CHAPTER
3

“Did you find it?” Gwen whispered.

“Yes, I found things hidden in nearly every wagon.” Deb had her knapsack, now bulging and heavy, that she’d carried with her when they took the children away from the wagon train before sunup. She had her skirts gathered and full of things too, and Trace carried a load that he was quietly placing into a pack.

Deb handed over all Gwen could carry. Gwen had also taken her small bag this morning. Both of them always kept their guns with them along with a few basic supplies. The Scotts had trained them well to be prepared for trouble.

Gwen filled her own sack while she sat in the grass with Maddie Sue asleep on her lap. Ronnie slept on the ground, on his back. The dog stretched out beside Ronnie like a warm, loyal pillow. It lifted its head and panted while watching Deb as closely as Gwen.

Deb was trying to keep it hidden, but she could tell both sister and dog were noticing how upset she was. She concentrated on the charred cans she’d gathered.

“I found three cans of milk. I don’t know how far we have to travel, but we’d best set out soon because this is less than a day’s supply.” Deb dropped her leather bag on the ground with a dull clank as the cans knocked together.

“Ronnie eats solid food now. He can get by without milk for a while.” The words halted, and Gwen gave her a long, searching look. “Are you all right?”

“It was hard to see, but I’m fine.” That was just a plain old lie. She wasn’t going to be fine for quite a while—maybe never. She had images in her head that would never fade. She did her best to regain her composure after what she’d seen, yet she knew Trace’s talk of nightmares would be true for her now, too.

She noticed a gray pallor to Trace’s complexion and suspected he was as sick to his stomach as she was. It helped somewhat that a strong man was as affected as she by the ugliness and brutality of what they’d seen.

“Some of us will have to walk. I’m so sorry we’re adding such a burden to your journey, Mr. Riley. Thank you.”

“Call me Trace. ‘Mister’ sounds like an old man to me. Although”—he glanced at the wagon-train ruins—“I’m feeling older by the minute.”

“And we are Deb and Gwen. Calling both of us Miss Harkness will be confusing.”

Nodding, he said, “Let’s get the little ones up on horseback. Black here is strong enough to carry all four of you, but with all these supplies to add, I just don’t think you’ll all fit.”

“That’s fine. Gwen and I walk along with the wagon train most days.”

“That’s what we’ll have to do, then. One of you riding and holding the young’uns. Each of you will take a turn walking.”

“You’ll have a turn riding, too.” Deb was determined.

“Let’s get moving. We’ll worry about who’s riding later.” The dog, Trace had called it Wolf, or some such odd name, got up and went to his master’s side and nosed at his hand. A quiet whine that sounded like sympathy came from the dog, and Trace looked down at it and rested one big hand on his pet’s head. Deb could see Trace’s very carefully concealed dismay in the gentle way he stroked the dog’s gray fur. His eyes lifted and met hers, and she knew all he felt.

It was a connection between them, a connection Deb prayed that Gwen never shared. Deb had done what had to be done, gone through the wreckage and found what could be salvaged. There was little enough, yet the Scotts weren’t the only ones with hidden boxes, and Deb had known where to look. She now carried a small stack of silver and gold coins and some surviving papers, as well as a heavy bag of canned goods. Trace had picked up what he could. The pack he’d formed was tied on his horse behind the saddle.

“Do the little ones need to eat before we set out?” he asked.

Deb was amazed to admit she hadn’t thought of it, even with the talk of milk. This whole morning had shaken her right to the ground, and she was a woman who prided herself on being able to handle anything. Though her Heavenly Father knew well that she’d never handled anything close to this.

The dog’s head snapped to alert, and without a sound it tore off into the tall grass.

“What happened?” Deb looked to where the dog had disappeared.

“He heard me say eat. He hunts his own. Reckon he’ll be back soon.”

The children stirred from the sound of voices and sat up.

Maddie Sue rubbed her eyes.

Ronnie woke up crying “Mama.” Gwen cradled him, and he leaned against her chest, murmuring “Mama” again through tears.

The children loved Gwen in a special way, as well they should. Gwen did the lion’s share of caring for them.

She and Gwen went to work getting a cold breakfast in the youngsters’ stomachs. Trace had a tin cup and divided the can of milk between his cup and one Deb produced. One for Maddie, one for Ronnie.

Trace had beef jerky and hard biscuits in his saddlebag, which he shared. Being the first food they’d eaten for the day, and with the morning half gone, the children were mighty hungry.

Deb took a strip of jerky and a biscuit and slipped it into her coat pocket. She couldn’t walk all day without food, but she feared she’d empty her stomach if she took a single bite right now.

She noticed Trace did the same.

Gwen ate with little enthusiasm. She was a sympathetic young woman and had to know what they must’ve seen. None of the adults commented on the eating behavior of the others.

Deb managed a few sips of water from Trace’s canteen, and soon they were finished with the simple meal. Little Ronnie started toddling around, heading for the tall grass. Where he’d no doubt vanish, never to be seen again. Gwen made sure to keep up with him.

Maddie Sue said, “Why is your horsie so tall?”

Stumped by the question, Trace looked down at the little girl. “I don’t rightly know. That’s just how tall he grew.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did she grow that tall?”

“Uh—” he threw Deb a confused look—“it’s a he. And he just did is all?”

“What’s a he?”

“The horse is a he, not a she.”

“Why?”

“Well, um, I reckon—”

“Why?”

Trace blinked and looked at Deb again.

“She just loves the sound of the word why.”

Maddie Sue walked over to him and reached up both arms. “Pick me up.”

Trace stepped back so fast he bumped into his horse, who quickly sidestepped. Deb was prepared to save Trace from the little girl, though it was funny to watch him all stirred up. It distracted her from the morning, and she hoped it put Trace’s mind on other things, too. Anything but the horror of that wagon train.

“It’s time we get going. Which of you wants to ride first?” Trace asked, doing his best to dodge Maddie Sue without letting her get under his horse’s hooves.

“Go ahead, Deb.” Gwen was as generous as she was pure of heart.

Shaking her head almost violently, Deb said, “I need to walk awhile.”

Gwen studied her closely. Whatever she saw must’ve convinced her because she handed Ronnie to Deb and reached for the saddle horn. She tried to get her foot in the stirrup and missed. The horse tossed its head, and the bridle jingled.

A furrow formed on Gwen’s smooth brow as she stepped up to the horse again. She smiled nervously at Trace. “Why is your horse so tall?”

He huffed, almost a chuckle. While it sounded strained to Deb, it was better than his grim silence and few words. “Best to let me help. Black’s a good horse, but he ain’t used to skirts. In fact, I don’t know as anyone’s ever ridden him but me. No sense making him jumpy.”

Before Gwen could try and climb up into the high saddle, Trace reached for her waist, pulled back before he touched her, then reached again hesitantly. He finally set his hands on her and hoisted her high enough that she could scramble the rest of the way herself. Trace handled her with the finesse he’d have shown for a sack of potatoes.

When Gwen’s skirt flapped in his face, he flinched as if it were the tip of a bullwhip.

At least his cheeks were no longer gray. He was blushing. He picked up the reins from where the horse had been ground-hitched and lifted them over the horse’s head. Gwen grabbed them tight, maybe too tight because the horse tossed its head.

Deb lifted Ronnie up to Gwen.

“No!” Ronnie’s scream nearly peeled the skin off Deb’s ears. He kicked his feet as though running in midair, and one of his little-boy shoes hit the horse in the shoulder. The critter shied sideways so fast, Gwen shrieked and threw herself forward to cling to the saddle horn and managed to drop the reins.

That set the horse off even more and it pranced. Gwen clung. She wasn’t much of a rider.

Ronnie had been quiet so far this morning. The long walk in the grass and the grim mood coming from Deb and Gwen had weighed on the normally rambunctious toddler. Well, that quiet was over now.

Trace jumped to grab his mount and calm him down while Maddie Sue followed after him demanding to be picked up. After a bit of a tussle, Deb took over holding both children. Finally the horse quit dancing. The wiggling, protesting Ronnie was settled firmly on Gwen’s lap, and now the little toddler seemed delighted with his perch. Once up, he quit screaming and pulled on the horse’s mane, which the animal didn’t seem to mind.

“The voice of one crying in the wilderness,” Trace muttered.

“What does that mean?” Deb handed Maddie Sue over.

“Nothing.” Trace lifted Maddie Sue up to set her behind Gwen. “The boy crying just reminded me of that verse.”

Maddie Sue giggled. “I’m flying!”

The horse lifted its head and looked at Trace. Trace rested a gloved hand on the horse’s shoulder and looked back. Deb had a real sense that the two were communicating in some way. Like maybe they couldn’t believe what was happening to them.

Well, Deb couldn’t either, so they were all in the same fix.

The little girl’s laughter helped settle Deb’s stomach. She glanced at Trace and said, “There’s still laughter in the world.”

He nodded solemnly as he made sure Maddie Sue was able to hold on securely to Gwen. There was a good-sized pack behind the saddle, and Maddie Sue fit between it and Gwen to the point she had something to rest her back on, not to mention it pinned her snugly in place.

“Will she be all right back there?” Trace asked.

Deb and Gwen exchanged a look. “I think so,” Deb said, “but I’ll bring up the rear and keep watch.”

“No, you won’t. I need to go ahead a bit and study the trail for the tracks of the outlaws. You’d better lead the horse instead.”

“You think you can learn about them by studying their horse tracks?”

He paused, a confused look on his face. “Uh, sure I can. I can identify the horses, tell how much the men weigh. Figure where they’re headed and who’s in charge. I can’t recognize faces, but with the trail they’re leaving, I can find them without trouble.”

“You can do all that from a horse track?”

“You’re new to the West, aren’t you, Deb?”

This would be when Deb should tell him that she could identify one of the men.

“I think you’d better let Deb lead the horse, Miss Gwen. Unless you think you can handle him.”

Deb decided to leave talk of recognizing a murderer until later.

Gwen shrugged and refused to claim a talent she clearly lacked.

“I’ll lead it.” Deb went over to the horse’s neck.

Trace stared his horse in the eye, gave the stallion that shoulder rub, another silent communication.

“Black isn’t used to little ones, nor women. But he’ll let you lead him.”

Had the horse said that? More worrisome, did Trace think the horse had said that?

“I need to get out ahead and read signs before we add any tracks, so if you could lead him that’d help. Be mindful if the kids start crying and such. That might upset Black. If I get ahead tracking, it’ll take me a few minutes to get back, so hang on tight to the reins if that happens.”

“I’ll hang on tight.”

“I’ll make sure her hands aren’t slipping,” Gwen added. Ronnie sat on her lap, happily kicking the saddle his short legs straddled. Again the horse didn’t seem to mind. Gwen hugged Maddie Sue’s arms where they clung around her stomach from behind and spoke quietly to the little girl.

Maddie Sue rested her face on Gwen’s back. “Where Auntie Dee ’n Unca Abe?”

The children had no idea what had happened to the wagon train. Ronnie was too young to speak beyond the most basic words, but included among them were mama and papa.

But Gwen had cared for him so much that he might not realize exactly who his mama was. Maddie Sue was Abe and Delia Scott’s niece, but they’d had her with them all her life. Maddie Sue’s real ma had lived with the Scotts while her husband was gone to war, so Maddie Sue thought of them as parents. But Maddie Sue’s pa—Cameron Scott, Abe Scott’s brother and little Ronnie’s namesake—had fought in the Civil War through the time his daughter was born and his wife died.

Cameron had come home briefly after the war ended, and the family made their plans. Cameron would go west ahead of them to serve the army on the western frontier and, while doing that, scout out ranchland for all of them. Cameron, along with his sister Penelope—who had also lived in the tiny attic with Abe and Delia and worked to support the family as much as Abe—had gone. It had taken two years, but finally Cameron had written to them with directions to find him, and they’d set out. And they’d needed help with the two little ones, so they’d allowed the Harkness sisters to ride along and tend the children in exchange for passage.

Cameron Scott was out there somewhere waiting for his family with no idea of the tragedy that had befallen them. Right now the children had no one but Gwen and Deb. And Trace Riley.

The children’s lives would go on. Grief and regret weighed on her heart. The Scotts were fine people. Loving, hardworking, with a deeply honorable belief in helping those in need. “The least of these,” Delia Scott sometimes called them. That attitude had helped them agree to let Deb and Gwen come along on the trail west.

How could little Ronnie ever know what fine people his parents were? He almost certainly couldn’t. But Deb was determined, if she ended up in a position to do so, to help keep memories of the Scotts alive for Ronnie and Maddie Sue.

But how could she do that when they were to meet Maddie’s father at the end of this journey? Deb would need to hand the children over to him and ride away forever. And while she was worried about abandoning the children, she wondered how she’d ever make it to Cameron Scott. How could she let anyone know what had become of them?

It was too much to contemplate when she wasn’t even sure where they would all sleep tonight. So she shut down her worries and focused on prayers for the children, for Gwen and herself, too. And praise that Trace had come along.

“Hang on tight, Maddie Sue. We’re going for a horsie ride.”

Bless Gwen, the main weight of caring for the children had always fallen on her. As a mother, she was a natural, while Deb didn’t have near the knack for it. The children loved her too, but they just plain preferred Gwen.

Deb was all right with that, because if Gwen did most of the cuddling and rocking, she wasn’t doing all the heavier work. Deb wanted to shoulder as much of the burden for Gwen and Mrs. Scott as possible. It was the way she’d done things with her mother, and the way she’d had to do things with her father. It came naturally for her to try to ease the workload of others.

One of the reasons she had convinced Gwen to come west was Deb’s determination to use all her hard work to build something of her own.

Deb didn’t pretend that caring for two such young children was a small job, not at all. Gwen worked very hard. And with Mr. Scott leading this splintered-off group of the wagon train, all the driving and much of the horse care fell to Mrs. Scott. Deb always wished she could do more to make the lives of those she loved easier.

“Let’s head out.” Trace looked at Gwen. “You holdin’ on tight up there?”

She smiled and gave a firm nod. “We’re ready.”

“Give me a few yards’ head start so I can study the trail before you walk on it.” Trace moved out. As Deb walked along, leading the stallion, she realized she had a thousand questions. Pa had never much cared for a chattering woman. Of course, that’s because he was the family’s main chatterer.

“Can I ask how far it is to your home?” She winced as she remembered Maddie Sue, who, about two minutes after the wheels had started rolling back at the beginning of the wagon-train journey, asked if they were there yet.

“You see those tracks there?” Trace pointed at the ground.

“I see at least a hundred tracks from wagon wheels. This is the trail we came down yesterday.”

Trace shook his head. “Did you notice anything missing from the wagon train?”

Deb stared at him, thinking maybe he’d lost his mind. “Everything was missing, or dead and burned.”

“I’m sorry, that was a cruel question. What I mean is, there were a few dead draft animals, probably from stray bullets, but most of the horses and oxen were gone from the traces. They weren’t lying there dead.”

“I didn’t even think of that.” How could she when she was busy searching and trying to keep from emptying her stomach after seeing such horror?

“The men who attacked the train stole them, along with everything else they could find.”

It wasn’t much. It was only five wagons, and Deb had found money caches in nearly every one. Mr. Scott had been the one to devise hidden boxes for any wealth the folks going west hoped to keep for the journey’s end.

“There are also tracks from some cattle.”

Deb nodded. “There was a small herd being driven along behind the wagon train.”

“Those have all been stolen, too.”

Deb looked at the trail. “You can see all that on a trail churned up yesterday by the wagon train?”

Trace hunkered down and pointed. “Yep. That track is a horse, a shod horse, and to someone who knows how to read signs, a hoofprint is as good as a man’s signature. I’ll know every critter with those men if I see them again . . . horses and cattle both. This one has horseshoes with a diamond mark on them, some blacksmith’s mark, and it’s distinctive.”

He moved to another hoofprint. “This is one of the stolen horses. I can tell because it’s not as deep as, say, this one.” He pointed to another track. “See? It’s not carrying a rider.”

He indicated yet another track. “This belongs to one of the thieves. It’s got a broad pace, and the tracks are deep. Big horse, big man riding it. And the tracks are heading east, when all yesterday’s tracks were heading west. This track is distinctive, as are a few of the others, and they’re from horses carrying the men who killed your friends. This print here is huge—it must be quite a horse.”

“One of the wagons was being pulled by a big Belgian, another by a pair of massive Holstein oxen.”

“Those are all unusual animals. That helps. Thanks.” Trace glanced sideways at her. “I’m surprised you haven’t told me this was done by Indians. Most people blame Native folks for all the trouble out here.”

“I heard the attackers yelling, and they were clearly speaking English. Of course, I’m sure some Native people can speak English, but not the way these men did. And . . .” Her voice faltered.

“What?”

“I saw one of them.”

Trace surged to his feet and turned to grip her arms. “You saw his face?”

“Yes. In the firelight, just as dawn broke. I would recognize him if I saw him again.”

“That puts you in considerable danger.” Trace looked and sounded grim.

A shiver raised the hair on her arms and neck. “I suppose it does, but it eliminates all chance that Native folks can be blamed.”

Nodding, Trace said, “I’m glad. I could see that by reading the signs, but it was staged, even a few arrows left behind to look as if this was done by Paiutes. But the real killing was done with bullets and, well, there was damage to the bodies that I’ve seen before. As if someone who doesn’t know Indian ways has a twisted belief that there’d be some knife wounds, so they—” Trace stopped and cleared his throat, then gave his head a hard shake, not finishing what he’d started to say.

“The Paiutes are the main tribe around here. And some Washoe. I have friends among ’em, and they’re a peaceable people for the most part. I’d hate to see them blamed for this.”

“I might recognize the voices of some of the outlaws, too. One—not the one I saw—had a high-pitched voice for a man.” She looked sideways at Trace. “I’ll testify as a witness if these men are brought to trial later.”

“Let’s hope it comes to that,” Trace said. “For now, we need to get you all to my place. It’s a twenty-mile ride. I figured to be home by noon or shortly after. Walking, though—and with three riders and carrying a heavy pack on my horse—I can only guess at how long it’s going to take. The whole day and then some for sure. The nearest settlement is over twice as far to the north, and that isn’t a fit place for women and children alone. It’s still morning, but reading signs will slow me down. I doubt we can make it home until long after dark. We’ll have to decide if we want to push on through riding late into the night or if we want to sleep on the trail. If the children can bear it, maybe we can press on.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but no words came out. Deb wondered what he’d thought better of saying.

“I’ve thanked you now several times, but I want to make sure you know we consider that God sent you right to us in our hour of greatest need. Thank you for being an answer to prayer.”

She had more questions. She glanced sideways at him and asked, “Do you—?”

Trace held up his hand as if to halt their progress, yet he kept walking. Deb took that to mean he wanted to halt the talk.

“I mentioned the tracks because I need to study them. I want to be familiar enough with them that if I see one of these horses or oxen or cattle again, I can recognize it. I noticed a few things around the wagon train to give me some idea of the men, but I can learn more. If your questions can wait, I’d prefer to walk out ahead of you and move quiet so I can concentrate.”

It struck Deb that she’d never been asked to shut up so politely in her life. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Obliged.” He moved forward at a pace that grew faster until it was the next thing to a run, but not a run, just the next thing to it.

Twenty miles he’d said.

It was going to be a long, quiet day.