CHAPTER FIVE

_April 22, 1889_

There had never been, Cindy thought when she awakened and peered through the partly open wagon flaps, a more beautiful day. The air was so clear that it seemed possible to look almost to the other end of the world. The sky was cloudless, and though the bright sun held a promise of heat to come with afternoon, a gentle little breeze made the morning pleasant and cool.

Cindy was astonished to find her bed empty and a little afraid because she heard nothing. Had she slept right through the great Run? Was everybody already in Oklahoma? She dressed hurriedly and leaped out of the wagon to find her family waiting and everyone else still present.

But the mood of the whole border had changed.

Yesterday it had been noisy, boisterous, excited. But yesterday all had been at loose ends, and this morning the crowd was like a tightly wound spring. When it finally let go, nothing would be able to stop it.

Mrs. Simpson started cooking bacon for Cindy, but she tried hard not to look at anybody at all. Sensing the changed mood, Cindy attempted to rid herself of it and could not.

"Why didn't you wake me, Mother?" she asked.

"There was no need, dear," her mother said. "With all the shouting and screaming last night, you had little enough sleep anyway."

"That's right," Mindy agreed. "I awakened several times, and you hadn't yet gone to sleep."

"Did you sleep?" Cindy asked her twin.

"Well, not very much, but more than you did."

"I slept," Alec boasted. "The last thing I remember, somebody wanted to know about a strayed mule, and somebody else said, 'Here's your mule, Joe!'"

"Then you didn't sleep much either," Cindy said. "Dawn was breaking when that happened!"

Alec said, "Aw, I don't need sleep."

"Sit down and eat your breakfast, dear," said Cindy's mother.

Cindy ate her bacon and biscuits, but though ordinarily she was hungry as a starving wolf, this morning she had no appetite. Alec, usually the friendliest of people, seemed cold and withdrawn, almost a stranger. The gentle Mindy stared into the fire. Her face drawn, Mrs. Simpson kept her own thoughts. Jed Simpson, who had been staring into Oklahoma, turned to put his family at ease.

"Come now!" he said heartily. "This isn't a funeral! Today's the day the Simpsons get their own farm!"

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Simpson. "We must look at the good side."

But, though Jed and Ann Simpson could almost always reassure their family and each other, this time both sounded very uncertain. Try as they would, neither could be relaxed and comfortable. Because they couldn't, they could not make their children feel that way either.

"I'll clean up," Mrs. Simpson said.

She began to work furiously, washing each plate until it shone and then polishing it until it gleamed. She was trying to find in hard work forgetfulness of the uncertainty that lay ahead, and to some small extent she succeeded. For the third time in ten minutes, Jed Simpson looked at his watch.

"What time is it?" Alec asked.

"Twenty past nine," his father said.

He went off to look at Sunshine, and even the horse seemed tense and taut, as though she also felt the vast importance of this day. She had eaten her oats, but instead of paying any attention to her hay she trampled it as she shuffled about. Her head was high and constantly turning. She looked all about the camp and now and again turned to stare at Oklahoma, as though somehow realizing what was over there and what it meant.

Across the border, a blue-uniformed soldier rode a brown horse on a measured beat, going to one end of his assigned beat and then turning to come back. Such soldiers were stationed at intervals, and within hearing distance of each other, along the entire border. Exactly at high noon some of them would blow bugles and some would shoot their revolvers or rifles into the air. This would signal the opening of the border, and the Run would be on.

Pete Brent came over with two white flags fastened to four-foot long slender sticks that were pointed at one end. In the center of each flag Granny had crocheted a gold star. Pete gave one of the flags to Jed Simpson.

"Here you are. When we reach our claims, just ram it into the ground any place at all, and you've staked."

"Oh." Glad for something to do, Mr. Simpson held the flag high and waved it. He looked at it closely, as though it were some complicated thing that needed close attention and not just a simple banner. "Those are mighty fine flags, Pete."

"They're high enough, and nobody can miss a white flag," Pete said. "People will know our claims are staked."

"What do you do then?" asked Mindy.

"As I've told you, Mindy," Pete said, "the homesteads have already been surveyed and the corners marked. Some are marked by blazes on trees, but the ones we want have piles of rocks, and I know exactly where they are. After we've staked, we'll build the corners a little higher so nobody can miss them either."

They continued to talk, and even though they had already discussed everything they were talking about now, it comforted them to discuss it again. Ann Simpson raised her head, stole a long look at her husband, and turned away again. Her face was haggard and drawn.

"I'll help you, Mother," Cindy offered.

"I will too," Mindy said.

"No, thank you, children, I'll do it," Mrs. Simpson replied.

She had baked biscuits two days before, not because there was no time to bake fresh ones today but because Jed and Pete would carry these, and stale bread would not crush so easily. She put the biscuits carefully into a sack, tied the sack in the center, and put a slab of bacon and some beans in the other side.

Stale biscuits, bacon, and beans were all the food the two men would have until they sent for Pete's wagon. But the less weight Sunshine had to carry, the faster and farther she'd be able to run. With the biscuits on one side, and the bacon and beans on the other, the sack could be carried across Sunshine's saddle bow.

"Come over here, children."

It was a calm voice in a great storm, peace amid turmoil. Gramps and Granny Brent, practically the only human beings present who were not under strain and tension, were sitting serenely beside the Brent wagon. Cindy, Mindy, and Alec went gladly to them.

"Be of good heart, children," Granny said calmly. "There is nothing to fear."

"Are you sure?" Alec asked worriedly.

"It is a great thing," Gramps was calm as Granny, "a wonderful and glorious sight. I am glad I have lived to see it. As long as human beings strive for that which is better, the human race can never be lost."

"But there's danger!" Mindy whispered.

"Aye," Granny remained unruffled, "and people were made to cope with danger. It is only when they shrink from that which they should face, that their souls shrink too."

"I remember when we went to Kansas," Gramps began.

He went on to speak of bitter storms, endless grasslands, crop failures, hostile Indians, unfriendly white men. Then he balanced his tale with stories of abundant crops, sunshine, plenty for all, dancing, and happiness. Sitting at the feet of these two, who had lived almost as long as people can live and seen almost as much as people can see, the children forgot their own fears and worries, and they almost forgot the passage of time.

"It's ten minutes past eleven!" somebody yelled.

Trying his best to look at ease, but making a poor job of it, Pete came to the wagon. He smiled at his parents and the youngsters.

"Guess I'll saddle the ponies," he said.

"Are you taking two, Pete?" Gramps asked.

"No. Just one. Cindy's riding the other roan to the telegraph office to let John know the Run is on."

"John's our other son," Granny said softly. "He wasn't born for the West, but he does very well in New York." She followed Pete with her eyes. "Pete is young, and he feels as the young do. That is good."

Pete came back with his two saddled ponies. "Which one do you want, Cindy?" he asked.

"You take the best one," Cindy said anxiously.

"There's no choice between 'em. Here," he handed the reins of one pony to Cindy, "you take Sparkle."

Granny came with a sack much like the one Ann Simpson had prepared for her husband, and Pete tied it to his saddle bow. He strapped the flag to one side, so that his legs would go over it. Then he embraced his parents.

"I'll send for you," he promised.

"We know," Granny said calmly.

"We'll be waiting," said Gramps.

Over at the Simpson wagon, Jed had saddled and packed Sunshine too. Pete tried hard not to make his smile a nervous one.

"Guess we might as well start from over there," he suggested.

"We'll go with you," Granny said. "Ann may want a woman around."

But if Ann Simpson was afraid, she gave no sign of it now. Her husband was going across the border into no one knew what danger, but he was going with a strong and steadfast heart. Tears might come later, but a smile would urge him on.

Cindy tied Sparkle to a wagon wheel and looked up and down the line of camps and wagons. There seemed to be twice as many people as there had been before, as though they had sprung from the ground. Everyone with a horse had it saddled, those with wagons had them ready, and there were still a great many who must run on foot. Cindy giggled. There was one man with a high-wheeled bicycle which he evidently intended to ride into Oklahoma.

A desperate-looking man approached them and indicated Pete's two remaining ponies. "Those yours?" he asked hoarsely.

"That's right," Pete said.

"I'll give you fifty dollars to let me ride one today," the man said.

"No," said Pete. "I can't take the chance. Ponies will be hard to get for a long while."

The man turned appealingly to Jed Simpson. "Are those your mules?"

"Yes."

"I'll give you fifty dollars to let me ride one in the Run."

"I can't risk it," said Jed. "I'll need them to work my farm."

The man moaned softly and went on to offer the next person with a horse or mule fifty dollars to ride it in the Run.

"He'll get nothing," Pete said. "There isn't a saddle animal for sale or rent the length of the border. What time is it, Jed?"

"Five minutes to twelve. We'd better get ready."

Jed turned to kiss his wife, and he tried to be very calm. But his hands were trembling, and tears lurked in his eyes. He smiled at his children.

"Be good, and help your mother," he bade.

Then Pete and Jed swung into their saddles as a great hush descended on the border. All eyes were on the soldier who was to give the signal for this section. He had stopped riding back and forth and was waiting. His revolver was in his hand. As soon as the officer who was timing it ordered the soldier nearest him to do so, that soldier would give the signal. All the rest would pick it up and it would resound clear around the border.

But it was not the soldier who shot.

It was a man down the line. Cindy saw him very plainly, and he shot a full three minutes before high noon. But nothing could stop the assembled home seekers now. They surged forward, and almost instantly the Run formed a pattern. The lean, bearded man with the race horse shot ahead of all the rest.

"They're all Sooners now," Granny Brent said, chuckling. "Oklahoma, the Sooner State."

"Oh!" Ann Simpson gasped.

She had turned to look at the wagon, and now she was rooted in her tracks. Her face was white, her hands clasped to her cheeks. Forgotten in the excitement, Jed's gun hung on a peg.

Cindy leaped forward. She snatched the gun, jerked Sparkle's reins loose, mounted, and was away. Her mother's frantic "Cindy! Cindamine! Come back!" was drowned in the thunder of hoofs and the rattle of wagons.