"They won't be broken," he assured her. "The Casper's broke because they just didn't know how to pack. We're taking eggs too, aren't we? Every piece will get to Oregon with us." The anguished shadow faded and she cast him a glance of purest love. But doubts remained, and she was a bit ashamed. "We have so much to carry and so little room." "There's room for that little box. You'd like to have your dishes, wouldn't you?" "I'd love to!" "Then they're going to Oregon with us. I'd better get the rifle. Left it outside." Joe walked out to get the rifle, which was still leaning against the sycamore, and he returned to the house with it. He smiled whimsically. The pegs in his and Emma's bedroom were no longer a safe place for the rifle; they hadn't been in the first place or Tad never would have been able to smuggle the weapon out of the house. Joe set his jaw. Tad would have to use the rifle; it was an indispensable part of any man's equipment on any frontier. But he would have to use it properly. If he didn't, if there was any more irresponsible shooting, he'd feel the flat of his father's hand again. For the time being, Joe hung the rifle back on its pegs. He turned to smile at his wife. "The mules are shod, and there's not a darn thing to do except start for Oregon." Emma clasped her hands together, her one gesture of apprehension. "It doesn't seem possible, does it?" "Nope. Seems like there must be a hundred things to do yet. We'd best remember to catch your hens and rooster while they're on the roost tonight. Oh my golly!" "What's the matter?" "I left Pete standing outside!" Joe went to the door to call Pete, and just as he did so Yancey Garrow rode up on his gaunt brown horse. He held a package across the saddle in front of him, and his fiddle case was over his shoulder. Grinning, he dismounted. "Lucy thought you might like to take this along. It's a ham and a side of bacon." "You butchering now?" "We always," and Yancey voiced what Joe knew was a bald-faced lie, "kill one hog in summer." Joe gulped. With the possible exception of John Seeley, who could afford it, nobody butchered in the summer. But the Garrows had wanted their departing friends to enjoy ham and bacon. Joe said, "That's right good of you, Yancey." "It's nothing," the other said airily. He carried the package of meat into the house. Emma greeted him. "Hello, Yancey." "Hi, Emma. I swear you get prettier every day. How you ever fell for an old he-coon like Joe is something I'll never understand." He shifted the fiddle to his other shoulder. Pete stood in the doorway, and seemed to be waiting. "Play something, Yancey," Emma pleaded. "Play some music for us." "Sure. What do you want to hear?" "Anything." Yancey Garrow took his fiddle out of its case, tucked it under his chin, and drew the bow across it a couple of times. He began a lively rendition of "Yankee Doodle." Her face flushed with pleasure, Barbara emerged from her room.