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Bonner, Geraldine, 1870-1930

"The Emigrant Trail"

"
"He can't help it," she urged in an angry whisper. "You talk as if he
was doing it on purpose."
David slid off his horse and made for the wagon with reeling steps.
The other man followed muttering.
"Help him," she called. "Don't you see he can hardly stand?"
At the wagon wheel Daddy John hoisted him in with vigorous and ungentle
hands. Crawling into the back the sick man fell prone with a groan.
Courant, who had heard them and turned to watch, came riding up.
"What is it?" he said sharply. "The mules given out?"
"Not they," snorted Daddy John, at once all belligerent loyalty to
Julia and her mates, "it's this d--d cry baby again," and he picked up
the reins exclaiming in tones of fond urgence:
"Come now, off again. Keep up your hearts There's water and grass
ahead. Up there, Julia, honey!"
The long team, crouching in the effort to start the wagon, heaved it
forward, and the old man, leaping over the broken sage, kept the pace
beside them. Courant, a few feet in advance, said over his shoulder:
"What's wrong with him now?"
"Oh, played out, I guess. She," with a backward jerk of his head,
"won't have it any other way.


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