Every morning the handcarts rolled out onto the great wide prairie, one after another, on and on as far as Jane could see.
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Everyone over seven years old was expected to walk. Jane was eight. Her feet were small, but her steps were steady. She held Thomas's hand and watched Mama's back just ahead.
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Every morning there was always something new to see. A little brown bird ran along the road just ahead — and Thomas was off! Jane laughed and ran after him.
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Then Jane saw them — flowers in the green grass, and pretty rocks glinting in the sun. She filled her apron, one by one. Thomas crouched beside her to look. The handcarts creaked on ahead.
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Mama had told them: stay close to the trail. Jane remembered the words. But the rocks were so pretty. And Thomas said, "Just a little farther, Jane."
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Jane looked up. The handcarts were gone. The trail stretched away empty in both directions. Only the wind moved in the tall grass. Her apron full of rocks felt very heavy.
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Thomas grabbed Jane's hand. "Run!" They ran down the trail as fast as their legs would go, calling for Mama. Their feet pounded the dry ground. Nobody called back.
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Then the trail ended at a stream — wide and rushing and cold. Thomas waded in one step. The water came up to his knee. He pulled back. They could not get across.
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Thomas walked up the bank, then down. There was no shallow place. The sun slid low. The sky went orange, and then grey.
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There was a rocky ledge above the bank. Thomas pulled Jane underneath it. They pressed together, knees to chests. Jane reached into her apron — one smooth rock was still there. She held it tight.
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Back at camp, Mama counted. Thomas? Jane? She asked their playmates. She asked the neighbors. No one had seen them. Mama's face went white.
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Night was coming on, and all knew the dangers of the prairie. A neighbor lit a lantern. The search party started back along the trail.
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Under the rock, Jane and Thomas waited. One star appeared. Then another. And another. An owl called once from far away. Jane held the smooth rock and did not let go.
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Thomas put his arm around Jane. He didn't know what to say. So he said nothing. They listened to the water and the dark.
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Then — far off in the dark — a tiny light. It bobbed through the tall grass. And voices came, calling their names. Jane grabbed Thomas's arm. "A lantern!"
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Thomas stood up and shouted. Jane shouted. The lantern swung toward them — and then there was Mama, running, the lantern making wild arcs across the sky. A search party had backtracked along the river and found the two children huddled under their overhanging rock.
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Mama held them both at once, so tight Jane could feel her heartbeat. The searchers laughed with relief. Someone wrapped a blanket around Jane's shoulders, and she was warm.
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They walked back to camp together — Mama in the middle, one child on each side, the lantern leading them gently home. Jane kept the smooth rock safe in her pocket. Tomorrow she would walk close.
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