It’s the first thing you learn about hunting, how to spot a watering place. “That dry creek leads toward water, at least some of the year. They’re likely to gather there and do their business.”

She calls to the children and indicates that they should head toward the creek.

“Here, let me carry that,” I say.

“No!” she snaps. “I can do it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You have a horse, you ride wherever you want, you shoot things with your gun, you go out in the night and find lost children and jump under wagons to save little girls.” Her face is fierce, her blue eyes bright.

“Well, I did. I don’t know that Mr. Joyner will let—”

It’s like talking to the wind, because her words just keep coming. “I’m always watching little ones or helping Mutti cook or washing clothes. Lee, I have washed so many clothes I have lost track. I might be the only person who is glad to be going into the desert. No water means no washing. Maybe my hands will heal a little.”

“Washing is important too.”

She shrugs. “But not very heroic. And not much fun.” Ahead of us, Doreen takes a tumble, then she bounces back to her feet, laughing. Gazing at her sister, Therese adds, “I miss fun.”

“Well!” I put an arm through hers, and we continue down the slope, our elbows joined. “When we get to California, I’ll teach you everything I know about the fun, fun job of panning for gold. Squatting for hours on end is really fun.”

She nods solemnly. “I’m sure getting your skirts soaked to the knees is fun.”

“Oh, yes. And all the mud and gravel getting lodged under your nails? No church social was so much fun.”

She is silent a long moment, watching her siblings disappear down the slope. Then: “Lee? I’m glad you turned out to be a girl.”

From the base of the South Pass, a twisty road leads up the Rocky Mountains. It’s a well-earned name, because the steep slopes are covered in giant rocks split open and turned on edge every which way, like God started a quarry and got distracted. Major Craven calls it the backbone of America. I tell him it looks more like a backbone breaker.

Our oxen and mules strain to pull the wagons uphill, which turns out to be the easy part. The first downhill slope is so steep that we unhitch the animals and lower the wagons on ropes. We’re lucky to make four miles all day.

We repeat the process the next day and the next. The Missouri men lead the way each morning—first out, first up the slope, first down into camp. Their mules move so much faster than our oxen, and I worry that Jefferson was right, that they’ll leave us behind someday.