Sitting on the roof of the cargo house with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It was a cool, early June morning and the air was still. Amos and Jeb walked around the roof, watching as the boatmen poled us away from the shore. Brin followed them with curiosity of his own.

We had all assembled at the stern while four of the boatmen pushed us off the shore. Men were on the poles as well, adding to force. We were able to unbeach easily and the pushers climbed back on board. The water we were in was fairly still because of the break they were building. That meant they were able to reorient the boat before moving out into the current without trouble. As soon as the boat was reoriented, they gave a few mighty shoves and we were gliding out into the Missouri. They switched over to oars and rowed us into the current. We were off and on our way as soon as the current got hold of us.

Patrick was on snag watch at the bow and Timmons manned the rudder while the boatmen kept rowing. We picked up speed and were cutting a wake when the Timmons called out a command and half the crew shipped their oars. The other half kept on rowing. If we got any help from the wind at all, we should be able to make this trip in four days’ time. The return trip would take them at least a month. I’d be glad to miss that. Our overland return trip could take as much as two weeks, but should be done quicker if we find good trails.

Jeb joined me on my perch after a short while. He had grown bored with watching people row. We were both armed with rifles and, technically, we were on guard duty for human trouble coming from the shore. Realistically, we were simply drinking in the view and enjoying the morning sun. With the rowing we seemed to be going maybe 10 m.p.h. on the optimistic side. It was still spring and the runoff hadn’t subsided quite yet. With the light this time of year, we probably had a good fourteen hours of usable sailing time left today. At the current pace, we should theoretically make 140 miles before stopping for the night.

Amos decided he wanted to do some fishing and advised me that he was headed down to the stern to get his hook wet. Well, that had Jeb and me snickering like teenagers; Amos just couldn’t understand why. By the time we got our decorum back, Amos had left and the only sound was Brin gnawing on his bone and the unending song of the water.

Jeb and I did get around to talking after an hour or so. It was sporadic conversation, mostly focused around things related to the wood shop and his eventual house. Both of us were comfortable with silence and usually that was what we did, sit in silence. Lunchtime came and I fed Jeb and Amos some runzas I had from Matilda. It wasn’t anything special and it wasn’t much, but they were still fresh and stuffed full of a rich mixture of meat, cabbage, and onion. Each runza was equivalent to a sandwich, it was just baked into a roll. Good food, regardless, and like any food Matilda touched, it was absolutely bursting with flavor.

After lunch, Jeb climbed down to hang out with Patrick on the bow a little while. I was left on guard duty alone. I was still fascinated by the dynamics of the river, particularly at the bends. Each bend had all hands working full time to keep the boat safe and at speed. The boatmen were back into their rhythm now and we just stayed out of their way. They even had their meal preparation worked into their system and everything went seamlessly. I was rather happy simply to be a passenger without any responsibilities or stress.

As the heat of the day came on, the wind came with it. We had an easterly crosswind. Timmons felt the wind was steady enough to be useful, so up went the sail. Sure enough, he was able to catch it effectively enough to add on a couple of more knots of speed. At that point, all of the oars were shipped and the crew fell into their various secondary responsibilities. For many of them, this meant sleep and that’s what they did. Timmons and Patrick swapped off occasionally to keep themselves fresh. Meanwhile, the sail team laid out on the roof deck and slept. Naturally, Brin followed their example and was snoring gently next to me before I knew it.

Our speed was good enough that we were rolling past Robidoux’s new settlement shortly after dinnertime. He’d build a successful trading post there, near the location of an old French fort. I knew and it would go on to become the city of St. Joseph. We’d be doing a lot of business there in just a few years.

One of the smart things I’d done was to set up a pee post for Brin. It was simply a piece of canvas with dirt piled on top and a section of thick log stuck down into the dirt. The first time he started getting antsy I pointed him to it and he got the idea. After that things were pretty much alright, as far as Brin was concerned. And we didn’t have puddles of urine on the deck.

We finally tied up for the night just north of the Kansas River confluence. We’d deal with the river confluence in the morning. Brin was the first one off the boat, rushing around here and there. Then, finally finding the right place, he unceremoniously took a dump. After that, he was happy again.

Timmons explained the overnighting to me. For obvious reasons, they got off the boat whenever they could and they all set up tents for sleeping. They didn’t waste any time either. Before the onset of full dark, the entire crew had eaten and was fast asleep. They had a watch schedule and, again, we just stayed out of their way. We had our lean-tos up quickly and, before I knew it, morning was upon us.