- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
I was leading my mule into town to be shod, uncertain what I was going to do after, when I saw the wagons. I knew where they were headed--west. West to Oregon. They weren't the first to come through and I'd probably have paid them no mind, except for three things.
First, it was one of those fine early April days that starts the sap to running and just naturally makes a man's foot start to itch. Second, Pa and me had a fair-sized argument that morning and I was still feeling rankled. Then, of course, there was the girl.
She sat on the back of the first wagon, her bare feet dangling. She had a right cute face under a mass of yeller hair and the smile she gave me set my innards to quivering and the blood rushing up my neck.
I watched those wagons disappear around the bend ahead and I felt a restlessness that made my bones ache like a fever. The farm, even the gently rolling southern Illinois country, seemed like a prison. Besides, I wanted to see those laughing blue eyes again.