We climb to the top and look back over the country we’ve traveled. The trail is a wide depression in the grass, stretching like a river into the eastern horizon. To the south and west are mountains. At this distance, they are no more than blue blurs on the horizon, soft and gentle and cool.

Our wagons approach, headed by the Missouri men. We wave wildly, and they wave right back. There’s a short break while people carve their own names or initials, then we get underway again.

I aim Peony for the college men’s wagon. Jasper drives, and Major Craven sits on the bench beside him, an awl in one hand and the sole of a boot in the other. I didn’t know he was a cobbler, and I can’t imagine how he’s getting any work done, being jounced around as he is.

“Hey, Major,” I say.

He looks up from his work. “That was a brevet promotion, and I’m no longer commander of this expedition. Call me Wally.”

“Sorry, sir. You’ll always be Major to me.”

He laughs. Then he points to my stirrups. “Are your feet really that big? If not, I could fix those boots for you. Trim ’em down to size. Least I could do.”

The skin of my feet have grown so accustomed to getting rubbed every which way that Daddy’s boots hardly bother me at all anymore. “They’re fine. Anyway, I don’t want anyone cutting into them. Thanks, though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“The mountains don’t look so bad from here,” I say to change the subject.

“We ought to reach the Devil’s Gate around noon. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s a narrow gap between two cliffs, like a doorway in a garden wall.”

“Why such a gloomy name?”

“Because once we pass through it, the rest of the road is a bloody hell. Sulfur springs with boiling water. Hills so steep that wagons roll right back down. Mountains so high you can’t breathe on top. Rivers without water. And deserts in every direction that take three or four days to cross.”

Jefferson has ridden up beside me. “Can’t we go another way?”

“Nope. Only way to reach the green grass of Oregon or the sweet gold of California is through hell itself.”

I roll my eyes. The Major has been especially colorful since his amputation, cussing and exaggerating and telling tall tales. He reminds me of Daddy, except not fit for female company.

“You think we can climb to the top and take a look around?” I ask.

The Major pats his stump. “As long as you don’t mind going without me.”

“That’s a great idea, Lee,” Jefferson says. I turn to smile at him, but he’s already heading away. “I’ll see if anyone wants to come with us.”