The Wagon Master's Daughter (Loved by the Mule Boy)

The Wagon Master's daughter was named Pumphrey. She was the rarest of beauties in a scorched and lonely land.

Now I was just the Mule Boy. I tended to the mules. But from my lowly station I fell in love with Pumphrey, the Wagon Master's daughter. I loved her with calm frenzy--the kind that makes you stare at things much longer than you should, and causes your head to ache with the fury of thoughts you'd rather scream.

We had just crossed the Missouri River when I finally found the courage to speak to her.

"That water sure felt good after weeks of burning prairie, didn't it Miss Pumphrey?"

"Hmm?" She said, glancing over at me, a bit surprised that I'd addressed her.

"That is, I know my mules liked it, they smiled as they swam."
I stared at the ground and felt blood rush hot to my neck and ears.
"Anyway, I have to go over here now."
I ran away with my mules in tow.

************

Pumphrey didn't drive a wagon. Her father said it wasn't lady-like. Pumphrey countered every morning by choosing the wildest horse and riding ahead for miles--into the dangerous land; the land without tracks or mercy.

"Damn it Pumphrey, that isn't lady-like either!!!" Her father would scream at the ever-diminishing dust cloud.

"Reap it Father." Would drift her faint reply. "I guess you shouldn't have named me Pumphrey."

The Wagon Master would smile and sigh. For he had. He had. He had named her Pumphrey. He'd chuckle then and turn to me if I happened to be close by. Which of course, I usually was, watching her go and dying inside.

"Did you ever see such a girl, Mule Boy? Such a girl as my Pumphrey?"

And of course I had not.

************

We were cursed that summer, though we didn't know until it was too late. Like all true curses it hid itself until nothing to change it could be done.

First sickness hit our oxen, then renegades stole most of the rest. We lost our preacher in a river crossing, and weevils got into the grain. Our old, brave Wagon Master lost his way and the rain we needed never came.

"Where are the mountains Wagon Master?! We should have hit them by now."

The question was asked viciously and the furious mob surged forward as one. Most of them had been decent men, but decent men no longer. They had been made unholy by the agonies of the frontier.

"We know the mountains are that way." The Wagon Master replied, pointing to the setting sun. "They can lay no place else. We must push on as friends and men and see these troubles through."

"See this through!" Someone shouted and several shots rang out.

The Wagon Master died that night, cradled in his daughter’s arms.
"Don't worry." He whispered to Pumphrey, when no one but her and the mules and me could hear.
"Every day since your birth has been extra time. A joy I'm befuddled to find I deserved."

"I love you Father." She replied.

"And I you, Pumphrey."

I knew then that I'd lost her, as sure as if it had been her that died. Ugly men of the prairie had killed her father. And I was a man, and this was the prairie.

I stood by her side with my mules and a gun as she brought vengeance to those who had murdered her father. And in time she came to trust me--but trust and nothing more.

Pumphrey gave me a kiss on the cheek after the killing was done.

"Thank you Mule Boy." She whispered, and then leapt upon the wildest horse and rode away into a dangerous land; a land without tracks or mercy.

I sat down in the sand and decided to die. Perhaps she'll have me in the next life.

...

...

...

The mules... the mules need water.

I rose and postponed my death; I am, after all, the Mule Boy, and they need me even if she does not.

Goodnight Pumphrey, wherever you are. Goodnight fury. Goodnight love.