If Not For The Horses

Just then a loud and excited farmer from behind us yelled, “What are these kids doing on the wagons?”

He thought we might be holding up the trek of wagons behind us, since he did not see an adult driver. We heard the thunder of bombs or cannons in the distance, and were surprised that the front lines were so near when we saw the sky lit up. We all wanted to get across as fast as possible but the right way to proceed was one at a time. If one wagon stopped at the top, the ones behind would slide backwards and end up in a big pile of people horses and wagons.

Well, this guy had a horsewhip and ran up to Al’s team and, in his craze and panic, whipped Hans and Bonnek. They leaped forward and one broke a chain. The wagon stood still. We were still on level ground. That’s when I lost it for the first time in my life. I pulled out dad’s double barrel shotgun that was rolled up in a blanket. I jumped off my wagon, screamed at him waving my gun with one hand and wiping away tears with the other. This could just as well have been the end of our run. If all was ruined, if the harness was broken, and if the distant bombs hit us, it would be his cruel act that had caused it.