Wagon Trail of No Return (Preview)

Chapter One

Callum was hungry.

He was always hungry. He was hungry morning, noon, and night.

He went to sleep with his stomach begging for a nubbin of food, and he woke the same way.

When had he eaten last? While he wanted to forget, he couldn’t. He hadn’t had a decent meal in two days. He had found an empty tin with cracker remains, but the crumbs weren’t enough to feed a decent-sized mouse.

And he had stolen an apple off a cart close to the Lagan River. The powers that be were getting ready to ship a load of apples across to England, which would only expand the famine that had gripped Belfast and the rest of Ireland.

It was one small apple. Still, the stevedores had chased him. Callum had managed to eat the apple before they caught him, and with the apple gone, they hadn’t bothered to do more than cuff his ear a few times. Why waste energy on someone so close to death? Let the rascal feel a bit more agony before he became graveyard bound.

The taste of that apple was still in Callum’s memory. He wanted nothing more than to steal another.

How was he to do that?

The numbness in his fingers told him it was time. He stood up from his chair and started for the far wall. It was exactly twelve steps to the wall and twelve steps back, twenty-four steps in all. If he did ten laps, two hundred and forty steps, the numbness would disappear. But he wouldn’t feel warm. That would require another ten laps.

There was a fireplace, but he had nothing that would burn. He and Liam had already made ashes of everything but the one chair, the small table, and the two cots. There was nothing left but two glasses, two plates, and two spoons. Callum had sold off everything else, even the small picture of Cian and Mairead. Not the picture, which favored a passing likeness of the couple. It was the frame that netted two pounds. He and Liam had feasted after that sale.

Cian and Mairead.

He had buried them side by side in the lot one over. He remembered how they died. The doctor had a fancy name for it, something Greek or Latin. Callum knew better. They had died because there wasn’t anything to eat. They had died because the family had run off to America… or was it Australia? No, it was America. Darragh had hopped aboard a ship and ended up in New York. But he hadn’t stayed there.

Where in bloody hell was Denver?

Callum had no real idea where the town was, only that his cousin had bought some property there, or close to that town. Callum and Liam had talked about finding Darragh and settling with him. There was no reason to stay in Belfast. No work, no food, not even a steady pint of ale.

They lived in the tiny house that had belonged to Cian and Mairead, but they couldn’t sell it. They couldn’t even tell anyone that Cian and Mairead were dead. There was a loan on the house. Sooner or later, whoever held the paper would come. Callum and Liam needed to be gone before that happened.

America.

Colorado.

Certainly, he and his brother could find their cousin. They had managed to travel all the way to Dublin more than once. Callum figured a trip to Colorado would take a day or two more. An enterprising lad with a decent brain could do it—if he was willing to work.

Twelve steps… turn… twelve steps.

Callum and Liam would have arrived by now, if it wasn’t for Aisling. Liam had been chasing that little tart since he was seven, and he never got closer than a peck on the cheek. That peck had kept Liam from signing on with a clipper ship bound for Boston. Callum couldn’t leave his brother behind. He had assured himself that another ship job would come along. Only, none did.

Because of the famine.

Because the potatoes turned black.

Because ships were afraid to dock for fear the contagion would hop aboard and turn the ship into a floating morgue.

Now, Aisling was engaged, leaving Liam to lick his wounds. Callum visited the wharves every day, hoping to land a position, any position, as long as the ship was bound for America. One more week, and he would take any ship going anywhere. He didn’t care if he ended up in that penal colony called Australia. There was food on a ship.

How many laps?

Callum was certain he was almost finished. He felt a bit of warmth deep inside. He needed something to eat, and he knew he would have to steal. It was that simple. He couldn’t eat grass; he’d tried that once. And he couldn’t eat black potatoes or the yellow gruel derived from grain brought over from America. Peel’s brimstone fed the worst bowel pains Callum had ever known. He would have to find something better.

He could beg.

The trouble with begging was that he had to compete with the urchins who occupied every corner of every street. Small, young boys and girls with dirty faces and misshapen limbs had a monopoly on the few coins tossed out by those who still had money. How was Callum to elicit more charity than a boy with a hairlip or a blind girl? He would receive the “get a job” reply to any attempt at begging.

Not to mention that he wore dirty clothes and smelled like a goat. Not even his mother would toss him a farthing.

Bloody hell, he was hungry.

The creaky door opened. Callum neither stopped nor turned.

“If you didn’t bring a shank of lamb, you’re not wanted.”

Liam chuckled. “Are ye ready to battle for your supper?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Sons of Paddy are forming ranks. They’re going to raid the warehouse on the north dock.”

“That warehouse is guarded, regulars with muskets.”

“They don’t care. They’re going to storm the place and give the food to the needy.”

“Well, there’s few more needy than us. Shall we attend?”

“I don’t see why not. We don’t have to lead.”

“I agree. Leading would be a very poor decision. But before we go, we need to have a discussion.”

“Oh, no, not that. Discussions have never gone well between us.”

“It’s about Aisling.”

“We’ve talked about her before. I don’t think our views have changed.”

“She’s engaged, Liam. Surely, you don’t think she’ll throw over her fiancé for you.”

“There is always a chance things will change.”

“No, no, you can’t harbor that false dream. She is getting married. She’s going to have babies. She’s going to be out of your life forever. What about that don’t you see?”

Liam bit his lip and nodded. His voice dropped to a whisper. “My feelings haven’t changed, brother. What would you have me do?”

“What we planned on doing months ago. We find a ship and sail off to America. If we can’t find that ship, we’ll find one to Australia or Africa or South America. We start off, we’re bound to make port in America sooner or later. That’s when we get off the ship.”

“Give up all hope?”

“No, I won’t ask that. What I ask is that you and I travel, find new professions, make pots of money, and come back. If you return with pockets full of pounds, do you really think she will resist you? Didn’t she once say she couldn’t marry you because you were all song and no cash?”

“She did have feelings for me. Had I had an acre, she would have come with me.”

“You’ll come back and buy a castle. She will see that you’re the man she has always wanted. But that can’t happen unless you’re willing to take a chance.”

“And if we don’t make money hand over fist?”

“Would you be any worse off than you are now? I’ve heard that Americans eat, Liam. They eat well. They eat all the time. Their streets are paved with bread and mutton and pints of ale. Everyone eats. Haven’t you watched them descend the gangplank? Don’t they all sport bellies and jowls? Even if we never become the likes of Midas, our stomachs will not ache.”

“You make it sound like paradise.”

“No, no, not paradise. Hard work. Hard work that brings rewards. No one is going to give it to us. We will have to find our cousin and help him grow his farm. He will help us get our own farm. Manor houses and racing horses, Liam. Why, we’ll bring a horse to Ireland for the Curragh Derby. The papers will be awash with our story. Local men return for the race of their lives.”

“We can do that?”

“All it takes is money. And we’ll never earn the money here. We’ll be lucky to survive till spring.”

“You’re right. You’re almost always right, Callum. Why is that? Don’t you have any feelings? Haven’t you ever been in love?”

“Remember Bridgette O’Laughlin?”

“Aye, I remember a bit. Didn’t she move or something?”

“I used to pine for Bridgette. I was like a stray dog sitting outside the fence and whining for the pretty little thing on the other side. Don’t ask me why I felt what I felt. Bridgette was no beauty, but she was the lass for me. I used to lie in bed at night and promise myself that some day we would get married. You’ve heard that tale before. A lad spots a lass and can think of nothing else. That was me. I had it bad for Bridgette.”

“So, what happened?”

“I was walking home from school. I turn the corner, and there she is, like some goddess in those paintings you see at the museum. And she’s talking to some small, ugly little boy. I mean, I’m no Adonis, but I was head and shoulders above him. I stopped and watched. They didn’t see me. They didn’t see anyone. They was stuck on each other. And then, they kissed. Right out in public. Well, it was mostly twilight, and it was a lonely place. Not a long kiss, mind you, but a kiss that said they was made for each other. Then, they took hands and walked away.”

“What kind of story is that? So, she kissed a lad. Doesn’t mean you can’t turn her head.”

“Sometimes, sometimes, you wish for the wrong thing, Liam. That is what I learned that evening. I was wishing for the wrong thing.”

“So, you gave up?”

“You have to know your limitations. When you’re four feet tall, you can’t pluck a bottle off the eight-foot shelf.”

Liam laughed. “Well said. You ready to raid a warehouse?”

“As long as I don’t have to dodge a musket ball.”

The warehouse stood at the end of a mostly vacant road. It wasn’t far from the docks, making replenishment simple. Callum heard the yelling and banging of metal lids from half a mile away. The crowd numbered a hundred by his estimate. They were almost all men, angry men from the sound of things. He guessed they were building up the courage to charge.

“What do you think?”

“I think that if they charge, the soldiers will fire.”

“They can’t shoot them all.”

“No, but they’ll have their pig stickers on their rifles. They’ve been known to do a of damage with a bayonet.”

“So, not a good idea?”

“Think a moment, Liam. Even if you manage to avoid a musket ball and a bayonet, what do you do when you reach the door? I’m guessing it’s well locked. Might take half the night to break it open. No windows, no easy entry. And once the soldiers start firing, then the rest of the contingent will come running. The lads who aren’t wounded will be arrested.”

“Turn around and go home?”

“Not quite yet. As I recall, the back of the warehouse is protected by a high wall. Knowing the British, they believe the wall is enough. No need for more guards. No need for reinforced steel doors.”

“So, we go in that way?”

“I think it’s worth a look.”

“Then let’s hurry, while the mob has their attention.”

Callum grinned. “I’m hungry.”

Chapter Two

A tall brick-and-mortar wall greeted Callum and his brother. The top was out of reach, but that didn’t present much of a problem.

“I’ll boost you. Then you can help me.”

“What if there’s a guard waiting?”

“Then you come back down before he shoots you.”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”

Callum put his hands together. “Best be quick, Liam. Sounds like the mob is getting restless.”

“Since when do rubbish bins become drums?’

“Hungry people are inventive.”

Callum counted to three and lifted Liam high enough for the man to grip the top of the wall. In seconds, Liam was sitting astride the wall.

“What do you see?”

“Another steel door with windows on either side.”

“Now, you’re talking. Help me up.”

With Liam’s help, Callum was soon atop the wall. He studied the rusty door and the two dirty windows.

“I don’t think we can breach the door, but the windows look promising. Just filthy glass.”

“You would think the queen’s best would wash windows once in a while.”

“They have no pride in their work. Besides, they come from across the sea. Why would they do anything to make Ireland look better?”

“Discipline. Men with idle hands often listen to the devil on their shoulder. No general wants his troops to think too much.”

“Let’s take your advice and get busy.”

Callum slipped off the top and dropped to the grass without injuring himself.

“No problems?”

“None, brother. We best be about our business.”

“You take the window on the right. I’ll take the left. Tell me what you see.”

Callum used his hand to rub away some grime off the window. He peered inside.

“What have you got, Liam?”

“Bars, thick iron bars.”

“Aye, me too.” Callum tried the door, but it couldn’t budge. Liam added his strength, but it did no good.

“If we had the right tools.”

“If wishes were horses…”

“What now?”

The mob on the other side of building grew louder. Callum had the idea that people were getting ready for some kind of action. Hungry fathers didn’t want to go home without bruises and cuts to prove they had done their best.

“Let’s go around and take a peek at what is happening. Perhaps we can devise a way in.”

“I think we should break the window glass, just to see if the bars are set truly.”

“A capital idea. See a rock about?”

Liam hustled toward the wall. “Stand back.”

Callum stepped away. Liam hurled a rock, and it shattered a pane.

“You should throw your darts with such accuracy.”

“I be drinking when I throw darts. It’s not the same.”

“Aye. Try another.”

Liam threw a second rock, and another pane broke. Callum used his elbow to knock out enough glass to reach inside. He grabbed a bar and tugged. The bar didn’t move.

“As solid as a new wife’s bread.”

“In that case, we best be gone before someone comes to check the window.”

“You would think a brace of hungry men would a break from the almighty. One or two loose bars was all it would take.”

“When was the last time you confessed? God doesn’t reward those what snub their noses at the rules.”

“Only sinners must confess.”

Callum laughed. “As if you never sin. That’s a lie in and of itself.”

“Don’t laugh too loud. The guards will hear ye.”

Callum led them around the building. When they reached the front corner, they stopped. The mob had grown. More makeshift drums had been added to the curses and shouts. The soldiers held their ground, but Callum noted the nervousness of their stance. They were getting more than a wee bit frightened. Lit torches poked up through the crowd.

Women and children stood behind the men, and they were just as loud. Callum guessed that sooner rather than later, a lad would dash forward and throw a stone. That might be all it took to ignite the powder in the muskets.

“We should get along before we’re spotted.”

“Give it a moment, Liam. We’re not in harm’s way.”

The crowd had already become a mob, and Callum felt it might soon evolve into a juggernaut of some kind. If that happened, all hell would break loose. Should the mob break through the line of soldiers, they would raid the warehouse. All the stored food would be hauled out in minutes. In such a case, he and Liam could easily carry enough food for a week, maybe a month if they were mindful.

If the crowd dispersed?

He and Liam would disperse with it. There was a certain safety in large numbers. He had read somewhere that animals often ran in packs because it was safer that way. While one or two might get picked off, the rest of the herd would survive. Made sense when he thought about it.

The woman’s scream seemed to be a signal.

That was when several lads ran up and threw rocks at the soldiers. The redcoats stood their ground, batting away the rocks they spotted, but there were too many to dodge completely. The stones hurt. The soldiers shouted orders, commanding the crowd to cease and desist, but their voices were downed out by the mob that jeered and shouted. The soldiers were scared of boys with rocks?

“Get ready.”

“For what? It’s just rocks.”

“They won’t stand for it much longer. Soon, the young men will start.”

Even as Callum spoke, several men popped out of the crowd and hurled larger rocks with greater velocity. A rock smashed into a soldier’s head. Perhaps in reaction, his musket fired.

The first shot started an avalanche. More rocks were thrown. More muskets fired. The mob charged, knowing that the soldiers couldn’t reload quickly. The door opened and several additional soldiers rushed out. A melee ensued as the soldiers tried to hold people at bay, using their bayonets the best they could and standing back to back.

“Now.”

“Now?”

Callum didn’t wait for an answer. He rushed along the wall, straight for the door. He hoped Liam was right behind, but there was no guarantee of that. In seconds, Callum was inside the warehouse. He stopped, as there was little light—a few candles on a table at the front and some light from skylights in the roof.

“Bloody hell, look at them boxes.”

Callum did look. There were stacks of boxes ahead, and they were marked, although they were too far away to make out the print. It didn’t matter.

“Liam, you go right. Look for a box of tins. We’ll take anything. And if there’s some salted meat about, grab that too. Don’t try to go out the front. Let’s use the rear door and slip away.”

“Aye, Callum. Won’t take long to grab what we can carry. If I get there first, I’ll get the door open.”

Callum didn’t wait for more. He turned and started down a shadowy aisle.

Five steps along, Callum wished he had brought a candle. While the wooden crates were labeled, it was nearly impossible to read the letters. He had to wait until his eyes adjusted, and even then, he found it incredibly difficult.

He didn’t have enough time. He told himself that he would examine three more crates, and he would choose one no matter what it contained. He was so hungry he wouldn’t turn down anything.

He reached the third crate.

Beans.

Some sort of beans, and that was good enough. He grabbed the crate and headed for the rear door. He hoped he would find Liam waiting, the door open. The fracas outside was still happening, a good sign, but such battles didn’t last long. He passed a pallet of sacks of hardtack and slung a burlap bag over his shoulder.

He felt like the richest man in Belfast. He had food enough for a month.

Callum reached the rear door and found himself alone. No matter. He set down his treasure and worked the bolts and locks. They were stiff from little use, but he managed to unlock everything. Even as he did, Liam set down his crate.

“How can I help?”

“Get ready to pull open the door.”

“ Stop right there!”

Callum stopped.

“Hands in the air.”

Callum put up his hands and turned to face a soldier—well, a wannabe soldier.

The Royal Irish uniform was on a boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. Too small for the clothes, his freckled face seemed lost in the collar. He stared with blue eyes, the pistol in his shaking hands pointed at Callum.

“You are under arrest.”

“Look, we’re just hungry. We don’t mean anyone any harm. We just want the food. Look at us—we’re skin and bones. We haven’t had a decent meal in weeks. We’re starving. Certainly, you can’t begrudge us two crates and a bag of hardtack.”

“It’s not mine to give away. It belongs to the crown. We’ll wait till the Sergeant Major arrives. He can decide what to do with you.”

“No, no, we can’t wait. You know what will happen. They’ll throw us in the gaol until they can set up some kind of fake trial. Then they’ll hang us. You know this. You can’t let it happen.”

“I tell you, I’m not in a position to decide. You are the criminals. I am keeping the law.”

“I’m going to pick up that crate and that sack of hardtack, and I’m walking out that door. If you’d shoot a man in the back, then may God have mercy on your soul.”

Callum grabbed the sack.

“Stop!”

The boy cocked the pistol, and that was more than Callum could abide. He slung the sack at the lad, who fired. The noise hammered Callum’s ears, but he paid no heed. He was already moving as fast as he could. Three steps later, he crashed into the soldier, and they both fell down in a heap.

Callum had fought for his life but once before. He had learned that no matter the size or age of the assailant, he had to fight as if his life depended on it.

The lad was no match.

In seconds, Callum had the boy on his back, quick to slam the boy’s head on the brick floor. Once, twice, three times, and the boy stopped struggling. That was enough for Callum. While the gunshot had been mostly muffled, the other soldiers would soon come looking. He and Liam had to be gone quickly.

“Liam, open the door!”

Callum scrambled away from the soldier. He didn’t hear Liam moving. The door wasn’t opening. What the devil was his brother doing?

“Liam! The door!”

Nothing happened.

Callum slung the bag over one shoulder and grabbed his crate before he turned to his brother.

“Liam, show some…”

The words died in Callum’s throat.

He stared.

Liam sat against the wall. He wasn’t moving. He simply stared.

Even as blood gurgled out the hole in his chest.

“Liam…”

Blood trickled down Liam’s chin, and he tipped over.

Callum dropped the crate and fell to his knees.

“Oh… Liam…”

Chapter Three

“No, no, no, no, no…”

Callum woke with a start, realizing that the voice he heard was his own. Panting, his heart pounding, he stared at the wagon’s underside. The nightmare was a familiar one, something that had haunted him since he left Ireland. It never changed. Liam was shot and killed several times a week.

On the trip across the ocean, a fellow traveler had promised the dream would fade with time. Other dreams would replace it. Callum certainly hoped so. He didn’t know how many times he could weather the warehouse chaos.

Skipper, the Walshes’ skinny mutt, dropped next to Callum, making sure its body touched his. Skipper was a good dog, as dogs went. It chased away the varmints that accompanied the wagon train. Callum felt safer sleeping out in the open as long as Skipper was around.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Callum scratched the dog’s neck. “Seems that running away from disaster doesn’t make it any less painful.”

The dog licked his hand.

“Yeah, it’s time to wake up. Time to eat. I promise you’ll get the scraps.”

Morning wasn’t far off. The gray pre-dawn would soon yield to the pastel orange that came with the sun. Callum enjoyed a clear sunrise—as long as the morning sky wasn’t pink. He had been taught the sailor’s creed on the passage across the Atlantic.

“Pink skies at night… sailors’ delight. Pink skies at morning… sailors take warning.”

But the weather wasn’t cause for alarm. Everyone in the train knew they were about to enter the Indian territories. Safe passage was never guaranteed. Stories and rumors were the meat and drink around the campfires. Everyone seemed to have a tale of battle and mayhem. Callum listened, but he gave the stories little credence. They reminded him of the lies that filled the pubs back in Belfast. If everyone had seen a leprechaun, then nobody had seen one. Callum surmised the scalping stories were the same.

He reckoned he had a few minutes before Franklin Walsh appeared. Franklin and Margaret were Callum’s benefactors. Their relationship had happened so quickly Callum could barely accept the outcome. Still, he remembered… St. Louis.

Fearing the long reach of British justice, Callum had sold all the food he’d stolen from the warehouse. That was enough to get him passage to Boston. His cousin in Colorado was the only person Callum knew in this strange place called America. He’d taken a job as a hog butcher just long enough to save money for a train ride to Chicago. That was when he’d learned the true size of his adopted country.

And Chicago was perhaps halfway to Colorado.

He’d dug ditches in Chicago, backbreaking work. When he had enough money, he’d moved along. St. Louis, the gateway to the West, was his destination. And that was where civilization seemed to stop. Getting to Colorado was not a train ride—even if he had been able to afford it.

He’d taken a job in a tannery and slept in the doorways and alleys. In some respects, St. Louis was worse than Belfast. There were more guns and more men willing to use them. Still, it was the sharp, silent knife that people feared.

Callum had met Franklin Walsh in St. Louis. Actually, in a dark alley. Callum had been settling down for a tortured sleep in a shadowy doorway, when he’d heard the man bellow. That could mean but one thing.

Thievery.

Callum wasn’t sure why he’d intervened. Perhaps it was his sense of justice. Perhaps it was his need to atone for his sins. Perhaps it was in respect for his dead brother. The reasons didn’t matter. He’d left his safe doorway and ran down the alley.

The encounter didn’t last long. Franklin Walsh was being held by two dirty, knife-wielding men who had plied their trade before. Callum crashed into one while Franklin attacked the other. In seconds, the robbers raced away, leaving Callum panting.

“Are ye alright?”

“Aye, and you?”

“I’ve met their like before. I know how to weather them.”

The tall man held out his hand. “I’m Franklin Walsh. And you?”

“Callum Gallagher. Glad to meet you.”

“I detect an accent. Ireland?”

“Belfast. You?”

“Dublin.”

They shook hands. Franklin had a solid grip.

“Callum, what say you to a pint? My treat. I owe you my life.”

“They wouldn’t have killed you, as that would have forced them to leave St. Louis. But I’ll gladly take the pint. I don’t often earn enough to freely drink.”

“You will tonight.”

The pub was loud and filled with smoke. Franklin bought the pints and the lamb shanks and asked questions about Callum’s trek. Callum was careful to avoid the warehouse shooting, the death of Liam, and the young Irish soldier. Franklin had no use for such knowledge.

“I’m on my way to meet my cousin in Colorado. When I started my journey, I thought Colorado wasn’t far from Boston, where I landed. I’m still awed by the size of America.”

“A common misconception for travelers here. I, myself, started in Pennsylvania. Then, I did a bit of farming in Ohio. The dirt was fertile. Yields were good. We liked Ohio… until the cholera came. We lost both boys and the girl. That ended Ohio for us. When you can’t stand to look out over your crops, it’s time to move. We looked in Indiana and Illinois, but they was too much like Ohio. We heard about Colorado and maybe California. If we go far enough, we won’t be reminded. That’s what we’re hoping.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. May they rest in peace. I lost my younger brother in Belfast. The how doesn’t matter as much as the why. When the potatoes turned black, everyone started packing their bags.”

Franklin lifted his glass. “To better times in the West.”

“To better times.”

After the toast, Franklin pulled out his gold watch. “It be time to head back to the wagon. Did you get enough?”

“I can’t eat another bite or drink another pint.”

“I’ll make ye an offer. Come with me. I’ll introduce you to the missus. If she takes to you, then you might consider joining us for the trip to Denver. I’m not as young as I once was, so I can use the help.”

“I can’t pay my way.”

“Not asking you to. You’ll earn your keep with hard work. I won’t paint a pretty picture—crossing the country in a wagon is a man’s work. You look young enough and hale enough. Sound like something appealing?”

“A godsend. Truly a godsend. I promise to pull my weight and then some.”

They shook hands again. Franklin lifted his pint.

“To a fruitful partnership.”

They toasted and drank.

That was St. Louis.

This was the Indian territories.

Callum was glad his luck was still holding. Could the authorities find him? Probably, but would they bother? Callum was pretty sure they had blamed Liam for the soldier’s death. That was good enough for now. When Callum reached Colorado, he would change his name. That wasn’t certain protection, but it would add another layer of safety. He hoped the law in Ireland was too busy to chase after him.

Skipper jumped up and trotted away.

Callum stretched. His mornings always started like this. He rolled out from under the wagon and stood. Franklin climbed down and grabbed the water bucket.

“I’ll get it.”

“I can do it.”

“I know ye can, but I need to stretch my legs.”

“You’ll get enough of that on the trail.”

“Aye, but I’m younger. It’s me contribution.”

Franklin handed over the wooden bucket. “Breakfast will be small and fast. Mortimer says we have to get moving. We have to get through the Indian territory as fast as we can.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Callum weaved through the center of the wagon circle. The wagons were circled every night, as that was deemed the best defense against raiders. And the wide-open plains were filled with gangs that found the wagons tempting. Callum had come to realize that people were people the world around. There were always some who thought stealing was easier than hard work.

Around Callum, the camp was coming alive. He smelled the coffee brewing. He heard the sizzle of bacon in a skillet. Mothers called to their children while men secured the oxen and mules to their harnesses. The strain on leather and wood was constant on the trail. Wheels, harnesses, and canvas needed constant repair.

The rules of the trail were simple. A family was responsible for their wagon and animals. If the wagon broke down, it was repaired—if it could be. Every family feared abandonment. A family that lost a wagon would have to double up with another family, leaving behind their goods.

Harsh but necessary.

Callum had heard stories of families that decided to hunker down with a broken wagon and wait for the next wagon train or someone with spare parts. Those families didn’t fare well. There was safety in numbers and movement.

“Pay heed!”

Callum paused as Mortimer Saulk walked into the center of the circle.

“Get your gear in order. See to your animals and children. We leave in one hour. I know it’s short notice, but we must reach Fort Horison before sundown.”

“Sun’s up late,” a man’s voice called.

“I’m aware of he sunlight. I’m aware of our pace. There’s precious little time left after watering the animals and meals. We’ve been fortunate up till now. But if we have a major breakdown, we won’t reach our goal. And you do not wish to spend a night out on the open plain. So, families, you have sixty minutes.”

That was enough for Callum. He hustled to the stream, only to stop when he spotted a young lad, perhaps the same age as Liam. For a moment, Callum could do nothing. He froze as fresh emotions pulsed through his body.

Liam.

There were times during his travels when he completely forgot about his brother. The needs of staying alive and ahead of the inevitable police didn’t allow for emotional breakdowns. Now, here, in the safety of the wagon train and the Walshes, his defenses had been let down. A deep remorse filled him. He missed Liam so much.

Tears filled his eyes. He blinked and reminded himself that he couldn’t afford self-pity. He was bound for Colorado. He had to get water. He shook his head and pushed on. He would mourn later.

The stream was crowded. People were bathing, wiping their torsos with cloths, rinsing their hair. One man was peeing, keeping his back to the others. Some might not recognize it, but Callum knew better. He decided to move upstream. The water would be cleaner.

When he rounded the bend, he spotted a lone bather. Shirtless, back to him, the body appeared female. Yet, the blonde hair was short, like a boy’s. In fact, the bather might be a lad; the trousers didn’t signify sex. Callum couldn’t be sure. But something about the bather didn’t square with being male. He watched as she wiped herself with a rag. He wondered if he needed to announce himself.

Before he could decide, she turned her head. Her eyes caught him, and he immediately looked away.

“I must apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The bather said nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, Callum saw the figure raise a shirt and button it up, then wade to the bank and put on a coat. Not that a coat would be needed. The day would be hot enough. As he knelt and washed his face, he was sure a woman was lacing up her boots. The water felt cool and welcome.

“Just to let you know, we’ll be leaving in less than an hour.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice was soft, feminine. It reminded him of his ma before she passed. He fought another reason to cry. He told himself to fill the bucket and head for camp. The last thing he needed was a woman to distract him. He stood and saw the woman sling a leather bag over her shoulder. She took one step before she stopped and stared.

Callum followed her gaze. In the distance, a lone rider was stopped on a rise. The rider was too far away to make out much, except for a rifle resting on his thigh. He wasn’t moving, just staring, which spooked Callum. He was used to friendly people, not specters. He moved toward the woman.

“We should start back.”

The woman said nothing, simply stared.

“Are you listening? If he was friendly, he would be coming to us.”

“W… what?”

Even as they watched, six riders joined the man on the rise. That was enough for Callum. He grabbed the woman’s arm.

“We’re going!”

He jerked her, and they broke into a run.

Callum didn’t need to look back. He knew the riders were coming. His only thought was to reach the wagon train. They just might be safe there.