Free The Way West by A. B. Guthrie Jr.

in size. What he aimed at was to get the country settled by Americans and so make it American. And not that Lije was like the others, either. He didn't fret or wish for time to pass so as to get him to a place that, after all, was just that much closer to the grave. As much as for anything, Summers imagined, as much even as for what they called patriotism, Lije was going west for the fun of it, as Summers was himself. The tameness in Lije had still proved wild enough to make him breach a fence and head for other pastures. That was the best reason of all. It was a slim chance that people would find themselves better off once they'd staked off land in Oregon.
   Evans was looking at Summers' little pile of plunder. There wasn't much there, not near enough by the rules -a blanket and an old buffalo robe that covered just a teensy keg of whisky, a little bit of meal, about a shirttail full of it, and salt meat and coffee and tobacco and a kettle and a couple of knives and two tifles, his Hawken and an over-and-under double barrel with the bore big enough for bird shot. He had a little of Indian gods, too, blue and white beads and fishhooks and tobacco and a roll of scarlet strouding and some vermilion. All of his plunder put together wasn't more than a couple of pack horses could carry easy. Even so, it was more than he needed. He could travel from hell to breakfast with no more than a gun and a horse, and would get there in time for dinner without the horse.
   "It ain't much, Lije," he said.
   "No?"
   ''Don't need much."
   "Not you, I reckon."
   Never saw folks with so much plunder. It ain't the way we used to travel."
   "Things are different."
   "I traveled many a mile, and nothin' to eat except what powder and ball would catch."
   Summers could see that Evans was bothered a little underneath, caught between friendliness and plain sense on one side and the rules he was supposed to see to on the other. That was a thing Summers liked about Evans -what he felt was worth doing he wanted to do right. He was a man to tie to. This was a fool thing now, though.
   Evans lifted the robe, bringing the keg of whisky to sight. Summers said, "Rules are all right, only I don't guess they fit me. Can't you just forget me, Lije?"
   Evans nodded, his mind of a sudden made up, and gave Summers a slow grin. "I ain't going to torment myself about you, Dick. You're plumb growed up. There's a sight of vinegar in that there keg, though. Here, Rock, damn you. Don't sneak off."
   "I'm a vinegar man. Might be you'll be needing some."
   "Might be. Good vinegar?"
   "Better'n apple. I always say corn's better'n apple."
   A rifle shot sounded from the other side of the camp, where they couldn't see.
   Evans looked down at Rock. "It's that damn McBee startin' out, likely," he said. "He's the dog killer. Feels big about it."
   "What you aim to do?"
   "All I know is, he ain't goin' to shoot Rock. Lie down, boy!" He rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. "Them McBees didn't have nigh enough food and such."
   "Then McBee ain't a proper one of the party."
   Evans shook his head. "Tadlock filled in, and Mack a little, so they wouldn't have to turn back. Didn't have any money, either, Dick. Couldn't pay the tax. That'll cost you, I reckon."
   "It don't matter. What for did Mack and Tadlock help out?" Evans shrugged. "McBee, I bet he's a sloper, and we got a rule against slopers. Bet he owes more'n you could count."
   "No way of findin' out, short of sending a man to Ohio."
   "No. He says he's all clear."
   "Smart-lookin' girl he's got."
   "Too damn smart."
   "Botherin' you?"
   "Naw. Women don't bother me."
   The rifle sounded again, and now they could see McBee, the smoking gun in his hand and out from him, away from camp, a black dog broken in the back. The dog began to howl, the hgh, steady howl of deadly hurt. He scrambled in the grass, trying to get up,