A red, burning dust
lay everywhere, as if the heat were slowly and visibly precipitating
itself.
The creaking of wheels and axles, the muffled plunge of hoofs, and the
cough of a horse in the dust thus stirred presently broke the profound
woodland silence. Then a dirty white canvas-covered emigrant wagon
slowly arose with the dust along the ascent. It was travel-stained and
worn, and with its rawboned horses seemed to have reached the last
stage of its journey and fitness. The only occupants, a man and a girl,
appeared to be equally jaded and exhausted, with the added querulousness
of discontent in their sallow and badly nourished faces. Their voices,
too, were not unlike the creaking they had been pitched to overcome, and
there was an absence of reserve and consciousness in their speech, which
told pathetically of an equal absence of society.
"It's no user talkin'! I tell ye, ye hain't got no more sense than a
coyote! I'm sick and tired of it, doggoned if I ain't! Ye ain't no more
use nor a hossfly,--and jest ez hinderin'! It was along o' you that we
lost the stock at Laramie, and ef ye'd bin at all decent and takin',
we'd hev had kempany that helped, instead of laggin' on yere alone!"
"What did ye bring me for?" retorted the girl shrilly.
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