He nodded and set off for the mercantile. A small bell jingled as he pushed open the front door. Thomas glanced up at the small metal contraption that had announced his arrival. The woman he’d seen earlier appeared out of nowhere to greet him.
“May I help you?” she politely asked.
“I’m needin’ to purchase supplies for about thirty people, but I ain’t got too much money. I’ve got a list here.” He noted the sparsely supplied shelves as he pulled the neatly folded paper from his pocket.
The woman quickly scanned the list. “How much money do you have?”
He reached into his pocket and removed the pouch.
The woman carefully counted his funds. “I think we’re going to need Mr. Hepple’s assistance. You’ve some difficult decisions to make.”
For the next half hour Thomas answered Mr. Hepple’s innumerable questions regarding Nicodemus and the plight of the small band of settlers camped thirty miles to the north.
George Hepple studied the list and recounted the coins—several times. And then he rubbed his bald head. “You don’t have near enough money for all the items on this list. You need to decide which ones are most important. But before you decide, I want to tell you that Mr. Hill isn’t going to be returning to Nicodemus—at least not any time soon.”
Thomas gaped at the man. “How do ya know that?”
“Because he was in my store about a month ago. He was traveling with the Peterson brothers. He told me he was having them return the wagons to Topeka, and he was heading back east by train—to Kentucky, I think. Said he was going to locate some more settlers for Nicodemus and that he’d be sending them out here on the train. You could ask Will or Chester. I reckon Mr. Hill would have talked to one of them about furnishing wagons to the new settlers when they arrive in Ellis.”
“He might be back soon, then. It don’ take all that long to get back and forth on the train, do it?” Thomas asked in a hopeful voice.
Mr. Hepple shook his head back and forth. “He talked like he was planning to stay in Kentucky or Tennessee for a while and just send folks out on the train. I could be wrong, but . . .”
“But you’re likely right,” Thomas said. “Sure don’t sound like he’s sendin’ supplies or anyone to help build the town.”
The storeowner appeared as deflated as Thomas felt. “I’m sorry to be the one giving you the bad news, but at least you know you can’t depend on him. The truth is, you folks need to get yourselves prepared for winter.”
“I think I’m gonna need some help decidin’ what’s most important. Like I told your missus, we ain’t got a whole lot of money.”
“I can’t help you much at the moment. As you can see, my shelves are about empty. But the train will be coming through with our supplies the day after tomorrow, and then I can fill your order.”
“Not ’til Thursday? I can’t wait ’til then. The folks up in Nicodemus are expectin’ me to load up and be on my way today.”
Mr. Hepple placed the list atop the shiny walnut countertop and pushed it across. “You have no choice. I’m the only store in town that carries most of these items. Better to wait than to go home and return again next week. Once the supplies are unloaded, we can figure out exactly what you want to purchase.”
“I reckon you’s right. Thanks for your help. I’ll be back on Thursday.” Thomas hung his head as he walked through the doorway. The tiny metal bell gave a farewell jingle as he closed the door behind him.
Although he hadn’t wanted to make this journey, he thought it would be simple enough: drive the wagon to Ellis, load up with as many supplies as possible, and return to Nicodemus. But it was not working out that way. As usual, things had taken a turn for the worse. Seemed as though that was the way of things in his life. Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to.
Spying a small stone, he took aim with the toe of his shoe and kicked the rock with a deliberate force that sent it sailing into the air. He watched as the nugget came to a bouncing halt in front of the livery.
His hat was pulled low and his shoulders slouched when he entered the barn a few minutes later. He ambled toward his horses, wondering why things couldn’t just go as planned once in a while.
“Hey, Thomas,” Will called. “This here is Chester Goddard. He owns this place.”
Thomas nodded at the burly, bewhiskered man who was rubbing lotion on the galled skin of a roan mare. “Pleased to meet ya.”
“Will tells me you’re in Ellis to purchase supplies—says you’ve settled in Nicodemus,” Chester commented as he continued his ministrations.
“Yep, but it don’ appear I’m gonna get those supplies ’til the train comes in on Thursday.”
“That a fact? Hepple can’t seem to get his ordering to match up with what folks need. Seems as though he’s always low on the supplies folks are wanting to buy,” Chester remarked. “If you want to earn a little money while you’re in town, there’s a fellow who needs help with his dugout not far from here. I think he’ll pay you a fair wage. Besides, you can learn how much work it is to dig one of those things,” he added with a broad grin.
Will ceased mucking one of the stalls and leaned on his pitchfork. “Might be some folks needing an extra hand in the fields, too, maybe doing some haying.”
“Yeah, I’m sure there’s plenty of folks around here that’d be glad to have you swing a cradle for them, but a man gets weary of that work in a hurry. If I was you, I’d check on the dugout. Never hurts to see firsthand how things are done, especially out here on the prairie.”
Thomas contemplated his prospects. If Chester was right about Mr. Hill not coming back, they’d sure need to figure out some kind of shelter before winter set in. Though he’d been inside a couple of dugouts on their trip west from Topeka, Thomas had no idea how to craft a dwelling in the side of a hill. There were surely some instructions that would aid in making the dwelling secure from the elements—and he wouldn’t mind a hint or two on the easiest method of digging out space enough to accommodate a family. Given the fact that they would need more than simple lean-tos if they were to suitably shelter thirty people throughout the winter, Thomas heeded Chester’s advice and drove the team to a piece of land three miles northeast of Ellis. Not far from a narrow creek, he spotted a man swinging his pick into a hillside.
“Ho there!” Thomas called out as he neared the diggings.
The man turned at the sound and waved vigorously. “Welcome! Are you looking for work?”
“Mr. Goddard at the livery tol’ me you were lookin’ to hire on someone to help with your house. But I can work only today and tomorrow.”
“Two days is better than none. Jump on down and I’ll put you to digging if you’ll accept a dollar a day and board.”
“And some grain fer the horses?” Thomas asked, hoping the man wouldn’t think him greedy.
“So long as I can use them and the wagon to haul off some of this dirt.”
Thomas grinned and nodded as he shook hands with the man. “Thomas Grayson,” he said as the man pumped his arm up and down.
“Jeremiah Horton,” the man replied. “You can grab that shovel over there.” He pointed to a pile of tools and farm implements.
Thomas scanned the items before picking up the heavy shovel. If a man could judge by the number of tools, it appeared Mr. Horton was well prepared to begin homesteading—and obviously lonely, for he either lectured or questioned Thomas the entire day. By the time evening arrived, Thomas was pleased to lead the horses the short distance to the creek bordering Mr. Horton’s property.
“Bring some water back for coffee,” the man hollered.
Thomas held the bucket high and continued onward, anxious for a few minutes of solitude. While the horses drank their fill, he walked a short distance upstream and dipped the pail into the clear, cool water, filling it to the brim. With nothing but the sound of the trickling stream and the occasional warble of a meadowlark, Thomas relaxed and wished he could remain in this quiet place.
Instead, he picked up the bucket and doggedly returned to the camp, where Mr. Horton served another meal of leftover beans and ham. But Thomas cared little. He was hungry. Even more, he was tired. After a day of cutting through the tough buffalo grass and tunneling into the hard, dry hillside, every muscle in his body quivered and ached. He had already closed his eyes when he heard the fire sizzle. His host had likely spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dying embers.
“Hard work, ain’t it?” Mr. Horton’s booming voice jarred Thomas from his reverie.
“Yeah,” Thomas said before turning his back toward Horton and tugging his hat down over his face.
The man took the hint and said no more, but before the sun had risen the next morning, he was up and moving. Bacon was sizzling in an iron skillet and the aroma of boiling coffee filled the air, yet Thomas didn’t move until Mr. Horton nudged him with the toe of his boot. The man was obviously intent upon getting a full day’s work out of Thomas before he departed.
“Got your breakfast ready,” Horton said. “Thought I’d make use of your team and we could both cut up sod since I got two breaking plows. My old plow ain’t as good, but they’ll both work.”
Thomas sat up and took the tin plate of food Mr. Horton offered. “No biscuits?” Thomas asked with a wry smile.
Mr. Horton gave a hearty chuckle. “Ain’t figured out how to make biscuits, but if you promise to come back and work again, I’ll learn how.
Or maybe by then I’ll have my missus out here.”
After they washed up the dishes, Thomas listened carefully to Mr. Horton’s instructions. Although he’d never used a breaking plow before, by early afternoon he and the horses had mastered the task well enough to turn the sod in a reasonably acceptable fashion. The work would make Horton’s planting much easier come next spring.
While Thomas worked on the field where Jeremiah Horton would plant his corn, the older man used his own team of horses and the better of the two plows to break sod for the bricks that he would use to extend the front opening and to form part of the roof for his dugout. With a wood frame and the sod bricks, he could erect an entry that would permit more light into the shelter, which, he told Thomas, was an important detail to remember when you’re considering womenfolk. They want as much natural light as possible, he’d explained, though he didn’t say why.
“Let that go for now and come help me,” Mr. Horton called to Thomas around midafternoon. “I want to get this cut into bricks. Grab an axe,” he instructed.
For the remainder of the day, the men worked to form the sod bricks, with Thomas carefully heeding the man’s instruction. What he learned from Mr. Horton could mean the difference between life and death when he returned to Nicodemus. “If you didn’ have this plow, how would you go ’bout cuttin’ the bricks?” he asked as the two worked alongside each other.
“Chop ’em out with an axe. Hard work, though, and a man wouldn’t get much accomplished with only an axe to cut through the buffalo grass.”
“Reckon you’re right ’bout that. I was wonderin’ if maybe you could see your way clear to let me borrow that old plow.”
“You mean take it thirty miles north? How would you be paying me, and when would I get it back?” he asked, his eyes alight with the prospect of a deal.
Thomas pushed his hat back on his head. “I’ll take only one day’s wages for my work, and I can send the plow back down with Mr. God-dard’s wagons. Mr. Hepple over at the general store said dere’s another group of settlers comin’ from Kentucky real soon, and Mr. Goddard is bringing ’em up north with his wagons. He could bring the plow back with him when he returns to Ellis. And I’d work another two days for you come spring.”
Jeremiah stared off toward the north as if to envision the possibility. “Them settlers might never show up, and that means my plow would be sitting in Nicodemus until spring. Next thing you know, you’d decide to keep it until after spring planting. Who knows? I might never get it back.”
“You can use only one plow at a time—you’re only
one
person with
one
team of horses. But I s’pose you gotta do as you see fit. It’s your plow to keep or loan out.”
“You say you’ll give me two full days of work come spring?” Jeremiah asked as he swung his axe into a broad chunk of sod.
Thomas grinned. Once Jeremiah Horton realized that Thomas would bargain no further, the older man was willing to give in. “I did.”
“And I gotta pay you only a dollar for your work the past two days?”
“As well as grain for the horses.”
Jeremiah extended his hand. “You’ve got a deal. When you leave, I’ll ride with you to the Rooks’ farm so you’re sure to find his place. He’ll sell you butter, potatoes, eggs, and molasses cheaper than you can get it in town—maybe flour and cornmeal, too. Beans, sugar, and rice you’ll have to get from Hepple at the general store.”
Thomas hesitated, thinking of the small pouch of coins. “How much fer potatoes and molasses?”
“Last time I was over to his place I paid two dollars and fifty cents for ten bushels of potatoes and forty cents for a gallon of molasses. Eggs was sixteen cents for two dozen, but you’ll have to ask him about bacon and ham. Seems he’s always changing the price on them items.”
“I’ll get some of the molasses, but I think I’ll settle on rice, beans, and cornmeal instead of the potatoes. I need to use some of the money for a few tools.”
“Suit yourself, but be sure you buy some shoe nails from Hepple. This prairie grass is hard on sole leather, and it’s cheaper to fix your shoes than buy new ones—and they’ll keep the snow and water out a lot better if you keep ’em greased with skunk fat.”
Thomas thanked him for the advice. How would he ever decide the best way to spend the little money in his pocket? What purchases would be most necessary to meet the needs of thirty strangers out in a desolate land?
Once again they worked until after sunset, but the next morning, Horton was good to his word. He loaded the plow into Thomas’s wagon and paid him a dollar and fifty cents.
As Jeremiah hoisted an extra sack of grain into the wagon, Thomas gave him a puzzled look. “I know you don’t have much money,” the settler said, “and you likely don’t want to spend any of what you’ve got on grain, but those horses are going to need feed to keep ’em going through the winter.”