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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
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THE WAGON TRAIN MAKING ITS WAY ACROSS THE DESERT
' ' You '11 have to keep a sharp lookout. Them pesky redskins are gettin' ready for trouble again, all along th' line."
Elliot laughed at the old man's warning. Jim looked grave and thoughtful. He had a vivid recollection of the tragic scenes enacted in his own young life. He glanced at Mary, busily engaged in making the huge prairie schooner look cosy and homelike. For weeks, possibly months, it was to be their only habitation.
"John," he suddenly observed to his friend, "I reckon I'll join you. It'll be too lonesome here at th' ranch with all you folks gone. I'm goin' along. I can do th' foragin' an' outridin, an' you can stay around th' outfit an' look after Mary."
"Oh, yes," echoed Mary. "Do come, Jim. It'll be the very thing. I've just been dreading that awful trip ever since John proposed it."
That settled the matter. When the schooner started on the long, venturesome overland trip, Mary sat with her husband on the front seat of the wagon, and Jim, as outrider, rode alongside. It was Jim who kept the little bunch of cattle together, who found the best site for camp to be made each night, and who helped with all the numerous little odd tasks which had to be performed each day. As the trail grew more dreary and monotonous,* Jim was the one who skillfully scanned the horizon for possible Indians, tho he never intimated
to his companions that there was anything whatever to occasion uneasiness. Twice, when he had made little detours far to the left or right, ostensibly in search of water, he had discovered recent camping places of the redskins. Not a blanket nor a feather was visible, however, as the little party made steady progress toward the awful vastness of the great American desert.
One day there crept up to their side, slowly and solemnly, one behind the other, eight bunches of cattle and eight more heavy white wagons, from which children's faces were thrust; and thin-featured, careworn women, or buxom girls, sat on the front seat, silently sewing, or knitting, while the men of the party walked or rode by the side of the wagons.
The emigrant caravan, augmented by the newcomers, now presented an imposing spectacle, stretching away in a long line across the land of sagebrush, cactus and snakes. The additional numbers brought dissension. No longer could the clear judgment, cool head and experience of Jim Burgess, born and reared on the plains, select the route and forn% the plans for the party. There were other guides and other ideas. Every one clamored to press on more rapidly. Indians had been sighted by the newly arrived caravan three days' journey back. Altho nothing unusual had happened since, the women were di