Gone West Read Online Free PDF

the amount of exercise we have today running between the wagons.”
     
    “He’s young and growing.” Maggie was tucked snugly next to Johnny’s body, his arm comfortably around her shoulder. “In a few minutes he’ll just drop in his tracks and sleep till morning.”
     
    Johnny glanced up at the sky. “I’m tired enough for that myself. But with a soft breeze and such a moon, somehow I can’t set my mind to sleep.” He stretched a little. “Jamie!”
     
    “Yes, Pa?”
     
    “Think you can locate the instruments in the wagon?”
     
    Jamie’s face lit up with pleasure.
     
    “Yes, Sir!”
     
    In a moment he returned, laden, to hand a concertina to his father, and a banjo to his mother. He kept the recorder for himself.
     
    “With all the excitement I near forgot about the music, Pa. What shall we start with, the one about the pioneers coming to Ohio Territory?”
     
    Maggie smiled as she pulled herself from her husband’s half embrace. “That sounds perfect.”
     
    Soon they started in, Maggie’s lovely voice singing out clear and strong:
     
“Rise you up my dearest dear, and present to me your hand,
     
And we’ll all run away to some far and distant land.”
     
    At the end of the first verse the Stuarts were pleasantly surprised to find new voices, particularly the strong tenor of Irish Hardisty, join in on `And we’ll ramble in the canebrake, and shoot the buffalo.’ When the song was completed they’d drawn a crowd around them, most of the faces new ones, all of them making cries for another song.
     
    “What shall it be, then?” Johnny spoke up cheerfully.
     
    A surprising request came from a big, broad man standing shyly at the edge of the crowd.
     
    “ Home, Sweet Home , please.”
     
    “Come on, you’re never homesick already, are you?” joshed someone else.
     
    Johnny quickly intervened. “It’s a fine American song, and we’ll do it on the understanding that it be dedicated to our new homes in Oregon.” And nodding to Maggie, he started in. By the end of the song the crowd was silent. It was Irish who saved a few potential tears from being shed.
     
    “Know the one about the cork leg, Johnny?”
     
    Johnny grinned knowingly. “You bet I do,” and launched into a rousing version of the gentleman who had quaffed one too many during an evening’s entertainment. The audience was growing larger now, and all joined in with “He clung to a lamp post to stay his pace, But the leg wouldn’t stay, but kept on the chase.”
     
    All were laughing good-naturedly at the end, enjoying their new camaraderie when a tall, distinguished man shoved through the group. He stood before Johnny and Maggie glowering, moonbeams outlining the stark nose, the gray at his temples, the unhealthy glint in his eyes.
     
    “Know you not that tomorrow is the Sabbath? Would you insult the Lord with such drivel?”
     
    “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance, sir,” offered Johnny, concertina poised on his lap for a new onslaught of merriment.
     
    “I am the Reverend Josiah Winslow, embarked with my family for the Whitman Mission in the country of the heathen.”
     
    “Thought the Whitmans were out in Oregon,” piped up a bystander.
     
    Winslow whipped around. “I carry my mission to bring Word of the Lord to those poor demented souls less fortunate than ourselves, while there still be time to save them, but it would appear that my services are wanting in this very train as well.”
     
    “Where are you wife and children, Reverend?” asked Maggie with complete innocence. “I’m sure they’d like a little joyful music, too. Even on the eve of the Sabbath I know the Lord wouldn’t begrudge us that after a hard day’s labor.”
     
    He stared down at her. “My family, thank you, is by our campfire, studying their scripture.” His head slowly made a circumference of those around him. “As all of you should be doing. Know you not that besides the consideration of the Sabbath