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There's nothing quite like a Missouri freighter. A dozen are parked in the square, their white canvas covers still eye-catching despite the months of dust and grime smeared across their surfaces. They're each handcrafted, Conestoga-style wagons, with telltale curved bodies and outward-canted endgates. But they're larger than wagons used elsewhere: engineers saved the Santa Fe trade by designing these heavier haulers after New Mexico governor Manuel Armijo imposed a new customs duty of $500 per wagon in 1839. In 1844 alone, dozens of these supersize vehicles, bearing five thousand pounds each and pulled by teams of oxen or mules, cross the Great Plains each season, heading for Mexico. (An estimated ninety-two wagons traveled down the Santa Fe Trail that year; most but not all were freighters.)

Independence has come a long way, and it's all because of migration and commerce. The village, the westernmost port on the Missouri River, was founded in 1827 as the jumping-off point for the western frontier fur trade. That geographic distinction means more now than ever as throngs of pioneers stock their wagons with supplies here before heading out to Oregon or California. The fur business has all but given way to a thriving trade with the northern Mexican cities of El Paso del Norte and Chihuahua.

During the winter months, Missouri traders purchase goods in the East and bring them to the trailheads in Independence. Departures begin in early May. Caravans expect to accomplish between ten and eighteen miles a day and can reach their destinations within a month and a half. The return trips start in September—the wagon train arriving today is the first of this season.

James spots the stout frame and blond hair of his younger brother Sam, who's milling around the storefront and chatting up the hired men. The returned traders are enjoying the attention of the throng of friends, family, and interested strangers. The traders seem to be oblivious to their stink. One of Independence's earliest residents, John McCoy, will later describe the strange ability of the men to ignore their own accumulated filth: "A greasy, dirty set of men they were. Water surely was a rare commodity with them. They little cared for it except to slake their thirst."

The stories are already in the air: Comanches and Arapaho charging from hilltops, false-ponds shimmering in the air to tempt thirsty travelers, desert trails empty of everything but the ruins of failed wagons and animals, and buffalo herds that stretch to the horizon. The men will camp outside the small town, engaging in all-night revelries that attract Sam Bean and other eager local youths.

"The hardships of the voyage and what they had suffered they knew would not be so interesting to the boys, and that phase of the trip was purposely kept in the background," Sam will later realize. "To cap the climax, they would wind up with a graphic description of the dark-eyed señoritas in the land of the Montezumas. That was a clincher... Nothing thrilled my nerves so much as the stories the teamsters would tell us in Independence where a large number were congregated."

James watches Sam fall under the spell of the Santa Fe traders and feels the same tug of romanticism despite his mercantile interests. But he has responsibilities that don't burden Sam, chiefly a wife and two young children. James Bean married Mary Ann Carson in Kentucky, and in 1843 his boy Aubrey was born there. His second son, Phantley Roy Bean (named after James's father and sharing the name with James's brother and a cousin), made the trip to Missouri in 1844 as an infant with his mother and older brother.

As a patriarch, James has done a poor job of keeping his immediate family together. Only Samuel came with him to Missouri, and his brothers doubt he intended anything more than to position himself for a leap into the frontier. Sarah Bean Williams understandably remained in Shelby County with her husband (whom she married in 1837, when she was seventeen) and children, but Joshua has stubbornly stayed behind to see if Kentucky still holds anything for an ambitious young man.

Roy is still essentially missing, likely somewhere on the Mississippi, dead or alive is anyone's guess. He can always write to Sarah to learn where to find James, if he wants to get into the trading business here.

Wife and children notwithstanding, James knows there may be no avoiding time on the Santa Fe Trail if he wishes to realize his ambitions. In Independence, stature belongs to those who set out and survive the grassy ocean of the Great Plains. All the biggest merchants in the town make their own trips out west, overseeing the movement of merchandise as captains of wagon trains staffed by hired hands. It all sounds good until James looks closely at the dirty teamsters, seeing their stout but thin frames, their weathered cheeks, and the way their eyes sometimes lose focus, adrift in

traumatic memories.

There is a lot of bluster from these battered men—boasting is a good way for teamsters to audition for the next job—but James can also learn valuable information. He's keen to know the attitude of Mexican officials and how much was spent bribing them. Of equal importance is information about what the Mexican merchants in Santa Fe are purchasing, and at what prices. There's an array of merchandise to choose from, including cloth, hardware, glass, guns, and books, most of it destined to be shipped south into central Mexico. Knowing the profit margins is vital, especially to a small, independent trader with limited wagon space and no ability to warehouse excess goods in Mexico.