Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 John clutched Franny's hand tight as they walked along the old wagon trail. It was a cold and dreary October morning and they were finally heading back to school. John's mind swirled with nervous thoughts. What if the guys had forgotten all about him? What if they ignored him like before?

But just as the school came into view, John heard voices. "There he is!" "He's back!" Rex, Peter, and Sven came barreling over to him. They grabbed his arm and slapped his back so hard he almost fell to the dirt. But of course John didn't mind. For the first time since he left Chicago, John actually looked forward to going to school. At lunchtime he and the guys would squeeze together around one desk. They'd divvy up whatever food they'd brought from home. Sven's mother baked the best bread, the dark Swedish kind that tasted smoky and sweet. Peter's made the most delicious pies. John's favorite was made from the sour chokecherries that grew wild on the prairie. Rex got the same lunch every day: two potatoes, roasted in their skins. He didn't complain, though. He said that on cold days he

carried one hot potato in each pocket, to keep his hands warm. John learned more about the guys and how their families had come to Dakota. Rex's family came from Texas, and traveled to Dakota before their town, Prairie Creek, even had a name. Rex didn't remember the monthlong journey in a covered wagon. But he knew the whole family almost drowned when they were bringing their wagon across the Colorado River.

Sven came from the farthest away — Sweden. The trip took almost six months by ship, train, and wagon. The worst part was the two-month voyage across the Atlantic in a leaky steamship crawling with mice. Sven spent most of the trip puking over the side. But it was Peter's story that hit John the hardest. His family came five years ago, from Minnesota. Crossing into Dakota, they ran into a

thunderstorm. The mules pulling their wagon got spooked and took off. The wagon nearly flipped over. And Peter's little brother, William, flew out. He landed on some rocks and died within the hour. "My ma didn't talk for six months after that," Peter said softly. John swallowed hard, and he noticed Rex and Sven did, too. None of them said anything more, but they all inched a little closer to Peter. John didn't think he had any important stories to share. He'd never crossed a stormy ocean or a raging river. But one bright day at recess, the guys started asking John about Chicago. It turned out none of them had ever been to a big city. And they were dying to hear all about skyscrapers and restaurants and the electric lights that lit up the streets at night. "Lots of murderers live there, right?" Peter asked.

"Maybe," John said. "I never met one, though." The guys seemed a little disappointed. "I heard there are rats as big as cats," Sven said. "There are," John said, and he told how once he woke up and found one sitting right on his bed. "What did you do?" Rex asked. John shrugged. "Just shooed it away." The guys fell over in laughing horror. You'd have thought John had fought off a dragon. "I hate rats," Rex said with a shudder. John found it amazing — this was a kid who'd stared down a monster snake, and a plain old rat gave him the willies! But John understood. To the guys, Chicago was a strange land, one filled with danger and mystery. Like Dakota was to John. "What's the weather like there?" Sven asked. John shrugged. "It gets hot in the summer, and cold in the winter." He said. "But nothing like here."