Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4 SIX DAYS LATER SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1887 AROUND NOON JOHN'S HOUSE Their morning chores were done. John, Franny, Ma, and Pa were back from church. Now they

were sitting at the table for Ma's special Sunday meal — squirrel stew. Sundays were the best. John didn't have to go school and usually the whole family took the day off from working. John would play cards with Franny, or go out hunting with Pa. Some days, he'd spend a whole hour just sitting around and doing nothing, like a millionaire. But today was the day he was meeting the guys at the creek to kill King Rattler. Of course, he hadn't told his parents the true plan for the afternoon. He'd said he was going fishing with his new friends. "Good stew," Pa said as he sopped up the sauce with a hunk of fresh bread. It did smell delicious. But John's stomach was twisted so tight he couldn't take a bite. "I'm glad you like it," Ma said, flashing a smile at Pa. "I'll tell the cook." "Ma!" Franny giggled. "You're the cook!"

Ma's big brown eyes widened in pretend surprise. "I thought I was the queen!" "Of course you're the queen!" Pa boomed. "And this is your castle." Ma smiled, because their house was the complete opposite of a castle. It was just one small room, made of dirt. Pa had built it for them when they got here last fall. They wanted to live in a wooden house, but no trees grew in this part of Dakota. Pa couldn't just chop down a big oak and start sawing and hammering. And they couldn't afford to buy enough wood for a whole house. So like most Dakota settlers, they built a house made of sod — dirt and grass peeled right up from the ground. Pa plowed up the sod in long strips, and then John helped him chop the strips into big blocks. They piled the blocks up to make the walls of their house. They had just enough money to buy some wood for the door and the roof.

The house — a "soddy" — was one small room, barely big enough for their beds, the table and chairs, and the big black stove that cooked their food and kept them warm in the winter. When it rained hard, muddy water dripped down from the ceiling. The dirt floor turned into a mud puddle. Worms and spiders and mice popped out of the walls. But most of the time the soddy was surprisingly cozy. The thick dirt walls helped keep the heat in during the winter. On oven-hot summer days the soddy stayed cool. And when they were all sitting together like they were now, with one of Ma's delicious meals on the table, the little dirt house felt like home. Ma cleared away the stew bowls and brought out a berry pie. The sweet and buttery smell rose up. But John was too queasy to even have a taste. He kept imagining how it would feel to have King Rattler's fangs stab into his flesh. The bite wasn't the painful part, he'd heard. It was what the

venom did to your body — how it poisoned your blood and rotted your flesh and then finally stopped your heart. And there was no cure for a rattlesnake bite. If you were lucky, the doctor could chop off the part of your body the snake bit. But most people died. Last year a girl from his school was bitten while she was running barefoot in the grass. Lucky for her, the snake was just a baby. The little girl only lost a toe.

John shuddered. What was he thinking? He wasn't tough like Rex and the guys. He was just a city kid. "John," Ma said, putting down her spoon. "Are you feeling all right?" "You're looking a little green, son," Pa added. "Oh, no! Johnny's turning into a frog!" Franny said in horror.