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

can’t hardly remember how it feels. But I know what it looks like.”
    With that, Bart rolled away from me and I was staring at his back. I wanted to reach my hand across the space between us and touch his back the way one tries to soothe an animal in pain. Instead I turned the other way and stared at the bottom edge of the canvas side of the tent. I counted all the way to one thousand and forty-two before I finally lost track of what I was doing and fell sound asleep.

Chapter 11
    The next day Mr. Emerson was adamant that we push on. But late that morning when we found ourselves struggling to free Honey from where she lay belly deep in a swamp, I think we all regretted not having had a better rest at Williams Lake.
    â€œYou poor beast,” Joshua murmured, giving the sorrel mare a pat on the neck. “Let’s give her a hand,” he said.
    Nigel and Bill held ropes attached to either side of Honey’s halter to hold her head up out of the water. Careful not to plunge into the deep spot where Honey had sunk, Joshua eased his way to her rump with anotherrope in hand. Reaching down into the water behind her, he passed the rope over to Mr. Emerson, George and a fellow by the name of Louie on the far side.
    The rest of us watched, swatting at the cursed insects swarming everywhere. They crawled over our skin and into our noses, eyes and ears. Some were flies so small you could scarcely see them, though their bites were almost as bad as those of the monstrous horseflies.
    â€œReady?” Joshua asked.
    The men at the mare’s head nodded. Mr. Emerson’s eyes narrowed.
    â€œOne. Two. Three.”
    The men heaved on the ropes and the exhausted horse, still fully loaded, struggled out of the deep hole and staggered forward to come to an unsteady halt just a few feet farther on.
    The mare didn’t even bother to shake herself but stood, head down, panting.
    â€œGood girl,” Joshua said.
    I raised my hand to shade my eyes from the sun. The swamp stretched in all directionsas far as we could see. The only way to get through this horrible place was to try to step from hump to hump of drier grass. But the humps were often small and unsteady, and unless one were quick and nimble, sliding off into the swamp was a regular occurrence. The going was painfully slow, made all the worse by the clouds of insects that buzzed, hummed and bit.
    It was bad enough to drive a good man to drink. It was so bad that we lost a horse, which was unable to get up after he slid into the mud, despite three ropes and eight of us hauling on him to get him going again.
    Joshua cut the horse’s pack free and, without speaking, we divided up as much of the load as we could carry and continued on, not even looking back when the crack of a rifle signaled the end of the horse’s life.
    â€œI wouldn’t have believed that anything could make me think the swamp looked good,” Bart said. After hiking up and around a steep hill thick with trees and down into a ravine on the other side, we had come to a dead stop at the end of a rickety log bridge.The water was so high it licked at the bridge, splashed and spilled over the slick logs, white bubbles frothing and foaming as we stood and stared.
    â€œWe could stop here,” Louie said, though it was impossible to make camp on the narrow ledge beside the angry creek.
    â€œDon’t be a damned fool, Louie,” Mr. Emerson said. “Get on over the bridge.”
    At that moment we heard a shout, and four men, bedraggled, bearded and carrying little more than their bedrolls on their backs, staggered out of the trees on the other side of the ravine.
    â€œHold up!” the first in line shouted at us over the roar of the raging torrent below.
    It seemed that nothing could stop those men as they ran across the bridge.
    â€œTurn back,” the first one urged as he moved past us. “Ain’t nothin’ there worth dying over.”
    Bart took hold of my