The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick Read Free Book Online Page A

expedition coming this way, the first big cross-country expedition west after Lewis and Clark returned. There’d been one woman in that party, a Madam Dorion, and she’d walked or ridden a horse from St. Louis, Missouri, all this way, heading to the Pacific. At least Madam Dorion had the luxury of traveling with her husband and sixty men. She’d also brought her two young boys with her instead of leaving them behind.
    Red willows bushed up beside the Umatilla River, which ran right through the Umatilla Indian reservation. Those Indians had beenfriendly in the book I’d read, had helped Madam Dorion when she got into trouble. Nevertheless, I hoped we wouldn’t encounter any and said as much to Mama.
    â€œMe either,” she said, for the first time not minimizing my concern.
    We both heard the clatter of rocks at the same time. “What’s that?” she said. I saw the tramp first and pointed.
    He was shorter than both my mother and I but much stockier. He wore baggy pants with holes in the knees. His pockets bulged, and an old tweed jacket covered what looked like two shirts. The coat was stained with spots big enough to be seen even though he was a good twenty yards from us. He must have been sleeping in the bushes as we walked by. Our chattering probably woke him up. Clumps of mud hung on his pants, but mud hung on us as well. I didn’t know if he was a
stygging
, a nasty man, or one like us, walking the rails.
    Mama put the grip in front of her and dug into her stride, saying, “Keep walking. Faster.”
    The tramp began a singsong cry of, “La-a-a-dies. Let’s have lu-u-u-nch. La-a-a-dies, let’s have lu-u-u-nch.” I twisted to look. He appeared frazzled more than dangerous.
    â€œIgnore him,” Mama said, urging me along with her hands when I turned.
    A stone inside my shoe rubbed against my heel. I nearly twisted my ankle turning to see how fast he approached. I picked up my long skirt, wishing we had the reform dresses to wear right now.
    â€œLeave us be or I’ll shoot,” Mama said. I could tell by the direction of her voice that she’d stopped.
Does she have her Smith & Wesson out?
    â€œDon’t … don’t …”
    I heard the gunshot, smelled the powder, watched the man fall.
    â€œYou shot him,” I screamed. “Mama! You shot him!”
    â€œI gave him fair warning.”
    â€œMaybe he was hungry,” I said, running past her to him.
    â€œThen he should have said so.”
    â€œHe said he wanted lunch.”
    Mama joined me. He lay on his side, still. A light rain drizzled.
    I leaned over to touch him. One eye came open. I jerked back.
    â€œYou … you shot me,” he said. “My leg.”
    â€œA mere flesh wound,” Mama said, but she sounded relieved.
    He moaned loudly. “Meant you no harm,” he said. “Haven’t eaten in two days. My leg!”
    â€œAre you armed?” Mama asked.
    â€œNo,” he said. I could see blood through one of the holes in his pants. “If I had a gun, I’d have traded it for chicken. Just wanted a little food. Thought you were tramps too.”
    â€œDo we look like tramps?” Mama asked. She pulled on her jacket, straightened her shoulders. Actually, I thought we did, mud all over us, hats as flat as grinding stones. Mama didn’t wait for his answer. “Come along, Clara. We’ll bandage him up. He can’t do any harm hobbling.”
    His mouth dribbled hardtack Mama gave him. I tore up one of his shirts to use as a bandage. It was a flesh wound, but I was sure it hurt. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous for two women alone out here?”
    â€œYou can see we can handle ourselves,” I said. I hated defending my mother’s actions.
    At the river I found a stick that would work to help him hobble along to the next town. Having injured him, we felt obligated to take care of him, even