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Monday The next day was Monday and poor Dylan had to go to class early. I could sleep later because my first class wasn’t until ten and I didn’t have to work at the diner, but I got up with him, anyway, to try to help him out. I brought him coffee while he stood in the bathroom, staring vacuously at himself in the mirror. “You okay?” I asked him, because he looked pretty miserable and smelled even worse than he looked. “You puke?” “I didn’t,” he sighed. “But I think I’d have been better off if I had.” “Want me to shower with you?” I offered. “Keep you upright?” and that made him smile. “You think you can hold me up?” he asked, because he was certainly the larger of the two of us, but then I reminded him I’d carried his drunk self to bed. “I’ll be fine,” he decided, after taking several tentative sips of the coffee. “Thanks for taking care of me, man.” “That’s what I’m here for,” I said, but I went back to bed after he’d left. “Rough day?” I asked, when he walked in around six that. It was beginning to seem like every day was starting off with almost automatic periods of fog and then a fine mist that soaked into your muscles like the sea spray that came up into your face on a fast-moving vessel. In fact, the scent of the Ocean was constantly in the air even though we didn’t get but fleeting glimpses of the water off in the distance.My negro detachment had been whittled down to only about a half dozen hardy souls armed to the teeth and itching for any kind of a fight to take away the boredom of shepherding a bunch of white women to find a suitable niche in the frontier life.We crested the top of the low rolling coastal hills not too far from Portland on a cold, dreary Sunday morning plumb tuckered out from the constant daily routine of tending the animals and making at least twenty miles a day while we still had light.My last muster showed our troop to have been reduced to only thirty fighting men and a female presence of fifty or so unattached women and girls of.
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