We Hit the Trail for Points East, with all the Glories of Iced Tea, Iced Coffee, Fried Chicken, and Ice Cream in the Offing
It was very quiet as we sat on our little porch with the dark ring of chaparral around the outer edge of the clearing. There was no light or sound in the Essie cabin. We could barely make out its dim outline in the darkness. We were deeply disquieted by the troubles of our friends on the Rivers. The trip east, going home, all the glories of the Southern Pacific and our own Royal Blue Pullman cars, all the things we had been looking forward to, seemed of very little consequence after all.
Mart, Essie, and Les. Mac-i-a-rum Joe and his tiny, dying garden. Little Eddy Owl and his horrible leg that wouldn't yield to any treatment we could give it. Eddy, who stood aloof while the other Indian children played, and had something in his face that ought not to be in the face of a child. Eddy's leg was far beyond any skill of ours. For that matter, the troubles of all our friends were far beyond any skill of ours. Confronted with them we were helpless.
But at least there might be a chance for Eddy Owl. They told us at the store that the following day Dr. Kyselka would ride through Somes on his way back to Sawyer's Bar. Everyone speaks of Dr. Kyselka and his kindness to the Indians. If only we could talk to him about Eddy Owl.
It was early in the evening when we rode into Somesbar. We had put Eddy up behind Mabel on our latest horse, which is to be called Mr. Slopey Tanner. As we rode in,