As soon as Pete Domley came--and he should be here any minute--they could rope and shoe the mare mule. There they could start, and the sooner the better. Joe had dreamed of the Oregon Trail so many times that, if he wasn't on it soon, he felt that he would begin braying like a mule himself. He smiled at his daughter. "I think we'll leave tomorrow morning, Bobby." "Oh, Daddy! May I stay with Marcia tonight?" Her lambent eyes glowed with pure delight, and Joe noted with approval the fire in her voice. Though it was not an unmixed blessing, Barbara felt all of everything that touched her. Her temperament, Joe felt, was not unlike the glowing fire in the forge. He said, "It's all right with me if it is with your mother." "Are you happy, Daddy?" "Sure am! I--What the dickens!" Pete Domley's white horse had appeared on the path leading from Tenney's Crossing, but Pete was not alone on the horse. Ahead of him, clutched firmly in Pete's strong hands, was Tad. Pete was also packing a rifle, something he seldom did unless he intended to go hunting. He reined his horse to a halt beside Joe. "I figure this is your business!" "What's my business?" Pete said firmly, "Tell him, Tad." Tad's face was sullen and angry, with every freckle livid. He stared almost haughtily at his father and Joe's eyes narrowed. He said, "That's my rifle too, huh?" "Right." Tad snapped, "If a man's goin' west he'd better know how to fight Indians. And I didn't hit him." "That's right," Pete agreed, "but you couldn't have shoved a knife blade between the place where that bullet hit the wall and his head." Joe felt hot anger rise. "Who did he shoot at?" "He came into the Crossing lugging your rifle," Pete asserted, "and before anybody could stop him he took a shot at Lard Head." "I didn't take a shot at him," Tad denied. "If I had, I'd of hit him." Joe said grimly, "Bobby, you go help your mother. Pete will work the bellows for me when we shoe the mare." The girl left, not looking back, and Joe faced his son. "Get off that horse." Tad obeyed, but his chin was outthrust and his eyes flashed. Joe flexed his right arm. "Take down your britches." Tad's pants slid around his ankles, and Joe grasped him with his left arm and turned his bare buttocks upward. With carefully measured force Joe brought the palm of his right hand down, and the mule turned to look curiously on this strange scene while Pete's horse danced skittishly. Tad's normally pink seat assumed a fiery hue, but he did not cry out. Finished, Joe set the boy gently on his feet. "If ever, except in your own self-defense, you shoot at another man, be he red, white, yellow, or black, you're going to get this over again and three times as hard." Tears welled up in Tad's eyes, but his jaw was still outthrust and his shoulders were squared as he walked away. Joe scratched his shaggy head in wonder. "I'll be doggoned! Can you tie that one?" "Nope," Pete admitted. "I can't." "What would you have done?"