The way was growing harder, the animals less vigorous, and the strain
of the journey beginning to tell. Tempers that had been easy in the
long, bright days on the Platte now were showing sharp edges. Leff had
become surly, Glen quarrelsome. One evening Susan saw him strike Bob a
blow so savage that the child fell screaming in pain and terror. Bella
rushed to her first born, gathered him in her arms and turned a
crimsoned face of battle on her spouse. For a moment the storm was
furious, and Susan was afraid that the blow would be repeated on the
mother. She tried to pacify the enraged woman, and David and the
doctor coaxed Glen away. The child had struck against an edge of stone
and was bleeding, and after supper the father rocked him to sleep
crooning over him in remorseful tenderness. But the incident left an
ugly impression.
They were passing up the Sweetwater, a mountain stream of busy
importance with a current that was snow-cold and snow-pure. It wound
its hurrying way between rock walls, and then relaxed in lazy coils
through meadows where the grass was thick and juicy and the air musical
with the cool sound of water.
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