Love's Abiding Joy (Love Comes Softly #4)(16)

"Where are we gonna go?" questioned Marty. "Nothin' will be open yet."

"Well, there's a bench over there in front of the sheriff's office. How 'bout sittin' in the sun fer a spell?"



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Marty nodded. It was a bit cool in the morning air; she could do with a little sun. She hoped that the warmth of the rays would reach them quickly.

It was a while before others also were stirring about the streets of the town. The livery hand arrived first and went about the duties of feeding the horses and a pair of mules. Roughly dressed men eventually swaggered out of the hotel, a few at a time; then the blacksmith began pounding on some metal in his shop. Shopowners began to open doors and rearrange window signs. The sheriff checked his office and then headed for the hotel and a cup of morning coffee. There was more movement toward the hotel, and soon Marty and Clark could smell cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Marty had not realized she was hungry until that moment.

Clark turned toward her. "Rather fun to watch a town wake up. I've never done thet before," he commented, and Marty nodded her head in agreement.

"It's not really so different from home as far as looks goes--yet it 'feels' strange," she answered. "Still, I haven't seen anything--" Her words were interrupted.

Four cowboys rode into view, their horses dusty and tired. They led four other horses behind them with some kind of bundles tied on their backs. The horses were spotted and wore no saddles, although two of them had colorful blankets tossed across their backs. The men rode past silently, their leather-encased feet swinging freely and their hair hanging past their shoulders in long, black braids. Upon observing the braids, Marty snatched a second look. Why, those weren't cowboys. They were Indians! Now that was different. The riders looked neither to the left nor the right as they rode down the street and pulled their mounts to a stop before the General Store. They swung down from their horses and began to untie the bundles from the backs of the pack animals.

"Looks like they've got 'em a pretty good catch of furs," observed Clark.

"Furs," said Marty. "I never thought of furs. What kind, ya supposin'?"

"I've no idea. Coyotes, badgers, maybe. Not close enough



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to the mountains fer bears or wildcats, I'm a-thinkin'. But then I'm not much fer knowin' jest what they do have hereabouts."

Marty turned only after they had all disappeared. "Well," said Clark, "ya ready fer some breakfast?" He stood up and stretched his tall frame.

Marty stood too and picked up her lunch bundle and hatbox. Without thinking, she reached to scratch an itching spot on her rib cage, then checked herself; a lady did not go about scratching in public. At the same time, she realized that Clark was scratching his neck. Marty looked at the spot. "Oh, my," she whispered.

Clark looked at her.

"Ya sure enough got yer share," stated Marty. "They're beginnin' to show up all along yer collar."

"Bedbugs?"

"Bedbugs. Well, not the bugs exactly--but where they been."

"Guess they liked me better'n they did you, huh?"

" 'Fraid not," said Marty. "I got me four or five places thet I'd jest love to be a-scratchin'."

Clark laughed. "Well, maybe a cup of coffee an' a slice of ham will take our mind off 'em." He picked up the cases and motioned Marty toward the hotel's dining room they had passed up the night before in favor of the saloon place.

"Fella told me thet this ain't the fanciest place around; but it's the only one thet's open this time of the day, so I guess we'll give it a try. Surely nobody can make too much of a mess outa just boilin' coffee."

Maybe Marty was just hungry, or maybe the food actually wasn't so bad; at any rate, she ate heartily.



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Chapter Seven




Arrival



The next three days on the slow-moving train were even more difficult for Marty. For one thing, she was in a fever to reach Missie, and the many delays and the hesitant forward crawl irritated her. She was also tired from several nights without a good rest, and the train they rode was even less elegant than the first. The worn seats and cramped quarters made it difficult to sit comfortably, and there was no room for stretching or walking.

There were only two other women on the crowded train, and neither seemed inclined to make new friendships. The men, rough and rugged, appeared to be gold-seekers or opportunists. The constant smoking of strong cigars and cigarettes made Marty feel like she was going to choke. The temperature was getting hotter and hotter, and the heat and the stuffiness of the one passenger car almost overcame her; the bedbug bites did not help her frame of mind. Occasionally there was something of interest out of the train window, like the small herd of buffalo that wandered aimlessly along beside the



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track, but usually there was nothing at all to see but brown hills and wind-swept prairie. Now and then herds of cattle or a squatter's makeshift buildings came into view. Marty counted only three real houses, each surrounded by many outbuildings. She guessed each of these places to be someone's profitable ranch.

The small towns along the route, though few and far between, looked very busy. Marty wondered where the people came from. As much as she normally enjoyed watching people, she did not care for that activity now. She just wanted to get to Missie, and each time that the train stopped and frittered away precious time, Marty chafed inside. What could they possibly be doing to take so long in such an insignificant place anyway? Marty fussed, minding the heat, the cramped quarters, the smoke, the delay, and the itching bites.