"Good luck," he calls after you.

The gate is to the east of town, perhaps a mile from the last house. The path is overgrown from disuse, but the lumber-wagon tracks are hard-packed. On the way to the gate you catch up with Marshall Gunnison driving his big wagon, 60 feet long with large u-shaped stays supported by wide wheels and connected by a central shaft. He squints at you as he hears your footsteps, then turns his attention back to the six ox team.