, I wasn’t sure I would get it back.

The sheriff wasn’t used to someone not obeying his requests, but the woman did have the upper hand.  He swallowed; he didn’t need to lose face with a crowd like this.  He thought carefully and asked, Could you call off your dog and I’ll take these men into custody?

Rex, heel, I command calmly.  Rex immediately responds and comes to my left side.  Sitting, he looks intently out at the crowd and then focuses his rapt attention on the two thieves.

Shaking his head, the sheriff lends a hand to the downed man and pulls him to his feet.  The man instantly grabs for his gun, but the sheriff stalls him by grabbing his arm and holding it in place.  There is a battle of wills for a tense moment and the man decides to let it be.  Asking the two men for their side of things, the sheriff lets them talk.  They claim that they were just walking along minding their own business when the dogs attacked.  Laughing, the crowd begins to mutter at the men’s obvious lies.  The sheriff cuffs both men and confiscates their guns and knives.  One of men, the one that had been down, begins to curse and the sheriff cuffs him alongside the head with his fist, causing a trickle of blood to begin along his forehead.

Ma’am, if you will come along and swear out a complaint against these two? the sheriff asks me.  His eyes are studying me, wondering.

Guard, I say again in a calm tone knowing both dogs would obey, then I follow along behind the sheriff.

In the sheriff’s office he places both thieves in a cell and removes their handcuffs.  Closing the door to the cell room and his office, he offers me a seat and removes some paperwork before sitting himself.

That has to be one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen, he comments to me.

Laughing I have to agree.  It’s not every day that dogs catch would-be thieves.  He asks me about the dogs and as I write out the complaint, I explain about raising Rex from a pup and finding Sheila.  He’s intrigued.  Would you consider selling one of them? he asks hopefully. 

Shaking my head no.  I smile though.  Someday, I hope to have pups as good as the parents.  Would you be interested in one of those?  I hope to soften the blow of my no.  He returns my smile and nods.  Taking out a pad of paper he writes something on it for me.  Handing me the note it’s his name and address here in town.  I promise to let him know when or if there is a litter.

Where are you headed? he asks.

To a homestead I’ve claimed, I reply.

Where would that be? he asks.

I’m not really sure yet, I’ll know it when I see it and I have a map.  He laughs with me and ceases from asking anymore.  People tend to mind their business as much as possible out here but he can’t help wondering about a woman alone. 

Tell me, why you wouldn’t hand over your rifle? he asks, curious.

Would you have handed over your rifle if the situation was reversed? I ask in return.

He thinks it over and then grins and shakes his head.

Quickly finishing up the paperwork he shakes my hand and I take my leave.  I head for the store.  Everything I have ordered is neatly stacked behind my wagon with the store’s owner standing guard over it.

I didn’t dare try to load your wagon ma’am, the storekeeper smiled.  Indicating the intent German Shepherd watching his every move from under the wagon, he felt sure there was another set of eyes from inside the wagon too.

Thank you; I wouldn’t want the dogs to misunderstand your intentions.  I return his smile.

The man turned and called into the store, Willie, help me here, boy!

A boy of about fourteen with long legs and pimples came hurrying out.  He jumped off the boardwalk and headed to the stacks of supplies.

Just a moment, will you? I ask.  Taking down the steps of the wagon I push aside the horses and cow on their ropes.  Climbing the steps, I indicate to the shopkeeper to begin handing me the supplies.

Some of this is a might heavy, ma’am, he says. 

We’ll leave that for last, then, won’t we? I ask.

In no time at all everything is stored.  The boy hops up at the end to load the sugar, salt, and flour barrels in the wagon with his father and myself assisting.  The steps fit back up but do not go into the wagon anymore.  I tie them in place so they won’t fall back down.  Turning, I follow the storekeeper and his son into the store to settle the bill.  It is very close to what I had calculated.  I re-calculate the figures but find nothing wrong with the storekeeper’s columns.  Looking around the store one more time I add a quantity of ammunition to the order. 

Are you starting a war? the storekeeper jokes with me.  His son carries the heavy box of ammunition out to my wagon and loads it in the front as the back is too full.

Nope, just playing it safe, I answer and pay my bill in full.  Drawing a pouch from the pocket of my dress I reach my hand inside.  Not showing a bill, I count off the money I feel there, knowing exactly what is there, and in what order.  I hand the bills to the storekeeper and wait for my change.  If he is surprised at my actions, he doesn’t show it.

You settling down hereabouts? his wife asks me.

Turning I notice she has been studying me from the side of the store.  Shaking my head, I reply, No, just stocking up for the trip out to the homestead.

The storekeeper returns with my change and they both bid me goodbye and watch as I leave their store.

I check both the horses’ and cows’ rope knots and then I check the oxen’s hitches.  The thieves had left the oxen unhitched, but since their harnesses were on, they hadn’t realized they were able to amble away and it took very little effort to hook them back up.  I’m anxious to get out of town.  Several people watch me leave.  They will wonder for a time about me but there are always other distractions to come and I’ll just be a memory shortly.

That night I camp about five miles from town, all I am able to make.  Taking my usual precautions when making camp, it seems to take forever to get all the heavy and awkward cages down from the wagon.  The poultry all seem to be starving and I can’t get their food dishes filled fast enough.  The chickens peck at me in their agitation.  One of them even draws blood.  I don’t notice it right away until Sheila begins licking my hand and I glance down.  Shaking my head at my own negligence I go and wash the cut.  Exhausted from the day’s happenings I head for my bed.  It’s a bit messed up due to all the new supplies but I make do.  The dogs can’t enter the wagon, due to the three barrels on the end.

The next morning after breakfast I hurry to rearrange the wagon as best I can.  I’m able to make a flat platform again a bit higher than it was before.  Pulling the barrels farther into the wagon I am able to pull the steps up properly into their spot in the wagon.  Placing some sacks of seed on either side of the pulled-up steps I make a way for the dogs to get over the barrels as well.  By the time I am ready to go the morning is half gone.  I make only ten miles today.

That night I am again exhausted.  Not knowing the cause, I help myself to canned peaches and eat plenty of vegetables, hoping that it’s vitamins I need to overcome this exhaustion.  Heading early for my bed, Rex joins me first tonight.  I fall off to sleep immediately. 

CHAPTER TWO

In the middle of the night, about four by the position of the moon, I wake up suddenly.  I lay there quietly, wondering what has awakened me.  Sheila is with me on the bed and is growling very softly.  I can hear Rex as well from under the wagon.  Reaching up over my head, not as far as before due to the additional supplies, I slip the rifle from its sling.  Sliding on my shoes as quietly as possible I scoot down my bed to the edge of wagon and cautiously peek out, my eyes can’t see far in the darkness right away, but they adjust with the help of the moonlight.  I begin to scan around as far as I can see, looking from the corners of my eyes as you cannot see directly in the dark.  I don’t see any movement.  I try to remain quiet.  I can hear my own heartbeat and it is loud.  Both dogs have stopped growling.

Cautiously I begin to descend from the back of the wagon, hoping against any squeak that would betray me.  Once on the ground I look to where Rex is.  He is intently looking off where the horses and oxen are grazing.  I follow his gaze but cannot see anything.  Slowly I move to the edge of the wagon, taking care to stay in the shadows.  I notice one of the horses is not where I left it and in fact is next to the other horse.  I see a shape of someone pulling hard at the pin of my second horse.  Breathing calmly, I cock the rifle as quietly as I can.  As I am cocking the rifle one of the horse’s snorts.  The shape freezes.  Whoever it is must be looking at the wagon to see if I’ve awoken.  I notice that one of the oxen is moving as well, towards another one of them.  My oxen never like being led and he is resisting.  Using the corners of my eye, I can make out the shape of the second man pulling on the lead rope of the oxen.  This man is farther away.  Using a hand signal, unsure of whether Rex can see me in the dark, I beckon him to me.  When I feel his body at heel next to me, I raise the rifle to my shoulder and fire at the farther man.  Not waiting to see the result I immediately turn to the near man and fire at where his feet would have been, trusting that he would have immediately ducked at the sound of gunfire.  I hear a scream.  I guess I’ve just wounded one of them but Rex is already heading for the near man.  I hear another scream and a terrible growl from Rex.  Sheila races past me to join Rex.  There are some horrible sounds and then there is silence, absolute silence.  Not even wind is blowing. 

Knowing I won’t be able to see much until the sun is up, I decide to get things together.  What I can see of the camp allows me to gather the few things I used the previous evening.  Keeping those things to a minimum keeps me from leaving anything behind.  I pack up but wait for sunrise to gather my stock.  One of the horses is missing.  I call to Sheila and tell her to fetch.  She looks at me for a moment, studying my face I guess and then heads off, following a track through the tall grass.  In minutes I see her heading back with the horse.  It hasn’t wandered far, thank goodness.  I hitch up the oxen and tie up the horses.  Quickly I milk the cow and feed the dogs.  While they are eating the sun has come up enough for me to see the results of my early morning.

Lying where the oxen had been tied is the man I shot first.  It’s a clean shot under his left arm.  It must have gone right through his heart.  Since I had aimed for the body in the dark, I found the shot to be nothing short of amazing.  Looking closely, I realize it’s the thief from town.  I went through his pockets for identification and actually found several different forms, how odd.  I took his hip gun and a rifle, not as good as my own but serviceable and badly in need of cleaning.  Nothing else left on him to warrant taking.  Going over to the other body I have to avert my eyes.  Rex had done a thorough job; he must have gone right for the neck and hit the jugular vein.  Finding where my shot nicked his leg doesn’t console me.  I force myself to examine his face and find that he is the other thief that I encountered in town.  I rummage through his pockets as well and find a similar situation: several forms of identification.  I find a quantity of money on him as well; counting it, it comes to nearly $400, a lot of money in this time and place.  I take his hip gun and rifle, both needing a bit of cleaning, neither man had taken care of his firearms.  Leaving both bodies exposed to the elements, I return to my wagon.  Taking out a notebook I write the details of what had happened while it’s still fresh in my mind including the descriptions of the men.  Into an envelope I put all their identification and my note.  The money I add to my own, knowing that no one will ever be able to claim it.  The guns I unload and place under the wagon seat, intending to clean them later. 

Climbing up on the wagon I shake the whip and call to the oxen and we continue our monotonous journey.  Both dogs are trotting out along the sides.  Half a mile down the road I come upon the two thieves’ sorry-looking horses tied to some brush along some nameless creek.  Both have saddle sores and are gaunt.  Because of the way they are tied they cannot graze on the grass at their feet or even the leaves on the bushes and trees about them.  Stopping my wagon, I approach them, putting out my hand gently.  They both shy away in fear.  Trembling as I place my hand on them, I calm their fears talking to them.  I untie them, lead them to the water, and let them graze a little before I lead them to my wagon.  Putting feed in a feedbag I take off their bits and place the feedbag over their noses, tying them with plain rope to the back of the wagon.  I remove their saddles and blankets, cringing at the sores on their back, nearly raw.  Taking out some goose grease from the wagon I clean up their sores and apply it to keep out the flies and gnats.

Searching through the saddlebags I find more money, another $200.  Must have come from the first man, I thought.  Their blankets are full of bugs and I throw them hastily away along with the extra clothing, searching in those pockets as well, but finding nothing more.  There are a few pots and pans as well as a little food.  The saddles are good, so I throw them into the back of the wagon.  The saddle blankets could use a good wash, so I throw those under the wagon into the fuel catcher, not wanting to take the chance that these might have unseen bugs in them. 

After the horses finish their small meal, I give them some water from the creek again and then we continue on.  That night I stopped a bit earlier than usual, I didn’t have enough pickets for the new horses but used some extra rope I had to make them.  Their day off from riding had given them new reserves; they were quite lively already, eating the grasses with relish.  I gave each a feedbag again and let them have a good drink.  I also groomed both of them.  At one time they must have been good horses but now they both looked like nags and I’m sure they even felt that way.  Putting a large cauldron over the fire I heated a quantity of water and boiled the horse blankets, adding a bit of my own ingredients to kill anything that may have been crawling in them.  Afterwards I left the blankets drying on top of the prairie grasses away from the picketed animals. 

Sitting at my dying campfire as the sun set, I polished both saddles and gave all the leather a good cleaning.  Despite the condition of the horses and their weaponry these men had had good well-made saddles.  By the time I had cleaned the two rifles, two pistols, and stowed all this extra gear it was very dark and time for bed.  All these added chores wore me out and I slept soundly.

One week later I pulled into one of the towns on the map I had read in the surveyor’s office.  I asked the name of the town at the general store and found that it actually had two.  One was the one that the railroad had given it, Greensville, and one was named after the first settler in this area, Avery.  Asking why it still had two, the proprietor shrugged and laughed.  Inquiring after the sheriff I found the town was too small for one and so felt there was no need.  Writing a letter, I posted it to the sheriff back in Yankton I explained everything that had occurred with the bandits, relying on my notes to keep the facts clear.  I enclosed all the identification with my letter.  Asking the storekeeper if there was a livery, he directed me down the small street.  There were few things in the store I needed so my shopping went quickly and I walked down to the livery.  I sold the saddles, the extra horses, and even the guns to the livery owner for a satisfactory sum.  The horses, I was proud to say, looked considerably better than when I found them.  They still needed some rest, but the livery owner assured me that he would find them good owners.  He seemed more impressed with the saddles than with the horses.  Knowing this was the last ‘settled’ town for a while I took a last glance around and headed out.

A week and a half later I caught up to the railroad crews and their portable town.  Not wanting anyone to know I was a woman alone I pulled my wagon far around their encampment and out beyond where they were grading.  From there on all I could follow were the surveyor’s stakes.  There was no road through the long grasses and the going was harder as the oxen broke their way through.  Fortunately, the surveyors had gone as straight as the land allowed and avoided many dips, sloughs, and other obstacles.  It was very quiet out here, very lonely.  To some it might have been scary.  Strangely I drew comfort with my animal ‘family’.  In the evenings when we stopped, I often played with the dogs.  Fetching a stick or chasing each other relieved the stress and the boredom of the day.  I even played with the horses, although I couldn’t take them off their ropes, I did feed them treats in the way of an apple or a carrot or even a bit of sugar now and then as I petted and groomed them.

The weather began to get warmer as spring continued.  I had no more fears of any snow storms but then I found that I couldn’t take my eastern values for granted out here on the prairie.  One day was warm in the morning, enough so that I was thinking of changing into a lighter, thinner dress.  At noon though, clouds came up fast and a drizzle began.  Plodding along, I could barely see the surveyor’s stakes as the storm intensified.  Then it began to get colder and the rain turned to sleet.  A sodden mess I became. 

Coming upon a small creek I crossed it and began to make camp.  Trudging about in the long grass in a wet dress was very annoying.  I kept having to pull my skirt above the grass to walk or I’d have fallen on my face!  It took a long time that night but eventually the animals were picketed.  Lastly, the poultry were all on the ground, fed, and watered.  I started a small fire under the edge of the wagon and began to boil some water.  While it was boiling, I changed into dry clothes, men’s clothes for ease of wearing.  Tying a belt around my waist to hold the pants up, I laughed at what my appearance would look like to others.  But who was there to see me?

Quickly I ate my dinner and crawled into bed.  I could hear Rex making his bed underneath the wagon.  Sheila joined me and I made sure she stayed on her blanket as I could see how wet she was when she entered the wagon.  The next morning there was snow everywhere as far as the eye could see.  All the gently rolling hills were covered as well as the stakes of the surveyors.  A light dusting was continuing to fall. 

Deciding to stay put, I did a bit of housework in the wagon, such as it was.  Digging into one of the many boxes I pulled out a book at random and began to read.  Sonnets by Somerset was one of my parents’ favorites.  Personally, I enjoyed adventure novels but was unable to find as many as I would have liked, and the few I owned, I treasured.  By noon I was bored with the sonnets and sat staring out at the snow, thinking. 

Gradually it occurred to me that I was staring at a dark shape in the snow about one-hundred yards away, struggling in the long grasses.  Watching it for a while, I realized it was a buffalo.  Having heard that buffalo traveled in vast herds I immediately looked around for more.  I saw only the lone buffalo against the white background.  I have never seen a buffalo before, it seems huge.  Gradually it dawns on me that this buffalo is truly struggling.  Reaching up and grabbing my rifle I get down from the wagon.  Reaching back in I put a coat, cap, and scarf on as well.  Rex gets up expectantly.  I wave him back under the wagon and head towards the struggling buffalo.  I get to within twenty-feet of it when I realize the reason for its struggles.  Somehow it has managed to get stuck in the edge of a slough.  It must have not realized the slough was there with the snow covering up the grasses.  But why was it alone?  I looked around for others and still saw nothing in the vast rolling hills of snow.  Realizing that the poor beast was going to struggle and die there needlessly, I look thoughtfully at my rifle.  Making the decision, I raised it and shot the buffalo.  Not having ever seen a buffalo before, much less having hunted it, I should have aimed for a more vital spot.  The first shot merely caused the beast more pain.  My second and third shots rang out and finally the beast lay over on its side, mercifully dead.

My first shot had brought both dogs on the run.  They went over to the dead buffalo and thoroughly sniffed it.  Examining the bullet wounds carefully, I swear Rex looked up at me with reproach for having used extra bullets needlessly.  I