Today is Saturday.

The camp fire was cozy in the big, chill darkness. The slices of pork were crisp and fat, the corn cakes were good. In the dark beyond the wagon, Pet and Patty were eating, too. They bit off bites of grass with sharply crunching sounds. Pa said that they would camp there a day or two and maybe they would stay here, because there was good land, timber in the bottoms, plenty of game-everything a man could want. He asked Ma what she thought. Ma replied that they might go farther and fare worse. Pa said that he would look around the next day and he would take his gun and get them some good fresh meat. He lighted his pipe with a hot coal, and stretched out his legs comfortably. The warm, brown smell of tobacco smoke mixed with the warmth of the fire. Mary yawned, and slid off the wagon tongue to sit on the grass. Laura yawned, too. Ma quickly washed the tin plates, the tin cups, the knives and the forks. She washed the bake-oven and the spider, and rinsed the dish-cloth. For an instant she was still, listening to the long, wailing howl from the dark prairie. They all knew what it was. But that sound always ran cold up Laura’s backbone and crinkled over the back of her head.