"We're almost there."Soldiers were milling noisily around. One of their four wagons was canted across the trail, leaning toward its broken wheel. Some...of the men were futilely prying with hackedoff branches, trying to lever the axle up high enough to slide a boulder under it. A spare wheel lay nearby, ready to be slipped onto the axle in place of the one that had failed."Heave, you ninnies!" A redfaced officer was pacing back and forth, shouting at them. "Get that wheel mounted. We're late. " Name one?"The boy shook his head, and one of the girls raised her hand. He nodded at her."Somebody said he had a gun, the boy." Yes, think so, but nobody got hurt. Just some broken glass. Know any muckrakers?"She nodded, blinking. "There was a woman, Ida something." Right, Ida Tarbell, magazine writer mainly, she said that with imagination, anything was possible, something like that. That's a neat idea. Imagination. What did she do; whom did she write about? Charlie?" Standard Oil,. More

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