Departure by Howard Fast Page A

was all more real than it had been in the daytime. While I lay there, thinking about it, I heard horses’ hoofs; at first not noticing them, and only becoming aware of them when the horses bulked out of the night, two men riding slowly.
    They were in the moonlight, and I was hidden in the shadow of the wagon. They didn’t see me. They stopped just about a dozen yards from the wagon, sitting on their horses and eyeing the mules. The mules moved restlessly.
    When I realized they were Indians I couldn’t move, just lay there and watched them. They were naked to the waist, with their hair in two stiff braids to their shoulders. They both carried rifles.
    I thought of Pa. I thought of screaming to wake Maude and Ma. I thought: “If they shot Pa—”
    They were cutting loose the mules.
    I felt for the carbine, twisted around, so I lay on my belly. One of the men had dismounted and was coming toward the wagon. He held his gun in one hand and had drawn a knife with the other. I sighted the center of his breast and fired.
    I remember how the sound blasted out the silence of the prairie. In the wagon, someone screamed. The Indian stopped, seemed to stare at me, swayed a bit, and crumpled to the ground. I remember the sharp pain in my shoulder from the blow of the recoil.
    The mounted man’s horse had wheeled about. He pulled it back, and fired at me. The shot threw sand in my face. I had a few cartridges and caps in my pocket, and I tried frantically to reload. The cartridges slipped through my fingers.
    Then the Indian was gone. He had taken the other horse with him, and I heard their hoofs thundering across the prairie. I dropped the carbine. My shoulder ached terribly. Inside the wagon, Maude was whimpering, my mother groaning.
    I climbed from under the wagon. The Indian lay on his back, his face hard and twisted. I stood there, looking at him.
    Maude climbed down out of the wagon. “What is it?” she cried. Then she saw the Indian and screamed.
    â€œAll right—I shot him.”
    She stood there, holding her hand to her mouth.
    â€œYou get back in the wagon. I guess he killed Pa, all right. Don’t tell that to Ma.”
    She shook her head. Ma was groaning. “I can’t go back,” Maude said.
    â€œWhy?”
    And then I knew. I should have known from the way Ma was groaning. I went up to Maude and slapped her face. She didn’t seem to feel it. I slapped her again.
    â€œGet in there!” I yelled.
    We had lanterns on the outside of the wagon. I took one and lit it. I wasn’t trembling so much now. I gave the lantern to Maude, who was still standing the way she had been before.
    â€œGo inside,” I said.
    Maude climbed into the wagon, taking the lantern with her. Then I cried. I crouched under the wagon, clutching the carbine and crying.
    Finally, I went over to the Indian. I forced myself to do that. He lay half across the rifle he had carried. I pulled it out, and it was my father’s rifle, all right.
    I don’t know how long I stood there holding the rifle. Then I put it under the seat, along with the carbine. I didn’t want to look at the wagon.
    I walked over to the mules. It was hard to harness them. When it was done, I ached all over, and my shoulder was swollen where the carbine had rested.
    I climbed to the driver’s seat. The curtains were down, and I couldn’t see into the wagon, but the light still burned. Taking down Pa’s whip, I let it go onto the mule’s backs. I had seen Pa do that and sometimes he let me try. The whip was fourteen feet long and I couldn’t do much with it, but I got the mules moving. They had to keep moving. We had to find water.
    At night, under the moon, the prairie was black and silver at the same time. Somehow, it didn’t frighten me the way it had during the day. I sat there thinking, I guess, of nothing at all, only awfully aware of the change inside me.
    We drove on like that. I kept