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mud.
    “Do you know about guns?”
    I shrugged. “My uncle taught me to use a rifle.”
    “Mr. Early,” she said, giving me a rude poke in the ribs, “my pa said you’re an orphan.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I told him that,” was my careful reply.
    She studied me, then said, “Mr. Early, I’m inclined to be interested in you.”
    “Why’s that?” I asked.
    She reached forward, took firm hold of my arm, drew me close, leaned down, and whispered into my ear, “Mr. Early, I’ve seen you about town with a man who bore a remarkable resemblance to being your father. I suspect you are no more an orphan than I. Indeed, I believe you are running away and therefore a brazen liar.”
    I pulled back, shocked.
    Miss Eliza giggled at my reaction and added, “But, Mr. Early, you should know I find liars most entertaining, for they have deep secrets. I shall keep yours to myself.”
    “Th-thank you … Miss Eliza,” I stammered.
    “We’ll talk again, Mr. Early, I’m sure,” she said. “And if you desire my friendship, you shall never, ever call me Miss Eliza—I answer to Lizzy and nothing else.” With a toss of her hair and a smirk, she walked away.
    All I could do was look after her, aware that my face had grown hot, red, and stupid. Worse, if she knew about me, perhaps others would.

CHAPTER NINE

    Westward, Ho!
    B EFORE I could collect my wits, Mr. Bunderly reappeared. “And what do you think of my daughter, Mr. Early?” he asked.
    “Most agreeable,” I mumbled, hardly knowing what else to say.
    “Indeed!” he returned. “I can think of many words to describe Miss Eliza, but I doubt agreeable is to be found in her dictionary.”
    He went on to inform me that his plan was to go directly from our town to Council Bluffs. Once there, we would join with a bigger wagon train, then leave immediately for the diggings.
    All I knew about Council Bluffs was that it was over in Pottawattamie County, maybe forty miles from Cass County, sitting on the eastern shore of the Missouri River. It’s where Jesse’s first letter had come from. Getting there would put me farther from home than I’d ever dreamed.
    Next Mr. Bunderly led me to meet the three other families who would be in the train. They all had young children, which explained their need for extra, older hands. There was a Mr. Griffin, his wife, and son; Mr. Wynkoop, his wife, and three daughters; and a Mr. Hicksby, his wife, and two young sons, twins.

    When people back East thought of the wagons going west, they concocted really pretty pictures.
    Then there were those who were being taken along like me—to work the train. They were a Mr. Tecknor, a Mr. Armon, and a Mr. Mawr. These men looked to be in their twenties, so among the extra hands, I was by far the youngest.
    As I was to learn, all of these folks came from out of town but about Cass County, coming together for convenience. It meant my fear that I would be known was much reduced.
    There was one exception. When Mr. Bunderly introduced me, Mr. Mawr looked somewhat familiar, but I didn’t think it out, not then. I was too anxious and excited, wishing we would leave. Though I was as yet unrecognized, every slow-passing minute had me half expecting Adam or Pa might appear and haul me home.
    So, midst the fussing with this and that on the wagons, getting them ready, adjusting the yoked oxen, loading children and chickens, I was doing two things: trying to keep out of sight, while wanting to act as grown up as I could, particularly in case Miss Lizzy might be observing me.
    I stayed therefore as close to the Bunderly wagon as possible, keeping my hat brim low. I even thought of getting into the wagon to hide. But when I stole a look, I found it was stuffed helter-skelter with boxes, barrels, blankets, a feather bed, and tools—even a pig—so many things I could hardly tell what was in there, much less find a place to hide.
    As I would learn, Mr. Bunderly had brought along some four hundred pounds of corn flour,