The Volkswagen was travelling along route 80. Jack was driving and the girl was reading the book they were in love with. Needless to say they weren’t following all the author’s instructions; they preferred to stay on the Interstate in order to arrive sooner at the places where there was some chance of finding Théo’s trail.

“It wasn’t easy to cross the Big Blue,” said the girl, holding the book on her lap.

“Oh, no?” he said.

“After the spring rains, the river was broad and deep and the current was very swift, so it was necessary to build rafts.”

“But . . . wouldn’t the wagons float? I mean, weren’t the bottoms of the wagons tarred so they’d float?”

“Yes, but they were overloaded. It’s incredible what people brought: besides their food and clothes and weapons and ploughing implements there were big cast-iron stoves, solid oak desks and all sorts of old furniture. Family heirlooms!”

Jack shook his head in disbelief.

“The furniture had to be unloaded and everything put on the rafts,” said the girl. “It took several trips . . .”

“Was there a cable attached on either side of the river?”

“Of course.”

“And the cattle?” he asked.

“No problem,” she said. “The horses were taken across first; the oxen and cows swam across after. Not a single animal was lost.”

“That’s good. So now everybody’s in good shape and we start off again?”

“Right. There’s no time to lose if you want to reach the Rockies before the first snowfall in October. The travellers head northwest, toward the Platte River, and follow along its south shore for a great distance. Along the way, the landscape is transformed. At first, when the caravan left Independence, it was hilly, and with the grass waving on the prairie it was like being on a ship. Now there are fewer trees and hardly any green, just the occasional bush. The landscape is more arid and it’s hot. By midafternoon it’s really very hot. There are terrible storms almost every day. You get soaked to the bone.”

“Aren’t the canvas coverings waterproof?”

“They are,” said the girl. “But most of the time you’re on foot. Walking alongside the wagons.”

“Why?”

“The wagons have no springs. Inside, you get badly jolted, so it’s more comfortable to walk. And anyway, the oxen are very slow.”

“When you’re soaked to the bone you’re anxious to stop and camp for the night,” observed the man.

“That’s up to the wagon master to decide. When he sees the sun sinking below the horizon, he gives the signal to stop, and the wagons are arranged in a circle and fastened together. The oxen are unhitched and taken outside the circle, with the horses and the other animals. The children are sent out to gather wood or buffalo chips.”

“Buffalo chips? That must stink to high heaven!”

“Oh no, they burn very well and they don’t smell at all . . . The men bring out the camp stoves and pitch the tents. The women cook chunks of meat that the hunters have brought back. After they’ve eaten, the children play nearby, the young people sing and dance to a fiddle or a harmonica while the grown-ups draw up the schedule of guard duty for the night and assign responsibilities for the next day’s leg. Bedtime is early, between nine and ten o’clock, because the wake-up call is at four a.m.”