Jo's Journey by Nikki Tate Read Free Book Online Page A

procession as we settled into the grind of making and breaking camp, tending sore muscles and blistered feet, and convincing ourselves to keep going. The tension didn’t ease until we finally reached the town of Williams Lake, some sixteen days after we left Lilloet.
    â€œLooks like Heaven, don’t it?” Bart declared when we led our remaining horses into town. “Mr. Emerson says we’re gonna get us a square meal.”
    Just the thought made my tummy rumble. My mouth watered all the way to the restaurant. When the plates of cabbage, fresh beef,beans and pies were set before us, we attacked the food as if we might never eat again. Only once I slowed, and that was when I considered how ashamed my mother would be to see her daughter devouring a meal without thought of chewing. But I ignored her imagined scolding and tucked in with the best of them, not stopping until I’d gobbled down two platefuls of grub and slurped three cups of tea laced with milk and sugar. Heaven on Earth, indeed, and worth every penny of the three half-dollars Mr. Emerson forked over for each of us!
    But the pleasure of a full belly didn’t last long. The men were worried that our supplies wouldn’t see us all the way to Antler Creek. Two of the horses limped from stone bruises, and Joshua wanted us to rest in Williams Lake for a few days to give them a chance to recover.
    Mr. Emerson insisted that stopping could only mean poverty for all of us. His scowl was permanently stitched across his face, and everyone steered well clear of him whenever possible.
    Of course, there was no way the two jovial men who banged their glasses down on our table could have known any of that.
    â€œYou folks coming or going?” one of them asked.
    â€œComing,” said Mr. Emerson, and we all laughed because we always talked about going off to the diggings. “Going, I mean—going to the diggings.”
    â€œYou won’t know if you’re coming or going if you head on up the trail. You ain’t seen the bad part yet.”
    I thought of poor Sassafras and doubted that. How much worse could a trail get?
    The two men thought themselves hilarious. One slapped the other on the back so hard he nearly fell over.
    Quietly, his voice cold and hard-edged, Mr. Emerson asked, “Perhaps you gentlemen could inform us of the trail conditions ahead?”
    The men paid no attention to Mr. Emerson’s query but regaled us with several extremely rude jokes.
    Bang
!
    The gunshot was so loud I clapped my hands over my ears. Mr. Emerson eased his pistol back into its holster and looked up. A neat black hole in the wood beam above us marked where the bullet had disappeared.
    â€œI asked a question. I ain’t got all day to wait for an answer.”
    â€œSir, you can’t wait for your answer here—not if you’re going to shoot that pistol in my dining establishment.”
    Mr. Emerson raised his hand to the proprietor of the restaurant, a tall thin man with a glorious curling mustache. “Boys—git up. We got work to do.”
    Bart and I stood as one and meekly followed Mr. Emerson outside.
    â€œBe ready to leave early tomorrow,” he said with a curt nod toward the edge of town where we’d pitched our tent. He turned on his heel and strode into the closest saloon.
    Unrolling our blankets on the ground seemed preferable to spending even a minute cooped up in a room with Mr. Emerson.
    â€œDo you suppose them men were comingor going?” Bart asked as I was about to lose myself to sleep.
    Despite my weariness, I smiled. “I do believe they were coming from the diggings with their pockets full of gold.”
    â€œI don’t know about the gold, but I suspect they were going south because they ain’t out of their minds like most folks in these parts.”
    â€œYou don’t call their foolery madness?”
    â€œNope. I call it being happy. I ain’t been happy in so long I