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MIDMORNING, THE TRAIN stopped in the middle of nowhere. The conductor ran down the line and smacked the door of their car.
“Open up,” he hollered.
Karl unlatched the door and slid it open. He and Jan jumped down. They saw nothing up and down the line except the train and a water tower, for the train blocked their view of the other side. When the train departed, they would get their first look at what lay to the north. Two men were busily filling the train’s water tank.
The conductor motioned to them. “Unload here.” He gestured for them to hurry.
“Here” was simply a flat area to the side of the track. At least the tracks were not on a steep embankment. Jan and Karl unlocked their second car. They would have to unload the oxen first.
The conductor and another railroad man climbed into their first car and began tossing out the bales of hay. Amalie, Elli, and the girls, not knowing what to do, tried to keep out of their way.
A few seconds later Karl and Jan heard Elli crying, “Nei, nei!” and turned to see the railroad men tossing their food out of the car, too. A burlap bag of wheat hit the ground, split open, and began pouring grain into the dirt.
Jan ran back to the car and shouted to the men to stop. They ignored him. Jan clambered into the car and grabbed the conductor’s arm. The conductor shook Jan off, yelling at him. The other railroad man pushed Elli out of his way and reached for Jan.
Jan did not think; he only acted. His left fist swung in a tight circle. The railroad man bounced off the wall of the car and sank to the floor.
The conductor snarled at Jan. He jumped out of the car and drew a whistle from his pocket. The high-pitched, urgent repeating of his whistle filled the air. In response, a stream of railroad workers, on their way to the end of the line where new track was being laid, poured from a car forward of them. In less than a minute, a swarm of rough-looking men, spoiling for a brawl, surrounded them.
“Jan!” Karl’s mouth was tight with worry. He shouldered his way through the twenty or so laborers. They were standing on or walking on the foodstuffs thrown from the train.
Jan, with his arm around Elli, stood in the door of the car, waiting. He could feel her trembling within his arms. Oh, Lord! My quick temper has gotten us into a terrible situation. He was not unmindful of how badly things could go.
The angry conductor shouted something to the men, pointing from the prostrate form on the floor of the car to Jan. Some of the men reached up to drag Jan down. He let go of Elli, fearful that she would be hurt.
“Well, now. What’s goin’ on here?” a cool voice drawled. Everyone heard the distinctive “click” of a rifle being cocked.
The laborers jumped aside as a tall, wiry-built man looked around, sizing up the situation. He rested the buttstock of his rifle on his thigh, pointing the barrel toward the sky, but his eyes conveyed a challenge.
Then he glanced down. “What is this? What in tarnation do you boys think yer doin’ tramplin’ these folks’ food?” His eyes narrowed and he stared at the conductor. “Mister, did you toss these things out in the dirt?”
The conductor, drawing himself up, sputtered a reply. “We have a timetable to keep here, Bailey. This is none o’ your concern.”
“Weeell,” the man drew the word out, “They paid their fare, din’t they? ’Sides, you ain’t got no right t’ be treatin’ newcomers like this, so I guess I’m makin’ it my concern.”
“You men there,” he gestured at a knot of laborers to the right. “You think it right t’ throw a man’s food and things in the dirt? And then walk on them?”
The workers, getting a better picture of the situation, began to mutter and shoot dark glances at the conductor. One of the mob piped up, “No sir! Didn’t think that was what was happening.” He cleared his throat and said to Jan and Elli, “Mighty sorry, sir, ma’am.”
“Well, since Mr. Chance is so concerned with keeping his ‘timetable,’ how ’bout you men give these newcomers a hand unloading their things? Respectful like. And pick up their food here.”
The men did as Bailey directed. The conductor and another man dragged their unconscious friend from the boxcar and laid him out on the prairie grass. Others began to unload and carefully stack the Thoresens’ belongings alongside the tracks.
While some of the men were unloading the first car, several others helped Jan and Karl drag a crude ramp to their second boxcar, unload the oxen, and hobble them. A few more handed down wagon parts. Jan and Karl set to work assembling the wagons. When the men saw what they were doing, they pitched in to help.
In the meantime, Amalie looked for and found her sewing kit. She stitched a neat seam up the split in the sack of wheat. Elli and the girls picked through the dirt, salvaging every kernel they could find. They placed the dusty wheat in Elli’s apron.
After she and the girls had retrieved all the wheat, Elli asked for the sack in which Jan and Karl had kept the pegs and pins for the wagons. She had Kristen hold the sack open while she poured the wheat into it.
Within an hour the three wagons were assembled, and the men had loaded the lumber onto one wagon. Atop the lumber, Karl strapped the new stove and piping and stacked the bales of hay.
The conductor, not willing to wait any longer, signaled the engineer to blow the whistle.
“Guess we gotta go,” one of the workers said.
Jan made a point of shaking hands with each man. “Tanks you,” he said tentatively. He felt silly, but his efforts earned him a proud smile from Søren. Some of the men clapped him on the shoulder.
All the while, Bailey watched, his face noncommittal, rifle held casually at his side.
When the train pulled away, the Thoresens stared across the tracks. They saw a small clearing and a tiny cabin built into the side of a low hillock.
Beyond that spread the open prairie as far as they could see.
The ground undulated over swells and mounds; the prairie grasses shimmered in the midday sun. Jan’s breath left him as he stared.
“You folks all right?” It was the man with the rifle.
Jan and Karl walked over to him. “Tanks you,” Jan said, hoping his firm handshake and solemn face expressed how grateful they were.
“Tusen Takk,” echoed Karl. He pointed to himself. “Karl Thoresen.” He pointed at Jan. “Jan Thoresen.”
“Robert Bailey. Pleased t’ meetcha.” Bailey was a little younger than both Jan and Karl. He pointed. “I keep th’ water tower filled.”
Jan called to Søren. When the boy stepped to his side, Jan put his hand on Søren’s shoulder. “Jeg sønn, Søren.”
Bailey shook the boy’s hand. “You-all have a lot to do still.” He pointed at their things spread along the track. “Would you like some help?”
Jan asked Søren what he said. “I think he would like to help, Pappa,” Søren replied.
“Ja, tanks you!”
A woman emerged from the tiny shack. She walked swiftly toward them, wiping her hands on her apron as she hustled over. “Land sakes, Mr. Bailey! You shoulda tol’ me we had comp’ny!”
He grinned at her. “They jest got off th’ train, missus. Name o’ Thoresen. I think they’re brothers. Come meet ’em.”
Mrs. Bailey, weatherworn and feisty, was as plainspoken as her husband. She shook hands all around. They were all a little awkward with the language barrier. “Would ya like sumpthin’ t’ eat? Got some soup on th’ back o’ th’ stove and some biscuits.”
“My woman do make good biscuits,” Bailey said proudly.
Søren looked at his father. “They said ‘eat,’ Pappa.” His stomach growled.
“Ja, tanks you!” Jan accepted. He was getting more comfortable with the two words he’d learned. He and Karl unhobbled the oxen and led them to a trough under the water tower. Jan hobbled them again. Karl spread a tarpaulin over their food supplies before turning to the Bailey’s cabin.
On the shaded side of the Bailey’s cabin, in a small pen, the Thoresens spotted two cows and a calf. “Karl,” Amalie whispered, “Look! They have cows!” Karl looked speculatively at the cows and calf. He nudged Jan, who nodded.
Inside, the Thoresens exchanged many comments on the cabin’s construction. They were especially impressed after they went inside and found that the back six feet of it was dug into the low hillside.
They enjoyed the soup and quick breads offered to them, but conversation was stilted. Mrs. Bailey chatted on to the women who listened attentively and nodded politely, not understanding a word.
Jan asked Søren to thank the Baileys again, and to say they needed to load their wagons and move on. They likely had four hours of daylight ahead of them, but it would take an hour or two just to finish loading the wagons.
Søren did the best he could. “Tanks you, food. We go wagons.” He pointed to the northwest.
“Gotcha a claim over there, eh?”
“Claim—ja!” Søren nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
Søren aided conversation among the men when he suggested that his father show Mr. Bailey his claim paper. Jan and Karl both did so.
“Why, I’m pretty sure thet’s Han Gloeckner’s old claim,” Bailey announced, pointing to Karl’s paper. “Ain’t seed it m’self, but he described it t’ me.”
He looked at Karl and Søren and tried to communicate. “Mr. Gloeckner. Mr. Gloeckner’s claim,” he said, pointing at the paper.
When Bailey spotted a bit of alarm in Karl’s eyes he added quickly, “Gloeckner, no.” He shot a look for help to Søren. “Gloeckner, gone. Goodbye.”
“Herr Gloeckner?” Søren asked.
“Yes,” Bailey answered but quickly added, “He is gone. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye? Go?” Søren was struggling.
“Yes! He go, er, went.”
“I think he means what the land office man told us, Onkel,” Søren told his uncle. “A Herr Gloeckner had this claim but did not stay long enough to prove it up.”
Bailey insisted on helping Karl and Jan to load the remaining two wagons. The men covered the three wagons with tarpaulins and roped them securely.
“Say,” Bailey said when they were ready to go. “You goin’ t’ need all them oxen when ya get to’ yer claim?”
The only words Søren caught were “oxen” and “claim.” He shook his head and looked at his father. Bailey placed his hand on one of the oxen. He held up a finger. “One.” He pointed at the other ox and held up a second finger. “Two.”
He pointed down the line and held up a total of six fingers. “Six,” he said, pointing again at the oxen. Jan and Søren both nodded, and Jan suddenly smiled.
He pointed to Bailey’s two milk cows and the calf and held up one finger and then pointed at one ox.
“An ox fer a milk cow, eh?” Bailey scratched his chin and muttered to himself. “Could use an ox, maybe lease him out. Could sell him, too. Fer cash money.”
Bailey held up his hand and strode quickly toward his cabin. Jan and Karl looked at each other.
“Missus! Missus!” Bailey called. “I’m thinkin’ on tradin’ Molly fer one o’ these folks’ oxen. Whatcha think o’ that?”
“I’m thinkin’ we ain’t got no use fer two milk cows, thet’s what,” she called back, “an’ they got little ones what need milk. It’s all right with me.”
It took some time and imaginative communication, but another thirty minutes later, Mr. Bailey hopped aboard one of the wagons and took the reins. Søren rode with Mr. Bailey; his horse and the Thoresens’ new cow, Molly, walked along behind them, tied to the back of the wagon.
Bailey had offered to go with them to their claims and then return on his horse, leading one of the oxen. Since he knew best how to reach their homestead claims, Jan and Karl asked him to lead the way.
The sojourners had made five miles when Mr. Bailey stopped atop a knoll and gestured to the river below them. Then his finger tracked far up the river and pointed to where a creek could just be seen joining the river.
Jan and Karl knew immediately that this was “their” creek. It would guide them the rest of the way to their land.
~~**~~
