Contents

TitlePagePraiseforOrphanMoonDescriptionCopyrightDedicationChapterOne-September27,1860ChapterTwo-September26,1860ChapterThree-September27,1860

ChapterFour-Tuesday,October16,1860ChapterFive-September27,1860ChapterSix-October20,1860ChapterSeven-September27,1860ChapterEight-September27,1860ChapterNine-October26,1860ChapterTen-November3,1860

ChapterEleven-November13,1860ChapterTwelve-November15,1860ChapterThirteen-November16,1860ChapterFourteen-November26,1860ChapterFifteen-November26,1860ChapterSixteen-November29,1860AcknowledgmentsANoteFromtheAuthor

AbouttheAuthor

ORPHANMOON

By

T.K.Lukas

BookOneoftheOrphanMoon

Trilogy

ChevalierPublishing

PRAISEFORT.K.LUKAS’S

ORPHANMOON

“Highlyrecommended!Anexciting,breathlessreadwithwell-

developedcharactersandaplotthatkeeps

youguessing.”—Elizabeth

“Excellentread!Thestorygrabsyoufromtheverybeginningandkeepsyouwantingmore!”

—Aubrey

“Youshouldread

thisbook.Itisagreatstoryofovercominghardshipwithalove

storythreadedthroughoutlotsof

adventure.”—Ron

“Gritty,rawAmericanhistory…I

feltlikeIwasthere.LOVEthatinagood

novel.”—Gary

“Lovedthisbook!Grippingstorygrabsyoufromtheverystart.T.K.Lukasdoesanamazingjob

ofcreatingcharacters.Youlovethemorhatethembutyoufeellikeyouknowthemall.”

—Sherry

“Highlyrecommended.Theauthormakesthe

characterscomealivewithexquisitedetailsanddialog...IfeellikeIknowthem.Ican'twaitforthenext

bookintheseries!”—Beth

“T.K.Lukas'swritingreflectsthe

kindofmaturitythatwillshinemoreandmorewitheach

passingnovel.Kudostoher!”

—GrammarDowager

1860 - Palo Pinto, Texas:Under the spectacular glowof a Comanche moon, afamily is slaughtered, theirhomesteadtorched.

Nineteen-year-old BarleighFlanders survives theterrifying raid. Fiercelydetermined to rebuild, sheseizes an opportunity meantforanother.It'safoolhardy,reckless scheme. Desperate,near penniless, it's her only

hope.

Her grueling physicaljourney stretches fromTexas, toMissouri, and intothe rugged Utah Territory.However, it's her emotionaljourney that takes her toplaces of uncharteddarkness, discovery, andredemption.

In Hughes Levesque,Barleigh gains an unsought

ally with dark secrets of hisown.Ahiredgun,itbecomeshispersonalmission tokeepBarleighsafe.Doingsomaycosthimhislife,hisjob,andhisheart,noneofwhichhe'skeentolose.

Orphan Moon is a heart-wrenching saga of familylove,loss,andbetrayal.Botha gripping adventure and atimeless lovestory, itgallopsacross the bleeding edge of

thewesternfrontier.

Copyright©2015T.K.Lukas

Allrightsreserved.

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproduced,scanned,or

distributedinanyprintedorelectronicformwithoutthepermissionoftheauthor.

Pleasedonotparticipateinor

encouragepiracyofcopyrightedmaterialsinviolationoftheauthor’s

rights.

Purchaseonlyauthorizededitions.

ISBN-10:0-9962356-0-4ISBN-13:978-0-9962356-0-0

ChevalierPublishingNote:

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseither

aretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,

events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Dedication

ForBaron,myhusband,myfriend,mylover,myreal-lifehero…

Yourunwaveringsupport

andencouragement—yourunshakable,never-endingbeliefinme—isthesourceofmystrength,myjoy,andmysmile.

I’mgratefulforyourlove.

CHAPTERONESEPTEMBER27,1860

HighupontheBrazosRiverridge,bare-chestedwarriorsonwar-paintedhorsesgatheredwithlances,bowsandarrows,andtomahawksinhand.Thefire-holder,theelderandreveredmedicineman,satastridehisdecoratedpintointhemiddleoftheassembly,hismount

indifferenttotheflamingtorcheshisridergrippedineachhand.Otherhorsesstompeduppuffsoffinecalichedustthatglitteredinthemoonlight.Onehundredormoreinstrength,theywaitedinpatientsurveillanceofthequietfarmhousebelow,whilethoseinthefarmhousewatchedthem.

Themooncastshadowswherethereshouldhavebeennone,asifthesun

insteadhadreachedfullbloom.Alonewhitestallionstoodonthehighestpointoftheridge,silhouettedagainstthesilverybackdrop,itsridersittingtall.Heheldhishandhighabovehishead,asifconnectingtosomelunarspirit.Hisarmdropped,thesignalwasgiven.Therockyridgecamealivewithhorsespouringovertheedge,slidingandtumblingdownthesteepslope,racingacrossthe

valley.Withterrifyingwarcriesfillingtheair,gyratingcirclesofmountedwarriorsconstrictedinanever-tighteningnoosearoundtheranch.

Brilliantarcsoflighteruptedinthenightskylikeblazingtracesofshootingstarsfallingfromtheheavens.BarleighFlandersstoodtransfixedinthebarricadedwindowofherbedroom,peeringthroughthegunport

asarrowsstreamingfireraineddownallaround.Dreadrootedherfeettothefloor.

Henry’shandsshookhisdaughter’sshoulders.“Runtothegoatshed,Barleigh.Getinthecellar.TakeBirdieandthebabyandAuntWinnie.Now!UncleJackandI’llgivecovertillwecanmakearunforit.”

“No,Papa.I’mstayingwithyou.”Barleigh

pickeduptheshotgun,thrustitthroughtheport.

“Don’targue,girl.Notimetowaste.Keepholdofyourgun—takeitwithyou.”

WinnieranoutofBirdie’sroomcarryingthebaby.Borntwodaysearlieronthefirstnightofthefullmoon,Barleigh’shalf-sisterwailedwithhunger.“Birdie’stooweaktorunorwalk.Havingthischildtookallofherstrength.”

Henryshoutedinstructionsasheshovedthemoutthebackdoor.“I’llcarryBirdiedowninaminute.Don’topenthehatchunlessyouknowit’sme.Hurrynow—run.”

Theyran,WinnieclutchingBirdie’sandHenry’sbaby,Barleightheshotgun.Noblethehoundboundedalongside,hisblackhairbristlinginalarm.Fromthebackofthehouse,pastthe

horsecorral,thentothegoatshed,theyracedtheroilingcloudofdustchurninginfromtheridge.Barleighthrewopenthesecrethatchinthefloor,andafterWinnieandthedogmadetheirwaydowntheangledearthensteps,sheslippedintothecooldarknessbelow.Henryhaddugthecellarandcraftedasecretdoorforitastheirhidingplacetoseekshelterfromdangerousweatheror

evenmoredangerousmen.“Hurry.Closethe

hatch,”Winniewhispered.Shebentforward,shieldingthebaby’stinybodywithherbroad,sturdybackashoovespoundedthegroundallaround,dirtsiftingdownontotheirheads.

“ButPapa’scomingwithBirdie.”Barleighpeekedoutthehatch,strainingtosee.Acavalcadeofhorsespassedinfrontoftheopendoorof

thegoatshed.Allshesawwerefasthoovesandpaintedlegs,butthatwasenough.Sheknewwhatwasabove.Shesecuredthelatch.

Inthesafetyofthecellar,theyclungtoeachother,thebabynestledbetweenthem.Thehugeblackdogsatonhishaunches,watchingthehatchwithakeenalertness,alowrumblesteadyinhisthroat.Bloodcurdlingcrieslingered

onthewind;thunderinghoofbeatsechoed;gunfireexploded,diminished,fadedaway,andthesharpsmellofthingsburningfounditswayunderground.

“Shh,shh....”Winniecradledthehungry,cryingbabyagainstheramplebosom,placingafingerinhermouthtohushit.“Bequiet,Noble,”shecommandedthecuriousdogthathowledinunison.

“Thenannygoatisjustoutsidethesheddoorinthepen,”Barleighsaid.“Icanmakearunforit.Grabthegoatandduckbackinside.Thisbabyneedsmilk.Birdiemaynot—”

“No.It’stoodangerousforyoutogooutside.I’llletthebabysucksomepeachnectaroffmyfinger.Canyoufindajarofpeachesinthedark?”

Thebaby’shunger

wasgreaterthanthenectar.Herwailingintensifiedintopiercing,balled-fistedspasms.WinnietiedaragaroundNoble’smuzzletokeephimfromjoininginagain.

“Weneedthatgoat.”Barleighcreptupthestepsandcrackedopenthehatch,herdeterminedblueeyespeeringoutside.Dreadfulnoisereverberatedinthedistance,butoverheadquiet

filledthedarkness.Shecrawledoutside,foundthemilkingstool,andwedgeditinplacetokeepthehatchproppedopen.

“Stayinthecellaronthestepswiththegunpointedoutthehatch,”BarleighsaidtoWinnie.“Don’tbeafraidtoshootifsomethingneedsshooting.IfIdon’tcomebackintwominutes,pushthemilkingstoolawayandboltthehatch.”

ThewordsechoedinBarleigh’smind.Don’tbeafraidtoshootifsomethingneedsshooting.Thosewerethewordsofherfather,Henry’spartingphrasewhenleavingBarleighattheranchalone,andthewordshe’dsaidwhenhe’dhandedherthenewshotgunthreemonthsearlieronhernineteenthbirthday.

“I’mnotafraidtoshoot,butIdon’tlikethis

plan.Ishouldbetheonegoingforthegoat.Youshouldbeinherewithyourbabysister.”Winniebrushedadirty-blondecurloffherworriedforehead,thewidestreaksofpre-maturegraymatchingthecolorofherequallyworriedeyes.

“You’rethemidwife.Youknowbabies.Iknowanimals.Icancatchagoat.”

“Allright.”Winniesighedthedeepsighofone

givingin.Sheplacedthebabyinabasketofragsandgrabbedtheshotgun.“I’mready.”

Clingingtothedarkness,pressingherbackagainstthewall,herthinframealmostasthinashershadow,sheinchedtowardthedoorthatledoutsidetotheattachedpen.Thenannygoatshouldbejustinsidethegatenexttothefeedtrough,shethought.

Barleighrushedtothegate,searching.Whereisshe?Shelistenedforamoment,makingoutthesoundoffaintbleating.Thick,chokingsmokehungintheair.Shecoughed,coveredhermouthandnosewithherhand,tryingnottomakeasound.Ignoringtheshoutedsongsoftriumphantcelebrationinthedistance,theeerieorangeglow,theflickeringlightfromfireburningallaround,

sheopenedthegate,groping,andmadeablindgrab.Herhandsettledonthegoat’sbellcollar.Thehappytinklingsounditmaderangloud.Barleighgrabbedthebrassclanger,snatchingitinherclutchedfisttoquiettheconvictingnoise.

Runningbackinsidetheshedwiththegoatinherarms,sheheardanoisecomingfrombehind.Sheturnedtoseethesilhouetteof

awarriorframedinthedoorway,adarkfigurebracedagainstthebackdropofflamesandsmoke.

Winniescreamed.Barleighdroppedto

theground,clutchingthegoattoherchest.Ashotgunblastsplittheair.ShelookeduptoseetheIndian,tomahawkraised,flyingbackward,withbloodspurtingfromaholeinhischest.Hefelltothefloor,dead.

HandingthegoatofftoWinnie,Barleighrolledhisbodyupagainstthewallandthencoveredhimwithemptyfeedbags.Shescatteredloosehayoverthetomahawkandthewidepoolofblood,fearfuloftheevidenceandthestorythatthescenewouldrevealtoanotherpassingby.

*****Theymilkedthegoat,takingturnslettingthebabysuckthestickysweetnessofftheir

fingers.Satisfied,sheslept.Takingarisk,Barleighlittheoillamp,dialedthewickdowntothelowestheightbeforeitextinguished,theflickeroflightallowingaquickreminderoftheirsurroundingsbeforeshesnuffedtheflame.

Birdie’spreservedfruitsandvegetableslinedtheshelves.Barleigh’spreservedthoughtsanddreamslinedherjournals,whichshekept

stackedbelowtheshelves.Shecountedeightboundbooks,oneeachyearbeginningwhenshehadturnedtwelve.Thecellarwasherwritingplace.Herdreamingplace.Herhidingplace.

Noblesatlikeasentinelguardingthehatchwhilethelittlegoatpaced.“I’msorry,NannyGoat,butifNoblewearsamuzzle,somustyou.”Thegoat’s

confusedbleatinghadgrownlouder,herfranticstridingmorevigorous.“Sorry.”

BarleighandWinnieatethejarofpeaches.Likethenervousgoat,theypaced.Winnieusedabucketofoldwashwatertorelieveherself.Itseemedasifthenightmightneverend,buteventuallyitstretchedintothequietstillnessofmorning.

“Ican’tstandthisany

longer,”Barleighsaid,thesilenceofthepreviousfewhoursbecomingtooheavy.“Ineedtoknowwhat’soutthere.IfPapaandUncleJackwereable,theywould’vecomeforusbynow.”

Winnienoddedagreement.“Yes.Jack—”Sheletthesentencetrailaway.

Theyascendedthesteps,crackedopenthehatch.Incontrasttotheviolent

chaosthatwasthenight,dappledsunlightbathedtheearth,songbirdssangtooneanother,andthepeacefulworldseemednormal.Barleigh’seyesadjustedtothemorning’slight.Shelookedaround...andrealizedherworldwouldneverbenormalagain.

Smokecurledfromtheashyheapwhereoncestoodthehorsebarn.Thecorral’scharcoaledplanks

sparkedinthebreeze.Whatlittlethatremainedofthehousestoodundertheprotectivearmsofasingedcottonwoodtree.Greenpearsgatheredthepreviousdayfromtheorchardsatpiledinbaskets,theshinyredpushcartsittingnexttowhatusedtobethekitchenporch.Thereinitsplacewasnowagapingblackholeopeningintothegutted,smolderinghouse.

“Oh,dearGod,”Winniecriedout,layingthebabyinthepushcartnexttothepears.SherantoJack.Hisbodylaysprawledandmotionlessontheground.Adozenarrowssproutedfromhischest,withalancesecuringhimfromevermovingfromthatpositionagain.Fromthewaistdown,hewasstrippedofclothes,hismostprivatepartsslicedoff.Winniereachedtoclosehis

eyes,hisgruesomedeathstarefrighteningtolookat,butitwasimpossible—hiseyelidswerecutaway,too.Stubby,bloodypalmswereallthatremainedofhishands,withallofhisfingersandthumbschoppedoff.And,fromeartoear,hisscalpwassawedfromhishead.

ThesightcausedBarleigh’sstomachtolurch.Shespunaway,fistedherhands,andpushedthemhard

againsthereyes.ThesoundofWinnie’ssoftvoicedrewherbackaround.

Winniewasonherknees,kneelingnexttoherhusband’sbody.“There,there,there.”Shesoothedhim,kissedhim,andcaressedhisbloodyface.Speakingtenderwordstohim,sheeasedhistrousersup,beltingthemwithgentlehands.

Theyremovedthearrowsfromhisbodybut

couldnotpullthelancefromhischest,sodeeplythespearwasimpaledintotheground.Together,leaningwithalltheirweightonit,breakingitoff,theymanagedtolifthisbodyoffthejaggedshaftembeddedintherockysoil.ThelancecaughtapieceofJack’sshirt,tearingit,keepingholdofit,andBarleighstartedtopullthefragmentofhisshirtfree.

“No!”saidWinnie,

sharply,emphatically,hereyesglazedandstaringattheflappingfabric.“Leaveit.Letitbeabanner.Thismarkstheplacewhereagoodmandied.”

*****TheygatheredasmuchofBirdie‘sandHenry’sremainsastheycould.TheircharredbodieswerefoundtogetherinthebedwhereBirdiehadgivenbirthjustdaysbefore.ItappearedasifHenrywasbent

overher,hisbodycovering,protecting,shieldinghers.AComanche’spiercinglanceaffixedthemtooneanotherforeternity.

Withtheirashyremainsfoldedtogetherinablanket,WinnieandBarleighcarriedthemtothegoatshedwheretheyhadpulledJack’sbody.ThedeadIndianwasdraggedoutoftheshedandleftforthescavengingvulturesalreadyhovering

overthepiercedandimpaledcattlecarcassesdottingthepastures.Theypiledstrawontopoftheirdead,snakingatrailoutside.Then,splashingkeroseneallaround,theytossedlitmatchesontothesoakedstraw,watchingasfireracedintotheshed.Theloudcrackle-popofthefuneralpyredrownedouttheirsobs.

Windgusted,stokingtheflamesintoafrenzy.Flakesofashdrifteddown,

thecrematedashesoftheirbeloved.Barleighturnedintothebreeze,tearsstreakingthegrimeonherface,thewet,ashymixtureseepingintoherpores,meltingintoherskin.SheimaginedapartofPapaandBirdieforeverbecomingapartofher,goingwithheralways.

Someashesflittedandtwirledhighintheair,blownintothelateSeptemberskybythefire’shotbreath.

“You’refreetoflyawaynow,Birdie,”shesaidastheashesswirledabovethetreetops.“YouandPapaarenowfreetobetogether.”

*****“Isthereanythingtosavefromthehouse?”askedWinnie.ShepickeduptheblackandredwovenNavahoblanketPapahadkeptonthefrontporchchair,shakingashesfromit,sniffingit,poundingithardagainstthe

railingbeforefoldingitoverherarm.

Whatcouldbesalvaged?Memories?“There’snotmuchleft.”Barleighwalkedouttothefrontporch,clutchingtwotintypephotographs.

“IrememberseeingyourpapawiththisblanketaroundhisshouldersthenightBirdiegavebirth,himpacingouthereontheporch.Themoonspotlightedhimlikean

actoronastageperformingforcactusandcattle.”Winnie’sdarkeyesappearedhollowandsunken,pulledinwardfromtheterror.Hergazedrifted,unblinking,totheBrazosRiverridge.

Barleighfollowedherstare.Itwasmorethancactusandcattlewatching,theybothknew.They’doverheardHenryandJackspeakofthegrowingnumberofwarriorsontheridgeeachnight.

HenryhadspottedthefirsthintofaraidingpartyonWednesday,thebeginningofthetimeoftheComanchemoon,thenightHenryandBirdie’sbabychosetoentertheworld.

“Ifoundthese,”Barleighsaid,showingWinniethetintypes.“Birdielooksalmostwhiteinthisone,don’tyouthink?”

Winnienodded,takingthephotographfrom

Barleigh’shands.“Shewasbeautiful.It’snowonderyourpapafellinlovewithher,despitethecircumstances.Iknowyoulovedher,too.”

“Yes.Ilovedher.Shewaslikeamothertome.”

LookingatBirdie’sphotograph,hersilkyblackcurlstoherwaist,herfinefeatures,heralmondeyes,waslikelookingatthenegativeimageofherself.Barleighhadlearnedata

youngage,though,nottoaskfoolishquestionsastowhyahalf-Negro,half-FrenchCajunslaveofhergrandfatherandshe,whosebloodwasIrishandFrench,sharedalikeness.

Thefewsalvageditems—twotintypes,Henry’sblackchurchhat,Birdie’sBible,andtheNavajoblanket—wereplacedintothepushcartalongwiththepears.Asmallload.Barleigh

marveledathowlittleshenowpossessed.Shethoughtaboutthingstakenforgrantedyesterday.Thedaybeforetheattack.Thedaybeforeherworldturneddark.Thedaybeforeherheartwasinflictedwithawoundsoseveresheexpecteditwouldneverheal.

ThecanopiedroadthatledeasttoWinnie’shousewasanarrow,rolling,anddustylane.Itwasatwo-hourrideonhorseback,an

hourinanemergency.Barleighhadwhittleditdowntolessthanthatthedayshe’dgallopedforhelpwhenWinnie’smidwiferyskillshadbeenneeded.Theywalkedinsilence.

Frombehind,anoisestartledthemfromtheirprivatethoughts.Jumpinglikefrightenedrabbitsintothewoods,pullingthecart,thedog,andthegoatinwiththem,theyhidbehinda

thicketofcedar.Shaking.Waiting.Peeringthroughbranches.Eachholdingtheirbreath.

ItwasBarleigh’shorse,Deal,withhisunmistakablewhinny.Hiswasnotahigh-pitchedwhinnybutadeep,throatyrumble—arat-a-tatgruntingmorelikethesoundofapersonclearingtheirthroat.Lame,limpingbadly,hisleftforelegboreazigzaggedgash

thattoredeepintothemuscle.Mostofthehaironhisrighthipwasburnedaway,leavingangryblackblistersonhisskin.Buthewasalive.

“Icanpoulticethosewounds,”saidWinnie.“Theinjuriesaresevere.They’lltakealongtimetoheal.Thescarswillbeugly,butthey’renotfatalwounds.”ShegaveBarleigh’shandsagentlesqueeze.

Dark,cloudythoughts

gatheredinBarleigh’smind.WasWinnietryingtoconveythatthesamewastrueforher?Thatherheart’swoundswouldhealbutwouldleaveuglyscars?Shedoubtedthatanyheartcouldsurvivewhathershadsuffered,fearinginsteadthatherheartwouldturntovapor.

*****EveryonefromPaloPintotoFortWorthcalledWinifredandJackJustin“Aunt

Winnie”and“UncleJack.”Barleighpretendedshewasherreallifeaunt.Sometimes,shepretendedWinniewasmore.Sometimes,Barleighcalledher“Momma”whensheknewWinniewouldn’thear,justtoseehowthewordsfeltfallingfromhermouth.

Sheneverknewherrealmother,andeachbirthdayBarleighcelebratedwasaguiltyreminderofthe

loss.ButshehadBirdie.Thoughshewaslikeamother,itwasforbiddenthatBarleighconsiderherasamother,orevenasfamily.AsimilewasallGrandfatherallowed.However,HenrychangedallthatafterGrandfatherdied.

“I’vemadeyoubreakfast.”Winnieputthecoffeekettleonthestove,thensatdown.

Barleighstaredatthe

foodonthetable,herstomachunsettled.“I’mnothungry.But...thankyou.”

“Atleastdrinksomemilk.”WinniegotupandpouredaglasswithoutwaitingforBarleightoanswer.“Youneedtoputsomethingintherebesidescoffee.”

“Thehorsesthatweren’tburnedaliveinthebarntheystole,exceptforDeal,whotheyleftfordead.

But,whydidtheyhavetokillthecattle?”Shepushedtheheelsofherpalmsagainsthereyes,tryingtorubawaythehorrificmemory.

Thebarnhadbeenfullofmareswithfoals.Barrenmares,stallions,andgeldingshadbeenseparatedandturnedouttopasturesandpaddocks.Allinthebarndied.Afewfleeinghorseshadbeenkilledinthemelee.Hundredsofcattlecarcasses

wereleftscatteredacrossthepastures,arrowsembeddedintheirsilverygrayhides,theirbrown-eyedvacantstaresgoingonforever.

“Theycangallopawaywithhorses.Cowsaretoodifficulttocontrol.Theyturnintoadangerousstampede.Theymaykeeponeortwoforfood.Butwhattheycan’ttake,theykillorburn.Orboth.”Winniestaredintohercoffee,slippingaway

tohersilentplace.Asilentplace—

Barleighlongedforone.Dayornighthermindscreamedoverthehorror—waking,sleeping.She’dopenhereyesandseeitallagain.She’dclosehereyes,andtheimageswouldremain.Ifitwould’vemadetheterriblevisionsstop,thememoriesfade,she’dhaveclawedouthereyesandfedthemtothedogs.

Barleighwanderedupstairstoherroom,leavingWinnietoherthoughts.WrappingtheNavajoblanketaroundhershoulders,shesatintherockingchairnexttothewindow,thephotographsofherpapaandBirdiedisplayedonthesill.Outsideinthepaddock,shewatchedherhorseashelimpedfeeblytowardthewatertrough,stoppingshort,thepainfromhiswoundstoomuchforhis

effort.Thesightwasherundoing.Itshatteredher,brokeherapart,andsheburiedherfaceintheblanketandwept.

*****Winniehadtakentowringingherhandswhenshetalked.“It’sbeentwoweekssinceIsentwordtomysons’regimentcommander.Surelyhe’llapprovetheirleave.JacksonandJonahwillbearthenewsonstrongshoulders.

Ifearit’llbehardestonlittleJeddy.”

“Whileyou’reinquiringatthemilitiaheadquarters,”saidBarleigh,watchingasWinniefrettedwithherhands,“IwanttopayavisittoMr.Goldthwaiteatthebank.”

“Yes.Iunderstand.That’sanotherreasontoleaveyourbabysisterhere.WehavetoomuchtodoinFortWorth.”

“ButI’mworried—”“Esperanzaiscapable.

Shehelpedraisemythreeboys.Nowdon’tgolookingatmelikeI’msuggestingyouleaveherforayear.It’llbeoneday.She’sbetteroffherewithEsperanza.”

“I’mallshehasinthisworld.Whatifsomethinghappens?”

“There’snoneedtoworry.She’llbefine,”saidWinnie,windingand

unwindingherhands.“It’snogoodluck,a

babygoingthislongwithnoname,”Esperanzasaid.“Tonocallherbyherownnamecannobegood.”Shebentandliftedthebabyfromthecradle.

BarleighlookedatWinnie,panicked.ShehaddreadedthethoughtofherhavingbeenbornunderaComanchemoon,hadfearedwhatbadomenthatmayhave

foretold.Whatkindofmisfortunehadsheaddedtothat,bynotnamingher?“HaveIbroughtherbadluck?”

“No,”saidWinnieemphatically.“Butshedoesneedaname,nomatterthereason.Whathaveyouconsidered?”

“Ihaven’tconsideredanything.You’reamother.You’regoodatthesekindofthings.”

“Inamedthreeboys.She’syoursister.Youshouldhavethehonor.”

BarleightriedoutafewcombinationsinherheadasshewatchedEsperanzateaseasmilefromthebaby’smouthwithawarmbottle.ShewantedsomethingthatwouldremindherofBirdieandofherPapa.

“Starling,forBirdie,andHenrietta,forPapa.Whatdoyouthink?”

“StarlingHenriettaFlanders.That’sperfect.”WinnietookthebabyfromEsperanza.“Starling,younowhaveabeautifulname.”

*****WhentheyarrivedinFortWorth,thetownwasanaxisofexcitement,folksjoinedinanimatedconversationsabouttheupcomingpresidentialelectionthreeweeksandonedayaway.Barleighonceentertainedopinionsabout

suchmattersaspolitics.They’dseemedimportantwhenherpapahadengagedherinspiriteddebates.She’dhavearguedthattheRepublicanAbrahamLincolnwouldmakethebestleader,eventhoughmanyinTexasfavoredtheNorthernDemocrat,StephenA.Douglas.However,herfocusonthisdaywaswhatshehadtodotorebuildherranch.

Barleighhurried

towardthebank,ahandkeepingherhatfromblowingawaywhilethegustywindflutteredherskirts.Shereacheddowntostraightenthem,andasshedid,shenoticedapieceofpaperbeingcarriedaloftonthebreeze.Itsettledatherfeetasthewindblewitselfout.Shesawthatitwasanadvertisement.Pickingupthepaper,sheread:

WANTED.Young,skinny,wiryfellows.Notovereighteen.Mustbeexpertriders.Willingtoriskdeathdaily.Orphanspreferred.Wages$25PerWeek.

Apply:PonyExpressStables,SaintJoseph,Missouri

It’stoobadI’mnotafellow,shethought,foldingthepaperandtuckingitintoherpocketasshesteppedthroughthebank’sheavy,barreddoors.

Mr.Goldthwaitewascordial,escortingherintohisoffice,offeringsincerecondolencesonthedeathofherfatherandofJackJustin.HenevermentionedBirdie.Then,hepropositionedher.

“Yourfather,”he

explained,tobaccojuicestainingthecornersofhismouth,“wasnobusinessman.Hewasabreederoffineequines,aknowledgeablecattleman,buthelackedbusinessacumen.Myself?I’manastutebusinessman,quitecleverwithstretchingthedollar.”Hewinked.

Sherememberedfromwhatseemedalifetimeago,althoughithadbeenonlyfiveyearspast,herinitial

encounterwiththismanthefirstnightthey’dmadeittoFortWorth.She,herpapa,grandfather,andBirdiehadlefttheGulfCoastbehind,hadspentthreelongweeksinacoveredwagonbeforereachingtheFort,andsherecalledhisinclinationatexpressingsignificantmeaningthroughthedramaticblinkingofoneeye.Shestillfoundthepeculiarhabitannoying.

“Icametoyouforadvice,Mr.Goldthwaite,”shesaid,herhandsfoldedinherlap.“Myplanistorebuildtheranch.”Sheenvisionedasmallbarntostart,thenaserviceablehouse,addingafewbreedinganimalsasshecould.

“Mydeargirl,”hesaid.“WhenIheardaboutyourtragedyfromCaptainGoodnight,Istraightawayinspectedyourfather’s

accountandIwentoverhislegalpapers.Viahiswill,you’veinheritedoutrightallofyourfather’sestate.Thatmeansallofthedebtsaswellasalloftheassets.”

“Idon’tbelievemyfatherhadanydebts.Hiscustomwastopaycashforeverything.”

“Heownedtheranchoutright,freeandclear.However,heletaccruethetaxesontheproperty.Last

yearitwastooffsetthepurchaseofbreedingheifers.Thisyearitwastooffsetthepurchaseofthosefancythoroughbredsyourlategrandfatherwassofondofandyourfather,er,latefather,likedtouseforbroodmares.”

Aweedypanicbegantotakeroot.“Can’tyouusethemoneythat’sintheaccounttopaythetaxes?GetthemcaughtupuntilIcan

findawaytoearnsomemoney?”Letthetaxesaccrue?WhywouldPapadothat?

“Ihaveanideaonhowwecantakecareofthetaxes.”Mr.Goldthwaite,inhiswrinkledgraysuitwithsilverwatchfobdanglingtoolowfromhisvestpocket,waddledfromhisdeskandstoodbehindherchair.Hisstumpy,liver-spottedhandsmassagedhershouldersina

fashiontoofamiliarforcasualacquaintances.

“I’malonelyman.Imisshavingawife,Godresthersoul.Imissthepleasuresthatawifeaffordsaman.”Hemassagedharder,hisfingersworkingforwardanddownwardfromhershoulders,brushingoverherchest.

Ared-hotblushblossomedonherface.“Mr.Goldthwaite!Pleasestop

what—”“Ifyou’dconsentto

myproposalofmarriage,”hesaid,plungingahead,“wellthen,I’msureIcouldpersuadetheboardoftrusteestograntyouanextensiononthetaxes,inlightofyourrecenttragedy.”

Herbodyshudderedwiththeabsurdity.“Marriage?Asin,memarryyou?”

“Ofcourseonce

married,I’dtransferyourlandtomynameinorderthatyou’dnothavetoworryaboutthetaxesinthefuture.Asyourhusband,I’dtakecareofallthatbusinessnonsenseforyou.I’dgiveyouahandsomeallowance,ofcourse,tobuyyourselfprettylittlethings.”

Sheunfoldedherhandsfromherlap,clutchingthearmsofthechairinawhite-knucklegrip.“Mr.

Goldthwaite,yourofferisgenerous,but,Iprefertotakecareofmattersmyownway.Now,pleaseremoveyourhandsfrommyshoulders.”

“MissFlanders,takesometimetothinkaboutmyoffer.You’restillgrieving.Giveseriousconsiderationtotheoptionsandtheconsequences.”

“Consequences?”“Particularlytothe

consequences.”Heleanedin,

whisperinghissourbreathinherear.“Takeuntilthebeginningoftheyearwhentaxesaredue.Januarymaycomearoundandcauseyoutoseethingsinadifferentlight.Bytheway,yourfather’saccounthasalittleovertwohundredandfifty-sevendollarsleftinit.Taxespastandpresentamounttofourhundredandsixdollars,giveortake.”

Barleigh’sheartfeltas

ifitmightpoundfromherchest.Herthroatconstrictedandburnedassheswallowed,tryinghardtopushdowntherisingswellofpanic.“Ipledgeallthemoneyinmyfather’s,Imean,inmyaccount,towardtaxesowed.I’llhavetheresttoyoubytheendofJanuary.”

“MissFlanders,youdorealizethatthisbankcanforecloseonyourpropertyfordelinquenttaxesandsellthe

landtosatisfythedebt?Consequences.”Hekneadedhershouldersharder.

“Mr.Goldthwaite,youdorealizethatyoucandieamiserabledeathandrotinhell?”

Sheshovedawayfromthechair,sendinghimtotteringandstumblingbackward,andthenmarchedoutofhisoffice.Betweenhisembarrassingactionsandherownsurprisingwords,a

pricklyheatblushedhercheeks.Withasmuchdignityasshecouldmuster,sheleftthebank,headhigh,andelbowedherwaydownthecrowdedsidewalk,somehowmanagingtoreachthealleybeforelosingthecontentsofherstomach.

Reachingintoherpocketforahandkerchief,herhandinsteadcameoutwiththeadvertisementshe’dfoundearlier.Withthepaper

unfolded,shereadthewordsagain,thewritingseemingtojumpofthepage.Shewasyoung,skinny,andwiry.Onlyslightlyovereighteen.Anexpertridersinceachild.Willingtoriskdeath?Forsuchgenerouswages?Yes.Shequalifiedasanorphan,inthetechnicalsensethatbothparentswerenowdead.Therewasonlyoneconspicuousconcern.Shewasnotafellow.

Refoldingthepaperandtuckingitintoherpocket,shesetofftofindWinnie.

Deepwithin,wherepretenseandtruthcometogetherinabattleofwits,sheknewthiswaybillwasmeanttofindher.Thegodswhogovernthewindsdepositedthispaperatherfeet.Angelsscootedittowardherviaagentlecurrentfromtheirflutteringwings.Someinvisibleforceintheuniverse

slowedtheearth’sorbitlongenoughforthistocatchuptoher.Anytheory,plausibleornot,fit,becausesheknewthiswasheranswer.Thiswasherhope.Sheknew,withoutadoubt,thiswasherdestiny.

***** Clutchingthepapertightlyinherhands,Barleighreviewedherthoughts,gettingherideasinorder.Thekettleofcoffeeshe’dmadeearlierasshewaitedfor

Winnietocomedownforbreakfastwashalfgone,aswereherchewed-offfingernails.

Winnieyawnedassheshuffledintothesun-filledkitchen.“Goodmorning.You’reupearly.”

“Ihaven’tslept.”“Areyouhungry?I

canfixpancakes.”Sheshookherheadas

sheheldoutthepaper,releasingthebreathshe’d

beenholding.“IwanttoshowyouwhatIfoundyesterday,orwhatfoundme.ThisishowI’mgoingtosavemyland.”

OntheirreturnfromFortWorththedaybefore,BarleighhaddisclosedtoWinniewhatshe’dlearnedfromMr.Goldthwaiteaboutherfinancialsituation,thetaxesdue,andherfather’sapparentmishandlingofhismoney.She’dpurposely

omittedthethingsthatinducedhertoblush.

Winnietookthepaper,studiedit,andthenhandeditback.“Itsaysthey’relookingforyoungskinnywiryfellows.Fel-lows,”shesaid,elongatingeachsyllableassheputteredaroundthekitchen,Starlingsoundasleepinhercribbythewindow.“You,Barleigh,whileyoung,skinny,andwiry,couldneverpassasa

fellow.It’sacrazyidea.Putitoutofyourhead.We’llthinkofsomethingelse.I’llsellanothercow.”

“You’veonlyfourcowsleftandstillhavedairycustomerstothinkof.”

“Withallthemenandboysleavingtojointhearmy,mydairybusinesshasallbutdriedup.Forcryingoutloud,we’llcomeupwithsomethingmorelogicalthanyoupassingyourselfoffasa

fellow.”“Logicbedamned!”

Barleighthrewahandoverhermouth.“I’msorry,AuntWinnie.Ididn’tmeantocurseatyou.”SheranoverandwrappedherarmsaroundWinnie.“We’dneedtosellawholeherdofcowstocomeupwithenoughmoney.Thisisallthereis.”

“IwishIhadaherdlefttosell.I’dgivethemalltoyou.”

Barleighheldtheadvertisementup,readingagainthewordsthatwerewrittenforher.“It’sdestiny,thispaperfindingme.”

Winniepointedtothesleepingbaby.“Yourdestiny’scurledupinthatcrib.It’sfollytothinkthatthatadvertisementisyourdestiny.Folly.Pureandsimple.”

*****Laterthateveningasthedark

housegrewquiet,Barleighlayinbedinthedisconcertingarmsofanothersleeplessnight.Tossingandturning,agauzyvisioncreptin.Stealthy,itsettledagainstherlikeasecretfriend.Wrappedaroundher.Tookshape.Formed.Warmedher.Urgedher.Inspiredher.Sheunderstoodwhatshemustdo.

SheslidoutofbedandtiptoeddownstairstowhereWinniekepther

midwiferykit.Takingthescissorsinonehand,theotherhandholdingherhairoutstraight,shecut.Chopped.Whacked.Madeanothercut.Thegrowingpileofchestnutcurlsonthefloorlookedlikeasmallsleepinganimal.

Rummagingthroughachifforobe,shefoundsomeclothesthatmusthavebelongedtoJeddy,Winnie’syoungestson,closeenoughtohersize.Shepulledthemon.

Smudgingthelowerhalfofherfacewithcoal—justalittle—theshadowhintedatthebeginningsofaboy’sfirstbeard.Withabitofingenuityandeffort,she’dtransformedfromBarleighFlanders,nineteen-year-oldlandowneranddebtoroftaxes,intoBarFlanders,not-over-eighteen-year-oldorphanboy,soontobePonyExpressrider,andwillingriskerofdeath.

Sheputonherpapa’s

blackchurchhat,anditfelloverhereyes.Stuffingtheinsidebrimwithrolled-uppaperkeptitinplace.Themirroronthechifforobereflectedherpassingimageasshestrolledby,stealingglances.Witheachpass,shetriedtoblendhernewreflectionwithhermind’simageofhowherpapawalked.

Assoonasthesmellofcoffeewafteduptoher

room,sheambleddownthestairs,thumbshookedthroughbeltloops,eyeshalfconcealedwithlow-pulledhat.Shesneakedaroundthekitchenwiththecautionofanimposter,tryingtostitchhershadowtohernewboy-self.

Winnieforkedbaconandeggsontoaplate,herbackturnedasBarleighstoodbehindher.Clearingherthroat,andwithherdeepest,mostmasculinevoiceshe

couldsummon,shesaid,“I’lltakemycoffeeblack,thankyou.”

“MyGod,”Winniegaspedasshespunaround,ahandclaspedoverherheart.“ForasecondIthoughtitwasoneofmyboys.”

“Butyouknewitwasme.”Sheploppeddownontoachair.Exasperated,heavingafrustratedsigh,shetossedherpapa’shatontothetable.“Istayedupallnight

practicingmyvoiceandmypersona.Ihavetobecomeaboy.”

“AndIstayedupallnightlastnighttoo,worryingthatyou’dbedoingexactlythat.”Winniesighed.“Whatyou’reproposingtodoisirrational.It’sgoingtobenearimpossiblerollingarockupamountainsosteep.”

“Nearimpossible.Notimpossible.”Sheranherfingersthroughherchopped-

offhair,theshortnessofitmakingherblueeyesappearlargerinherface.“Please,AuntWinnie?Helpmewiththis?”

Winnietwistedandrubbedherhandstogether,hershouldersliftingandfallingwitheachdeepsigh.“It’srashandfoolishandI’llnodoubtlivetoregretthis.”Shesighedagain.“Thefirstthingwehavetodoisfixthathairofyours.Bringmemy

scissors,child.”Barleighthrewher

armsaroundWinnie’swaist.“Thankyou.I’dlivetoregretitifIdidn’ttry.”

WinniesettoworkgivingBarleigh’shairaproperboy’scutasshehaddoneforhersonsandherhusband.“There.Muchbetter.Now.Thetoneofyourvoicewasn’tbad,butIknewitwasyoubythewayyoustood.Ifyou’regoingtobea

boy,youhavetostandwithyourlegsmoreapart,lessfussy,notso,um,notwithyourkneespressedclose,likeyou’rehidinganimportantsecretbetweenthem.”Winnieletoutaheartylaugh.

Barleighstartedlaughing,too,andthelaughtercarriedthemawayforamoment.Dryinghereyes,shesaid,“Thatfeltgood.Laughing.It’ssomethingIusedtotakefor

grantedbutnowaddtomylistofthingsforwhichI’mgrateful.”

Winniedriedhereyesonthecornerofherapron.“Laughingandcryingbotharegoodforthesoul.”

Barleighthoughtaboutthatforamoment,thinkingshe’dratherlaugh.“WhatelsedoIneedtofix?”

“Well,thewayyou’resitting,alluprightwithyourpelvistiltedforward,back

arched.Boysdon’tsitlikethat.Sitbackonyourpockets,pelvisrolledbackandrounded,likeyou’recradlingararetreasureinyourlapofwhichyouaremostproud,butpretendcasualindifference.”

Theybothbustedoutlaughing.Snortingthroughnoses,tearsstreamingfromeyes,laughing.

“Andhow’smywalk?”Barleigh

demonstratedasshemovedfromthetabletothecoffeekettle.

“Toogirly.Turnyoursashayintoasaunter.Slowdownyoursteps.Yes,there,likethat.Andeverynowandthen,scratchyourprivatesandmakeareadjustment.Actasunintentionalaboutit,asifyou’reblowingyournose.”

Barleighfeignedshock.

Winnielookedather,

eyeswide.“What?”sheasked.“Ahusband,threeboys,anephew,andaslewofranchhands,andIcantellyou,that’swhattheyalldo.”Sheproceededtodemonstrate,exaggeratingeverynuance,thesauntering,thescratching,thereadjusting.

Barleighdoubledoveragaininlaughterthattookherbreathaway.Regaininghercomposure,shegrewserious.

“IfIleavetomorrowmorning,ridetoLittleRock,catchthestagetoSaintJoe,Icanbetherebytheendofthemonth.But,I’llneedtoborrowahorse.”

Winnie’sbrowwrinkledinconcernandshechewedherbottomlip.“Areyousurethisiswhatyouwanttodo?Onehundredpercentsure?”

“ThisiswhatImustdo.”

“Iwishtherewasawaytotalkyououtofthis,butIknowthere’snot.I’lltakegoodcareofthatbabysisterofyours,andyourhorse.Youdon’tworryaboutthat,Barleigh.”

“It’sBar.Fromthismomentforward,I’mBarFlanders.”

*****JournalEntry—Tuesday,October15,1860

Tomorrowmorning,IsetoffonmyjourneytoLittleRock,thenontoSaintJoseph,Missouri.Ihavethisnewjournal,(agiftfromAuntWinnie),threesharpenedpencils,aColtrevolverwithplentyofammunition,andagoodandsteadyhorse,eventhough

he’saslow,milkwagonhorse.But,heisaccustomedtoworkingallday.I’mcountingonDealbeingwellmendedbythetimeIcomehomeinJanuarytomakemytaxpaymenttothebank.Then,DealandIwillreturntoSaintJoe,continuetoridefortheExpress,thenwhensummercomes,

ridehomewithlotsofmoneyinmypockettobegintheprocessofbuildingahometoraisemybabysister.

Thisismyplan.

DestinydroppedthePonyExpressway-billatmyfeet.WhatIdowithitisbeyonddestiny—thenextpartisuptome.I’ll

holdfasttomydreamofsavingmylandandrebuildingtheranch,notthroughanactoffolly,butthroughhardworkanddetermination.I’llridefastandhardtoreachmydestiny’sreward.

Butfornow,sleepiscalling.Whatliesbeyonddestinyisablinkandanod

away.Yoursever

faithfully, Bar

Flanders

CHAPTERTWOSEPTEMBER26,1860

Likeagiant,hemovedacrosstheland,eachlongstrideclaimingownershipofthegroundbeneathhisboots.Accordingtotheyardstickthatmeasuresamaninfeetandinches,hestoodsixandtwo,butaccordingtothebenchmarkthatmeasuresamanagainsthispeers,

HughesLévesquestoodalone.

Theevening’sshadowsandthecoolingnightairmadeturningbacktowardSanAntonioaneasydecision.Hehaddepartedtherivertownearlierthatday,midmorning,halfsober,andfullycommittedtohismissionofpickingupafederalprisonerinFortWorthtoescorthimintothewaitingarmsofjusticeinAustin,

Texas.Hughes,leanandtaut

withmusclesfirmfromuse,slunghissaddleoverhisshoulderandstartedwalking.HefiguredhewouldmakeitbacktoSanAntoniobysun-up.Hehadn’tgoneveryfarbeforetheoldgeldingupanddiedonhim.Itwould’vebeenthoughtfulofhimtohavepickedabettertimethaninthemiddleofafullgallop,Hughesthought,rubbinghis

sorebackside.Hewalkedwithaslightlimpfromreceivingthefullimpactofhislandingonthehardscrabbleground.

Cloudsflittedacrossthesilverysliverofamoon,blottingoutthemeagerofferingoflight.Thetrailwasdimandwildlyinhabitedbycoyotesandothernocturnalcreaturesthatprowledintheshadows.Heknewhewasnotalone.He

wasbeingfollowed.Hughesshortenedhis

strideandemptiedhismindofdistractions.Heslowedhisbreathing,fillinghislungswiththepungentwarmthofthenight,takingnoticeofthenewsmellthathungheavyinthethick,humidair.Hedetectedthesmellofagroupofhorsesflankinghisright—morethanonemarewasinheat.Theridersworebuckskinleggings,justlike

Okwarausedto.Hughescouldn’tmistaketheodorofhorsesweatonoileddeerskinleather.

Okwara,theskillsyoutaughtmestillcomeinhandy,oldfriend.

Hiseyesdartedleftandrightinavisualsweepofthingsthatmovedintheshadows.Lyingtothesideofthetrail,abranchbrokenoffofamesquitetreeemergedinhisperipheralvision.Afresh

break.Hescoopeditupwithoutchanginghisstride,snappingoffalonggreenthornfromthebranchtopickatthedirtembeddedunderhisfingernails.

ThecallofanEasternScreechOwlcausedhimtoshakehishead—itshouldhavebeenthesoundofaGreatHornedOwlintheseparts.Acoyoteyipped.Anotheryippeditsresponse.Hughesconsideredthrowing

hisown“yip”tothewindtoseewhatmighthappen.Hetossedthemesquitethornaside.

Takingstockofhisweapons,hefelttheheftoftheWinchesterrepeatingriflehangingfromhisshoulder,designedbylongtimefamilyfriendBenjaminHenry.Itwasoneofthefirstmodelsproduced,andHughes’sfatherhaditengravedwiththefamilycrestanda

miniaturesceneoftheirsugarcaneplantationasaspecialgiftforhiseighteenthbirthday.Theengravingwasanicetouch,butitwasetchedwithguilt.HisfatherwouldhavetriedanythingtokeepHughesmarchinginhisfootsteps.

Thecarvedantlerhiltofhislargehuntingknifepressedagainsthislowerbackandwasconcealedunderhisvest,whilehis

favoriteknife,themuchsmallerRezinBowie,hekeptstrappedtohisleginsidehisrightboot.Itpinchedandchaffedwhenhewalked,butknowingitwastherecomfortedHugheslikeadoubleshotofwhiskey.Usuallyinthesaddleandnotwalkinglikesomefarmer,hecouldignorethemomentarydistress.

Bothofthe.44-caliberblackpowderrevolving

pistolsholsteredateachhipheldfullrounds,asdidhis.36-caliberNavyColt,whichhekepttuckedinsidehisvestinapockethiddeninthelining.Thesecretpocketwasmadeofredvelvet,craftedandsewninbyhisfavoritewhore,Lydia,whomhethoughtofeachtimehepulledonhisvestandtuckedinhispistol.

Hughesdroppedtothegroundonallfoursjustashe

heardtheunmistakablesoundofaropehissingandslicingthroughtheair.Hedodgedthefirstlasso,butthesecond,third,andfourthfoundtheirtarget.Yankedtotheground,hekickedlikeawildcat,buthisarmswereboundtighttohissides.Hescrambledtohisfeetbutwassnatchedbackdowntotheground,againandagain.

“Amanisnomatchforfourropes,Texas

Ranger.”Exceptforthewords“TexasRanger,”whichwerepronouncedwithperfectEnglishandpolishedwithasoftdrawl,therestwastheunmistakablegutturallanguageoftheComanche.

“Icountthreeropesonme,”saidHughes,speakingfluentComancheinreturn.“Thefirstwasthrowntoohighandtooquick.Icouldgiveyougirlssomelessonsonlassoing.Next

time,you’dneedonegoodropetotakedownyourmaninsteadofthreeorfour.”

Adarkfiguresittingonawhitehorserodeintoview,comingwithinabreathofwhereHugheslayontheground.Thehorsealmoststeppedonhim.Hughesdidn’tflinch.

Thebare-chestedriderworebeaded,fringedbuckskinleggings.Blackandredpaintevenlydividedhis

faceleftfromrightthroughthemidlineofhisstrong,straightnose.Hishorseboreredandyellowhandprintsoneachhip,themaneandtailadornedwitheaglefeatherstomatchthosewovenintherider’slongblackhair.

“Getup,TexasRanger.”

Hughesscrambledtohisfeet,thetightropesbitingintohisarms.Helookedaround,triedtoassesshow

manyfiguresonhorsebackhecouldsee.Fourthrowingropesathim,andtheoneonthewhitehorseinfrontmadefive.Notellinghowmanyotherswerehidingintheshadows.

ThemountedIndiansontheotherendoftheropesthatboundhisarmssteppedtheirhorsescloser,givingsomeslacktothebindings.

“Ithoughtwehadyou,TexasRanger,back

whenyourhorsegrewtiredofcarryingyouanddecidedtodieinstead.Butyouarequicklikeacatandsmartlikeafox.Youhidyourselfawayuntilthemoonsmiled.Thenyoucameoutofyourhidingplacetotravelinthedark,likeawolf.”

“MaybeIamawolf,”saidHughes“Awolfinaman’sbody.”

TheIndiandismountedinonefluid

movement,sweepinghisrightlegforwardandoverthehorse’sneck,droppingtotheground.Walkingup,hepulledthebadgefromHughes’svest,tossingittothemanbehindhimwholetoutahigh-pitchedlaughashefastenedittotherawhidecatch-ropearoundhishorse’sneck.“AreyoutheTexasRangertheycallHughesLévesque?”heasked,nowspeakingfluentEnglish.

“Atyourservice.”Hughesgaveaslightnod.

Studyinghimforamoment,theIndianwalkedaroundhim,takinghistime,runningafingerdowntheriflethathunguselessandboundtoHughes’sside.ComingbackinfrontofHughes,theystoodtoetotoe,equalinheight.HetookahardholdofHughes’schin,turninghisfaceleftandright,lookingdeepintohiseyesas

ifdiviningasecret.“Yes.I’veheardstoriesaboutyou.WecallyouAsgayagagoagatihagudodiwayaagatoli.ManWhoSeesWithWolfEyes.”

“YoushouldcallmeWayaAgatoli,forshort.Beeasiertoremember.”

Hugheshadheardthestories,too.Hislight,amber-coloredeyessparkedmanydiscussions,givingwaytohisLahcotah/Siouannickname.Whostarteditorhowit

began,hedidn’tknow,butamanwhosawwithwolfeyeswouldberespectedandrevered,ifnotfeared,inmosttribes.

“DoyouknowwhoIam?”ThehandsomeComanchewiththeParisiannoseandgrayeyesthumpedhisbarechestwithhishandsflat,openinghispalmsoutward,showingheheldnoweapon.

“I’veheardaboutyou,

too,”saidHughes,lookinghimintheeye.“IbelieveyouaretheinfamousIsa-tai,alsoknownasCoyoteVagina.”

High-pitchedlaughterrippledthroughthemountedwarriors,whoquicklyfellsilentexceptforone.Thesquat,pudgyIndianhooted,cackled,andpointed.Hisuncontrolledamusementcausedhimtolistsidewaysinaprecariousslantthatthreatenedtotumblehim

fromhishorse.Inaflash,theIndian

standinginfrontofHughesspunaroundonhisheels,drewaknifefromhiswaistband,andthenhurledthegleamingbladeatthelaughingwarrior.Hislifeended,hislaughtersilenced,inthatonefluidmove.

Thelarge,barrel-chestedIndianturnedbacktolookatHugheswitheyesthatshowednoemotion.

Gesturingoverhisshoulderwithhischin,hesaidwithcasualindifference,“HewasCoyoteVagina.Nowhe’sNoMore.”

“MuchtoNoMore’smisfortune.”HugheslookedoveratthedeadIndianlyingonthegroundwhosebloodhadbeguntopooldarkandwetbeneathhim.“Ihadyoumixedup.YoumustbeQuanah,ChiefoftheNoconis.”

“Atyourservice.”Quanahgaveaslightnod.

“Itmustgettiresome,agreatIndianchieflikeyou,fightingunworthyopponentslikethatdeadmanthere.”

“Thatwasnofight.Ijustkilledhim.Iwastiredofthewayhelaughed.Iwastiredofhimstealingmybreathingair,whichisagifttomefromtheSpiritoftheTrees.”

Thinkfast,Hughes,or

you’readeadman.“Well,it’stheSpiritoftheStarsthat’sofferingyouagifttonight.”Hughes,hisvoicecalmandsteady,kepthiswolfeyesfocusedonQuanah.

“WhatdoesawhitemanknowabouttheSpiritoftheStars?”

“ThestarisasymbolIwearasmybadge.Butyoutookmystaraway.Now,I’mlikethemaninthemoon.Andlikethestarsthat

outnumberthemoonupintheheavens,I’malsooutnumbereddownhereontheground.”

“Andthatismygift?”Quanahsnorted.“Wearethemanystarsoutnumberingyourmoon?”

“Lookupatthemoon,Chief.Seehowtheonemoonstilloutshinesthemanystars?Yourgifttonightisthechance,therarechance,tooutshinethemoon.”

“Youspeaklikeacrazyman.Howdoesastaroutshinethemoon?”

“Byoverpoweringit.Thestarneedsaworthyopponentforitstrueglorytoshine.I’mthatworthyopponent.Loosentheseropes,thenyouandIgohand-to-hand,mano-a-mano.IfIwin,Iwalkawayfree.Ifyouwin,yourstarwillshinebrightandyoucandowhateveryouwanttowith

me.Butyouwon’thavetorackyourbraindecidingwhichofyourfavoritetorturetrickstoplayonme.ThisfightI’llwin.”

“Youspeaktheboldtalkofamanwhoisusedtowinning.Butmyropesbeatyou.Icouldcutyourheartoutnowandbedonewithit,”Quanahsaid.“Feedittoyoubeforethebloodstopspumping.”

“Where’sthesportin

that?”Hugheschallenged.“Amandoesn’tcomealongveryoftenwho’sworthyofyou.Showyourwarriorswhataheroicleadertheyhave,onewho’snotafraidtodefythemoonforitsluster.”

“Ihavenothingmoretoprovetomymen,”saidQuanah,walkingpastHughestoconversewithhisthreemountedwarriors,steppingaroundthedeadmanontheground.Theyconversedin

theirnativetongue,severaltimeslookingoverandlaughingatHughes.

Hugheslistenedintently,pickingupafewwordsthathecouldmakeout—wayaagatoli,hanhepiwi,unze.Seeswithwolfeyes,somethingabouteitherthemoonorhisanus.Whatevertheywerediscussing,hejustwantedhisassoutofthismessandtonotlosehisscalpintheprocess.

QuanahreturnedtowhereHughesstoodtied.“IwilltakeyouuponyourchallengebecauseIambored.Yoursisaninterestingproposition,oneI’veneverencountered.”HegesturedtotheIndiansbehindhimtoloosenthelassoesfromaroundHughes.“Noguns.Onehandweapon.Ifyouwinandtakemylife,mymenwillspareyoursandletyouwalkfree.IfIwin,Iwilladdyour

scalptotheoneshangingfrommylance.”

Hughesshooktheropesoffhisarmsandtossedhisgunsaside.“Yourwarriorswillconsideritbadpejutafortheirleadertobeoutmaneuveredanddieinfrontoftheireyes.Seeingbadmedicine,they’llhigh-tailitoutofheretotheLlanoEstacado,wheretheylefttheirfatkidsanduglysquaws.”

Likeananimalcirclinghisprey,Quanahbegantopace,tossinghistomahawkbackandforthfromhandtohand.“Youwon’thavetofigureanythingafteryou’redead.I’llletmywarriorstakeyourbodybacktotheirfatkidsanduglysquawsforthemtoeat.They’lluseyourintestinestolacetheirmoccasins.”

Withhishuntingknifegrippedinhisrighthand,

HughesfacedthechiefoftheComanche,pacing,circling,crouchinglow.Hughes’sknifewaslongenoughtobedrawnasasword,heavyenoughtobeusedasaclub,andsharpenoughtopenetratebone.

Thegray-eyedIndianchiefandtheamber-eyedwhitemancircledeachother,staringdowntheiropponent,waitingfortheothertomakeamove,makeamistake,

blink.Anowlhootedinthedistance.Ahorsewhinnied.Awolfhowled.Quanah’swarriorsbeganalowhum,thenasoftchant,risinginvolumeuntilalltheforestwasalivewithavibratingsongofdeath.

Focus—thinklikeOkwara.Hughesslashedoutwithhisknife.Quanahjumpedsideways,thenlungedforward,bringinghistomahawkdown,landinga

misplacedblowtoHughes’sleftshoulder.Hughesfeltthestingoftheglancingblowhittinganoldwound,feltthewarmthofbloodonhisarm.Nothingserious.

Chantingvoicesofthewarriorshidingintheshadowsblendedwiththesongsofwarblersandscreechowls,thecoolingnightairfillingwithaneeriechoir.Ontheirknees,theypoundedthegroundwithrocks,stones,a

treelimb,theirbarehands,anything,creatingarhythmicbeat,strong,repetitive,andloud.

BloodandsweatrandownHughes’sforehead,stinginghiseyes,adeepgashabovehisleftbrowfullofgritanddirt.HelungedatQuanah,knockinghimoffhisfeet.ThenflinginghimselfontheIndian,hepinnedhimtotheground.

Inthedirttheyrolled,

lockedinadeathduel,panting,grunting,eachmanfightingforhislife,Hughesontoponeminute,Quanahthenext.Then,ontheirfeet,throwingpunches,landingblows,anelbowtotheside,afisttothechin.Pulling,kicking,clawing,theyfoughtlikeanimals.

Quanahbroughtakneeup,swiftandhard,toHughes’sgroin.Hughesstumbledsideways,tryingto

stayonhisfeet,tokeepbreathingthroughthegut-wrenchingpain.Doubledoveratthewaist,hesawtheIndiandivingtowardhim,tomahawkraised.

Hughesswungupwardwithhisknife,buttendofthehandlefirst.ItstruckagainstQuanah’stemple,knockingthemantohisknees.Withaquickness,Hughesstruckagain,thistimetotheothersideofthe

head,andQuanahfellsideways,unconscious,tomahawkslippingfromhisfingers,droppingtotherockyground.

Removinghisbelt,HughescinchedQuanah’swrists,bindinghishandstightbehindhisback.HethenrolledQuanahover,faceup.“QuanahParker,chiefoftheNoconis.Youdon’tlooklikemuchmorethananappingbaby.Exceptfortheblood

coveringyourface.Andthewarpaint.”

Hugheswalkedovertowherehissaddlelaynexttohisgunsandremovedhiscanteen,takinglonggulpsofwater,stillpanting,tryingtocatchhisbreath.HewentbacktoQuanahandstraddledhim,kneltdownwithkneeseithersideofhiswaist,andpouredwaterontotheIndian’sface.Hetossedthecanteenasideandwaited.

“I’llbethefirstthingyouseewhenyoucometo.”

Coughing,sputtering,Quanahopenedhiseyes,seeingHughesonhiskneesstraddlinghim,armsupraised,bothfistsgrippingtheknife,readytolandthefinalblow.“WayaAgatoli,”hesaid,hisvoicechokedandharsh.“WolfEyes.Youfightlikeawarrior.”

“Iamawarrior.Youfoughtanhonorablefight,

Chief.Butyoulost.”“Yes.Ilost.Youcan

nowreleasemyspirittothemoon,whostillsmilesonyou.”Quanahcalledouttohiswarriorwhoheldhishorse.“Honormywords.SendWolfEyestorideawayintothelandofnoharm.Myhorsenowbelongstohim.”HelookedatHughesandsaid,“Ourspiritswillfightagaininthesecretworldofthedead.Iwillnotletyou

winthenextfight.”Hesmiled.“Goaheadnow.Iamready.”

Hughesliftedhisarmshigher,tighteninghisgripontheknife.Withaforcethattookallofhisbreath,heplungedtheknifedownashardashecouldintotheground,inchesfromQuanah’sleftear.

Unflinching,unblinking,unsmiling,Quanah’seyesremained

focusedonthestars.“MaybeI’drather

fightyouagaininthisworldoftheliving,onadaywhenI’minthemoodtothrowafewpunches.Anhonorableopponentishardtocomebythesedays.”Hughesremovedhisknifethatwashilt-deepinthestonyground.“Thanksfortheuseofyourhorse.Youcancomestealhimbacknexttimeyou’reinSanAntone.”

“IfIhadwon,Iwould

nothaveletyoulive.ManWhoSeesWithWolfEyesmustbealittleloco.”

“There’reworsethingsinlifethanbeingalittleloco,likebeingalotdead.”Hughesstrappedonhisguns,threwhissaddleontothebackofQuanah’shorse,andbeforemountingsaid,“IthinkI’llkeepthisasasouvenirofourfight.”HepickedupQuanah’stomahawk,lashingittohis

saddle.“Youcankeepmybeltthat’saroundyourwristsasyours.”

WarmnightairrushedagainsthisfaceasHughesgallopedthewhitestallionsouth.Thecrescentmoonslippedthroughthesilkyskyhighoverheadonitswestwardjourney,ignoringthethincloudsthatstrayedacrossitspath.

*****ThestreetsofSanAntonio

weredarkanddesertedwhenHughesrodeintotown,fewlampsburninginanybuildingsexceptforthesaloonwherethewindowsneverwentdark.Thepianoplinkedoutatune.Paintedwomenlaughedinbawdypeelsofdelight,cardsslappedthetabletopsfaceup,facedown,andsweettobaccosmokehungthickintheairasseriousmenpuffedfatcigarsandtriedtoout-bluffone

another.Tyingthehorse’s

reinsaroundthehitchingpostinbetweentwolargeslack-jawed,droopyeared,halfasleepnags,Hughesdismounted,musclesachingfromhisearlierfallandfight.Exhausted,hestrodeintothesaloon,hisspursclinkingontheplankfloorpockmarkedfromyearsofrowel-inflictedwounds.

Heelbowedhisway

throughthelivelycrowd,backtothebarthathadbeencarvedoutofasingleslabofliveoakwood.Thebarkeepermaintainedtheshellackedsurfacetoahighpolishedgloss,asshinyandreflectiveasthemirrorthathungonthewallbehindit.

“Doublewhiskey,onthedouble,porfavor.”Hugheskeptaclosewatchonthemirror,makingsurenoonesnuckuponhimfrom

behind.Hepickedupaburntmatchsticksomeonehadtossedasideandbeganscrapingatthedirtandbloodunderhisnails.

“Bythelooksofyou,adoublewon’tscratchthesurface.IthoughtyouwereheadedtoFortWorthtopickupaprisoner,”saidTandyMcMurrough,settingashotglassandtherestofthebottleinfrontofHugheswithonehand,theotherhandbuffing

outathinsmudgeonthebar.“Was.Ihopehelikes

hisaccommodationsinFortWorth.He’llhavetostayputanotherweekortwo.”

TandyslowedhispolishinghandandeyedHugheswithcuriosity.“Weekortwo?IthoughthewaswantedinAustin.”

“First,IwanttopayavisithometoNewOrleansandgetoneofMother’sfinethoroughbreds.Imissridinga

goodhorse.Agood,fasthorse.It’sbeenwaytoolongsinceI’vevisitedhome,andwaytoolongsinceI’vehadagood,fasthorse.”

“Youseemedgy,”saidTandy,leaningacrossthebartofilltheshotglass.

“It’sbeenanedgykindofnight,”saidHughes,slingingbackthewhiskey.

“WhathappenedtothatbrownhorseIsawyourideoutonthismorning?”

“Hewasneithergoodnorfast.Hewasjustahorsewhodecidedatthewrongtimetodie.”

“Thatwasinconvenientofhim,”saidTandy,shakinghishead.

“Haveyoueverriddenareallygoodhorse,Tandy?”Hughessippedhiswhiskey,hiseyeslingeringonthemirror.

Thebartenderponderedthis,pushedhis

glassesupoffhisthickbulbousnosewithonehand,rubbedtheragaroundonthespotlessbarwiththeother.“Well,letmethinkaboutthat.Irecallonetime—”

“Ifyouhavetothinkaboutit,thentheanswerisno,Tandy.Youhaveneverriddenareallygoodhorse.Amanwhohaseverriddenareallygoodhorseneverforgetsthathorse,thatexperience.Comparesall

otherhorsestothatone.It’slikemakinglovetoabeautifulwoman,orsippingafine,expensivewine.Thecheaponesneverliveuptothebestofyourmemories.”

“Orfantasies,”saidTandy.“Youhavememories.Menlikemehavefantasies.”

“Well,here’stomemorablefantasies,”Hughessaid,liftinghisshotglassinatoast.

“I’lldrinktothat,”

agreedTandy,pouringhimselfawhiskey.“Yourfaceandclothesareabloodymess.Whathappened?”

“I’llspareyoutheboringdetails,butIhadarun-inwithanIndianchief.QuanahParkerhimself.Igotawaywithmylifeandhishorse.Helooksveryinconspicuousouttheretiedamongsttheotherrangymounts.”

Tandystopped

wiping,hisragmotionless.HelookedatHugheswitheyeswide,mouthagape.“YoustoleQuanah’shorse?”heasked,hisvoiceloudabovethenoiseofthecrowd.

Thepianowentsilent.Ahushfelloverthe

saloon.EveryoneturnedcuriouseyesonHughes,wantingtohearthestory.Severalmeneasedthemselvesnearer,afewwomeninfancydresseswith

feathersintheirhairleanedin,andTandyabsentmindedlybeganpushinghisragincirclesoverthespotlessbar.

“Ididn’tstealQuanah’shorse.YoucouldsayItookhimuponhisgenerousoffer,”saidHughes,pouringhimselfandTandyanotherwhiskey.

“QuanahParkerisamurderer.Hetorturesandscalpsandburnsandsteals.

Youwantustobelievehebenevolentlyhandedhishorseovertoyououtofthegoodnessofhisheart?”askedJerryAllsup,theobeseblackjackdealer,stillshufflingcardsmidairfromonepudgyhandtotheother,stumpycigarclenchedbetweenyellowteeth.

Hughessippedhiswhiskey,glancingatthemirror,checkinghisback.“Well,Mr.Allsup,our

murderingchiefdidn’thandhishorseover.Itwasaverbaloffer.Mybelt...”Hughespointedtotheemptyloopsencirclinghiswaistband.“...hadhishandssecuredbehindhisback.Itookhimuponhisofferaftermyhorsedied.SureashellbeatswalkingbacktoSanAntoniointhedark.”

JerryAllsuppressedincloser,hissourtobaccobreathhotinHughes’sface.

Inaloud,smoker’srasp,hesaid,“Lookslikehealmosthadthebestofyou.Markmywords,butyou’llregretnotkillingthatsonofabitchwhileyouhadthechance.”

Hughesrubbedhisthrobbingleftshoulder,hisshirttornandstiffwithdriedblood.“I’dbeadeadman,minusmyscalp,ifI’dkilledQuanah.Hiswarriorswould’veseentothat.”Asfarasregrettingnotkillingthe

chief,Hughesconsideredregretssomethingoldmensittingonporchesinrockingchairshadtimetofretover.Rightnow,itwastimetopayTandyforhisfinewhiskeyandmakehiswaytotheMengerHotel.Ahotbathandhisbedwaswaiting.

“Icanhelpyouwiththatnastygashonyourhead,”whisperedasweetvoice,asmall,softhandstrokingthesideofhisface,

brushingthedarkhairbackawayfromhisambereyesandoffhisforehead.Thewoundoverhislefteyewascakedwithdirtanddriedblood.

“Lydia,mylovely,”saidHughes,takingherhand,kissingit.“Whatanicesurprise.IwasthinkingaboutyouwhenIwascheckingmypistolbeforeIgotsidetrackedbyanIndianchief.”

“Ioftenfindmyself

thinkingaboutyouandyourpistol,”teasedLydia,herlargebrowneyessparkling.Sheworeherthick,blondcurlspiledhighonherhead,pinnedinplacewithagoldanddiamondbarretteintheshapeofastar,agiftfromHughes.

“Isthatafact?”Hesmiled,dimplesframinghissensuousmouth.

“Afact,”shesaid,battingherlashesinacoy,

shyfashionbeforespoutingrigidinstructions.“Tandy,Mr.Lévesque’sdrinksareonthehousetonight.SendnextdoorforOmaKleintocomeoverandrunahotEpsomsaltsbathandbringsomebandagingmaterials.HaveLittleBillyunsaddlethathorseoutthereandtakehimdowntotheliveryyard.Idon’twantthatpaintedIndianponystandinginfrontofmysaloonscaringawaybusiness.

BringHughes’ssaddleinandleaveitbehindthebarforsafekeeping.”

“Yesma’am,MissLydia.Anythingelse?”askedTandyashesentBillyouttotakecareofthehorse.

“Yes.Sendupabottleofchampagne.Twoglasses.”LydiatookHughesbytheelbow,leadinghimfromthebar.“Ihavesomedoctoringtodo.”

Hughessmiled,

allowingLydiatopullhimaway.“Iloveanin-chargewoman,especiallyonewhoownsasaloonandcannurseaman’swounds.”

LittleBilly,thetwelve-year-oldorphanwhomLydiahaddiscoveredthepreviouswintershiveringunderthebackporchofthesaloon,flea-coveredandstinkyasanabandonedpup,burstthroughtheswingingdoors,carryingHughes’s

saddle.“Mr.L-L-Lévesque!Thathorsea-a-a-ain’toutth-th-there,”hestutteredinaloud,excitedgushofwords.“Ain’tnoIndian’sh-h-horseoutthere.J-J-Justyoursaddlelayingonthegr-ground.”

Hughesranoutofthesaloondoors,followedbyLydia,Tandy,andtheotherswhocrowdedaroundthehitchingpost,staringatthevacatedspotwhereHugheshadtiedthewhitestallion.

ThetomahawkhehadkeptasasouvenirfromhisfightwithQuanahwasnowembeddedinthewoodenrail,hisbeltswingingfromtheweapon’shandleasifithadjustbeentossedtheremomentsago.

Theemptystreetheldnosignofthewhitestallion,orofthechief,oroftheotherwarriorswhorodewithhim.Notevenaspeckofdusthunginthequiet,stillair.Thecrowdpressedtogether,

lookingleftandright,searchingforaclue.Therewasnone.

“Itappearsthatourvisitorsdidn’tcaretostickaround,butI’mhappyhereturnedthis.”Hughesthreadedhisbeltthroughtheloops,tighteningthebucklethatborehisfamily’screst.TheheirloomsymbolwasasmallgoldfleurdeliscenteredinfrontofalargersilverMaltesecross

embeddedonabackgroundofblackonyx,itsborderathinlineofcrushedredrubies.“I’mfondofthisparticularbuckle.”

“Howrudeofourvisitorsnottostay.Oh....Youhadanothertoday,”saidLydia,feigningrevelation.“She’sstayingattheBrazosGuestHouse.OmaKleintoldmethatsheputherintothemastersuitenexttotherosegarden.Omaneverletsjust

anyonestayinthemastersuite.Yourvisitormustbeimportant.”

Hugheslookedperplexed.“She?Myvisitor?Didsheleaveaname?”

Lydiateasedoutthenarrative.“Sheindicatedthatshewasanoldfriendofyours.ItoldheryouleftforFortWorthandIdidn’tknowhowlongyou’dbegone.Shewasverypretty,butthinandfrail.Shelookedill.”

Hughesraisedhisbrowsincuriosity.“Anoldfriendofmine?Here?InSanAntonio?”

“Yes,”saidLydia,peeringupatHughes,whotoweredafootaboveherhead.“Asomewhatolderlady,yetlovelynonetheless.ShesaidhernamewasLeighselleBeauclaire.”

Hughesstopped.“Leighselle?HereinSanAntonio?MyGodifthat

doesn’ttakemeback.Ihaven’tseenherin,hell,almosteightyears.”

“Areyouhappythatshe’shere?”Lydiapouted,hervoicethinwithjealousy.

“Happy—yes.Andcurious.Shewaslikeabigsistertome.ShesavedmylifemanyyearsagowhenIleftNewOrleans.”

“Savedyourlife?Thatfrailthing?How?”

“Bytellingacrafty

lie.”HughestookLydiabytheelbowandescortedherinside,asliverofasmiletwitchingthecornersofhismouth.

CHAPTERTHREESEPTEMBER27,1860

Leighsellesatstraight-backed,high-chinned,andperchedontheedgeofherchair,aqueenpresidingoverhercourt.ShereignedattheheadofanemptytablethattookupmostofthespaceinthesunnybreakfastroomattheBrazosGuestHouse.Herblackwoolenshawlwas

pulledtightaroundherthinshouldersdespitethewarmbreezethatflutteredtheginghamcurtains.Thewindowswerethrownwidetothegardentoinviteinthescentofmuskrosethatperfumedthemorningair.

Sippingfromherteacupwithherlefthand,pinkyfingerextended,herrighthandlaytuckedinherlap.Initsheclutchedablacksilkandlacehandkerchief

embroideredwithherinitialsinboldredscript.Thelongskirtofherblackreceivingdresspuddledatherdaintyfeet,whichwerebuttonedupinfashionableleatherboots.Darkmourningcolorssheworenottoshowaladyinbereavement.Shepreferredyellow,eventhoughyellowwasthecolorofheryouth.Shechosedarkfabricsasapracticalmatter.Itwaseasierhidingthespecklesofblood

thatoftenaccompaniedhercoughthesedays.

“MissBeauclaire,yourgueststandsatthedoor.”OmaKleinsteppedintotheentrywayofthebreakfastroom,hercurlywhitehairspringingfromherheadliketightlywoundspoolsofwire,hersofthazeleyessparklingwithcuriosityassheregardedherlodger.“Ja,helooksmuchbetterthanwhenherodeinlast

night.HardtotellitwasMr.Lévesqueunderneaththatbloodanddirt.”

AcoughtickledLeighselle’sthroat.Shefoughttorepressit,dreadingthequakingspasmsthathadgrownmoretroubling.“Bloodanddirt?Myheavens.Please,showhimin.Andbringsomemoreteaifit’snottoomuchtrouble.”

“Ja,noproblem.”OmaKleinretreatedintothe

kitchen,returningholdingatrayheapingwithanassortmentofpastriesandstrudels,aclean-scrubbed,fresh-shavenHughesLévesqueonherheels.

HugheslookedatLeighselleandsmiled,hisambereyescrinklingatthecorners.Hetookbothofherglovedhandsinhisandkissedeachone.“You’reaslovelyasthelasttimeIsawyou,Leighselle.WhenIleft

NewOrleansforgood,youmadesureIlandedonmyfeetinsteadoflandingmyselfinjail,orworse.”

“NooneeverleavesNewOrleansforgood.You’llbedrawnbacksomeday.It’sbeentoolong,Hughes.Youlookwell.Handsome.You’renotthescrappyyouthIremember.”

“Alotchangesineightyears.”Hepulledupachairandsetnexttohisdear

oldfriend,alookofworryandcuriosityonhisface.

Andsomethingsneverchange,thoughtLeighselle,somethingsliketheheartacheofalifetimeofshamefulsecrets.Acoughbubbledupandshehelditbackwithherhandkerchiefandkeptitinhermouth,justasmallsoundescapingthistime.

Leighsellesmiled.“You’vefilledoutand

hardenedaroundtheedges,butitsuitsyou.”

“BesidestutoringmeinGerman,Omafeedsmewonderfulpastries.Shewantstofattenme,”Hugheslaughed.“ItutorherinEnglish.TheGermansinsistonpronouncingeveryletter,so,sheevengettingmynamerightwasachallenge.Ihadtospellitforheras‘HuLeVek’beforesheunderstoodthepronunciation.”

“You’vealwaysexcelledinuniquelinguistics.Itwasbirdcallsandwildanimalsoundswhenyouwereaboy,andofcourse,French.ThenCreoleandNavajodialects,fromwhatIremember.AnyotherlanguagessincecomingtoTexas?”

“Spanish.Comanche.Afewothertribalvernaculars.Itcomesinhandyonthejob.”

Hughestappedthefive-pointstarpinnedtohisvestlapelwithalookofpride.Itwasforged,likeallRangersbadges,fromasilverMexicanpeso.Asessentialasaknifeoragun,aTexasRanger’sbadgeopeneddoorsquickerthanapoliteknockoraforcefulkick.

AsHughesspoke,Leighsellestudiedhisface.Sheconsideredhissquarejaw,thefineangularslantto

hisnose,hisintense,wide-setambereyes,andshetookinthewaythesunlightstreaminginthewindowbroughttolifethehoneygoldstrandsthatglistenedinhisdarkbrownhair.

Hiscountenanceremindedherofalion,powerfulandmajestic,althoughinHughes’scase,almosttoohandsometobedangerous.Butsheknewbetter.Sheknewthetruth

behindthesensuoussmile,themanicurednails,thescholar’svocabulary,andthewell-placedmanners.Hewasagentleman,yes,butdangerousandcapableofaudaciousdeeds.

“It’sdifficultformetoreconciletheprecociousyoungboyfromNewOrleanswiththisrough-and-tumblelawmansittingbeforeme.”Leighsellelaughedatthememory.“Notonetobetold

‘no,’youkeptshowingupatmysaloonuntilonedaywetiredofchasingyouaway.Oh,howmygirlsdotedonyou.”

“I’mnotalwaysrough-and-tumble,wearingthisbadge.”Heleanedinclose.“Itellyoualittlesecret.Sometimes,whennotRangering,I’memployedbyourfederalgovernment.Itakecareofbusinessthatothersdon’twantto.”

“Everthechevalier,”shewhispered.Therewasnopointinaskingorinsayinganymore.Sheassumedhe’dsharedwithherasmuchashewasabletodivulge.

Aviolentcougheruptedwithasuddenforcethatwrackedherbody,bendingherforward,shakinghershoulders.Herentirebodyheavedasshefoughttocatchherbreath.Leighsellecoveredhermouthwithher

blackhandkerchief,wipingatspecklesofbloodshefearedmarredherface.

“Mydear,areyouallright?”Hugheswasatherside,pattingherback,thenhetookthehandkerchieffromheranddabbedatthebloodthatstainedthecornersofhermouth.“Here,sipsometea.CanIgetyousomethingelse?”

“No.No,I’mfine.Thankyou.”Hershoulders

roseandfellinslowmotionasshetookdeepbreaths,tryingtorefillherlungs.

“Ladieswhoarefinedonotcoughblood.There’sadoctorinresidenceattheMengerHotelwhereIkeeparoom.I’llsendforhim.”Worrywasetchedindeeplinesonhisforehead.

“No,pleasedon’ttroubleyourself.Moreteawouldbelovely.”Thesmileshegavewasweakand

unconvincing.“Youshouldletme

sendforthedoctor,Leighselle.Thatcoughconcernsme.”

“It’stoolateforadoctor,Hughes.”Shecuppedahandoverhis,herpleadingeyestellinghimtoletgooftheidea.“Mydoctoradvisedthatthereisnothingmoretodoshortofeasingmypain.”

Hughesswallowed,andthentookherhandsin

his.“Isthatwhyyou’rehere,Leighselle?Didyoucometoseemeonelasttime?Ishouldhavecomeback—”

“IcametoSanAntoniotoaskafavorofanoldfriend.Yourbrothertoldmewheretofindyou.Ididn’twanttowrite.Iwantedtoseeyou,toaskyoufacetoface.Ineedyourhelp,Hughes,intracking—”AnothercoughevenworsethanthefirstrattledLeighselle’semaciated

body,hertinyframeseeminglikeitmightbreakintwo.“Pleaseexcusemycoughing.Todayistheworstsofar.”

“Wouldsittingoutsideinthefreshairhelp?”Hughesofferedheraglassofwater.

Sippingit,shenodded.“Itwould.Let’stakeashortstroll.”

HughestookLeighsellebythearmandsteeredheroutside,wherethewarmthofthelate

September’smorningsunshinehintedatanafternoonsuitableforsiestas.AnumbrellastandthatOmakeptonthefrontporchheldaladiesparasol.Hughesopenedit,carryingitoverLeighselle’shead,shieldingherfromtheraysoftheTexassun.Theywalked,unhurried,arm-in-arm,passingbytheSpanishMissionwheretheBattleoftheAlamohadoccurred.

AstheystrolledtheesplanadethathuggedtheSanAntonioRiver,HughespointedouttheMengerHotelwherehekeptaroom.ItwasaconspicuousEuropean-lookingbuildingamidSpanishColonialarchitecture,thankstoaGermanimmigrantwhobuiltthehotelnexttohisbeerbrewery.

“Whatagrandbuilding.Iwouldverymuchliketotouritlater,”

Leighsellesaid,acceptingtheofferedchairthatHughespulledoutforher.

Adjacenttothehotel,aclusteroftablessatunderthesweepingarmsofcypresstreesthatlinedtheriver’sbanks.HughespulledachairandsatacrossfromLeighselle.“Asyouwish.”

Amandressedinagraymorningcoatwithagleamingwhitetoweldrapedoveronearmapproached.

Hughesgreetedhimwithasmile.“Hello,Jameson.ThisisadearfriendofminefromNewOrleans,MissLeighselleBeauclaire.Shewasmorelikeabigsister,really.”

“Pleasedtomakeyouracquaintance,MademoiselleBeauclaire.”Jamesonbentatthewaist.

“Enchantée.”Leighsellesmiledandnodded,impressedwith

Jameson’smannersandFrenchpronunciationofhername.

“Bringustwolemonades,ifyouwill,Jameson.Asmallshotofwhiskeyonthesideforme,”Hughesrequested.

Leighsellehelduptwofingers.

“Makethattwoshotsofwhiskey,Jameson,andalsosendwordtoDoctorSchmidtthatI’dlikea

momentwithhim,athisconvenience.”HugheswinkedatLeighselle.

“Ofcourse,Mr.Lévesque,rightaway,sir.”Jamesonbent,whisperingsomethingtoHughes,whileatthesametimetuckinganoteintoHughes’svestpocket.Then,turningonhisheels,hemarchedawaywithbrisk,purposefulstrides.

Hughessaid,“Please,indulgeme.”

“Thereisnothingadoctorcan—”

“Please?Indulgeme.LetDoctorSchmidthavealookatyou.What’veyoutolose?”

“Time.AcommodityofwhichIhavepreciouslittle.But,I’llagreetoseeyourdoctorjustsoyouwillfeelbetter.”

“Thankyou,”henodded.“You’lllikeDocSchmidt.He’swellrespected.

And,he’sanavidthoughratherineptpokerplayer.Ifnothingelse,youmightpersuadethegooddoctortocutthecardswithyou.Whoknows,youmaywalkawaywithalittlespendingmoney.Maybegobuyyourselfanewpetticoat,parasol,orpistol.”

“Ihaveplentyofundergarmentsandumbrellas,butanewlittlepocketDerringermightbefun.”Leighselle’slaughmelted

intoablood-redcough,herthinshouldersliftingwiththeweightofeachspasm.

JamesonreturnedwithatrayofrefreshmentsandanewfoldednoteforHughes.AfterpouringthelemonadeintotalltumblerswithsugaredrimsandservingthedarkamberOldCrowinshortcutcrystalwhiskeyglasses,hesteppedbackandclaspedhishandsinfrontofhim,waitingforfurther

instructions.“Excuseme,

Leighselle.Thisneedsmyattention.I’llbejustamoment,”saidHughesasheputthesecondnoteintohisvestpocket.

“Ofcourse,”shesaidasshepouredthewhiskeyintoherglassoflemonade.“Ihaveasuspicionthatthiswilltreatacoughbetterthanteawithlemonandhoney.”

“Fixmineuplikethat,

too,ifyouwill.I’llberightback.”Hughessteppedawayfromthetable,Jamesonfollowing.

Leighsellewatchedastheysteppedintotheshadeofthewalledpatioatthesideofthehotel,Jamesonspeaking,Hughesattentive.Hughestookthenotesfromhisvest,lookedateachone,noddedhishead,andhandedthembacktoJameson,whothenmarchedaway,disappearing

fromviewintothedarkdoorsofthehotel.

Hughesreturnedtothetable,apologizing.“Ihopeyou’llforgivetheinterruption.”Hesatandleanedbackinhischair,takingasipofthepotentlemonadeconcoction.“Mmm.Refreshing.Intoxicating.Thismaybecomemynewfavoritebeverage.”

“It’smine,withouta

doubt.”Shewaitedforamoment,wonderingwhetherornotHugheswouldvolunteeranythingaboutthesecretivenotes,butdecidedthathewouldnot.MenlikeHugheskeptsecrets.Womenlikeherunderstood.

“Allright,mydear,youhavemyundividedattention.”Heleanedforward,elbowsonknees,fingerstented,eyesalertandonhers.“Tellmewhatfavor

youcameallthiswaytoaskofme.”

Leighsellebroughtherhandkerchiefuptohermouthanticipatingacough,butitnevermaterialized.“Mustbethenewmedicine,”shesaid,sippingherdrink.“Icameheretoaskyoutohelpmefindmydaughter.”

“Yourdaughter?”Hughesleanedbackinhischair,shakinghishead.“Ididn’tknowyouhada

daughter.Andshe’slost?”“Onlyafewpeople

knewIhadachild.Mostofthem,ifnotallofthem,aredeadnow.Andshe’snotlost.Shewastakenfrommewhenshewasaninfantjustdaysold.Iwasdruggedandblackmailedintogivingherup.It’ssuchalong,complicatedstory,I...Idon’tknowwheretostart.”

“Atthebeginning.Startthere.”Hughesleaned

forward.Hetookherglovedhandinhis,givingitagentlesqueeze.

“Thebeginning.Iwasfifteen.MyfathersoldcattletoaTexasrancher.Hewasn’taTexan.HewasanIrishimmigrantwhosettledinTexas.HewouldcometoourranchinVermillionParishtopurchaseourpure-bredBrahmancattleandhavethemshippedtohisranchinCorpusChristiontheTexas

GulfCoast.”Hugheslistened,

watchingLeighselle’sconfidentpostureweakeningasshespoke,herhandstwistinganduntwistingthelacehandkerchiefinherlap.

“Hevisitedseveraltimesayear,andeverytimeIwouldcatchhimstaringatme.Longstares,notcasualglances,butvulgarstaressointensethatIfelthiseyesleftastainonmyskin.”

“Yourfatherandmother—didtheynoticehisunusualattentiontoyou?”

“Yes.Mothercouldn’tstandtobeinhispresence.ShewouldmakesureIwaskeptbusyupstairswithmytutororsomeplaceoutofsight.Fathertoleratedhimbecausehewasarichcattlemanandwasgoodforbusiness.Fathertalkedaboutbuyingmoreland,aboutimportingmorebulls.He

couldn’taffordtoturnawayawealthyclient.”

“Didhehurtyou,ortrytohurtyou?”Hughes’svoiceloweredanddarkened.

Leighselle’seyesbrimmedwithtears.“It’sbeensolongsinceI’vespokenofwhathappenedatVermillionBay.”

*****August,1836

Rustyredsoilclungtotheslipperybanksofthe

VermillionRiver,whichflowedintothetepidcoastalwatersofVermillionBay,theriversnakingitswaysouthbeforespillingitsmurkyironoreintotheGulfofMexico.Therichdirtoozedablackish,brick-redslime.Seasonaltidalwaterspushedinlandandcreptupstreamthroughthemarshlands,attimescausingtherivertoappeartorunbackwardandheadnorthtowarditssource,

asiftheriverwasswallowingitselfinonethirstygulp.

EverythinginthesmallLouisianaparish—theriver,thebayou,thebay,eventheparishitself—claimedthename“Vermillion,”whilethevermillionironoreclaimedtheair,thewater,theland,theanimals,anythingelsethatstoodstilltoolong,tintingallwithinitsreachinvaryingshadesofred.

ArmandandJeanineBeauclaire’sonlychildwasneverstilllongenoughforthecolorredtoclaimher.LeighselleLaVerneBeauclairewasanactivegirl,andtheminutesspentsittingstillwereminuteswasted.Shehatedsittingstill;stillnesswasnotsomethingforwhichshehadanypatience,andshehatedthecolorred.

“Ipreferyellow,

Mama,likethesunflowers.”“Thenyoushall

alwayswearyellow,”herdotingmotherwouldproclaim.

Leighsellewasawareofhowthesun’syellowrayscoulddistractherfromtheuglinessofVermillionParish,whereeverythingwasadusty,rustyred.Asshegrew,Leighsellealsogainedakeenawarenessofhowitfelttodistractamanfromhis

business,thoughnotthroughaffectation.Atthejuncturewhenayounggirlcrossesovertowomanhood,shewasanaturalbeauty.Chestnuthairfellinsilkywavespastthesmallfullnessofherhips.FlawlessporcelainskinprovidedapaletteonwhichtoshowcasepinkCupid’sbowlips.Astraight,narrownoseturnedupafractionofadegreeatthetipandseemedtopointupwardtohermost

dramaticfeature:gold-fleckedemeraldgreeneyesthatedgedonthesideofbeingtoolargeforherface.Fringedinthickebonylashesthatgrewthickerandlongerattheoutercorners,theeffectwasfeline.

SeamusFlanders,anIrishimmigrantwhosettledinTexasandconductedbusinessinVermillionParish,wasnotimmunetohercharms,despitethetwentyyearsthatseparatedthem.His

businessdealingswithLeighselle’sfathercouldhavebeenaccomplishedinasingleyearlyvisit,buthecametoVermillionParishmoreoften,lookingforanyexcuse,purchasingmorecattlethanwhatheneeded,becauseitmeantanotherchancetoeyetheobjectofhisdesire.

Ontheoccasionswhenhewouldinsinuatehimselftobeaninvitedguestforameal,hewouldstudy

Leighselleasifshewereanobjetd’artmeanttobeinspectedandadmired.Hisintensestaresandundueattentionmadeheruncomfortable.Shecouldn’thelpbutnoticethatduringthosetimes,heoftenkepthishatstrategicallyplacedacrosshislap.

*****Leighselleandherlittledog,asmallwhiteterrierwithbrownearsandabrownspot

attherootofitstail,skippeddowntowardtheriverbridge.Hermotherhadpromisedthatshecouldhaveaswimandapicnicifshewasagoodgirlandcompletedherlessonsfortheday.

Thewoodsthickened.Itbecamedarkandcooldespitetheheatfromthenear-noon-daysun.Leighsellestoppedattherockwheretheothershadtakenofftheirdressesandtookhers

off,too.Splashingintothewater,herwhiteskinwasalmosttranslucentcomparedtothenut-brownskinofthetwoslavegirlswhosplashedandplayedalongsideher.

“Wesupposedtobedyingthemlinens,MissLeighselle.IfMassahBeauclairecatchesusaswimmingandnotaworking,hesureenoughgoingtobemad.”Addy-Frankdoveintothewater,Estherfollowing.

“IcanhandleFather.I’lltellhimthatIwasdrowningandthatyoubothjumpedintosaveme.He’llawardbothofyouaworkpassforsnatchinghisdaughterfromthejawsofdeath.”

“Heain’tgoingtobelieveawordathat.”Addy-FrankandEsthersplashedLeighsellewhileJacques,thelittlewhiteterrier,racedalongtheshoreline,barking.

TheexpensiveivorylinensimportedfromParisfloatedintubsofocherwatermadedeepmustardyellowbyanabundanceofironoxideinthesoil,themineral-richdirtatreasurehiddeninsecretpocketsalongtheriverbank.

WhereeverythingelseinVermillionParishwasredfromtheprevalenthematite,thesoilintheinletwherethegirlsbathedandwashedclotheswasinfusedwiththe

yellows,oranges,andbrownsofocher.Usingthemineralaspigment,colorantsweremadetodyethelinensandotherfabricsoftheBeauclairehouseholdinbeautifulshadesofyellow.

“Comeon.Webestbegettingbackwiththemlinens.Youmamatellustohavethempinnedtotheline’forenoonsothesuncanbakethatcolorrightin,”saidAddy-Frank.

“Goonbackwithoutme.I’mstayingalittlelonger.”Leighselle,chestdeepintheslow-movingwatersoftheVermillion,flungherheadbackwardandforward,streamingasprayofwaterfromherlonghairontothebankwhereJacquesjumpedandbarked,tryingtocatchthewaterdropletsinhismouth.Leighselleandthegirlslaughedatthelittledoginhistirelessefforts,jumping

manytimeshisheightintotheair.

“IreckonthatbeOK,MissLeighselle,butdon’tyoubetoolong,”saidAddy-Frank.“Yourmamagetworriedifyouain’thome’forelunch.”

“Ibroughtapicniclunch.Mother’snotexpectingmebackuntillater.”Leighsellesplashedthegirlsastheyscamperedoutoftheriver,Jacquestwistingand

twirlingintheair,barkingatthewaterdropletsastheysankintothesand.Scratchingandrootingwithfuriousenergy,Jacquestriedtogettowherethewaterdropletdisappearedfromview,hispawsandnoseturningabrightocheryellow.

Afterthegirlshurriedawaywithoneofthetubsoflinens,Leighsellesatonthebankoftheriver,rubbingthewarmochersandontoher

legsandarms.“Jacques,look.I’mnotwhiteanymore.I’myellow,likeyournose.IthinkI’llstayyellowtherestofmylife—it’ssuchafinecolor.Muchbetterthanred.WhenI’mold,Ishallasktobeburiedinayellowdress.”

Pullingonherlaceunderslip,shereachedintothesmalltote,bringingoutasandwich.Shehalvedit,givingthegenerousportiontoJacques.Itdisappearedinan

instant.“Wemustworkonyourmanners,petitchien.Maybeteachyoutosaypleaseandthankyou.”

“IfIsayplease,willyouletmekissyou?Or,willIhavetotakewhatIwant?”Seamuswasonherinaninstant,grabbingherfrombehind,clappingahandoverhermouthbeforeherscreamwasout.Hepushedherontothewetsand,pinninghertothegroundwithhisweight.

Leighsellestruggledbutwaspowerlessagainstthebruteforceofamanintentontakingwhathewanted.

Hishotbreathpantedagainstthebackofherneck,hiswords—grunts—groansloudinherear.Shewrenchedoneofherarmsfreefromunderher,clawedbackwardathisface,hishands,buthepinnedherarmagain.Rippingatherunderslip,hisroughhandsscratchedand

bruisedhertenderflesh.Jacquesracedin

circles,barking,lunging,bitingathisbootleg,grabbingthefabricinhisteeth,pullingbackward.Seamusshookthelittledogoff,thenkickedhard,bootinghimasolidblowtotheside.Jacqueslandedinthesand,quiet,unmoving.

Leighsellescreamed.Hishandoverhermouthmuffledhercries.Themore

shestruggled,therougherhegot.“Iseethewayyoulookatme,teasingme,beggingmeforthis.It’sinyoureyesthatyouwantmetofuckyou.Sayit.Sayyouwantmetofuckyou.”

Leighselleshookherhead,frantic,triedtosayno,triedtoscream,buthishandclampeddownonhermouthagain.Sandcloggedhernostrils,gratedhereyes.

“You’remine,

Leighselle.Aftertoday,nooneelsewillwantyou.You’llbelongtome.”Seamustookherintheroughestwayhecould.“Doyouunderstand?Mine.”

Painrippedthroughherbody.Witheachpushandshove,Leighsellefeltasifshemightslipintounconsciousness—sheprayedthatshewould.Asilentcryformedinherthroatandstayedthere,eventhoughher

mouth,wideopeninhorrorandfear,allowedforitsrelease.

AnoisecomingfromthetrailleadingdowntotheriverdrewSeamus’sattention.HepressedhishandhardagainstLeighselle’smouth,anditcoveredhernose.Shestruggledtobreathe.

“Weforgotonebasketofyourmama’slinens,”saidAddy-Frankasshestepped

fromthedenseovergrowthofthetrailontothesun-drenchedbank.“Thebigol’heavyone.MassahBeauclairesayhegoingtosendOleIsaiahdownwiththewagontoliftit’causeitbe—Oh!”Shestoppedmidstride,frozen,hereyestakinginthehorriblescene.

SeamusshovedawayfromLeighselle,fasteninghisbelt,thenslippedlikeashadowintothedarknessof

thethicket.Momentslater,theclatteringofhoovesechoeddownintotheravineashegallopedacrossthewoodenspan.Theloudcommotionflushedamurderofnestingcrowsintothesky.

Addy-Franksplashedacrosstheriver,grabbingLeighselle,pullingherupoffthesand.“Whathedonetoyou?Hehurtyou?”

Leighselleopenedhermouthbutnowordsformed.

Noonecouldeverknowaboutthis.Noone.ShepulledawayfromAddy-Frank’sgraspandtuggedatthetornslipthatwasrippeddownthefront,tryingtocoverherself.

“Whodonethis?Youknowhim?”Addy-FrankgrabbedLeighselle’sshoulders.“Who?”

“HecomesfromTexastobuycattle.”Leighsellebegantoshake,asoundlikethatofaninjured

doverisingsoftlyfromwithin.“Icouldn’tstophim.Itriedtostopit,butIcouldn’t.”

“Yourdaddy’sshotgunsurestophim.IgogetMassah.”

“No!Youneversawanything.Father—hisbusiness.Wecan’tspeakofthistoanyone.It’llshamehim.He—”

“MissLeighselle,youneedtotellyour—”

“Tellnoone.Gobacktothehouselikeyouneverleft.”

Addy-Frankopenedhermouthtospeak,hesitated,andthenwalkedbackupthetrailtowardthehouse,leavingtheriverbehind.

LeighsellekneltbyJacques,whowaswhimpering,hispawstwitching.Shestrokedthedog’sside,feelingforbrokenribs.“You’llbeallright.Lay

still,littledog,andcatchyourbreath.”

Steppingintothewarmcurrent,shelocatedthelargeflat-toppedboulderthatsatsubmergedafewinchesunderthewater’ssurface,therocksheplayedonanddovefrom—therockthatsnappingturtlessunnedthemselvesonandwherefrogswouldsitandcatchdragonflies.

Shelaydownontherock,lettingthewarm,slow-

flowingwatersoftheVermillionwashtheochersandfromherhair,fromherskin,fromherslip.Sheimaginedthewaterwashingawaythehorridnightmare,flowingitouttosea.

Leighselleclosedhereyesagainsttheglaringsun,againsttheindigosky,againsttheredriver,againsttheochersandandsunflowersbendingoverthebanks,andagainstallthatwasfineand

vibrant.Nothingwouldeverbefineorvibrantagain.Somethingdied.Itwasthedeathofyellow.

*****“MyGod,Leighselle.Iwanttokillhim.”Hughespushedbackfromthetable,knockinghischairoverashemovedtoherside,crouchingdownnexttoher.“Tellmewherethismonsteris.I’llputabulletintohisblackheart.Thatsonofabitchisadeadman.”

Leighsellecoughedintoherhandkerchief,pattedeachcornerofhermouthclean,andthentookasipoflemonade.“IfIrecall,defendingawomanwhohadbeenbrutalizedbyamanwaswhatledyoutofleeNewOrleansinthefirstplace.”

“Thatwasn’tamanwhobrutalizedMonique.Thatwasananimal.Sowasthecreaturewhoattackedyou.”Hughesdroppedhisfist

harddownonthetable,thesilverwareclattering.“Nothingtightensmyjawfasterthanseeingamanhurtawoman.Ihadagutfullofthatasakid,seeingmymothercowerfromherownhusband.”

“Whathappenedtomeseemsalifetimeago.IdohaveanideaastowhereSeamusFlanderslives,ifindeedhe’sstillliving,butit’snothimIwantyouto

find.It’smydaughter.”“Yourdaughterwould

beclosetomyage,then,orafewyearsolder,”Hughessaid.

“Oh,no.Thatdespicableincidentdidn’tresultinapregnancy.Seamusisnotthechild’sfather.He’sthechild’sgrandfather.IfellinlovewithSeamus’sson,Henry,butIwasn’tawareoftheconnection.HenryhadjustarrivedinAmericaatthe

PortofOrleansfromIreland.Itoldyouitwascomplicated.”

“That’sputtingitmildly.”Hughesrightedhistoppledchair,takingaseatclosetoLeighselle.

“Indeed.And,allthatIjusttoldyouistheeasypartofthestory.”

“Theeasypart?GoodGod.”HughesshookhisheadandgaveLeighsellealong,hardlook,hiseyesmoving

slowlyoverherthinface.Heremeraldgreen

eyeswerejaundiced,sunken,andaccentuatedbydarkcirclesunderneath.Theangularsharpnessofhercheekbonesprotrudedfromparchmentpaperskin.Lips,oncesuppleandpink,weredrawnintoathin,painedslitinanattemptatbarringthecoughsfromescaping.

“Didyouevermarryorhaveafamilyofyour

own?”sheasked,uncomfortablewithhowhestudiedherwithsuchintenseconcern.Sheknewshewasdying—shehadhopeditwasn’tthatobvious.

“Inmylineofwork,it’sbetternotto.”HugheswavedatJameson,indicatingmorelemonade.“Havingawifewouldleavehervulnerable.Ifsomeone,anenemy,wantedtogettome,allthey’dhavetodowould

betothreatenthewomanIloved.”

“Doyouhavemanyenemies?”sheasked,hereyebrowsraisedinsurprise.

“Ahiredgunalwayshasenemies.It’smyaimtoneverleaveonestanding.”

Leighselleshuddered,pullinghershawltighter.“Concentratingonajobwouldbenearimpossible,Iwouldguess,ifyouhadsomeoneathometoalso

worryabout.”“Idon’thavea

permanenthome,anyway.Anotherreasontostaysingle.”Hegaveacasualshrugofhisshoulders.

“Therearemanyreasonsmenchoosetoremainsingle.Yourssoundslikeoneofthebetterones.”Asmallcoughtickledthebackofherthroat,lingering,nevereruptingintoafullspasm.Shewaited,expectingitto

explode,butthemomentpassed,leavingonlythemetallicaftertasteofblood.

CHAPTERFOURTUESDAY,OCTOBER16,

1860

JournalEntryofBarFlanders:

“Aboystraddlesasaddledifferentlythanagirl”werethepartingwordsAuntWinniecalledtomyback

whenIrodeoutofHogMountainthismorning.She’sright.

Inmymind’seye,Iseemypapasittingtallinhissaddle,reinsinhislefthandheldloosebetweenhisfingers,alariatgrippedinhisright,hispreferredhandforshooting,too.Hesatasaddlewithaconfident,

casualattitudegiventomenborntoride.Giventogirlsborntoride,too.

Imustremembertoride,sit,dress,eat,laugh,spit,talk,walk,andthinklikeaboy—allwhileactingnaturally.However,throughtrialanderror,Ihavedetermineditisimpossibletostand

andpeelikeaboy.Today’s

travelsbroughtmeafewmileseastofFortWorth.Notabadstartatallforawagonhorse.Weputarespectabledentinthethreehundredandfiftymileslefttogo.Ifweaveragefiftymilesaday,thenwecanmakeLittleRock,Arkansasbythistime

nextweek.FromtheretoSaintJoseph,Missouriisanotherfourhundredseventyfivemiles,buttheOverlandStagecancoveronehundredmilesormoreintwenty-fourhourssinceitmakesquickstopstochangedriversandhorsesandtoallowpassengerscomfort

breaks.Bymy

calculations,I’llbeapplyingattheCentralOverlandCaliforniaandPikesPeakExpressCompanybytheendofOctober.AsAuntWinniecautioned,I’llrefrainfromreferringtoitastheCOC&PPExpressCompany,whichsent

herintoanotherfitoflaughter.

IfIpockettwenty-fivedollarsaweekallofNovember,December,andJanuary,I’llhaveatleastthreehundreddollarstofinishpayingthetaxesdueontheranch,plussome.Won’tol’Mr.Goldthwaiteswallow

histeethwhenheseesthat?

We(meandKing)madecampjustatsunset.Bone-deepwearinesssapsmyappetite.Mydesireforfoodhidesitselfbehindmyribcage.Papausedtosaythat.“What’swronggirl?Yourhungerhidingbehindyourribs?”I’dlaugh,he’dlaugh,

I’dfeignstarvation.Hiseyeswouldtwinkle—hisgrinwouldspreadacrosshisface.Papa’ssmile,hisearconnectingsmile....

Ilookwestandmythoughtstangle.Iwonderwhat’swrongwithme—wrongwithmyheart.DidIleaveitinPaloPinto?Iwasn’t

sadthismorningleavingStarling.Ishouldhavebeensad,butIwasn’t.AllIcouldthinkaboutwasgettingonthathorseandriding.Notridingawayfromher,butridingtowardthisopportunity.

ThetownshipofDallasistomorrow’starget,soIshouldclosemy

journalandsleep.IwonderifI’llhavethatdreamagain,thatrecurringdreamI’vehadthesepastfewnights.Awolf,silentandpowerful,watchesovermeandI’mnotafraid.Hekeepsthenightmaresatbay.

Tomorrow,I’llforgivemyselffornotfeelingsadabout

leavingmybabysister.I’llputemotionsaside.I’llconcentrateononething:beingBarFlanders.

*****October17,1860

ThetownshipofDallaswasabuzzwithactivityasBarleighrodethroughthemiddleofthesquare,stoppingattheliverystabletorefillhercanteens.Everyone

waspitchingintorebuildthebusinessdistrict,whichhadbeentorchedthepreviousJuly.Onlyafewbuildingswerecompletelyfunctional.Otherswerehalf-guttedshells,althoughstilloperational.Most,however,werenothingbutcharredheapsofblackenedrubbish.

Seeingthedestruction,smellingthescorchedremainsofwoodandplaster,causedherblood

tocool.Thememoryofthatnightcamerushingbackwiththesootybreezethatsweptthroughtheburned-outstreets.

BarleighrodeKingpasttheblackenedbuildings,lookingfortheliverystables.AhelpfulstrangerpointedherdownMainStreet,indicatingthebuildingadjacenttoBennett’sMercantile.Barleightippedherhat,said“Muchobliged,”andkept

riding.Apinch-facedelderly

womanalongwithherhomelydaughterwhowasapproachingoldmaidstatuswereatthestableswaitingforthestagecoach.“Mywidowedsisterliveshere,butwe’regoingbackhometoAustin,”themotherinformedBarleigh.Herbusyhandsfussedattheclosuresonherdress,withherdaughter’sdress,andwiththeribbons

thatheldherhattoherhead.“Youknowwhodidthat,don’tyou?”

“Ma’am?”Barleighpeeredfromunderthebrimofherhat,followingthewoman’spointedfingertowardtherebuildingproject.“Uh,no,ma’am,Idon’t.”

“Wasn’tlightningdidthat,”shesaid,flippingthehandleofhercarpetbagbackandforth.“Nope.Localslavesrebelledandsetfireto

thosebuildings.Abolitionistswererunoutoftown,threeNegroeshanged,andajudgeorderedalltherestoftheslavesinthetownshipwhippedforgoodmeasure.Notellingwhoreallydoneit.Buttheyallgotwhipped.”Shetuggedatthefingersofhergloves,thensettledherbrown,pineyesonBarleigh.“Youaren’tanAbolitionist,areyou?”

“I,uh,Ijuststopped

hereforwaterandtocheckmyhorse’sshoes,ma’am.”Acoldsweatbrokeoutonherbrow.Herhandsshookasshefumbledwithuntyingtheleatherstrapsthatattachedthecanteenstothesaddle.

Themothercontinuedhernosyinquiry,askingwhereBarleighcamefrom,whereshewasgoing,andmightthemotherandherdaughterbefortunateenoughthatherdestinationmight

alsobeAustin.“Amaleescortwouldbemostwelcome,giventheunrestfulatmosphere.Twohelplesswomentravelingalone....”Shefrettedagainwiththeribbonsonherhat,thefrayedendsbetrayingherlong-standinghabit.

“I’mBarFlanders,ma’am.HeadedtoSaintJoseph,Missouri,tohireonwiththePonyExpress.”Shekeptherwordsandeye

contacttoaminimum,thoughthemothertriedhardtoengageherinastaringcontest.Thedaughter,however,neverraisedhereyesoffthegroundorhervoiceaboveawhisper.

“Mirabella,wouldn’themakeafineyoungsuitorforyou?”Themotherelbowedherdaughter,eyeswide,andherglovedhandsflutteredintheairliketwoseizuredbirds.“Ithinkhe

shouldcometoAustininstead.Hecanworkontheranch,ifhewantstoridehorsesforaliving.”

Barleightippedherhat,politelydeclined,madeherexcusetobeonherway,tippedherhatagain,andaw-shuckedherwayoutofthere.

WhileshespurredKingawayatafasttrot,hermindplayedwiththenotionofwhoshe’dhavebecome,ifshe’dgrownupwithafussy

motherlikethat.Wouldshebeanoldmaid,quiet,shy,andafraidofherownshadowlikeMirabella?Maybefatehaditrightthatsheshouldhavegrownupwithoutamother,withPaparaisingherashedid,inasaddle,onahorse,underthewide-opensky,justasateasewithapistolasshewaswithapencil.

Thefirstcloseencounterasuccess,andshe

wasnearertobecomingBarFlanders,perfectingherpersona,growingevermorenaturalwithherboy-selfaseachhourpassed.Sinkingintothisnewsomebodyshewasbecoming,shefoundthecloudedimageeasytohidebehind.

Asmallstandoftoweringcottonwoodslinedthebanksofacreekwhereshemadecampforthenight,theirleavespaleyellowwith

theapproachingautumnchill.Theplaceremindedherofwhereherhorse,Willow,wasstolenbyanIndianboyonthewagontrailnorthwhentheyhadlefttheGulfCoastbehind.Makingasmallfire,shesippedcoffeefromatincup,remembering.

IthadbeenalongtheBrazosRiverbetweenWacoandFortWorthwhenshehadbrokenherpapa’snumberoneruleofthewagontrail,to

alwaysstaytogether.She’driddenoffalonelikeahotheadedfool.

*****“WhatamIhearingcomingfrominsidethatwagon?”Seamus,Barleigh’sgrandfathershoutedashebroughtuptheteamofhorsestobeharnessedfortheday’sdrive.“Barleigh,whatareyoudoinginthewagon?Birdieissupposedtoberepackingbreakfastsupplies.”

“She’sthroughwithpacking.I’mreadingtoher.And,I’mteachinghertoread,too,justlikePapataughtme.”Barleighpokedherheadthroughtheflapinthecanvasthatcoveredthewagonandsmiledathergrandfather.

“Slavescan’tread.Theydon’tknowhow.Comeoutofthereatonce,Barleigh.”Hisfacereddenedwithanger.

“Birdiecanread.I

taughther.Goon,Birdie,showGrandfatherhowwellyoupronouncethewords.”Barleighcrawledoutofthewagonandperchedontheseat,motioningforBirdietofollow.SheheldthebookoutforBirdietotake,butBirdierefused.

“Thatnotbeagoodidea,”saidBirdie,aslightcatchinhervoice.“Yourgrandfatherabusymanthismorning,gettingthehorses

andwagonready,andall.”“See,”Seamussaid

withasmirk.“EvenBirdieknowsit’safarce.She’smemorizingwhatyou’vereadtoher.She’snotreading.Slavesareincapable.Theirbrainsdon’tfunctionthewayoursdo.”

“Birdiecan,”Barleighinsisted.“Here,readthisnextparagraphthatIhaven’treadtoyou.ShowGrandfatheryou’renotmemorizing.Go

on.”ShehandedthebooktoBirdie,pointingoutthenextparagraph.

Birdieshookherhead‘no,’clampingherhandsbehindherback,refusingtotakethebook.

Seamuslaughed,hiswordscaustic.“See.Itoldyou.Darkiesareignorant.Youcanshowthematask,butyoucan’tteachthemcomplicatedskills.”

Barleighpressedthe

issue,insistingthatBirdiedemonstratehercommandofreading,proudofhowshe’dtaughther.“Birdie,showhimhe’swrong.Goon,now.”

Birdiehesitated,andthentookthebookinherhands.Sheread,hervoiceslowandsteady,enunciatingeachword:

“ThisisGod’scurseonslavery!Abitter,bitter,mostaccursedthing!Acursetothe

masterandacursetotheslave!IwasafooltothinkIcouldmakeanythinggoodoutofsuchadeadlyevil.”Seamusspunonhis

heels,pullingBirdiefromthewagon,slappingherhardacrossherfacewiththebackofhishand,knockingherontotheground.Shelandedinaheapathisfeet.Thebookslippedfromherhandsandlayopeninthedirt,itspages

flappinglikeatinyflockofwhitebirdstryingtotakeflight.

Hekickedthebookintothedyingembersofthecampfire.“Youarenevertopickupanotherbookagain.Doyouunderstandme?”heshouted,pointinghisfingeratBirdiewholayontheground,anangryweltbeginningtoswellacrosshercheek.

Birdieheldafisttoherbleedinglip,tearswelling

inhereyes.“Yessuh.Iwon’tnever.”

“Grandfather,don’t!”Barleighshrieked.“Stop!”Sheleaptfromthewagonandattachedherselftohergrandfather’sarmasheliftedBirdieoffthegroundwithonehand,hisotherslappingheracrossthemouth.

“Whatthehell?”Henrycameataruntoseehisfatherwithonehandatwistedfistgrippingthefrontof

Birdie’sdress,theotherupraised,readytoinflictanotherblowtoheralreadyswollenface.Barleighclungtohisupraisedarm,swinginglikeamonkeyfromabranch.

Henry’svoicegrowledlowwithatremblingfurynottobeignored.Hespokeeachwordasasingleimperative.“Lethergo,Father.Neveragainliftahandtoher.IfIeverseeyouorhearofyoustrikingthis

woman,it’llbemeyouface.”“Knowyourplace,

boy.Birdieismyslave.It’smyprerogativetopunishherasIseefit.Anyslavecaughtreadingdeservespunishment.”

“That’sadamncoward’sway,amanstrikingawoman.Ifyouwishtohitsomeone,hitme,Father.”Henryspoketheword‘father’withoutatraceofrespect.Heballedhisfists,

readytoreceiveortolandablow.

“Birdieisnotawoman,she’saslave.Andshe’smyslave,lestyouforget.”Seamusspatoutthewordsasiftheytastedbitterinhismouth.

“She’sahumanbeing.”TheveinsthatformedaVonHenry’sforeheadandthatcrepttheirwaytothesurfacewhenheshowedangerpulsedhotandred.

“Letthepunishmentfitthecrime.Ifhercrimeisreading,”hesaid,enunciatingeachwordwithacrispindignation,“thentakeawaythebook.”

“Itookthataway,too.Sheisnevertoreadagain.Never.Doyouallthreehearmyvoiceandunderstandmywords?Idemandyourespectmyrules,”shoutedSeamus.“Myslave.Myrules.”

“You’reashamedthat

Birdiecanread—somethingyouneverlearned.Youpretend,allright,withyourlibraryfullofpreciousbooks.”Henry’shandsfistedandunfistedathissides.

“I’veneverbeenashamedofanything.”Seamusturnedandstompedbacktothewagontofinishhitchingtheteam.

“Ihave,”Henryshoutedathisfather’sback.Hetookaragandwetitwith

waterfromhiscanteenandbeganwashingthebloodfromBirdie’sface.

“I’msorry,Henry.Ididn’tknowwhatthenextlinebe.Ijustbereadingforhimlikehesayto.I’msorry.”Birdiewhimpered,wincingasHenrydabbedatthebloodoozingfromherswollenlip.

“It’snotyourfault,Birdie.IshouldhaveputastoptoBarleighteachingyou.Iwasafraidsomethinglike

thiswouldhappenifmyfatherfoundout.”

“No,”Barleighsaid,stompingherfoot.“Youshouldnothaveputanendtothereadinglessons.Youshould’veputanendtoBirdiebeingGrandfather’sslave.Don’tyouunderstand,Papa?”Sherantothecampfireandtriedtoplucktheburningbookoutofthecoals.

Henrygrabbedhis

daughterbytheshouldersandspunheraround.“Youreadandgetideasaboutthingsyoudon’tunderstand.Whatwereyouthinking,readingUncleTom’sCabintoBirdie?Lettingherreaditaloud?Youshouldhaveknownbetter.”Hekickedattheremainingpagesthatsmolderedandglowedredaroundtheedges.

“Youboughtmethebook,Papa,soI’dhavesomethingnewtoreadonour

journey.NowyousayIshouldn’tbereadingit.Idon’tunderstand....”Barleightriedtopullaway.

“Lookatme,daughter.Idounderstandyourdesirefortheworldtobefair.Butdarling,you’reonlyfourteenandtooyoungtounderstandtheworld.Thisisacomplicatedissuethathasnoeasysolution.”

“Thesolutioniseasy,Papa.YouandGrandfather

aremakingithard.”Barleighdidn’twant

tolistentohim.Shejustwantedtoride,torideawayfromhimandhergrandfatherandthethingsshedidn’tunderstand.UntyingWillowfromthewagon,sheswungintothesaddle.

“IcanfindmywaytoFortWorth.Idon’twanttoridealongwithyou.IhatethatGrandfatherwon’tletBirdiebefree,Papa,andI

hateyoufornotinsistingonit.”

Assoonasthewordslefthermouth,theyhunglikeblackdartsintheair—sharpandhurtful.Shewantedthemback.

“Barleigh,”Henryshouted.“Don’teventhinkaboutridingofffromherebyyourself.It’stoodangeroustoridealone.Barleigh,doyouhearme?”Hekickedthegroundhard,twice,sendinga

sprayofrocksflying.“Damnit,girl.Whyareyousuchahothead?”Hestood,fistsonhips,glaringathisdaughter.

“It’snotjustslaves,Henry,whoshouldnotbetaughttoread,”Seamusshoutedoverhisshoulder,thehorsesnowhitched,thewagonready.“Impudent,youngteenagegirlsshouldlearnsewingandcookingandleaveeducationtomenlikeuswhoknowwhattodowith

it.Itwasafoolishthingforyoutoteachthatgirltoread.Youshould’veknownbetter.”

“There’relotsofthingsIshould’veknownbetter.Idon’tcountthisasoneofthem.”Henryspoketohisfather,buthiseyeswereonhisdaughter.Hisblueeyeswerenotshiningandlively,buthurtanddark.

Barleighturnedaway,reininghermarearound,

spurringmuchharderthanwhatwasneededtoescapefromthepaininherfather’seyes,fromBirdie’sbruisedandswollenface,fromthemadnessofhergrandfather’swrath.Shewishedshehadn’tspurredWillowsohard,wishedthatshehadn’tthrownthosehatefulwordsatherpapa,butcoulddonothingnowbutrideforFortWorth.

Spurringthehorseintoafastgallop,Barleigh

smackedthelatigoagainstthemare’shipoverandoverwhenshedidn’thaveto.Willowdugdown,runningfaster,tryingherdamnedesttocomplywithwhatwasbeingaskedofher.Thelittlemareranneartoexhaustion,tryingtopleaseherrider.Theharderthehorsetried,themoreBarleighsobbed.

HowcouldhergrandfatherbesobrutaltowardBirdie?Barleigh

wonderedifshewaslikehim?Didshehaveitinher,too,whippingandspurringherpoorhorseasshedid?Couldthatevilstreakrunthroughherownbloodandhardenherbones?Thethoughtterrifiedher.

“Easy,there,easynow.”ShestrokedWillow’sneckandslowedhertoawalk,bendingforward,buryingherfaceinthehorse’smane.“I’msorry,

girl,Ishouldn’thavemadeyourunsohard.”Leaningsidewaysinthesaddle,sheranherhandsdownthehorse’ssides,checkingforblood.Lookingatherunstainedhands,sheheavedasighofrelief.

Agatheringoftreesahalfmileorsooffthetrailtothewestindicatedwater.Cottonwoodtreesedgedthebanksandofferedtheirlongbranchestoshadetheground.

ShereinedWillowtoastop,unsaddledher,butleftthebridleonwhilekeepingthereinstiedaroundhernecktomakeiteasytocatchher.

“I’msorry,Willow,pleaseforgiveme.I’llneverdothatagain.Ipromise.”Shebreatheddeeplythesmellofthehorse’ssweatyneckandstrokedthestarthatswirledatthetipofherblaze.Willownickered,thendroppedherheadtothegroundandbegan

tograzeonthesweetspringgrassthatgrewbytheedgeofthewidecreek,itswatercool,clear,andinviting.

Afterfillingthecanteen,Barleighpouredwateronherhead,splashingherface,washingoffthedustystreaksfromhertears.Shelaiddownonthesaddleblanketandwatchedasthehorsenippedthegreengrasscleanattheroot,whileignoringthecattailsandbitter

weedthatgrewalongthewater’sedge.

Stretchingoutinthewarmsunshine,Barleighshuthereyes,hermindunsettledandconfused.Thebreezewhisperedasitrustledthroughthecottonwoodleaves.Doesthetreeownthedirtarounditsroots,takingfromitwhatitwants,ordoesthedirtownthetree,holdingitagainstitswill?

Hereyelidsgrew

heavyandshedriftedofftosleep,ponderingaworldoutofbalance—aworldshedidn’tunderstand.

ThesnappingofatwigawokeBarleighfromhernap,andsherolledoverontoherside,proppingherheadinherpalm,yawning.“Willow,webettergetyousaddledandourselvesbackonthetrailbefore...”Herbreathcaughtinastartledgasp.

Atthewater’sedge,a

youngIndianboycrouchedonallfours,drinkingstraightoutofthepondlikeahorse,oracoyote,oranyotherthirstyanimal.Hisdarkskinglistenedinthesun,hisbrowneyes,dartingbetweenBarleighandWillow,lookedwild.Hewasapredatorsizinguphisprey.Hesprangtohisfeetwithliquidgracefulnessandrantowardthehorse.Grabbingahandfulofthemare’smane,heleapt

ontoherbackinonefluidbound,digginghisbarehealsintohersides,andwasgone.

“Willow!”Barleighscreamed,runningafterthepair,feettangling,falling,handsout,catching,cactusquillssticking,butitwasnouse.Atrailofsepia-coloreddustroseabovethetrailquiteadistanceawayastheIndianboygallopedthestolenhorsefromview.

Henryandthewagon

caughtupwithBarleighasshewalked,carryinghersaddle.Hisfearofwhatcouldhavehappenedtohisdaughterturnedhisinitialreliefthatshewasallrightintored-hotanger.Barleighhadbrokenherfather’snumberoneruleandhadriddenoffalone.Sheknewthatshedeservedhisrage,andmore.Shehadletherhorsegetstolen.

Theremainderofthe

journeytoFortWorth,sherodeinthebackofthewagon,curledupwithherheadrestinginBirdie’slap.ShelostherselftotherhythmicalsoundofPeatyandBoss’slargehoovesstrikingthegroundatafasttrot.Inasoft,hushedvoice,BirdiecroonedlullabiesjustasshehadwhenBarleighwasasmallchild,whiletheswayingofthewagonrockedbackandforth.Thecanvas

cover,pulledopenandtiedtothesides,showcasedthemilkcowtryingherbesttokeepup,thebellthatBarleighhadtiedaroundherneckclangingwitheachstride.

Stretchingoninasolidflatline,theinfinitehorizonshimmered.Barleighkepthereyesalerttoanysignofsomethingbreakingthatline—alonerideronastolenhorse;agroupofriderslookingfortrouble—butall

shesawwasdustanddirtandsky.

Asearingwindtwirledaroundthewagon,dustswirlingupwardinatwistingvortex.“Windhotasthedevil’sbreathbeabadomen,”Birdiesaidhalftoherself.Barleigh’sspinetingledwithacreepingchill.Asinglewhitecloudasbillowyandfluffyascottonpassedoverhead,erasingthewagon’sshadow.

*****TheyarrivedinFortWorthasthelong-reachingorangeandpinkfingersofthesettingsunstretchedouttogreetthem,theskyaninkyblue-blacktotheeast.ItwasJune25,1855,thejourneyhavingtakenthreeweeksandthreedays.

Iffortisashortenedversionofthewordfortress,Barleighthoughttheymustbeinterribletrouble.Littleremainedofanything

recognizableasfortress-like.Highuponanorth-facingbluffoverlookingtheClearForkoftheTrinityRiverremainedaportionofawallbearinggunturrets,theheavywoodenshuttersthrownopenasaboldinvitationtothenightsky.Ifstarsweretheenemies,acleanandclearshotwouldbecertain.

Mr.SimonGoldthwaite,theattorneyandbankerwhohadcorresponded

withHenryregardingthepropertyinPaloPinto,greetedthemupontheirarrival.HewasquicktosaythatFortWorthhadbeendisbandedandevacuatedoverayearpriorwhentheArmyceaseditsoperationasafortifiedmilitaryoutpost.Remainingsettlerstookoverthefort,settingupshopsandbusinesses,usingthetimberfromthefortresswallstobuildhomes,aschoolhouse,

andadditionalbuildingsforcommerce.Oneuniquebusiness,somethinghecalledadepartmentstore,aMr.Leonardbeingtheproprietor,deservedspecialmention.

“Imaginealargestorewithanentiredepartmentofbootsandshoes,anothersectionfullofhardware,anotherofwomen’sfinery,”hesaidwithawinkandanod.“Overhereyouhaveadepartmentformen,over

there,adepartmentforchildren.Everythingyouneedanddon’tyetknowyouneed,allunderoneroof!”Hewinkedagain,slowanddeliberate.

“AlloftheHostileshavebeenpushedbackfartherwest,”heexplainedasreasonforthefort’sdismantling.“TheArmy,withwisdomandforethought,relocatedallgarrisonstopointsdeeperintoIndian

Territory.”“NotallIndians,”

Barleighinformedhim,“havevacatedthearea.OneisatthisverymomentwellmountedonafancylittlepalominomarenamedWillow.Shestandsfourteenandahalfhands,hasastarandanarrowblaze,fourwhitesocks,flaxenmaneandtale,withacoatthatisadeepautumnleafgold,justincaseyoufindher.”

HenrytoldMr.Goldthwaiteaboutthemorning’sencounter,whichhadtranspiredafewmilesnorthofwheretheBrazosRiverflowedthroughthetownofWaco.Mr.GoldthwaitesaidhewouldinformtheTexasRangersoftheincident,butheassuredHenrythatfolksinFortWorthweresafe.

Mr.Goldthwaiteplannedforthenextdayatrip

toPaloPinto,asmallcommunityhalfaday’sridewest,toshowHenrythenewranch,causingHenrytosmileforthefirsttimesincehavingleftCorpusChristi.

BarleighhopedPaloPintosmelledlikeitsounded—likeahorse.Likeasweatyhorse.

“Theland,eighthundredacresandmoretobehadifyoudesire,”saidMr.Goldthwaite,“liesbetweena

forkoftheBrazosRiverandtheCoffeeCreek,thecreekgettingitsnamebecauseitturnsdarkreddishbrownwhenastormchurnsandmuddiesthewater.Itfoamsontopbecauseoftheloosesiltfromthecalichebeds,likesomeoneaddedahelpingofcream.Idon’tknowaboutyou,”hewinked,“butIsuredolikecreamwithmycoffee.”

Barleighaskedifshe

couldnametheirnewhome“TheCoffeeCreekRanch.”Henrygaveacomicalwinkandadramaticnod,sendingBarleighintoafitoflaughter.

*****RidingthroughthetownshipofDallas,Barleighhadspiedapalominohorsetiedatahitchingpost,andshethoughtofWillow.Paleyellowcottonwoodsputtingontheirfallcolorsandyellowhorseswerenostalgicsymbolsthat

triggeredmelancholymemories.

Shepouredwateronthecampfireandthencovereditwithascoopofdirt.Huddleddeepinherbedroll,shewrappedtheblackandredNavajoblanketaroundhershoulders,wonderingwhatthenextday’sridemightbring.

CHAPTERFIVESEPTEMBER27,1860

Jamesonappearedwithatrayoffreshglassesrimmedinsugar,apitcheroflemonade,whiskeyontheside,andanassortmentofripefruit.Afterlayingoutclean,pressedlinennapkinsandtidyingthetable,heaskedinaclippedBritishaccent,“Willtherebeanythingelse,sir?”The

fullnessofhisdarkmustachecoveredhismouthandhungwellbelowhissquarejawline,hisfurrycaterpillareyebrowsarchingupwardtoaccentuatehisinquiry.

“Thankyou,Jameson,that’llbeallfornow,”saidHughes,centeringthetrayonthetable.

LeighsellewatchedasJamesonretreatedintotheshadowsofthehotel,hisimpeccableuniformspotless.

Theoldcloudofdoubtandguiltcreptintohermind,andshewonderedagainwhatitmightbeliketoownareputableestablishmentlikeahotel,insteadoftherowdysaloon,LaVerne’sTavern,thatborehermiddlename.

Shefoldedandrefoldedthecrispwhitenapkin,movedtheglassoflemonadeaninchthisway,twoinchesthatway,andpickedattheripe,red

strawberryonherplate.“So,”shesigheddeeply,elicitingarattlingcoughthatshookthetable,“therestofmystorywon’ttellitself,willit?”

“No.”Hughesshookhishead.Hewaited,givinghertimetocollectherthoughts.

Leighselle’sgazedriftedacrossthesceniclandscape,settlingonapointsomewherealongabendintheriver.“Aftertheattack,I

wantedtodie.IfelthorribleguiltthatsomehowIhadbroughtiton.Butitwasn’tmewhodied.Typhoidfeverwastakingitstollinthepoorerquarters,anditspreadthroughouttheparish,soonclaimingmymother,father,andmostofourservants.”

“GoodGod,Leighselle.Ihadnoidea.Howdidyousurvive,afterwhatyou’dbeenthrough?”

“Ihadnochoice.The

nextmorning,afteranightofwishingIweredead,Iawoketofindthehouseholdquiet,motherandfatherinbed,andtheyweredeathlysick.IsomehowpulledmyselftogetherandfoundthewherewithaltorideintoVermillionParishtofetchDoctorBronstein.Hecamerightaway,andforthreedayswedidallwecouldformyparents.ThenIgotsickwiththetyphoid,too.”The

memoryoftyphoid’sdeadlyfevercausedavisibleshudder,andLeighselledottedherforeheadwithherhandkerchief.

Hughesmovedhisplateasideandpouredtwocupsofcoffee,passingonetoLeighselle.“Whatyearwasthis?Youwere—?”

“Fifteen,almostsixteen.ItwasSeptemberof1836.DoctorBronsteincalledit‘themonthofdeath.’I

rememberwakingup,lookingoutthewindow,withthesensationofbeinginaverybaddream.”

*****Theskyisonfireandthesunhasgoneblack.Lyingbackonthepillow,Leighselledriftedinandoutofdreams.Fierydreams.Dreamsofpanic,terror,andpain.Running.Falling.Drowning.Ahandoverhermouth.Suffocating.Screaming.

Fadingtonothing.Nothing.BigBettywalkedinto

theroomandsatateatrayatthefootofLeighselle’sbed.“Wakeupnow,MissLeighselle.Timeforafternoontea.Ibrungyoucinnamonscones.Yougonnalikethemscones,um-hm.Idonebutteredthemforyou.”

Leighsellesatup.“WhereamI?”

“You’satDoctorBronstein’shouse.Idonetold

youthesamethingeverytimeyouask,butthat’sfine.Youbeensickagoodwhile.Youboundtoforgetwhatyoudoneask.”BigBettyfistedherhandsonheramplehips.“ButtodayIseetheol’Leighselleshiningthroughthemeyes.Thankyou,Lawd.”

“IthoughtIheardJacqueswhimpering.Ishesick,too?”AwaveofpanicwashedoverLeighselleas

shelookedaroundforherdog.

“Hefine.Herighthereonthefloorlickingupcrumbs.”Bettyliftedthelittledogontothebedandheburrowedundertheblanket.“Whatspreadroundhereain’taffectingtheanimals.Onlythepeoples.”BigBettyopenedthewindowontheoppositesideoftheroom.“Butonlysomepeoples.Addy-Frankandherchild,

Birdie,theyallright,butAddy-Frank’stwinbabies,theytooweakandyoungtofightsomethinglikethis.DoctorBronsteinbeallrighttoo,’causehesayGodprotecthimsohecantreatthosethatbesick.”

“MotherandFather?Wherearethey?Aretheyathome?Aretheyallrightnow?Iremembertheyweresick.Ihelpedtakecareofthem.Iremember...”

DoctorBronsteinrappedonthebedroomdoor.“Iseeyouareawake,MissLeighselle.MayIenter?”

“Yes,pleasecomein,”shesaid,settingtheemptyteacupaside.

BigBettypouredanothercup.“Drinkmore,baby,ifyoucan.Youneedstrength.Doctor,youwantIshouldwaitoutside?”

“No.No,BigBetty.Ithinkyoushouldstay.”

“Yes’suh.”“Leighselle,”hesaid,

pullingachairuptothebed,“wemusthaveaseriousdiscussionaboutyourcircumstance.Letmelistentoyourlungsfirst.”

Afterabriefexam,DoctorBronsteinpattedheronthebackandsaid,“Well,child,youareontheroadtorecovery.Notemperature.Eyesandthroatclear.Aslightrattleinyourlungsbut

muchimprovedevenoveryesterday.You’llbefittotravelwithinthemonthifyoucontinueimproving.”

“Fittotravel?WhereamIgoing?Wherearemyparents?”Shesatupstraighter.Theserioustoneofthedoctor’svoicecausedaninneralarmtobeginchiming.

BigBettysatonthebedandtookLeighselle’shandinhers,Doctor

Bronsteintakingtheother.Withhisfreehand,hepushedhisglassesbackuponhisnose,thenchangedhismindandtookthemoff,tuckingthemintohiscoatpocket.Beadsofsweatglistenedonhisbaldhead,whichheblottedwithhisshirtsleeve.

“Thisisunpleasant,mychild,butthereisonewaytodealwithtragedy,andthatisstraighton.Thefactisthatyourparentsdidnotrecover

fromtheirillness.I’mverysorry.Wedidallwecould,butitwasnottobeforthemtogetwell.”

AsobtriedtoforminthebackofLeighselle’sthroat.Atearbrimmedbutthensettledbackintoplace,asiftheeffortwastootaxingforherexhaustedbodythathadspentthelastmonthhoveringclosetodeath.“When?”sheasked,hervoiceawhisper.

“Amonthago,justbeforeIbroughtyouheretomyhouse.Youweregravelyill,too.Iwasn’tsuremymedicinewouldpullyouthrough.”

“Isee.Andtheslaves?”

“Allgone,exceptforAddy-FrankandhereldestchildBirdie.I’mafraidthattheyareallyouhaveleft.”Thedoctorpattedhisforeheadagain,blottingthe

perspiration.“AllIhaveleft?What

doyoumean?Ihavetheanimals—thehouse—theproperty.”That’snotlogical,Leighsellethought.Thedoctorwasmakingnosensetoher.

DoctorBronsteinlookedhardintohereyes.“Letmebequickwiththis.It’sbesttobequick.Onhisdeathbed,IpromisedyourfatherthatIwouldlookout

foryou.Hesentforhisattorneytowitnessmebecomingyourguardian.Doyouunderstand?”

Leighsellenoddedherunderstanding.

“Bothyourfatherandyourmotherlovedyouverymuch.Itwastheirfinalwishthatyoushouldnothavetoworryaboutthefuture,ifyousurvived.TheyaskedthatIselltheranchandputthefundsinatrustforyou.Do

yourecallyourneighbortothenorth,themanwhoseplantationbordersyourproperty?”

“Yes,Iknowhim.MyfathercalledMisseurBaptisteabraggerandacrookandacruelexcuseforaman.Fathersaidheoncebeatahorsehalftodeathforsuckinginairandrefusingtobesaddled.”

“Yes.Hehasareputationforbeingrough.

Butheofferedafairpriceforyourproperty,includingthecattleandhorses.”Then,lookingatBigBetty,hesaid,“Pleasebringmeaglassofwater,Betty.”

“Yes’suh.”DoctorBronstein

tappedhispocketasifrememberingwhereheputhisglasses,andthenslidthembackontohisface,nudgingthemintoplace.“MisseurBaptiste’sone

stipulationwasthatthebuildingsbesetafire.Icouldnotconvincehimthattheairinyourhomewasnottainted,thatthisdiseasedidnotcomefrombadair.But,heinsisted.”

Leighsellelookedoutthewindow.“Theskywasonfirethismorning.Isawitfrommywindow.IthoughtIwasdreaming.Thatwasmy—”

“Yes,thatwasyour

house.Thecarriagehouseandtheslave’squarters,too.Hesenthismenover.Ihadnochoice.Besidesthemoneyfromtheland,you’veretainedownershipofAddy-FrankandBirdie.”

“Ownership?Idon’tknowthefirstthingabouttakingcareofslaves.I’llsetthemfree.IrecallFathertellMotherthatothersaredoingso.”Hearingclearlyherfather’svoiceinherhead

speakingtohermotherseemedsurreal.They’regonenow.I’mallalone.

“Insomenorthernstates,yes.Butit’sagainstthelawinLouisianatoemancipateaslave.Youcouldgotojailrightalongwiththeslaveyouweretryingtofree.”Hereachedfortheglassofwater.“Thankyou,Betty.”

“Yes’suh,”noddedBigBettyasshemovedtothe

sidetableandbeganherpreparationofmedicinaltea.

“Besides,”thedoctorcontinued,“you’llneedAddy-Frankasyourhandmaidtohelpyouwithpersonal,day-to-dayrequirements.I’veenrolledyouinschoolupinShreveport.”

Leighselle’sstomachlurched.“Whatkindofschool?I’veneverbeentoschool.Motherhiredtutors.”

Acoldsweatbegantoformonherbrow.ShereachedforthecupofteaBigBettyoffered,herhandsunsteadyandweak.

“Iunderstandthisisashock,somuchinformationtotakeinatonce.Butthisisbest.You’llnotbetiedtoaplaceofbadmemories.Theranchwouldbeimpossibleforyoutoundertakeonyourown.You’llbegoingtoschoolattheMedical

HospitalinShreveport.That’swhereIstudiedtobecomeadoctor.It’soneofthefinestfacilitiestolearnmedicineoutsideofVirginiaMilitaryInstitute,whichdoesn’tallowfemales.Shreveportwillallowfemalestudentsintheirnursingprogram.”Thedoctoremptiedtheglassofwater,refillingit.

“ButIdon’tliketobearoundsickness,”Leighselle

protested,tryingtokeephervoiceevendespitetheadrenalinepushingithigher.“Thesmellofvomitgagsme.Thesightofbloodmakesmeswoon.Thesoundofpainedwailingterrifiesme.I—Icannot.”

“Don’tbeafraid,child.You’llbefine.It’sallsettled.I’vepaidyourtuitionwiththeproceedsfromthesaleofyourproperty,andyouhaveatidysumremainingin

atrustfundthatI’vesetupforyouattheNationalBankinNewOrleans.Onceyouareoutofschool,youcanopenaclinicofyourown.Ofcourse,you’llhavetohireadoctortoruntheclinic.But,technically,hewouldworkforyou.Now,isthatnotafineidea?”

Leighsellelaybackonherpillow,staringattheceiling.“MotherandFatherdead.Theranchsold.

MammyHannah,JohnnyBoy,Esther,alltheothersgone,too.MeinnursingschoolwithAddy-FrankandBirdy?Ineedtimetothinkthisallthrough.”

“Ofcourse,mydear.Whenyouawaketomorrowmorning,Itrustthatyou’llseethatIhavedonemybestforyou.You’llhaveaneducation,moneyinthebank,andyoucanleavethissorrowfulplaceandputyour

sadnessbehindyou.”DoctorBronsteinstoodup,steadyinghimselfagainstthedoorframe.

“Mysadnesswillcomewithme.It’sstitchedtomelikemyownskin.”

“Intime,thatsadnesswilldiminish.Yourheartwillfindwaystorefillitselfwithotherjoys.Rest,drinkthemedicineBettyprepared,andcontinuegettingstronger.”

“Yes,Doctor.Thank

you.”Leighsellerolledover,

scoopingJacquesupfromwherehe’dburrowedunderthecovers,placinghimonthepillownexttoher.Lookingoutthewindow,shetriedtoenvisionthisredlandwithoutherparents,withouttheslaveswhohadalwaysbeenapartofherlife,withoutherhome,herhorses,wherenothingremainedbutreddeath.

Shefeltvacant,hollow,asuntetheredasafree-floatingballoon.TherewasnothingleftforherinVermillionParish.Shemustfindherownway.

AplanbegantopieceitselftogetherinLeighselle’smind.Sheknewshewasnotsuitablefornursing—shedidn’thavewhatitmusttaketobeagoodnurse.Therestoodahighprobabilitythatshemightharmherpatients,

iffornootherreasonthanfordesertion.Surelytherewerelawsagainstthat.

Jacquesscoochedcloserandwhimpered,thenpokedhisnoseintothepalmofLeighselle’shand,hissignalformoreattention.Asshestrokedhissilky,triangleear,sheconsideredherfuture.Withaquietreckoning,itcameintosoftfocus,likefoggraduallyliftingovertheVermillionRiver,sothatthe

reddirtbanksandbendsandochershoalsgrewintosomethingdefinable.

“I’llbedamned,Jacques,ifwe’regoingtoShreveport.MymoneyisinabankinNewOrleans.ByGodthen,that’swhereweshallgo.”

*****Hughesstudiedthefrailwomansittingacrossfromhim.“I’mtryingtoimagineyouasafrightenedyet

determinedteenagegirlembarkingonsuchajourney.Itwouldtakegumptionforanadulttoundertakewhatyouwereconsidering.Youwerejustachild.”

Openingherparasol,sherosetoherfeet.“Iwasagirlwithgumption.Ijustdidn’tfullyrealizeityet.I’mgettingabitstiff,sitting.Let’stakeawalk,shallwe?”

“Ofcourse.AndsoyousetoffforNewOrleans.”

Astheysteppedawayfromthetable,HugheswavedatJameson,indicatingthey’dbebacksoon.

Itwasn’tpleasant,theleaving,Leighsellerecalled.Therehadbeenotherdeathstocontendwithfirst.“BythetimeIwaswellenoughtoleaveVermillionBay,bothDoctorBronsteinandBigBettyhadsuccumbedtothetyphoid,too.”

Somuchdeathinsuch

ashortperiodoftimehadleftonlyafewremainingsoulswhowereabletohelpburythedead.“Addie-Franksentforhelpfromtheneighboringplantation,buttheonlyhelpavailablewasaskinny,eight-year-oldboy.ThegravesdugforthedoctorandBigBettywereshallowandinadequate,butitwasthebestwecoulddo.”

Astheyroundedthehotel,Hughesopenedthegate

tothepatio,usheringLeighselleinside.“Icanimaginehowterrifiedyoumusthavebeen.”

“Terrified,yes,butthestrangepart,”sherecalled,asmilewarmingherfacewiththememory,“wasthatIbegantofeelstrongerandmoreself-assuredthanIhadeverfeltbefore.”

“We’remoldedbyouradversities.”HughesmotionedforJamesonand

requestedcoffeeservice,noticingthathe’dappearedatthepatio.“Wasthatalongenoughwalk?”

“Yes,perfect.”ShetooktheseatHughespulledoutforher.“Andifyouallow,adversitywillmoldyouintoabetter,moreenlightenedversionofyourself.”ShesippedthecupofblackcoffeeJamesonhadpouredfromthesterlingsilverservice.

“WhenIleftVermillionParishbehind,allIhadwerethetwolettersofintroductionfromDoctorBronstein,onefortheschoolinShreveport,whichIhadnointentionofusing,andtheotherforthebankerwhoheldmytrustinNewOrleans,whichIhadeveryintentionofusing.”

“HowdidyougettoOrleans?”askedHughes,hiscuriositybendinghim

forward.“Ihelpedmyselfto

thedoctor’sbuggyandcarthorse.First,Iwentthroughhisdeskandbureau.IwaspennilessuntilIcouldgetmyhandsonmytrust.Iknewthegooddoctorwouldn’tmindmetakingwhateverIcouldfind.Therewasnooneleftaliveforhimtogiveitto.Hehadalmosteighthundreddollarshiddeninthebackofhisshavingtoilet.”

“Youwereaverybravegirl,”saidHugheswithadmiration.“Yougrewupinahurry.”

“Yes.Intheblinkofaneye,Iwentfrombeingtheveryspoiledonlychildwhoneverwantedforanythingtohavingtwopeopleandtwoanimalswhodependedonme.Ididn’thavetimetobeapuddly,tearymess.IhadtogetustoNewOrleans,despitethefactthatIhadat

bestonlyavagueideaofwhereNewOrleanswas.”

*****EarlyNovember1836

Addy-Frank’sthin,grayshawlhunglimparoundherbonyshoulders;herdarkbrowneyes,sunkenandvacant,staredoffintothedistance.“Justkeeponaheadingthisbuggysouth,MissLeighselle.IknowIheardfolkssayN’Awleansbe

south.”Five-year-oldBirdie

laycurledinhermother’slaplikeasleepingkitten,whilehermotherstrokedthechild’ssoft,lightbrowncheekwithherfinger.Addy-FrankhadweptforanhourwhentheyleftVermillionBay.She’dcrieduntilherbodywaslimpandemptyoftearsfromhavingtoleavehertwinbabiesbehindinthereddirtgravethatheldtheother

Beauclaireslaves.“Thankyou,Addy-

Frank,butwecan’tgoanymoresouththanwe’vealreadygoneorwe’llendupintheGulfandneedingaboatinsteadofabuggy.”Leighselledrewthereinsupshort,slowingthehorse.“Weneedtomakeourwayeast.Weshouldheadeast.I’mcertain.Or,maybeweshouldgonorthfirstalittlewaytofindastageroadorrailroad

wecanfollow,onethatgoeseast.Whatdoyouthink?”

Leighsellehadtriedtoadoptanairofconfidence—shewantedtofeelcertainaboutwhereshewasgoing,buttheonlythingshefeltassuredaboutwasleavingVermillionParish.Theplacesmelledofdeath.

“WhatIthink?IthinkyouthewhitegirlandItheblackgirlandyouneedtostartactinglikeitandquit

askingmewhatIthink.Idon’twanttothink.AllIwanttodoisgobacktothetimebeforethatol’typhoidtookmybabiesaway.”Addy-Frankdrewhershawlaroundhershouldersandturnedherchintheotherdirection.

“Oh,”Leighsellesaid,stunned.Shepulledhardonthedrivinglinesandreinedthecarthorsetotheleft,headingeast.

*****

January1,1840–FourYearsLater

LeighsellecalledtoAddy-Frank,“Wehavetwomore.Pleaseattendtotheirwoundsandseetoitthattheyhaveahotmealandabath.Thesegirlslookworseoffthanthefirstthree.”Leighselle’spulsethrobbedinhertemples—herheadachedasangerpercolatedjustbelowthesurface.“It’sworseevery

year,thesegirlscominginhereabusedandbeatup,thendumpedonmydoorstep.NewYear’sEveshouldbeoutlawed.”

“Yes’sum,MissLeighselle,butain’tmuchlefttofeedthempoorgirls.We’saboutoutafoodinthepantry,”saidAddy-Frank.SheheadedtothebackoftheSewBeauclaireShoppe,wheregirlsinneedhidoutuntilwoundsmendedor

memoriesfaded.Shemutteredtoherself,“Lostgirlsshowingupwithasobstoryorasplitlip,themworkinggirlsfromthetavern,ain’tnowonderweain’tgotmuchleft.”

“MissLeighselle,”saidBirdie,“theyagentlemanknockingatthefrontdoor.Hewearingatorntopcoat.Specheneedsitmended.”Birdie,smallforherage,hadsilkyblackcurls

thathunginlong,thickspiralsdownherback.Herfineexoticfeatureswerepulledintoaseriousfrown.“Whysomeonewantstodobusinessonaholiday?MissLeighselle?Wantmetoshowhimin?”

“No,Birdie,myhandsarefullthismorning.Tellhimwe’reclosedinobservanceoftheNewYear,”saidLeighsellefromthekitchenasshesortedand

washedapples.“Closed?”shouted

Addy-Frankfromdownthehallway.“MissLeighselle,weain’tneverclosed.Weneedthemoney.Yousaytherentbeduesoonand—”

“Calmyourself,Addy-Frank,it’sallright.”Leighsellesighedwithfrustration.“You’recorrect.Weneedthemoney.Showhimintotheparlor,Birdie.”

Thecustomerstepped

intothefrontroom,removinghistopcoatandhat,handingthegarmenttoBirdie.“Topthreebuttonsaremissingandlapelistorn.”Heturned,asardonicsmilespreadingacrosshisface,andstaredatLeighselle,whostoodinthekitchendoorway.

Leighselledrewinaquickbreathofsurprise.“You.Whatareyoudoinghere?Youmustleaveatonce.Takeyourcoatandleave.”

“Isawthesignaboveyourdoor,‘SewBeauclaire.’Icouldn’thelpbutnoticethename.Yourbusiness,Iassume?”SeamusFlandersstrolledintothekitchen,hishardblueeyesscanningtheroom.

Leighsellebackedaway,acoldfearwashingoverher.“Isaidtoleave.”

“IwentbacktoVermillionBay.Everythingwasgone,evenyourhouse.

Theentireparish,vaporized.”Seamusfoldedhishandsacrosshischest,staringather.“Ihadgonebackforyou,totakeyoutoTexas,tomakeyoumywife.Myranchsettled,ahomebuiltforus,moneyinthebank.Everythingwasready.”

Leighsellecontinuedbackingaway,feelingthecolordrainingfromherface,theheatfromherbody.

“Iwastoldthat

everyonediedexceptforafewslaves.IguessIwastoldwrong.”Hissmilewascold.

“Yes.Nowallthat’sleftareunwelcomememoriesandghosts.”SheleanedfurtherawayasSeamusinchedcloser,awaveofpanicshootingthroughher.“YoumustleaveorI’llscream.”

“Scream?Thenwhat?Frightentheprettylittlechildthatansweredthedoor?

Summontoyouraidyourdarkieanddrunkenwhores?I’llbehappytoputthemallintheirplace.”

SeamusreachedforLeighselle’shandbutsheswatteditaway.Shegropedbehindherback,tryingtofeelfortheparingknifeshehadleftlyingonthecounterbesidethebowlofapples.

“Idreamedofthis—ofyoubeingalive,ofmefindingyou.Isawthegraves

ofyourmotherandfather,butnotonewithyournameonit.Iknewinmyheartyouweren’tdead.”

“Youdon’thaveaheart,”shespatoutthewords,herfearcongealingandhardeningintorighteousanger.

“Itoldyouonthatday,Leighselle,thatyoubelongedtome,thatyou’dalwaysbemine.”Withroughhandsheseizedbothofher

wristsandpulledhertowardhim.“Rememberthatday?Ithinkaboutitallthetime.”

“I’mnotyours.You—youtooksomethingthatdidn’tbelongtoyou.You’reanevilpersonwhoattackedaninnocentchild.”Thehorriblememorysickenedher.

“ThankGodIcameto’OrleansfortheNewYear.ThankGodthatItoremycoat.ThankGodsomeone

pointedmeinthedirectionofagoodseamstressshop.”Hegrippedherwriststighter.“ThankGodIfoundyouandyou’restillalive.MaybenowI’vegotenoughreasonstostartbelievinginGod.”

Leighsellestruggledagainsthim,tryingtofreeherwristsfromhisgrip.Turningherheadleftandright,shefoughttoresisthissloppykisses.Whiskeyandcheapcigarsflavoredhisbreath,his

clotheslookingandsmellingasifhehadsleptinthem.

Shemanagedtopullonehandfreeandreachedbehindfortheknife.Theheavybowlofapplestippedoffontothefloorandclangedlikeabellasithit,theredfruitrollingoutlikeshinychildren’smarblesacrosstheblackandwhitecheckeredtilefloor.TheloudnoisecaughtSeamusoffguardlongenoughforLeighselletoslip

outofhisgraspandrunpasthim.

“Youallright,MissLeighselle?Iheardanoise.”Addy-Frankwalkedintothekitchenandsawthebowlofapplesstrewnacrossthefloor.“Whathappenedhere?”ShelookedfromSeamustoLeighselle.

Birdiewalkedintothekitchenbehindhermotherandbeganpickingupthespilledfruit.“Iwashthem

off,MissLeighselle.It’sallright.”

“Iwasclumsyandknockedthemtothefloor,Addy-Frank.”Shekepthervoicecalm.Noneedtoalarmanyone.“Doyouhaveourcustomer’smendingfinished?”

“Almost.Justneedtoputafewmorestitchesin.Bejustaminute.”Thesmallmanwithcopperhairandrussetfrecklesseemedunimposing

untilshelookedintohiseyes;thensheshivered.Shegavehimahardstarebeforewalkingbacktohersewingroom.

Seamusraisedhiseyebrows,hissilveryblueeyesdarkening.HenoddedtowardBirdie.“Yousureareaprettylittlegirl.What’syourname?”

“Birdie,”shesaid,fidgetingonherfeet,theapplesnowbackinthebowl.

“My,ifyoudon’tfavorMissBeauclaire.Y’alllookenoughaliketobesisters.”Seamusstudiedthechildamomentlonger.“Howoldareyou?”

“She’snotmysister,she’sAddy-Frank’sdaughter,andshe’snoneofyourbusiness,”saidLeighselle,steppingbetweenhimandBirdie.“Nowtakeyourcoatandleave.”

Addy-Frankwalkedin

withSeamus’scoatandhandedittohim.“Youallfixedupnow.Thatbefivecents,please.”

Seamusignoredher.“Don’tyouagreethere’sastrongfamilyresemblancetotheBeauclaires?”HeturnedtoAddy-Frank.“YoubelongedtoLeighselle’sfather.Irememberyouasoneoftheirhouseslaves.”

“Enoughwiththequestions,”Leighsellesaid.

“Leavenow.Neversetfootonmythresholdagainoryou’llbesorry.”

“Saveyourthreats.Butunderstandthis.I’llbeback.”Seamusgrabbedhiscoatashemarchedtowardthedoor.Beforeleaving,hetossedatwenty-dollargoldpieceontothecounter.“Keepthechange.”

Hedisappearedintotheloud,boisterouscrowdthatcloggedthestreetinfront

ofLeighselle’sshopwheresomerevelersweresinging,somelaughing,andsomelookingforaplacetoduckoutoftheheavyrainthathadbeguntofall.

“Takeyourdamnmoneywithyou!”Leighsellescreamed,scoopingthecoinup,throwingitagainsttheslammingdoor.

“Don’tbeafool,MissLeighselle,”saidAddy-Frank.“Bealongtimebefore

weearnthisamount,justmendingfolks’clothes.Weneedmedicineansuch.Ourfoodismostlycrumbsanscraps.Rentbedue.Thismoneytakecareaallthat.”

Leighselleglaredather.“Youhavenoideawhatyouaresaying.Thatmoneyisevil.It’sbadmoney.It—”Leighselle’svoicewashighandshrill,thedarkmemorysinkingher,sendinghertotheflooronherknees.“I

don’twanthismoney.”“Ispecthatyoupaida

horriblepriceforthisgoldcoin,”saidAddy-Frank,droppingtothefloor,takingLeighselleinherarms.“There,now.Yougoaheadancry.Getitallout,butgetitoverwith,”shesaid,rockingLeighselleinherarms,“causewehavemoreimportantthingstodothanthinkaboutthatfoulmanwhowalksinthedevil’sshadow.”

Leighselleranahandacrossherface,wipingatthetears.“He’snotfinished.He’llbeback,nowthatheknowsI’mstillalive—thatI’mhere.”

“IsmelledhiswickednesswhenBirdiebrungmehiscoattosew.Iknewhebebadnewseven’foreIrememberedhisface.Buthewon’tbebackherebotheringyou.Itookcareathat.”Shecontinuedtorock

Leighselleinherarms.“Youtookcareof

what,Addy-Frank?Whatdoyoumean?”

“ImeanItookcareathatevilman.Isewedacurseintohispocket.Sewedittight.Firstfivestitchestakeawayhishealth,happiness,love,money,anfamily.SixbethenumberofEvil.Sixthblackstitchmakeitfinal.Satanhisselfgonnastealhisbreathanescorthimtohell.”

Leighsellewentpale.Achilltickledherspineandcoldbeadsofsweatdottedherbrow.“Addy-Frank,whathaveyoudone?Amanwiththosecursesisamanwithnothingtolivefor—withnothingtolose.”

PullingawayfromAddy-Frank,Leighsellemovedtothewindowandstoodwithherforeheadpressedagainstthecoolglasspanes.Shestaredatthe

wideningpuddlesontheground,watchingbigdropsofrainplopandsendechoingripplesacrossthesurface.Rainpouredfromthedarkeningsky,makingthefirstdayofJanuaryaluckyday.Rainonthefirstdaymeantshowersofblessingsallmonthlong,butshefearedastormwasuponher.Shivering,shedrewthevelvetcurtainsclosedagainstthedrearyscene.

*****SixMonthsLater–July4,1840–PortofOrleans

Theportcityswelteredinhighnoon’sheatandhumidity,thestagnantsaltyairhospitabletomosquitoesandmalaria.Cargoshipsthatweren’tmooredtoadockcloggedtheBayofOrleans,waitingtheirturn,ridingtheeasyswellsthatlifted,rocked,andsplashedthe

vessels’eagersailors.CreoleandNegro

dockworkersbentshouldertosweatyshoulderunloadingimportedgoodswhileotherstoiledatloadingthecargomeantforexport.Allalongthebay,therewasarevolvingpasdedeuxofcratesoftropicalfruitandcoffeecomingin,andcattleandcottongoingout.

Therowdy,fetidpiersandsidewalksaroundthe

dockswerejammedwithrestaurantchefs,hotelcooks,andhagglinghouseslaveshopingtosnatchabargainonabrokencrateofspoiledfruitorspilledcoffee,whilehawkersbarkedtheirdailyofferingsoffreshGulfCoastredsnapperandbaylobsters.Small,roundbirdsonquickfeetdodgedcats,broomsticks,andbootsastheysnappedupscrapsoffishscalesandbreadcrumbs.

“MissLeighselle,”saidAddy-Frank,fingeringthecoinsinherpocket.“Idoneboughtallthecoffeewecanstandforamonth.Atagoodprice,too.”

“Look,Addy-Frank.Brahmancattleareatthelivestockdock.Thosearethecattlethatmyfatherraised.”Shepausedatthememory,afaintsmilecrossingherface.“Fatherlovedtheirbeautifulgraycoats,andIremember

thelittlecalves’sweetfaces,theirlargeeyes,withtheirlong,floppyears.Ohno,lookout!”

Asilvery-hidedbullhadbustedthroughthewarpedplanksoftheholdingpenandwasbarrelingdownthenarrowpassagebetweenseller’sboothscongestedwithshoppersandhawkers.Thetwothousand-poundbeastwithhiscone-shapedhornssplitthecrowdintwo,left

andright.Frightenedpeoplestomped,pushed,shoved,andshoutedintheirattempttosavethemselvesfromtherampaginganimal.

AsshescreamedoutawarningtoAddy-Frank,thebullstruckLeighselleaglancingblow,sendinghersailingthroughtheair.Landinginaheap,Leighsellelayunconscious,headbloodied,unmoving.

Inaninstantshewas

scoopedupinthesturdyarmsofatallmanwhosefaceseemedtoreflectthesun.Heyelledatthecrowdtowatchout,thattheanimalwascomingback.Thebullwascausingallsortsofdestruction,tossingpeople,tables,andchairsintotheair,tramplingbooths,knockingdowntents.

“He’sturningandcomingback!Standaside,”themanshoutedinanaccent

heavywithIrishbrogue.LayingLeighselledownontopofavendor’stable,heturnedandpulledhisrevolverasthehordeofpeoplescatteredinmasspanic.Takingcarefulaim,hefiredonce,droppingtheragingbullmomentsbeforeitcamewithingoringdistancefromwherethered-headedstrangerstoodhisground.

Turningbacktotheunconsciousfigurelayingon

thetable,hetookheragaininhisarmsandbeganwalkingtowardthetownsquare.“WheremightIfindadoctorforthiswoman?”hecalledouttonooneinparticular.

“Thedoctorbethisway,”saidAddy-Frank.“I’mwithher.HernameLeighselleBeauclaire.Whoeverownthatbullyoujustshotankilledbemightyangrywithyou,nomatterthedestructionhebecausing.”

Addy-Frankwalkedatafastclip,talkingandmotioningasshemovedthroughthecalmingcrowd.

“Iownhim.I’mnotpleasedthatIhadtokillthepooranimal,butallowinghimtotrampleandgoreacrowdofshoppersdidn’tseemliketheneighborlythingtodo.”

Leighsellestirred,eyesfluttering,moaning.“Whathappened?Whatare

youdoing?Whoareyou?”“Youaskalotof

questionsforaninjuredwoman,”saidHenryFlanders,hisbrightblueeyesflashingamixtureofamusementandconcern.“Younearcametobetrampledbyabull.I’mcarryingyoutoadoctortoseeaboutyourinjuries.Myname’sHenryandtoday’smyfirstdayinAmerica.Sofar,I’dsayit’sbeenanexciting

one.Thereyouhaveit,andthereitis.”

*****Leighsellecoughedintoherhandkerchief,pattingawaythedropletsofblood.“ThatwasthemomentIfellinlovewithHenryFlanders.”Shewouldalwayslovehim—wouldtakethatlovetohergrave.

Hughespouredcoffee,sippinghissteamingandblack.“Idon’tmeantosound

obtuse,buthowinthehelldidyoufallinlovewiththesonofamonster?”

“Ididn’tknowHenrywasSeamus’sson.”Ifshehadlearnedthetruth,wouldithavemadeadifference?She’daskedherselfthatquestionmanytimes.“Ididn’tlearnSeamus’snameuntillater,soIdidn’tconnectthetwoofthem.”

“Isee.WhywasHenryinNewOrleans?”

“Henrydecidedtoimmigratehere,too,tofollowhisfatherwho’dcometoTexasmanyyearsearlier.HisfatherhadhimgotoEnglandfirsttoselectabulltobringwithhim,sincehisoriginalsource,myfather,hadbeenlongoutofbusiness.”

“Aftertheincidentonthewharf,”askedHughes,refillinghiscup,“whathappened?”

“Forthreemonths,we

weretogetherwhileHenryarrangedtheshippingandreceivingofareplacementbull.Wewereneverapartasinglemoment.Ibecamepregnant,andwemarriedrightaway.”

HughesleanedforwardandpouredLeighselleanothercupofcoffee.“Andthisisthedaughterthatyouwantmetofind?”

“Yes.”Leighselle

nodded.“Whathappenedto

Henry?”“Therewasadelayin

thereceivingofthereplacementbull,aproblemwiththepaperwork.HenryreceivedatelegraphfromhisfatherstatingthatHenrywastotraveltoEnglandandgettheproblemstraightenedout.Ibeggedhimnottogo,ortotakemewithhim.Henrywascertainthateverythingwould

befine,thathewouldreturnbeforeourchildwasborn.”Leighselleshookherheadatthememory,acoughrattlingherfrailbody.

“But?”Hughesasked,gesturingwithhispalmsfaceup.

“Butthingsweren’tfine.”Leighsellelookedacrossthetableatherdearfriendandwonderedwhyshe’dneverspokenofherpastwithHughes—hewasso

easytotalkto—andthemoreshetalkedaboutit,thelessitseemedsohorrible.Sostaining.“Thingsweren’tfineatall.Seamusmadegoodonhisthreat.Hecameback—justlikehesaidhewould.”

*****EarlyafternoonwassiestatimeinSanAntonio,andLeighsellewasexhausted.HughesescortedhertohisroomonthesecondflooroftheMenger,whereshesettled

inforanafternoonnap.Then,hehurrieddownstairstomeetwithDoctorSchmidtintheColonialRoom,makingarrangementsforhercare.

HewouldhavejustenoughtimebeforemeetingwithJamesontomakeittothetelegraphoffice.There,hewouldsendwordtohisfederalcontactsinWashingtonthattheycouldexpecthiminSaintJoseph,Missouri,bytheendof

October.SaintJoseph,thefirst

homestationofthePonyExpress,wasrifewithsuspiciousactivity.ImportantpeopleinWashingtonwereunhappythattheirlettersurgingthethirty-firststatetoremainloyaltotheUnionwerenotbeingdeliveredtotheirequallyimportantrecipientsinCalifornia—recipientswhosedeeppocketswerelinedwithshiny

goldnuggets.

CHAPTERSIXOCTOBER20,1860

ThursdaypassedwithoutBarleighcrossingpathswithanothersoul.OnFriday,shemetthreegoingintheoppositedirection.ThreeyoungmenheadingtoDallastojointheTexasMilitia.TheyremindedherofAuntWinnie’ssons,alleagertogotowar.“It’scoming,”they

shouted,pumpingtheirfistsintheairwithexcitement.“Warisonthehorizon.Turnaroundandjoinus.”

Theyspokeof“war”asifitwereadestination,ahappyendingtoapleasantjourney.Theirexuberancetokillortobekilledrevealedthesweetnaivetéofonewhohasneverbeenexposedtotherealityofdeath,especiallytothekindofgruesomedeaththatwarwouldrevealtotheir

innocenteyes.Timedoesnotheal.

Theclockcanneverbedialedback.Permanentscarswillremain,Barleighwantedtotellthem.Instead,shetippedherhatandkeptriding.

Afteramonotonousmorning,thedaywaschangedbyapleasanthappenstancewhenherpathcrossedthatofanotherlonerider,agray-haired,gray-beardedgentlemanonan

elderlyhorsethatwasjustasgrayasitsrider.Theymadequitethestrikingpair.

HeintroducedhimselfasMr.Templetonandsaidthathewasheadedsouthforthewinter.LikeaCanadiangoose,hewasn’tstoppingtillhecametoalarge,warmbodyofwater,specificallytheGulfofMexico.WhenBarleighmentionedthatsheusedtoliveinCorpusChristirightontheGulfcoast,he

offeredtosharehislunchifshe’dshareherstoriesofCorpus.

Shetriedtoeditherthoughtstoalterherstories,makingthemsuitthatofaboy’shistory.Afewtimessheslippedup.Mr.Templetonwassharp.Shecouldseethesuspiciongrowinginhiseyes—andinhisexpression,theconfusionoffollowingsuchataleasshewasweaving.

“Iunderstandneedingtobebelievedthatyou’reaboy,whatwithtravelingalone,”hesaid,“butyoursecretissafewithme.Isensethere’smoretoyourstory.Youcantellme,ifyouwish,whythedisguise.”

So,shedid.Shepouredouteverything.Theytalkedforhours.Itwasaneededbreakfromthehardriding,thehiding,andthepretending,andshewas

preparedtomakeupthetimesomewheredowntheroad.

Beforetheyparted,heofferedthisadvice.“Fromnowon,don’tofferfolksaglimpseintoyourpast,evenifasked,thoughI’mhonoredyoutoldme.Butforothers,tellthemyoudon’thaveapast.Thatway,youwon’truntheriskofrevealingyourself.Keepthetruthhiddeninashroudofsadness.Mostfolksdon’twanttorubupagainst

sadnessforfearit’scontagious.”

He’sright,shethought,assheguidedKingontothetrail.It’sdifficulttospeakofthepastwithoutgettingemotional.Bettertokeepallofthatburied.SharingstorieswithMr.Templeton,thehurthadbecomerealandrawagain.Shewouldbecomethesad,mysteriousBarFlanderswhoseunspeakablepast

causedtoomuchpaintosharewithothers.

Andwasn’tthatreallythetruth?

Mr.Templetonhadgivenherapartinggiftofabagofroastedcoffee.Shedecidedtomakeatoasttohimeachmorningandtothinkofhimandtorememberhiskindness.ShefeltcertainthatMr.Templetonwasmorehowgrandfathersweresupposedtobethantheone

shehadknown.TheTexas-Arkansas

borderwaswhereBarleighpitchedcampforthenight.Feelingmoretiredthanshe’deverbeen;however,herspiritswerehigh.InthisbordertowncalledTexarkana,shelearnedofawell-traveledcattleroutethatheadedduenorthintoFortSmith,Arkansas,whereshecouldpickupthestagecoachintoSaintJoseph,Missouri.

BynothavingtotraveltoLittleRock,shecouldsavetwodaysorbetterofriding.

Lookingforwardtoagoodnight’srestandtoroastedcoffeeinthemorning,Barleighjottedafewnotesinherjournal.Perhapsherdreamwolfwouldappearinhersleeptonight,shewrote,sketchingthefour-leggedcreatureinthemarginsofherbook.Hiscompanywouldnotbeunwelcome.

*****Shewantedabath.Oralhygienewaseasilyadaptedtolifeonthetrail,butshewonderedhowmuchlongershecouldgowithsimple,discretespongebathsofcertainbodyparts.Atleastitwasn’thertimeofthemonth,shethought.ThatissuewouldtakesomecleverplanningonhowtocopewithandconcealaftertakingonlifeasaPonyExpressrider.

Oh,thethingsIdidn’tconsider....

One-thirdofthewaytoFortSmith,shefoundherselfbehindaherdofMexicancattleheadedtomarketinKansas.Shefollowedalongforawhilebeforethedustandthefliesbecameanuisance.Pullingoffthetrail,shetookanafternoonnap,somethingofaguiltypleasure,butanhour’srestgaveherandherhorsean

extraboostofenergy,sotheytraveledwellintothenight.

Farpastmidnight,judgingfromthemoon’sheavenlypath,andfeelinglonely,shemadecamp.Homesick.ThinkingofAuntWinnieandUncleJackandtheirthreeboys.MissingStarling.PapaandBirdie.Along,monotonousdayinthesaddlelefthermindnumbwithtoomuchtimetodwellonthoseshelovedandthose

shelongedfor.Removingherbedroll

fromthesaddle,shewasremindedofPapa’sfriend,CharlieGoodnight,whovisitedthesummerbeforeStarlingwasborn.He’dpresentedherpapatheNavahoblanketasagift.TherehadbeenmanyIndianuprisingsthatyear,brutalattacksonsettlers,evenmorebrutalretaliationsatthehandsofwhitemen.Whiteoutlaws

wereperformingallkindsofunspeakableatrocitiesagainstwhitesettlersandblamingitontheIndians.Ithadbeenabloodysummer.

*****“TheselawlessactsofwhitemenpreyingonsettlersarebeingblamedonIndians.Thewhitedesperadoesresponsiblearemakingsurefolksseeitthatway.Wemustkeepawatchfuleyeonanysuspiciouscharacter,behe

redorwhite.”CaptainGoodnightwasthoughtfulwhenhespoke,choosinghiswordscarefully.HesurelywouldhavechosenmorecensoredwordshadheknownBarleighhidbehindthedoor,listening.

“WhilemostreservationIndiansareagreeabletolearninghowtofarmthelandwhichtheGovernmenthassetasideforthem,therearethosethat

refusetorelocatetoreservations.TonkawaIndians,they’dratherkillandeatafarmerthantobecomeone,whiletheCherokeeandComanchewouldbehappymurdering,mutilating,andscalpingthefarmer,alongwiththefarmer’swife,andworse.”

“Indiansaredifferenthere,Charlie,thanthefriendlylocalIndiansweencounteredontheGulf,”

Papasaid.“TheAtakapaandtheKarankawaateturtles,ducks,geese,anddeer.Itseemsyourplainstribeshavedifferentappetites.”

“Notallofthem,Henry,butsomedo.Justremembertokeepawatchfuleye.Thekidnappings,murdering,thecattlerustling,thehorsethievingareincreasing.Themutilationsarebecomingmoregruesome.Everyonemust

stayvigilant.Anyway,Henry,Ididn’tstopbyherejusttoscareyou.IwantedtobringBarleighthisNavajoblanketfromthetradingpost.Shementionedtomethelasttimeshesawminehowprettyshefoundit.Theydoweaveanicepattern.”

CaptainGoodnightleftBarleighwithabeautifulblackandredwovenblanketalongwithamindsearedhotwithimagestootroublingto

sleepthatnight.*****

Afterarestlessnightoffitfuldreams,shespentanotherlonelydayonthetrailwithoutanencounterofthehumankind,thoughshesawplentyofrabbits,squirrels,opossum,anddeer.ThepineywoodsofeastTexasandwesternArkansasaboundedwithwildlife.Theantlersonsomeofthewhite-tailstagswouldhavesetherpapa’strigger

fingertotwitching.Shecouldpicturehimgrinningfromeartoear.

Hermindwandered,althoughsheremainedvigilantofhersurroundings.Butthetrailwaseasytofollow,withKingstayingontask.Onemoreday’sridewouldplaceherwithinsightofFortSmith,Arkansas.Thoughshe’dmissKingandwouldhateleavinghimattheliverystables,shewaseager

toboardthestagecoachthatwouldtakeheronthenextlegofherjourneytoSaintJoseph,Missouri,andtoherdestiny.

Makingexcellenttime,shefiguredtheywereaveragingbetterthanfiftymilesadaydespiteafewafternoonnapsandoneverylonglunchalongtheway.Itwasinterestingthatmostpeoplesheencountered,Mr.Templetonbeingthe

exception,readilyacceptedherasaboyridingalone,noquestionsasked.Hadshetakenthisjourneyaloneasagirl,shewouldn’thavemadeitpastFortWorthwithoutsomeonestoppingoraccostingher.

Stormcloudsrolledin,thesmellofrainthickeningtheair.Lightningstreakedacrosstheeveningskyonthehorizon.Thunderrumbledinthedistance.

She’dneverbeforesleptoutsideduringathunderstormandwasthankfulforthesmalltentthatAuntWinnieinsistedshebringalong.ThiswasthefirstindicationofbadweathersinceleavingHogMountainandthefirsttimeshe’dfelttheneedtopitchatent.Makingcampinadensepinethicketjustoffthetrail,shehopedthatthetrees’thickumbrellawouldoffermoreprotectionagainstthestorm.

Writinginherjournalnexttothecampfirewhileeatingadinnerofbeansandcornbread(withalittlerabbitcookedoverthefirethisevening)hadbecometheonethingshelookedforwardtoattheendoftheday’sride.Shewrotequickly,finishingherthoughtsbeforethethunderstormsnuffedoutthelight.

*****Lightningcrackled,the

blackeningskyburstingwithbruisedshadesofgreenandpurple.Thundercrashedandechoedthroughoutthethickpineywoods.Thereverberationsweredeafening,asifeverydemonthatstalkedtheheavensshoutedcursesinunison,andthroughtheirfistsshookthunderfromthesky.

Kingwhinniedinashrill,high-pitchedalarm,stompingandrearing.

Barleighracedtountiehimfromthelinepicket,afraidthatlightningwouldstrikethetreesandhim,too.Then,shemadeamaddashbackinsidethetent.Itprovedtobeauselessshelteragainstthemightygale,thepowerfulwindssnatchingupthetentandhurlingitaway.Allshecoulddowashuddleunderthesaddleblanketuntilthesquallpassed.

Thenightwoodswere

toodarkforhertoseefurtherthanthehandinfrontofherface.Shesatuntilmorning,dozingalittle,wet,shivering,andwaitingforthesuntocomeup.Thefearthatshewouldn’tfindherhorsecausedagloomtodarkenherspirit,agloomasgrayanddampasthesky.

Walkingincirclesforhours,callingKing’sname,whistling,lookingeverywhereforhim,proved

fruitless—hewasgone.BarleightoldherselfthatthestormnodoubtfrightenedhimsobadlythatheranallthewaytoHogMountainandbacktoAuntWinnie.Shelikedtothinkthat’swhathedid.

Shecouldn’tleavethesaddlebehind.IthadbelongedtoUncleJack.So,offshewent,saddleovershoulder,bedrollandblanketattached,andshefootedit

intoFortSmith,stumblingintotownasthesunwassettingoverthewideArkansasRiver,itsslowcurrentmurmuringsoothing,welcomingsounds.

Aboardinghousewitharoomforthenightandahotbathwerethetwothingsshewantedmostinlife.Shefoundthem,theroomcostingtwodollars,thebathtencents.Itwasaboomtownandpriceswerehigh.She’dhave

paidtwicethatnottohavetosleepinthewoodsagain.ThoughtsofIndianshidingintheshadowskeptherunsettledandrestless.Rarewerethenightswhenherdreamswerefreeoffearfulimagesofpaintedfaces,paintedwarhorses,flamingarrows,burningbuildings,andworse.

Thoughphysicallyexhausted,writingaboutherfearsandplacingthemonthe

pagesofherjournal,sheimaginedthattheywouldstayonthepagesandnottroublehersleep.Shebegantowrite.

*****JournalEntry–It’shardtobelieveitwasamonthago,thenightoftheComancheMoon,thenightsobright,sofullofpromiseandlifeanddeath.

Evenas

midnightapproached,theskywassobrightthatthestarsrefusedtoshine,theirincandescentlightnomatchforthehuge,silveryorb.Highoverhead,themooncastshadowswherethereshouldhavebeennone,miniatureshadowsasiffromthenoondaysun.

ItookPapa

anothercupofcoffeeandmyNavajoblankettowarmhimagainstthecoolingnightair.Papawrappeditaroundbothofus,andwesatshouldertoshoulder,waitingforthetinycry,thesignalthatAuntWinniehadsuccessfullydeliveredBirdie’sbaby.Welookedoutoverthe

pasturedottedwithgrazingBrahmancattle,theirfairhidesshimmeringinthevividlunarlight.

“DoyouknowtheIndiannameforwhatwecalltheharvestmoon?”askedPapa.

Ishookmyheadno.

“Wasutonwi,”hesaid.“They

callit‘themoonwhencalvesgrowhair.’”

Ourcalvesandfoalshadbegunputtingonearly,thickwintercoats,too.Naturewaspreparingthemforaharshwinter.

Thelustysoundofababy’scrypiercedthenight,startlingPapaandme

withitssuddenintensity.Weboltedforthedoor,runningintothebedroomtoseeAuntWinniewrappingablanketaroundasquirming,cryingbundle.Thefigureinthebedlaymotionless,thesheetssoakedwithblood.

“Takethebabyandgoonout.IneedtoattendBirdie.

She’slostalotofblood.Yourbabygirl’sfineandhealthy.Go.”WinniebenttoherworkandPapaandIwentbackouttotheporch,Papacradlinghisnewbabydaughterinhisarms.

Ipulledbacktheblankettoseemynewlittlehalf-sister,wonderingifshe’d

favorme,orPapa,orBirdie.“Lookatallherthick,darkhair,”Imused.

Papalaughed.“It’sthemoonwhenbabiesgrowhair,too.She’sbeautiful,justlikeherbigsister.Here,youtakeher.I’mgoingtoseeaboutBirdie,evenifWinnietriestorunmeout.”

Irockedthebaby,lettinghernuzzleagainstmyneck.Papa’swordsgavemeachill.Wasthisbaby,likethecalvesandthefoals,inforaharshwinter?Howcouldthishappentoher,too,Iwondered?Wouldshebecursedlikeme,withalifetimeofguiltthatherbirthcaused

hermother’sdeath?Please,Iprayedtoanyoneuptherelistening,toanyonebehindthemoonwhencalvesgrowhair,pleasedon’tletthisbabygrowupnotknowinghermother.

*****Wednesday,October24,

1860

Fromthesecondsheawoke,

Barleighhadcoachedherselfforthismoment.Withconfidence,thinkingandspeakinglikeaman,sheaskedtheclerkbehindthecounteroftheFortSmithMercantileandGeneralStoreforwhatshewanted.“OneticketonthenextstagetoSaintJoseph,Missouri,please.”

Theclerk,whosegirthequaledhisheight,studiedBarleighfromdownhisbent,

wartednoseforalongmomentbeforeanswering.“Well,son,thisisyourluckyday.Justsohappentohaveoneseatleft.”

“Good.Thankyou,sir.”Shebreathedaquietsighofrelief.

“You’llbetheninthandfinalpassenger.Onepieceofluggageisallowed,butyougottoholditonyourlap.Underfootwillbethemailbags.Youcarrying

anythingotherthanthatsaddle?”

“No,sir.It’sallIgot.”Shelookedhimintheeye,mantoman,unashamedofhermeagernetworth.ThesaddlehadbelongedtoJackJustin,butAuntWinniehadinsistedshetakeit.Itsvaluewasfarbeyondtheleather,wood,metal,andstitchingthatwentintoitsconstruction.

“That’safinesaddle,

butit’sstillconsideredapieceofluggage.Onyourlapitgoes,oritdon’tgo.”Heshovedhisfingerintotheairtoaccentuatehispoint.

“Yes,sir,Iunderstand,”Barleighsaid,juttingherchininwhatshehopedwasashowofmasculinedetermination.

“Fine.Listofrulesispostedoveryonderonthewall.Readandcommitthemtomemory.There’llbestops

fourtimesadayandtwiceatnighttochangeoutthemuleteamsandtoallowcomfortbreaksforthepassengers.Foodatthesecomfortstopsisextra.Expectatleastfourdaystomakethedestination.That’llbefortydollarsforathroughticket.Yes,orno?”

“Athroughticket?”Barleighswallowedhard,shiftingherweightfromfoottofoot.

“Yes,athroughticket.

Besidesthecomfortstops,thestagestopsalongthewaytopickupmailinRogers,Bentonville,BellaVista,Neosho,Joplin,Carthage,KansasCity,andLiberty.TogoallthewaythroughtoSaintJoeisathroughticket.Fortydollars,yesorno?”

Shehandedoverthemoneywithaslighthesitation.Fiftydollarswasthesumtotalinherpocket,agiftAuntWinnieinsistedon

andthatBarleighinsistedwouldbepaidbackoncehertaxesweresettledwiththebank.

Thesteely-eyedclerkhandedBarleightheticketalongwithapieceofadvice.“Forsomeofyourjourneyyou’llbetravelingthroughIndianCountry.ThesafetyofyourpersoncannotbevouchsafedbyanyonebutGod.Iffin’itwereme,I’dmakesuremygunswere

loadedandingoodworkingorder.Readthoserulesnow,boy.Yougotjusttenminutesbeforethestagepullsout.”

“Yes,sir.”Shetippedherhatandturnedtothewall,wheretherulesforproperstagecoachetiquettewereposted.

1.Abstinencefromliquorisrequested,butifyoumustdrink,sharethe

bottle.Todootherwisemakesyouappearselfishandunneighborly.

2.Ifladiesarepresent,gentlemenareurgedtoforegosmokingcigarsandpipesastheodorofsameisrepugnanttotheGentleSex.ChewingtobaccoispermittedbutspitWITHthewind,not

againstit.3.Gentlemen

mustrefrainfromtheuseofroughlanguageinthepresenceofladiesandchildren.

4.Buffalorobesareprovidedforyourcomfortduringcoldweather.Hoggingrobeswillnotbetoleratedandtheoffenderwillbe

madetoridewiththedriver.

5.Don’tsnoreloudlywhilesleepingoruseyourfellowpassenger’sshoulderforapillow;heorshemaynotunderstandandfrictionmayresult.

6.Firearmsmaybekeptonyourpersonforuseinemergencies.Donot

firethemforpleasureorshootatwildanimalsasthesoundrilesthehorses.

7.Intheeventofrunawayhorses,remaincalm.Leapingfromthecoachinpanicwillleaveyouinjured,atthemercyoftheelements,hostileIndiansandhungrycoyotes.

8.Forbidden

topicsofdiscussionarestagecoachrobberiesandIndianuprisings.

9.Gentsguiltyofunchivalrousbehaviortowardladypassengerswillbeputoffthestage.It’salongwalkback.Awordtothewiseissufficient.

Aroundbackofthe

generalstorewastheliveryandblacksmithshop,wheresixreplacementmuleswerebeingbroughtuptwobytwo.Theywerebeinghitchedinpairstotheceleritywagon,thetypethatwaslighterandfasterandthusmoreuncomfortablethanthestoriedConcords,whosereputationwasthatofacradleonwheels.

Thelarge,rawbonedmulesmatchedinsizeand

color,allofthemblack,andtheyshuffledintotheirplacesinthehitchingline.Thiscoachdidn’tlooklikeacradleonwheels,Barleighthought,butlookedinsteadmorelikeacontraptionsuitableforrattlingteethandjarringbones.

Insidethestagecoachwerethreerowsofpassengerseats,eachrowaccommodatingthreepassengers.Onthebackand

middlerow,thepassengersfacedforward,butthefrontrowfacedrearward,causingthepassengerstofacethefolksseatedonthemiddlerow.Withnotmuchroombetweenrows,thekneesofpassengersinthefrontandmiddlerowsinterlocked,andthenarrownessofthestagecausedthepassengerssittingontheoutsideoftherowstowanttodangletheiroutsidefootoutthedoortogain

legroom,puttingitprecariouslyclosetothewagon’swheels.

Afamilyofsixwerestuffedonthefrontandmiddlerows:ataciturnpreacherdressedinblack,hissombergraybride,andtheirfourdour,supplicatingchildren.TheywererelocatingtoJoplintobuildachurchofadenominationBarleighwasn’tfamiliar,thefatherhimselfhavinga

difficulttimeclarifyingfortherestofthepassengersthisnewchurch’sdoctrine.

Onthebackrow,Barleighsatwedgedbetweenalong-leggedbeanpoleofanArmycaptainwhoseuniformsmelledlikecookedcabbageandwhobraggedthathehad“beendirectedbyPresidentBuchananhimselftotraveltoKansasCityonofficialgovernmentbusiness,”andaslight-built,blond-headed

youngman.Withpride,heclaimedhewas“goingtoSaintJoetoshowthemotherPonyExpressriderswhatriding’sallabout.”

Barleigh’sheartsanktoherstomach.Thiscouldn’tbegood,shethought.Shelookeddownatthesaddleinherlap,fiddlingwiththelatigostrapstiedaroundthebedroll,pretendingnottohearthequestionthecaptainwasasking,tryingtogaina

fewminutestocomposearesponse.

“Catgotyourtongue?”Thecaptainnudgedherwithhissharp,bonyelbow.“Weallsaidour‘howdys.’Nowit’syourturn.”

“Howdy.”Breathe.Relax.Don’tseemnervous.

“Thatsoundsmightyunfriendly,don’tyouthink?”thecaptainasked,hiswordsslidingintoaslur.“We

sharedournamesandourstoriesofwhywe’reonthislittlejourney.Therulesofpolitesocietysaythatonemustreciprocate.DoIneedtoteachyoualessonontherulesofpolitesociety,boy?”ThecaptainstudiedBarleighwithhard,bloodshoteyes.

“Reciprocatingwasn’tonthelistofrules,”saidtheotherPonyExpressrider,leaningacrossBarleightoaddressthecaptaindirectly.

“Whoareyou?”askedthecaptaininahaughtyvoice.

“Ialreadyintroducedmyself.Iguessyouforgot.I’mStoneyWooten,fromFrogLevel,Arkansas.Irecalltherulesmentioningnotspittingintothewind,andnotcursingorsnoringorhoggingthebuffalorobes.Don’trecallnothingabouthavingtosharenamesandstories—justsharingyourliquorifyou

broughtany.Iseethatyoubroughtsomebutyouain’tsharing.Youdonealreadybrokearuleyourself,asfarasIcantell.”Stoneyeasedbackintohisseat,givingBarleighafriendlynudgeofhiselbow.

“Areyouhisprotectorandappointedspokesperson?”thedark-haired,mustachedcaptainaskedinanagitatedvoice.Hetookasipfromhiswhiskey

flask,makingabigshowofre-pocketingit.

“Name’sBarFlanders.I’maPonyExpressrider,too.Orsoonwillbe.”Sheremindedherselftonotactintimidatedorafraid.Bedirect.

“Well,ain’tthatsomething?”Stoneyputouthishand.“Maybeafterwegethiredon,we’llbeonthesamerelay.Wouldn’tthatbesomething?”

Barleighshookhishand.Full,firmgrip.Onepump.“Pleasedtomeetyou,Stoney.Yep,that’dbesomething.”Sheshiftedherbodypositionadegreetoputthecaptainmoreatherbackasbestshecould,giventhetightquarters.

Thecaptainretreatedintohisflaskuntilthelastdropofalcoholwascoaxedfromthecontainer.Soon,arattlingsnorefilledtheair,

reverberatinginsidethesmall,closedcoach.ThefamilyofsixwithdrewintotheirprayersandtheirBibles,ahummingdroneofdevotionsblendingwiththewhiskeyedwheezingcomingfromthecaptain.

“I’mfromdownawaysinFrogLevel.LivedinArkansasallmylife.Mypa’ssendingmeofftogetapayingjobsohewon’thaveto.HesaysIshouldhelpwith

feedingtheothertwelveyoung-unsathome.Whereyoufrom?”

Stoney’sfriendlyblueeyesandreadygrinremindedBarleighofherpapa’s.Shefoughtdownawaveoflongingthatcausedhereyestoburn.“I’mfromTexas.Don’thaveanyfamily.”

“Hell,Igotenoughtogoaround.I’llshare.”

“Imaytakeyouuponthat.”Barleighattempteda

lightheartedsmile,butitwasthin.

ThefourdaysittooktogettoSaintJosephwerelong,dusty,andmonotonous,thenightscold,cramped,anduncomfortable.Tryingtosleepwhilesittinguprightandholdingyourbaggageinyourlapinducedlittlerestyetlotsofstress.Friendlychitter-chatterdwindledtonearsilence.

NoIndians,though.

Thankfully,noIndians.Evenso,Barleigh

keptherrevolverinafirmgrip,herhandhiddenundertheMcClellansaddleatalltimes.Thesaddlestraddledherlaptheentirejourney.Thismustbehowahorsefeels,shemused.

AftertheprayingfamilydisembarkedinJoplinandtheArmycaptainstumbledoffinKansasCity,StoneyandBarleighstretched

out.Assherelaxedforthelastday’srideintoSaintJoe,herthighsfeltlightwithoutthestressofasaddlepressingonherlap.

Stoneypulledbackthecanvasflapthatcoveredthewindowopeningoftheceleritywagon;ithadremainedloweredmostofthefourdaystokeepthefinecalichedustoutofthecoach.Abandanaovermouthandnosewasstillrequiredasthe

muleskickedupmuchdustontheirgallopintoSaintJoseph.

“Well,ain’tthatsomething,”saidStoneyashepokedhisheadoutthewindow.

Thelowerhalfofhisfacewascleanwhenheretreatedbackintothecoachandremovedtheredbandanacoveringhismouthandnose.Theupperhalfofhisfacewassiftedinasoft,white,

chalk-likepowderthatmadehiseyelashesandeyebrowslookliketheybelongedtoadustyghost.

“Lookatallthempeople.Iain’tneverseensomanypeopleallatonce,justamblingaroundinnoapparenthurry.”Stoneyshookthedustfromhisbandanaandthenwashedhisfacewithwaterfromhiscanteen.

SaintJosephwason

thefringeofsettlement.Itwasthefarthestoutpostfortravelandcommerce.Itwaswheretherailroadendeditsjourneytowardwesternexpansion.Itwasahubofactivity,trade,andexchange.Itwasraucouswithcowboysbringinginmassiveherdsofcattletomarket.Itwaswheresettlementbloatedoutwardfromthecitycenter,anditwaswheretheOregonTrailpickedupjustoverthebanks

oftheMissouriRiverandthenwounditswayacrosshorizontalplains,overraggedmountainsandthroughverdantvalleysbeforereachingCaliforniaandthePacificNorthwest.

AnditwaswhereBarleighFlandershadarendezvouswithdestiny.

CHAPTERSEVENSEPTEMBER27,1860

ThewaitstaffattheMengerHotelsetadecadenteveningbuffetofsmokedhensandwildgame,savorycheeses,ripefruit,yeastrollsandwhole-grainbreads,chocolatepastries,andavarietyofimportedwinesandsparklingFrenchchampagnes.Thelavishspreadinvitedand

encouragedgluttony.HughesandLeighsellesatontheshadedpatio,sippingchilledVeuveClicquot.

“Howwasyoursiesta?”Hughesasked,settingthechampagnebottleintoanicebucket,theicealsoaluxuryimport.

“Refreshing,”Leighsellesaid,noticingthatshehadn’tcoughedinquitesometime.Sheattributedittothesiesta.Thenagain,the

champagnemighthaveplayedaroll,shethought,takinganothersip.

“Doyoufeellikepickingupthestorywhereyouleftoff?”Hughesasked.“Orwouldyouratherjustenjoytheevening?”

“Ifeellikeit,yes,thoughthismaybethemostdifficultparttotell.”LeighsellelookedatHughes,wonderingifhewouldratherjustenjoytheeveninginstead

oflistening.“Areyousureyouwanttohearmytaleofwoe?”

Hughessqueezedherhandandthenraisedhisglass.“That’swhatfriendsarefor.”

Leighselleraisedherglass,clinkingitagainsthis.“ThankGodfordearoldfriends.”

*****LeighselleclutchedtightlytoHenry’sarmandleanedinto

hissideastheywalkedtothepier,adarksenseofforebodingdimminghermood.“WhydoyouhavetogotoEngland,Henry?Idon’twantyoutogo.”

“Idon’twanttogoeither,Leighselle,butIhavenochoice.MyfatherwantsaBrahmanbulltoreplacetheoneIshot.Hewantsitfromthesamebreeder,sobackacrossthepondIgo.”Henrywrappedhisarmtighter

aroundhiswife.“Whycan’thego?”

Leighsellepouted.“Heclaimspoor

health.Besides,I’mtheonewhoshotandkilledtheanimalinthefirstplace,withgoodreasonofcourse.It’smydutytoseetoitsreplacement.FathersaidthatIshootingthebullwasanactoffolly.Ineedtosavefaceandmakeitright.”

“Anactoffolly?

Nonsense.Itwasanactofbravery.”Shecastasidelongglanceatherhusband,rememberingthedayshefellinlovewithhim,andherheartfilledwithpridelikeitalwaysdidwhensherecalledthatday.“Yousavedmorepeoplefromgettinghurt.”Leighselleclosedhereyesandfoughtoffanotherwaveofnausea.

“Morningsicknessagain,darling?”Henryasked

astheyreachedtheendofthecrowdedpier.HepulledLeighselleclosetohimastheysteppedawayfromthesidewalk,lettingotherspass.

“Yes,butI’mfine.I’mjustafraidyouwon’tcomeback,orsomethingbadwillhappen.I’mworriedthat—”

“Don’tworry,mylove.I’llbebackbeforethebabyarrives.Ineedtoimpressmyfatherandshow

himIcanaccomplishthistask.IfIworkhardandprovemyselfworthy,I’llbehandsomelyrewarded.”

“He’safatheryouhaven’tseeninoverfifteenyearsbecausehewalkedoutonyouandyourmother.AllyouhavearehistelegraphsandbankdraftsfromTexas.Howcanyouknowthathe’sreliableortrustworthy?”ThemoreLeighsellethoughtaboutit,themoreanxiousshe

became.“Whyhasn’thecometoNewOrleanstomeetyouanddiscussthesebusinessdealingsfacetoface?”

“Hisbadhealthkeepshimfromtraveling.Leighselle,wehavetotakethisongoodfaith.He’sfollowedthroughoneverythingsofar.”

“IcouldgotoEnglandwithyou.Wecouldlivethere.Notcomeback.”

Shefistedhiscoatlapelsinherhandsandplacedherheadagainsthischest.

“IhavenothinginEnglandtoofferawife.There’snothinginIrelandtogobacktosinceMadied.Myfutureishere.It’sinTexas.AtleastworkingformyfatherIhaveanopportunitytoownapartofsomething,tosupportawife.Andababy.”HenrytouchedLeighselle’sstomach,whichhintedata

small,almostimperceptiblebump.

“Nearthreemonths,”whisperedLeighselle,hereyesbrimmingwithtears.“Doyouwishforagirloraboy?”

“Oh,God,please,adaughterwho’sasbeautifulashermother.Sheshouldhaveyourgreeneyesandauburnhair,yourperfectporcelainskin.Iwon’tstandachance.You’llbothhave

mewrappedtightaroundyourdaintylittlefingers.”

“Iwouldn’tmindasonwithyourcinnamonhairandfreckles,andyoursilver-blueeyes.Ifhehasyourdimplesandreadysmile,he’llhavemewrappedaroundhistinylittlefinger.”

Thehornontheshipgavethreelongblasts,thesmokestackbelchinggraysteamintotheashenskythatwasalmostthesamehue.The

smokeblendedintothesinkingcloudsasalightdrizzlebegantomisttheair.

LeighselleclungtoHenry’scoat,thebrimmingtearsnowspillingdownhercheeks.“Iloveyou.Idon’twanttobewithoutyou.”

Henry’ssmilestretchedacrosshisface,reachingfromeartoear.“Youwon’tbe.You’rekeepingapartofmewithyou.”

HenryencircledLeighselleinhisarmsandkissedherwithalongkissthatlingered.Acouplestrollingheadtoheadandarminarmpassed;theyclearedtheirthroatsandraisedtheirbrowsbutkeptwalking.Sailorsontheshipwhistled.Leighselledidn’tcare.ShepressedintoHenry,invitingthekisstogoonforever.

“Ihateto,mydarling

girl,butImustgo.”Henrygaveheronelastkiss,thenpulledawayandsprintedtowardtheship.

Standingatthesalty,wetrailingthatseparatedthepierfromthedock,shewatchedHenrytreaduptheswingingrope-and-plankbridgethatconnectedthewalkwaytotheship.Shesawhimonthetopdeck,hatinhand,wavingather.Shesawtheshipbeingtuggedoutto

seaandfeltlikeitwasherheartbeingpulledalongwithit.Thesteamercutaslowturnawayfromthedock,thenmadeitswaytotheouterharbor.Theripplingwaketrailedbehind,connectingLeighselletoHenryinawideningV,untilatugboatcrossedthewake’spath,severingthetie.

Leighsellewept.Shestoodtransfixedwithhereyesonthehorizon.Herhands

grippedtherailthatkeptherfromtopplingintothedarkandmurkywater,andshewatcheduntilhisshipwasasmalldotdisappearingintothegray,choppysea.

“Almostthreemonthsalong?”askedafamiliarvoicefrombehindhershoulder.“IguessIshouldcongratulatemydaughter-in-law.”

Leighselledrewinasharpbreathandspunaround,

achillgrippingherheart.“You.What?Whatdoyoumean,congratulateyourdaughter-in-law?”Alltheheat,alltheblood,alltheairinherbodydrainedinasuddenrushtoherfeet,leavingherlightheadedandswooning.Areckoningwashedoverher—adawningofsomethingdreadful—somethinghersubconscioushadsuspected,yetpretendedwasnothing.

*****SanAntonio,Texas,September27,1860

Hughesshookhisheadindisbelief.“SoSeamussentHenryoutofthecountryonamissiontopurchaseabull.Towhatend,though?”

“IfSeamuscouldn’thaveme,thennooneelsecould,either.”Thehorrorofthosedaysneverlessened.Thememory,thepain,the

terrorwasvividandraweachnewday.“AndhewouldtakeawayanychanceofmeeverbeinghappyorhavingapartofHenrywithme.”

“Howdidhedoit?”Hughesaskedasherefilledtheirchampagneflutes.

“Hedruggedmewithlaudanum.Buthisevilnessdidn’tstopwithmeandHenry.HeloadedmealongwithAddy-FrankandBirdieintoawagon,andbefore

leavingNewOrleans,hemadeafewstopsfirst.IlearnedtheseterribledetailslaterfromAddy-Frank.”

*****SeamusguidedthewagontothecornerofSt.LouisandChartresStreetsandreinedtheteamofhorsestoastopnexttooneofthemanyslavepensthatlinedthebusylane.Insidethesqualidpen,whichnormallyhelduptoonehundredslaves,adozen

Negrosremained.Thegroupconsistedofadultmenofvaryingages,allwearingnewbutcheapsuits,twowomenwithcalicofrockswithmatchingscarvestiedabouttheirheads,andayoungboyoftwelveorthirteenwhoworenewshoestoobigtostayonhisfeet.Theyallpressedagainstthefarsideofthepentryingtoclaimthemeagershadeofferedbythesideofthehotel’swalls.

“Ifshestirsorstartstowakeup,”heinstructed,“giveherasipofteafromthiscanteen.Don’tletmecatchyoudrinkingfromit.Doyouunderstandme,girl?”

Birdienoddedherhead.“Yes’suh.”

“Getyourgood-byesoverwithhere,butdoitquietly.Idon’twantprospectivebuyersputoffbyabunchofwailingandcarryingon.”

“Please,MassahFlanders,pleaseletmegowithmyBirdie.SheallIhave.MyothertwobabiesIdoneburied.IcanhelptakecareofMissLeighselle.Ibeendoingiteversincethedayshewasborn.Birdietooyoungtohelpmuchwithababy.Sheain’tbuttenherself.”Addy-Frank’seyeswereredandbloodshotfromcrying,hershoulderssinkingundertheheavyweightof

whatmightbecomeofher.“She’soldenoughto

learn.Remember,noagitatingprospectivebuyers.”Seamusturnedandstrolledinsidetheopulentbuilding.Hesoonreturned,asmallmaninawhitesuitintow.

“Ihaveonetobesold,”saidSeamustotheauctioneer’sassistant.“She’schainedtothebackofmywagon.Idon’thavetimetowaituntilshesells.I’mon

mywayoutoftown.Canyouhandlethisanddeposittheproceedsintomybankaccount?”

“Indeed,sir.That’showmostprefertohandleit.Justsignthisdocumentdetailingname,age,andabilitiesofyourproperty,thenyourbankandthenameontheaccount.”Themangaveacheerfulsmile,offeringSeamusthedocumenttosign.

“Hell,Idon’tknowherageorabilities.I’dpreferifIjustsignthedocumentandyoufillintheblankshoweveryouwish.Myname’sSeamusHenryFlanders.FirstFederalofNewOrleansismybankintown.”

“Yes,Mr.Flanders.Signhere.”Theassistantpointedtothesignatureline.“She’llfetchabetterpriceifshe’scleanandwearinga

freshdress.Itdoesn’thavetobeexpensive.Themenneedtobeshavedoffacialhairandthewomentheirhaircoveredwithascarf.Ifyouwanttogetthebestprice,youneedtodemonstrate—”

“Justgetwhatyoucan.”Seamussignedthedocumentandtookhisreceipt.

HereleasedthebindingsandledAddy-Frankintotheholdingpen.Just

beforethedoorclosed,shebolted,runningtothewagon,clutchingBirdieinatightembrace.“Begood.WatchoutforMissLeighselle.Don’tgiveMistahFlandersreasontobeangrywithyou.Youunderstand,child?That’sthemostimportantthingofall.”HertearsfellonBirdie’sface.

“Iunderstand,Mama.ButIwanttocomewithyou,”sobbedBirdie.“Why

can’tIcomewithyou?”“Here’sasecretto

takewithyou,Birdie.”Addy-Frankhuggedherdaughteronelasttime,whisperinginherear.“...andneverforgetthat,baby.Alwaysrememberthat.”

“Iwon’tforget,Mama,”Birdiesaid,dodgingSeamus’sswattedslaps.

GrabbingAddy-Frankbythearm,Seamustriedtodragherbacktothepenbut

firsthadtopryBirdie’shandsfree.“Bequiet,girl,Isaidnocommotion.”Hepulledthemapart,forcingAddy-Frankbacktotheholdingpen,shovingherinside.

“Besttoremovethechildfromthemother’ssightsothewomancancalmdownbeforegoingupontheauctionblock.Ahystericalmotherneverbringsmuchmoney.IsthereanythingelseIcanassistyouwith,Mr.

Flanders?”askedtheassistantauctioneerashefinishedboltingthelockonthepen.

Withoutanswering,withnobackwardglance,Seamusclimbedupontothedriver’sseatandtookthereinsinhand,snappingthemagainstthehorses’backs.“Moveitonout,”hecommandedasheheadedthewagonupRoyalStreet,thennorthtowardAlexandria.

AsSeamus’swagon

disappearedfromsight,ashinyblackbuggypassedbytheslaveholdingpen,stoppingjustbeyondthehotel.DoctorFlemingsemerged,medicalbaginhand.Withquickstrides,hemadehiswaytotheentranceoftherotunda.Ashepassedtheholdingpen,hepaused,recognizingthefrightenedwomanonherknees,wailing,herhandsfoldedinprayer.

“Addy-Frank?What

areyoudoingattheslaveauction?Where’sMissLeighselle?”Hesathisbagonthesidewalkandsteppednexttothefence,lacinghisfingersthroughthewireenclosure.“Comehere.Tellmewhat’shappened.”

Sherushedtothefence,graspingthedoctor’scoatsleeve.Inagushofwordsandtears,sheexplainedthenightmarethathadtranspiredinthepast

twenty-fourhours.“Please,suh,Ibegyou.Pleasebuyme.Icanworkforyou,beyournurseanseamstress.Please,suh.”Herthinfacewashaunted,hereyespleading.

Thedoctorlookedstricken.“I’mnotaslaveowner.Ididn’tcomehereforthepurposeofbuyingslaves.Icametotreatasickguestatthehotel.AreyousurethatLeighsellehasbeentaken

awaybyherfather-in-law?”“Yessuh.Anhetook

Birdie,too.HestopatJudge’shouseaforebringingmehere.IheardhimsayJudgemadeitlegalforhimtodowhathedo,forhimtosignforLeighselle.”

“Thatdoesn’tmakesense.Leighselledoesn’tneedaguardianoranexecutor.”

“Leighselleain’therself.Sheactinglikeshe

outofhermind,orsomething.Ibeworriedsick’bouther.”

Theauctioneer’sassistant,withsharpenedcaneinhand,strodeouttothepen.“Allright,youthere,comealong.Looklivelyandsmart.”HepointedthestickatAddy-Frank.“Dryyourface.Nocryingontheauctionblock.”

“Please,Doctor.Pleasetakemewithyou,”she

implored.“I’msorry,Addy-

Frank.I’mnotinapositiontobuyaslave.I’mapoorcountrydoctor.Idon’tknowhowI’dmanage.”

Addy-Frankbackedawayfromthefence,herexpressionfervent.“Please,Ibegyou,suh.Please.”Herwordstrailedoffastheassistantproddedherwithhissticktowardtherotunda.

“Onceyouareupfor

sale,tellthebuyerswhatallyouknowhowtodo.Soundsmart,looksharp.You’llgotoabetterownerthemoreyoucandemonstrateallthewaysinwhichyoucanperform,”instructedtheassistant.

Theroomwasbrightandsmelledoftobaccofromthecigarsofwell-dressedmenwhopacedtheroom,assessingthegoodstobesold.Afaintsmellofbacon

lingeredontheair,thegreaseusedasabodygloss.Afinesheenontheblackskinwaspreferred;grayish,dullskinmeanttuberculosis,whichcouldkillasale.Theauctioneer’sassistantappliedavarietyoftrickstogetthebidsclimbinguntilheheard“Sold!”

Thecrowdwaslively,thebuyersanxioustosnagabargainattheendofthesellingday.Addy-Frank

walkedtotheblock,headhigh,herfaceglisteningwithtears.

“Shemaylookfrightened,butthere’swisdominthoseeyes,Icanseethatrightoff,”claimedtheauctioneer.“Tellthesebuyerswhatkindofworkyou’lldoforyournewmaster.Speakup.”

“Ianurse,anananny,anaseamstress.Icancooksome,too.Butmostly

householdduties.”AndIcansewcursesintomen’spocketsthatcomebackandlandonmyhead.Sheranherhandsintothepocketsofherthindress,feelingforthethreadsofacursesomeonemighthavesecretlysewn.

“Let’sstartthebiddingoffatonethousanddollars.Anurse,nanny,seamstress,andcook,allrolledintoone.DoIhearathousand?Onethousand

dollars.Allright,howaboutsevenhundred.Sevenhundreddollarsforalifetimeofwisdom.”

“Thepriceforaskinnybagofbonesshouldstartattwohundred,”saidawhinyfemalevoiceinthecrowd.“Shelooksfrailenoughtoblowaway,andthenwhat?Loseyourinvestment,that’swhat.”

“I’llgivetwohundred,”shoutedDoctor

Flemings,hishandsinawhite-knucklegriponhismedicalbag.Heswallowedhard,clearinghisthroat.HekepthiseyesontheauctioneerandawayfromlookingatAddy-Frank.

“Ihavetwohundredherewiththegooddoctor.Twotwenty-fiveanyone?Twohundredtwenty-five?”

Someoneacrosstheroomraisedthebid.

“Twohundredfiftyis

nowtoyou,Doctor.Yes?No?Willyougo?”

DoctorFlemingsnodded.

Backandforththebiddingwent,climbinginincrementsoftwenty-fivedollars.Biddersdroppedoffuntiltworemained.Theechoofthegavelbanginghardonthehickorydaisconcludedthesale.

“Sold,toDoctorFlemings,forthreehundred

andseventy-fivedollars.Congratulations,Doc,younowownafinepieceofpropertythere.”

DoctorFlemingsassistedAddy-Frankintothefrontseatofhisbuggy,hisvoiceathinattemptatcheerfulness.“Wehavepatientscomingintotheclinicallafternoon.IusedtotellMissLeighsellethatIcoulduseagoodnurse.Iexpectshewouldbepleased

toknowthatyou’llbeworkingwithme.”

“Yessuh.Thankyou,suh.”Addie-Franklookedstraightahead,pressingthebackofherfistagainsthermouth,holdinginthescreamthatbeggedtobereleased.

“Andifyoudon’tlikenursing,IcanputyoutoworksewinggownsandblanketsfortheWomenandChildren’sHospital.Howwouldyoulikethat?”The

doctortookupthedrivinglines,turningthecarthorseawayfromtheslavepens.

“Ilikethatfine,suh,”shesaid,tearsstreamingdownherface.Thebackofherfistpressedharderagainsthermouth,thesilentscreampiercingandshatteringherheart.

*****BirdieshookLeighsellebyhershoulders.“Wakeup,MissLeighselle.Thatmanbe

hereagain.”Shereferredto

SeamusFlandersas“thatman,”andeveryTuesdayhepaidavisittothenunneryinAlexandriawherehehadLeighselleensconcedforthepurportedreasonthatheneededaprivateplacetoallowhisdaughter-in-law,whosufferedfromseverepsychosis,tohaveherbabyinsafetyandseclusion.Seamusmadeagenerousdonationto

theirorphanage,ensuringtheircooperation.

Leighselle,sittinginherrockingchair,blinkedopenhereyes.“I’mawake.”Indeed,shewaswideawake.Clear-headed.Nolongerinadrug-inducedfog,thankstoBirdie.

Whentheyhadarrivedatthenunnery,BirdiewasallowedtosleeponafloorrugatthefootofLeighselle’sbed.Every

morningandevening,SisterFranciswouldknockonthedoor.Birdie,answeringtheknock,wouldreceiveateatray,theinstructionsneverchanging.

“Putthesugarcubeintheteacupbeforeyoupourthetea.MakesureMadamedrinksitallbeforeyoubringthetraydowntothekitchen.”

ButonTuesdaymornings,thereweretwo

sugarcubes.And,onTuesdaymornings,BirdienoticedthatMissLeighsellewouldbehavestrangely.Shewouldstumblehersteps,mumbleherwords.Shewouldfallasleepwhileshewaseating,whileshewasbathing,evenwhileshewassittingonthechamberpot.She’dsaythingsandusewordsthatBirdiedidn’tunderstand.She’dstareoutthewindow,crying,clawingandscratchingather

skin.Othersisterswould

prayoverher—invocationslastingalldaylong—strangelitaniescombiningoilsandincenseandchantedreadings,raisedvoicescallingonGod’shealingpower,callingonGodtoenterthebodyandguardthesouloftheunbornchild.

ThescenefrightenedBirdie,whowouldlookoninterrifiedsilence.

OnedaywhenBirdiewasscrubbingthepantry,sheoverheardSisterFrancisspeakingtoMassahSeamusaboutsomethingcalledlaudanumtreatmentsforMissLeighselle.Theconversationsheheardbetweenthetwo—howthedrugaffectedLeighselle,howtoweanababyfromthedrug’saddiction—frightenedhermorethanthesisters’chantedprayerstoanall-powerful

Godwhocouldcastpeopleintoburningpitsoffire.

Birdiebegancrumblingthesugarcubesintothechamberpot,thenemptieditwiththewaste.AsLeighsellestartedtoshowsignsofclarity,Birdieconfidedinher,tellingherwhatshehadseenandheardandhowshehadbeentakingcareofMissLeighsellebynotputtingthestrange,brownsugarcubesinhertea

anymore.“Ain’tnobody’sbaby

needtobebornaddictedtoGodandlaudanum,”Birdiehadsaid,afterLeighsellehadexplainedtoherwhatthewordaddictedmeant.

Theymadeaplan.Soasnottodrawsuspicion,Leighsellewouldbehaveasifshewerestillundertheinfluenceofthedruguntilshefeltrecoveredenoughthatthetwocouldescape.They

wouldhideclothesandfood,andwhenthemomentwasright,theywouldsneakaway.Weak,herlegsunsteady,Leighsellefigureditwouldtakeamonthbeforeputtingherplanintoaction.

Sittinginherrockingchair,shelookedatBirdie,hereyesclearandbright.“AftertheusualmeetingwithSeamus,whenyouremovethecoffeeserviceandtakeittothepantry,leavethepantry

unlocked.”Leighsellespokewithclarity,hervoicestrong.“Thesmallvaliseyoupackedisstillthere,right?”

“Yes,MissLeighselle,behindthefloursacks.I’llcheckagainwhenIgodowntoemptyyourchamberpot,butthere’snothingtoempty.Wasn’tnothingintheretohidethesugarcubes.Yousureyoudon’tneedtogo?”Birdieasked,hervoicesounding

anxious.“I’msure.Justpour

somewaterinthereandcoveritwithpaper.It’llbeallright.Wait.Shhhh....”Leighsellepressedherfingeracrossherlips.

Aknock.SisterFrancisopenedthedoor.“I’mreadytoescortyoutoyourmeeting.Youlookwellthismorning.”Shesmiled.

*****“Thankyou,sister,”said

Seamus,lookingupwhenheheardthementerthereceivingroom.

Leighselleshuffledintotheroom,herbillowy,flowinggownadiscretecover-upforhereight-and-a-half-monthpregnancy.Aswasthecustom,shetookthechairoppositeSeamus,andasalwaysshestaredathimwithhollow,sadeyesandavacantexpression.

Hewassittingina

seatbyawindowthatoverlookedapondwithafountain,itssprayfanningouthighintotheair.Swansandducksfloatedunderitsmistyumbrellainlanguidcircles.Hewaswatchingoutthewindow,lookingonassomeoftheorphansskimmedthemossandtrimmedthecattailsthatgrewattheedgeofthepond.

“Hardworkbuildscharacter.Bettertheylearnit

young,”hesaid.“Yes,sir.”Sister

Francisgaveageneroussmileofagreement.“MayIhaveawordwithyououtinthehall,MisterFlanders?”Shemotionedforhimtojoinher,andSeamusfollowed.

LeighsellestaredatthechairvacatedbySeamusandwaited,anxietychurningherstomach.DidSisterFrancisoverhearherandBirdie’sconversation?She

glancedoutthewindowattheswans,wishingforwingsthatshemightflyaway.

Afterwhatseemedaneternity,theyreenteredtheroom,Seamustakinghisseat,SisterFrancisservingtheircoffeeandsandwiches.Allseemednormal.Theirsmileswerepleasant,theirvoicescheery,theirconversationabouthisdonationtotheorphanagetheapparentreasonfortheprivatetête-à-

tête.Leighsellebreatheda

sighofrelief,secretlypocketingtwosandwichesasSisterFrancisexcusedherselffromtheroom,allowingherandSeamustheirprivacy.

“Weekafterweek,Leighselle,andwegothroughthissilentface-offalloveragain.”Seamustentedhisfingers,elbowsonhisknees,restinghischinonthepeak.

Leighsellesippedhercoffeeandatethesandwichonherplate,savingthecookieforBirdie,followingthesameroutineaseveryTuesday.Withhalf-closedeyes,sheletherheadsway,portrayingtheactionsofoneundertheinfluenceoflaudanum.Sheknewthebehaviorwell.

Seamusgloweredather.“SignthesepapersandI’llhaveHenryonthenext

shiptoAmerica,wherehecanraisehischildinluxuryandcomfort.Hisheartwillbebrokenthathiswifediedinchildbirth,buthe’llgetoverit.Don’tsign,andHenrywillneverseemeorthischildagain.I’llsendhimaletterthatyou’reawhoreunfittobethemotherofmygrandchildandthatI’mraisingitmyself.”

Leighsellestaredatthedocumentandthepen.

Herfingersbegantoitch.Herscalptingledlikeathousandneedlesprickingthesurface—notenoughtodrawblood,justenoughtoirritate.Ametallictastelingeredinhermouth,afamiliarsensationthatsherememberedfrombefore.Inasuddenreckoning,shedroppedhercoffeecupanditclatteredtothefloor.

“I’mnotawhore.”Leighselle’seyeswantedto

close,butsheforcedthemtoremainopen,tofocus.Thecoffee…

“IcandescribeforHenryyourbodyintimately,thetriangularscaronyourbacksidelowenoughformetosmellyourwomanhood,thelargemoleonyourrightbreastjustaboveyournipple.Itwascommonknowledgethatyouletwhoressleepinyoursewingshop.Itwouldn’tbehardtoproveyouanunfit

mother.”“Youknowmybody

becauseyouforcedyourselfonme.”Leighselle’sheadthrobbed,herpulsespeedingthebloodtoofastthroughherveins.

“Youaskedforit,Leighselle.Youseducedme.Youseducedmyson.I’msuretherehavebeenmanyothermen.”Hesatbackandcrossedhislegs,hisvoiceconversational.“Mygood

friend,JudgeReederinNewOrleans,wouldsweartoanythingIasked.Heowesmemanyfavors.”

“Henrywouldneverbelievethataboutme,”shesaid,hershouldersdroopingafraction,herposturecurvinginward.

“Itwouldbebettertobethoughtdeadthanthoughtawhore.Signthisdocumentgivingmecustodyofthechild.”Heheldoutthepaper

andpen.“You’llhaveanice,tidysumtogetonwithyourlife.I’llgetonwithmineandputyoubehindmeforever.”

“IfIdon’tsign,youtakemychild.IfIdosign,youtakemychildandletHenryraiseit.Eitherway,Ilose—youwin.”Shepressedherhandsagainstherears,tryingtoquiettheringing.“IfIsign,itappearsI’vesignedawaymychildformoney,likesomecommonwhore.”

Seamusleanedforward,hiseyesahard,blueslit.“Youweremine,Leighselle.Youwerealwaysmine.ItoldyouIwascomingbackforyou.Butfindingyouwithmyson—knowingyougavetoHenrywhatbelongedtome—nowthegrandchild.”

“Ididn’tknowHenrywasyourson.I—Ineverbelongedtoyou.”Theroomwasstifling.Pricklyheatirritatedherskin,perspiration

beadedherbrow—theroombegantoclosein.

Seamusstood,lookingdownonher.“IcanallowHenryandthisgrandchildinmylife.Iwillnotallowyouruiningmylife.Removingyou...istheonlyalternative.It’sthecostofmakingyoupayforwhatyou’vedone.”Then,heturnedandstrodetothedoor,openingit.“Bringherin.”

SisterFrancisstepped

intotheroom,Birdieintow—hereyesstreamingtears,herbarelegscoveredinthestripemarksofawhip.

SeamusstrodebacktowhereLeighsellesat,clutchingthearmsofthechair,steadyingherself.Leaningclosetoherear,hisvoiceharsh,hepointedtothedoor.“Takealookatyourdarkie.Webothknowthetruth.She’swhathappenedwhenyourfatherfucked

Addie-Frank.Signthepapers,Leighselle.It’llmakelifeeasieronyourlittlehalf-sister,Birdie.”

Leighselle,gulpingquickbreaths,herheadfloatinglight,tookthepeninhand.Shetouchedthesharpgoldtiptothepaper.Thecloven,diamond-shapedendleftaninkmarkthatspreadoutlikeableedingwound.Shestudiedtheblotblossomingonthelinethat

waitedforhersignature.Whore,thestainseemedtosay—astainedwoman.Nexttotheink’sblemish,shesignedLeighselleLaVerneBeauclaireFlanders.Sheopenedherfingers,allowingthepentorolloutofherhandandfalltothefloor.

SeamuspickedupthepapersandturnedtoSisterFrancis.“She’snearenoughterm.Isn’ttheresomeconcoctionyoucangiveher

tohurrythissituationalong?”“Idon’tthinkthatwill

benecessary,”saidSisterFrancis,rushingtoLeighselle’sside.

Pushingherselfoutofthechair,Leighsellestood,clutchingherswollenbelly.Apoolofamnioticwaterpuddledontheflooratherfeet.

*****September27,1860

ArattlingcougheruptedfromdeepwithinthedepthsofLeighselle’score,acoughfullofbloodanddeath.Thesunnolongerwarmhadturnedtepid,theskyadull,chalkywhitewithahintofpalepinktothewest.

“Andthat,mydearoldfriend,ismystory.”Leighsellestoodandstretched,fistingherhandsagainstherlowerback.

Hughesstoodandput

hishandsonLeighselle’sshoulders.“You’vebeenlivinganightmarethat’slastedalifetime.IwishI’dknown.I’dhavebeenabetterfriend.Godknowsyouneededone.”

“IhadAddy-Frank.Wehadeachother.WhenIreturnedtoNewOrleans,DocFlemingsreleasedherandshecametolivewithmeagain.”

“Let’stakeawalk.”Hughescrookedhisarm

throughLeighselle’sandguidedherintothelobbyofthehotel.“Whathappenedafterthat?”

“Afterthat?”Leighsellesaid.“Assoonasthebabywasborn,heleftwithmychildandBirdie.Hegavethesistersinstructionstokeepmesedateduntilhereturnedforme,tellingthemhefearedthetravelsosoonwouldnotbegoodforme.Heneverreturned,ofcourse.”

“Leighselle.Therearenowords—”Hughesswallowed,forcingbackemotion.“Sorry.”Heclearedhisthroat.“So.Whatdidyoudonext?”

“WhatI’vealwaysdone.Ipickedmyselfup,dustedmyselfoff,andwokeupthenextday.Andthenthenext.Andthenthenextafterthat.Myheartwasbroken.I’dlostbothHenryandBarleigh.Whatkeptmesane

wasthatmydaughterwouldberaisedbyHenry,andBirdiewouldbetheretohelp.”Shehelduponehand,indicatingsheneededamomenttocomposeherself.

Hughesnodded,walkinginsilence,holdingontoherarm.

“Iknewwherethenunskeptthelaudanum.ThereweretimesIconsideredendingmineandmychild’slifebeforeit

enteredtheworld.IprayedtoGodthatHewouldendit.But,Ididn’t—Icouldn’t.”

“Jesus,Leighselle.”Hughesdrewadeepbreathandlookedupattheceiling,blinking,swallowing.“Ihopethisson-of-a-bitchisstillaliveandIhavethepleasureofmakinghisacquaintance.”

Theywalkedinsilence,makingtheirwayaroundthewell-appointedlobbytowherethegrand

pianowasshowcased,stoppingtoadmirethetunethemusicianwasplaying.Asacrowdgathered,LeighsellemotionedtoHughesthatshewasreadytogo.

“Sorrytointerrupt,sir,”saidJameson,meetingthepairastheymadetheirwaybacktothepatio.LeaningclosetoHughes’sear,hesaidinaquietvoice,“Yourpackagehasarrived.Iplaceditinyourroom,sir.”

“Thankyou,Jameson.I’lllookitoverlater.”

“Yes,sir.”Heturnedbutstoppedshort.“ShouldIarrangeforacarriageforyourguest?”

“No.IfIcantalkMissBeauclaireintoit,she’lltakemyroom.I’llfeelmuchbetterwithherstayingheresothatDocSchmidtisimmediatelyavailableifsheneedshim,andyoucanassistheraswell.Leighselle?Is

thatallrightwithyou?”“Ican’tputyououtof

yourownroom,Hughes,”saidLeighselle.

“Youalreadyhave,mydear.You’resendingmeonamission—anadventure,really.”

Jamesonclearedhisthroatandtappedhisvestpocket.

“Ihaven’tforgotten,Jameson.I’lltakecareofthatbusinessbeforeIleave.”

“Fine,sir.I’llsendforMissBeauclaire’sthingsfromtheguesthouseandhavethembroughtuptoyourroom.”Andthenhewasgone.

HughesturnedtoLeighselle,concernwrinklinghisbrow.“Areyouallright?Surely,thishasbeendifficulttalkingabout.”

“Itwasmoredifficultnottalkingaboutit.I’mprayingnowthatyoucanfind

her.ThelastIheardwasthattheFlandersessoldtheirranchinCorpusChristitoaCaptainKing.TheymayhavesettledintheareaofFortWorth.”

“Well,mydear,that’swhatI’mgoodat,findingpeople.You’llhaveyourdaughterbackinnotime,Ipromise.”

“Oh!No,no,no.”Leighselleheldupbothhands,pushingthethought

away.“Idon’twantyoutobringhertome.Ijustwantyoutofindher.Idon’twishtodisruptandcomplicateherlife.Ijustneedtoknowthatshe’saliveandwellandhappy.Shedoesn’tneedtoknowanythingaboutmeormylife—mypast.”

“What—Idon’tunderstand.”

“Pleasepromiseme,Hughes,thatyou’llkeepmysecret.Please.”

“Don’tyouthinkyourdaughterwouldlovetoknowthathermotherisaliveandwantstofindher?”Hugheslookedconfused.

“Afteralltheseyears?”Sheshookherhead.“No.Ifshe’shappyinherlife,Iwanthertostaythatway.KnowingthatI’malivewouldsurelyhurtandconfuseher.There’rethingsaboutmeshemightfindoffensive,ornotunderstand.

No,it’sbestthisway.”Leighsellehopedthat

itwasbest.SheacceptedHughes’spromisetokeephersecret,ignoringthefactthatheinsistedhewouldtrytochangehermind.Hermindwasmadeup.Someeventslosttothepastshouldstayburied.Thoughtryasshemighttonotdwellonit,sheoftendreamedoftouchingherdaughter,ofseeingher,onemoretime.

“Afterthebabywasborn,whatdidyoudo?”Hughesreseatedthemattheirtable,whereJamesonhadleftabottleofbrandywaitingforthem.

“AssoonasIrecovered,IsimplytoldthemthatIwasleaving.IwantedtogobacktoNewOrleans,whereImightfeelclosetomemoriesofHenry.MypartinggiftfromSeamushadbeenleftinthepriest’scare.

Asuitcasefullofhushmoney.Fivethousanddollarstokeepmequietandoutofmydaughter’slife.”

Hughessuckedinabreath.“Fivethousand.Seamuswasevilbuthewasn’tstupid.Hemadesureyouwouldn’tcausetrouble.”

“WhattroublewouldIhavecausedtojeopardizemydaughterorBirdie?”Leighselle’svoicewassharp.Shefoundthethought

profoundlyridiculous.Seamuswasstupid.HecouldhavepaidherapennyandshewouldhavewalkedawayifitmeantensuringnoharmwouldhavecometoeitherBarleighorBirdie.

“None,ofcourse,”saidHughes.“Inhismind,youwouldhave.”

“No...Igotbusy.IopenedLaVerne’sTavern.NomoreSewBeauclaireandworkingforpennies.And,I

boughtbackAddy-Frank.Docgavehertome,really.Hewouldn’ttouchthemoney,soImadeaheftydonationtohishospital.”

“Addy-Frank,Birdie’smother.”Hughesflickedaspeckofdirtfromunderhisthumbnail,drummedhisfingersonthetable,andshookhishead.“Howinthehelldidthebothofyoucope,havinglostyourdaughterstothesameman?”

“Weclungtooneanother,supportedoneanother,criedontheother’sshoulderwhenthegriefwouldovercome.Imissher.”Shesippedherbrandy,bothhandscuppingthesnifter.

“Howlongagodidshepass?”

“Lastyear.Sheencouragedthislittleendeavorofmine.IpromisedherI’dtry....”Leighsellepressedanapkintohereyes,

blottingthetears.Hugheslookedupat

thedarkeningsky.“Mydear,it’sgettinglateandI’mfeelinganxioustogetonwiththisnewmission.Weshouldgetyouinside,too,beforetheeveningchillsetsin.”

“Eveningchill?HereinSanAntonio?Itstillfeelslikeahundreddegreestome.”

Hugheslaughed.“You’reright.Well,we

shouldgetyouinbeforetheghostsstartmakingtheirrounds.ItoldyouthattheMengerHotelishaunted,didn’tI?”

“Haunted?Ghosts?”“Yes,ghosts,andlots

ofthemfromwhatIunderstand,thoughI’veneverhadthepleasureofanencounter.”

“Whoandhowmany?”askedLeighselle,achillrunningupherspine.A

smiletickledthecornersofhermouth.“I’vealwayswantedtomeetaghost.”

“Soldierghosts,manyofthem,mostlikelyfromtheBattleoftheAlamo.ThishotelsitsonthegroundsoftheoldSpanishfortoriginallycalledMissionSanAntoniodeValero,consideredsacredgroundnow.Ifyou’relucky,you’llhearthemuffledbootstompingofthespiritsoldiersmarchingaroundduringthe

darkofthenight,stillonguardduty.”

“Iwelcomethesoundofamanmovingaboutmyroominthedarkofthenight,”saidLeighsellewithawink.“It’sbeentoolong.”

Theevening’sstarsreflectedlikeathousandsparklingfirefliesintheSanAntonioRiver.Ancientcypresstreeslinedthebanks,knobsfromtheirrootspeepingupoutoftheground

likesnoopinggnomes.AloneweepingwillowstoodsentrynexttotheAlamo’swestwall,sweepingthegroundwithitslong,thinarms.Theairwasrich,pungent,andthickwiththespicysmellsofsouthTexas.Cricketsandcicadassangtheirpraisestothenight.

HughesescortedLeighselleuptohissecondstoryroomoverlookingtheAlamoPlaza.“Ifyouneed

anything,Jamesonisintheroomjustbelowmine.Thesignalistostomponthefloorbythewindowthreetimes.He’llhearyou.He’saverylightsleeper,oneeyeandoneearalwaysopen.”

“Hughes,Ican’tbegintothankyou.Iknowyou’llfindher.Ijusthopeit’sintime.”

“Yes,metoo.I’llkeepyoupostedonmyprogress.Thetelegraphoffice

willdelivermessagestoyouhereatthehotel,acourtesytoMengerguests.Aniceperk.”

Astheystrolledthroughthearcheddoubledoors,pastapolishedwoodandbrassentryway,andintothemarble-tiledreceptionarea,theychattedlikeamiableoldfriendswhomightbediscussingthebeautifulartworkonthewallsorthefineEuropeanfurnishingsoftheMenger.

Withitsfiftyguestroomsfilledtocapacity,therewereplentyofvisitorsdiscussingthesetrivialtopicsandothermatterslessimportantthanstolenchildren,hushmoney,clandestinemissions,anddeath.

“IhaveBarleightakencareof,financiallyspeaking,”saidLeighselle,holdingontoHughes’sarm.“I’vegiventhattopicalotofattentionthroughouttheyears.Besides

themajorityofthemoneyfromSeamus,ofwhichIspentverylittle,mybusinessisquiteprofitable.Too,therewastherefundfromthenursingschoolinShreveportwhichIneverattended.Thatwasanexpensiveschool!”

“Ah,theShreveportSchoolofMedicine,Iforgotaboutthat,”saidHughes,givingherarmasqueeze.“I’mgladyouchoseNewOrleansinstead.”

“Ifsomethinghappenstome...”Leighselle’svoiceturnedserious.“...Barleighwillinheritarespectableamountofrealestateandliquidassets.Mywillisonfilewithmyattorney,aMr.BertramLaMontinNewOrleans.Acopyiswithmeinmyvalise.”

“Ifsomethinghappenstoyou?WhatIexpectwillhappenisthatyou’llrest,recoveryourfullhealth,and

you’llenjoyapasselofgrandkidsoneday,eachonehavinginheritedyourbeautifulgreencateyes.”

Clutchinghislapelsinherweakgrasp,shesaid,“Becareful,Hughes.IwishIcouldtellyouthatthisiswithoutrisk,butIcannot.IfSeamusFlandersisstillalive,therewillbedanger.”

“Idon’tshyfromdanger,”Hughessaid,asharpedgetohiswords.“Ihunt

downoutlawsforalivingandbringthemtojustice.IthinkIcanhandleSeamusFlandersifwecrosspaths,andIhopetoGodwedo.ButIknowmymission.I’vegivenyoumywordthatyoursecretissafewithme.”

“Thankyou,Hughes.”Leighselleblinkedawaytears.

“I’llrespectyourwishforprivacyuntilIhearotherwisefromyou.

Remember,stompthefloorthreetimesbythewindowifyouneedJameson.I’moff.Idon’twanttomissthemidnighttrain.”HekissedLeighselleoneachcheek,huggedherinatightembrace,thenturnedanddisappeareddownthestairs.

“Yourpackage,”calledLeighselleafterhim.Sheranoutintothehallwaywithalarge,thickenvelopeinhand.

Hugheslookedupfromthelowerlanding.“Dropit.”

Shedidandhecaughtthepackagewithonehand,salutingherwiththeother,andthenblewherakiss.

Shesaluted,sendinganairkissback,hergestureawkwardandclumsy,whichmadeherlaugh.Thelaughdissolvedintoarackingcough,thebloodbrightredandmetallicinhermouth.

Shestumbledtoherroom,closedthedoor,andleanedherbackupagainstit,waitingforthedizzinesstopass,waitingforcoolness.Hervisionbecamefuzzy,theroom’sfurnishingsoutoffocus.Sheleanedforward,movingherhandsthroughtheairforaplacetoliedown,likeablindpersongropingforsomethingfamiliar.

Slowfeetshuffledandscrapedtheirwayacrossthe

woodenfloortothefour-postercanopiedbed.Sheeasedherselfontothedownyduvetcover,herbreathingshallowandfast.“Pleasefindher.FindmyBarleigh,”whisperedLeighselleasdarknessclosedin.“Butpleasekeepyourword....”

Bootsontheground—stomp,stomp,stomp—ghostsoldiersonpatrol.Sheheardtheechooftheirheavyfootfalls,thenoisemuffledin

herearslikeathrobbingpulse.Stomp.Stomp.Stomp.Afaintsmileeasedacrosshermouthmomentsbeforeshefellunconscious,atrickleofbloodstainingthewhite,feather-filledpillow.

AComanchemoonlituptheMengerHotelandbatheditwithabrilliantradiance,asifitwerethemiddleoftheday.Guestslingeredonthepatio,enjoyingthedazzling

splendoroftheremarkablelunardisplay.Privilegedcompanionsdancedinthemoonlightandtoastedtoitsmagicalspell,whilethemoongildedthehourandallbelowwithitsotherworldlylight.

CHAPTEREIGHTSEPTEMBER27,1860

Hughesgavethecodedknock:twofast,threeslow,twofast.WhenJamesonansweredthedoor,Hughessteppedintotheroom,givinghimalistofinstructionsregardingLeighselle’scare,anoteforthedoctor,andatelegramforJamesontosendtoNewOrleansaheadofhis

arrival.“Yes,sir.Anything

else?”askedJameson.“I’velookedoverthe

package.I’llstudyitfurtheronthetrain,”saidHughes.“I’llbeinSaintJosephbytheendofnextmonth,butI’veencounteredaminordelay.”Hehopeditwouldbeminor,anyway.Heconsideredhimselfamongthebestwhenitcametotrackingwildanimals.Howdifficultcould

itbefindinganineteen-year-oldgirl?

HughesgaveJamesonabriefdescriptionofhisimpendingsearchmissiononcehisvisittoLouisianawascomplete.Heexpecteditwouldtakeafewdaystofindthegirl.Then,hewouldsendJamesonatelegraphoncethatwasdoneandhewasonhiswaytoMissouri.

“Verywell,sir,”saidJameson,takingnotes.“One

otherquestion.ShouldMissBeauclaire’sconditionbecomedire,whatshouldIdobeyondsendingforthedoctor?”

“She’salreadybeyonddire.I’msurethedoctorwilldohisbesttomakehercomfortable.”Whatelsewastheretodo,thoughtHughes,besideshopelikehellshehadthestrengthtohangonuntilhefoundherdaughter?

*****

TheSanAntoniotoNewOrleanstrainchuggedeast,yetHughes’sthoughtsdriftedwest.Withafewotherpassengersaboardthemidnightfreightrun,thecarwasquietexceptfortheclankingofwheelsonmetalandtheoccasionalwhistlingofthehorn.Heclosedhiseyesandlosthimselfintherhythmicalcadenceoftherails.

Hisplanwasclearin

hismind.HewoulddepartLouisianalatethenextdaywhileridingafinehorse,headbacktoTexas,beinCorpusbyweek’send,headnorthtoFortWorthifrequired,andthenbeforeyouknowit,havewordtoLeighsellethathe’dlocatedBarleigh.Howdifficultcoulditbe?

Hemadeapillowofhistopcoat,stuffingitbetweenhisshoulderandthe

window.Restinghisheadagainstthecoolglass,hetriedclearinghismindofhistroubledthoughtsofLeighselle.ItwaseasytopicturehisdearfriendasshewaswhenheleftNewOrleansthosemanyyearsago—stunning,vibrant,sassy,funny,intelligent.Andclever.Thatwomanwasclever.Hedriftedofftosleep,hismemoriesmeltingintovividdreams.

*****February24,1852

WinterCarnivalseasonwasinfullswingandLaVerne’sTavernwasahotbedofactivity.ItwasFatTuesday,andallaroundtheFrenchQuarter,paradeswouldclogthestreetsandpassinfrontofthetavern,bringingincustomers,revelers,andtroublemakersalike.Thefinalmasqueradeballcelebrated

MardiGrasandtheendoffrivolitybeforeAshWednesdayusheredinLentandtheHolyHolidays—andalongwithit,theexpectationfordecorum.Butforonelastnight,unbridledpleasuresforallthesenseswereabundant.Exuberantrevelersdidn’thavetolookfartofindthem.

LeighsellewasdrapingthefinalstrandofanEnglishivyandeucalyptusgarlandaroundthelife-sized

oilpaintingofacharcoal-grayandsilverBrahminbullthattookupmostofthewallabovethemahoganybar.Shehadcommissionedthepaintingwhenshe’dpurchasedthebusiness,addingabrassnameplateonthebottomoftheframe.TheplatewasetchedwiththewordsHenry’sFolly.

“Youneedahandwiththat?”askedHughesashestrolledthroughthe

swingingdoorsofthesaloon.“You’reearly.Did

yourfathershutdownLévesqueSugarcaneandShippinginhonorofourMardiGrasmasquerade?”

“He’ddropdeadbeforethatwouldhappen.Hopdownoffthatladderandletmehelpyou.You’remakingmenervouswayupthere.”

Leighselleclimbeddown,handingthegarlandto

Hughes.“Drapethisoverthetopofthepainting,please.”

“Henry’sFolly.I’vealwayswonderediftherewasastorybehindthename.”Hughesclimbedtheladder,finishingthedecorations.

“Yes,alongstory.”Leighselle’sbrightgreeneyesdarkened,hersmilefaded.

“I’msorry.DidIsaysomethingwrong?”Hughesclimbeddownandthenfoldedtheladder,stowingit

behindthebar.“It’sallright.Iget

askedthatquestionoften.Ishouldbeusedtoitbynow.”Shesmiled,butthesmilesatflat,notreachinghereyes.

Hughesstudiedherfaceandherpetite,gracefulform.Thewayshelooked,thewayshemoved,remindedhimofacat,butasadcatonthevergeoftears.“Allfinished,”hesaidasheputawaytheladder.“Anything

elseyouneeddonewhileI’mhere?”

“Justafewmoredecorations.”Leighselleplacedcandlesoneachtable.“Thankyouforhelping.I’mgladyoumanagedtosneakawayfromwork.Yourfathergroomingyoutotakeoverthebusinessistakingyouawayfrombeingmyhandymanandsecurityguard.I’msureI’llbeinneedofyourservicestonight.Thecrowdsthelast

feweveningshavegrownmoreboisterous.”

“It’dbewiserifFathergroomedJohn-Pierretotakeover.EvenMotherseesthathe’sbettersuitedtorunningthebusiness,”saidHughes,handingcandlestoLeighselleforplacement.

“Won’tyourfatherconsiderwhatyourmotherthinksaboutthesituation?”

Hughessnorted.“Listeningtoawoman’s

pointofview,evenifthatwomanishiswife,ranksjustbelowhimshuttingdownbusinessforaholiday.”

“You’retwins.Whycan’thegroomJohn-Pierreforthebusiness?”

“Thatwouldgoagainsttradition,Godforbid.I’mtheelderbyawhoppingtwominutes.”Hughesadoptedacomical,mockingtonetohisvoice,causingLeighselletolaugh.

John-Pierrewasmoresuited.Hedidn’tactlikean‘irresponsibleeighteen-year-oldalwayslookingfortrouble,’toquoteFather.Heactedmorelikea‘responsibleyoungmanonthecuspofadulthood.’But,Fatherwouldtryanything,includingguiltandbribery,togethisway—totryandforcehiseldestsonintofittingintothemoldthatshapedallthemenoftheLévesqueSugarcaneand

Shippingdynasty.“WhatIwantisto

knowifyoubroughtyourmaskfortheballtonight?”askedLeighselle,puttingthefinishingtouchesonthebar’scenterpiece.“Iwantyoutomingle.Idon’twantyoustandingoutasthehiredgun.Thatwouldputadamperonafestivemood.”

Hughesshookhishead.“Irespectfullydisagree.Ithinkhavingvisiblesecurity

wouldhelpkeepthingsfromgettingoutofcontrol,likeitdidlastyear.”

“Youworrytoomuch,”chidedLeighselle.“Dressup,wearamask,mingle,havefun,butbeonyourguardforanythingthatneedstampeddown.”

“Yes,ma’am.”Hugheshelpedfinishdecoratingthetavernwithcrepepaperandcolorfulstreamersbeforegoingoutto

watchtheparade.Acomicaltroupeof

menandboys,womenandgirls,onfoot,onhorseback,orridinginwagons,carts,orbuggies,paradedpastLaVerne’s.Grotesque,horrible,diabolicalmasksseemedtobethetheme.Somecostumeswerehumanbodieswithheadsofbeasts,fowl,orfish.Otherswereanimalbodieswithdistortedhumanheadsmadeofpapier–mâché

paintedwild,graphiccolors.Allsortsofgarishbeastswoundtheirwayupanddownthestreetinrichconfusionandwithmuchfoolishlaughterandsinging.

Somerevelersworedisguisesofmermaidsormonks,somewerebeggarsorrobbers,whileafewoptedforbodypaintthatleftmanyguessingiftheywereclothedunderneath.Thecarnivalspirithaderuptedoverthe

FrenchQuarter,spewingdecadenceanddebaucheryallaround.

Laterthateveningatthetavernasthemaskedpartycrowdswelledtocapacity,Hughesmovedthroughtheroom,elbowinghiswayaroundthebar.Jostlinghiswayacrossthedancefloor,pushingandshoving,hemadehiswaytowardMonique.Peacockfeathersmaskedhalfherface,

withtheotherhalfcoveredinblueandgoldglitterpaint.

“Havingagoodtime,Monique?”

“I’mindisguise.You’renotsupposedtorecognizeme.”

“I’drecognizeyourfieryredhairanywhere.Youshouldhavewornapowderedwig,likethatoneoverthere.”

Hepointedtoatall,beautifulwomaninagold

brocadegowncutlowintheback,showcasingherexquisiteform.Hermaskwasblackfeathersthatformedabeak-likepointoverhernose,givingheradramaticavianappearance.Hercostumekeptoneguessingifshewereawell-dressedravenorKingLouisXV’smistresswithafeatherafflictiononherface.

Moniquelaughed.“It’sMadamPompadourallright,butthekingwillbe

shockedwhenshedisrobes.Sheisahe.”

“Ahe?Areyousure?But,herbackissofeminine.Ahe?”Hughescockedhisheadforalookfromadifferentangle.

“Positive.That’sLiberty’scousinBoydGuzzleman,infromMobile.”

“Well,I’llbedamned.He’sprettierthanLiberty,butdon’ttellherIsaidthat.”

“Iwon’t,althoughshe

saysasmuchherself.I’llcatchupwithyoulater.”SheglancedoveratthebarandsawLeighsellepointingamanherway.

“Becarefultonight.Therearepeopleintownwedon’tknow.”HughesstudiedthemanwalkingtowardMonique.

“Yes,bigbrother,Iknowtherules.”Moniquegavehimapeckonthecheekandslippedaway.Dressedas

acowboy,aredbandanapulledupoverthelowerhalfofhisfaceandwearingsix-shootersathiship,themantookMoniquebythearmandledherupstairs.

Hugheshadneverbeenwithher.MoniqueandLeighsellewerelikesisters,Leighselletheolder,wisersisterandMoniquetheyounger,naïveonewhocausedhimtofeelprotective.Hehadbeenwithafewofthe

otherwhoreswhoworkedatLaVerne’s,hadlosthisvirginityoneenjoyable,drunkennighttoLiberty,cousinofBoydthecross-dresser,butLeighselleandMoniquewereoff-limits.Theywerefamily.

Aftermidnightwhenthemaskscameoffandthecrowdthinned,Hughesmadehiswaytothebarforawhiskey,theonedrinkheallowedhimselfwhenon

duty.Hewasallcoffeedup,jittery,andinneedofacalmingspirit.Thesmallsplashofwaterswirledinasensualfusionwiththedarkamberliquor.Hesipped,sighed,enjoyingthewarmingsensationthatmeltedawaythetensionasheswallowedthatfirsttaste.

SpyingLeighsellepresidingoveragameofpoker,hestrolledover,hissoftblackleathermask

tuckedintothebreastpocketofhiswine-coloredvest.Hiswhitetuxedoshirtwasrolledatthesleeves,exposingmasculinewrists,hiseveningcoatlongagodiscarded.Hewashandsomeandcomfortableinhiscasualelegancedespitehisyouth,turningtheheadsofwomenandmenalike.

Leighsellelookedupandsmiled.“LikeItoldyou,nothingtoworryabout

tonight.Thankfully,norepeatoflastyear’sBrawlattheBall.”

HewatchedasLeighselledealtthecardswithdeft,quickmovements,placingonefacedown,onefaceup,thenwaitingforhit-mesorstaysorfoldsfromthemenaroundhertable.Dealer’sfacecardwasthequeenofdiamonds.Halftheplayersfolded;theotherhalfwishedtheyhadwhen

Leighselleflippedovertheaceofspades.

“Let’stakeabreak,gentlemen.I’llbebackinhalfanhour.Spendyourmoneyatthebaroronthedancefloorwithyourfavoritegirl,butsavealittleformeandthequeenofdiamonds.”Standing,shehookedherarmthroughHughes’s.“Freshairwouldbenice.Howaboutawalkoutside?”

Hughesfinishedhis

whiskey.Ashesettheglassonthetable,hisambereyessweptacrosstheroomonelasttimebeforeescortingLeighselleoutontothesidewalk.Despitethelatehour,itwascrowdedwithcostumedpeopleinhighcarnivalspirits.

“It’sbeenagreatnightforLaVerne’sTavern,”Leighsellesaidwithasmile.“Thebar’sbeendoingabriskbusinessasusual,thecard

tablesarelively,andthegirlshaveasteadystreamofescortstwirlingthemaroundthefloorandupthestairs.Haveyouhadanyproblems?”

“Everythingseemspeaceableenough.I’vetriedkeepingtrackofthegirlsandtheirescorts.Ihaven’tseenMoniquesinceearlyevening,though.Haveyou?”

“IthinkthelasttimeIsawherwaswhenshe

accompaniedherfirstclient,themandisguisedasagunslinger.”

AsinkingfeelingcameoverHughes,asenseofdreadchillinghimfromtheinsideout.Herecalledtheman’sredbandanamaskandhowthemanwalkedwiththesix-shooterathishiplikeagunslinger—itwasnotacostume.Fuck.Hespunaround,racingbackintothetavernandupthestairs,

takingthemtwoatatime.Monique’sdoorwas

locked.Hughescouldhearmuffledvoicesinsidetheroom.Afaintwhimper,asharpword—aslap—stifledmoaning.Poundingthedoorwithhisfist,hedemanded,“Openup.Security.”

“Goaway,I’mbusy,”saidamalevoice,mumbledandslurredwithalcohol.

“Monique?Areyouallright?It’sHughes.Open

thedoor.”Hepoundedagainwithhisfists,rattlingtheknob.“Goddamnit,Isaidopenthedoor!”heshouted.

Ahushfelloverthecrowddownstairs.Theycollectivelylookedup,strainingtoseewhatwashappeningintheroomattheheadofthestairs.Thetaverngrewquietexceptfortheplayerpiano,whichcontinuedtoplinkout“MollyWillYouBeMyBride,”the

thinnotesseemingtolevitateandrideontheheavycigarsmokethatfilledthetavern’sspace.

Steppingback,Hughesraisedhislegandkickedhisbootedfootagainstthedoor,splinteringtheframeintopieces.Whathesawrevoltedhim—enragedhim—thegrotesquescenehittinghimlikeasickeninggutpunchthatdisplacesoxygen,leavingonegulping

forair.“Moveawayfrom

her,”hesaidthroughgrittedteeth,easinghisgunoutofitsholster.

Moniquewastiedtothebed,aragstuffedinhermouth.Herbreastshadbeenslashed,clumpsofherhairchoppedoff,theredcurlslyinginshinytuftsonthefloor.Round,angryburnmarksfromacigarettedottedthelengthofbotharms,butit

washerfacehecouldn’tbeartolookat.Bloodsmearedtheblueandgoldglitterpaintonhalfherface;theotherunpaintedhalfwherethefeatheredmaskhadbeenremovedwasnowcoveredindarkpurplebruises.Botheyeswereblackenedandswollenshut,hernosestreamingblood,herbottomliprippedhalfoff,exposingseveralmissingteeth.

“Iwouldn’tdrawon

meifIwereyou,”themansaidwithadrunkenslur,hisbodywobblingwiththeeffortofstanding.“Youain’tgotnoideawhoyou’redealingwith,doyou?”

Hugheseasedintotheroom,fingersteadyonthetrigger.Hiseyesdartedaround,makingaquickassessmentofthesituation.Onthenightstandbythebedstoodanear-emptybottleofwhiskey,arevolverlying

nexttoit.AnotherpistollayonthebedbetweenMonique’slegs,employed,hewassure,inallkindsofhorrors.Themanheheldsteadyinhissightwasdirtyandsmall,hismeaneyesbloodshotandwatery,hishandstwitchyandemptyandhovering.

“Idon’tgiveadamnwhatyournameis,”saidHughesinadead-calmvoice,notwantingtoalarmthehalf-

consciousMonique,whomoanedquietlyinbetweengaspingforbreathontheblood-soakedbed.“Raiseyourhands,slowandeasy.Walktowardme.”

“MynamesWhitt.DaltonWhitt.MeandmybrothersMonroe,Raymond,andArthurmakeuptheWhittGang.I’msureyou’veheardaboutus.Mybrothers’llcomelookingformeifIdon’tmakeitbacktocamp.”

“Isaidgetyourhandsintheair,yousonofabitch.”Hughessteppedfurtherintotheroom,bloodpoundinginhisheadlikeadrum.“Walkniceandeasytowardme.Now.”

DaltonWhittraisedhishands,hisbodyswayingwiththeexertion.Hecastaglanceatthetableandhisgun,thenbackatHughes.“Ibelievethis’llbeyourlastdaytolivewithoutworryor

regret.Goahead,takemein,butmybrothersareevenmoreunpleasantthanIam.”HelaughedandwipedspittleandMonique’sbloodfromthecornersofhismouth,hisshirtsleevealreadyadarkrustybrown.

LookingbackatMonique,hegesturedoverhisshoulder,“Shehaditcoming.ThebitchlaughedwhenIdroppedmypants.Laughedatme!Canyou

fuckingbelieveit?”Helungedtowardthetable,handsoutstretched,grabbingforhisgun.

Hughes,withtheheelofhislefthandpoundingtheColt.45’shammerinrapid-firesuccession,emptiedhissix-shooterintotheman,thefirstbullettakingcareofthejob,theotherroundsspentforgoodmeasure.HepulledDaltonWhittbyhisshirtcollaranddraggedhimout

intothehall,awayfromthebedandMonique.Then,withthebutt-endofhisgun,hebegantopummelthefaceandheadofthelifelessWhitt.

“Stop,Hughes,”Leighsellesaidassheranupthestairs.Shegrabbedhisarm,pullingbackonitwithallherweight.“He’sdead.Youcanstop.”

“He’snotdeadenough.”Hehitthemanonelasttimeacrosstheface,teeth

andbonescrunching.WithonefinalkicktoWhitt’sside,Hughesfellbackagainstthewall.Hetookdeepgulpsofbreath,blinkedhardagainstthewhite-hotragemeltinghisvision,tryingtofocusonLeighselle’sface,notonthebloodymesslyingunmovingathisfeet.

Ikilledaman.Heturnedaside,handsonhisknees,andvomited.

Leighsellerubbedhis

backuntiltheheavingstopped.“IshouldhavecomeupwithyoubutSmittysaidtoletyouhandleit.Whathappened?”

“Hewentforhisgun.Ishothim.I...Ikilledhim.”

“Youdidwhatyouhadto.Amandefendinghimselfisnotakiller.Doyouhearme?Thisdoesnotmakeyoulikehim.”

“WhenIsawwhathedidtoMonique,IknewIwas

goingtokillhim.”HughesstaredatLeighselle,hiswordshangingintheairbetweenthem.“I’mgladhewentforhisgun,thestupid,drunkenfool.Monique’sbadoff.Hetriedtokillher,too.”

“Tried?Yousendforthesheriffandthedoctor—I’lldowhatIcanhere.”SheturnedtoentertheroombutHughesstretchedhisarmacrossthedoorwaytoblockher.

“It’sbad.Don’tgointhere—don’tlook.Justsendforthedoctor.”Hetriedtopullthedoorclosedbehindhimbutitbouncedagainstthesplinteredframe.

Leighsellegasped.“Oh!Idid.Isaw.”Sheturnedquickly,pressingherfaceintoHughes’svest.

Hughestookherinhisarms,ahandcuppingthebackofherhead,andheheldheragainsthischestwhile

Leighsellewept.*****

AfterthesheriffandundertakerleftwithDalton’sbody,mostoftherevelersdeparted,too,insearchofalivelierpartytoendtheevening.Hughesfeltedgyandalert.Hewantedthenighttobeover.ThethreeotherWhittbrothers,nodoubt,wouldcomelookingforhim.Fine.Hewouldwaitforthem.

Heallowedhimselfonemorewhiskey.Then,toLeighselle,“Closedownbusinessforthenight.TakeAddy-Frankandgoupstairstoyourroomsandlockyourdoors.”

Leighsellenodded.“ThedoctorandAddy-FrankareupwithMonique.That’swhereI’mheadednow.”

“I’llcomecheckonyouinabit,butdon’topenthedoorunlessyouknowit’s

me.You’rearmed?”“Always.”Sheranher

handsdowntheoutsideofherballgown,feelinghergarters.Shekeptsingle-shotpistols,oneeachside,justabovekneehigh.

AshadowmovingcaughtHughes’seye,butbeforehecouldreact,aknifewasthrown,missinghisfacebyinchesasitslicedtheairbetweenwhereheandLeighsellestood.Hughes

pushedhertothefloor,pullingatableinfrontofthemforcover.

“WegotwordthatsomeoneherekilledourbrotherDalton,”shoutedavoicefromoutsidetheswingingdoors.“We’renotherefornobody’ceptwhodoneit.Youstepforward,andwe’llleaveeveryoneelsealone.Youdon’tstepforward,andweburnthisplacetohell.”

“Don’tdoit,Hughes.I’msurethesheriff’smomentsaway.”

“He’sprobablytiedupordeadifthesethreegotpasthim.Staydownbehindthistable.Don’tmakeasound.”

Leighsellenodded.Hughesrosefrom

behindtheoverturnedtable.Hishuntingknife,withitsgleamingbladeandcarvedantlerhandle,pressedagainst

hislowerback.Heknewwithinafractionofaninchwherehishandwouldsettleontheheavyweapon.Heknewhowfasthecouldgettoit,thenhowfasthecouldzipitthroughtheairtomeetitstarget.Perfectingthemovewassomethinghe’dpracticedsincehewasasmallboylearningtohuntwildboarswithOkwara,thehalf-Negro,half-Navahoplantationslavewho’dtaughtHugheshowto

slicetheaircleanthrough.“I’dratheryoutake

meprisonerthanseethisfineestablishmentgoupinflames.”Hughesstoodwithhisarmshangingcasuallyathissides,handsrelaxed,fingersopenandready.“Well,hereIam,girls.Comeoninandtakeme.”

Withoutaword,theWhittseasedintotheroom,thethreestandingshouldertoshoulder,barringthedoor.

Bootsshuffledandspursclinkedonthewoodenfloorstrewnwithstreamersandglitter.Dustmotesfloatedintheair,illuminatedinthegoldenglowofthegaslights.Theonlysoundwasheavy,measuredbreathing.

Hugheswaited.Therewardgoestothepatienthunter.Yes,Okwara,Iremember.

Then,withanalmostimperceptiblegesture,aslight

dipoftheheadfromthebrotherinthemiddle,noddingtotheoneonhisright,thelargestofthethreebrothersmadeaquickmoveforhisgun.

Hugheswasquicker,drawingtheknifefromthebackofhiswaistband,flingingitathisbarrel-chestedtarget,hittingthemansquareintheheart.Thebigmansanktohiskneesandfellsideways,deadbeforehe

couldclosehissurprisedeyes.

ThetworemainingWhittbrotherswentfortheirguns.HughesfilledhishandswithhisNavyColts,firingbothpistolssimultaneously,eachoneaimedatitsowntarget.Hehitonebrotherinthegut,buthisothershotmisseditsmark.

Hughescontinuedfiring,movingawayfromthetablewhereLeighselle

crouchedinhiding,drawingthegunfireawayfromher.Hetriedtomakehiswaytothesafetyoftheheavymahoganybar.Firinghislastshot,heleaptontopoftheservingcounter,scatteringglassesandbottles,takingashottohissideashewentover.

“Ibeenhit,”saidMonroeWhittashedroppedtothefloor,“getmeouttahere.”Heclutchedhisbelly,

hishandsturningdarkwithblood.

“WhataboutArthur?”RaymondpointedtothemanwithHughes’sknifeburiedhiltdeepinhischest.“Wecan’tleavehim.”

“He’sdead.Leavehim.Getmeoutofhere.”Monroetriedtostandbutsankbacktothefloor,bloodpoolingaroundhisfeet.

Withonepistolreloaded,Hughesroseup

fromtheshadows,clutchinghisrightsidewithhislefthand,andfired.HehitMonroeagain,adirectshottothethigh.Hughescollapsedontotheslick,coolsurface,semi-awareofhearinganothershot,knowingmorethanfeelinghisbodyflinch.

“Goddamnit,Raymond,Isaidgetmeouttahere.”Monroewaslosingcopiousamountsofbloodfrombothwounds.“Myleg.

..”Theshotthatstruck

HugheswasfromRaymond’sgun,aimedandfiredinaquickpanicjustbeforehegrabbedMonroebythecollar,dragginghimoutofthetavernanddownthestairs.Throwinghisbrotherontothesaddle,Raymondheavedhimselfupbehindhim,thehorsecrow-hoppinginprotestattheweightofbothmen.Raymonddugin

hisspurs.Thehorsegallopedoff,withasprayofbloodmistingthemidnightair.

“OhdearGod,Hughes!”Leighsellerushedtohim,wipingthebloodfromhisface.“Please,someone,helpme!”

“I’llrunupstairsandgetDoc,”saidSmitty,thebeefy-armedblacksmithwho’dtakenrefugebehindthebar.

“Noneedtocome

up,”saidDoctorFlemingsashepeekedoutthedoor.Hemadehiswaydownthestairs.“I’msorry,Leighselle,butMonique...shelosttoomuchblood.Herinjuriesweretoosevere.I’msorry.”

“Hugheshasbeenshot.Pleasehurry.”Leighselle’seyesfilledwithtears.“Oh,mydearMonique.”Sheshookherhead;wordsstungherthroat.

DoctorFlemingsand

SmittystretchedHughesoutonthebar.“Headwoundappearstobesuperficial.Theonetohissideisanotherstory.Hewon’tmakeitifIdon’tgetinthereandstopthebleeding.Smitty,canyouhelploadhimintomywagon?”

Hughesmoaned,hiseyesopeningandclosing,hisbreathshallow,hisskincoolingandbecomingpaleasthemencarriedhimout.

Bloodleftawide,redtrailontheplankfloorthatwasstrewnwithdiscardedmasks,feathers,andbrightstreamersineverycoloroftherainbow.

*****Leighselleplacedthetrayoffreshcompressesandstripsofgauzeonthebedsidetable.“Standstill.Letmefinishredressingthesebandages.Iwishyouwouldn’tgo.You’renotready,notstrongenough.”

“Threeweeksisenoughtimeforhealing.Ican’tlettheirtrailgocold.”Hughesgrittedhisteeth,painshootingthroughhisside.Hethoughtforamomentthatshemightberight....Thenheshookhisheadagainstthenotion.No.Hehadtogo.

“GobackhometoLévesquePlantation,hideoutthereforawhiletillallthisblowsover.”Shewipedherforeheadwiththebackofher

hand,shovingastraycurlbackintoplace.

“Hideout?”Hughessnorted.“YousawwhatthatbastarddidtoMonique.Heandtheotheronemaybedead,butthere’stwomorewhotriedtokillmefortheeffort.”

HewaspreparedtochasethosesonsofbitchestoHellifhehadto.They’dbebackgunningforhim—ofthathewascertain.What

kindofmanwouldhebeifheranandhid—wasafraidtofacethefight?He’dbethekindofmanhewouldn’twanttoknow.

“Ouch.”HewincedasLeighselletightenedthebandage.

“You’rebarelyonyourfeet.Youthinkyou’rereadytochaseaftertwooutlaws?Youdon’thavethestrength.”

“I’llfindthe

strength.”Hughesstrappedon

hisgunsandreachedforhishat,pausingwhileLeighsellefinishedbuttoninghisshirt,afreshbandagecoveringthewoundonhissideandsecuredaroundhiswaist.Heshovedhisshirttailintohiswaistbandandthenputbothhandsonhershoulders.

“I’llbefine.Besides,youknowI’mnotwelcomeathomeanymore.Father’s

decree.”Hetookadeepbreathandletoutwhatsoundedlikeagrowl.“Ineedtofinishpackingafewthings,thenI’moff.”

“Ican’tpersuadeyouotherwise?”

“No.”Hughesopenedhissaddlebags,takingstockofwhattopack.

“I’llseeyoudownstairs,then.You’llneedabottleofwhiskey—formedicinalpurposes.”

Leighsellesteppedoutthedoor,shuttingitbehindher,hermossgreentaffetaskirtswishingaroundherankles.

Turning,shesawsomeoneapproaching.“MayIhelpyou?”sheaskedinaloudvoice.

“I’mlookingforsomeone.AmannamedHughesLévesque.Heardhemightbehere.”HeeyedthetrashcanLeighsellewasholding,lookingcloseratthe

bloodybandages.“He’swounded.Thosehisbandages?Isheinthatroomyoujustcamefrom?”

Leighselletightenedhergriponthetrashcan.“That’smyroomandthis,”shesaid,holdingthecanoutforinspection,“thisis—uh—it’smytimeofthemonth,isall.See?”

RaymondWhittlurchedbackward,turninghisheadaway.“Isthereaman

herenamedHughesLévesquethatyou’rehiding?”

“I’mnothidinganyone.You’rewelcometolookaround.IheardLévesqueleftforTennessee,though,aboutaweekago.Youmightcatchupwithhim,ifyouhurry.”Leighselletookastepcloser,battinghereyelashes.

“Tennessee?”Hetookastepbackward.

“Um-hm.Mightyou

beinterestedinalittleplaytime?Discounted,today,ofcourse.”Shepattedthetrashcanandofferedacoysmile.

“Hellno,woman.I’minterestedinfindingLévesque.”Whitttookafewstepsbackward,eyeingthedoorbehindLeighselle.

Leighsellepursued.Then,feigningsurprise,droppedthetrashcan.ItlandedonWhitt’sfeet,thesoiledbandagesspillingon

hisbootsandsplayingacrossthehallway.ThemesscreatedabloodybarrierthatmightaswellhavebeenabrickwallbetweenWhittandthedoorHughesstoodbehind.

“Goddamnit,woman.”Hedancedbackward,shakinghisfeetfreeofthebloodybandages.“WhatinChrist’snameareyoutryingtodo?”

“Mygoodness.I’mabitclumsysometimes.”Shedroppedtoherknees,bending

forward,allowingWhittagenerouspeekathercleavage.Pickingupthebloodystripsofgauze,sheasked,“Canyougivemeahandhere,please?”

RaymondWhittbackedawayandmadequickprogressretreatingdownthestairs,hisspurstanglingtogether.“Tennessee?”

“Yes.Chattanooga.”*****

Hugheswasstandingbehind

thedoor,listening,whenLeighsellereturnedtotheroom.“Youclever,clevergirl,”hesaid,shakinghisheadinastonishment.“That’swhatIcallanout-foxingmaneuver.”

“Iwasafraidyou’dcomeout,gunsa-blazing.”

“Boy,didIwantto,”Hughessaid,twirlingtheloadedchamberofhisColt.“Bidingmytimeisbest.Iplanoncatchingthemoff

guardwhenthey’renotonthehunt.Butyou—youdeserveanhonor—whatabrilliantperformance.”

“Ithinkonmyfeet.Comingupwithaspontaneousplanwhenthere’stroublebrewingcanmeanthedifferencebetweenlifeanddeath.”

“I’llrememberthat.”Hughesmovedtothesideofthewindow,thechiffoncurtainliftedafraction.“The

otherbrother’soutthere—guessingtheoneIgut-shot.He’snotsittingtootallinthesaddle.”

Hewatchedthemanasheexitedthesaloonandmounthishorse.Then,thetwoWhittbrothersaimedtheirhorsesnorthoutoftheFrenchQuarter,thehorsesgallopinghoovessplashingthroughtherainpuddlesthatruttedthemuddylane.

“Marchisstillcoldat

night.Takewarmclothes.Didyoupackablanket?”

Hughessmiledather.“Yes,mother.”

Leighsellewinced.“I’mnotyourmother,”shesaid,piercinghimwithasharplook.

“I’msorry.WhatdidIsay?”Hugheslookedstricken.

“Nothing.Nevermind.I’mconcernedaboutyou.”

“Iappreciateyourconcern.IgrewuproughingitwhenOkwarawouldletmetagalongonhoghunts.IthinkIcanhandleTexasinthespring.Comehere.”HewrappedhisarmsaroundLeighselle,thenkissedthetopofherhead.“Ioweyoumylife.Ifyoueverneedanything,I’mforeverinyourdebt.”

“Willyoubecomingback?”

“Idon’tknow.Fathermadeitclearthatafterwhathecalledmy‘latestshenanigans,’thatI’mnotwelcomeathome.Hestuffedmypocketsfullofmoneyandthenshowedmethedoor.ThankGodmybrotherbroughtmehere.”Heshruggedhisshoulders,hisambereyescloudedwithpain.

“You’realwayswelcomeatmydoor.Come,

I’llwalkyoudownstairs.You’llneedthatbottleofwhiskeywhenitcomestimetochangingthosebandages.”

Hughessprintedthefourblockstotheliverystabletofetchhishorse,notwantingtoputtoomuchtimebetweenhimselfandtheWhitts.Holdinghisside,feelinglightheaded,hefoughtoffwavesofmind-splittingpainandgut-emptyingnausea.

*****Smittyrubbedhisdirtyhandsdownhisapron,thefireboxbehindtheanvilglowingbrightorange.Hepickedupared-hothorseshoewithheavywrought-irontongsandlayitonananvil.Aftergivingitafewwhackswithaflat-headedhammer,heimmerseditinabucketofwater.Steamroseinagraycirclethateclipsedhisround,baldhead.

“Theywerehere,”saidSmitty.“AskedifIknewyou—askedhowlongsinceyouleftforTennessee.Isaid,‘Tennessee?Hell,hedidn’tgotoTennessee.ThatboywenttoTexas.’Ithinkthatconfused’emabit.”

Hughesledhismareoutofthestallandthrewhissaddleacrossherback,wincingashedidso,tyingtheblanketandrainslickerbehindthecantle.“Iwonder

whichwaytheywent.”“Oh,theyargued.

Almostcametoblows.OnesaidTennessee,buttheysureashelldidn’tleavehereheadedeast.Theother’n,theonewiththegutshotandlegwound,saidTexas.Guesshe’stheboss.Theyrodewest.”

*****Theirtrailprovedtooeasytofollow.Hughesreinedhishorsebackafewtimessoas

nottorideupontherecklesspairwholeftcarelessclues.Crickets,owls,andcoyotesfilledthefrostynightwiththeirsongsasstarsfilledtheexpansivedarknessfromcornertocornerwiththeirsparklinglight.Springwasstillafewweeksaway.Thecoolingoftheearthatnightleftaheavydewontheground,makingawetsnakingtrackwherethehorsespassed.

Hughesyawnedandstretched,ignoringthepainstillpulsinghotonhisside.Hethoughtofchangingthebandagesashetouchedhiswound,feelingawetstickinessthroughhisshirt.HewouldhavechangeditiftheWhittseverstoppedtorest,butitappearedasiftheyplannedonridingallnight.Theotherwoundfromthesuperficialgrazingofthebulletjustabovehisrightear

leftafaintscar,hishairalreadygrowingoverandhidingit.

Dawnwashedtheeasternhorizoninshadesofnight-dissolvingpink,theforestsoundshushingasthesunroseintoasilentsky.TheWhittspulledoffthetrailandledtheirhorsesintoathicketofold-growthpinesodensethesun’sraysstrainedtoreachtheground.Theretheymadecamp.

Hughesrodehismareintheoppositedirectionasafedistanceaway,puttingheronapicketlinetograze.Then,wrappinghimselfinablanket,helaydownnexttowherehishorsewastied.Hefellintoalight,feverishsleep.

Thescreechingofahawkhighoverheadawokehim,thesunhalfwaythroughitsarcacrossthesky.Hughessatup,listeningtothepiney

woods,orientinghimself.Thepaininhissideradiatedoutinfieryhotfingersthattuggedoneverynerve.Agulpofwhiskeyfromthebottleinhissaddlebagnumbedthepainandclearedhisheadjustenough.

He’dchangethebandageslater.ItwastimetoseewhatwashappeningattheWhittcamp.Gunsinhand,hesneakedthroughthewoods,carefulnottomakea

sound.Hughessmiledand

thankedthestarsaboveformakingthissoeasy.RaymondandMonroeWhittlayonthefarsideoftheirfirenexttoarockyoutcropping,anemptybottleofwhiskeybetweenthem.Theinjuredmanmoanedinhisblanket,whichwasbloodyandwetwitharustybrownstain,thesmallcampfireofferingupathinstringofpalegray

smoke.“I’mcold,Raymond.

Getupandstirthatfirebacktolife.”Monroe’svoicesoundedraspyandweak.“AndI’mthirsty.Gimmeasipofwhiskey.”

RaymondWhittrolledover,theblanketthatwascoveringhimfallingaway.Hesatup,cursing.“Well,shit.Can’tamanevengetsomesleep?”Hehobbledovertothefireandbeganto

pokeitwithastick.“Ain’tnomorewhiskey.”

“I’mthirsty,brother.I’mhurting.Justputabulletinmeandgetitoverwith,”Monroebegged.

“Holdyourhorses.I’mstirringthefire.”

Hughescreptinfurther,duckingbehindthetrunkofanenormouspinoaktree.Assessingthesituation,formingaplan,hepickedatthedirtunderhisnails,

scrapingthemcleanwithatwig.Goon,Raymond,hethought,giveyourbrothersomewater.Steponoverthere,niceandclose.

“I’mthirsty...”Monroe’svoicefadedawaytoawhimper.

“Well,I’mcold.Iwantcoffee.”Raymondbusiedhimselfwiththetaskathand,stirringtheashes,thefirecracklingtolifeonceagain.

“Water.Now.”“Damnit,Monroe,we

shouldaheadedtoTennessee.”Raymondspunaround,stirstickinhand,thrustingitintheairforemphasis.“Thatbitchatthetavernsaidthat’swhereLévesquewent.Butno.Youtooktheblacksmith’sword.We’vebeeningoddamnedTexasadayandahalfnowandain’tseenasinglesign.Notaone.Nowyou’redying,

andit’llbeonmealonetofindLévesqueandkillhim,whereverthehellheis.WeshouldagonetoTennessee.”

“I’mtheonewiththegutwoundandyou’retheonebellyaching—”

“Tennessee,”insistedRaymond.“Tennessee.”

“Putabulletinmeandgetitoverwith.AtleastIwon’thavetolistentoyouharponaboutTennessee.”Monroe,feverishand

moaning,rolledbackandforthinhisblanket,clutchinghisdistendedbellythatwasoozingblood.“Water.I’mthirsty...”

“Yougotagun.Doityourself,”saidRaymondoverhisshoulder.

“Goddamnyou,”moanedMonroe.“Suicide’sasuretickettohell.”

“Ithinkmurderingyourbrother’llgetyouthere,too.”

HugheswatchedasRaymondpickedupacanteenandrosetohisfeet,shufflingtowhereMonroelayshiveringontheground.Heopenedthecanteenandliftedhisbrother’sheadwithonehand,pouringatrickleofwaterintohismouth.

Now.Go.Hughesrushedfrom

behindtheoaktree,apistolineachhand.HecoveredthedistancetotheWhittsinlong,

ground-clearingstrides.“Getyourhandsintheair,bothofyou,”heshouted,“orI’llshoot.I’vehadenoughofallyourfuckingarguing.”

RaymonddroppedboththecanteenandMonroe’shead,thenstoodup,handsintheair.“Don’tshoot,mister.”

“Youontheground,easeyourhandsoutofthatblanket.Letmeseethem.Niceandslow.”

Anoisecomingfrombehind,twigssnapping,ahorsenickering,causedHughestodiverthiseyestothesideafractionofasecond.Inthatmoment,Raymonddrewhisgun,fumbling,pullingthetriggertoosoon.ThebulletstruckthegroundatHughes’sfeet,sprayingdirtintotheair.Hughesfiredback,thebulletrippingaholethroughtheheartofRaymond,sending

himsprawlingbackward,spread-eagletotheground.

Awhite-hot,searingpaintorethroughHughes’sleftshoulder—theflashingofagun—theloudpopechoinginhisear.Theforcefromtheblastspunhimaround,knockinghimoffhisfeet.

Ontheground,Monroecrawledoutfromtheblanket,guninhand.Hestoodbutsankdowntohisknees,strugglingtoholdthe

weightoftheweapon.Hebroughtthepistolup,grippingitinbothhandsslipperywithblood.Unsteady,shaking,heblinkedhiseyesinrapidsuccessioninanapparentefforttokeephistargetinfocus.

Rollingoveronhisbelly,ignoringthepainunderneaththebloodybandageonhisside,Hughestookquickaim.Hefired,sendingMonroeWhitttojoin

hisbrothersinhell.Thewhoosh-clickofa

shotgunbeingreadiedjustbehindhisheadcausedhimtofreeze—andthentocomplywiththe“getuponyourfeetandputyourhandsintheair”command.Thevoicewaspatientandpleasant,gentleyetassertive,thekindofvoicethatcouldtalkakidintogivingupapieceofcandyorconvinceahornetintonotstinging.

“Tossyourgunsoverhere,thenhandsintheair,”saidthepleasantvoice.

Hughesstoodanddidashewastold.Twomenhecouldsee,onewiththeshotgun,anotherbehindinthetrees.Hetossedhisgunsontheground,shovedhishandsintheair.

“What’syourname,mister?”Thetall,thinmanstoodunderalargebrownhatthathidhiseyesandthetop

halfofhisface,histhick,blackmustachecoveringhismouthandthebottomhalf.Hisslow,easywordsdrippedlikethick,richmolasses.

“HughesLévesque.”“Where’reyoufrom,

andwhyareyouhere?”heaskedwithanicetonetohisvoice.

“NewOrleans.Trackingtheseoutlaws.”

“You’reassparsewithyourwordsasyouare

yourbullets.”“I’mefficient.”“Lookslikeyou

trackedthemallright—trackedthemtothegatesofhell.”

“Theytriedtokillmefirst.Ishotindefense.MyplanwastotakethembacktoNewOrleanswheretheirbrothersDaltonandArthurpaidthesamepricefortryingtokillme.ThesetwoareRaymondandMonroe

Whitt.”“Weknowwhothey

are,son,andsawwhathappened,”saidagravellyvoicedmansteppingoutfromthetrees.“We’vecomefromOrleans.Heardwhathappenedthere.Wesuspecteditmightbeyouwhowasfollowingthesetwo.”

“We’vebeenaftertheWhittsforsometime,”saidthepleasant,hattedman

holdingtheshotgun.“Lookslikeyoumadetidyworkwiththeminshortorder.”

“Hell,Ididn’tknowwhotheywereuntiltwodaysago.Ihadnoquarrelwiththem,untilwhathappenedtoMonique.ThenIhadaquarrel.”Handsstillintheair,Hughes’sshoulderthrobbed.Heignoredit.

“Well,son,youdidusafavor,”saidthemanwiththegravellyvoice.“Seems

youhaveaknackfortrackingandkilling.Yououghttothinkaboutjoiningupwithus.”

“I’mnotsomecommonbrigandlookingtojoinupwithanoutlawgang,”saidHughes,thewoundtohisshoulderdrippingwithblood.

“We’renotoutlaws,son.We’reTexasRangers.”

*****September28,1860

ThetrainpulledintoNewOrleansStation,itsshrillwhistledrawingHughesoutofadeepsleep.Hepressedhisforearmagainstthefoggywindow,swipingaclearcircle,allowingawatery,distortedviewoftheplatform.John-Pierrestoodshivering,handsinpockets,hatpulleddown,coatcollarturnedupagainsttheautumnchill.Heneverdidtaketotheoutdoors.Itwasn’teventhat

coldoutside.Hughessteppedonto

theplatformandthebrothersshookhands,thenembracedinaquickhug.Exchangingpleasantries,theymadetheirwaytothestation’scaféwheretheyspentanhourdrinkingcoffee,tellingstories,andreminiscing.

Beforelong,John-Pierrepulledhiswatchfromhispocket,apologizingforhavingtoleavesosoon.

Businessdemandedit.Thetwobrothersembracedagain—longer,tighter—beforeJohn-Pierredeparted,disappearingthroughthecrowdofuniformedsoldiersmillingaboutthetrainstation.

Hughessatawhilelongerandsippedanothercoffee.Everywherehelooked,hesawsoldiers.Young,fresh-facedboyspumpingfistsintheair,eagerforexcitement,eagerfor

adventure,eagerforthechancetoprovetheirmanhood.Eagertodie.

Theyspokeaboutgoingtowar,theirvoicesfilledwiththeenthusiasmandenergyofyouth,asif“War”wereawelcomingplacetoputyourbagsdownandstayawhile.Somewouldstay—foreternity.Butmaybetherewouldn’tbeawar.Maybethisnextpresidentialelectionwouldsteerthecountryaway

fromthat.Theseboysshouldstayboysalittlelonger.

Hughessawloverskissinglingeringgood-byes,mothersandfathersembracingsonseagertopullawayandboardthetrains,andteary-eyedwivesandchildrenwavingassoldier-fathersdisappearedintothickcrowds.Afeelingthathewasmissingout,thathewasnotreachingforsomethingthatheshouldtakeatighterhold

of,washedoverhimashethoughtabouthisbrother.

Buthecouldn’thavethat.Hecouldn’thavewhatJohn-Pierrehad—awifeandachild,withanotherontheway.Afamily.Peoplewhoneedanddependonhim.Hisbrotherhadtheluxuryofworryingaboutthesafetyofhiswifeandchild.Hugheswouldneverknowthatluxury.Worryingaboutsomeonewhoneededhim

wouldalterthewayhethought—thewayhereacted—withdangerousconsequences.Heknewtheluxuryofunencumberedwork,andtheexcitementofanewmission.

Hedrummedhisfingersonthetable,afamiliarrestlessnessrisingupfromwithin.Hismotherhadsentamessageofherlovewithoutaninvitationforhimtocomehomeforavisit.Fatherwas

athome,illandresting,hisbrotherhadsaid.Alltheseyearslaterandhewasstillnotwelcomethere.Heunderstood.Andreally,hedidn’tmissit,thatplaceheusedtocall“home.”

Hughessluggeddowntherestofhiscoffeeandthenstrolledoutofthestationcaféovertowherethemarestoodtied.Shewassaddledinexpensivehand-tooledtackwithroses,oakleaves,and

acornscarvedintothedark,oiledleather.Thepolishedbrassfittingsgleamed,thestitchingstraightandperfect.Matchingsaddlebagshungonbothsides,andabedrollandslickerwasaffixedtothecantle.Shewasshodandreadytogo,justashe’drequested.

Hughesopenedoneofthesaddlebagstostorehissmallvaliseinside.Therewasbarelyenoughroom.The

saddlebagswerestuffedfullofhismother’susualgiftsshemailedtohishotel:linens,money,goldcoins,pewterplates,thingseveryRangermightneedonthetrail.

Shovinghisleftbootintothestirrup,heswungoverandsettleddownintothesaddle.Nowthis—thisfeelslikehome.Hesmiled.TurningawayfromNewOrleansStation,Hughesrelaxedintoaneasytrot,the

finemorningmistburningawayastheearlyautumnsunwarmedhisback,followinghimwest.

CHAPTERNINEOCTOBER26,1860

Therobuststagedriverpulledthefrothymulestoastopandclimbeddownfromhisperch.Heswungthecoachdooropen,grabbingtheclosestbagofmailinhisglovedhands.“Well,boys,thisistheendoftheline.WelcometoSaintJoseph,Missouri.”

“Canyoutellus

wherewecanfindthePonyExpressstables?”Barleighloweredherselffromthedustycabofthewagon,heftingthesaddleupontohershoulder.Amixtureofanxietyandexcitementbubbledwithin,andshetookadeepbreath,hopingtokeepthosefeelingssubdued.

Stoneyfollowedclosebehindwithhisdirtybedroll.Twothickstrapsofgreasybrownleatherheldhis

belongingstogether,keepingthecontentsinsidefromspillingout—atincup,afork,athreadbare,button-lesscoat.

Withoutslowinghisrhythmofslingingmailbagsoutofthestagecoachandintothewaitingarmsofalankykidwearingapostalclerk’suniform,thedrivergruntedafewwordsandthumbedoverhisshoulder,indicatingthelargecedarandbrickstructurebehindhim.

“Muchobliged,sir,andthankyoufortheride,”saidStoney,tippinghishatasthetwostrodeovertothestables.

Thebuilding’sarchedentrywaywaswideenoughtoaccommodateawagonorateamofhorsesbeingmovedabout.Anoverheadsignread“Pike’sPeakStables.”Insidethecavernousbarn,thesmellofsweatyhorses,manure,sweetoats,oiledleather,and

alfalfahaymingledtogethertocreateaheadyaroma.Thearomainducedbothmelancholyandfeelingsofcomfortatthesametime.Barleighfeltrightathome.

“Excuseme,sir,”Barleighsaid,walkingovertowhereasprite,baldingmanwithaquickpitchforkwasfillinghaytroughs.“We’relookingforthePonyExpressStables.ThissignheresaysPike’sPeak—”

“You’reintherightplace.TheCentralOverlandCaliforniaandPike’sPeakExpressCompany,alsoknownasthePonyExpress.Name’sAugustOlsen.WhatcanIdoyoufor?”Hekeptforkinghayintothefeedtroughs,yethiswelcomingsmileandfriendlystyleinvitedconversation.

“Well,sir,Mr.Olsen,sir,I’mStoneyWooten.Thishere’sBarFlanders.Wecame

tohireonasPonyExpressriders.”Stoneyheldoutthewaybilladvertisingthejob,thesametypeofpaperthatblewdownthestreetinFortWorthandlandedatBarleigh’sfeet.

“Youcancallme‘August.’I’mthestationmanager,”hesaidwithaslightSwedishaccent.“YouneedtoseeMr.Waddellaboutapplyingforajob.He’stheowner.Oneof’em,

anyway.There’sthreeof’em.”

“WherecanwefindMr.Waddell?”Barleighasked,keepinghervoicemeasured.

“OveryonderatthePateeHouse.Thebigfour-storyhoteltwoblockseast’ohereonthecornerofTwelfthandPennStreets.YoucanfindthePonyExpressofficethere.TellMr.WaddellIsentyou.”

“Thankyou,sir,”theybothsaid,turningtoleavebeforeOlsen’swordsdrewthembackaround.

“Dangerousjob,youknow.WhatmakesyouboyssoeagertobeExpressriders?Riskingdeathdaily?Orphanspreferred?Thosearen’tjustwordsonpaper.”AugustOlsenleanedonhispitchfork,hiscleargrayeyesnotblinking.

Barleighshuffledher

feet,kickingataclodofdirtontheground,waitingforStoneytoanswer.LettingStoneyactasthespokespersonwasgoingtobethebeststrategyinkeepingheridentityhidden,she’ddecided,andStoneyneverseemedshyaboutspeakingup.

“It’smightygoodwagesforsittingonahorse,”Stoneysaid.“Hell,Idonethatforfreeallmylife.Now

someone’swillingtopaymetoraceaponybackn’forth?That’sariskIwon’tmindtaking,consideringthehighwagesoffered.”

“Knowwhatyou’regettinginto,boys.Thisain’tafrolickingponyrideinthepark,”saidAugust,rakingadirtysleeveacrosshisbaldhead.“There’smanyriskstoconsider.Theharshweather—yourbonesfreezinginthewinter—thesunbakingyou

aliveinthesummer.Monotony.Boredom.Ridingfourteenhours—hunger.Longstretchesofteeth-itchingthirst.Thunderstorms.Blizzards.Midnight,gallopingfulloutoverhazardousterrainwhereyoucan’tseeshit.Highnoon,theglareofthesunburningyoureyeballsthatarealreadyscratchedtohellfromdustandsand.And,ifthat’snotenoughriskyexcitementfor

you—you’llbeduckingfromangryIndiansanddodginggun-slingingoutlaws.”

“I’vefacedbiggerrisksdodgingmypa’sdrunkenfists,”Stoneysaidasheturnedonhisheelandhurriedoutofthebarn.

“Muchobliged,sir.”BarleighrushedafterStoneyandtheyheadedeasttowardthePateeHouseHotel.

Thered-brick,four-storybuildingwithwhite

woodenarchesandornatecarvedwindowmoldingswasashorttwoandahalfblocksfromthestables.Onitswide,columnedfrontporchwereladiesunderparasolstakingafternoontea;theywereseatedatdaintytablestotheleftandtotherightofthecenterstepsleadingtothedoublearchedentrywaydoors.Movingupanddownthestepsenteringandexitingthehotelwasahectic

networkofhatted,suitedmenscuttlingaboutasifoncriticalbusinessrequiringurgentattention.

Uponenteringthehotel,Barleighglancedaroundandspottedadoorattheendofthemainhallway.Theetchedglassontheupperhalfofthedoorshowedamountedriderbentlowovertheneckofhisponyrunningatfullgallop.

“Thatlooks

promising,”Stoneysaid,pointingdownthehall.“Let’strythatoffice.”TheboyfromFrogLevel,Arkansas,dirtanddustmarringhisfaceandclothes,marchedwithhisshouldersback,headhighdownthefancycorridoramongthewell-suitedbusinessmen.Hewalkedwiththepostureofonemovingamonghispeers.

Thebrassnameplateonthedoorread“Russell,

Majors,andWaddell–COC&PPEC.”Ashadowmovingagainsttheetchedglass—amuffledvoicestammeringontheothersideofthedoor—pausedwhenBarleighknocked.

“Comein,”boomedavoicefrominside.

Takingadeepbreath,Barleighfilledherlungs,lettingtheairseepoutslowly.Herhandonthedoorknob,shebreathedinagain,heldit

amoment,then,turningtheknob,strodewithpurposeintothelight-filledroom,whichshimmeredinthelateafternoonsun.

“MayIhelpyou?”ThenameplateonthedeskbelongedtoMr.WilliamBradfordWaddell.Thestockymansatinanox-bloodleatherupholsteredchairwithbrassnail-headtrim.Hehadapleasantfacedespitethecornersofhiseyesandhis

mouthbeingslanteddownwardinaperpetualpout.

“Yes,sir.We’reheretoapplyforthejob.”Stoneyheldoutthewaybilladvertisement.“We’reyournewPonyExpressriders.Sir.”

Mr.Waddellleanedbackinhischair,chewinghisunlightedcigarbetweenclenchedteeth.“Youwiththesaddle,what’syournameand

age?”“BarFlanders,sir.

Eighteen.”“Andyou?”“I’mStoneyWooten,

sir.I’malsoeighteen.”“What’syourstory,

youngMr.Flanders?Orphan?Runaway?Experiencedatridingandshooting?”

“Orphan.Expertrider,accurateshot.”Ablushbegantoblossomandshefoughthardtoforceitdown.

Braggingonherselfwasawkward,butthetruthwasthetruth.

“You’resmallforeighteen.Itookyouforfourteen,maybefifteen.Butthesmallerthebetterforfasterriding.Lessweightforthehorsetohaularound.Andyou,Mr.Wooten.What’syourstory?”

“Iain’tnoorphan,justnotwelcomeathomenomore.Igroweduponthe

backofahorseandain’tneverfallenoff.Mounted,atfullgallop,Icanshootarabbitandonlywasteonebullet.That’sifIdon’thavearockandaslingshottousefirst—whichIprefer.I’mprettyhandywithhurlingstones.That’showIgotmyname,Stoney.Idon’tremembermygivenname.Itwasn’tusedmuch.IthinkitwasWalter.OrmaybeIjusthopeditwasthatandnot

Owen.Owen’smypa’sname.”

“Oneofyouismightysparsewithyourwords,theotherquitegenerous,”saidWaddell.“Well,tellyouwhat.We’reholdingtryoutsaweekfromtomorrowmorningateighto’clockattheExpressstablesifyou’reinterestedinapplyingforthejob.”

“Yes,sir.What’sthetryout?”Barleighasked.

“WeholdtryoutraceseveryotherSaturdayofthemonth.It’sbecomequitethespectatorevent—apopularopportunityforfriendlywageringamongthelocals.Sofar,they’llbefiveriderscompeting,includingyoutwo.You’llmountyourhorse,ridetotheEllwoodferry,andtakeitacrosstheriver—racetotheTroyrelaystation,dismount,shootattwomarkedtargets,remount

afreshhorse,andthenracebackhere.Ifit’satieforfirstplace,whichhasn’thappenedyet,thewinnerwillbetheriderwhoreturnswithhishorseinthebestconditionasdeterminedbyAugustOlsen,ourstationmanager.Anyquestions?”

“Howmanyridersoutofthefivegethiredon?”Stoneyasked.

“Two.Oneotherwemightuseasastockhandler.

Anythingelse?”“HowfarisTroy

Station?”Barleighasked,shiftingthesaddlefromonehandtotheother.

“FifteenmilesfromEllwoodFerry.Fifteenmilesback.Mycuriosity’sgottenthebestofme.Whyareyoucarryingthatsaddle?”Waddellasked,usinghisunlitcigarasapointer.

“Amidnightstormspookedawaymyhorse.This

belongedtoUncleJack.He’sdeadnow.”HearingherselfspeakthosewordsaloudgaveBarleighapeculiarsensation,andsheloweredhereyes.

“Isee.Well,ifyouneedaplacetosleep,tellAugustIsaidtogiveyouanemptystallinthebarn.Thehay’ssoftandthecompany’sbetterthanwhatyoumightfindatthelocaltavern.I’llseeyouboththereaweekfromtomorrowmorning.

Goodluckintherace.And,trytostayoutoftroubleforaweek.That’sthehardestpartforyoungriders.”

“Thankyou,sir,”theysaidinunison.

AfterleavingtheofficeoftheCOC&PPEC,Barleighdecidedabathafterfourdaysofdustytravelinginanenclosedcoachwouldbetheperfectendtotheday.Shedroppedhersaddleoffatthestablesandgotdirections

fromAugustOlsenwheretogetabath.

“Ican’taffordabath,”saidStoney,jinglingthecoinsinhispocket.“I’lljustheaddowntotheriverandwashupthere.Saveyourmoneyandcomewithme.Riverwater’sfree.”

“Thanksjustthesame.Along,hotsoakinabathtubisfivecentswellspent.”She’dhavepaidtwicethat.

*****Mostbusinessesintownweredecoratedinred,white,andbluebuntinginanticipationofthepresidentialelectionafewdaysaway.Doorsandwindowsweredraped,postswerewrapped,ribbonshungfromawnings,andcontentiousargumentsfilledtheair.

“Let’sgotothesaloon,”saidStoney.“We’vebeenhereallweekeating

nothingbutbeansandcornbread.Ineedsomethingmoresubstantialbeforethetryoutstomorrowmorning.IthinkIcanaffordasliceofbaloneyiftheysliceitthin.”

Walkingtothesaloonfromthestables,theypassedseveraldifferentgroupsofmenstandingaroundonsidewalksorgatheredaroundporches,allinvolvedinheateddebatesabouttheelection.Barleighkepther

earsopenandhermouthclosed,thoughshewastemptedtothrowheropinionintotheargument.ShefeltinherheartthatAbrahamLincolnwouldbethebestleaderforthecountry.Ifshewereaman,that’swho’dgethervote.

“Takeyourpickoftables,friends.Theplaceisprettyquiettonight.Sofar.”Thebartendercontinuedtowashglassesashespoke,

lookinguponcewhenhefirstheardthedoorsswingopenandshut.“WhatcanIgetyou?”

Theysatatoneofthetwotablesbythefrontwindowtowatchthepeoplewalkingby.IntownaweekandbothStoneyandBarleighstillmarveledatthemassofpeoplemovingabout.Theoneotherpersoninthebarwassittingattheotherwindowtable,apparentlyalso

enjoyingtheview.“Bringustwosteak

platesandtwobeers,please.”Barleighwonderedwhatbeertastedlike.“Andtwocoffees.”Amanlymeal.

“Steak?We’renotPonyExpressridersyet,”Stoneysaid,laughingoutloud.“Makemineaplateoffriedtatersandathinsliceofbaloneyifyouhaveit,andaglassofwater.”Hejingledthechangeinhispocket.

“Baloneybudget,notsteakbudget.”

“I’llbuy.Youcanreciprocateafterwegethiredontomorrow.We’llbenumbersoneandtwocomingback.Iknowit.”TherewasnodoubtinhermindthatsheandStoneywouldwintherace.

“I’llletyoubenumberone,then,sinceyou’rebuyingthesteak,”Stoneysaidwithagrin.

“Thanks,Bar.BeenalongtimesinceI’vetastedsteak.”

ThegentlemanattheadjoiningtabletoBarleigh’sbackleanedinclose.“Excusemeforintrudingintoyourconversation.DidIhearyousayyouwerePonyExpressriders?”

Stoneychimedin.“Notyet.Wetryoutinthemorning.Butbynoontomorrow,wewillbe,youcanbankonit.”Heleanedon

thebacktwolegsofhischair,grinning.

Barleighremainedquiet,hopingthemanwouldturnbackaroundtohistable.

“Ain’tthatright,Bar?We’llbethebesttworidersthatcompany’sseen.We’llshowthemothersathingortwo’boutracingponies.”Stoneybroughthischairbackdownonallfours,stillgrinningfromeartoear.

“That’sright,

Stoney,”Barleighsaid,fidgetinginherchair.

“MayIintroducemyself?”thegentlemanasked.“I’mwritingalettertoafriendofminebackhomeaboutthePonyExpress.I’dlovetobeabletosayI’vemetacoupleoftheriders,especiallyifthey’regoingtobethebestinPonyExpresshistory.”Hescootedhischairawayfromthetable.

Barleighsensedhim

standingbehindher.Anxietyknottedherstomach.Shedidn’twelcomethisstranger’sintrusion.Butshetoldherselftorelax;everyone’sacceptedherasaboy—noneedtoworry.Shehalfstood,halfturnedaround,halflookedup,gavehalfanod,andstuckoutherhand.

“BarFlanders.Pleasedtomeetyou.”Onepump,firmmanlyhandshake,

sitbackdown,eyesonthetable,letStoneydothetalking.

“HughesLévesque.Pleasedtomeetyou,too.I’dbehonoredtobuyyourdinnerforachancetointerviewtwoactualridersandgetsomefirsthandfactsformyletter.”HesmiledandlookedatStoney.

“Ain’tridersjustyet.”Stoneystood,offeredhishand,andintroducedhimself.

“Butgivenyourgenerousoffer,you’rewelcometositatourtable.I’lltalkaslongasyouwanttolisten.I’lltellyouallaboutourinterviewlastweekwithMr.Waddellandaboutthetryoutstomorrow.”

Hughes,takingthewindowseat,said,“It’smypleasure,Stoney.”

“IthinkIcouldgetusedtothis,gettingpaidtotalk,thengettingpaidtoride

afasthorse—twothingsI’mnaturallygoodat.”Forapoorcountrybumpkin,Stoneyhadthetruepolishofapolitician.Hetoldastorythatlastedfarlongerthantheactualinterview.

ThoughStoneywastheonetalking,everytimeBarleighchancedapeek,shecaughtthegentlemanlookingather.Notstaring,justafeweasyglances.Somethingabouthiseyes,somethingin

thewayhewasn’tshyaboutlookingather,wasn’tquicktomovehiseyesaway,gaveherthefeelingthatthiscouldbetrouble.

*****StoneyandBarleighwokebeforedawnandsharedasmallbreakfastofhardbiscuitsandthelastofwhatremainedoftheFrenchroastedcoffeebeans.Lingeringamoment,enjoyingthefinalaromaand

taste,BarleightoastedtoMr.Templetonwiththelastsipfromhertincup,rememberinghiskindnessandhopinghefoundwarmwaters.

“Isleptlikeastinkingdeadman.Bellyfullofsteakandbeerishowamanshouldgotosleepeverynight.Better,even,ifinawoman’sarm’s,toboot.”Stoneyrolleduphisbedrollandshookthehayfromhisclothes.

“Yep.”Barleighputhercupaway.

“Course,afterspendingfournightsandfivedayssittinginagoddamnedstagecoach,thenaweeksleepinginafeedtroughwithhorsesnippingatyourhairwilldothattoaman,too.Yousleepallright?”

“Yep,”shesaid,pullingonhercoat.

“Youdon’twastetoomuchenergyonwords,I’ve

noticed.”“Don’tneedtowith

youaround.”BarleighsmiledandclappedStoneyontheback.

“Youtworeadytojointheothers?”askedAugustOlsen,leadingayellowdunmustangmareandadarksealbrowngeldingoutoftheirstalls.“Theothertworidersalreadypickedouttheirmounts.WhichofyouwantsBigBrownie?”

StoneyandBarleighlookedateachotherandshrugged.

“I’lltakeBrownie.Remindsmeofmyoldhorsebackhome,”saidStoney,takingtheleadropefromAugust.Withgentleyetassertivehands,hecheckedthegelding’slegsandfeet,lookingforheatortenderness.“Bigboned—Ilikethatinahorse.”

Barleightookthedun

mareandranahanddownherfrontcannonbone,overthefetlock,andtriedtopickupherhoof.Themare,withearsflattened,swungherheadaround,nippingBarleigh’sshoulderhardenoughtodrawblood.

“Ah,alittlefeisty,eh?”Barleighsaid,wincing,rubbinghershoulder.

Augustlaughed.“Don’tturnyourbackonher,butonceyou’reinthesaddle,

you’resafeenough.She’sfast—hangontight.BigBrownie’sfast,too,thoughhedon’tlooklikemuch.”

“Ithoughttherewerefiveofustryingout,”saidStoneyastheyledtheirhorsesoutintothemorning’ssoftgraylight.

“One’salreadydroppedout.Saidhismaandpadidn’twanthimgone.So,justthefourofyouleft.Tieyourponiesoveryondernext

tothemothers,thenallyouboyscomeonoverhere.”Augustwavedtheothertwoover.

“Ouroddsjustgotbetter.Weonlygottobeattwonow,”whisperedStoneywithabiggrinonhisface.“Wecanboxthemin.Youandme’llstayoutfront.Workasateam.Keepthemtwoinourdust.”

“It’dbeunwisetounderestimateyoucountry

boysfromFrogLevel,”saidBarleigh,andshemeantit.

“Here’showthisworks,”saidAugust.“WhenIsay‘Go,’youruntowherethesaddlesandbridlesaresetoutoveryonderlinedupnexttothatwatertrough.Pickoutyourgearandgetyourponytackedup.Getyourassinthesaddle,thenhightailitdownFrancisStreettotheEllwoodFerry,whereit’swaitingforyou.Takeitacrosstheriver

andthenhightailittoTroyStation.It’safifteen-milestraightshotofftheferrydowntheCaliforniaRoad.Oncethere,getoffyourhorse.There’llbesomeonetheretohandittowho’llhaveanotherhorsesimilarincolortotheoneyourodeinon.That’showyou’llknowwhotorideto.They’llpointyoutoyourtarget.Shootyourtarget—notsomeoneelse’s.They’llgiveyouascoreona

pieceofpaper.Bringitbackorit’scountedazero.Hightailitbackhere.Firstonebackwins.Takecarethatyoudon’trunyourhorseintotheground.Adeadhorsealwaysmakesitbacklast.Anyquestions?”

“Yes,sir.”Barleighsteppedforward.“Willtheferrybewaitingonuswhenwegetbacktoreturnustothissideoftheriver?Andwhat’stheallottedtime?”

“Theferrywillhavemadeitsround-robinbeforeyougetbackfromTroyStationandwillbewaiting.Itshouldtakeyouaminimumofthreehoursround-tripifyouuseacombinationofwalk,trot,andgallop.Remember,don’trunyourponytodeath.Iftwoofyagetbackatthesametime,therideronthebestconditionedhorsewins.Ifit’sstillatieasjudgedbyme,thenyour

targetscorecomesintocount.Bytheway,”saidAugustwithawide,toothygrin,“besidesgettinghiredonasaPonyExpressrider,thewinnergetsabonusofthisfive-dollargoldpiece,anincentivefromRussell,MajorsandWaddell.”

Therewere“whoops”andshoutsofboastfulchallengeamongthefourridersastheylinedupandwaitedtohearAugustshout

thecommand“go.”“Look,”Stoney

pointed.“Thatsaddleontheend’sliketheoneyoudrugupherewithyoufromTexas.Youwantthatone?”

“Yep.”“I’llblockandtake

theonenexttoit.”Barleighsawthe

otherseyeingit,too.Lightweightandmoremaneuverablethantheotherheaviersaddles,itcouldmean

thedifferencebetweenwinningandlosingwhenpoundscounted.Shewantedthatsaddle.

Theword“go”rangout.StoneyblockedtheothertwoandsherantotheMcClellanthatlayonthegroundatthefarendnexttothetrough.ThesaddlelookedidenticaltotheonethathadbelongedtoUncleJack.Barleighthoughtitmustbeasignofgoodluckorfortune

smilingdownonher—itcalmedherwithin—asaswarmofactivitybuzzedallaround.

Withquickhands,shetackedupthemarewithoutgettingbitagain,hoppedintothesaddle,spunheraround,andraceddowntowardtheferryinlessthantwominutes.

Stoneyfollowedrightbehind,trailedbyalong,lean,freckle-facedkidnamed

FordDewarridingaflea-bittengraymarethatwhinniedandpranced,headhigh.Thefourthchapstruggledtogetasaddleonhishorsewithoutmuchcooperationfromtherecalcitrantgelding.

Theypulledthehorsesupandtrottedside-by-side,thethreemakingittotheferrysimultaneously,leavingthefourthriderbehind.

“Well,ain’tthat

something,”saidStoney.“Lookatallthemfolkslinedupattheferry.Lookslikethey’rewatchingus.”

Thethrongofonlookersyelledandwaved,shoutingoutencouragement.Somecalledoutthehorsesbynameorbycolor.“I’lltakeDunny!”“Mymoney’sonFlea!”“Don’tletmedown,BigBrownie!”Theyknewthehorses.Itseemedthishadbecomearegular

entertainmentevent.“Apparentlyafriendly

littlewager’sgoingonastowhogetsbackfirst,”saidBarleigh.

“BestbetsonmeandFlea,”Fordshoutedtotheonlookers.Hestoodupinhisstirrups,pumpinghisfistandwavinghishatintheair.Hisanticsspookedhishorse,causingittocrow-hopsideways,furtherentertainingthecrowd.

Agentlemaninatailoredblackridingoutfitwitharedbrocadevestsatastrideafancybayroanmarethatpawedatthegroundwithimpatience.Theystoodnexttowherethethreeriderslineduptoboardtheferry.Hishand-tooledridingsaddleandmatchingbridlewithornatebrassfittings,customrevolverandholster,andknee-highblackleatherbootsallgleamed.

Barleighgaveaslightnodinpoliteacknowledgement.“Morning,Mr.Lévesque.”

“Morning,Bar,”hesaid,touchingthebrimofhishatwithahandglovedinblackleather.“I’mputtingtwenty-fivedollarsonyouandthedunmare.I’llearnbackdoublemywagerifyouwin.”

“I’llwin,”shesaidwithamatter-of-factair.“I’ll

beonadifferenthorse,comingback.Onesimilar,though,incolor.”

“IwastoldwhattowatchforwhenIplacedmywager.Iunderstandit’llbeanotheryellowdunorabuckskin,asimilarhorsesofolksherecancheertheirbetsastheyracebackhome.”

HesmiledandwishedherluckasBarleighurgedherhorseontotheferry.Theireyesmetforabriefmoment,

andinthatmoment,somethingcausedherbreathtocatch.Herheartbeatfelterraticandoutofsync.

Lookingawayandstraightahead,shetriedtoconcentrateonthetaskathand.Sheranthroughinhermindifsherememberedtolowerhervoiceandspeaklikeaman.Shewonderedwhyheraisedhishandtohishatasamandoeswhengreetingalady.Hedid,didn’t

he,orwassheconfusedandrememberingthatwrong?Hadshefailedatherdisguisebeforeevengivenachanceatsuccess?

Concentrate,Barleigh—ImeanBar.

TheferrypulledtothedockattheoppositeshoreontheKansassideoftheriver.StoneyandFordrodeaheadastheropelowered,allowingtheriderstodisembark.Barleighhesitatedandlooked

backoverhershoulder.Themanonthebayroanhorsesatstraightandtallinthesaddle,lookingdirectlyatBarleigh.

Thesoundofhoovespoundingthegroundjoltedherbacktoreality.Shespurredherhorseandslappedthelatigohardagainstthemare’srear.Thehorseletoutasqueal,thenleaptofftheferry,landinglikeajackrabbitonhindlegs,herfrontlegspawingtheair.The

mare’sexplosivepropulsionofftheferryalmostunseatedBarleigh,butshegrabbedahandfulofmane,pullingherselfupright,andtheygallopedoffintothesettlingdustofBigBrownieandFlea.Withinashorttime,theyclosedthegap,theracestayingneck-and-neckmostofthewaytoTroyStation.

TakingtheleadbyalengthasTroyStationcameintoview,Barleighgalloped

intothepaddockareaandreinedtoahalt.Shedroppedtothegroundbeforethemareslidtoacompletestop.“Where’smytarget?”sheyelledtotheattendantwhograbbedthereinsofthesweaty,pantinghorse,herpistolalreadyclearingleather.

“Bull’s-eyemetalsquarenailedtothefirstwhitepost.”Hepointedatthetargettenpacestothenorth.

Shedroppedtooneknee,aimedtherevolver,tookadeepbreath,blewitouthalfway,heldit,andsqueezedthetriggertwiceinrapidsuccession.Thedistinctivepingingofmetalonmetalfilledtheairasthebulletsmadecontact.

“Deadcenter,both,”yelledthespotterasherantothetarget.“Perfecttwenty-fivepointshots!”Theboyholdingthereinsofthefresh

horsehandedBarleighasquareofpapermarkedwiththenumber“50”scratchedinpencilwithahurriedhand.

ShepocketedthepaperandturnedwithoutwaitingtohearStoney’sandFord’sscores.Takingthereinsofherfreshmount,alight-bonedbuckskingelding,shejumpedbackinthesaddle,gallopingawayastheattendantshouted,“Hisname’sBuckeye.Careful,he

kicks.”Great.Firstabiter,

nowakicker.Aswiththeraceto

TroyStation,theracebacktoElwoodFerrywasaconstantshifting,maneuvering,andretakingoftheleadspot.Walkingalittle,trottingalot,andgallopingfulloutwheretheterrainallowedwasthestrategyallthreeadopted.

TrottinguptotheElwoodFerryplatform,Ford

onhiswhitemount,Stoneyridingasmallblackmare,Barleighonthebuckskingelding,theysawaredflagwithagallopinghorseandrideremblembeinghoistedontheMissourisideoftheriver,asignalertingthetownsfolkthattheriderswereapproaching.Whattheridersdidn’tseewastheferry.

“What’shappening?Why’stheferrynothere?”Barleighaskedthedockhand

asshesearchedupanddownthelengthoftheriver,asenseofworrycreepingin.

“Something’swrongwithherpaddlewheel.They’resendingdownarafttofetchyouback,”saidtheworker.“Lookupyonder.Hereitcomes.”

Shelookedandwasdismayed.Itwouldtaketoolongforthatslow,flat-bottomedrafttogetdownriver.Shelookedagainatthe

distanceuptheriver,calculatedthedistanceacrosstheriver,andmadeahastydecision.

“Comeon,Buckeye,let’sgo.”Shespurredthelittlegeldingforward.Hepawedatthewaterafewtimesandsnortedatthespray,thenplungedrightin.

“Whatareyoudoing,Bar?”shoutedStoney.“Theriver’stoowidehere.It’stoodangerous.”

“I’mnotwaiting,”sheyelledoverhershoulder.“Wecandothis,Buckeye.Easynow.”

Shetookafistfulofthehorse’smanewithonehand,heldtighttothesaddlehornwiththeother,andletthehorselurchandpaddlehiswayintothedeep,coldwater.Thehorsestruggledagainsttheswiftnessofthecurrent,andBarleighfearedthatthepairmightbeswepttoofar

downstream.“Wellhellfire,don’t

leavemebehind.”Stoneyonhislittleblackmaretooktheplungetoo.

“Ican’tswim,forcryingoutloud.”Fordpulledhardonhisreins,tryingtorestrainthewhitemarethatseemeddesperatetojointheherdoftwoswimmingawayfromher.“Whoa,forshit’ssake.Whoanow.”

Halfwayacrossthe

river,Stoneyandhismarewereclosingthegap.“Comeon,Blackie,swimfaster,girl.”

Theraftontheoppositeshorewaspullingawayfromthepier,oneangry,pawing,rearingwhitehorsewithitsred-facedrideraboard.Theflat-bottomedvesselflirteddangerouslyclosetocapsizingwiththehorse’soverwroughtbehavior.

“Comeon,Buckeye.Youcandothis,”Barleighurged.Sheheldonfordearlife,thegeldinglurchingforward,hisfeetthrashinglikewildpistonsinthewater.Pullingherfeetfreefromthestirrups,drawingherkneesup,shetriedtokeepherlegsawayfromthedangerofbeingpummeledbythehorse’ssharphooves.

Nearthebank,thegentlemanonthebayroan

marewatched,cheeringthemon.Theentireshorelinefilledwithpeopleshouting,waving,clapping,yellingoutencouragement.TheboisterouscrowdhadshifteddownstreamtowhereBuckeyeandBlackiecameoutofthewatertoraucousapplauseandshoutsof“run,pony,run!”Neckandneck,theyshotoffinaflashtowardthePonyExpressstables,drippingwetandshivering.

Thestationmanager,AugustOlsen,waswaitingatthestableswithCOC&PPECownerWilliamWaddellasthetwogallopedtoastop.StoneyandBlackie,aneckinthelead,werethefirst,withBarleighandBuckeyeaclosesecond.ThesoundoffasthoovesstrikingthegroundtoldthatFordwasmomentsbehind.

Alargecrowdgatheredaround,pushingin

toseethetriumphantreturnofthethreeriders.Menonhorseback,ladiescarryingparasols,childrenrunningcirclesaroundeachother,dogsnippingandbarking—allmadeforafestiveatmosphere.

“WhatinPete’snamehappenedtoyoutwo?”askedAugustOlsen.“You’reallwet.”

“Theferrywasn’tthere,”Barleighsaidthrough

chatteringteeth.“Isentaraftforyou.

Whatinthehellhappened?Diditturnover?”HelookedatFord.“You’redry.”Augustscratchedhisbaldhead,hisfacescrunchedinaconfusedexpression.

“Didn’tcaretowaitfortheboat.Weswam.”Herbodytrembledhardwithadeepeningchill.

“Well,whyintarnationdidyoudothat?”

TherotundWilliamWaddell,withhismouthinaperpetualfrown,waitedforananswer.

“Thesignonyourofficewall,sir,thePonyExpressmotto.‘ThemailMUSTgothrough.’IthoughtofwhatI’ddoifIwerecarryingthemailandtheferry...wasout.”Shetriedtocontrolherchatteringteethandshiveringbody.“I’dmakesure,comehellorhighwater,thatthemailwouldget

through.”“Isthatright,son?

Why,thatimpressesmeimmeasurably,”saidWilliamWaddell,eyesbeaming.“Andyou,Mr.Wooten?Isthatwhatyouwerethinkingwhenyouswamtheriver?”

“Partly,sir,”repliedStoney,teethchattering.“Thatfive-dollargoldpiecemayhavebeenonmymind,too.”

Thecrowdroared

withlaughterandwildapplause.

“Thatimpressesmeevenmore—anhonestanswer.”Waddell’slaughwasheartyandloud.“August,whodoyoupronouncethewinnerofourlittlerace?”

“Well,sir,itlookslikethehorsesarenoworseforthewearfortakingacoldswim.Hell,itseemsliketheyenjoyedtheplunge.Stoney

Wootenwinsfairandsquare.”

AugusthandedthegoldcointoStoney,thenpointedatBarleigh.“Nowyoutwogetinsidetomyoffice.Bestyoustripoffthosewetclothesbeforeyoubothcatchpneumonia.I’llbringyousomehorseblanketsuntilwecanfindsomethingdrytowear.”

“Uh,sir,butI,uh...,”Barleighstammered.

“Ijustdoubledmymoneybettingonthesetwolads,”saidthemanonthebayroanmare,easinghishorsethroughthecrowd.“TheleastIcandoispayforeachofthemahotbathoveratMissSallie’sBoardingHouse,”Mr.Lévesquesaid.

“That’smightygenerous,sir,”saidAugust.“I’msurethey’dappreciatethat.”

“Thatwasonehellof

anexcitingfinish.Lunchisonmeforalltheridersoveratthetavern,afteryou’vedriedoff,ofcourse.I’llgosetitupwithMissSallie.”Heturnedandrodeawaybeforeanyonecouldprotest.

“Beforeyoutakeoff,wehaveanitemofbusinesstoattendto.”Mr.WaddellhandedeachridertheirownpersonalBible.“ThisBibleisthecourtesyofMr.AlexanderMajors,oneoftheother

ownersofthecompany.Beingatemperateandreligiousman,herequiresthesameofhisemployeesandthateachofyoushallswearanoathofyourallegiance.Youallthreestandtogetherhereandraiseyourrighthand.WhenI’vereadtheoath,stateyournameandgiveyourverbalagreement.”

Thethreestoodshouldertoshoulder,BarleighandStoneyshaking

inwetboots,Bibleinlefthands,righthandsraised,andsolemnlytooktheoathofthePonyExpress.

“WhileIamintheemploymentofMr.A.MajorsandCompany,Iagreenottouseprofanelanguage,thatIwilldrinknointoxicatingliquors,Iagreenottogamble,nottotreatanimalscruelly,and

nottodoanythingelsethatisincompatiblewiththeconductofagentleman.Iwillneitherquarrelnorfightwithotheremployees.Iwillbefaithfulandhonestinmydutiesandwilldirectallmyactstowintheconfidenceofmyemployers.IfIviolateanyofthe

aboveconditions,Iagreetoacceptmydischargewithoutanypayformyservices.SohelpmeGod.”Ingoodfaith,her

hearthonestandwithoutmalice,Barleightooktheoaththatsaidshewouldconductherselfasagentleman.Shedidn’tswearthatshewasagentleman.Theotherpartsoftheoathgavehernopause:

nodrinking,gambling,cursing,orfighting;befaithfulandhonestinherduties;bekindtotheanimals.Easy.

“YouarenowallthreeofficiallyPonyExpressriders.Ford,youasanalternateandstocktender.Seemebackinmyofficeafterlunch.”Mr.Waddellshookeachrider’shand.“Congratulations.”

“Justcurious.What

everhappenedtothefourthchapfromthismorning?”Fordasked.

“Aftertenminutesandfinallymanagingtogethisponysaddled,thatol’horsewenttobuckingandputonquiteashowofit,”Augustlaughed,slappinghisknee.“Thatboyhitthedirtsoharditrattledhisteeth.Saidthenthathe’dhadenoughofitandwasgoingbacktohisplow.”

*****

AhotbathanddryclothesputBarleighinafinemood.Thelunch,courtesyofMr.Lévesque,wasdeliciousandmorefoodthanshe’dseensinceleavingTexas.Hungry,sheatelikeastarvingman.

Mr.LévesquekepthisattentiononStoneyandFord,hisqueriesdirectedforthemostparttowardthem.HeseldomspoketoBarleighorlookedherwayexceptforanoddquestionhereorthere.So

manynosyquestions.Fine.Herappetitehadreturned,andallshewantedwastoeat.

Afterlunch,theshortwalkovertoPateeHousetomeetwithMr.Waddelltookmoretimethanitshouldhave.Everyonewhorecognizedthethreeriderswantedtoshaketheirhandsandoffercongratulatorypraise,aslapontheback,orawordofadvice.Oldwomen

kissedtheircheeksandsaidquickprayersfortheirsafety.Blushingyounggirlsofferedshysmilesandbattedeyelashes,andsmudged-facedlittleboyssteppedintheshadowsoftheirbootsteps.

They’dgainednotorietyfordoingsomethingtheyalllovedtodoandwhichcameasnaturallytoeachofthemasbreathing.Ridinghorses.Ridingfast.

“Iwaswatchingfrommywindow,”saidMr.Waddell,usheringthemintohisoffice.“You’renowcelebratedyoungridersofthePonyExpresswhomeveryonewantstotouch,hopingthatmaybejustalittleofyourderring-dowillruboffonthem.Haveaseat.Letmetellyouaboutourmailserviceandwhatyou’llbedoingtohelpensureitssuccess.”

Takingseatsontheox-bloodleathersofaacrossfromMr.Waddell’sdesk,thethreesatandlistenedwithraptattentionasheexplainedwhattheyshouldexpect.

“Atanygiventimealongtheroute,I’veapproximatelyeightyriders.Additionally,therearemorethanfourhundredotheremployees,fromstationkeeperstostocktenderstoroutemanagers.You’llbe

assignedtwohomestations.Homestationsareaboutseventy-fivetoahundredmilesapart.Inbetweenhomestationsareswingstationswhichareabouttentofifteenmilesapart.Howitworksisthatyou’llstartatyourfirsthomestation,racetothefirstswingstationwhereafreshmountwillawaitsaddledandreadytogo.Switchtoyourfreshmountandracetothenextswingstationandsoon

andsoonuntilyougettoyourotherhomestation.There,you’llrestforeighthoursorlonger,dependingonwherethereturnmailis,andthenrelaythemailbacktoyourinitialhomestation.Questions?”

Fordspokeup.“HowwilltheswingstationknowI’mcomingandtohaveafreshhorseready?”

“You’llbeissuedabugle.Whenyou’renearing

thestation,blowyourhorntoannounceyourarrival.”

“Howwillwecarrythemail?”Barleighasked,excitementgrowingattherealizationthatshe’ddoneit—shewasaPonyExpressrider.

“Wehadaspeciallydesignedleatherslingmadeforthisendeavor.It’scalleda‘mochila.’Itgoesoverthesaddle.Ithasaholeinthefrontforthesaddlehorn,and

aslitinthebackforthecantletofitthrough.Itcaneasilyandquicklyberemovedfromonesaddle,thenthrownoverthenextinasplitsecond.Theweightoftheriderkeepsitinplace.Whichbringsmetomynextpoint,Bar.”

“Yes,sir?”“Thatsaddleyoutote

aroundneedstobestoredsomeplace.Youwon’tbeusingyourownsaddle.It’dtaketoomuchtimeto

resaddlehorsesateachswingstation.Thehorseswillbethere,saddled,readytorun.Onlythemochilagoeswithyoufromswingstationtoswingstation.Youswingthemochilaoffyoursaddle,swingitontothefreshsaddle,thenawayyougotothenextswingstation.Gotit?”

“Yes,sir.”Shenoddedherunderstanding.

“Where’sthemail

go?”askedStoney.“Atthecornersofthe

mochilaarefourlockedleatherboxescalled‘cantinas.’That’swherethemailgoes.Eachhomestationmanagerhasakeytoaddtoorremovemailasnecessary.Lettersarewrappedinoiledsilktopreventwaterdamage.”

“Soweridefromhomebasetohomebaseaboutahundredmilesorso

beforechangingriders?Dayornight?”askedFord.

“Dayornight,whetherraining,snowing,orinthehighheatoftheday,themailmustgothrough.”Waddellpointedhisunlitcigartothewoodenplaqueengravedwiththecompany’smotto.

Comingaroundtositontheedgeofhisdesk,Waddelltookonaserioustoneashespoke.“One

thousandninehundredsixty-sixmilesseparateSaintJoe,Missouri,fromSacramento,California.We’veprovenitcanbedoneintendaysorless.There’llbetoughchallengesalongtheway.Roughterrain.Inclementweather.You’llgethungry.You’llgetthirsty.You’llfaceboredom.Youmightfaceabanditortwo.We’vehadincidentswithhostileIndians.”

Waddellpausedandlookedeachoneintheeye.“Thejobistough,butyouhavetobetougher.There’snoshameinbowingoutnowifyoudon’tthinkyou’reuptothetask.Wehavetryoutseveryotherweek.Someoneelsewillgladlytakeyoursaddleifyoudon’twanttositinit.”

“Whendowestart?”theyallseemedtoaskatonce.

“Firstthingtomorrow.Ford,you’llbestayingheretohelpAugustOlsenwithstocktending,movinghorsesbackandforthalongtheline,breakingnewhorses,andfillinginasanalternateriderwhenweneedyou.Itpayslesssincethedanger’sless—fifteendollarsaweekplusroomandboard.Thatsitrightwithyou?”

“Thatsitsrightwithme,sir,ifIcanhaveashotat

beingafull-timemailriderwhenaslotopensup.”Fordsaid.

Mr.Waddellnodded.“You’llbefirstinline.”

Then,“BarandStoney,weneedridersintheUtahTerritory,CarsonCityStation.IfigureifyouswimhorsesacrosstheMissouriwithouthesitation,youwon’tmindridingthemostdangerouslegoftherelay.Concerningwages,the

averagerider’spayistwenty-fivedollarsaweekplusroomandboard.Butyou’renottheaveragerider,areyou,Bar?You’renotliketheothers.”

“Ex—excuseme,sir?”Shelookedup,eyeswide.

“WhatImeanis,riderswhotakeonbiggerrisks,forinstance,orwhoridelongerthantheirnormalshift,orwhocarryspecialmailmightgetpaidmore—

morethantheaverage.Ithinkyoumightbeoneofthosekindofriders.”

“Yes,sir.”Sheletoutthebreathshe’dbeenholding.

Mr.Waddellhandedtheridersamapofthetrail.“LikeIsaid,weneedridersfortherelaysegmentinUtahTerritory.It’sIndianTerritory.Wehaveahardtimekeepingridersandhorsesoutthere.”

“I’llridethewholedamned,Imeandang,routeifyouwantmeto,sir,”saidStoney.

Waddelllaughed.“Nowthat’sthespirit.You’llbecomesofamiliarwithyourownpartoftheroutethatyou’llknoweveryrock,cactus,andcreekalongtheway.Bothyouandyourponywillbeabletorideitwithyoureyesclosed,thoughIwouldn’trecommendit.

You’lldeparttomorrowmorningtoheadforyournewhomestations.Goodluck,andGodspeed.”

UtahTerritory.IndianTerritory.TherewerealotofmilesandmountainstocrossbeforegettingtoCarsonCity.Barleigh’shandstrembledasshestudiedthemapofthetrail.

CHAPTERTENNOVEMBER3,1860

JournalEntry:Saturdaynight.ThesunwillriseatmybacktomorrowasIheadwestintothatgapingfrontierwhichwaitsbeyondtheouterfringeofcivilization.FromstudyingthemapMr.

Waddellgaveus,we’llfollowtheOregonTrailmostofthewayuntilitleavesusinthevicinityoftheGreatSaltLakewhereTheTrailthenclimbstoitsPacificnorth-westerndestination.StoneyandIwillpresswestward.

Mr.WaddellsaystheOregonTrail

iswellestablishedbyfurtrappers,traders,andemigrantsthathavegonebeforeintheiroxcartsandwide-wheelwagons.Ourswingstationsandhomestationsaremarkedalongthetrailandwillbeeasytoidentify.

Tonight,myrestlessthoughtsfeelaslooselyboundas

ourfractiouscountry.WhiletheNorthandtheSouthappearneartotearingapart,thePonyExpresschompsatthebit,eagertostitchtogethertheeasttothewest.PerhapsthisswiftmaildeliverywillholdopenthelinesofcommunicationbetweenAmerica’s

oppositeshoresandwillserveastheinstrumentthatholdsourtenuousUniontogether.

Thisnightmaybemylastopportunityforsometimetowriteinmyjournal,asIdon’tknowwhattoexpectfromhereforwardwheneachdayisdone.Myjournalis

theoneplacewhereBarleighcanexist.MaybeitwouldbebestifIputawaymypencils,stowedmyjournal,andkeptBarleighsafelyoutofsight.

ButIcan’tnothaveajournalwithme.Ifeelitchyevenatthethought.I’lltakeoneplusapencilortwo,

wrappedtogether,andwillcarrythemtuckedinsidemyshirt.

TomorrowbeginsourlongtrektoCarsonCity.I’mexcited,nervous,andanxious—butatthesametime,Ifeelblankandempty.Evenlaughterandpoliteconversationhaveposeda

challenge.Ifeellikeaforgery.Aphony.Andforgoodreason.I’mpretendingtobeaboy.AmIalsopretendingtobehuman?AhollowshellawaitingtoberefilledwithfeelingsandemotionsiswhatIam.

Longingisthesingularsentimentthatkeepsmefaintly

tiedtomyselfwithathinthread.IremembernightsatCoffeeCreekRanch,PapaandBirdiesittinginfrontofthefire,meonthefloor,Papareadingtousfromthenewspaper.Oh,Papa…

Embersoflonging,howeverfainttheyglow,arebestkeptburied.

Feelingssuchasthosehavethepotentialtobecomedisastrousdistractions.Icannotafforddistractions.

Imustthinkthingsthrough.Lookbeyondtheimmediate.Keeptheendgoalinsight.StayfocusedonthePonyExpressandbeingBarFlanders.

Yettonightmymindwanders…

HughesLévesqueisahandsomeman,butthereissomethingabouthimthatseemsintense—unreal—asifhedoesn’tsharethesamefleshandbloodasothermen.He’saboveit.Heissetapart,andheknowsit,thoughhis

unflinchingconfidencedoesn’tgivewaytohaughtyarrogance.

It’sinhiseyes.Theyknowtheworld’ssecretsyetrevealnothingoftheirown.

It’sgoodthattomorrowI’llputhimbehindme.He’llgoonabouthislife,andImine.I’llnotlivein

dangerofhiseyesuncoveringmysecrets.

Iam,afterall,aboy.

I’mBarFlanders,ayoung,skinny,wiryfellownotovereighteen,anexpertriderwillingtoriskdeathdaily.

Anorphan.Nothingmore.

******

Earlybeforedawn,StoneyandBarleighfilledtheirbelliesatMissSallie’sfancydiningtableatherinsistence.Atherinsistence,too,theyfilledtheirsaddlebagswithplentyofbiscuits,smokedham,venisonjerky,anddriedapplesfortheirjourney.

“Didyoufeedthoseboyswell?”Mr.Lévesquewalkedintothekitchenastheyfinishedtheirbreakfastintheotherroom.

“Fed’emwell,Idid,”MissSalliesaidwithaheartylaugh.“Thatblond-headedStoney,Idon’trecollecteverseeingsomeonesoskinnyeatsomuch.And,I’msendingthemoffwithplentytotakewiththem,too.Stoneyandtheotherlittle’un,Bar,wholookstooyoungtoshave,areheadedtoUtahTerritorytoCarsonCity.”

Mr.Lévesquesoundedsurprised.“Carson

City?Iassumedthey’dbeassignedthisstation.”

MissSalliecontinued.“Ford,thefreckle-facedtallone,isstayinghere.Hetookoffjustaminuteagoforthestables.Itoldhimtocomebackanytimeforavisitandahotmeal.”

“That’skindofyou,MissSallie.Well,Istoppedbytopaytheseboys’tab.HowmuchdoIoweyou?”

“Threedollarsand

seventy-fivecents,forallthree.”

“Thereyouare.Pleasekeepthechange.Now,Ineedtopostaletterinthemail.Ifyou’llexcuseme,I’llbeonmyway.”

“Ifyou’regoing,”MissSalliesaidtothesoundofshufflingpapers,“youcanbeadearandsavemethetrip.Barleftthisletterformetomailalongwithmine.Iwasgoingtogolateron,but.

..”“I’dbedelightedto.”

HughestookBarleigh’sletter.“Thankyouagain,MissSallie.”

Fromtheotherroom,Barleighoverheardtheconversation.ShewishedMissSalliehadn’tdonethat.Shouldtherebecausetoworry?No.SurelyMr.LévesquewouldtakethelettershewrotetoAuntWinnieandmailit,rightand

proper,justlikeMissSalliewouldhavedone.Nocausetoworry.Timetogo.Timetoheadtothestables.TimetogetonwithbeingBarFlanders.Notimetothinkaboutthenosy,frustratingMr.HughesLévesqueanothersecond.

*****Standingintheshadeofalargeoaktreebehindthepostoffice,HughestookhisRezinBowieknifefrominsidehis

rightbootlegandslidthegleamingtipofthebladeundertheseal,carefultoopentheenvelopewithouttearingthepaper.ItwasaddressedtoMrs.WinifredJustin,HogMountainRanch,PaloPinto,Texas.Heremovedthethinsheetofpaperandhelditbetweenthumbandfinger,broughtittohisnose,detectedafainttraceofmaplesyrup,noticedasweet,slanted,feminine

penmanship,andsmiled.

MyDearAuntWinnie,

Missionaccomplished.I’maPonyExpressrider.I’vebeenassignedarelayrouteintheUtahTerritory.I’mtravelingwithanotherrider,StoneyWootenfromArkansas,afine

fellowandcompanionwhotakesmeatmyword,whichmakesmefeelhorribleathavingtodeceivesuchaniceandtrustingperson.ButIhavenochoice.PleasekissStarlingandgiveDealanextra-largebunchofcarrotsforme.Ihopeyouarewell.Imissyouandthinkofyou

everyday.YoumaywritemeincareofthePonyExpress,CarsonCityStation,UtahTerritory.Pleasedo,andtellmehowyouare,howyoursonsare,howtheranchandthecowsare.ThereisonethingImusttellyouthatIamverysorryabout.Kingranoff,frightenedbya

badthunderandlightningstorm.Itwasourlastnightcampedonthetrail.Thingsweregoingsowelluntilthatnight.Iprayyou’llwalkoutontoyourporchonefinemorning,coffeecupinhand,andKingwillbetherestandingatyourfencegatewaitingtobeletin,having

foundhiswayhome.Maybeone

morning,you’llfindthatI’vedonethesame.

Loveandlaughter,

Bar(leigh)

Hereplacedtheletterintotheenvelope,thentookapencilandpaperfromhissaddlebagandaddedhisownnote:

DearestMrs.Justin,Thisis

HughesLévesquewriting.I’ve(obviously)locatedBarleigh.Shedoesn’tknowthatI’veaddedthisletterforthereasonsIsharedwithyouthedayImetyou.Thankyouagainfortrustingme,andfortellingmeof

Barleigh’splans.Ifindhertobearemarkableandbraveyounglady,alongwithaveryfastrider—shestayedatleastaday’srideormoreaheadofmeuntilFortSmith,Arkansas.Iftherehadbeenanotherseatavailableonthestage,I’dhavetakenit,butIwasableto

makeittoSaintJosephingoodtime.

ItelegraphedhermotherthatI’vefoundherdaughterandwhatsheisnowundertakingwiththePonyExpress.Leighselle’simmediatereplywastoaskthatIkeepaneyeonBarleighandtokeephersafe,ifthat’spossible.AsI

feelIwasmakingapromisetoafriendwhoisonherdeathbed,it’stheleastthatIcando.Although,knowinghowdangerousthisendeavorofhersis,IamoftheopinionthatIshouldinformBarleighofhermother’spredicamentandbringBarleighbacktoSanAntonio.

MybusinessinSt.Josephhasflexibility,sonowI’mofftoUtahTerritoryandwilldomyverybesttomakesureBar(leigh)FlandersstayssafewhileIremainintheshadows.IwillwriteagainandupdateyouonceIgettoCarsonCity.

Respectfully–HughesLévesque

*****JournalEntry:Tuesday,November6,1860.WhiletherestofAmericavotedonournextPresident,StoneyandIdashedourponiesacrosstheplains,neveroncediscussingit.Itflatnevercrossedmymind,untilnow.FortKearneyinNebraska

Territoryisasfaraswemusteredtoday.Onehundredmileshorsebackoverroughterrainandatfastspeedswearsonyouaftertenhours,whichishowlongittookfromSaintJosephtohere.WechangedtofreshmountsatTroy,LogChain,Seneca-Smith,Marysville,CottonwoodStation,

RockCreekStation,Thirty-TwoMileSite,andthenrodeintoFortKearneytired,hungry,andfartooexcitedforoursoremusclestoregisteracomplaint.

WearePonyExpressriders,thefirstlegofaverylongridenowbehindus.

Wetookturnsbuglingourarrivalas

weapproachedeachswingstation,andsureenough,freshhorsesawaitedussaddledandreadytogo.Thepreviousday’smailrunneralertedthestationmanagerstherewouldbetworidersnextcomingthrough.Wewouldhoptothegroundoffoursweaty,panting

horses,pulloffthemochila,swingitontothesaddleofthenewmount,climbbackaboard,thenawaywewouldraceatagallop,takingadvantageofthefreshhorses’enthusiasm.

Ianticipatedprivacyissuesregardingbathroombreaks,buttoday,I

managedtoputofftakingcareofpersonalbusinesstowhenchanginghorsesattheswingstationduringourtenminutelunchstopwhereanouthousewasavailable.

Stoneywasafflictedwithanupsetstomachmuchofthedayafterdrinkingbadwaterat

FremontSpringsstation,andfourtimeshadtostopanddrophistrousersrightonthetrail,thediarrheahittingwithembarrassingquickness.Hisstomachlurchedandchurned;however,hemanagedtodohisthrowingupfromthesaddle,evenwhileatafullgallop.It

troubledmethatImightbelikewiseafflictedandI’dhavetodropmytrousers.Mymindworriedoverthisforawhile,butmystomachdidn’tbetrayme.

Offtosleep.Weridefarandhardtomorrow.

*****JournalEntry:FortLaramiewasour

intendedgoaltoday,butChimneyRockstationwasasfarasweprogressedbeforeexhaustioncalledahalttotoday’sride.Roughandundulatingterrainmadewalkingandtrottingthepracticalpaceformuchofthedistance,butwaterwasplentifulandprairiegrasswas

abundant,sothehorsesdidn’tsufferdoingwithout,andwekeptourcanteensfull.

Swingstationsarestockedwithgrainforthehorseswhichgivesthemmoreenergythanhorsesonasimplegrass-onlydiet.Ifweencounterdangeronthetrailsuchas

HostileIndians,ourinstructionsaretonotfightthembuttooutrunthem.Ourgrain-fedponiesarequitecapableofthat.

Themailmustgothrough,andthemailcannotgothroughiftheExpressridersarebusyengagingIndiansinashoot-out.

Lettheponydoitsjob.LettheponyRUN.I’mquitecontenttoputspacebetweenmeandHostiles.

*****JournalEntry:Lastnightmyjournalremainedunwrittenin,fastenedunderneathmyshirtnexttomyskin.Sleepwastheonethingmy

bodycouldmanage,anditmanagedthatfullyclothedandflat-outonapileofhayoutinthestables.Iwastooexhaustedtodragmyselffrombarntobunkhouse,satisfiedtosleepwiththehorses.

Afteratediousday’sridethatendedwithalongdescentdownasteephill,we

rodeintoDevil’sBackboneatnearmidnight.Thejaggedandbrokenridgeofthegiantsandstoneboulderssilhouettedagainstthemoon’sglowingskylookedmuchlikeamalevolentserpent.

Wesleptforfourhours,rosebeforetheroostercrowed,andaftera

quickcupofthickblackcoffeeandahardbiscuit,wewerebackinoursaddles,pushingnearertotheGreatBasinandfartherawayfromtheSweetwaterRiverValleywhereitjoinstheNorthPlatteRiver.

Themailwentonwithoutusasitmust,therelayrider

assignedtothislegoftherouteracingoffwiththemochilaandintothedarknessofthenightasweslept.Ourdutycarryingthelettersisdonethusfaruntilwegettoourpermanentrelayhomestation.Ourdutynowisgettingtheresafelyandwiththesameurgencyasifwestillrodeastride

themochila.Hundredsof

emigrantswe’vepassedalongtheOregonTrail,manycampedattheSweetwaterRiverValleywherethey’remakingtheirfinalfordacrossbeforebeginningtheirtreknorthwardtowardOregon.

StoneyandI

keptourponiesnosespointedwest.Atday’send,wefoundthatwe’dcompletedanastoundingonehundredtwentymiles,endingupinMillersvilleSwales,oneofthehomestationsalongtheroute.Thesupperofferedwasdelicious,thebedwarm,andthestabling

accommodationsmorethanadequate.

WeareataconfluenceofwheretheGreatPlainsmeetstheGreatBasinaswepreparetoleaveKansasTerritorybehindandenterintoUtahTerritory.I’veenjoyedseeingherdsofbuffalohereandtherealongthetrail,butdidn’tspyany

today.Yesterday,in

theareaoftheNorthPlattRiverintheSweetwaterRiverValley,anenormousherdofbuffalograzedonthewesternsideofthePlatt.Frommyadvantageofwitnessingthescenefromadistance,itfirstappearedthatthe

yellowprairiegrasswasdottedwithshadowsofcloudsdriftingacrosstheplains.Withasuddennessthatsurprisedme,thecloudstransformedinaninstantintogianthairybeastsstampedingacrosstheearth.Theconcussionsfromtheirflyinghooves

shookthegroundbeneathmyhorse.

Iwonderedwhatspookedthegrazinganimalsintoafrenziedstampede,wonderedifitmighthavebeenIndiansonthehunt.Istayedjumpy,anxiousfortherestoftheday,withaheightenedawarenesstopotentialdangers.

Whilewaterandgrasshasbeenabundantontheplains,thedangerintheGreatBasinisitsdryness.Theswingstationshavewaterbroughtinonoxcarts,butbetweenstations,theremaybelongstretcheswherecreeks,streams,andgulleyrundry.

Throughout

theGreatBasin,therearemorerumorsofwaterthanactualwater,sowhereyoufindyourselfonthefortunatesideofarumor,thelessonistodrinkupandfillupcanteens.Thenextrumorofwatermaybefalse.

TheplainsIndianswe’veencounteredalong

thewayhavebeenfriendly,curious,andnon-threatening,thoughwe’realwaysatthereadytospurourponiesawayfrompotentialtrouble.

ThemassacreonMay7thatWilliamsStationinNevada,wherefourstationagentsweremurdered,followedbytheMay12th

PaiuteIndianuprisingatPyramidLake,whereseventy-sixlocalvolunteerslosttheirlivestryingtoquelltheviolence,servesasaremindertoneverletdownourguard.We’vebeenremindedoftheseincidentsbyeverymanagerorattendantateverystationwe’veriddenthrough.

AfterthePaiuteIndianWar,mailservicewassuspendedtemporarily;however,byearlythispastJune,reportsofhostilitiesdroppedoffasmilitarypatrolsincreased,allowingthePonyExpresstorideagain.

Temperaturesaredropping.

Winter’sfrostnowcoversthegroundeachmorning,themountainscappedinwhite.Havingonlyseenmountainsinpaintingsandinbooks,Iunderstandwhytheyinspireartistsandpoets.Majesticandformidable,yetwemustgettotheotherside.

*****Journalentry:LeavingMillersvilleSwalesthismorningleftmeatouchmelancholy.Itfeltlikeahomeshould,warmandinviting,despitethefactthatit’salsoastagestopandaPonyExpresshomestation.Theproprietor,Mr.Holmes,readaloud

fromtheBookofMormon,areligionwithwhichI’mnotfamiliar,andhiscomelyEnglishwifeplayedthefiddleaftersheservedourbreakfastofboiledpotatoes,slicedonions,andsconeswithjam.MissusHolmes’directpersonalityremindedmeofAuntWinnie,

andIfeltapangofhomesickness.IthoughtofStarlingthemajorityoftheday.

Atfirst,Stoneytriedtoengagemeinconversations.Hehassincegivenintomysilences.“Iunderstanditain’tyourwaytotalkalot,”hehadsaid.“I

don’tminddoingthetalking.Justnodatimeortwo,ifyouwill,toshowyou’restillalive.”Inodded,andhelaughed.

Ifeverpassingthiswayagain,ImustrememberCacheCave,adark,deeptunnelintherockjustbeyondthewatershedofBearRiver.It’safine

placetoshelterawayfromthepathofwildweather,dangerousanimals,orhostileIndians.

Foratleasttwentymileswerodehuggingthebaseofatallredcliff,theareaknownasEchoCanyon.Theroadwassmooth,hardpacked,anddescendedata

gracefulslopewhichallowedforintervalsoffull-outgallopsinterspersedwithlongtrotsandsteadywalks.Wecoveredthatgroundfast.

WearrivedatthesummitofBigMountainearlyafternoonwithanotherfifteenmilesyettogotoSaltLakeCity.Thespectacular

viewplayeduponmysenses,thedramaticcolorsofmountain,forest,andvalleypaintedvibrantagainsttheazuresky.Thepineysmellofclean,pureairdeepinmylungs,thesofttickleofcoolwindonmyskin,theechoofwaterrushingandspillinginitsfalldownthemountain

filledmewithjoy.Ifoundmyselfwithoutaneedforwords—therewerenoneadequateinmyvocabularytodescribethebeautybeforemyeyes.Idismounted,stoodnexttomyhorse,andstaredforagoodwhile.

AnOverlandStagewasatthat

momentpreparingfortheseeminglyimpracticabledescentdowntheperilousslope.Thepassengers,fiveofthem,weremadetowalk.Itwouldhavebeentoodangeroustorideinsidethesliding,bouncingcoachwhichmightatanygivenmomentturnintoarun-away.

Also,lighteningtheloadforthepoormuleteamwhichmustcontroltheStage’sdescentwastheproperthingtodo.

Thedriverrough-lockedthewheelsbyshovingalongwoodenplankbetweenleftandrightrearwheelsandleftandrightfront

wheels,thenropingtheplankstogetherandtyingbothpiecesoffatthetongue,keepingthewheelsfromturning.Themuleshunkereddownandtuckedtheirtailstotheground,thuskeepingthecoachfromhurtlingdownthemountain.Borntothetask,thesixbig-

bonedbeastsexecutedthemaneuverwithoutaprotestinggrunt.

Stoneyhadnoddedtowardthetravelers,hiseyesbright.“Thismomentcallsforawildspectacleofbravery.Let’sgivethesefinefolkssomethingtowritehomeabout.”Then,hepulled

upwardonhisreins,causinghishorsetorearuplikeatrickpony.

Ifoundhisexuberancecontagious.Wewavedourhatsintheairandwhoopedlikewildbansheesaswerodeourhorsesoverthepassandstraightdownthemountain.Thepassengersofthe

OverlandStagewhooped,too,shoutingoutwordsofappreciationtothePonyExpressriders’showofbravado.

Ienjoyedourperformance,therushdownthemountainfillingmewithasurgeofvitality.Ifelt—alive.

AfterdescendingLittle

Mountain,steeperthanBigMountainthoughnotashigh,wechangedhorsesatEmigrationStation,andthenrodestraightintoTheGreatSaltLakeCityasthesunwaspreparingitsgracefuldescentdowntheothersideoftheearth.

TheSaltLake

HouseisahomestationforthePonyExpress.It’salsoawonderfullyappointedhotelthatsitsrightacrossthestreetfromthepostoffice.There’salargecorraloutbackwithalongrowofstables,andnextdooristheCityBathHouseandBakery.

Wecheckedin

withthestationmanager,MarioRusso,adarkskinned,darkeyed,miniatureItaliansportingathicktuftofsalt-and-pepperhairthatcircledthebackofhisheadfromeartoear.Hewasrelievedtoseeus,hesaid,withasincere,toothywhitesmile.Wordfromthewest

coastwarnedofanearlywinterstormmovinginfromtheSierraNevadas.Inpreparation,hehadsenttwoofhisexperiencedridersonwestaheadofustotakethevacantpositionsatCarsonCitytowhichStoneyandIhadbeenappointed.

“Thisbeas

farasyougo,”hesaidwithathickaccent,anexcitedwavingofhisarmspunctuatinghiswords.“Nextdooryougetyouabath,yougetyousomebreadifyou’rehungry,youdon’tpayforit,theychargeittoourtab,youthencomebackhere.I’llshowyouwhereyou

bunkoverattheHotel.”

Idon’tknowifI’mrelievedthatSaltLakeHousewillbemyhomestationordisappointedthatI’llnotseeandexperiencemoreofthetrail.Comparedtosomeofthestationswe’veencountered,somenomorethanadug-outoraroofless

shed,I’llbelivinginthelapofluxury,soIshouldbethankful.

I’llbetheriderwhocarriesthemailwest,ridingroughlyonehundredmileswhereI’llwaitatFishSpringstobringtheeastboundmailbacktoSaltLakeHouse.HereI’lltransfertheeastboundmailto

Stoneywho’llrideeastbacktoMillersvilleSwaleswherehe’llhanditofftothenexteastboundrider,andthenStoneyreturnsthewestboundmailtomeatSaltLakewhereoffIgowestagaintoFishSprings.Andsoon…

StoneyandI

eachhaveourownsmallbedssincewe’reTheRiders.TwoupperandlowerbunksaresharedinthesameroomwithtwohorsebreakersandtwobarnassistantswhosenamesI’venotyetlearned.Thisarrangementmightprovetricky,butI’mlearningthefineart

ofsubterfuge.Thisis

“home”fornow.Goodnight.

CHAPTERELEVENNOVEMBER13,1860

TheGreatSaltLakestretchedacrossthecold,semi-ariddeserttothenorthandwestofthecity,whiletheruggedWasatchMountainslinedthehorizontotheeast,creatingapastoralvalleyripeforgrowingcropsandcrosses.Simplewoodensymbolsmarkedthegravesofthose

whodidn’tsurvivethewinter,orthedesert,ortheIndians,orthebirthing,ortheinfluenza.Crossessprungfromagunslinger’sbulletorakickfromanuntamedmustang—fromthedark,cold,silentloneliness—fromthemyriadwaysdeathcreptinandtookwhatitwanted.

ButcrossesdidnotadornTheTemple.

“ThosedamnedMormonspulledthecrossoff

theBaptistchurchagainlastnight,”saidMarioRussoasheledadarkbaymareouttobesaddled.“Justbecausetheydon’tdecoratetheirbuildingsandbookswiththesymbolofthecrossdon’tmeanotherscan’t.”

“No,sir.”Barleighranahanddownthemare’sleg,concernedaboutasmallcutonthecannonbone,butpleasedthatshedetectednoheatorswelling.“Yousureit

wasthem?”“Whoelsewouldit

be?”Marioworkedwithquick,skilledhands,completingthetaskofsaddlingandbridlingthemareinlessthanaminute.“LatestIheardtoowasthatthey’retryingtoshutdownallthenon-Mormonownedbusinesses.Youtellme,butthat’snotright.”

“No,sir.”Sheleanedherbackagainstthehorse,

tuckingherthumbsinherpockets.“Irememberonce,backinTexas,whitesettlementswereattacked,peoplemurdered,homesburned,livestockstolen.FolksblamedIndians,becauseIndianswereknowntodothatkindofthing.Butthatonetime,itwasn’tIndians.ItwaswhiteoutlawsusingIndiansasscapegoats.Lotsofinnocentpeopledied,whitesandIndiansalike,

becauseofthosefalseaccusations.”

“You’resayingitmightbeIndians?NottheMormons?”Marioscratchedhishead,alookofconfusioncloudinghisdarkbrowneyes.

“No,Mario.I’mjustsayingnottojumpto....Nevermind.I’llgetthismaresomewater.”

Barleighreturnedtothestallwithabucketofwaterandanappleforthe

horseandfoundMarioperchedonthestall’shalf-wallpartition,aconcernedlookonhisface.Shefedtheappletothehorse,themarechompingthesweettreatinonebite.

“Sir?”sheasked,worried.“Youallright?”

“Yousureyou’rereadyforyourfirstmidnightrun,boy?Gottherhythmofthetraildownpat?Knowallyourmarkers?”askedMario.

“Yessir.Iknowthetrail,”shesaidwithconfidence.

“It’sdifferentatnight.Theshadows,thesounds,thesmellschange.Youswearyou’recominguptoarightbendintheroadwhenaleftbendwillsneakupallofasuddenandthrowyousmackintoacreek.Thenight,shecanplaygameswithyou.”

“Yes,sir.”Barleighlistened,attentive.

“Badweather’smovingin,too.You’llseesnowbeforesun-up.”

“I’mreadyforit,”shesaid,wrappingherthick,woolenscarfdoublearoundherneck,tuckingtheendsintoherwaterproof,oiledcanvassslickerthathungtoherspurs.

“Thismightnotbetheregularruno’themillcorrespondenceyou’llbecarryingtonight.Thisjust

mightbetheruneveryone’swaitingon,theonewiththebignews.”

“Ihopeso,”shesaid.Shewasasanxioustohearthenewsaseveryoneelse.

Atthatmoment,thesoundofpoundinghoovestearingupthegroundcaughttheirattention.Lookingeast,ahorseandriderapproachedatfullgallop.Dusthungintheairbehindthemlikesepia-coloredribbonsand

sparkledinthegoldenglowofgaslightsthatsoftenedthefrostynight.

Ayellowbandanatiedaroundtherider’sneckbillowedstraightoutbehindlikeabanner.Hisbuckskinshirtandcoatwerecoveredindust.Canvastrousersalongwiththeleathertapaderasthatattachedtothestirrupsandprotectedtherider’sfeetweresplatteredwithmud.Beadedfringethatedgedtheouter

seamofhisgauntlet-styleCavalryglovesstuckoutlikecolorfulspikes.Awide-brimmed,Mexican-stylehatwaspulleddowntightonhishead,cinchedsnugunderhischinwithabigsilverdollarbolo.

“It’sLincoln,”heshoutedashereinedhissweatyhorsetoastop,vaultingtothegroundbeforethehorse’sfeetquitmoving.“Lincoln’sournewpresident.

Ain’tthatsomething?”“That’ssure

something.”ShegrinnedandslappedStoneyontheback.“Soisyourfancyget-up.”

“Theridersbackeastwearthis.”

“Theydo?Alongwiththesombrero?”

“No.Thisismyspecialtouch.Icanfixyouup,ifyouwant.”

“I’llsavemymoney,thanks.”

MarioalreadyhadthemochilapulledfromStoney’shorseandswunginplaceacrossthebaymare’ssaddleasBarleighsteppedherleftbootintothestirrupandmounted,readytorideoffintothenightwiththeimportantnewsforwhichtheWestCoasthungered.

“Don’tforget,thismare,sheishot.She’llbuck-trottillshe’sgoodandwarmedup,”Marioadvised.

“Givehermoreslackthanyouwouldtomosthotheads.She’llcomeungluedifyougotoyankingonhermouth.Butbereadywhenyoufeelherrelax.That’showshetricksyoujustbeforesheexplodes.Youbesttobehangingonorshe’llleaveyouembarrassedandsittinginthedirt.”

Mariounderstoodahorse’spersonalityandworkethicafterspendingafew

minutesinthesaddlewithoneandwouldgivearundownofeachhorse’speculiaritiesbeforeeachride.Theinformationwasinvaluabletotheriderswhoselifedependedontheirhorses.

Mariodouble-checkedthefiguresashemarkedthetimeofarrivalonthemochila’slog.“Stoney,ifthesefiguresareaccurateandBarandeveryoneelseondownthelinemakesastight

ofruns,doyouknowwhatthismeans?”Hebobbedupanddownlikeapiston,tappinghispencilagainsttheledgerinanexcitedstaccatorhythmbeforereplacingthetimelogintooneofthefourcantinasonthemochilaandlockingit.

“AllIknow,sir,isthatIthinktheseponiesknowsomethingspecial’shappeningtonight.It’sliketheyallsproutedapairof

wings.EverytimeIthinkoneof’emdon’thavenothingleft,Ijustaskforalittlebitmore,justalittle,andtheygivemorethanIaskfor.IreckonitmeansCalifornia’sgonnagetthisnewsprettydarnquick.”

“Prettydarnquick?Asquickasstinkinashitstorm.NewsofthiselectioncouldmakeittoCaliforniainrecordtime.”

“We’resettinga

record.Well,ain’tthatsomething?”StoneypunchedhisfistagainstBarleigh’sthigh,hiseyesaswideassilverdollars.“That’ssomecrazyfastriding.”

“Fast,yes,”saidMario.“Andyoucould’vedoneyourrunalittlefasterifyouhadn’thadallthatwind-dragfromthatgoddamnedhat.Where’dyougetthatthing,offadeadMexican?”

“Ipaidgoodmoney

forthishat.Itcostmetwodollars,includingthesilverconcho.”Stoneyloosenedtheboloandliftedthelarge,yellowsombrerofromhishead,swattingthedustfromhisprize.Histhin,blondhairstayedplasteredtohisheadwithsweatandgrime.

“Well,thatwasfourquarterstoomuch.Youshouldhavesavedthemforabath.”

“Abath’sanickel,”

saidStoney,soundingdefensive.

“Yep,andatonebathaSaturday,Iwouldn’thavetosmellyourstinkingassforagoodgoddamnedfortyweeks,longerthanthathat’sgoingtolast.Nowgetsomerest.Yourideagaintomorrow.”

“It’safinehat.Ilikemyhat.”

“Getsomerest.”“Yes,sir.”

“Andyou,Bar,yougetoutofhere.”

“Yes,sir.”“AbrahamLincoln!”

Barleighshouted,thethrilloftheelectionnewssendinganexcitingcurrentthroughherbody.Shereinedhermarearound,gallopingdownthedustyroadtowardMillCreekCrossing,thefirstoftenswingstations.Throughoutthenight,shewouldchangetofreshhorsesateachstation

beforeendingherrelay115mileswestandtenhourslateratFishSpringsSite,pushingherselfandallelevenhorsestothelimit.

AsSaltLakeCitygrewsmallerbehindher,lightsbegantoglowinwindows.PeoplegatheredonporchesandoutinthestreetsasnewsoftheelectionwasshoutedfromneighbortoneighborandwordspreadacrosstheGreatSaltLake

CitythatAbrahamLincolnhadwontheelection.Manystayedupallnightincelebration,yettherewereplentyotherswhosnuffedouttheirgaslamps,closingtheirdoorstothenews.

*****Afreshhorsestoodsaddled,bridled,andreadytoreceivethemochilaasBarleighgallopedintoeachswingstation.Rarewasthemountsheconsideredgentleand

wellbroke.Mostwerewoolychargesfreshofftherange,somehavingbeenhandledjustenoughtomakethemcurious,othershavingbeenhandledjustenoughtomakethemcantankerous.

ThehorsesbackeastalongtheSaintJoelinetendedtowardtheKentuckyThoroughbredandMorgantypes,finerandpurerintheirpedigrees.Furtherwest,thehorsesontheExpressstring

wererangier,moretheCaliforniamustangtype,hardier,smaller,andmeaner.

OncebeyondSaltLakeCity,shespurredhardforMillCreekCrossing,thefirstoftheswingstations.Shelaylowonthebaymare’sneckandletherhaveherhead,stayingoutofhermouthasMarioinstructed.

Thenightwasasblackastarpitchexceptforwhenlightningpuncturedthe

darknesswithitssharpflashes.Themoonandthestarshidthemselvesbehindthickstormclouds,thesmellofcoldrainhangingheavyinthedustynightair.

Barleighusedflashesoflightningtonavigatefromstonetostone,fromonetrailmarkertothenext.SheknewMillCreekwoundthroughtheflatsnearbyandofftoherright,butcouldnotseeit,thenightwassodark.

Asthestormfrontpassedoverhead,rollingacrossthevalley,thunderechoedthroughoutthecanyonandintenselightningdancedoffthejaggedgranitewalls.Wellafterdarknesshaddescended,temperaturesplummetedandaconfusedconcoctionofrain,sleet,andsnowbegantopelttheearth.

Thoughridingblindthroughtheblackness,impossibletoseethetrail,she

couldyethearherhorse’shoovesstrikingthehard-packedwagonroad.Thisassurancetoldherthatallwaswell,allowinghertheconfidencetocontinueaskingthemaretogiveitherall.Themarecomplied.

Barleighknewthattheswingstationlayjustbeyondtheplankbridgethatspannedthecreek,andthedullclatteringofhoovesonwoodenplankswasareliefto

Barleigh’sears.Sherelaxed,knowingwhereshewas,despitetheblacknessofthenight.

Halfwayoverthebridge,lightningstreakedacrossthesky,illuminatinginawhite-hotflashthemuddybanksofthecreek.Thesuddenbrightnesssilhouettedtwoloomingfiguresonhorsebacklettingtheirhorsesdrinkwateratthestream.

Indians.

Sheshrieked.Inapanic,Barleighyankedtoohardonthereins,whichcausedtheironbittodiglikeasharpknifeagainstthehorse’ssensitivemouth.Thesudden,intensepainsentthemareintoahigh-headed,side-steppingprancerightoffthesideofthebridgeandintothefreezingcreekafewfeetbelow.

ThetwoIndiansdisappearedintothedarkness.

FearwasthetightgluethatkeptBarleigh’sseatfromseparatingfromthesaddle.Themaresplashedandcrow-hoppedoutoftheshallowwater,Barleighclingingtightlytothesaddlehornwithbothhands,thereinslostandhanginguselesslyattheground.Theysplasheduptheslipperybankandwerebackontheroadinaninstant,themaregrowingmoreenthusiasticinher

buckingthenearertheydrewtoMillCreekCrossing.Alanterngaveawarm,glowingwelcomeinthewindowofthestablesjustupthehill.

Shedidn’tdareletgoofthesaddlehorntoreachforthebugle.Instead,sheyelled.“Franks!Helpmestopthisdamnhorse.”Sheyelledagain,louder.“Franks,grabthereins.”

“Whatinthehellhavewegothere?”askedthe

stationmasterashegrabbedforthebuckinghorse,throwinghisweightagainstthemare’sshoulderandeasinghertoastop.“Whyinthehellareyouandyourhorsedrenched,boy?You’llcatchyourdeath.”

“Indiansatthecreekspookedme.Isawtwo,maybemore.Wejumpedoffthebridge.”

“Jumpedoffthebridge?Whyinthehelldid

yougoanddoathinglikethat?”

“Ididn’tmeanto.Itwasanaccident.”

“Indians?Ain’tbeenIndiansthiscloseinsometime.Yousureaboutthat,Bar?”

“IsawwhatIsaw.”Sheremovedthewetmochilafromthesaddle,threwitacrossthebackofthewaitingblackmustang,andremounted.“Lincolnwonthe

election.”“Don’tyouwantsome

hotcoffee?Aquickcuptowarmyou?”

“Nocoffee.YougotadryblanketorsomethingIcanwrapupin?”Barleighasked,achillsettingin.

“Here.Takemyslicker,”saidFranks,removingthecoatfromhisback.“It’llswalleryouup,butthat’llbeallright.I’llhaveyoursdriedoutwhen

yougetback.”LeavingMillCreek,

theterritorywasharsh,thedesertvalleyscatteredwithsagebrush,greasewood,andthebleachedcarcassesofoxenandcattle.Saltydusthungintheair,thirstyfortherainorsnowthatwouldturnitintoanoozymud.

Throughoutthestormynight,Barleighracedfromstationtostation,buglingherarrival,shouting

thenewsoftheelection.Shedismounted,mounted,andracedforthenextstation,takingnobreaksforcoffee,water,orpersonalcomfortorhygiene.Noliquidin—noliquidout.Arecord-breakingridewasatstake.

TheExpressCompanyplannedandbuiltswingstationsalongtheroutewherenaturalspringswerelocatedtoprovideasourceofwaterforthestockandforthe

peoplemanagingthestock.IntheGreatBasin,goodwaterwasdifficulttofind,andthewateratSimpson’sSprings,theseventhswingstationalongherroute,hadlongbeenusedbylocalIndians.Thiswasherleastfavoritestation,theoneshehurriedthroughthefastestwiththechangingofthemochila.

Awaterygraydawnoflightandmisttoldthatnightwasover.Themorning

wassteelyanddampanddullandcold,butatleastitwasnolongerdark.ThemountainpeaksatherbackwereallbutinvisibleinashroudofsinkingcloudsasshereinedtoastopatSimpson’sSprings.

“Morning,Whizzer.”Barleighleapttotheground,pullingthemochilaoffandflingingitacrossthesaddleofthefreshmountthatstoodstompingatthehitchingpost.

“Lincolnwins.”Remounting,she

gallopedoffbeforethenewssettledonhisears,quicktoputasmuchdistancebetweenherselfandtheIndianswhomshefeltcertainhidineveryshadow,ineverydipandhollow,behindeverystone,behindeverybladeofgrassinandaroundSimpson’sSprings.Shewantedthisplacebehindher,racingnowforherwesternhomestation,

FishSpringsSite,ahardforty-twomilesridefurtherintoUtahTerritory.

“Hey!Wegotboiledwolfmuttonandryesoup,andplentyofcoffee,”Whizzercalledtoherdisappearingback.“What’sthehurry?Oh.Lincoln,eh?”

Fromthere,shechangedhorsesatthehauntedRiverbedStation.Otherriderstoldfrighteningtalesofthisplace,ofhowtheyspurred

fastthroughtheghostlyflatterrain.She’dneverfeltorseenonewithherowneyes,butothersinsistedthatthecanyonswarmedonstormynightswithdesertfairieswhoteasedhorsesintospookyantics,whohowledatloneriders,whosnatchedattheirshirtcollarsandtwistedjealousfingersintheirhair.

Sheremountedontofreshhorsestwicemore,firstatDugwaySiteandthenat

BlackRockSite,beforeatlastgallopingintoFishSpringsSitejustshyofeleveno’clockinthemorning.Withherfirstovernighterbehindher,Barleighwaselatedtoseeherwesternhomestation.

Asoftsnowbegantofall,siftingafinepowderoverthethatchedroofofthelow-slungrockbuilding,wherearoaringfireblazedinthewidehearth.Graysmoke

curledinathinribbonoutofthecrookedstonechimney,disappearingamongthelowcloudsthatthreatenedheaviersnow.

Herbuttcheekswererawandfeltasiftheymustbebleeding.Ridingallnightinwetclothesthatfreezetoyourskinwilldothat.Cravingcoffee,wantingwarm,dryclothesandsleep,sheknewthatwalkingwasgoingtohurt.Shebracedherselffor

theexpectedpain.“Hello,Mr.Barth.

AbrahamLincolnwontheelection.”Sheslidfromherhorse,tooexhaustedtohelpremovethemochila.

Yes.Walking.Hurts.“Mr.Lincoln,eh?

Well,don’tknowifI’msurprisedornot.IreckonthoseMormonswillbegladtoseethelastofBuchanan,eh?Allthetroublehe’scaused’em?”

“Ireckon.So,where’sEckels?”Herreliefriderwasknowntobepunctual,alwaysonthespot,horseinhand,readytotakeovertherelay.

“Eckelsain’tmadeitbackyet.Hemustbecaughtupinthestormthat’sgottheSierraNevadasallsnaggedup.”

“WhataboutThomason?”

“Indiansscaredhimoff.LastweekbackatBlack

RockSite,hewasambushedbyapasselofthem.Theyshotabunchofarrows,evenafewstraybulletsathim.Thomasonoutranthem,butitscaredhimbadenoughnottowanttocomeback.”

Barleighshivered.“Ijustpassedthroughthere.So,whatdowedo?Wecan’tletthemochilastop.Ithastokeepmoving.”

“Thenyouhavetokeeponriding,boy.You’re

allwegotrightnow.Canyoudoit?”

“Yes,sir.Icandoit.”She’dgivenheroath.Themailmustgothrough.Thethoughtoflettingitstoponherridewasunthinkable.

“Itpaysmoremoney,youridingextra,”Mr.Barthsaid.

“Thatpartsnice,butthisistheelectionresults.Ithastokeepgoing.”Barleighfeltasenseofobligation,of

duty.“Howlongyou

alreadybeeninthesaddle,son?”

“Sincemidnight.”“Thesnowwillbe

pickingup—Idon’tknow.Don’tseemsafe,younotknowingthislegoftherouteandall.”Mr.Barthshovedhisglovedhandsintohiscoatpockets,hisbreathhoveringinafrozencloudinfrontofhisdrawn,thinface.

“Icandoit,Mr.Barth.Iwanttoride.”Shestoodhergroundagainstthestationmasteranddidn’tbackdown.

“Getsomecoffee.Fillyourcanteen.There’shardbiscuitsonthestovetofillyourpockets.Takemyserapetothrowoveryourslicker.Getsomedrygloves,too,fromthebunkhouse.”

“Yes,sir.WheredoIgofromhere?”

“Boyd’sStation,duewest.Theroadstayshard-packedifyoukeepclosetothebluff.Don’tstrayfarofforyou’llendupintheswampymirethat’sworsethanquicksandandbogdownyourhorse.Theonlywayoutofthatmessisabullet.”

Barleighnoddedherunderstanding.

“Boyd’sStationisasmallstonehousewithgunports.They’retherefora

reason.Ifyou’reluckyyou’llpassEckelsontheway.Ifnot,thenkeeponridingwestasfarasyoucanwithoutkillingyourselforyourhorse.Thesunwillbewithyouunlessthesecloudsregroup,whichitlookslikethey’redoing.Youbestmakegooduseofyourtime,andkeepaneyeoutforEckels.”

Shedidn’tpassEckelsonherwaytoBoyd’sStation.Theroadwasflatandfastand

shetriedoutrunningthelowering,thickeningsnowclouds.Lightflurrieschangedtofat,wetflakes,whichturnedtoaswirlingwhiteoutassherodeintoBoyd’sStation.

Thereshechangedhorsesandkeptonriding,thelonestocktenderaskinny,apprehensive-eyedboyoftwelve,pointinghertothenextswingstation,WillowSprings.

Theboy,EnnisJulesburg,anorphantakeninbythestationmanager,hadbeenfrightenedbytheworseningblizzard.Hehadbroughtallsixhorsesupfromthecorralandhadledthemintotheboardinghouse,wheretheywereallmillingaboutthesparselyfurnishedcottage.

“TheyallrunoffoncebeforewhenInjunsattacked,”heexplainedwithwideeyes

asBarleighthrewthemochilaoverthesaddleofadappledgraymarethatstoodmunchingfromapileofsweetoatsonthefloorinfrontofthehearth.

“Idon’twanttogooutinthisstormandhavetochasethemdown,”saidEnnis.“WhatifIcouldn’tfindthem?Imightgetlostandmightnotbeabletofindmywayback.ThenImightfreezetodeathandnoone

wouldknowwheretofindmydeadbody.”

“Butitstinksinhere.”Barleighkickedatapileofmanure.“Howcanyousleeporbreathewiththewindowsclosed,thesmokefromthefireplacesothick,andallthishorseshitalloverthefloor?”

“Livingwiththestinkisbetterthandyinginthesnow,”saidaveryseriousEnnis.

Windblewthesnow

intodeepeningdrifts,thetrailbecominghardertodefine.Barleigh’sponyleanedintothebitingwind,herthickwhiskerscoatedwithicicles.Barleighshiveredundertheserape—shetriedtosipfromthecanteen,butherhandsshook,splashingcoffeeoverherchin.Shepulledthescarfupanditfrozetoherskin.

Shetalkedtoherhorse,keepinguparunningdialoguetopasstimeasshe

lookedforsignsalongthetrailthatmightindicatethatshewasattheveryleaststillonthecorrectpath.Agoodguesswasallshecouldofferherselfattimes.Theirpaceslowedtoasafewalk.Sometimesitslowedtoasaferstandstillwhileshereorientedherselfintheblindingsnow.Themidafternoonsunwasuselessagainstthethickclouds,offeringnohelpinfindingthe

route.Onemoment,she

thoughtshefoundtheroad.Thenext,itdisappearedunderafootofpowder.Findingaplacethatwasflatterandwiderandthencurveddownintoagulley,shecautiouslypickedherwaythroughthesnow,followingittowhereveritled.

Twicemorelosingthetrail,shedismounted,circledback,keepingalowandclose

eyeonthehoofprintsbeforethefast-fallingsnowerasedthemfromview.Theprintsledherbacktowhatshefeltsuretobethetrail.Stillonfoot,sheledthewearyhorsethroughasteep-slopinggulley,wherethewindblewthedriftsintowaist-deepheapsbeforetheycameuptheotherside.

“Comeon,Blaze,don’tgiveup.”Barleighpulledonthereinsandtried

tocoaxtheexhaustedanimaltokeepmoving.

Thehorseploddedupthesteepslope,herfeetfallingheavyoneatatime.Fatigueandbrutalcoldsappedherstrength.Hersidesheavedwitheachlaboredbreath,andeachone,Barleighfeared,mightbethemare’slast.

Allofasudden,withnowarning,thegalestopped.Itwasasifagiantfist

punchedoutthewind’sbreath.Thesnow,oncethrashinginahorizontalblizzard,nowbegantofloatinasilent,spiralingsway.Disorientedandsnow-blind,Barleighfellheadfirstoveracedar-stavehitchingpostallbutburiedinthesnow.

Afaintlightflickeredwithapaleyellowglowinthewindowofasmallstonelodgejustafewyardsfurthertothewest.Theoakysmellof

awoodfirescentedtheair.AhorsenickeredagreetingtoBlaze—sheofferedagruntingnickerinreturn.Afrontdooropened.Steamingblackcoffeeinathintincupappeared.GlovedhandstookthereinsfromBarleigh’sfrozenfingersandledherhorseaway.Another’shandspressedagainsthershouldersandsteeredherintoaglowing,warm,opendoor.

“MyGod,we’rehere,

Blaze.WillowSprings.Wealmostroderightbyit.”Barleighfoughtoffatear.

“Blazewastakentothebarn,ifthat’sthehorse,”saidFrenchieJones,thestationmanager.

“Where’sthemochila?”Barleighaskedthroughchatteringteeth,herbodyshakingsohardthatmostofthecoffeespilledoutofthecupandontothefloor.“It’sLincoln.Lincolnwon

theelection.Ican’tstop.Havetokeepriding.Keepthemailgoing.”

“It’sallright,son,”saidFrenchie.“ThatwasEckelswhotookthemochilafromyou.Hegotherethismorningbutthestormkepthimfromgoinganyfurther.He’srestedupenoughtotakeitonwestforyou.Yourmochila’singoodhands.AndLouisShoalsleftnottenminutesagowiththe

eastboundmail.Younodoubtpassedhim.”

“IfIdid,Ididn’tseehim.Hell,Ialmostdidn’tseethisplaceuntilthewindjust...”Shetriedtosnapherfingersbutherfrozenjointswouldn’tcooperate.“Thewindjuststopped,justlikethat.”Takinganothersipofcoffee,eatingaspoonfuloflambstew,Barleighthencrawledoverbythefire.Curlingupinaball,sheslept

fortwelvehoursstraight,herclothsthawinganddryingbymorning.

*****ThesunwaswellestablishedovertheeasternridgewhenBarleighawoketoraw,blisteredskinfromridingallnightandmostofthedayinwet,frozenpants.Chaffedskinmadewalkingtothecoffeepotachallenge,butdeterminationandwantprevailed.

“Here,son,”saidFrenchie,“smearthisalloveryourlegsandbetweenyourbuttcheeks.It’lltakeacoupleaweeksbeforeyoutoughenupdownthereandgetusedtotheconstantwearandtear.”

“Thanks,Frenchie,”shesaid.“Whatisit?”

“Lard.AndincaseCookierunsoutoffryingoil,justscrapeitoffwhenyou’redoneridingandgiveitbacktohim,niceandseasoned,

justthewayhelikesit.”Frenchiewalkedoutofthekitchendoubledoverlaughing,nodoubt,atthelookonBarleigh’sface.

HewasstilllaughingwhenBarleighmetupwithhimatthestables.Sheselectedaneasy-temperedlookinggeldingandsaddledup,gettinghermindreadyforwhatsheexpectedwouldbeanarduousridehome.Feelingasgreasedupasa

holidayduck,sherodeawayataneasytrot,buttoutofthesaddlewithherweightinthestirrups,determinednottocry.

CHAPTERTWELVE

NOVEMBER15,1860

Journalentry:IreturnedtotheGreatSaltLakeCitylateintheafternoonwiththeeastboundmochilaandpasseditofftoStoneywhowaitedatthestables,

horseinhand,asIknewhewouldwhenIbeganbuglingmywayintotown.

Hesportedanewbrownhat.Itwascinchedtightunderhischinwithabraided,leathercord,thehatsmallerbrimmed,shortercrowned,andmoresuitedtofasterriding.

Hestillhad

hissombrero,hehadshoutedtomeoverhisshoulderashegallopedaway.HeaskedmetokeepaneyeonhisyellowMexicanhatandtonotletMariothrowitawaylikehethreatenedtodo.

IpromisedhimIwould,laughing,asStoneyandMariothrew

obscenegesturesatoneanotherbeforeStoney’shorseracedoutofsite.

Myintentionofbathingandwashingthelardoffmybodywassincere,butonceIsawmybed,myintentioncrumbled.Ifellasleepbeforemyheadmadecontactwiththepillow.

Exhaustionmusthavedeadenedthesenseofsmell.IfounditremarkablethatIsleptwithoutmyownodorwakingme.It’sagoodthingalltheotherridersfoundreasonstobeawayforthenight.

Afterwakingfromthesleepoftheinnocentorofthedead,Ididtakea

bathandnoticedthatmyskinfeltsoftandsupplewhereitwasn’tblisteredandchapped.LardmaynotbewhatthefancyladiespurchasefortheirdaintyskinatLeonard’sDepartmentStorebackinFortWorth,butitworkedwondersformychaffedbehind.

Wearinesskeptmefromridingouttodaytothehotsprings.IwasafraidI’dfallasleeponcethereandendupdrowningmyself.Apparently,death’snotagoodexcusefornotsettlingyourtaxdebtwiththebank.

AfterlunchIstrolledaroundtownandmademywayto

themercantile.IthoughtI’dbuytobacco.Iwouldn’tuseit,butitfitmypublicpersonality,tocarryapouchofSnuff’schewingtobaccoinmypocketlikeaman.Honingmymalepersonatookpracticeandobservationeverymomentofeveryday.

Atthetobacco

counteratthefarendofthestorestoodamanwhoboreastrikingresemblancetoHughesLévesque,thegentlemanfromSaintJoseph.Iwatchedashefinalizedhistransaction,andthenheturnedandexitedoutthesidedoor.

Isawhimforabriefmomentand

fromadistance,butthelikenessmademepause,stare,andforgetmyownpurchase,mypocketremainingtobacco-less.

Idon’tknowwhy,butmyheartskippedabeat.Ortwo.Itcouldn’tbehim.WhatintheworldwouldhebedoinghereinSalt

LakeCity?IthoughthesaidhewasfromTexas.SanAntonio?IrememberhewaswritingtoafriendaboutthePonyExpressandhehadlotsofquestionshedidn’tmindasking.

Washisfriendaladyfriend?Don’tbesilly.Whatdoesitmatteranyway?

Whatmatters

isthisyawningtirednessthat’swashedoverme,atirednesslikeI’veneverfeltbefore,yetitrewardsmeinwaysIcan’tdescribe.I’veearnedthisexhaustion.Adeepsleepwillbemyimmediaterewardtonight. Tomorrow,I’llgotothehotsprings

andenjoyawarmsoakingbathinthemineralspa.I’lltakealongsomefinesoapsandoils,andifforabriefhourortwo,I’llremindmyselfthatIusedtonotsmelllikeafilthyBillygoat.

Goodnight.*****

“Don’tsoaktoolonginthosehotsprings,”saidMarioasheforkedathicksliceofham

drippingwithrunnyeggyolkintohismouth.“Iheardthosemineralswillshrivelupyourpeckertosmallerthanyourlittlefinger.Course,I’veseenyouinyourlongjohns.Youdon’thavemuchthereanyway.”

Barleighshovedhermiddlefingerintheairlikeshe’dseenStoneydo,thenwalkedoutthedoortothelaughterofMarioandtheotherriderswhohadreturned

atdawnfromanightofdrinkingandcardplaying.Shereadjustedherimaginaryprivatesandspatontheground.

“Youbastardscangotohell.”Shetriednottothinkofwhatherpapawouldsayifheheardhertalkinglikethat.

“Carefulyoudon’twakeupahibernatingbearinoneofthemcaves,”shoutedBigBrody,thepart-timeriderwhenhewassoberenoughto

sitinasaddle.“Orsurpriseabandofoutlawsstowingawaytheirloot.Theyhideoutinthemcaves,too,youknow.”

Sheignoredthejokesandkeptwalking,givinganotherreadjustingscratchandasidewaysspitforgoodmeasure.

Therewerefourmineralbathsclosetotown.Thenearestandlargestwaspatronizedbytouristsand

high-payingguests.Nottoofarawaywerethedeepestandhottest,whichwerefavoredbythelocals.Emigrantsandvagrantspitchedtheirtentsandcampedaroundthefurthestandmostsulfuric.

Thefourth,whichwashiddenawayandknowntoonlyafewlocals,wasinasecretlocation.Downasteeppathandtuckedawayinthebellyofacave,itsentrancewascamouflagedbygiant

boulderscoveringthegapingmouth.MariosharedthissecretwiththePonyExpressriderstouseontheirdaysoff.

Barleighguidedthehigh-steppingchestnutgeldingdownthesnow-packedlanepastthemercantile.Shecastasidelongglanceinthewindowassherodeby,wonderingifthegentlemanatthetobaccocountermightmakeanotherappearance.

Afterasecondglance,shechidedherselfforentertainingdangerousthoughts.

Aneasyhour’srideoutsideofthebusycityfoundheratthesecretcut-offforthesprings.Thetrailwasempty,withBarleightheloneriderdespitethenicebreakintheweather.Snowcoveredtheground,butthesunglowedinaclearbluesky,andthewindseemedcontentatasoftbreeze.

Leavingthemaintrailandheadingsouthwherethethreestackedstonesmarkedtheway,thesecretpathbecamenarrowandsteep.Barleighdismounted,leadingthehorsefurtherdownuntilcomingtoalargepinetreegrowinginasmall,flatgladehiddenbehindastandofmountainredcedars.Shetiedthehorseandremovedhersaddlebag,givingthegeldingapieceofpeppermintanda

patontheneck.Slippingandsliding

furtherdownthenarrow,precipitousgrade,Barleighfinallycametoaclusterofmassivegranitebouldersthattheearthlongagoshooktogethertoformalow,taperedopeningintothehiddencave.

Inside,sheheardthehollowechoofwaterdripping.Atingeofsulfurcausedhertosniffand

wrinklehernose.Throughajaggedcrevasseoverhead,anarrowbeamofsunlightfilteredintothecave.Itcastthesemi-darksceneofsteamrisingabovealanguidpool,thelushgreenfernsgrowinginrandomtuftsalongtheslick,wetgranitewallsintoanetherealoasisofbeauty.

Throwinghersaddlebagstotheside,shehearditslidetoastopagainstthecave’swall.Shefelther

waywithherhandsandfeet,movingwithcautionuntilhereyesadjustedtothenear-darkness.Sheproppedhershotgunbetweenthebagandthewall,herpistolswithineasyreachofthepool’sledge.

Bootsandsockswereshed.Shecrepttothewater’sedge,easingherfeetintothesteamingpool,quicktoyankthemout.

“Ouch!”Shelistened

totheechoofhervoice,asurprisedsmileonherface.

“Ouch!”shehollered,louder,laughingatthesoundofhervoicedisappearingintothebellyofthecave.

Removingherclothes,shelaidthemnexttothepoolforwashing,thenlaidouthercleanclothesontopofhersaddlebag,keepingthemoffthedampfloortostaydry.Thenbegantheslowprocessofunbindingherbreastsfrom

thetightswaddlingclothAuntWinniehadgivenherandshownherhowtowrapherselfinordertoflattenhercurves.

“Ahh.”Barleighbreathedinadeep,satisfyingbreath,rubbingherselfwithbriskhandstogetthecirculationgoing.“Thatfeelsgood.”

Fillingherlungswithdeepbreathsagainandagain,shelanguishedinthe

unrestrainedfreedomofanunboundwoman.Frominsidethesaddlebags,sheremovedasofttowel,lavenderbathsalts,lilacshampooflakes,andoiloflilacshe’dborrowedfromtheBathandBakery,placingthejarsonthetowelnexttothewater’sedge.Herpicnicconsistedofasmallflaskofwateredbrandyandapouchofdriedapricotsandwalnuts.

Holdingherbreath,

sheeasedintothesteamingpool,takingaseatontheslopingstoneledgeafewfeetbelowthewater’ssurface,thesteamywaterfeelingmuchlesshotthemoreshebecameaccustomedtoit.

Afterscrubbingherskin,washingandoilingherhair,thenpoundingandsoakingthedirtoutofherclothes,shesatuptoherneckinthemineralpool.Sippingbrandyandeatingwalnuts

andapricots,shetriedtothinkofwhattodonextbesidesjustsitandenjoythesimplepleasureofsmellinglikeawomanagain.

Asthesunchangedpositionoverhead,thelightenteringthecavethroughthecrevasseglitteredandsparkledoffthecrystalquartzinthewetgranite,appearinglikepink,black,andwhitediamondsembeddedinthecave’swalls.

Barleighclimbedoutofthepoolandcrepttothefarside,runningherhandalongthewarmsurfaceofthesparklingwall.Theideaofexploringfurtherintothedepthsofthecavernpiquedhercuriosity,asshewonderedhowfarbackitmightgo.

Uh...?Shedrewaquickbreath.Whatwasthat?Sheremainedstill,holdingherbreath,tryingtodiscernif

thenoisesheheardcamefromwithinthecaveorfromoutside.

Pressingherbackagainstthewall,sheinchedclosertowheresherememberedthrowinghersaddlebagandplacingtheshotgunnexttoit.Shemovedwithslow,quiet,deliberatemovements,stretchingherarm,reachingoutherhand,extendingherfingersasfarastheywouldgo.Shetouched

warmmetal,wrappedherfingersaroundit,butthebarrelwasslickfromthehumidityofthecaveandslippedfromhergrasp,clatteringtotherockyfloor.

Shit!Droppingtoallfours,

shecrouchedontheground.Then,reachingforthegunandcrookingitinonearm,shecrawledtothewater,slippingintothehotbath.Likeasilentsnake,she

floatedtotheoppositeside,theguninherhandsandhereyesgrazingjustabovethewater’ssurface.Shesatperchedonthesubmergedledgewitheyesandnoseinchesabovethewaterline,thebarrelofthegunrestingontheedgeofthepool,herfingeronthetrigger,waiting,watching,listening.

Howlongmustshestaysubmerged?Shefeltlikeshewasturningintoaboiled

prune.Maybetherewasnothing—shejustthoughtsheheardsomething.Shewasbeingjumpy.Tenminutesmusthavepassed.Shewouldwaitfivemore,thengetdressedandgetthehelloutofthewater,leavethecave,andgetbacktotown.

Takingadeepbreath,sheeasedoutofthepool,gatheringupthetowel,wetcleanclothes,thejarsofsoapandshampoo,herpistols,and

shotgun,andthencarriedherbelongingstothesaddlebaglayingagainstthesidewall.Shebeganrepackingeverythingforthetripbackupthetrail,whereshe’dlefthergeldingtiednottoofaraway.

Theswaddlingclothlayingontopoftheclean,dryclothes,thebindingthatwouldturnBarleighbackintotheboyBarFlanders,wouldgoonfirst.Shebeganthe

wrappingprocess,butstopped.Thefeelingthatshewasmissingorforgettingsomethingtoyedwithhermind.

Ah,yes.Sheputdownthe

swaddlingclothandfeltherwaybacktothewater’sedgetoretrieveMario’sbrandyflaskthathe’dloanedher.Barleighhadswornanoathtoguarditwithherlife.Asshereachedfortheflask,the

quietdarknesswaspiercedbythesoundofahorse’swhinnyveryclosetotheentrance,thenoisereverberatingandechoingdeepintothecave.

ThesuddenandloudwhinnystartledBarleigh,stoppingherinhertracks.

“Pardonme,ma’am,butisn’titunsafeforawomantobathewayouthere,allbyherself?”Theman’svoicewassmoothanddeep.

Leapingintothepool,

Barleighpressedflatagainsttheledgeshe’dhadbeensittingonearlier.She’dheardthatvoicebefore.ItsoundedlikeMr.Lévesque,thenosymanfromSaintJoe.Maybeithadbeenhimpurchasingtobaccointhemercantile.

“Haveyoudrowned?Areyouallright?”thedeepvoiceasked.

“Ihaven’tdrowned,”shesaid,theheatfromthesteamingpoolnolonger

registeringonherskin.Shewishedhergunswerewithinreach.

“Drowning’sonlyoneconcern.There’remanyreasonswhyawomanshouldn’tbeoutherebathingalone.It’sunsafe.”Thesmooth,deepvoicemovedcloserintothecave.

“Perhapsit’smoreunsafewithyouhere.Ifeltquitesafebefore.”Barleighwonderedhowlonghe’d

beenwatching.He’dclearlyseenenoughtocallherma’amandtoknowthatshewasawomanbathingalone.

“You’resaferthanyouwerebefore.But,toshowyouthatImeannoharm,I’llturnmybackandguardtheentrancetomakesurenooneiswatchingwhileyoutoweloffandgetdressed.See?I’mturningaround.”Heturnedhisbacktothepool.

“You’reeitherbrave,

orimprudent,turningyourbackonanarmedwomanwhomyou’venevermet.”Inprinciple,true,ifthiswasMr.Lévesque.He’dmetBar.NotBarleigh.

“Lady,ifyouarearmed,I’dliketoseewhereyou’rehidingyourweapon.”

“Well,sir,aknifeIkeepstrappedtomythighatalltimes,justincase.”Shedecidedsheshouldbuyoneofthose,firstchanceshegot.

Sheslippedoutofthepoolandtiptoedbackwardtowardherguns,liftingthetowelandrushingitoverherbody.Keepingonepistolinhand,shefumbledwithherclotheswiththeother.Impossibletodressquicklyusingonlyonehand,shelaythepistoldownatherfeet.

“Mypistolwasinmytowel—nowit’sinmyhand,”shesaid,knowinghecouldn’tseeinthedarkandwithhis

backturned.“Myshotgunisatmyside.PleasekeepyourbackturnedwhileIfinishdressing.”

“Yes,ma’am.”“Andcouldyou

pleasesteptoyourleftintothatbeamoflightsoIcanseeyoubetter?Nosurprises.Keepyourbackturned.”

“Asyouwish.”Hesidesteppeduntilhewascenteredunderthesmallrayoflight,hishandsinacasual

claspbehindhisbackashewhistledasofttune.“Isthiswhereyouwantme?”

“Yes.Thatwilldo.”Shehurriedwiththebinding,wrappingtheswaddlingtightaroundherbreasts,thenpulledonthelongjohns,pants,shirt,andboots.Sheponderedhowshewasgoingtoexplainasuddentransformationfromfemaletomale.Amiracle?Somethinginthemineralwater,like

Mariosaid,thatshrivelsaman’specker?

“I’llstandhereaslongasyousay.It’smypersonalphilosophytoneverarguewithawomanwhohasagunpointedatmyback.Orwithonewhohasaknifestrappedtoherthigh.OfcourseI’mjusttakingyourwordforitthatyouareindeedarmed,asIdidn’twitnesssaidweapons.Bytheway,I’mHughesLévesque,

TexasRanger.Andyouare?”“Dressed.Youmay

turnaroundnow.”Whenheturned,the

beamofsunlightunderwhichhestoodilluminatedhisface,sparklingoffoftheflecksofburnishedgoldinhisdeepambereyes,andinthatinstant,Barleighknewhim.

Mydreamwolf.Shesankbackintothe

shadows,transfixed,watchingasheblinkedhard

againstthebeamoflightfromthesun.Hetiltedbackhisblackhat,andthencockedhishead,listening.Scanninghiseyesacrossthecavetotheright,hesettledupontheexactspotwhereBarleighcrouchedintheshadowsagainstthewarm,wetwall.

Hislongbuffalocoatwasopen,revealingpolishedNavyColtrevolversateachhip.Aburgundyandgoldbrocadevestandacrisplinen

shirtmoresuitableforadinnerpartyinSaintJosephthanscoutingoutcavesinSaltLakeCitylookedoutofplace.

“I’mstandinginthelight,butyou’rehiddenintheshadows.Ipreferconversationsfacetoface.”Hewaitedforareply.“It’sallright,miss.Iwon’tbite.”

Barleighwatchedandlistenedinsilence.Sherememberedthattherewas

somethingabouthiseyesthatdisarmedherwhenthey’dmetinSaintJoseph.Thatshedidn’trealizethenthatthoseeyesbelongedtothewolffromherdreamssurprisedher.Theintensitywasunnerving.

“WouldyoufeelbetterifIwaitedforyououtside?”Hebegantobacktowardtheentrance,glovedhandsopen,outstretched,hisshinyspursclinkingagainst

thewetstonefloor.“Yes.No.I...Idon’t

know,”shestammered,feelingfoolish.“I’m...I’membarrassedthatyousawmenaked.”

“Thecaveisdark.Moredarkthanlight.IhadonlythefaintestideathatIwasseeinganythingmorethanashadowy,shadysilhouette.”Hemovedhishands,makinganhourglassshape.

“YousawenoughtoknowthatI’mawomanbathingalone,”shesaid,embarrassmentflushinghercheeks.

“It’satrickIlearnedfromanoldIndianscout.Followtheheavyscentoflilacandlavender,andthere’sagoodchanceyou’llfindawomanattheendofyournose.”HisgazeremainedonwhereBarleighstillcrouchedagainstthewallinthe

shadows.“Oh?Oh,the

shampooandsoap.I,uh,Iwasjustenjoying...Ihaven’tsmelledlikeawomanin...”

“Now,wouldyoupleasecomeoutoftheshadows?”

“No.”“Whynot?”“BecauseI’mafraid.”“Afraidofwhat?By

nowyoumustknowthatI

meanyounoharm.”“Yes,Iknowthat.It’s

justthat,well,yousee,I,uh,I’veasecret,asignificantsecret,andonceyouknowit,youmustagreetokeepit,too.Otherwise,I’llhavenochoicebuttotakeyourweapons,bindyourhands,blindfoldyou,andleaveyouinthiscaveuntilI’masafedistanceaway.”

“Doyouhaveagundrawnonmenow?”Hughes

asked,asmilewrinklingthecornersofhismouth.

“Yes.Two.”“Iheardquiet

shufflingandIknowthatyoujustnowpickedyourgunsupoffthefloor.Thescrapeofmetalagainststonegaveyouaway.Andyouneedtoseeacobbleraboutresolingyourboots—theleatherhassomewhatwornthin.Youtappedyourtoeagainstthewall,I’mguessingsearching

foryourothergun.AlthoughIcan’tseeyou,Icanhearyou.Asbothofusknow,Icansmellyou.Icansenseyou.Youwerecrouching.Nowyou’restanding.IfIhadwantedto,Icouldhavedisarmedyou.Orworse.ButIdidn’t.Youcantrustme.Youknowthatyoucan.”Hisvoiceremainedsmooth,steady,deep,andcalm.

Barleighsighedareluctantsigh,notconvinced

yetthatsheshouldgivein.“SwearanoathonyourTexasRanger’sbadgeandgivemeyourgentleman’swordthatmysecretissafewithyou.”

“I’mthebestkeeperofsecretsyou’lleverneed,”hesaid.

“Swearonit,”Barleighinsisted.

“Idon’tknowwhichIvaluemore,mygentleman’swordoranoathswornonmybadge,butIgiveyouboth.

Whateverdarksecretyourevealwillgonofurtherthanthemouthofthiscave.”Hecouldn’ttellherthathealreadyknewhersecret.He’dgivenhiswordtoLeighsellethathe’dfollowherdaughtertoUtahTerritoryandkeepaneyeonhersafety.Amanofhisword,healwayskepthispromises.

“I’maboy.I’mBarFlanders.WemetinSaintJosephafewweeksback.”

ShewalkedfromtheshadowsandovertothebeamoflightwhereHughesstoodandstuckoutherhand.“It’sapleasuretoseeyouagain,Mr.Lévesque.”Shedidn’tbotherloweringhervoiceanoctave.

Hughesremovedhisgloveandtookherhand.“I’llbedamned.ThePonyExpressrider.Butyou’renotaboy.Justpretendingtobe.”

“Yes,justpretending.”

Barleighfelttheweightofhisintenseambereyesonhers,andshecouldnotturnawayfromhisgaze.Likeinoneofherdreams,whenshewasonthecloudcirclingaroundthemountainpeakandspiralingbackdowntoearth,andthewolfwouldsilentlycommandhertolookathimandtonotturnaway,itwasthesamewiththisman.

Sheexpectedhimtothrowbackhisheadandoffer

hishowltothemoonandforthemoontoaccepthisoffering.Buthewasn’tadarksablewolfandthemoonwasn’tout.Barleighwasn’thearinghowling,shewashearingringinginherears—thin,metallicringing—andthedarkcavewasspinning.Shefeltdizzy.Shecouldn’tblinkawaythefuzzinesscloudinghervision.Sheswayedasherkneesgrewweak.

“Areyouallright,Bar?Here,sitdown.”Hughestookherbybotharms,steadyingher.

“I’msorry.Idon’tknowwhat’swrong.Ifeellightheadedandfaint,allofasudden,”shesaid,hervoiceathinwhisper.

“Howlongdidyoustayinthehotbath?”Hughesspreadhisthickbuffalocoatonthegroundandshesatdownonit.

“Agoodwhile.Anhouratleast.AndthensomemorewhensomeonescaredmeandIhadtojumpbackin.”

“Right.Sorryaboutthat.Haveyouhadanythingtoeat?Anywatertodrink?”

“Somewateredbrandy,andsomeapricotsandwalnuts.”

“Brandyandalonghotbathwithnotmuchtoeat?GoodGod,woman,it’s

nowonderyou’redizzy.I’llbebackinaminute.”Andthenhewasgone.

Barleighlaybackandfoughttheurgetoclosehereyesanddriftawaytosleep.Sherolledoveronherside,drawingherkneesupintoatightball,andthenpulledthearmofHughes’scoataroundhershoulders.Hisscentwasstrongonhisgarment,smokyandwoodsy,withthesmellofleather,horsehide,andsaddle

soapmingledtogetherwithsomethingelse.Shebreathedinagain,smellingsomethingtempting,somethingspicy,likecloves,cinnamon,orcardamom.Theshornlamb’swoolliningwassoftagainstherfaceasshepressedintoitandbreathed,tryingtoidentifythearoma.

Mmm.Whatisit?“Whatiswhat?”

Hugheswalkedbackintothecavewithalarge,tooled

leatherdufflebagandkneltonthegroundbesideher.“Youwereasking‘Whatisit?’whenIwalkedbackin.”

“Oh.Privatethoughts.”Shehadn’trealizedshe’dspokenaloud.Ared-hotblushclimbedupherneckandblossomedonherface.Shewasthankfulforthedarkness.

“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantointrudeintoyourprivatethoughts.”Hughes

openedthebagandreachedinside.Heofferedhiscanteen,thenmoistenedhisbandanaandlaiditacrossherbrow.

“Thankyou.IhopeIdidn’tsoundrude.”Shesippedfromhiscanteenandtooktheclothfromhishand,washingherfacewiththecoolwater.

“Youdidn’t.Yousoundedmatter-of-fact.Andprivate.Now,youshouldeat.

Ihaveinmybagsomehoneybreadandsmokedham.Morewater—don’tsetthatcanteendown.Drinkup.”

“Doyoualwayssoundlikethat?”Barleighasked,drinkingmorewater.

“Likewhat?”Hughesreachedbackintothedufflebagandtookouttwoplates,arrangingthefood,napkins,andsilverwareasiftheyweredininginafinerestaurant.

“Matter-of-factand

dictatorial.”Shepickedupthesilverforkwithgoldfiligreetrimandtwirleditbetweenherfingers,thenplaceditbackdownontheembroideredlinennapkinthatlaytuckednexttothesmallpewterplatewithastampedcoatofarmsatitscenter.

Hughespausedandlookedather,seemingtostudyherfaceinthebeamofsunlight.“You’vecat-likeeyes,butblue.Veryblue.

Andveryfeminine.Nowonderyoukeptthemcastdown.It’spartofyourdisguise,youract,”hesaid.“It’snowonder.Youreyesmightbetrayyou.”

LikeHughes’seyesmightbetrayhim—anotherprivatethoughtshewouldkeeptoherself.

“Soyouconsidermedictatorial?Iprefer‘commanding,’or‘takecharge.’”

“Icantakechargeofmyself,”shesaid,hervoicetakingonadefensivetone.

“Icanseethat.You’reabraveyounglady,”hesaid,sittingbackandfoldinghisarmsaroundhisbentknees.“MayIaskyou,though,whyyou’redoingsomethingthat’simpossibletosustainlongterm,thismasqueradeofyours,andisreckless,dangerous,andfoolhardy?”

“Reckless,dangerous,

andfoolhardy?”Barleighbristled.“Youwouldn’tusethosewordstodescribeamaninthisrole.You’dcallhimdaring,valiant,andheroic.”

“Butyou’renotaman.”

“Andithasn’tmattered.”

“Youputyourselfinharm’swayeverytimeyouraceoffwiththatgoddamnedmochila.Pardonmylanguage.Don’tyourealize

theriskyoutake?Menhavedieddoingwhatyou’redoing.”Hughes’svoicedeepened,hiseyesdarkened.“Takethosewordsseriously.”

“Mr.Lévesque,youdon’tknowmeorknowanythingaboutmylife.You’venorighttoquestionmeabouttherisksItakeorwhatIrealizeordon’trealize.”Shepushedtheplateawayandstoodup,arms

foldedacrossherchest,pacing,irritated,andincredulous.

“What’syourname?”Hughesstoodup,placingahandonherarm.HeknewhernamewasBarleighAlexandriaHenriettaFlanders—heknewmoreaboutherthansheknewherself—buthehadtogethertotellhim.“Stoppacinglikeadamnedcagedcat.I’msorry—Ididn’tmeantorile

you.What’syourname?”“Excuseme?”She

stoodwithherarmsstillabarrieracrossherchest.

“Yourname.IsBarFlandersyourrealoryourpretendname?”

“Barleigh.BarleighFlanders.IshortenedittoBar.”

“MissBarleighFlanders,youbecameaPonyExpressriderbyyourdaringhorsemanshipandbravery.I

didn’tmeantosounddismissiveofyourskillsorcapabilities.You’veprovenyourselfequaltothetask.But,ifyouweremygirl,ifyouweremylittlesister,Iwouldneverallow—Iwoulddoeverythinginmypowertodissuadeyoufromsuchdangerousactivities.”

Withhandsfistedonhips,shetiltedherchintolookHughessquareintheeye.“I’vedonemyjobjustas

wellasanyPonyExpressrider.Ihaven’tshirkedmydutiesonce.I’maccepted.NoonequestionsthatI’mnotaboy.I’mnotachildishgirlplayingdress-upandmake-believeforthethrillofasillylittlegame.Ineedthisjob.”

Asurprisingurgetocrycamefromdeepwithin.Shetookshakybreaths,tryingtoswallowitaway.Allofthereasonswhyshewashere,andallofthereasons

whysheshouldn’tbehere,conflicted,gratingagainstheremotions.

“Heynow,comehere.It’sallright.Isworetoyouthatyoursecretissafewithme.I’mthebestkeeperofsecrets—”

“—I’lleverneed.I’msorry,Idon’tknowwhyI’mcrying.Ihatecryingwhenthere’snoreason.”

“It’snotwhatI’dcallafull-blowncry.Justonetiny

littleleakrighthere.”Hewipedhercheekwithhisthumb.“There,theleakisfixed.”

“Thankyou,Mr.Lévesque.”

“Hughes.”“Hughes.Thankyou.

PleasecallmeBarleigh,butonlyhere,onlytoday.”

“Barleigh.Ihatetobethebearerofbadnews,butthereisonetinylittlethingthatmightgiveyoursecret

away,thatyou’renotaboy.”“What’sthat?”she

sniffed,wipingathereyes.“Ifyouridebackinto

townsmellinglikeaperfumery,someone’sboundtoraiseaneyebrow.”Helookedather,oneeyebrowraisedincomicalfashion.“LilacandlavenderarenotthescentsofPonyExpressriders.Takeyourshirtoff.I’llberightback.”

“Ibegyourpardon?”

Shestiffenedandlookedathimwide-eyed.

“Justyourshirt.”Hewavedhishandaround,upanddowninfrontofher,chestlevel.“Leaveallofyourunder-bindingson.”

“Soyoudidn’tseeanythingbutashady,shadowysilhouette’causeit’smoredarkthanlightinhere.”Barleighfeltthebeginningsofablushagainbutbeganunfasteninghershirt.“Where

areyougoing?”Buthewasalready

gone.Hughesreturnedwith

ahandfulofpineconesandafewsmallbranches,thenbuiltafireonthefloorofthecavebelowthecrevasse.Heboiledwater,makingastrongsmellingteawiththetarrypineneedles,addingthinflakescarvedfromthebarofoilysaddlesoaphehadfishedfromhistravelingbag.

“Comehere,”hesaid,“andletmesmellyou.”

Shelaughedoutloud.“I’mserious,”hesaid,

lookingather,waiting.“Isthesmellinyourhair,oronyourskin,orboth?Canwefixitwithjustashampoo,orwillyouneedacompletescrubbingdown?”

Hesitatingamoment,shewalkedovertothefireandstoodunderthebeamofsunlight.“Readyfor

inspection,sir.”Sheheldoutherarmsandheldherbreath.

Hughesmovedaroundandstoodbehindher,inchesfromherbody.Heleanedinclose,grazedhisnosealongthecurveofherneck,inhaling,andthenalongtheotherside,breathinginandout.Thesilkyfinehairsatthebaseofherneckflutteredfromthewarmpuffsofhisbreathagainstherskin.

Sheswayed.Oh.My.

Steadyonyourfeet.Withhislargehands,

hescrunchedtheminherhair,buryinghisface,breathingin.Heranhisnosealongtheoutsideofeacharmtothetipsofherfingers,turnedoverthepalmtotracebackuptheinsideofherelbow,upandovereachshoulder,thenfolloweddown,downalongthecenterlinedipandcurveofherback,stoppingshort

whereherunbeltedtrousershunglooseonherhips.

HeplacedhishandsonBarleigh’swaist,turningheraroundtofacehim.“Mydear,”hesaid,hisvoicedeepandhusky,“theverdictisin.”

“Yes?”Breathe.“Idetectonlyafaint

traceoffloralscentonyourskin.But,yourhairissomethingelse.Yourhairsmells—marvelous.Thatproblemneedsfixing.”He

turnedandwalkedtothepool.

“Allright.Whatdoyouneedmetodo?”Shetingledwheremerelyhisbreathbrushedherskin.

“Laydownhereonyourbackwithyourheadoverthepool,yes,likethat.I’llwashyourhairwiththispineteaandsaddlesoap.Itwon’tsmellasprettyaslilacandlavender,butsmellingprettyisn’twhatBarneeds.”

Hughesrolleduphissleeves,kneelingbesidethepool,cuppingherheadinonehand,runningthewarmmixturethroughherhairwiththeother,massagingitintoherscalpandpullingitthroughtheshortlengthofherhair.

Byholdingtheweightofherheadinhishandsandwashingherhair,thatoneact,bondedhiswordandhisoath.Relaxationmeltedthrough

Barleigh.Sheclosedhereyes.Sheimaginedhimholdingalsoinhishandsthesecretsanddreamsandthoughtsanddesiresswimmingaroundinherhead.Andthefears.Hishandswouldnotletthemgobutwouldkeepthemsafe,protected,buoyant,freetofloatwheredestiny’swindsblewthem.

WhatisitaboutHughesLévesque,shewondered,thatmadeherfeel

asifshe’dknownhimallherlife—andlonger?

Hisbarearm,wetandsoapy,slidagainsthercheek,againstherforehead,andshefeltawarmstirringinthepitofherstomachthatslippeddownlower.Everynervetingled,everysensationmultipliedashisstronghandsandlongfingersscrubbedherscalp,washedherhair,andhelpedtoputherdisguisebackintoplace.

“Wecanfinisheatingwhilewewaitforyourhairtodry,”Hughessaid,pattingherheadwiththetowel.“Ihaveanothercanteenwithsomehoneyedwhiskey,nowthatyou’refeelingbetter.It’llthickenyourbloodfortheridebacktotown.”

“Thatsoundsnice,”shesaid,takingthetowelfromhim,rubbingherheadwithvigorousstrokes.“I’vealwaysthoughtIneeded

thickenedblood.Whilewe’rewaiting,youcantellmewhataTexasRangerisdoinginSaltLakeCityinUtahTerritoryviaSaintJoseph,Missouri?”

Hughespickedupalongpineneedlefromthefloorofthecaveandscrapedatthedirtunderhisnails.“Barleigh.I’llsayyournamealot,sinceIcanonlysayithere.Barleigh,there’snotmuchtotell.”

“Idon’tbelievethat.Tellmesomethingaboutyourselfthatothersdon’tknow,”shesaid,layingthetowelaside.

“What?Yousharedyoursecret,nowIsharemine?”Hughesinspectedhisnailsandflickedtheusedpineneedleaway.

“Yes,somethinglikethat.”Shesippedthehoneyedwhiskeyfromthepewtercupwiththematchingcoatof

armsastheplateandstudiedhisprofileovertheflickeringfire,thinkinghelookedasmuchlikealionashedidawolf.“Youhavesecrets,don’tyou,”shesaidasastatement.

Hughesheldhergazeforalongmoment,thelightfromthefiredancinginhiseyes.Barleighwishedsheknewwhathewasthinking—whatsecretshecarriedinhiseyes.Helookedaway,careful

tokeepthemtohimself,hisownprivatethoughts.

“Allright,”hesaidafterapause,“givemeyourlady’swordandswearanoathonyourPonyExpressBiblethatthedarksecretIrevealtoyouwilltravelnofurtherthanthemouthofthiscave.”

Sheraisedherrighthandandcomposedaseriousexpression.“IswearanoathonmyPonyExpressBible

andgiveyoumywordtokeepyoursecret.”

Hughestookadeep,dramaticbreath.“I’mdeathlyafraidofspiders.Ihatethem,everyeight,horriblelittleleg,allcreepy,crawly,andcrunchywhenyousteponthem.”Heshuddered.

“That’snotfair.”Barleighthrewheremptycupathim,triedtopulldownapout,buthermouthgavewaytoagrin.

“You’reright,that’snotfair.Ishouldshareasecretbearingequalweighttotheoneyou’veshared.”Hislookwasserious.

“That’sthehonorablethingtodo.”Shewasopentotheseriousnessofhistone.

“Yes,andI’mnothingifnothonorable.”Hesettledasteadygazeonher,asifcalculatingtheoddsonapokergame.“IamaTexasRanger,currentlyinactive.

Mostly,Iworkforthefederalgovernment.Clandestineoperations.There’sagroupofSouthernsympathizersconspiringtocensortheU.S.mail.TheirspecialinterestisthewestboundmailtoCalifornia.I’mworkingundercovertoseewhatcanbedoneaboutit.”

“IsthePonyExpressmailatriskof—”

“—ofbeingdivertedortamperedwith?Yes.

That’soneofthereasonswhyI’mhere.”

“Oneofthereasons?”sheasked,herinterestpiqued.“What’stheother?”

“Ah,don’tbegreedy.Onesecretpercustomerperday.Barleigh.”Hisvoiceadoptedasensualquality,softyetmasculine.

Hesmiledandsteadiedhispiercingambereyesonher.Barleighknewthefutilityofresistinghis

silentcommandtonotlookaway.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

NOVEMBER16,1860

Journalentry:WerodebacktothecitytogetherafterHughessharedtherestofhismealwithmeinthecave.Butthat’sallheshared.Mr.Lévesqueholdshiscardsclose

tohischestandrevealslittle.HetoldnothingelseabouthimselfexceptthatheisindeedaTexasRangertakingleavetoworkfortheGovernmenttodiscoverwho’sattemptingtotamperwiththemail.

Ihaveastrongintuition,however,thathis

missionismoreinvolvedthanthatofasingularassignmentofdiscovery.

I’vepromisedtotellnoone,andIshallkeepmypromiseasIexpecthimtokeephis.IfeelIcantrusthim,thoughIdon’tknowwhy.Ihardlyknowhim.But,Ihaveno

choiceotherthantodoso.Hiscoveristhatheisawealthybusinessmanintownscoutingoutinvestmentopportunities.Heplaysthewealthypartwithcomfortandease.

Amusing,bothofusincognito.Heasabusinessman.Measaboy.Iwonder

whichrequiresthebiggestleapoftheimagination.

TheSaltLakeHouseistheonlyfinehotelwestoftheMississippi,soMr.LévesquehastakenaroomonthesecondfloornextdoortotheroomkeptforthePonyExpressriders.Thisarrangementmightproveusefulto

bothofusaswediscussedonourrideintotown.Wecankeepaneyeoutfortheother’sbestinterest.

“Well,ain’tthatsomething,”wasStoney’sexpectedreplywhenweranintohimashewasflyingdownthestairsonhiswayoutthedoorforhiseast-

boundmailrun,shortbrimmedhatinhand.Stoneyremindedmeagaintokeepaneyeonhissombrero,tonotletMariothrowitaway.IpromisedhimIwould.

Keepingmymindfocusedandontaskwillrequireanextraamountofvigilance.Idon’tknowwhy,but

thinkingaboutHughessleepinginthenextroomfromwhereIsleepstirsme.It’sgoodthatthereisawallinbetween—abarrier—aphysicalreminderthatImustkeeptomyself.Although,Imightbetemptedtopressmyeartothewalltodiscoverwhatsoundsamanmakes

whenhe’saloneandthinksnooneislistening.

NextweekendistheHarvestFestival,afulldaySaturdayofsharingfoodandfeedingthepoor.There’llbepie-eatingcontests,yardgamesforthechildren,aquiltingexhibition,abutterchurningcontest,and

abarndanceintheevening.ThefestivitiesendSundaywithadayofgivingthanksforallourblessingsandforourbounty,the25thofNovember,exactlyonemonthuntilChristmas.

ThatalmostafullyearhaspassedsincePapaandBirdie’ssecret

“ceremonyofvows,”thenherdiscoverythatthere’dbeababy,seemsimpossible.Buteverythingaboutlastyearseemsimpossible.Iwonderifthat’swhyIridesofastandsohard,thatmaybethefasterIride,thefasterI’llputlastyearbehindme.

Ishouldblow

outmylamp,putawaymyjournal.Igobackondutyinthemorningandbackinthesaddle.

Themailmustgothrough.

*****BarleighlefttheBath&Bakerystilldampbehindtheears,washed,andwearingcleanclothes.Shemadeherwaytothecourthousesquare,guidedbythelivelyshouts

andpealsoflaughtercomingfromtheboisterouscrowdinthemeetinghall.Thoughshewastiredfromherearliermailrun,thefestivemoodliftedherspirits.Hearingpeoplelaughing,singing,andhavingfunputasmileonherface.Itfeltlikealongtimesinceshe’dhadagenuinereasontosmile.

“Thereyouare,”shesaidtoStoney,tyinghergeldingtothehitchingpost.

“Ithoughtyouweresick,ordead.BigBrodytooktheeastboundmochilafrommewhenIrodeinthisafternoon.Hesaidhetookoveryourrun.”

“Hedidn’ttakeovermyentirerun,justthisoneridetonight.Ihadtopayhimaking’sransomtogethimtoagree.BigBrodydon’tlikemissingoutontoomanypie-eatingcontests.Yougoingtoenter?”

“Me?No,Idon’tthinkI’dbeverygoodatthat.You?”

“Hellyes,I’mentering.Thewinnergetstodancewiththegirlwhobakedthepie,”saidStoney,grinningfromeartoear.“Gettingmyhandsaroundagirl,pullingherbodyclose,smellingperfumeonsoftskin.Getsmehardjustthinkingaboutit.Maybeweshouldgopayavisittothe

whorehouseinstead.”“MaybeI’llthink

aboutthepie-eatingcontestafterall,”saidBarleigh,anervoustwitchinhervoice.

Thepathwayleadingfromthecourthousesquaretothetownhallwaslinedwithpumpkins,gourds,andsquarebalesofhaydecoratedwithgarlandsofdriedflowersandleaves.Themeltingfromthefirstsnowoftheseasonleftmuddypuddles,thechilled

eveningairhintingoffrostasstarsbegantoshimmerintheeasternsky.

“Seemsmorelikewinterthanharvesttime,don’tyouthink?”askedStoney,tappingapumpkinwithhisboot.“BackinFrogLevel,Arkansas,harvestisoveranddonewithbynow.”

“It’soverwithhere,too,”Barleighsaid.“TheHarvestFestivalisn’twelcomingitin;it’s

celebratingthebountythatitleftbehind.And,sharingitwiththeneedy.”

“Wehadharvestfestivals,too,”saidStoneyastheyreachedthetownhalldoors,“butinFrogLevel,myfamilywereamongtheneedyonthereceivingend.”Stoneywaved.“There’sHughesLévesquebythecoattable.”

“Hello,gentlemen,”saidHughesashehandedhiscoattothegirlbehindthe

table.“IwaswonderingifI’dseeyoutwohere.”

Afterdepositingtheirhatsandcoatsatthetable,Barleighshookhishandandsaid,“I’monmytwo-daybreak,andStoneypawnedhisrideoffonBigBrodysohecouldcomeheretonight,eatapie,anddancewithagirl.”

“Ithinkthatsoundslikeafineplan,”saidHughes,givingBarleighaprivatewink.“Let’salleatapieand

dancewithagirl.”“I’veneverbeengood

atpie-eatingcontests.Youtwogoahead.I’llwatch.”ThethoughtofdancingwithagirlandthegirlthinkingshewasdancingwithaboycausedBarleightosuppressagiggle.

“Oh,noyoudon’t,”saidHughes.“You’reenteringwithus.It’llbefun.Comeon.I’llevenputupthequarterstobuythepies.Go

on,gopickoutwhichpieyouwant.”

“Thankyou,sir,”saidStoney,hustlingovertoatableladenheavywithapplepies,pumpkinpies,chocolatecreampies,avarietyofberrypies,andsomepiesundistinguishableaspiesaltogether.

Girls,somesmiling,someshy,someconfidentandbold,anassortmentofgirlsasvariedasthepiestheystood

behind,waitedtoseewhowouldbuytheirpieandvieforachancetowhirlthemaroundthedancefloor.

“Whatareyoudoing,”Barleighsaidunderherbreath.“Don’tyouknowwhattheprizeisforthewinnerofthecontest?”

“Yes,Idoknow,Barleigh.I’mhelpingyouwithyourcover,”whisperedHughes,stillgrinning.“Thesefolksseeingyouwolfing

downapieanddancingwithagirlwillbegoodforyourimage.”

“Don’tbecrazy.Anddon’tcallmeBarleigh.It’sBar.And,I’mnotdancingwithagirl.”

“It’sharmless.Idoitallthetime.”

“I’msureyoudo.”“Let’sgofindour

pie.”Hughesstrolledovertothepietable,causingatwitteramongthegirls.“Overhere,

Bar.Lotsofpiestochoosefrom.”Hewavedwithagrandgesture,drawingattentionhisway.Then,tothegirlsbehindthepies,hesaid,“Thisismyfriend,Bar,aPonyExpressrider.Don’tlethissmallstaturefoolyou.Pickhimoutthebiggestpiehere.”

Adoe-eyedblondebehindthechocolatecreampiewiththickflakycrustsaid,“Mypie’ssmall.Could

beeateninoneortwobites,ifyou’rehungryenough.”Hereyesshutteredclosedandreopenedinslowmotion,asifeachlashweighedtenpounds.“ButDortheaoverthereattheendofthetable,she’sgotthebiggestpiehere.Couldtakeamanalldaytogetthroughthat.”

Hughesputasilverdollarinthejarandsaid,“We’lltakethree—keepthechange.It’sforagoodcause,

right?”“Thankyou,sir.It

goesintothefooddrivefund.Now,whichpiesdoyouwant?”

Stoneywastednotimeinclaimingthedoe-eyedgirl’ssmallchocolatepie,pleasingher.Sherewardedhimwithabeamingsmileandbattedlashes.HughesscoopedupthelargepumpkinpieinfrontofDorthea.

“Hereyougo,”he

said,handingthepietoBarleigh,avoidingherglaringeyes.“And,let’ssee,I’llhavetheniceapplepieoverthere.”

“Notfunny,”shesaidthroughgrittedteethastheywalkedtotherowofchairslinedupbehindthetableofeagerpieeaters.

“Ipickedthebiggestpieforyouasastrategy,”Hughessaidunderhisbreath.“I’vethoughtthisthrough.Stoneywillbedancingwith

LittleMissDoeEyes,notyouandDorthea.Remember,this’llbegoodforyourboyimage.”

“Myboyimageisjustfine,thankyou,andthispiemay,justmay,beafractionbiggerthantheothers.”

“ThenIrecommendyoueatslowly.”

Afast-talkingmanchewingafatcigarannouncedoneminuteleftforpurchasingpies,butnotto

worry,therewouldberoundstwoandthreeandperhapsfouruntilallpieshadbeensold.

Atthetable,Stoney,Hughes,andBarleightooktheirplacesalongsideahalfdozenothers,handsinlaps,faceshoveringinchesabovethepies,waitingfortheword“go.”

“Firsttofinishtheirpiewins.And,finishmeansthecrust,too.Nohands—just

yourgobbler.Ready...set...go!”

Thecrowderuptedwithapplauseandshoutsasallthecompetitorsatthetabledovefacefirstintotheirpies,shovingtheirheadsaround,gruntingandslurpingandrootingthroughthebakedgoodslikestarvingpigs.

Twofaceslookedupsimultaneously.

“Lookslikewehaveatie,andinrecordtime,too,”

shoutedthecigar-chewingannouncer.“Howintheworlddidyouboysdothatsofast,andwhereintheworlddidyouputit?One’snobiggerthanaflea,andtheothercouldhidebehindabroomstick.”

Barleighlookedaround,meetingHughes’sastonishedeyes.“What?I’mcompetitive.Icouldn’thelpit.”

“AndI’mmotivated

bysomethingaltogetherdifferent,”saidStoney,walkingovertothepietabletoclaimhisdancingpartner.

Hugheslaughedsohardhefoughtforbreath,holdinghissidesasiftheymightsplit.Wipingtracesofapplepiefromhisface,heshoutedovertothepietable,“OhDorthea,yourdancepartnerawaits.”

Barleighglaredathimandswipedhersleeveacross

herface,erasingbitsofcrustandpumpkincustardfromhermouthasthefiddleplayerscreechedoutthefirstnotesofawaltz.Dortheastoodatthepietable,herimpatientfoottapping,waitingtobeclaimedforthedance.Withherhandsfistedonhergenerouships,shecockedherheadandstaredatBarleighinthemannerofanenthusiasticwomannotusedtowaiting.

BarleighgaveDorthea

asheepishsmile.Visualizingherselfdancingasaman,seeingthestepsinhermind—one,two,three,onetwothree,onetwothree—shetoldherselftosimplystartforwardontheleftfoot,notbackwardontheright.Easy.Shereadiedhermindforthetask.

Tiredofwaiting,DortheapushedpastthepietableandstrodetowhereBarleighstood.Clampinga

meatyfistaroundBarleigh’swrist,DortheapulledBarleighontothedancefloor,leadingandone-two-three-ingherwayaroundthesmallspace.Dortheakeptperfectrhythmwiththefranticnoteseruptingfromthefiddle,eyesclosed,headandbodyswayingassheglidedaroundthefloorinthree-quartertime.

Smilingandsweatinginprofusedropletswhenthe

lastnotecametoahalt,DortheagaveBarleighonefinalunder-the-armspin,curtseyed,andannouncedinavoiceheardloudandclearbytheappreciativecrowd.

“Ithankyoukindlyforbuyingmypie,butasfarasdancepartnersgo,alittleromancewouldn’tharmyou.Imightaswellhavebeendancingwithmysister.”Withthat,DortheagrabbedBarleighbybothcheeksand

plantedawet,sloppykissfullonhermouth.

Hughesthrewbackhisheadandletoutaheartylaugh.“ThatwasworththedollarIpaidforthepies,rightthere.”

“I,uh,thankyou,Dorthea,thatwasmy,uh,myfirstpie,Imean,myfirsttimetod-dance...,”Barleighstammeredinawkwardembarrassment.

“Bar,youbetterstop

whileyou’reahead.Explainingyourselftoawomanisalosingproposition,”shoutedStoneyafterrejoiningHughes,hiscommentelicitingmorelaughterfromthecrowd.

“Comeon,let’sadjournthispartytoWhiskeyStreet,”saidHughes,rescuingBarleighfromthedanceflooranddirectingthemtowardthecoattableandoutthedoor.“Ifyouwanttodanceand

havesomerealpie,astrolldownWhiskeyStreetiswhereeventheMormonssneakofftoonSaturdaynights.”

“WhiskeyStreet?”askedStoney.“What’sWhiskeyStreet?”

Hughesgavehimanastonishedlook.“You’vebeenherehowlongandhaven’theardaboutWhiskeyStreet?”

“Apparentlynotlong

enough.Let’sgo,”saidStoney,aneagersmileonhisface.

Barleighbuttonedhercoatandfollowedthemoutthedoor,wonderingwhatshe’dgottenherselfinto.

*****MainStreetthreadednorthandsouththroughthedarkeningtown,andwhereitleftthesoutheastcorneroftheTempleSquareandheadedduesouth,the

commercedistrictoftheGreatCitybuzzedwithactivity.ThefarsouthendofMainStreetflowedfromoneblocktothenextwithalivelymixtureofsaloons,distilleries,andtipplinghousesandbecamefamiliarlyknownasWhiskeyStreet.Here,thefervorwasforthingsotherthanreligion.

AtthecornerofMainand2ndSouthStreet,Hughessaid,“We’llturnhere.The

bestwhiskeyaroundisafewstepsaway.TheBaerBrothers’Distillery.Theybrewandbarreltheirown.”

Thesaloonwasn’tyetcrowded,withafewemptychairsatthebar,abilliardstableunmanned,andacardtablewithvacantchairswaitingtobefilled.StoneyandBarleighseatedthemselvesatthecardtable,whileHughesnegotiatedwiththebartenderforthreeglasses

andabottleofBaerBrothers’finest.

Sittingthebottleandglassesatthetable,Hughessaid,“Thisisnotacontest,Bar,sodon’tletyourcompetitivesideseewhocanfinishthefastest.Finewhiskeyshouldbeenjoyed,slowly.”

Hegrinned,handingBarleighacut-crystalglassofamberliquid,thengaveitasmallsplashofwater.Doing

thesameforStoneyandhimself,heraisedaglass.“Here’stothemostentertainingpie-eatingcontestI’vepersonallyeverwitnessed.”

“Here,here,”saidStoney,liftinghisglass.

AblushtriedtoformandBarleighfoughthardnottolettheheatrushtoherface.Sheliftedherglass.“Here’stoHughes,amanwhoknowsathingortwo

aboutpickingtherightpie.”Shetookasip,waitedfortheburn,butwassurprisedbythevelvety,deliciousflavorofsmokycaramelwithahintoforange,andsippedagain.

“Smooth,”saidStoney.“NotliketheValleyTanthatMariokeepsatthebarn.Youmightaswellputthatshitinthemedicinecabinet,nottheliquorcabinet.”

“Ah,ValleyTan,the

exclusiveMormonrefreshermadewithimportedfireandbrimstone,”saidHughes.“Thealcoholwithmanyuses.Itwasconsideredmedicine,whenitwasoriginallydistilled.”

“Yougentswantmetosendoverthecarddealer?”shoutedthebartender.“He’ssteppedoutsidetomakeuseofthefacilitiesbuthe’llbebackinafew.”

“IpaidBigBrodyfive

dollarstotakemyruntonight.IbesthangontowhatIhaveleft,”saidStoney,shakinghishead.

“I’masaver,notagambler,”saidBarleigh,thethoughtoftaxesdueonherlandflashingthroughhermind.Losingapennywouldbeunacceptable.

“Iwasthinkingitsoundedlikeasplendididea,”saidHughes.“Ihaven’tenjoyedagoodgameina

while.Whydon’tIstakeyoueachtwenty-fivedollars?It’llbelikemewinningbackmyownmoney,nolossforme,andweallshareanenjoyableevening.”

“Whosaysyou’llwin?”Barleighasked.Thathe’dautomaticallyassumehe’dwinandshe’dlosemadeherwanttoputhiminhisplaceandshowhimexactlyhowmuchsheknewaboutplayingcards.

“Oh?Isthisanotherfacetofyourcompetitivenature?”Hughesleanedbackinhischairandraisedaneyebrow.“Idetectachallenge.”

“MygrandfatherspentalotoftimeinNewOrleansontheriverboats.Twothingshetaughtme—onewashowtoplaycards.”BarleighmetthechallengeinHughes’seyes.

“Whatwastheother?”

askedHughes,sippinghiswhiskey,hiscuriousexpressionshiftingdegrees,darkeningtoaguardedalarm.

“HowtowishIwasn’tbloodrelatedtosomeone.”ShelockedeyeswithHughesforalongmomentthatturneduncomfortable,andthenlookedaway.

“Ithoughtyouwasanorphan,”saidStoney,swirlingthewhiskeyinhisglass.

“Iwasn’talways.”Hughestappedhis

fingerontherimofhiswhiskeyglass.“We’llplayfive-carddraw.Istakeyoueachtwenty-five.Ifyouwinmorethanthat,paymebackmytwenty-five,thenyoukeeptherest.Ifyoulose,thenit’smyloss,too.AsmallriskI’mwillingtotake.”Hewavedthedealeroverasthemanwalkedinthroughthebackdoor.

Barleigh,feelingalittlelightheaded,pushedherwhiskeyglassfurtherfromherreach.Sheimaginedwhatherpapawouldthinkifhesawhersittinginabar,drunk,playingpoker.Shemightaswellbechewingonacigar,too,tocompletethepicture.Checkingherposture,sheremindedherselftositlikeaman,tothinklikeaman,tonotletherguarddown.

Stoneyclearedhisthroat.“Excuseme,Bar,forinterruptingyourreverie.Pickupyourcards.Youlooklikeyou’reamillionmilesaway.”

“Oh,right,sorry.”Shepickeduphercards,fanningtheminonehand,remindingherselfofthefirstruleofpoker.Justbecauseherhandheldtwojacksandthreetenswasnoreasontorevealherlucktotherestofthetableby

grinningfromeartoear.Shepickedupherglassandraisedittohermouthtohidehersmile,andthentookaverysmallsip.

Afterseveralhands,shehaddoubledhermoney,paidHughesbackhistwenty-five,andwasreadytoleavewithStoneywhohadmanagedtoloseeverything.

“I’mgoingbacktothepie-eatingcontesttofindmylove,Elizabeth.Elizabeth

AnnabelleParnell.Iwanttomarryher,”saidStoney,hisspeechthoroughlyslurred.“Elizabeth,withthebeautiful,bigbrowneyes.”

“YoumighthavebetterluckwooingtheheartofMissDoeEyedElizabeth,”teasedHughes.“TheQueenofHeartssurewasn’tdoingyouanyfavorshere.”

“Iwon’tneedluck,”saidStoneywithaconfidentair,beforehiccoughing.“I

thinkshelovesme.”“Bar,youmightwant

tostickaround,”Hughessaid,noddingtowardtwowell-dressedgentlemenwalkingtowardthecardtable.“Ithinkthestakesaregettingreadytogobig.”

“Aretheseseatsvacant?Careifwejoininyourgame?”askedtheheavysetmanwithroundspectaclesandawalrusmustache.

“I’mjustleaving,”saidStoney.“Youcomingorgoing,Bar?”

“I’llstayandplay.IfIwinanothertwenty-five,I’lltossitovertoHughesandpayyourdebt.”

“You’resoundingprettybold,”saidHughes.“Butremember,Isaidthatifyoulostyourtwenty-five,Iconsidereditmyloss,too.Stoneydoesn’toweme.”

“Youtwocanargue,”

saidStoney,shakingHughes’shand.“Asforme,I’mgoingtofindmylostlove.Thankyouforthepokergame.ItwasthemostfunI’veeverhadlosing.”

AnotherbottleofBaerBrotherswassenttothetable,courtesyofthebartender.Thedealershuffledanewdeckwithlightning-fastfingersanddeclaredthetablenowdoubled,ifallplayersagreed.Allnoddedtheiracceptance.

Underthetable,HughesbumpedBarleigh’skneewithhis,andthenwhispered,“Doyouwantthetwenty-fivebackyourepaidme?Itmightcomeinhandywiththesegents.Ihaveafeelingthey’regoingtobeloosewiththeirbets.”

“Thenthey’llbebiglosers,”shesaid.“Thankyou,butno.”

Somewhereinthecourseoftheevening,

BarleighnoticedthatHughes’skneewentfromanaccidentalbumportwoagainstherkneetohisthighrestingagainstherscontinuously.And,somewhereinthecourseoftheevening,shewentfrombeingdistractedbythetouchtobeingevenmoredistractedwhenthetouchwasmomentarilyabsent.

Thebespectacledwalrusmanlostbigandlost

quickafterafewhands,whilehisshort,baldpartnerwiththeunblinkingeyesheldontohismoneywellintothenight,increasingitbyhalfbeforelosingitallaswell.

*****“Congratulations,Barleigh,Idon’tknowifyou’regood,orlucky,orboth.Whatwasyourfinaltake?”Hughesasked.

TheystrolledalongtheupperendofWhiskey

Street,theplanksidewalkdarkandemptyexceptforanoccasionalpasserby.Barleighjiggledthegoldandsilvercoinsinherpockets,feelingagainthebulgeofpapermoneywaddedintheinsidebreastpocketofhercoat.

“Iquitcountingattwohundredfiftyorso.Howcanpeoplethrowmoneyawaylikethat?Whatdothosepeopledoforalivingthattheycanlosehundredsof

dollarsanightandnotblinkaneye?”ThethoughtoflosingthatmuchmoneymadeBarleighnauseated.

“They’reownersofsilverandcoppermines.Afewhundreddollarsisadropinthebucketforthosegentlemen.Yousuretookthembysurprise.Andme,too.”

“Pardonmeforasking,butdidyouthrowahandortwomyway?”she

asked,herquestionserious.Hugheslaughed.“I’m

ascompetitiveasyouare.Idon’tlikelosing—moneyoranythingelse.Here,walkthisway.”Heturnedleftdownanarrowalleythatwoundseveralyardsthroughacourtyardbeforecomingtoadeadendbehindarowofemptyshopsthatwereclosedforthenight.

“Whatarewedoinghere?”

“Iwanttotalktoyouinprivate,awayfromtheothersatthehotel,andthislookedlikeithadpossibilities.”

“Whatdoyoumean?Talkaboutwhat?”

“Abouthowlongyoucankeepthisup.AbouthowdangerousbeingaPonyExpressriderisandhowI...”

Sheplacedherindexfingeracrosshislips.“Don’t

sayanymore.We’vecoveredthistopicinthecave.Youdon’thaveanyrighttointerfere.”

Hughestookholdofthefingershe’dplacedacrosshismouth,pullingitaway,runninghishanddowntoherwrist,hisfingerseasilyencirclingitscircumference,andhekissedtheundersideofit.Thenhepressedhismouthtoherpalm,lingeringhislipsthere.

“God,IwishIhadtherighttointerfere.EverytimeIwatchyourideawaybyyourself,runafterrun,takingsuchrisks,Igetso—distracted.It’sdrivingmecrazy,knowingthedangeryou’rein.”

“Whatareyoudoing?Whatareyousaying?”Shepulledherhandoutofhisgrasp.“Youcan’tdothat.I’mBarFlanders.PonyExpressRider.Aboy.”

Barleighstaredatherpalmwherehislipshadtouched,thenpressedherhandstogether,tryingtorubthesensationawaythatleftherheadlight,herkneesunsteady.

“You’reBarleighFlanders,PonyExpressriderdisguisedasaboy.Butawomanwho—”

“—whoyoushouldn’tbesayingthesethingsto.Stopit.You’redrunk.You’re

notmakingsense.”Shetriedtobackaway,butabrickwallstoppedherretreat.

“—whodrivesmecrazywithdesire.Madwithworry.Idon’thandleworryverywell.Iwanttokissyou.”

“That’sthewhiskeytalking.That’snonsense,that’s—”

Hismouthcoveredhers,softandtenderatfirst,thenmoreinsistent,histongueseekinghers.

Entwininghisarmsaroundherwaist,hepulledherclose,liftinghertohertoes.Hishungrykissessoughtnourishmentfromherlips.

WordsofcautionflittedthroughBarleigh’smindlikesummerbutterflies.Shethoughtofcapturingthem,butletthempassunfettered.Pressingagainsthim,enjoyingthesensation,shewantedtoknowthetasteofhismouth,thefeelofhis

hardbody,thesmellofhisbreath.Herhandsexploredhisneck,hisback,hisarms,andshepulledhimcloser,wantingtofeeleverypartofhim.Shefeltdizzy,andcouldn’tblameitallontheBaerBrothers’whiskey.

Hishandscuppedherface,tiltingherhead,exposingherneck,andtherehelingered,kissing,biting,trailinghistonguealongthecurveofherear,downthe

sideofherneck,stoppingwithakissatthebaseofherthroat.

Hegroaned,pullingaway.“Icouldgoonforeverkissingyou.Idon’twanttostop,butI’dbettergetcontrolofmyself.”

Barleighblinkedhard,tryingtocatchherbreath,tryingtofindherbalanceagainstthecoldbrickwallshestoodagainst.“I—thatwas—Idon’tknowwhatto

say.”“Sayyou’lltakeyour

pokerwinnings,gobacktoTexas,andstopthistomfoolery.Iworryaboutyouanditdrivesmecrazy.I’mnotgoodatworrying.Idon’tknowwhattodowithit.It—interferes.”

“Hughes,”shesaid,releasingadeepsigh.“Thankyouforworryingaboutme,butIcantakecareofmyself.Besides,I’menjoyingthe

challengeandI’mgoodatwhatIdo.”

“Thendomeafavorandconsiderthis,”hesaid,drawinghernear,leaningin,brushinghislipsagainsthers.“ConsidertakingStoneyintoyourconfidence.Now,don’tstartbristlingbeforeyouhearmeout.”

“No.Absolutelynot.WhyshouldIevenconsiderthat?”Barleighputbothhandsagainsthischestin

protest.“Thingsareheating

upwiththismail-tamperingbusinessandIhavetoleaveforCaliforniafirstthingMonday.I’dleavefeelingmuchbetterknowingStoneywaskeepinganeyeonyouandwatchingtomakesureyou’resafe.”

“Keepinganeyeonme?MakingsureI’msafe?What?”

“Thementryingto

stealthemailarevigilanteswho’llstopatnothing.They’reSouthernsympathizerswho’rewillingtokilltokeepPresidentLincoln’slettersfromreachingCalifornia.They’vealreadykilledotherswho’vegottenintheirway.TheUnionneedsCalifornia’sgold.SodoestheConfederacy.Ifwegotowar,California’sgoldcouldswaytheoutcome.”

Barleightookadeepbreathandlethiswordssoakin.Ifwegotowar?Shefeltagrowingsenseofurgencyandalarm.Somuchwasatstakegettingthemailthrough,nowsomorethanever.“Tellmemore.”

“I’vealreadytoldyoutoomuch.”

“Thenyou’reindanger,too,spyingonthesevigilantes.”

“Yes,”hesaid,

placinghishandsagainstthewalloneithersideofBarleigh’sshoulders,formingabarrier.“That’swhyI’dfeelmuchbetterifIknewStoneywasmybackup.IfthingsgobadwhileI’mnothere,it’dhelpifheknewthetruth.Iknowwecantrusthim.”

“I’llconsiderit,thoughI’mnotclearexactlywhyhisknowingmysecretwillkeepmesafe.WhydoIhavethefeelingthatyou’re

nottellingmeeverything?”Shelookedupintohiseyes,hopingforasatisfyinganswer.

“Trustmeonthis.Please?Ihavemyreasons,”hesaid,hisvoicedeepandpersuasive.

“MayIsleeponit?”sheasked,notyetpersuaded.

“Ofcourse.Wecantalkaboutitoverlunchtomorrow.”Heleanedinclose,hishanddrawingher

facetohis.“Don’tpullback.Kissme.”

“Imayhavetotaketheeastboundruntomorrow.Eaganistraininganewriderandit’sStoney’sdayoff.”Shepulledfurtheraway.“Butnomorekisses.”Sheknewthekissinghadtostop.Shecouldn’triskbeingcaught.Thethoughtofbeingseen,ofbeingfoundout,oflosingherjob,terrifiedher.

“Allright,nomore

kisses,”saidHughes,“afterthislastone.”

HughestookBarleighinhisarmsandkissedheragain,longanddeepandslow—anilluminatingkiss,makingtheinvisiblevisible.Pressingheragainstthewall,heleanedin,movinghisbodyagainsthersinawaythatsenthersensestumbling,sliding,radiating,thatonelastkissstealingherbreathandherheart.

*****WalkingtowardMainStreet,BarleighandHughessteppedfromtheshadowswherethealleycrossedthroughthecourtyard.Nearthecenter,threemenstoodtogetherinanapparentone-sidedconversation,onemanspeaking,theothertwonodding.AsBarleighandHughesneared,theonemanwhowasspeakinghurriedaway.Theothertwofigures

turned,crossedtheirarms,andstoodinwait.

“Excuseme,gents,”saidHughesastheytriedtopass.

Shouldertoshoulder,theyblockedtheway.“Youhavesomethingthatbelongstomyboss,”thebiggeronesaid,hisvoiceclearandfullofmenace.“Hewantsitback.Allofit.”

“Youmustbemistaken,”saidHughes.“I

don’tknowyouoryourboss.”

“Mybossisthemanyoucheatedatwhatwassupposedtohavebeenafriendlygameofpoker.Handoverthemoney.”Hedrewhisweapon,pointingitatHughes.

HughesraisedhishandsandtookaslightstepinfrontofBarleigh,whoalsoraisedherhands.Then,addressingthetwomen,he

said,“Gents,thatmoneywaswon,andlost,fairandsquare.Nocheatingoccurred.”

“We’renotheretoconverse.We’reheretocollect.Justhandoverthemoneyandnoonegetshurt.IfBosssaysyoucheatedhim,youcheatedhim.Hewantsitallback.”Hethrusthisgunforwardforemphasis.

“It’snotallhismoney,”Barleighspokeup.

“I’llkeepwhatwehadtobeginwith.Youcantaketherest.”

“Thisisnotanegotiation,”thesmalleronesaid,drawingandpointinghispistol,Barleigh’smidsectionhistarget.“Youmustbetheoneholdingthemoney.Keepyourhandsup.Whichpocketisitin?”

HughesandBarleighlookedateachother,anunderstandingpassing

betweenthem.Theybothknewwhereshe’dputthebundleofmoney.Itwasstowedinherinsidebreastpocket.

ThesmallmantookastepinBarleigh’sdirection,pistolinonehand,theotherreadytosearch.Hefumbledinherpantspocketsandfrownedashecameawaywithahandfulofcoins.

“IknowBossplayswithbiggerstakesthanthis.

Where’stherest?”HestartedtopatdownBarleigh’scoat.

“Ihavetherest,”saidHughes.“It’sinmyinsidecoatpocket.There’sfivehundreddollarsinthere.You’reright.Yourbosslostbig.Buthecametothetablewithonlythreehundred.Ibetifyoutookhimbackthethreehundredhelost,andyoutwokeptahundredeachforyourselves,he’dneverknowthedifference.”

Thesmallmanstoppedhispat-downofBarleigh’scoat,lookingtothebiggermanforguidance.ThebigmangaveanodofhisheadtowardHughes,andwiththatthesearchshifted.

“Unbuttonyourcoat,thenhandsbackintheair,”thesmallmansaidtoHughes.“You,”helookedatBarleigh.“Youkeepyourswherewecanseethem.Idonesawthatyou’renotarmed.”

Hughesdidashewastold.

Themantookhispistoland,withthetip,openedHughescoatwider.“Youwon’tbeneedingthis.”HeremovedtheColtrevolverhangingatHughes’shipandplaceditinhisownholster.“Whichside’sthemoney?”

“Left.”Hereachedinand

pulledoutatooledleatherwallet,theinitialsHPLin

fancyscript.Asheopenedthewallet,hismouthmovedashecountedthebillsinside.Witheyesbulging,helookedatHughes.

“Youlied,mister.There’snotfivehundredinhere.”

“Hey,whatareyoutryingtopull?”thebiggerofthetwoasked,steppingclosetolookinsidethewallet.

“Seehere?There’snotfivehundred,”saidthe

smallerone,holdingthewalletopenforthebigman’sinspection.“There’sclosertoathousand.Lookslikeourluckynight.Bossgetshisthree,weget...”Heusedhisfingerstocount.“Well,wegettherest.”

Withtheirfullattentiondrawntothewalletandontheirgoodfortune,Hughesbroughthishandsdowninaplummetingrush,slammingthetwomen’s

headstogetherwithasickeningcrunch.Thesmalleronefellsideways,unconscious.Staggered,thebiggermantotteredonhisfeet,eyesblinking.Deliveringaswiftkick,Hughesknockedthegunoutoftheman’shand,followedbyapunchtothegutthatdroppedthebigmantohisknees,leavinghimgaspingforair.

“Ibelievethisbelongs

tome,”saidHughes,reachingforhisColtrevolverinthesmallman’sholster.Asheleaneddowntoretrievehisgun,thebigmanlungedforward,knockingHughesoffbalance,thegunslippingfromhisgrasp.Theystruggledontheground,tradingpunches,thebigmangropingforhisowngunthatHugheshadkickedfromhishand.

Runningtoscoopup

bothdroppedweapons,Barleighstuffedoneinherpocket,theotherreadytohandofftoHughes.Shewasunawarethatthesmallermanhadregainedconsciousness.Hegrabbedherankleassheranby,pullingBarleightotheground,theweaponinherhandfallingfromhergrasp.Sherolledtoherback,tryingtoretrievethepistolshe’dstuffedintoherpocket,butthemanwasquicktostraddle

her,pinningherarmstohersideswithhisknees.Hepickedupthedroppedgunfromthedirt,raiseditbutt-endfirsttodeliverablowtoherhead.

Struggling,bucking,andtwistingherbody,Barleighthrashedherlegs.Thoughhewasthesmallerofthetworobbers,hisweightwasmorethanshecoulddislodgewithouttheuseofherarms.

Shewinced,bracingherselffortheblow.Insteadoffeelingtheguncomingdownhard,shefelthisentirebodycollapseontohersinadead-weightfall.Bloodsprayedontoherface—Barleighscreamed.Anotherscream—butfromwhere?Loud,nexttoherface,itcamefromthemanlyingacrossherasthecomprehensionofwhathadhappenedshockedhimoutof

hismomentarystupor.Hughes,havingseen

whatwashappening,hadtakenhisRezinBowiefromhisrightbootlegandzippeditthroughtheair,aimingitatthebaseofthesmallman’sskull.

“Myear,”hescreamed.“Youslicedoffmygoddamnedear.”Holdingahandovertherightsideofhishead,bloodpouredbetweenhisfingers.

HughesdashedovertowhereBarleighlay,thesmallmanstillstraddlingher.Hewrappedbothhandsaroundtheman’sarm,andinaninstantaneousmove,yankedhimoffherwithsuchbrutalforcethatitdislocatedtheman’sjoint.Thesmallmandroppedtotheground,holdinghisshoulder,writhingandcryingoutinpain.

Hughesscoopeduphisgun.Stridingtowherethe

manlayonhisside,heforcefullybootedthesmallmanoverontohisback.“Lookatme,fucker.”

“Don’tkillme,mister,”hepleaded,holdinghisshoulder,hisvoicefullofpain.“Pleasedon’tkillme.Ididn’tmean...”

“I’mnotheretoconverse.I’mheretokill.”Hughesraisedthegun.

“No,Hughes!”Barleighrushedtohisside.

“He’snotworthit.Iwouldn’twasteabulletonhim.”

“Oh,Iwould.Ihaveplentyofbulletstowasteonfilthyanimalslikehim.”

“Ihaveplentytowasteonfilthyanimals,too,”saidafamiliarvoicecomingfromthefarsideofthecourtyard.“Whatkindoffilthareweusingfortargetpracticetonight?”Stoney,hisrevolverdrawn,movedtoHughes’sside.

“Thethievingkind.Thekindwhodotheirlyingboss’sdirtywork.”Hughesloweredhisgun,holsteringit.Hekneltandtooktheman’sgun,thenpattedhimdownforotherweapons.Findingnone,hejerkedthemantohisfeetandsaid,“Wakeupyourbigbuddyoverthere,thengotellyourbosstostayawayfromgameshe’snotgoodatplaying.”

Barleighturnedand

lookedatwherethebigmanwaslaying,moaning,hisunsightlyfaceswollenandbloody.Hewasstrugglingtohisknees,babblingincoherentwords.Hanginguselessandlimp,hisrightarmwasbentatanoddanglemidwaybetweenthewristandelbow.

Stoneyaimedhispistolatthesmallman.“You’vebeengivenyourmarchingorders.Makehaste

beforewechangeourmindsandstartwastingbullets.”

Thetwobloodiedmenhobbledoff,leaningoneachotherforsupport.

“Areyouallright?”HugheswasinfrontofBarleigh,peeringintoherface,hishandonherchin,turningherheadleftandright.“You’vegotacutonyourforehead.”

“Whenhetrippedme,Ihitmyheadontheground.

It’snotbad.I’llbefine.”ShereacheduptotouchthecutandfeltHughes’sfingersstillthere.“Areyouallright?Yougottheworstofit.”

“Theygottheworstofit.”

“Youalmostkilledthem.”Therealityofwhathadtranspiredwashedoverher,andsheshivered.

“Iaimedtokill.Hegotlucky.Iwouldhavefinisheditifhe’dhurtyou.”

Stoneyclearedhisthroat.“Don’tmeantointerrupt,butwhatthehelljusthappened?”

“Barwonbigatpoker.Thelosersentthosetwoidiotstorobusandgethismoneyback.Itdidn’tquiteworkoutthewaytheyplanned.”

“I’dsaynot.Ishouldhavestuckaround.Imissedallthefun.”Stoneyholsteredhispistol.

“Allthefun?Didn’titworkoutforyouandthedoe-eyedblonde?”askedHughes.

“No,sir,itdidnot.Myheart’saswoundedasthatbigman’sfaceyoupummeled.”StoneypulledabottleofValleyTanfromhiscoatandthrewbackaslug,offeringthebottletoHughes,thentoBarleigh.

“God,no.AfterBaerBrothers,that’dbesacrilegious.Let’swalk,”said

Hughes,steeringBarleighandStoneytowardtheSaltLakeHouseHotel.

“WhenIfoundElizabethtoaskhertomarryme,”continuedStoney,hisbreathcloudedwithwhiskey,“shetoldmeshe’salreadymarried.She’swifenumberseven.Seven!Allatthesamegoddamnedtime.Canyoubelieveit?Men—Mormonmen—canhaveallthewivestheycanstand.Butthe

wives?Theygetjustonehusband.Nowwhointhehellcameupwiththatshit?”

“Icanbetitwasn’tawoman,”saidBarleigh,shudderingatthethought.

Astheynearedthehotel,Stoneystoppedwalking.HughesandBarleighturned,waiting,watchingStoneytoseewhathewasdoing.Raisingahandasifseekingpermissiontospeak,heclearedhisthroat

andrubbedthehanddownhisface,pullingonaseriousexpression.

“IfIcanseewhat’shappening,thenotherscantoo.”Stoneycrossedhisarms,thenuncrossedthem,andthenshovedhishandsinhispockets,clearinghisthroatagain.

“Whatareyousaying,Stoney?”Barleighasked,ignoringthenaggingvoiceinherownheadthatmirrored

thosesamewordsofcaution.Helookedfrom

BarleightoHughes,thenbacktoBarleigh,startingandrestartinghiswordsuntiltheyflowedfreely.“Tonightatthepie-eatingcontest,thenatthepokergame,IsawthewayHugheslookedatyou.Sorry,Hughes,butIdid.Andthelooksweren’tone-sided,Bar.Youtriedtohideit,Icouldtell,butmaybe’causeI’myourfriendIpickeduponit

quicker.AndIseenthewayy’all’sfingerslingeredonthewhiskeybottle,theglass,onthecards,orthemoney,onanythingthatmightlendachancetotoucheachother.Hughes’sconcernoverthecutonyourforehead.”Stoneylookedateachofthem,thenshruggedhisshoulders,aninnocentgesture,apologizingforwhathehadseen.

HughesthrewBarleigharaised-eyebrow

gesture,thenlookedatStoney.“Iknowwhatyouthinkyousaw,”beganHughes,“but—”

Stoneyheldupbothhands,palmsout.“Please.”Hecontinued.“I’mnotheretopassjudgmentonyourprivatebusiness.Butotherswill.They’llpassjudgment,allright,thenpasstheshotgunswhilethey’regoodandriledup.SeemshereinthisGreatSaltLakeofaCity,

amancanhaveasmanygoddamnedwivesashewantsatonetime,seveneven,ifheseesfit.Buttwomencan’thavetenderfeelingstowardoneanotherwithoutitgettingthemrunoutoftown.Orkilled.EvenIknowthat,andI’man...anuneducatedgruntfromArkansas.”

“Stoney,youdon’tknowwhat—”Barleightriedtoreason.

“AllI’msayingis,”interruptedStoney,“ifI’vepickeduponit,itwon’tbelongbeforeothersdo,too.Youbestbemorecareful.”HethrewbackanotherslugoftheValleyTanwhiskey,makingawincingfaceandshudderinghisshouldersasitwentdown.

BarleighbithercheektokeepfromlaughingandlookedatHughes,whowasstiflingalaughaswell.Ina

lowvoice,shesaid,“You’reright,Stoneyneedstobebroughtinonmysecret.I’lltellhimfirstthinginthemorningafterhesleepsthisoffandapotofblackcoffeesobershimup.”

“Splendididea,Barle...Bar,”saidHughes.

“Youtwocanstandtherewhisperingtillmorningifyouwant,”saidStoney.“I’mgoingtobedanddreamupmyownreligionwhereI

getasmanywivesasIcanstand,allatthesamegoddamnedtime.G’night.”

*****Thenextmorning,BarleighleftthehotelbeforeStoneyawoke,wantingtotakealongwalktoclearhermind—somethingdifferent,notonhorsebackforachange.Theunseasonablywarmweatherinvitedthecastingoffofcoatsandgloves,butnotthecastingoffoftroubled

thoughts.Sheheadedoutoftowntowardthefoothillswithacanteenfullofblackcoffeeandamindjumbledandconfused.

ShethoughttellingStoneywouldbeeasy,justcomerightoutwithit,butfiguringoutthebestwaytotellhim,whichexactwordstouse,provedtricky.Asshewalked,shetriedoutafewscenarios,practicingherspeechoutloud.

“Hi,Stoney,Ihaveasecrettotellyou.I’mreallynotahomosexualcarryingonaflirtatiousrelationshipwithanotherman;I’mreallyagirlmasqueradingasaboy.So,Iguessforalltheworldtosee,itdoesappearthatIamahomo...”

Discardingthatone,shetriedanother.

“Hi,Stoney.I’magirl.Pretendingtobeaboy.Butyoucan’ttellanyone,

eventhoughyou’veswornontheBibletobehonestandtrustworthyandIhavetoo,butIhavetoaskyoutolieformeandtonottellanyone...”

Shit.Drainingthelastdrop

ofcoffeefromthecanteen,shelookedaround,noticinghowfarshe’dwalked.Assheturnedbacktowardtown,shesawaloneriderapproachingatasteadycanter,silhouettedagainsttherisingsun.Ashe

rodenearer,theshapeofasombreroglowedlikeasoftyellowhalointhemorninglight.

“Stoney,how’dyouknowIwashere?”shesaidwithasmile.Shewasnervousbutreadytogetthisoverwith.

“Cookiesaidyoufilledacanteenandtookoffwalking.ThisistheoneplaceIknewtolook,afterIdidn’tfindyouatthebarn.”

“How’syourheadache?”

“Aww,takesmorethanalittlewhiskeytogivemeapounder.I’mfine,butIneedtohaulyourassbacktotown—youhavearuntogetreadyfor.Mariosaidthisonehassomeurgentlettersofsomesort.Hopon.”

“Thanks.”ShegrabbedholdofStoney’sarmandthrewalegoverthebackofthesaddle,ridingdouble

behindhimonthebigchestnutgelding.Thehorse’seasystridewassmoothandfast,thetowngrowinglargeonthehorizon.

“Stoney,rememberlastnightwhen—”

“Iremember.Irememberthat’sit’snoneofmybusiness.Isureashelldon’tunderstandit,butthatdon’tchangeourfriendshipifthat’swhatyou’reworriedabout.”

“That’s—I’mrelievedtohearthat—butwhatIhavetotellyoumightchangeourfriendship.Thesecretthatwespokeoflastnight—”

“Shouldstayasecret.Idon’twanttohear.Idon’twanttoknow.Idon’t.ImeantwhatIsaid,Bar.Whatever’sgoingonbetweenyouandHughesis—”

“Stoney,listentome.WhatI’mtryingtotellyouisthat....Damnittohell—I’m

agirl.”“Girlssaythingslike

‘damnittohell.’Mensay‘fuck.’Soyou’rethegirlinthe,uh,relationship.Iwaswonderinghowthatallworked.Itriednotthinkingaboutit,butIconfess,Iwondered.Iguessedyou’dbethegirlandHughesthe—”

“Stoney.Listentome.I’mnotaboy.Atall.Period.I.Am.Agirl.”Barleighwoundherarmstightly

aroundStoney’swaistandpulledherselfclosetohim,huggingforcefullytohisback,pressingherchestagainsthim.“Doyoufeelthese?Thesearebreasts.Mybreasts.”

“Whatthe—”StoneytwistedhimselfintwoashespunaroundinthesaddletogetagoodlookatBarleigh,hiseyesaswide-openashismouth.Thefastmovementcausedhimtojerkonthe

reins,pullingtoohardonthehorse’smouth,bringingthehorsetoagrindingstop.Thecombinationofthehorse’sabruptstopandStoney’sowncentrifugalforcespunhimrightoutofthesaddle,bringingBarleightumblingtothegroundwithhim.

“Holyfuck,”saidStoney,stumblinganddustinghimselfoffashegrabbedforthereins.“But,Ithoughtyou—everyone

thinksyou’reaboy.Areyougoingtotellmewhatthehell’sgoingon?”

“Yes,yesIam.EverythingI’vetoldyouaboutmyself—”

“Youain’ttoldmemuchexceptyou’reanorphanfromTexas.Shit,I’velearnedmoreaboutyouinthelasttwenty-fourhoursthanIhavesincewejoinedupinArkansas,aboutyourgrandpateachingyoucardsandyou

wishingyouwasn’thiskin,andnowthis.It’snowonderyoukepttoyourself.Ithoughtyouwasjustthequiettype,butgoodGoda’mighty.”

“Listen,Stoney,Ineedthisjob.Ineedthemoney.Thisistheonlyway,theonlydecentway,asinglegirlcanearnarespectablewage.”Barleigh’smindflashedovertheremembranceofMr.Goldthwaiteandhis

indecentproposal,thememorygivingherbodyashudder.

“Holyfuck,andgoodGoda’mighty,”Stoneysaidagain,scratchinghishead.

“I’lltellyoueverything,butI’mbeggingyoutokeepmysecret.Ifyoucan’t,Iunderstand.I’llrideawayandgobacktoTexas.Iwon’taskyoutodoanythingagainstyourconscience.”

“WhosaidIhada

conscience?”StoneygrinnedandreachedforBarleigh’shand.“Idon’tseeanyreasonIshouldgoblabbingyourpersonalbusinessaround.I’llkeepquietaboutit.Iwanttoknoweverything,butfirst,Iwanttoknowhowyoukeepthem...”Hepointedatherchest.“Imean,whatdoyoudowiththemwhen....Well,ain’tthatsomething!”

“Normally,Ikeepthemtightlybound.Iwear

baggyboy’sclothes,”shesaid,feelingoverwhelmedwithemotion.“Thankyou,Stoney,you’reagoodfriend.”Sheshookhishand,onefirmpumplikeaman.“Keepyourhorseataslowwalkbacktotown.There’salottotellyou.”

Stoneypickedhissombreroupofftheground,dusteditoff,andthensatitonhishead,tighteningthebolerounderhischin.

Grinningfromeartoear,hegatheredthereinsandsteppedintothestirrup,sayingtohimself,“Well,ain’tthemsomething!”

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

NOVEMBER26,1860

HughesLévesqueawokefromalight,troubledsleeptothesoundoffootstepsinthehallleavingfromtheroomnextdoor,theroomthatbelongedtothePonyExpressriders.He’dlistenedtothosequick,surefootstepsbefore.

Heknewtowhomtheybelonged.

Slippingoutfromunderthewarmcovers,Hughesstrodetothewindowanddrewbackthecurtains,watchingasBarleighleftonfoot,carryingacanteenandheadinginthedirectionofthefoothills.Hewonderedwhyshewaswalking.Then,hismindstillinthehalffogofsleep,hethoughtofthekissesthey’dsharedtheprevious

night,ofhowgoodherbodyfeltpressedagainsthis,andhewonderedwhyshewasn’tthereinhisarms—orinhisbed.

Heshookhisheadandpoundedhisfistsagainsthistemples,thenrubbedhiseyes,tryingtogethismindstraight.Hewasheretodoajobforanoldfriend—tokeepaneyeonherdaughter—andhe’dstrayedofcourse.How’dheletthathappen?

He’dbetterreininthatsenseofprotectivenessbeforeitgothimintrouble.Butitwasalotmorethanasenseofprotectivenessthathe’dfeltthenightbefore.

Whenhe’dreturnedtothehotel,atelegraphfromJamesonhadbeenwaitingforhim.Itnowlayopenonhisbedsidetable.Hughesreachedforit,readingitagainforthefourthtime.Itwasbrief,simplystatingthatMiss

LeighselleBeauclairewasneardeathandthatDocSchmidtwaskeepinghersedatedandpeacefulwhilegivinglittlehopeforanoptimisticoutcome.

Hughesthrewthetelegraminthetrash,thensatonthesideofthebed,leaninghisheadinhishands,rakinghisfingersthroughhishair.“Fuck.”Hepoundedhisfistonthetable.

Feelingrestless,his

mindunsettled,hepacedthefloor.Onthemantel,theblackmarbleandgoldfiligreeclocktickedawayathisthoughtsashewalkedbackandforthbetweenthewallsofhisroom.Heinspectedhisnails,pickedatagrainofdirt,andlookedagainatthetelegramcrumpledinthewastebasket.SendingareplytoJamesoncouldwait—whathewantedtosaycouldn’tbesaid.Yet.

Soonerorlater,though,he’dhavetotellLeighsellehecouldn’tcontinuekeepinghersecret—ifLeighselledidn’tdiefirst.

Hewenttothewindowandthrewitopen,breathinginthecool,crispair,clearinghismind.Feelingcagedin,seeingthemountains,hehadanurgetobeoutside.Momentslater,Hugheswasdressedandoutthedoor.

Afterastopinthekitchen,hewasonhiswaytothestables.Heranabrushoverhismare’sglisteningwintercoatthathadgrownthickanddark.Hepickedupeachhoof,inspectingtheshoe,thensaddledherwhileshefinishedheroats.

“Allright,girl,let’sgoforaride.”Heslippedthebridleinplaceandledherfromthestall.

“Morning,Mr.

Lévesque,”saidMarioasheforkedhayintoeachstall.“Everyone’soutandaboutearlytoday.Bartookoffafootaboutanhourago,thenStoneynottoolongafterhim.Nowyou.Seemseveryonewantstoleavetownthismorning.Imightaswellleave,too.Gosomeplacewarm.Naples...orVenice.”

“Goodmorning,Mario,”saidHughes,swingingupintothesaddle.

“Didyouwakeuponthewrongsideofthebedthismorning?Feelingalittlehomesick,maybe?”

“Italyhasn’tbeen‘home’inalongtime.I’mjusttiredofmytoesbeingcold.That’sall.Ihatecoldtoes.Theyputmeinasourmood.”Marioleanedagainstahorsestall,frowning.

“Iknowwhatyoumean,sir.Ihatethem,too.”Hughesmadeamentalnote

tobuyMarioawarmpairofsocksfirstchancehegot.Then,reininghismarearoundandoutthedoor,healmostcollidedhead-firstintoStoney’shorse.

“Whoa,”Hughessaid,drawingbackthereins.

BarleighslidoffthebacksideofStoney’sgelding,hoppingtotheground.“Morning,Hughes.Mario.”Sheduckedintothebarn,grabbedapitchfork,andthen

busiedherselfwithfillingtheremainingemptytroughswithhay.

“Morning,Bar,”Hughessaid.“Stoney,howareyou?Allthatpieandwhiskeylastnightkeepyouawakewithnightmares?”

“Asamatteroffact,sir,Isleptlikeababy,”saidStoney,dismountingandleadinghishorseintothebarn.

“Likeababy,eh,”

saidMario,standinginthedoorway.“Sowhat’dyoudo?Cry,thenpissandshitthebed?Havefuncleaningthatmessup.”

“Ain’tyoueverthecomedian?”Stoneyslidthesaddleoffhishorse,settingitonthestandinfrontofthestall,thenloopedthebridleoverthehorn.

“Bar,putdownthatpitchforkandgogetsomebreakfast,”saidMario.

“Don’tstraytoofar.Bereadytojumpandride.SupposedtobeurgentmailcomingoutofCaliforniaonthisrun.”

“CanItakethisrun?”Stoneyasked.“Youdon’thavetopaymeextra—Ijustneedtogetoutofhereforawhile.Clearmyhead.”

MariolookedatStoneywithaconcernedexpression.“Youallright,son?”

“Fine,sir.Ijustmiss

myoldeastboundroute.Idon’tgettorunitoftenenough.Notthatitmatters—thewestboundrunisfine,too.Youknowhowitis.Amanfeelsnostalgiceverynowandthen—wantstorevisithisbeginnings.Thatallrightwithyou,Bar?”heasked,agrinspreadingacrosshisface.

“Ifthat’swhatyouwanttodo,Stoney,it’sallrightbyme,”Barleigh

answered.“I’mgladwegotthat

settled,”saidMario,hurryingoffwithhispitchforkinhand.Then,shoutingoverhisshoulder,“LikeItoldBar,Stoney,don’tstraytoofar.Bereadytojumpandride.”

“I’mheadedtothefoothills,Bar.Iwouldn’tturndownsomecompany,”saidHughes.“WeatherthisniceinNovemberwon’tlastlong.”

Theireyesmetfora

briefsecondbeforesheturnedaway.“Idon’tknow.I—”

“Go.It’saprettydayforaride,”saidStoney.“Here,I’llresaddlethisgeldingforyou.He’sprobablywonderingwhysuchashortridethismorning,anyway.”

“Icansaddlemyownhorse,thanks.”Barledthegeldingoutofthestallandtiedhimtothegrooming

post.“What?YouwanttotreatmelikeI’myourgoddamnedlittlesister?”Shespatontheground,thenwithherfreehandreadjustedhercrotch.LookingatHughes,shespatagainforgoodmeasure.

StoneygaveanervouslaughandlookedfromBarleightoHughes.“Hey,Ididn’tmeannothing.Justoffering.”

“What’sgotyouso

riled?”askedMario,walkingbackinwithapitchforkfulloffreshhay.“IsawyoudanceandgetakissfromDorthealastnightatthepie-eatingcontest.Youshouldbeinfinespiritsthismorning.”

“MaybeBar’sinpoorspiritsbecausethat’sallhegot,adanceandakiss.That’sstillbetterthanwhatsomeofuspoorbastardswenthomewith.Saddleup.Let’sride.”Hughesspurredhishorse

awayfromthebarn,anticipatingBarleighwouldfollow.Whenheheardthesoundofhoofbeatsbehindhim,heeasedhismareintoatrot,pointinghertowardthecraggy,snow-cappedmountainsthatflankedthesleepingcity.

Silencelingeredbetweenthemastheyrode.Theclearair,bluesky,andmildtemperatureinducedavarietyofbirdsintoventuring

outoftheirnests,thebirdsseeminghappytofillthequietspacewithchatteringandchirping.

Astheynearedtheturn-offforthepassagetothesecretcave,Barleighbroketheirsilence.“Adanceandakississtillbetterthanwhatsomeofuspoorbastardswenthomewith?Whatwereyouexpectingtogohomewith?Akissyoustolefrommeinadarkalley,whichyou

ledmedownunderunknownpretense—pluswhatelse?”

Hughesthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.“Iwasplayingalong,Miss‘IcansaddlemyownhorsebecauseI’mnotyourgoddamnedlittlesister’orwhateveritwasyousaidtoStoney.Andfortherecord,Ididn’tstealthatkissinthealley.Itookit.Takingandstealingaretwodifferentthings.”

“Ohreally?Your

semanticslessonimpressesme.”Barleighleanedbackinhersaddleasthehorsesbegantheirdescentintothecanyon,lesseningtheweightherhorsewasbearingforwardofhiswithers.

Thesteeppassageintothecaverequiredtheirpreciseattention,andconversationwassparse,thesnowmeltandrefrozengroundcreatingatreacherouspathway.Rocksandgravelslippedunderfoot,

andbothhorsesdroppedtheirnosestotheground,carefultopickandchoosetheirwaytosafefooting.

“Weshouldpicnichereinthegladeinsteadofinthecave,”saidBarleigh,oncetheyreachedthehiddenclearing.Shedismountedandloopedthereinsoveralow-hangingbranch.

“OutintheopenwhereyoufeelsafethatIwon’ttakeadvantageof

you?”HughesstoodnexttohismareandstudiedBarleigh,hisambereyescloudedanddark.

Barleighcockedherheadandlookedathim,aconfusedexpressiononherface.

“Ididn’tpromiseyoulastnightthatIwouldn’twanttokissyou.IpromisedyoulastnightthatIwouldn’tkissyouagain.Ikeepmypromises.”Heturnedaway,

thememoryofthetelegraphaboutLeighsellefloodinghismind,andhecouldn’tlookatBarleigh.Hekepthispromises,allright,eventhosehehatedkeeping.

“Imeantoutintheopenwherethesky’ssoblueandtheweather’sfineforapicnic.What’swrong?”Barleighsteppedforwardandputherhandonhisarm.“Areyouallright?”

Hestaredatherhand

onhisarm—wantedtopickitup,tokisseachfinger,tonotstoptherebuttokissherpalm,thelengthofherarm,tokisshiswaytohermouthandmore.“Yes,I’mallright.”

Hepattedherhandlikeonewouldachild’s,thenmoveditaway.“Apicnichereinthegladeiswhatwe’lldo,then.”Reachingforhissaddlebag,helifteditfrombehindthecantle,settingiton

theground,removingthecontentsandarrangingtheplatesandfoodontheunrolledblanket.

“Yousurepackafancypicnic,”saidBarleigh,pickingupthelinennapkinandthecutcrystalglass.

“GrowingupinNewOrleans,mymotheralwaysservedafancybrunchonSundays,completewithFrenchchampagne.She’dsplashalittleorangejuicein

itsometimes,forcolor.Here.”HehandedBarleighacrystalglass,thebrushofherfingeragainsthissettinghisnervesonedge.

Barleighsipped.“Mmm.Wonderful.NewOrleans?Isthatwhereyou’refrom?Ifyourecallmesayinglastnight,mygrandfatherspenttimethere.”

“Irecallalotaboutlastnight.Àvotresanté.”Hughesliftedhisglassand

sipped.“Toyourhealth.”“Àvotresanté.Are

yousureitdoesn’tmean‘let’schangethesubject’?”

Hughessmiledather.“IgrewupinNewOrleans.MyfatherownsLévesqueSugarcaneandShipping.HebuiltLévesquePlantationwiththeengineeringplansfromThomasJefferson’sMonticellohome.Besidessugarcane,heraisesthoroughbreds.”

“Tellmemore,please.”Barleighsippedherchampagne.

“Yes,ma’am,”saidHughes,refillingtheirglasses.“Actually,thehorsesaremymother’sdoing.Fatherallowshertoraisethem.Ihaveatwinbrother,John-Pierre,who’stakenovermostdutieswiththebusinesses.IleftNewOrleanswhenIwaseighteenorso—becameaTexas

Ranger.Now,Idocertainjobsforthegovernmentthatnooneelsewill.That’smystoryinanutshell.Now,maywecallatrucefortheday?Youseemangrywithme.”

“I’mnotangry.I’mnervousthatifmysecretgetsfoundoutandIlosethisjob—”

“Thenwhat?What’stheworstthatcouldhappen?”Hehandedheraplate.“Sorry,thefoodisalittle

sparse.”“Thankyou.”She

nibbledonasmallpieceofsmokedbacon.“Theworst?IgobacktoTexaswithoutenoughmoneytopaythetaxesonmyranch.ThenthebankforeclosesandIlosethedeed.Itoldyou.I’mnotdressingupandpretendingtobeaboyforthethrillofthemasquerade.ThisisnotagameI’mplaying.”

“Thatpokerstakeyou

wonlastnightisn’tenough?How’sthatcutonyourhead,bytheway?”HereachedouttotouchitbutBarleighdrewback.

“It’sfine,thanks,”shesaid,pullingawayfromhistouch.“Themoneyhelpsagreatdeal,butno,notenough.”

“Howmucharethetaxes?I’llgiveyoutherestofthemoney.”Hughesshiftedontheblanketandrefilledthe

champagneglasses.“Why?Because

you’reawealthyplantationowner?Howmanyslavesdoesittaketorunasugarcaneandthoroughbredplantation?Doyourslavesworkatyourshippingyards,too?”Shedownedtheremainderofthechampagneinonegulp,coughingatthestinginginherthroatasitwentdown.

Hughesleanedback

onhiselbows,bitinghistongue,tryingtokeephisangerincheck.“MyfatheristheownerofLévesqueSugarcaneandShipping.Don’tjudgemebasedonwhatyouthinkyouknow.”

Hesettledasteadygazeonher,clenchingandunclenchinghisjawatthememoryofhisfathershovingapocketfulofmoneyathim—tellinghimnottocomeback.He’dlearnedmoreof

howtobeamanfromOkwara,theplantationslave,thanfromhisfather.

“Iwaswrongtojudge.Theideaofyougivingmemoneythatwasearnedoffthebacksofslavessetmeoff.Pleaseforgiveme.”

“Forgivenandforgotten.Butboy,yousurecangofromafriendshiptrucetofiringwithbothbarrelsintheflashofaneye.”

“Myfathersaidmy

fierytemperwasagiftfrommymother.Iwouldn’tknow,firsthand.ShediedwhenIwasborn.”Barleighshruggedhershoulders.

“I’msorry.”Hughesdrewinadeepbreath,thenletitoutslowly.

“Besidesthetaxes,there’salsothematterofrebuildingthehouse,thebarn.Animalstoreplace....”Barleighshuddered,startedtosaysomethingmore,andthen

lookedaway.Layingonthepicnic

blanketwatchingher,Hughestriedtofollowhergazebutitledtonowhereinparticularthathecoulddiscern.Hearingherspeakthosewords,sayingthathermotherdiedinchildbirth,madehimsicktohisstomach.Hisjawclinched,hiseyesdarkened,buthewouldn’tallowhertoseehisreaction—hewaswellversedintheartofsecrecy.

Hewaitedinpatientsilenceforhertogatherherthoughts,hopingshewouldletdownalittleofthewallshe’dbuiltbetweenthem—thebarriershe’dfashionedbetweenherandtherestoftheworld.

Shelookedbackathim,herbrowfurrowed,andsaidinsuchasoftvoicethathehadtositupandleanforwardtohear.“AmidnightIndianraid....Thenightof

theComanchemoon.Birdie,Papa,andUncleJack,allwerekilled.AuntWinnieandIhidinthegoatsheddowninthecellarwithmynewbabysister,Starling.Thatnight,themoonwassobig—sobright.Beautiful,yetterrifying.ItspotlightedaswarmofComancheupontheBrazosRiverridge.IsawthemjustasclearlyasIknewtheysawus.”

Hughesputhishands

onherarms,turninghermoretofacehim.“Thatnight,whatelsedoyouremember?”

“IrememberPapabeingworriedabouttheworseningskirmishesbetweentheReservationIndiansandthesettlersinthearea.ButPapasaiditwasn’ttheReservationIndiansdoingtheattacking.”Barleigh’svoicequivered.

“Whodidhesayitwas?”askedHughes.

“HesaiditwaseitherwhitemendoingitandblamingitontheReservationIndians,oritwasQuanahParker’sbandofComanche.TherehadbeenreportsofQuanahraidinginthearea,accordingtoPapa’sfriend,CaptainGoodnight.YoumightknowCharlieGoodnight.He’saTexasRanger,too.”

“He’safriend.”ColdsweatbeadedonHughes’s

foreheadandhisguttightened.Hesathisplateontheblanketandstood,takingoffhishat,runninghishandsthroughhishair.

ButQuanahParkerwasinSanAntonio.Couldhehavetraveledthatfarinadayortwo?AComancheonhorsebackridinghardcancover250milesormoreintwenty-fourhours,stealingfreshmountsalongtheway.Itwaspossible....

“Whatareyouthinking?Youlooklikeyou’veseenaghost,”Barleighsaid.

“I’mtryingtofigureoutifQuanahParkercouldhavebeenin—”Hughesstoppedhimself,tryingtorememberifBarleighhadsharedwithhimwhereshewasfrom,orifhewasrememberingitfromhistrackingherdown.

“Beeninwhat?”

“When,exactly,wastheraidonyourranch?Thedate?And,didyoutellmewhereinTexasyoulived?”

“TheraidhappenedFriday,Septemberthetwenty-seventh.Justaftermidnight.And,no,Ihaven’ttoldyouwhereI’mfrom.MylandisinPaloPinto,ahalfday’sridewestofFortWorthontheBrazosRiver.”

“Whenyousawthemountedwarriorsonthe

ridge,couldyoumakethemoutclearly?Couldyouseeifthereseemedtobealeader,orchief,andifso,whatcolorwashishorse?”Hughesdrilledhisquestions,hiswordscomingrapid-fire.

“Thereweresomany,welloverahundred.I’mcertaintherewasaleaderwhogavethesignaltoattack.Idon’trecallthecolorofhishorse.White,maybe?”

Hughespacedback

andforth,thenwalkedtowherethehorsesstoodtied.Herestedhisforeheadagainsthismare’sneck,breathinginthewoodsy,familiarsmellofasweatyhorse.Thatsmellalwaystookhimbacktohisfirstmemory.Itwasthesmellofhischildhoodandthehourshespentracinghisponythroughthemossywoodsofhishome.

“Damnittohell,”hesaid,hisboomingvoiceand

hisfistspoundingagainstthesaddle,causinghishorsetonickerandshyaway.

ThewordsoftheobeseblackjackdealerinSanAntonio,JerryAllsup,ranginhishead:“Markmywords,butyou’llregretnotkillingthatsonofabitchwhileyouhadthechance.”Andhewasright.HughesregrettednothavingkilledQuanahParker,evenifhiswarriorswouldhavefilledhimwiththeir

arrows.“Hughes?”Heturnedandsawher

lookingathimwithfearandconcerninhercat-likeeyesthatlookedlikeLeighselle’s,exceptBarleigh’swereblue,notgreen.Thetiltofherhead,theslopeofhernose,thepointofherchin,herfinecheekbones,hergracefulnessevenwhiledressedlikeaboy,grippedhisheart.

“Youlooksomuch

like...”Heranahanddownhisface,shuttingoffthethought.

“Ilooksomuchlikewhat?”sheasked,standing,movingcautiouslycloser.

“Nothing,Barleigh.YouremindmeofsomeoneIknow.Endofstory.Webettergo.Ihavealongridetomorrow.”

Hebeganrollingtheplatesandglassestogetherintheblanket,tossingthefood

aside,throwingouttherestofthechampagne.Oneofthecrystalglassesbangedagainstaplateandsplinteredintoaspider’swebofcracks.

“Goddamnit.”Hethrewthebrokenglassagainstarock.Then,pickinguptheotherglass,hethrewit,too,sendingshardsoffine,leadedGermancrystalflyingintotheair.

Barleighplacedagentlinghandonhisarm.

“Hey.Hey.Easy.Letmehelpyouwithputtingthesethingsaway.What’swrong?”

Hughesshruggedoffherhand.“No.Don’t.Just....Pleasegetonyourhorse.I’minahurry.”

Therewasalettertowrite.HewouldbegLeighselletostopthisdamnedlie—hecouldn’tdoitanymore.IfBarleighknewthatshehadamother—thathermotherhadpaidthetaxes

onherland—Barleighwouldgohomeandwouldstopthisfoolish,dangerousmasqueradeshewasplaying.

“Hughes,whathaveIdone?What’swrong?”Barleighfollowedhimasheslunghissaddlebagoverthecantle,tyingitinplacewiththeleatherlatigo.“Lookatme.WhathaveIdone?”Shestoodclosebehindhim,waitingforananswer.

Turningaround,

Hugheslookeddownandintohereyes,whichwerethecolorofthesky.Hereachedouthishand,strokedhercheek,rubbinghisthumbacrossasmudgeofdirt.Then,liftingherbangs,hecheckedonhercutforehead,tracingaroundthebandagewithhisfinger.

“Idon’tknowhowintheworldyouhaveeveryonefooledintothinkingyou’reaboy.You’resopretty.So

verypretty,”hesaid,asadtonetohisvoice.

“Peoplebelievewhattheywanttobelieve,orwhatthey’retoldtobelieve.WhathaveIdonetoangeryou?Something’schanged.”

“You’vedonenothing.I’vejustcometotheconclusionthatyou’vebeenrightallalong.Ishould’veneverkissedyou.Idon’thavethetimeortheluxurytoworryaboutyou,”hesaid,a

firmsettohisjaw.“Theluxury?Ididn’t

askyoutoworryaboutme.Youappointedyourselftothatrole.Youdon’thavetospeaktomeinsucharudefashion.Youdon’thavetospeaktomeatall,asfarasI’mconcerned.WhatI’mtryingtoaccomplishwouldhavefarfewerrisksifyouandInevercrossedpathsagain.”Shecrossedherarmsagainstherchest.

“Becarefulwhatyouaskfor.”Heturnedandswungintothesaddle,guidinghismareupthesteepgradeandawayfromthecave.

Theridebackintotownwasevenmoresilentthantherideout.HughesrodeaheadofBarleigh,keepinghismareatafasttrot.Eachtimeshecaughtupwithhim,hewouldspeedupjustenoughtomakeitobvious

thathedidn’twanttoridesidebyside.

*****BarleighreinedhergeldingtoastopattheendoftheroadandwatchedasHughesledhismareintothebarn,henotoncelookingbacktoseeifshewasbehind.Shehadwantedhimtoleaveheralone.Shehadpushedhimaway—toldhimtoneverkissheragain,toneverspeaktoheragain.Sowhydidshefeel

likeherheartwasshatteringlikethecrystalglasseshe’dsmashedagainsttheboulders?

Minuteslater,shewatchedasheleftcarryinghissaddlebagsinonehand,somethingclutchedintheother,andheadedfortheSaltLakeHouseacrossthestreet.Barleighsqueezedherheelsandclucked,“Comeon,boy,walkon.”Thegeldingcomplied,respondingtothe

gentlecue.“Mr.Lévesquewas

sureinafoulmood,”saidBigBrodyashesweptthecenteraisleofthebarn.“Didn’tsaynothingtome.HescribbledaquickmessagefortheCarsonCitymail,askedMariotohaveCarsonCitytelegraphittoSanAntonio,thenhegrabbedabottleofwhiskeyandleft.”

Sothat’swhathewascarrying.

“Ican’tsay.Werodetogetherforawhile,thenhetookoffonhisown.Saidsomethingaboutabigjobtomorrow.”Barleighfinishedcurryingthegeldingandputhiminhisstallwithafreshpailofwaterandscoopofoats.“Stoneyalreadygone?”

“Herodeoutafewsecondsago.That’shisdusthangingonthewind.”BigBrodynoddedoverhisshouldertowardthewide,

doubledoorsthatwereslidopen,allowingfreshairintothebarn.

BarleighpeereddowntheroadbutStoneywasoutofsight.“Abitlateleaving,wasn’the?”

“Mailwaslatecomingin.Someproblembackdowntheline,don’tknowwhatforsure.Say,justsoyouknow....”BigBrodyloweredhisvoice.“MarioorderedmetotakethatMexicansombrero

ofhisandburnit.Today.Youmightwanttohideitsomeplace.”

“Mariocangotohell,”saidBarleigh,givingBrodyathankyounod.Agoodspitonthegroundwascalledfor.

“I’vebeentohell,”saidMario,walkinginthedoor,slappingBarleighontheback.“Hell’slivingforeighty-sevendaysinthesteerageofacargoshipand

fightingoverwhogetsthefattestratforyouronemealoftheday.It’sseeingyourmotherandfather’sbodiestossedoverboardalongwiththerestofthestinkingtrash.Hell’sbeingtenyearsoldandaloneinNewYorkCity,someonestealingyourshoesoffyourfeetwhileyouslept,wakinguphungry,pickingthroughhorseshitwithyourbarehands,searchingfortheundigestedoats.That’smy

versionofhell.”BigBrodyrolledhis

eyesandshruggedhisshoulders,andthenwentbacktosweeping.

“Ididn’tmeanthat,Mario,”saidBarleigh.“Yes,sir,thatsoundslikehelltome,too.”

“Don’tmindme.”Mariogaveadismissingwaveofhishands.“Mytoesarecold.So,what’dyoudo,Bar?Lévesquecameback

sullenandlookingforagooddrunk.”

“Ididn’tdoanything,”shesaid,alittletoodefensivelyshethought.

“Maybehe’slonelyforhisladyfriendinSanAntoniothathe’swritingto,”saidMariowithamischievousgrin.“Maybehistoesandotherbodypartsneedwarmed.”Mariolaughed.

“Maybeit’sbecauseI

toldhimhecouldn’thaveDorthea,thatIwantedherallformyself.”Barleighspatonthegroundandleftthebarn,thesoundsoflaughterfromMarioandBigBrodyfollowingheroutthedoor.

Barleighcrossedthewidestreetasshemadeherwaytowardthehotel,wantingnothingmorethantogobacktobed,crawlunderthecovers,pullthesheetoverherhead,andhibernatefor

therestoftheday.ShemissedAuntWinnie—missedStarling.ShemissedTexas.Shewantedtogohome,evenifhomewasjustaburnedpieceofland.

“Hey,watchwhereyou’rewalking,”saidagruffvoice,reelingfromthesurpriseimpactoftwopeoplecolliding.Thespeechwasslurred,theclothesreekingwithalcohol,dirt,sweat,andurine.

“Excuseme,I’msosorry,”saidBarleigh.“Iguessmyfeetdidn’tknowwheretobe.”

“Inaholyplaceofworshipiswhereyoushouldbe,”saidtheoldman,straighteninghissour-smellingcoat.“It’sSundaymorning.”

“Andwhereshouldyoubethen?”askedBarleigh.

“That’snoneofyourbusiness.Butifyoucould

spareafewcoinstocovermybreakfast,I’llforgetaboutyourrudebehavior.”Thestinkingsuitheldouthishand.

Barleighfishedaroundinherpocketsandcameoutwithsomesparechange,handingitovertotheoldman.“Enjoyyourbreakfast.I’llforgetaboutyourrudebehavior,too.”

“Thankyou,miss.Godblessyou.”

Barleighstoppedinhertracksandstaredintotheoldman’swatery,bloodshoteyes.“Whatdidyousay?”

“Isaidthankyou,miss,andGodblessyou.Thatwasall.Youain’tgoingtomaketroubleforme,areyou?”

“No.Notrouble.Blessings,orwhatever,toyoutoo.”Barleightossedhimanothercoinandwentintothehotel.

Thankyou,Miss?Miss?WhatthehellamIdoinghere?

Theroomwasdark,quiet,thefourbunkbedsthatBigBrodyandYatessharedalongwiththenewstockhandlers,LarsandLiam,wereempty.Thetwosinglebeds,hersandStoney’s,wereemptyaswell.Witheveryonegone,shehadtheroomtoherselfforachange.Nohavingtolayherelisteningto

fartingandbelching—nodisgusting,raunchyhumoraboutwomen’sgenitalia,andthenpretendingtolaugh.

Barleighlayacrossherbead,stretchingoutoverthetopofthecovers,enjoyingthequiet.Shekickedoffherboots,loosenedthecordonhershirt,anduntuckedtheends,gettingcomfortable.

Sheturnedherheadandlookedatthewall

betweenherandHughes’sroom,tryingtoenvisionwhathewasdoing.Wouldhebelyingonhisbedwithhisbootskickedoff?Withhisshirtoff?Wouldhebesittingbythewindow,sippinghiswhiskey?Whywouldheneedwhiskeythisearlyintheday?Whywashekindoneminute,thenrudeandsullenthenext?Washemissingsomeone—hislady-loveinSanAntonio?

WhydoIcareaboutanyofthis?

Barleighslidoutofbedandtiptoedovertothewall,pressingherearagainstit,tryingtomakeoutthemuffledsoundsshewashearingcomingfromtheotherside.Sheheardvoicesandwonderedwhohewasspeakingto.Washetalkingtohimself?Didhetalkinhissleep?Shewonderedwhatitwouldbeliketosleepinhis

bed,tofeelhisnakedbodyagainsthersifshewokeupduringthenight.Shepressedharderagainstthewall,imaginingitwasHughes’sbodyshewasfeelingpressingagainsthersinreturn,likethelastkissfromlastnightinthealley.

ThebedroomdoorswungopenandBigBrodyandLarsstoodinthehallway,Lars’shandonthedoorknobastheyenteredtheroom.

“Whatareyoudoing,Bar?EavesdroppingonLévesque?”askedBigBrody.

Barleighjumpedawayfromthewall,kickingthebedframeintheprocess.“Ouch!Fuckthathurt.”Shebouncedaroundononefoot,holdingthebigtoeoftheother.“Goddamnit,yousurprisedme.”

“Wecanseethat.WhywereyoulisteninginonMr.Lévesque’sroom?”Big

Brodyasked,lookingsuspicious.

“I,uh...IthoughtImighthaveheardawoman’svoiceintherewithhim.Ijustwantedtoknowwhatitsoundedlikewhenamanandawoman,youknow,mightbe,uh...”

BigBrodybeltedoutalaugh.“Youmeanyou’veneverbeenwithawoman?Youdon’tknowwhatawomansoundslikewhen

she’sinthethroesofpassion?”

“Ididn’tmeananyharm.”Barleighsatonthesideofherbedmassaginghersoretoe.“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?Just—justgofuckoff,allright?”

BigBrodyandLarslookedateachother,thenatBarleigh.Asifoncue,bothhadherbyeacharm,forcingherbootsonherfeet,grabbinghercoat,dragging

heroutthedoor.“Whatareyoudoing?

Putmedown.”Barleighstruggled,butitwasnouse.“Isaidletmego.”

“Let’sallgofuckoff,”laughedLars.“Let’sallgofuckoffatthewhorehouse.”

“ExactlywhatIwasthinking,”saidBigBrody,laughingevenharder.“Bar,youwon’thavetowonderanymorewhatawoman

soundslike.You’llexperienceitfirsthandandthenbethankingusfromheretotheothersideofnextSunday.”

Hughes’sdoorcrackedopenandhestuckhisheadoutintothehallway.“What’sallthecommotion?”

“We’vedecidedtotakealittlewalkovertoseesomeofMissMaeve’sgirls.Barseemstohaveacuriousstreakthismorningthatneeds

satisfying,”saidLars.“Ifyou’renotalreadysoengaged,pleasefeelfreetojoinus.”

“That’saninvitationIdon’tbelieveIshouldpassup.Givemeaminutetopullonmyboots.”Hughesslammedthedoor.

“Thosewomendon’tworkonSundaymornings,”saidBarleigh.“Dothey?”

“Inthistown?That’swhenthey’rethebusiest,”

saidBigBrody.“AmenandOh,God,

Oh,God,”saidLars.*****

FrenchperfumeandsweetcigarsmokescentedtheairinthedimlylitroomsatMissMaeve’sBoardingHouse.Girlsinscantycostumesandinvariousstagesofundressloungedaboutonbillowypillows,somewearinggaudyamountsofrougeandlipstick,somewearingnone

atall.TheoneswearingnoneatallsaddenedBarleighthemost—theylookedsoyoung,fresh,andunspoiled.

“Here’ssomethingforyou,MissMaeve,”saidLars,handingherasilverdollar.“Picksomeoneniceforourfriend,Bar.It’shisfirsttimegoingupstairs.Someonenice,likeBerta.”LarsandBigBrodywinkedateachother,thenstrolledovertothepillowedfloorandselected

rougedandlipstickedgirlsfortheirownpleasures.

HugheshandedMaeveafive-dollargoldpiece.“BuffaloBertamightbealittlefrighteningforwhatwewanttoaccomplishtoday.It’sBar’sfirsttime.Heshouldhavethemostexperiencedwomanhere.MissMaeveherself.”

“Anythingforyou,Hughes,”saidMissMaeve,battinghereyelasheslikea

shyschoolgirl.SheheldoutahandforBarleigh.“Comewithme,boy.Butwhenwe’redone,noonecancallyouaboyanylonger.”

Barleighlaughedoutloud.

HughestookMissMaevebyherelbowandpulledheraside,whisperingsomethingtoher,handingheranotherfive-dollargoldpiece.MissMaevesurreptitiouslyglancedat

Barleighforameresecond,noddingasHughesspoke,smiling,andnoddingagain.

“Myspecialservice,whyyesofcourse.I’dbedelightedtogiveBarmyextraspecialservice,”MissMaevesaidloudenoughforeveryonetohear,thenlookedatBarleighandwinked.

Anhourlater,asBarleighandMaevewerereadytostepoutfromherroom,MissMaevepinched

hercheekstomakethemappearflushwithcolor,mussedherhair,andthrewalacyrobeoverhershoulders.

“Whatapleasureitwastomeetyou,Barleigh.Imustsay,thiswasthemostsurprisingmorningI’vehadinalongtime.And,themostpleasureI’vehadearningmoney,justbysharingalittle‘girltalk.’Don’tworry,honey,yoursecret’ssafewithme.”

“Thankyou,MissMaeve.Whatanenlighteninghour.Ihaven’thadanotherwomantotalktoinawhile.IhopeIdidn’tshockyouwithallmyquestions.”

“MissMaeve’snotshockedbymuch.”Thewomangaveaheartylaugh.

“Growingupwithoutamother,I’veonlyhadmyimaginationtoguidemeabouttheintimaciesbetweenamanandawoman.”

Barleighblushed,recallinginvividdetailsomeofMissMaeve’sexplicitdescriptions.“I’llgivesomethoughttowhatyousaidaboutHughes—thewayamanlikehimcangofromkissingmeoneminutetoalmostkillingtwomenthenext.”

“Itwasn’tjustaboutHughes,itwasaboutmostmen.Thegoodoneshaveastrongneedtoprotecttheweakersex.Youcan’tfightit

oraskthemtogoagainstit.It’sintheirnature.EspeciallyforamanlikeHughes—it’ssacredtohisnature.Youcanuseittoyouradvantage.Notmanipulatively,butfairly,whereeachonegetswhattheyneed.”

“But,Idon’tknowwhatIneed.”

“Thenyoukeeplookinguntilyoudiscoverit.Thetrickistonevergiveuptillyoufindit,honey.You’ll

dojustfine.Now,speakingaboutallmen,lookslikeyourbuddiesarewaitingforyou.I’llputonashowofit.Watchthis.”Shepinchedhercheeksagain,re-fluffedherhair,andproceededtoenthralleveryonewithabreathlessstoryofpure,sensualdelight.

“Well,well,congratulations,Bar.Whowould’vethoughtalittleguylikeyouhaditinyoutotakecareofawomanlikeMiss

Maeve?”BigBrodyslappedBarleighontheback,alookofadmirationonhisface.

“Andforawholehour,too,”addedLars.“Myfirsttime?Ihadmypantsbackupandcinchedinlessthanfiveminutes.Or,didIevengetthemallthewaydownbeforeIfinished?”Histhoughtsandwordstrailedoff.

“LarsandIwanttostayhereawhile,seewhat

othertroublewecanscareup,thenmaybegoovertoWhiskeyStreet.Wanttostaywithus?Romeo?”BigBrodylaughed,slappingBarleighonthebackagain.“Nowthatyou’vegotyourfirstoneunderyourbelt,youmightaswellgiveBuffaloBertaaride.”

“Thanks,butno.I’llwaitforHughesto,uh,finish,tocome,touh,comedownthestairs,thenI’llheadback

tothehouse.”Barleighlookedupthestairs,hopingtoseeHughes.

“Oh,Mr.Lévesquedidn’tstay,”saidoneoftheyoung,fresh-facedgirlswearingnomakeupandloungingonthepileofpillows.“Hesaidhehadotherimportantworktotakecareof.”Shepouted,tryingtoactaffronted.

“Youtwohavefun,”Barleighsaid,givinga

knowingsmile.“IthinkI’llgohibernateawhile.Amanneedshisrestafterallthatexcitement.”

AfterthankingMissMaeveagain,BarleighwalkedbacktotheSaltLakeHousealone.Withhandsinpockets,shepassedthelargeplate-glasswindowinfrontofthemercantilestore.Shesteppedbackandstudiedherreflection,wonderingwhatHughessawwhenhelooked

ather.Shesawrowelled

spursstrappedaroundtall-heeled,knee-highboots,theblackleatherpolishedbutworn.Bluetweeddungareestuckedintoherboottops.Yellowbuckskinshirtthreadedupthefrontclosurewithaleathercord.Yellowbandanatiedaroundherneckinplaceofapearlnecklace.Heavy,oil-skinslickerlinedinthicksheep’swoolthat

hungtotheground.Colt.45strappedtoherhipthatshe’dlearnednottoleaveathome.Brown,short-brimmed,short-crownedwesternhatshetighteneddownwithasturdylatigoandasilverconcho,theconchoforshowbecauseshelikedthewayitlooked.Boy-shorthairinneedofacutandacomb.Fringedleatherglovestokeephercallousedhandswarm.Animageoftheweakersexinneedofa

man’sprotection?Hardly.Barleightookastep

closertothewindowandcontemplatedherappearanceamomentlonger,takinginherexpression,ponderingthefacestaringback.Plain.Nomakeup.Liketheyoung,fresh-facedgirlsatMissMaeve’swholookedliketheydidn’tbelongintheirjobs,either.SheturnedandwalkedawaytowardtheSaltLakeHouse,feelingtiredand

melancholy.Howfortunate,

though,Ionlyhavetoridehorsesforaliving.

*****SomeonebangingonthedoorawokeBarleighfromhersleep,theinsistentpoundinggrowinglouder.“Wakeup.Areyouinthere?”

Wherewaseveryoneelse?Barleighfeltdisoriented.Normally,atleastoneotherriderwassleeping

inthebunkroomatanygiventime.Sheshuffledtothedoorinherredlongjohns,thewarmthermalunderwearherbasicuniformwhennotinridingattire.

“Coming.Holdon.”Softlightfilteringinthewindowaroundthecurtainsindicateditwasnotyetevening.Aglanceattheclockshowedittobehalfpastfourintheafternoon—she’dalmostslepttheday

away.“Yes,whatisit?”She

openedthedooracrackandpeekedoutside.

Hugheswasslumpedagainstthewallindisheveledclothes,hishairamess,afiveo’clockshadowpepperinghisjaw.Toomanywhiskeysetchedthelinesonhisface.Shewantedtojumpintohisarms,ortopullhimintotheroom,butsheremindedherselfthatthat’snotwhata

PonyExpressriderwoulddo.

“Lévesque.Youlooklikeshit.”

“Thankyou.Youlookdelicious,”hewhispered.

“You’redrunk,”shesaid,annoyed.

“You’reastute.”HeheldupabottleofBaerBrothers’whiskeyalreadythreequartersemptyandtookanotherswig.

“Whyareyouhere?”

“Iwenttothebarntocheckonmymare—”

“Evendrunk,yourememberedyourpriorities,beforepassingout.Goodforyou.”Shesteppedback,closingthedoor.

“Listentome,”Hughessaid,brushingasideherremark,hisbootforcingthedooropen.Inaloudvoice,speechslurred,hesaid,“Stoney...he’smissing.Hishorsecamebacktothebarn

withouthim.Themochila’sgone,too.Therewasblood—abloodyhandprintonthehorse’sneck.”Hughesleanedagainstthedoorframeforbalance.

“Oh,dearGod.Thatcan’tbe.”Barleighrushedintotheroom,pullingonherclothes.Shoutingoverhershoulder,sheasked,“Istheresomeoneoutlookingforhim?”

“MariosentBig

BrodyandBrody’slittlebrother—what’shisname,Yates?”Hughescalledfromthehallway.

“Right,Yates.”Barleighranoutthedoor,pushingpastHughes,sendinghimspinninglikeatop.Assheleft,shegrabbedStoney’sMexicansombrerofromthehatrack,puttingitonforgoodluck.

*****Hughessteadiedhimself

againstthewallandstumbledtowardhisdoor.NoddingtothetwomenpeeringfromoutoftheirdoorwaythatwasacrossthehallfromthePonyExpressroom,heraisedhisbottleinaninvitation.

“Evening,gents.Shareatoast?”Heslungbackanothergulpandheldoutthebottle.

Thedoorclosed,thelockclickinginplace.

Insidehisroom,

Hughesemptiedtheteafromthewhiskeybottlebackintothesilverteaserver.Then,herefilledthewhiskeybottlewithitsoriginalcontentsofBaerBrothersfromhiscanteen,minusthetwoshotshe’dallowedhimselfafterthemorning’sridewithBarleigh.ThethirdandfourthshotsmissingfromthebottlehadhelpedtosteadyhimafterheawokefromanunrestfulnapandafitfuldreamofQuanah

ParkerengagedinabloodyraidonaNorthTexashomestead.

Afterrunningaquickrazoracrosshisfaceandacombthroughhishair,hepulledonhisuniformofthenight:blacktrousers,blackshirt,vest,andtopcoat,blackboots,blackgloves,andblackhat.

Lookingathisimageinthemirror,hetoldhimself,“Youdon’thavetheluxuryof

worryingabouther.Youhaveajobtodo.”

Heslippedoutofthewindow,closingitbehindhim.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

NOVEMBER26,1860

AlonefiguredashedfromtheSaltLakeHouseHotel,almostrunningheadlongintoasmallladstandingoutfrontonthesidewalk.HoldinganextraeditionfortheDeseretNews–ThePonyDispatch,theyoungboy,usinga

rehearseddialogue,calledouttopassersbythattheSouthernsecessionmovementwasgainingmomentum,pointingtotheheadlinesasproof.Inboldtype,thescriptgavedetailofSouthCarolina,Georgia,andMississippicallingforaspecialsessionoflegislaturefortheelectionofdelegatestoasecessionconvention.

Barleighapologizedtotheboyasshespedpast,

ignoringtheheadlines.“Mario,”sheshouted,

runningintothebarn,tryingtopushdownthepanicrisingfromhergut.“Mario,whereareyou?”

“Overhere.”Hecameoutofastallleadingasmallbrownmare,tackedupandready.“Iknewyou’dbecomingassoonasyougotword.Ican’ttellyounottogo,thoughIwishyouwouldn’t.BrodyandYates

arealreadyoutlooking.”“Ihaveto.”Barleigh

tookthereinsfromMario.“Don’tforget,you’re

ondutytomorrow.”“Ihaven’tforgotten,”

shesaid,doublecheckingthecinch.

“IsMr.Lévesqueridingwithyou?Iexpectedhe’ddoso,”askedMario,lookingoverBarleigh’sshouldertowardthedoor.

“Lévesqueisdrunk

offhisass.Hecanbarelywalk,letaloneride.”Barleighsteppedintothesaddle,thereinsheavyinherhands,thehard,oiledleatherstripsbeginningtostiffenasthetemperaturestartedtoslide.

Mariolookedconfused.“Hewashereearlier.Ididn’tnoticehimbeingdrunk.”

“Hewasbeyonddrunk,”shesaid,annoyedagainatthethought.

“Anyway,whathappensifI’mnotbackbymorning?”

“Whatdoyoumean,ifyou’renotback?”

“I’mnotcomingbackuntilIfindStoney.Whatifittakeslonger?WhatifI—”Shedroppedhergazedowntoherglovedhandsholdingthestiffeningreins,flippingtheleatherhardagainstherpalm.

AtangleofemotionscausedBarleigh’sbreathto

catch,andshestruggledtokeepherwordseven.ThethoughtofheadingbacktoTexashadbeenplantedinhermind—thenotionofnotridinganymore,ofquittingthePonyExpress.

“AfterIfindStoney,”shesaid,“itmightbeagoodtimeformetoleave—togohome.”

Mariopattedthemareontheneck.“You’lllikeLittleBrownie.She’s

surefootedandswift.Takeanextrabedrollandanextracanteenofcoffee.Thenicewarmdayweenjoyedtodaywasateaser.There’sanor’easterblowingin.Icanalreadyfeelthechange.”

Hefixedthebugleandbothcanteenstothesaddlehornandtiedthemwiththelatigo,thenputanextracoatinsidethebedroll,reattachingittothecantle.“LarsorLiamcanfillinif

you’renotbackinthemorning.We’lltalkaboutyougoinghomeafteryoufindStoney.”

“Yes,sir.Thanks,Mario.”

“I’mgladyougotthatdamnedsombreroon.Thatwidebrimwillhelpkeepthesnowoffyou,”hesaid,atwinkleinhiseye.

BarleighgaveMarioasalute,touchingtheedgeofherhandtothesombrero,and

nodded.“Yes,sir,itwill.”“Becareful,son.”

Mariodrewthebarndoorsclosedagainstthechillingwind.

Reiningthemarearound,Barleighrodeeast,followingStoney’smailroute.Afewstarspokedholesintothedarkeningskyasacold,gustywindfromthenorthspilledovertheWasatchMountains,shakingfromtheskyafewfat

snowflakesthatfellhardtothegroundlikeround,whitecoins.

ThewayintoParley’sCanyonfeltfamiliar,andLittleBrownieseemedtoknowtheway.Theroutewasclearandsolid,thefootinggood,thepaceeven.Shekeptthemareatafast,steadytrot,listening,callingoutStoney’sname,listeningagain,lookingforanythingoutoftheordinary.

ThroughEmigrationCanyon,upMountainDellandBigMountainPass,thoughtsofthefirsttimetheyrodeintoSaltLakeplayedacrosshermind,theexcitementsheandStoneyhadfeltatnearingtheendoftheirfirstlongride.Theyhadwhoopedandhollered,puttingonquitetheshowofitforthetravelersintheOverlandStagecomingdownBigMountainPass.

Likeawildbanshee,Stoney’slustywhoopshadfilledtheair.Wavinghishatatthetravelers,he’ddroppedhishorserightovertheedgeofthemountain,fearless,androdeitdownlikehewasfloatingonarivercurrent.Theexuberantexpressionhe’dhadonhisfacewaspurejoy.Recallingthatday,thatride,hishappiness,asshecoveredthatsamegroundonLittleBrownie,Barleigh

hardenedherresolvetofindhim.

AtWebberCanyonStation,shecaughtupwithBigBrodyandYates,whohadstoppedtorestandchangehorses.ShehadchangedonceatMountainDellanddecidedtochangeagain,too,eventhoughherpacehadbeenslowandsteady,thehorsenotyetplayedout.

“We’regoingto

doublebackfromhere,”saidBrody.“TheysayStoneynevermadeitthisfar,thatBigMountainPasswasthelasthecheckedin.I’mridingabitoffthetrailtothenorth;Yatesisridingabitoffthetrailtothesouth.What’syourplan,Bar?”

“I’llmakeafewcirclesaroundWebberStation,maybegoasfarasEchoCanyon,andthencomebackherebymorning,”she

said.Stoneycouldbeanywhereinbetweenifhewashurt.

ItwasnearmidnightwhenBarleighleftWebberStation,snowfallingnonstopandcoveringthegroundseveralinchesdeepinplaces,deeperwherethedriftsblewagainstrocksandtrees.Thewoolenponchohungfromhershoulders,drapingoverthesaddle,coveringherlegsallthewaydowntoher

boots.Intheupperelevation,

thesnowwasmorepowderythanwhatfelldowninthevalley,thehorsehavingtopushthroughitinsteadofwalkingoverasoldpack.Thetemperaturedroppedthroughoutthenightuntilitsettlednearzero,hoveringthereuntilmorningwhenthesun’sraysofferedtheairslightwarmth.

Ridingnortheastfrom

WebberStation,BarleighaimedforthefoothillsoftheRedBluffsthatraninanobtuselineagainstthelevelplaneoftheWebberRiverValley.Fromthere,shecircledaroundtothenorthwest,thencrossedEchoCreekandheadedsouth,makingasweepingcircleoftheicyvalleyasshecurvednortheastagaintoherstartingpoint.

Themooncastaslight

illuminationacrossthesnow,allowingsomelighttoshineonanotherwisedarknight.Barleighdecidedtomakehercirclewider,goingfurtheroffthetrail,deeperintothetreesandscrubbrush,crisscrossingthecreek,fordingthelow-watercrossingoftheriver.

OnthebankoftheWebberwherethesnowhadyettoaccumulatetomorethanadusting,somethingcaughthereyeasthe

moonlightglintedagainsttheshapeofonobjectthatcontrastedwithitssurroundings.Dismounting,shebentoverwhatlookedtobeanarrow.Shepickeditup.Theblue-grayflinttipwassmearedwithdriedblood.Tyingitintoherbedroll,sheremountedandspurredherhorsetowardHeadofCanyonStation.

ColonelHill,thestationmaster,wasn’ta

colonelasfarasanyoneknew,buteveryonecalledhimthatbecausehisfistswerequicktoremindfolksthathepreferredtobeaddressedassuch.ColonelHillhadnotseenorheardofIndiansinthearea,andwassorrytohearaboutStoney.

“Ilikethatboy.Isurehopeyoufindhimallright.Butshouldn’tyoustayputtillmorning?Atleasttillitstopssnowing?”

“Itcouldsnowfordays,”Barleighsaid,saddlingasmallbutstout,copperycoloredmare.“I’mridingtoCacheCave.”

WhereshehadfoundthearrowontheWebberRiverassherodeoutofEchoCanyon,thelogicalplacetolookforStoneywouldbetoheadtoCacheCave.IfshehadIndianschasingher,that’swhereshe’dtrytogetto.

“You’llcrossthewatershedbetweentheBearRiverandtheWebberRiver.Theterrainshouldbefrozen.Mostly.Whereit’snot,mightbepatchyquicksand.Becareful,son.”

“Yes,sir.Thankyou,Colonel.”

Ridingoutintheopen,shefeltvulnerable,suspiciousofsounds,jumpyatshadows.Thesnowhadtaperedoffandthemoon

hunglikeabrightballinthedarksky,withascatteringofcloudsflittingby.Thetreesandscrubhadbecomesparse,andtheflatopengroundbetweenthetworivervalleysleftlittlemeansofprotection.Shekepthereyesontheground,lookingformorearrowsorothersigns,nolongercallingoutStoney’snameforfearsomeoneelsemighthearher,too.

Overhead,thefull

moonshadowedher,remindingherofthepowersandperilsofitsbeauty—toseeandtobeseen.Shewonderedwhatnamewasgiventothemoonbythepeopleofthemountains.

Barleighwhisperedasongunderherbreath,eachwordforminganicycloudinfrontofherface.“Iseethemoon;themoonseesme.IranawayfromtheCo-man-che.”

Thegroundsurroundingthewatershedwascrunchyunderfoot,butinseveralplacesherhorse’sbalancefalteredwherethehard-packwasn’tfrozensolid.Theweightoftheanimalbrokethroughthetoplayer,themarelurchedforward,seekingsolidfooting.Dismounting,Barleighwalkednexttothehorse,easingtheanimal’sstrain.

Shereachedforthecanteenthatwastiedtothesaddlehorn,wantingthewarmthofthehotliquidinherbelly.Thetwocanteensweretiedtogetheralongwiththebugle,thentheleatherstrapwasdalliedtightaroundthesaddle’shorn.Hernumbfingersfumbledwiththefrozenleatherknotthatdidn’twanttoloosen.Givingup,shetookherknifeandcuttheleather,removingallthree

fromthesaddle.“Whoa,whoanow.

What’swrongwithyou?”Barleighsaid,hermarethrownintoasuddenpanic.

Thehorsesidesteppedandreared,headhigh,eyeswide,whinnyinginahorse’snervousway.Barleightightenedhergriponthereins,followingthehorse’smovement,joggingforwardtowardthemareasthepanickedhorseshuffled

backward.“Easy,girl.Easy,”

Barleighsoothed.Thefrightenedhorse

whinnied,shakingherheadleftandright.Rearing,pawingwithslashinghoovesatthemoon,shejerkedthereinsfreeandboltedintothedarkness.

Barleighdroppedtoallfours,pressinglowtotheground.Shemadeaquicksweepwithhereyes,looking

inalldirections,seeingnothing,butsensing—something.Huddledundertheponcho,shecrouchedonherhaunchesandsippedfromoneofthecanteens.Thespotlightmoonlentitssoft,silverylighttothecrunchy,frozenearth.

“Damnittohell,”shecursed.“Andyes,Stoney,that’sexactlywhatagirlwouldsay.”

Lookingatthedark

lineoftherockyridgeandtheformationcalledTheNeedles,sheknewshemustbeclosetoCacheCave.Hangingthetwocanteensandthebuglearoundherneck,shestoodtoleavewhensomethinginthelowsagebrush—aflashofyellow—caughtherattention.Shesettledbackdownunderherponchoandwaited,listening,watching.But,shewastheonebeingwatched.

Apairofeyesglintingintheglareofthemoonlitsnowpeeredoutfromthethicketofsagebrushaboutonehundredyardstothenorthnearthebaseoftheridge.

Whatareyou,wolforcoyote?

Barleighwaitedseverallongminutesbeforetheeyesdisappeared,thenreappearedmomentslater,closer,alongsideanotherpair.

Andanother.Thenanother.Thehaironthebackofherneckstoodonend.Turningaround,slowanddeliberate,shesawtwopairsofeyes,shinyandbrightandreflectingthesilverymoon,watchinghereverymove.

Leftandright,moreeyesappeared.

TheColtrevolvershecarriedhadonlyfivebulletsloaded.Withtheextracartridgeinherpocket,she

hadtenshotsinall.Countingthepairsofeyessurroundingher,sherealizedthatifeveryanimalattackedatonce,she’dbeseveralbulletsshortofdefendingherself.That’sifallshotshittheirmark.Sheholsteredthepistol,savingthebulletsforapossibleworsethreat.

WithCashCavetotheeast,shebegantoeasebackwardinitsdirection.Stayinglow,goingslow,not

makinganythreatingmovements,shekeptherheadpivotingtotheleft,totheright,andtotherear,watchingeachside.Removingthesombrero,shegrippeditinherlefthand,thebugleinherright,andshecrepttowardthecave.

Onebraveanimalmadeanadvance.Shebugledherhornasloudlyasshecouldblowandwavedthesombreroatthestalking

creature.Heshrankbackintothedarkness.Anotherapproached.Shebugledandwaved.Again,itwasfrightenedaway.Another,thenanother,tested,andeachtime,thenoisefromthehornandtheflappingofthesombreroscaredthehungryanimalsbackintotheshadows.

Amaleandfemalehuntingpairadvancedtogether,flankingleftand

right.Barleighbugled,whirlingaround,wavingthesombrero,andoneshiedaway.Theboldestofthepaircamecloseandlunged.Barleighslappedwiththesombreroandbugledwithallthebreathshehadleftinhersorelungs.Thewolfretreated,confusedbythestrangetrumpetingnoise.

Bumpingupagainstalargeboulder,Barleighsatandhuddledwithherback

againstthestone.Theadvancesandretreatscontinuedthroughoutthenight,thebuglingandtheswattingwiththesombrerokeepingthewolveswiththeirhungryeyesretreatingtotheshadowyfringesofthebrush.

Atthemomentwhenshefeltshehadnothingleft,herenergydrained,herbodyexhausted,hersorelipsswollenandcracked,apale

pinkglowontheeasternhorizongavewaytoahopethatshe’doutlastedthewolves.

Thesunneverroseinboldgrandeur.Theworldjustbecamelight,thesoftgraycloudsdiffusingthepinkstreaks,turningtheskyintoamottledsilverrealm.Withthemorning’slight,thewolvesdisappearedtotheirdenstoawaitthenextnightofhuntingsomeotherprey.

Hercrampedmusclesached.Barleighstood,pressingafistagainstherlowerback,rubbingandmassagingherstiffneck.Thecoffeeinthecanteenwasbitterandcoldbutshedrankit,holdingthecoldmetalawayfromhersore,bruisedlips.Pickingupthesombrero,sheturneditaroundinherhands,inspectingthebrightyellowhatwiththegoldandblacktrim.Clawortooth

marksfrayedasmallareaontheedgewherethelargegraywolfhadlunged,gettingfarcloserthanBarleighhadrealized.

Takingnoteofthetopography,BarleighsawthatshewasfurtherfromthebaseofTheNeedlesformationthanwhatshe’danticipated.Feelingdisorientedandconfused—theyweresupposedtobeonherleft...no,onherright...shespun

around,tryingtogetherbearings.Thesunofferednodirectionalhelp,theskyamilkygraymess.Tracingtheridgewithanimaginaryline,shemarkedthespotwherethelastNeedlepointedtowardEchoCanyon.Breathingasighofrelief,sheturnedaroundandbeganwalkingsoutheast,knowingCacheCavewaslessthanamileaway.

Thecrunchy,half-

frozenterrainofthetworivers’watershedgavewaytoslipperygravel.Shepickedherwaywithslow,cautiousstepsacrossthetreacherousground.Thepathskiddedandslid,changingonceagaintodeepsand,butshewasalmostthere.Nottoofaraway,maybeanothertwentyyards,shesawthegapingopeningslashedintothesideoftherock,thefamiliartunnelthattravelersknewasCache

Cave.Abovetheentrance,smalldarkcloudsdriftedinaneasycircle,floatinghighabovetheopening.

Aslow,colddreadsettledoverher.Thecloudsformedintoshapes.Barleighshouted,runningtowardthecave,realizingthecirclingfigureswerenotdarkcloudsatallbutbuzzards—crows—birdsofcarrion.Shetrumpetedthebugle,wavingherarmsandthesombrero.

Aswiththewolves,thecommotionandthenoisedrovethescavengingbirdsaway.

Approachingtheentrancetothecave,Barleighexchangedthebugleinherhandforherpistol.FiveIndianslaydeadinrusty,freeze-driedpoolsofblood.Offtotheleftweretwomore,thenoneothertotheright.Uponenteringthecave,shesawtwomorewholay

sprawledtogetherinanunsuccessfuleffortatfleeing.Barleighsteppedoverthelasttwo,unsureofwhatshe’dfindfurtherinthecave.

Andthenshesawhim.

Stoneywasslumped,halfleaning,halflaying,nearthewall,Coltrevolverinonehand,theotherhandholdingthemochilainatightgrip.HeopenedhiseyesasBarleighdroppedtoherkneesnextto

him.“Mysombrero,”he

whisperedinaweakvoice.“Youbroughtmemy...”Hepointedatthehat,hisvoicetrailingoff.

“Idid,Stoney.Ibroughtittoyou.Howbadareyouhurt?”Thebloodthatpooledunderhimonthegroundfrightenedher.

“TheythoughtIwasdeadwhentheyshotmeoffmyhorse.Theytookthe

mochila.ButIfollowedthem...here.Igot...gotthemochilaback,”hesaid,hisvoiceraspy.

“Youdidsomefineshooting,Stoney.Lookslikeyougotthemall.”Barleightookhimbytheshoulders,easinghimforward,peeringoverhisshoulderathisback.

Threearrowswereembeddeddownthemiddlenexttohisspine,abovewhatappearedtobeabullet

wound.ThearrowsborethesamefeatherfletchingastheoneBarleighhadfoundearlieronthebanksoftheWebberRiver.

“Ididn’tgetallofthem.Thetallwhiteman...gotaway.”Hestruggledforbreath.

“Onegotaway?Awhiteman?NotIndian?Stoney—talktome.Stayawake,buddy.”Shegavehimasipofcoldcoffeefromher

canteen.“Ablackghostwas

here.Hetoldme—Idon’tknow—hetalkedtome.Ghostsaresupposedtobewhite.”Hisraspybreathswereshallowandlabored.

“That’sright,ghostsaresupposedtobewhite.Keeptalkingtome,Stoney.I’mgoingtolayyoudownonyourside,easynow,likethis,andseeaboutgettingthesearrowsout.”

Memoriesflashed:UncleJack,AuntWinnietuggingatthearrows,thelance—leaningonit,breakingitoff.Barleigh’shandsshook,hervoicetrembled.Sheforcedherselftostaycalm,forStoney’ssake.

“I’llpulltheseout.ThenIcanwrapmyponchoaroundyou,keepyouwarmwhileIgoforahorse.Mineranaway.Wolvesspooked

her.I’llneedahorsetogetyoutoadoctor.Talktome,Stoney.Stoney?”Hervoicebroke,shatteringhercalm.

Barleighmovedaroundtokneelinfrontofhim.Shelaydownonhersideclosetohim,tookhisfaceinherhands,andkissedhisforehead,soothinghimasbestsheknewhowwithhersoftwords.Shetoldhimeverythingwouldbeallright,thatshe’dbringbackthe

fastestponyshecouldfindforhimtorideawaytothestars.

“Wouldn’tthatbesomething,Stoney?”sheasked,touchinghischeek.

Bloodtrickledfromthecornerofhismouth.Hegaspedforbreath.HiseyesfoughttostayfocusedonBarleigh’s,butthenhisgazedrifted.Helookedthroughher,beyondtosomeplaceshewouldn’tknow.Onefinal

rattlingbreathmovedhimfromthisworldtothenext.Stoneywasgone.

“Oh,Stoney.”Shewantedtocry,toscream,tosob.Herbodytightened,heated,trembled,theangerandemotionchokingherbreath,butshecouldn’tseemtofindthereliefthattearswouldoffer.Shefeltanever-endingcircleofsadnesshardeningherheart,addingyetanothercalcifyinglayer.

Herhandstrembledasshereachedouttoclosehiseyes—thoseeyesthatwereasblueastheriver.“I’msorry,Stoney.I’msosorry.Thiswasmymailrun,notyours.Itshould’vebeenme.”

Coveringhimwithherponcho,shesatwithhisbody,herbackagainstthecavewall.Shekeptherguninhand,attheready.Sippingcoldcoffee,sheworkedthroughaplaninhermind.

HikingbackuptoHeadofCanyonStationtogethorsesfromColonelHillwastheobviouschoice.Wearinessandbone-deepfatiguewashedoverher.Shetriedtofightitoff,herheadsnappingbackandfallingforward,butsoonshecouldnotresistthepull.Shefellintoadeepsleep,sittingupright,canteeninonehand,pistolintheother.

*****

Anoiseechoing,ahandonherarm,avoice,amovement,startledherawake.Jumpingup,shetrippedoverherspurs,fallingtoherknees,pointingherpistol,realizingherhandswereempty.Ascreamcaughtinherthroatashandsreachedforher,takingherbythearms,raisinghertoherfeet.Pullingher.Engulfingher.Enfoldingherinhisarms.

Ithappenedsofast,

shedidn’trealizeitwasHughesuntilshewaspressedagainsthischest—thesmellofhisbody,hisaroma,thescentsherememberedfromthefirsttimeshewrappedherselfinhiscoatfloodinghermemory.

HughestookBarleighinhisarms,holdingherclose,sayingnothing,waitingforherpanictosubside.“Shhh,shhh,”hesoothedasherbreathingreturnedtonormal.

“I’mluckyit’syou,”shesaid,hervoicetrembling.Shefeltfoolish,fallingasleep,leavingherselfvulnerable.

“It’sallright—I’mhere.”HugheslookedoveratStoneyandshookhishead.“ItoldhimtohangontillIgotback.Damnit—Ithoughthecouldhangon.IhadtogoafterArcher.”

“Whatdoyoumean,tillyougotback?”Barleigh

pulledaway,Hughes’shandsslowtoreleaseher.

“I’vehadmyeyeontheArchers.They’repartofalargergroupwho’vebeentamperingwiththemail.TheyhirerenegadeUtesandShoshonestodotheirdirtyworksothatitappearslikeacommonIndianattack.Tonightcameasacoldsurprise.Iwasexpectingittohappennextweekwiththewestboundmailto

California.”“Butyouweredrunk

—sodrunkyoucouldhardlystand,”saidBarleigh,confused.

“Iwasonmywaytoagooddrunk.WhenIlearnedthiswashappeningtonight,Iswitchedthewhiskeyforteatoputonashowforthosewatching.”

“Soitwasaruse,”saidBarleigh,puttingthedetailsoftheeveningin

order.“Aruse—yes.”“Stoneysaidtheblack

ghostvisitedhim,talkedtohim.Thatwasyou,”shesaid,stealingaglanceatStoneylyingstillandquietunderherponcho.

Barleighfistedahandagainsthermouth,afraidthatifsheweretoremoveit,afloodofunbearablesadnesswouldcomerushingout.Itwasbettertoholditinside

whereitbelonged—buriedalongsidetheothermemoriesshetriedtohush.

“IguessI’mtheblackghost,”acknowledgedHughes,nodding.“StoneyhandledtheIndiansjustfine,butJohnnyArcherhadStoneypinned.Ishotonce—itgrazedhim.Archerfled,buthisbloodmadethetraileasytofollowinthemoonlight.ThatStoneywasabraveson-of-a-gun.”

“Brave—yes,hewasbrave,”shesaid,pacing,clenchingherfistsintoherhair,thenkneelingnexttowhereStoneylay—butitwasshewhoshouldbelyingthere,nothim.“Itwasmymailrun...”Barleigh’svoicetrailedoff.

“It’snotyourfault,Barleigh.Don’tgodownthatroad.”Hugheskneltbesideher,turninghertofacehim.

“I’mveryfamiliar

withthatroad,”shesaid.Thiswasn’tthefirstdeathforwhichshefeltresponsible.

“Whatareyousaying?”

“Myfirstwasmymother,whenshegavebirthtome.ThentherewasPapaandBirdieandUncleJack,whenIranlikeafrightenedchildandhidinthecellarinsteadoffightingalongsidePapalikeIshouldhave.Now,Stoney.”Shelookeddownat

herhands,asifshewouldseeblood.

“Stopit.”Hughes’shandsgrippedhershoulders.“Don’tdothistoyourself.Allthisfalseguiltwilldonothingbutkeepyoufromeverfindinghappiness.”

“I’mnotlookingforhappiness.Idon’texpectit’slookingforme,either.”Sheshruggedawayfromhisgrip.“AllI’mlookingforisawaytogetbacktothecity.I’m

horseless.Wolvesspookedmineaway.AndI’mtakingStoneywithme.I’mnotleavinghimhere.”

“I’vegotArcher’sbodyoutsidetiedtohishorse.Wecanleaveitinthecave,telltheauthoritieswheretofindhim,andusehishorsetogetStoneyhome.Youcanridebehindme.”

TheywrappedStoney’sbodyinHughes’sbedrollafterHughesremoved

thearrowsfromhisback,andthendrapedhimoverthesaddleoftheoutlawArcher’shorse.Barleightiedthesombrerotothepommel,lettingStoneytakeithome.Iftheyrodenonstopatasteadypace,thetrekbacktoSaltLakeCitywouldtakewellintothenight.

BarleighrodebehindHughes,holdingontohiscoat,tryingnottothinkofStoneylyingacrossthe

saddleofthehorsethattrailedbehind—tryingnottothinkatall.ShepoundedherforeheadagainstHughes’sback,overandoveragain.

Hughesneverflinchedbutreachedahandaroundtosqueezeherthigh.ThetendernessandtheintimacywasalmosttoomuchforBarleightobear.Shestoppedpoundingherforeheadand,instead,layhercheekagainsthisbackandtightlyclosed

hereyes,staunchingtheflowoftears.

Aseveningworeon,HughesdecidedtomakeasmallcampfiretoreheatthecoffeeinBarleigh’scanteen.Hughesdidn’thavehissaddlebagspackedwithhisusualfancypicnic,sodinnerwasbeansandsourdoughbiscuits.ForBarleigh’sstarvingstomach,itwasafeast.

Sittingonalogclose

tothecracklingfire,shesippedsteamingcoffeefromthetincupHugheshandedher.“WhenItookofflookingforStoney,ItoldMariothatImight...thatIwasthinkingaboutgoingbacktoTexasafterIfoundhim.Ididn’tthinkI’dbebringinghimbacklikethis.”

Hughesstirredtheembers,addingmorekindling.Theflamessparkedanddancedupwardlikehow

lighteningbugsdoinawarmsummersky.Helookedbackoverhisshoulder,thelookofreliefevidentonhisface.

“You’regoingbacktoTexas?Iamsorelievedtohearyousaythat.”

“IthoughtI’dmadeupmymind.ButIcan’tleaveMariolikethis.Ihavetostaynow.Forawhile,atleast.”

Hughescametokneelinfrontofthelogshewassittingon,takingherhandsin

his.“Barleigh,lookatme.Stoney’sdead.There’remanyotherslikethemenwhokilledhim.They’llkillanyonewhogetsintheirway.TheArcherbrotherswereasmallfractionofthoseinvolvedwho’dliketokeepcertainlettersfromgoingbetweenWashingtonandCalifornia.TheseSouthernsympathizerswillstopatnothingtoconvinceCaliforniatosidewiththe

Confederacy.Youhavenoideathedangeryourideintoeverytimeyoupickupthatdamnmochila.”

“Areyousayingthatthisisjustthebeginning?”Achillshivereddownherspine,despitethefireandthecoffeeprovidingtheirownwarmth.

“That’sright,”hesaid,hiseyesdarkandserious.“Anintricateconspiracywithafar-reachingassociationisat

work.TensionsescalatingbetweenNorthandSouthspurtheseconspiratorstomoreheinousactsintheireffortstopullCalifornia’sgoldintotheRebelwarcoffers.LincolnhastokeepCalifornialoyaltotheUnion,therebykeepingcontrolofitsgold.WhicheverwayCaliforniasidescouldswaytheoutcome.”

“Youtalkasifwariscertain.”

“Ibelieveitis.”“Thenthat’sallthe

morereasonformetohelpgetthemailthrough.Lookatwhat’satstake.”

“Lookatwhat’soverthereandtiedtothathorse,”hesaid,hisvoiceharshandlow.“Areyouwillingtotakethatrisk?”

“MaybeIam.Maybeitdoesn’tmatter.”Barleigh’seyesfilledwithsadnessatthebrutalthoughtjabbingather

heart.“StarlingwouldbebetteroffbeingraisedbyAuntWinnie,anyway.”

Hughestossedtherestofhiscoffeeinthefire.Settlinghiseyesonher,hiswordsweresharpandemphatic.“Lookatme,Barleigh.That’snottrue.Yoursisterneedsyou.Riskingyourlifeonpurpose—takingdangerouschancesyoudon’thaveto—isnottheanswer.”

Barleighstood,kickingsandintothefire.“Whycan’ttherebeeasyanswers,wheredecisionsdon’tseemimpossible?”

“Notalldecisionsareimpossible.Damnit—Ican’tletthisgoon.Ithastostop.”HugheswalkedovertowhereBarleighstood,hisambereyesreflectingthefire’sflickeringlight.

“Whatdoyoumean?Whathastostop?”

“Therearethings...”Hepaused,suckinginadeepbreath,lettingitseepoutslowlythroughgrittedteeth.“...thatyouneedtoknow.”Hughesrubbedthebackofhisneckandlookedtothesky,asifthemoonwouldgivehimtherightwords.

“Hughes?Whatareyoutryingtosay?”sheasked,alarmedbythelookonhisface,thesetofhisjaw,andthegravetoneofhisvoice.

“It’skillingme,seeingyoulikethis,sotornup,sosadandguilt-riddenoversomethingthatdidn’thappen.”Hughesheldheratarm’slength,fixinghispenetratingeyesonhers.“Youcan’tgoonthinkingthatyou’reresponsibleforyourmother’sdeath.Barleigh,yourmotherdidn’tdiegivingbirthtoyou.Yourmotherisalive.”

*****

Shehaddoneashehadrequested—listenedandlethimspeakuninterrupted.Hetalkeduntilthefirewentcold,givingBarleighanabbreviatedtellingofhermother’slife,sparingafewdetails,hehadsaid,thatLeighsellemightwishtokeeptoherself.

HetoldofthesorrowhefeltthatBarleigh’smothermightdiebeforehecouldpersuadehertochangeher

mindaboutkeepingthisasecret,andthathehadtriedtoconvincehertoagreetolethimtellBarleighthetruth.Now,hewasn’tsureiftherewouldbeenoughtime.

Barleighfeltassaultedbyhiswords.Theycoveredherwithshameandfilledherwithanguish.Theynumbedeveryfiberandnerveofherbeing.Inaspanoftimethatlastedlessthanonehour,heundidherpast.Hisstory

revisedherhistory.Itstrippedawaywhatshe’dknowntobetrueofthelifeshe’dwornsocomfortably.

Shesat,listening,unmoving,astatuewithoutfeelings.Birdie,whomshe’dalwaysthoughtwassobeautiful,soexotic—it’snowonderherpapahadfalleninlovewithher.Birdieremindedhimofhisfirstlove.

Barleighsatfrozenin

place,hearing,absorbing,processing.Thedark,frostywoodsswirledaroundher.Noisesfarawaymadehollowechoes.Aghostwindskimmedacrossherskin,nottouching,justpassingover.Nothingseemedreal.

“Barleigh,areyouallright?Iknowit’salottotakein.Youhaven’tsaidanything.”

“Youwantedmetolistentoyourstorywhileyou

spokeuninterrupted.I’velistened.”

“Please,”saidHughes,takingherhand.“Saysomethingnow.Askmeaquestion.”

“HowmuchfurthertoSaltLake?”Shewalkedtowherethehorsesweretied,shakingherhead,botharmsextended,herpalmspressingoutwardagainstthisforeignworldclosinginonher.

Shewaitedfor

Hughestofollow,andshecouldn’tspeak.Wordsthatformedinherheadcrumbledtodustbeforeescapinghermouth.Hughesletherhavehersilence.Whenhewasinthesaddle,shemountedthehorsebehindhim,withtheleadropethatconnectedthemtoStoney’shorsedalliedaroundtheirsaddlehorn.

Barleigh’smindwastangledwithdistressedthoughtsandimages.Her

entirelifehadbeenalie.DidPapaknowthathermotherdidn’tdieinchildbirth?DiditnotmatterbecausehehadgrowntoloveBirdie?AndGrandfather—Grandfatherliedandmanipulatedthetotalityofherexistence.WasBirdiecomplicitinthecharade,ordidshe,aslave,nothaveachoice?Amother,aliveallthattime—allthatguilt—thatwitheverybirthdayBarleighenjoyed,it

wasananniversaryofhermother’sdeath.

AndHughes—hiredtotrackherdown—andonfindingher,knowingwhoshewas,yetpretendingnotto.ThetelegraphstohermotherinSanAntonio,givingherupdates.LettingBarleighthinkthathewasfallingforherwithhiskissesandhisfalseworry.AndBarleigh,fallingforhim.

Thesilentwords

bangedaroundinherheaduntilshecouldn’tthinkanymore,couldn’tbreathe.Aroilingpanicbeganswellingfromdeepwithin.Cold,pricklysweatbeadedonherskinaswavesofnauseawashedoverher.

“Please,stopthehorse,”shesaid,butbeforeshecouldfinishthewords,herstomachbetrayedher,retchingthesourdoughbiscuitsandreheatedcoffee.

Leaningaway,shetriedtothrowupsothatitdidn’tfoulthehorseorHughes.

Hughesreinedtoastopandloweredhertotheground,retrievingacanteenofwaterfromhisbag.“Areyouallright?”

“AmIallright?AmI?HowcanIbeallrightwhenIdon’tknowwhoIam?”

“You’restillyou.Youhavenotchanged.Onlyyour

story’schanged.Youlookpale,”hesaid,dismountingandtakingherbytheshoulders.

“Ifeelpale.”“Barleigh,please

understand.IwasdoingwhatIthoughtwasright.Icouldn’tbetraythepromiseI’dsworntoyourmother.Ihave,andIhopeshe’llforgiveme.Butdamnit—itwastherightthingtodo.”

“Honoringthat

promisetoher,thenselectivelychoosingwhichsecretstokeeporwhichliesorhalf-truthstoupholdwithme?Idon’tunderstandyouoryourcodeofethics.Idon’twanttounderstand.Whenwegetbacktothecity,Idon’twanttoeverseeyouagain.”

Sheshruggedawayfromhisgriponhershouldersandkneltdown,scoopingsnowintoherhands,washingherfaceandhermouth.She

pressedhericyfingersagainsthercheeks,wantingtofeelthebitingcoldonherskin,andshebreathedthefrigidairdeepintoherlungsuntiltheyburnedandshecoughed.Still,everythingfeltunreal,asifsheweredisconnectedfromeachofhersenses.Eventhebeautyoftheruggedlandscape,thesmellofthepinetrees,andthecrunchingsoundherbootsmadeinthesnowseemedlike

forgeries.“SinceI’veknown

you,”saidHughes,“youkeepyouremotionsincheck,burieddeepinside.Yourworld’sbeenrippedtopiecestoday.Iwishyoucouldletitoutsomehow.Scream.Cry.Throwafit.Throwapunchortwo.Releaseabitofemotionalsteam.”

“Ididreleaseemotion.Ispeweditalloverthebackofyourcoat.”

Hughesforcedagrin.“I’mserious.”

“Iam,too.Yourcoat’samess.Sorry.”

Hetookhiscoatoffandlookedatthestain.“I’veseenworse.”Then,rubbingahandfulofsnowonit,washingawaywhathecould,heputthecoatbackon.“There.Thatshoulddothetrick.”

Backinthesaddle,heheldouthishandforBarleigh

toremountbehindhim.“Readytoride?”

“Yes,”sherepliedwithanod.“We’vealongwaytogo.”

Sheputherfootinthestirruptoclimbupbehindhim,butawaveofdizzinesscausedhertototterbackward.Regrouping,shetriedagain.Beforeshecouldmanageathirdattempt,Hughesleaneddownfromthesaddle,liftingher,sittingherinfrontofhim

sidesaddle.Hecradledheragainsthimwithhisarmsencirclingherasheheldthereinsineachhand,guidingthehorsehome.

Withnostrengthtoprotest,Barleighlayherheadagainsthischest,buthereyesremainedalertandwatchfulasthetrailwounditswaydownintothevalley.Thebright,fullmoonoverheadcastsilveryshadowsoftheirprocessionontothehard-

packed,frozenground.*****

ItwasmidnightwhentheyrodeintothePonyExpressstables.BarleighhadmovedbehindHughes,notwantingtogivecauseforanyquestionsorraisedeyebrows.Thestreetswerequiet,afewlightsburnedinwindows,catsprowledincorners,andsnowcrunchedundertheweightofthehorses’hooves.

Thetranquilscene

madeBarleighwanttoscream.

TheyweremetbyMario,whotookthehorsecarryingStoney’sbody.“MyGod,myGod.Hewasafineyoungman.MyGod—”Mariodidn’ttrytohidehistears.“I’llmakearrangementstosendhimbacktoArkansasandtohisfamily.Aboyshouldbeburiedwherehisfolkscantendthegrave.”

“Hewouldn’twant

that,”Barleighsaid,givingMario’sarmasqueeze.“Heneverwantedtogohomeagain.He’dwanttobeburiedherealongthePonyExpresstrail.”

“That’swhatwe’lldo,then,”saidMario.“I’lltendtohisgrave.Getsomerestnow.I’lltakecareofthingshere.”

“Stoneysavedthemochila.WeleftitwithColonelHillatHeadof

CanyonStationsoitcouldcontinueontoSaintJoe.Stoneydiedsavingthemail.Someoneoughttobetoldaboutthat.Itwasheroic,whathedid.”ShegaveMarioabriefdescriptionofevents,Hughesfillinginthegapsofherinformation.

“EveryonewillhearofStoney’sstory.Itdon’ttakelongforsomethinglikethattomaketherounds.ButI’llsendwordtoCarsonCity

andhavethemtelegraphheadquarterstomakesuretherightpeopleknow,too.”Marioremovedthesombrerofromthesaddlehorn,handingittoBarleigh,andthenledStoney’shorseaway.

HughesandBarleighwalkedtotheSaltLakeHouse,climbedthestairstothesecondfloor,andsaidgoodnight,sheturningtoherroom,hetohis.

“Areyougoingtobe

allright?”Hughesasked,turningbackaround.

“Iwishyou’dquitaskingthat.”

“Arealltheridersaway?Doyouhaveanyonetobunkwithtonight?”Hugheslookedather,concernwrinklinghisbrow.

“Areyouworriedaboutme?”

“Yes,damnit,I’mworriedaboutyou,allright?”

“Ithoughtyoudidn’t

havetimetoworryaboutme.”Shedidn’twaitforhimtoanswer,butturnedandopenedthedoortothebunkroom.“ItappearsIhavetheroomtomyselftonight.BrodymustbeonStoney’s...ontheeastboundrun.Iguessthenewguy,Lars,isonmine.”

“Givemeaminute,please.I’llbeback.”

“Why?”“BecauseIdon’twant

youtobealonetonight.”“It’snotnecessary,

Hughes.Besides,whatifIwanttobealone.”

“I’llbequiet.Youcanpretendtobealone.Whydoyoualwayshavetoargue?”

“Whydoyoualwaysassumeyouknowwhat’sbest?”

“It’snotanassumption.”Heturnedandwalkedaway.

Aquickspongebath

fromthebasinvessel,abrushingofherteeth,acombthroughherhair,andachangeintocleanlongjohnsmadeherfeelalmosthumanagain.ShewasinbedbythetimeHughesreturned.Thoughhalfasleep,shenoticedhe’dputoncleanclothes,too.

“I’llbequiet.Youwon’tevenknowI’mhere.”Bendingoverthebed,hekissedheronthecheek.“I’ll

beonthebottombunk,ifyouneedanything.Ihopeyousleepwell.”

Butshedidn’t.Shetossedandturned,fitsandstartsofdreamstormentinghersleep.Disembodiedfacesfloatedinandout,chasing,yelling,hovering.Grandfather’sface,laughing.PapaandBirdieclutchedinaskeletalembrace.Barleighfalling.Stoneytryingtocatchherbuthishandswerebloody

andslipperyandtheycouldn’tholdon.Heletgo.Thenhewastumblingdown,down,downamountainthatneverended,butitwasherbloody,slipperyhandsthatlethimfall.Awolfhowled.Herdreamwolf.Hewasshakingher.Wakeup.You’reallright.It’sallright.

“I’mrighthere,Barleigh.It’sallright.”Hughessatonthesideofthebed,holdingherhand,

strokingherface.“Shhh.Everything’sallright.I’mrighthere.”

Barleighbolteduprightinbed,jerkingawayfromhistouch,drawingherkneesintoaprotectiveshield.“Idon’twantyouhere.Leave.Leavemealone.”

“Youwerehavinganightmare,”Hughessaid,offeringheraglassofwater.

Shepushedtheglassandhishandaway.“I’m

livinganightmare.”Feelingburiedunder

alltheliesshe’dbeentoldallherlife,nowHughes’slies,howhe’dtradedthetruthforheraffection,shebegantohyperventilate—acoldpanicrising,swelling,suffocatingher.Kickingthecoversaway,shelashedoutatHughes,triedtopushhimoffthebedwithbothofherfeet,kickingandclawingatanythingthatwashim.

“Isaidtoleave!”shecriedout,halfwhimpering,halfshouting.

“I’mnotgoinganywhere,”hesaid,hisvoicecalmandmeasured.

Shoving,kicking,thrashingthecovers,sheknockedthewaterglassoffthenightstandasshetriedtopushHughesaway.Withherfoot,sheshovedthewoodenbedsidestand,sendingitscooting,thewaterbasin

tottering,falling,andshatteringtopiecesasithitthefloor.

HughespulledBarleighagainsthischest,encirclingherinhisarms,holdinghertighterasshecontinuedtokickandlashout.“Getitallout,butI’mnotlettinggountilyou’redone.”

“Don’tyouunderstand?Allthelies.Everything’sbeenalieora

secret—Grandfather,Papa,mymother.Yourlies.Lookatme—I’mlivingmyownlie.”Shebrokedown,thesobscominginwaves.“Idon’tknowwhattruthis.AllIknowisthatIwantyoutoleave,”shesaid,thefinalwordsspokeninawhisper,herbreathfeelinglikeneedlesinherlungs.

“Nope.I’mnot.ButI’llturnyoulooseifyou’rereadytoquitclawingatme

likeatiger,”hesaid,soundingsomewhathopeful.

“Whydidyoutellme?”Barleighputupahalfheartedattemptatastruggletofreeherselffromhisclutch.“Mylifewasfine—thememoriesIhadofwhatmylifewas,withoutknowingaboutallthis...thiscraziness.”

“Youwereinaverydarkplace,Barleigh,”hesaid,hiswordswhisperedagainst

herear.“Adarkplace,spiralingintoadangerousvoidofunjustifiedguilt.”

“You’veshownmethatmylifehasbeennothingbutafarce.You’veeffectivelyerasedmyhistory,mymemories.Forthat,Ihateyou.”

“Youcanhatemeallyouwantfortellingyou,”saidHughes,cradlingheragainsthischest.“ButItoldyoutogiveyousomethingto

livefor.Youhaveamotherwholovesyou.”

Momentspassed.WhenBarleigh’sbreathingreturnedtoashakyversionofnormal,herelaxedhisgrip,andshepulledaway.Then,gatheringthecoversontothebedthatshe’dkickedtothefloor,sheturnedtofacethewall,pullingthemoverherhead,buryingherselfunderthemoundofblankets.

“Sleep,Barleigh,”

saidHughes,watchinghercocoonherselfinthedownyduvet.“I’mnotgoinganywhere.I’llbeherewhenyouwakeup.”

*****HughespulledachairnexttoBarleigh’sbed,sleepafarthoughtfromhismind.Hewatchedtheshapeunderthecoversmovewitheachbreath,atfirstpantingandstillenraged,thenmoreevenly,thencalmand

measured.Hemovedtheblanketawayfromherface,makingsurenottowakenher.

Hewantednothingmorethantocrawlintothatbedandholdher.Totakeherinhisarmsandtellherthateverythingwouldbeallright,tolaywithherallnightwithherheadonhischest.

Hewantedtoassureherthathisaffectionsforherwerereal—andheknewthat

herswerereal,too.Or,thattheywere.

Hewishedheknewthateverythingwouldbeallright,buthedidn’t.

So,he’djustsitthere.Hewasn’tgoinganywhere.Andhe’dbetherewhenshewokeupinthemorning,justlikehesaidhewould.

Then,he’dleave.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

NOVEMBER29,1860

Sunlightfilteredthroughthedarkvelvetdrapes,puddlingonthefloorinbig,unevenspots.Fromtheangleoftheshadows,morningwasmeltingintonoon.Barleighblinkedhard,rubbedfistsoverhereyes,yawned,

stretched,andboltedupright,pullingtheblanketsuptoherchin.

“Uh...,”Shedrewinasharpbreath.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”

Hughessatinthechair,watchingasBarleighwokeup.Hisbloodshoteyesgaveevidenceofhisall-nightvigil.“Don’tyouremember?Whenwegotbacklastnight,Itriedtoleaveandgotomyownroom,butyoubegged

metostay—saidyoudidn’twantmetoleaveyoualone.”

“That’snothowIrememberit,nowthatit’scomingbacktome.Isthatcoffee?”shesnapped.Asshereachedforthecup,thenotionoftheirfingerstouchingcausedherstomachtopitch.Shenowdreadedthephysicalcontactthatsheoncefoundpleasurable.

“Yes.”Hehandeditover.“IpromisedyouthatI’d

beherewhenyouwokeupandIdidn’twanttobreakthatpromise—haveyouwakeuptoseemegone.ButyouweresnoringsoloudlyIfiguredyouwereinadeepenoughsleepIcouldchancearuntothekitchen.”

“Idon’tsnore.DoIsnore?Really?”Shesippedthecoffeeandhandedhimbackthecup.

“Yes.Really.Butinacute,girlishsortofway.

Actually,that’snotquiteprecise.It’smorelikeagrizzlybeardefendinghercubs.”

“Youcouldhaveleftitatcuteandgirlish,”shesaid,embarrassed.

“Probably,butImadeapromisetomyselflastnightthatI’dnevertellyouanotherlieorbedishonestwithyou.Ever.”

“Icouldlooktheotherwaywhenitcomestothings

likedescribingmysnoring.”Thinkingabout

honestyanddeceitmadeherwanttorolloverandpullthecoversoverherhead.Theenormityofrevealedsecretsweighedonhershoulderslikeathousand-poundcloak.

Hughessippedthecoffeeandhandedherthecup.“Beinghonestwithyoumeansbeinghonestwithmyself,too.”

Hestoodandwalked

totheothersideoftheroom,drewbackthecurtain,andcrackedopenthewindow,allowingthefresh,coolairtoseepin.HeturnedandlookedatBarleighwithapuzzledexpression.“Howcanyouwakeuplookingsobeautiful,andtheseyahoosnotlookatyouandseethatyou’reawoman?You’vegottenawaywithbeingBarFlanderslongerthanIwould’vebet.”

Shefeltablushrising

andlookedaway.“IbettergetdressedsowecangoandcheckonStoney’sarrangements.”

“Beforewedo,there’retwomorethingsIneedtotellyou,”hesaid,walkingovertothechair.

“More?”Whatelsecouldtherebe,afterallhe’dsaidlastnight?Shestiffened,bracingforhurtfulwordssuretofollow.

“First,ifsomething

happens,yourmother’swillleavesyouatidysumofmoneyalongwithsomeNewOrleansrealestate.WhenIwrotetoLeighselletoletherknowI’dfoundyourtrail,Ifilledherinonthedetails.SinceIwasheadingtoSaintJosephanywayonbusiness,I’dcontinuelookingforyou.Awirewaitingformetheresaidthatshe’dtakencareofthetaxesonyourranch,andputmoneyinyouraccountto

morethancovernextyear’s,too.”

“Idon’tunderstand.Whyissheunwillingtomeetme—gettoknowme—totellmethesethingsinperson—”Barleighflungherselfbackagainstthepillows,pullingtheduvetupoverherhead.

“It’snotthatshe’sunwilling.Shedidn’twanttointerruptyourlife.Shefeltthatyouknowingaboutherwoulddisruptwhatshe’d

hopedwasahappylife.LeighsellecarriesanenormoussenseofguiltthatsomehowshewasresponsibleforGrandfatherFlanderstakingyouawayfromher.Alifetimeofguilt,evenifit’sunearned,cancolorthewayapersonseesreality,evenagoodpersonwhomeanswell,likeyourmother.Likeyou.”

“That’salottothinkabout,”saidBarleigh,herwordsmuffledcomingfrom

underthecovers.“Yousaidyougrewto

wishyouweren’tyourgrandfather’skin.Youhavemoreincommonwithyourmother,awomanwhomyou’veneverknown,thanwithyourgrandfatherwhoraisedyou.”Hughessmiled,hiseyeslightingup.

“Really?”Shepeepedoutfromunderthecovers,thensatup,leaningforward.“DoIremindyouofmy

mother?”“Yes.Besidesyour

beauty,you’vegotyourmother’sgumption—herfearlessdeterminationtosetthingsright.Leighsellepassedontoyouherloveofanimals,herkindness,herabilitytobluffatpoker,andherfondnessforthecoloryellow.I’venoticedyoualwayswearthatyellowbandanaaroundyourneck.”

“I’vealwaysbeen

drawntothecolor.”Thethoughtofcommontraitswarmedher,liketheyellowraysofthesun.“Yousaidthereweretwothingsyouhadtotellme.What’sthesecond?”Shereachedforthecoffee,takingthelastdrop.

“ThisisthepartwhereI’mbeinghonestwithmyself.”Heleanedbackinthechair,thensatforward.“ThenightbeforeLeighsellecametoSanAntonio,I’d

beenonmywaytoFortWorthtopickupaprisonertoescorthimtoAustinfortrial.Partwaythere,thehorseIwasridinggaveoutanddied,andIsetoffwalkingbacktoSanAntonio.”

“Goon.”ShenoticedtheanxietygrowmoreevidentonHughes’sface.Hiseyesdarkened,heclenchedandunclenchedhisjaw,hisbrowfurrowedintodeeplines.

“IknewIwasbeingfollowed,andbeforeIcouldthink,Ihadthreelassoesonme.ItwasQuanahParkerandhiswarriors.”Hughesswallowed,hismouthdry,andhereachedforthecoffeebeforerememberingitwasempty.HesmiledatBarleighassheshruggedandmouthed“sorry.”

Hetoldherthestoryofhowhehadtothinkfastandfigureoutawaytokeep

hisscalp,howhe’dtalkedQuanahintoafightforbraggingrights,inordertosavehislife.Quanahhadkilledoneofhisownmen—itwouldhavebeennothingforhimtokillHughes,too.

“Thankfully,theyhaveafearfulrespectforwolves,andthespiritofthewolf,”hesaid.

“Idon’tunderstand.”“WayaAgatoliisthe

shortenedversionofthename

theComanchehadgivenme.ManWhoSeesWithWolfEyes.Iusedtheirsuperstitionstomyadvantage.”

“Ah—Isee.”Shethoughtofherreoccurringdreamofthewolfwiththeamber-coloredeyes,thewayhewouldwatchoverherwhilesheslept,keepingthenightmaresatbay.ShewonderediftheComanchedidn’thaveitright—and

therewasnothingsuperstitiousaboutit.

“Ishouldhavekilledhimrightthere.ButIknewifIdid,hiswarriorswouldhavefilledmewitharrowsbeforeQuanah’sheartquitbeating.Quanahhonoredouragreement.Heletmegofree,andmadehiswarriorshonorit,too.”

“AndthiswasduringthetimeoftheComanchemoon?”sheasked.

“Yes.Afterthat,it’spossibleQuanahheadednorthfortheLlanoEstacado,oneofhisband’shuntinggrounds.ThatwouldputhimpassingthroughPaloPintoaroundthenightofyourfamily’stragedy.”Hughesleanedthechairbackontotwolegsandsuckedinadeepbreath,easingthechairdownasheexhaled.

“Ifyou’d—”Barleighstarted.

“IfI’dkilledQuanahwhenI’dhadthechance,you’dstillhaveyourfatherandBirdie,WinniewouldhaveJack.”Heleanedforward,puttinghisheadinhishands.“Icouldhavepreventedit.”Hepoundedhisfistsontohisknees.“Goddammit.”

Barleighslidoutofbed,walkingaroundtohischair.Shelayherhandonthebackofhisheadfora

moment,notknowingwhattosayordo,whattofeelortothink.Footstepsinthehallwaydrewherattentiontothedoor,theknobturningcausinghertohurryawayfromHughes.Shewenttothearmoireandpulledoutcleanclothesandbegantodressfortheday.

Mariostuckhisheadinthedoor.“Bar,Iwashopingyou’dbeawake.Theundertakerhasaplacefor

Stoneyupbythechapelclosetothetrail.Hesayshecanburyhimthisafternoonatoneo’clockifthat’sagreeable.”

Barleighlookedupfrompullingonherboots.“Oneo’clock.Thanks,Mario.Yougoingbacktothebarn?Ineedtocometalktoyouaboutmyjob.”

“I’llbethere.Mr.Lévesque,seeyouatone?”

“Yes.Thankyou,”hesaidasMarionoddedand

closedthedoor.Hughesstoodandtooktheemptycoffeecup.“Ineedsomemore—withalittlefortification.Youwantsome?”Hepulledouthisflaskandsplashedsomeamberliquidintothewaitingcup.

“Sure.I’llcomedownwithyou.”

“Bar,”saidHughes,standinginthedoorway.“Iknowlessaboutthefuturethanyoudoaboutthepast,

butIdoknowthis.Nomoresecrets,nomorelies,notbetweenus.You’vemadeitclearyoudon’twantanythingtodowithme.Iunderstand.I’mleavingforCaliforniatomorrow.Idon’tknowwhenI’mcomingback.Canweatleastpartasfriends?”

“That’sthefirsttimeyou’vecalledme‘Bar’inaprivateconversation.”SheremovedStoney’ssombreroofftherack,loopedthebolo

aroundherneck,lettingtheyellowMexicanhathanglooseacrossthebackofhershouldersassheclosedthedoor.

*****Theundertakerandhiswife,apetiteredheadwhosanginthechurchforfreebuthiredherselfoutforsocialgatheringsandfunerals,werewaitingwhentheyarrivedatthesmallgravesidechapel.Stoney’sfuneralhadafew

attendees:Barleigh,Hughes,Mario,thetwonewriders—LiamandhisbrotherLars—BigBrodyandhisbrotherYates,thehotelcook,andastringofrangyPonyExpresshorsestiedtothehitchingposts.Offtooneside,hidingintheshadowsofalargepinetree,wasadoe-eyedblonde-headedgirlwhomadefinechocolatecreampies.

Theundertakerchosetoreadafierypassagefrom

theBookofRevelationaboutpalehorsesandhellanddeathanddestruction,afterwhichhiswifesangapopularlovesong,WhentheCornIsWaving,AnnieDear.Barleighdidn’tknowwhichwasmoreinappropriate,butbothleftherspeechlessandlightheaded.Ormaybethelightheadednesswasduetotheearlierconsumptionoffortifiedcoffeeonanemptystomach.Eitherway,allshe

wantedwastobealone,onahorse,andridingfarawayfromthere.

Theothersdepartedafterthesinging,withMarioleadingthestringofponies,oneofthemriderlessanddrapedinablackblanket.Hughesleanedagainsthishorse,armscrossed,eyesdarkandwatchfulasBarleighplacedawreathofChristmashollyonStoney’sgrave.

Shesatdownnextto

thefreshmoundofdirtandthoughtofallthethingsshewishedshe’dsaidtoStoney,allthethingsshewishedshe’daskedhim.Didhismamaeverstickupforhimwhenhisdaddybeathimwithhisfists,ordidStoneyhavetodefendher,too?DidhehaveanyhappyChristmasmemoriesfromhischildhood?Didheevergetwhathewishedfor?Wasthereroominhissmallcorner

oftheworldforwishes?Theskydarkened

withthreateningcloudsmovinginfromthewest.Thefeelandsmelloftheairalteredinthewayitdoesbeforeastormsettlesoverthevalley,thekindofstormthatdeclaresit’sheretostayawhile.

“Iknowthishasbeenhardforyou,”saidHughes,walkingovertothegrave.“Stoneywasmorethana

friend.Youhaven’tutteredawordtoanyonesincewegothere.Areyouspeakingtome?”

Shenoddedherhead,herbesteffort.

“Willyoutellmethatyou’respeakingtome?Please.”

“I’mspeakingtoyou.Ijustdon’tknowwhattosay.”Hervoicewasawhisper,barelyaudibleeventoherself.

“WhatdidyoutellMarioaboutyourjob?Didyoudecidetokeepriding,ortogobacktoTexas?”Hugheskneltdownbythegrave,nexttoBarleigh,hisshoulderagainsthers.

“ItoldhimIhadn’tmadeupmymindyet.Ineededtosleeponit.LiamandLarsareridingwiththeregulars,EaganandHaslan.They’relearningthetrail,soMariosaidhe’singoodshape

withridersfornow.”“What’syourplan

betweennowandinthemorning?”

ShefeltHughesstudyingherface,tryingtoreadher.Shekeptherprofiletohim,keepinghereyestoherself.Hewasalwaystryingtoreadher—animpossiblemission.Withthewallsshehadbuilt,shewasfindingitdifficulteventoreadherself.

“Takealongride.

Think.Clearmyhead.”Shestood,lookingoverhershoulderatthelineoftheWasatchMountainsagainstthecharcoalsky.

“Don’tridefar.Theweather’sturning.Iworryaboutyou.”Hisambereyesseemedtodeepeninhue,withflecksofdarkgoldenbrownandrusset,likethefirstsparksofafirestrengtheningandcatchinghold.

“You’renotverygoodatworrying.Anyway,I’mnotyourstoworryabout.”Barleighturnedandswungherselfintothesaddle.Neverlookingback,shecanteredaway.

*****HughessatbyStoney’sgraveandwatchedherridetowardthefoothills,watchedforalongwhileuntilherformbecameasmallspeckonthehorizon.Anicywindbegan

toblow,snappinghisattentionbacktothepresent.Thecloudshadthickened,thefirstflakesofsnowdustingtheground.

Hisguttightenedlikeitdideverytimehewatchedherrideawaybyherself.Shewasright—hewasn’tgoodatworrying.Swinginghimselfupintothesaddle,herodeintheoppositedirectionintotown.Hehadunfinishedbusinessbeforeheleftfor

California.*****

GeorgeArcherhadreceivedwordofhisbrother’sdeathandthedeathofthetenShoshoneIndiansthey’demployedintheirschemetostealthePonyExpressmail.Thatthemochilawasrescuedandsentthroughonitseastboundrouteinfuriatedhim.ThoselettersfromCalifornia’sgovernortothepresidentoftheUnitedStates

shouldhavebeenstopped.HewasstandingatthebaroftheSaltLakeHousespeakingtotwoothermenwhenHughesreturnedtothehotelfromStoney’sfuneral.

SpyingArcheralongwiththeothersinthebar,Hughesformulatedaplanandputittoquickaction.Hepulledhisflaskfromhisvestandstumbleduptothebartender,wavingtheflaskintheair,speakinginaloud,

slurredvoice.“Bartender,my

whiskey’srundry.Gimmeyourbestbottle.”TurningtoArcher,Hughesleanedclose.“Don’tyouhateanemptyflask?Ido.”Hebelched,foreffect.

“WhatIhateisarude,louddrunk.Backoffandmindyourownbusiness,”saidArcher,hisvoicegruffandthreatening.

Hughesnoddedand

stumbledbackwardafewsteps.“Yes’sir,boss.”

Turningtohistwocompanions,Archercontinuedhisconversation,loweringhisvoice.“Anyway,theonetheysayfoundthemochila,sentitonitsway,thenbroughtthedeadboy’sbodybackwasthekidnamedBar.Iknowwhichoneheis—thelittleshit.I’llbewatchingtheirroomagaintonight.Iguaranteehewon’t

makeitoutalive.Youtwojustdoyourpart.Waituntildark,thengotothePonyExpressstables,takeoutwhat’shisname—Mario,themanager—thenrunoffallthemhorses.Gotit?”

Thetwomennodded,allthreeslungbackonelastshotofwhiskey,andthenalldepartedontheirseparatemissions.

HugheswatchedasArcherwentupstairsandinto

hisroom.Then,hurryingoutside,helookedtoseewhichwaythetwoconspiratorswent.Snowcoveredthesidewalk,theirboot-printseasyevidence.Hughesbentintothewind,followingthetwoastheymadetheirwaydownMain,pastWhiskeyStreet,andintothealleybehindMarcum’sApothecaryShoppe.

Sprintingupthesidewalk,Hughesrounded

thecorner,comingoutthebacksideoftherowofbuildingsattheotherendofthealley,nowwalkingtowardthetwo.Theybothlookedupjustintimetoseefistsbeingplantedsquarelyoneachoftheirnoses,thepunchknockingbothmentotheirknees.Followingupwithkickstothesidesandfiststothebacksoftheirheads,bothmenwereoutcoldbeforetheyknewwhat

happened.Hughesdraggedthe

pairtothebackporchoftheApothecaryShoppe,thentookthebeltsfromtheirpantsandcinchedthementogether,theirarmswrappedaroundeachotherandacedarsupportpostinalovingembrace.

Walkingbacktothefrontofthestore,Hughesspottedayoungboyinthestreetplayingfetchthestick

withhisdog.Hetookapaperandpencilfromhiscoatandscratchedanote.

“Son,I’llgiveyouadimetotakethisnotetothesheriff.”

“Awholedime?Forreal?Justtorunanoteupthestreet?”

“Hurry.It’simportant.Offyougo.”

Leavingthesonsofbitchestofreezetodeathinthedirtwaswhathe’dreally

wantedtodo,hethought,ashehurriedbacktotheSaltLakeHouse.But,thesheriffwouldhavefundecipheringthenoteaboutmailthievesandmurdererswhouseIndiansforscapegoats.Inthelateafternoonglowofthegaslamps,ahardsnowfellinasharpslantagainstthehotel’swindowpanes.Theboot-printshe’dfollowedearlierwerealreadyobscuredunderthemoundingdrifts.

*****Shakingthesnowfromhisclothesandoffhishat,Hughestookalongdrawofwhiskeyfromhisflask,swishingitaround,thenswallowing,lettingthewarmthseepthroughhisbodyashemadehiswayupthestairs.HebangedonthedoorofthePonyExpressriders’room,shoutingouthisslurredwords,teeteringbackandforth.Hekickedthedoor

withhisbootedfoot,hopingtodrawtheattentionofthemanintheroomacrossthehall.

“Hey,anybodywannajoinmeforadrink?”Heturnedtheknob,easedthedooropen,andpeeredinsidetheemptyroom.“Idon’twannadrinkalone.Anyonehome?”HeslammedthedoorandstoodthereamomentlongerwhenheheardArcher’sdoorbehindhim

clickclosed.Smilingtohimself,he

turnedtoArcher’sdoorandbangedwithhisfists.“Mister,wannashareatoast?”

Noanswer.“Hey,mister?”He

bangedonthedooragain.“Allright.Icantakeahint.G’night.”Hughesmadefoot-stompingsoundsasifhewerewalkingaway.Inamoment,heheardshufflingontheothersideofthedoor,then

theclickofalock,thensawthedoorknobturningslowly.

Thedoorincheditswayopen.Hughesshovedhisshoulderagainstthedoor,pushinghiswayintotheroom.Slammingthedoorshutbehindhimwithhisfoot,hethrewhisweightforward,knockingasurprisedArcherbackwardintoatable,Archerandaceramiclamptopplingtothefloor.

Archergropedbehind

himandpickeduptheheavylamp.HeswungitasHugheswasbendingoverhim,hittingHughesintheforehead.Stunned,Hughesstumbledbackward,trippingandfallingtohisknees.

Archersprangtohisfeetandracedtothewindow,flingingitopen.Hethrewhimselfoutontothesnow-covered,slopingroof,slidingdown,slippingover,andhangingontotheledgebyhis

fingers.Climbingoutofthe

window,Hugheseasedhimselfdowntheslopingroof,balancinghisweightagainstagable.Theywereonthebacksideofthehotel,thealleybelowanenclosedpenforcattleinthesummer,inthewinteradepositoryfortheiceandsnowthatshopownersshoveledoffthewalksfrominfrontoftheirstores.

Archerlookedoverhisshoulderatthejaggedicebelow,thenbackatHughes.“Thedrunkfromthebar.”

“GuessIhandlemyliquorbetterthanyouthought.”HughesreachedoutahandtoArcher,tryingtograbhiscoatsleeve.“I’vegotyourtwopalsallbundledupforthesheriff.I’mtakingyouin,too.”Hestretchedoutfarther,thenfelthisbootslippingofftheice-covered

woodenshinglesonthegable.Slidingdown,hebracedbothfeetonthegutteredledge,stoppinghisfall.

“Pullmeup,”beggedArcher.“Ican’tholdon.”

Leaninghisweightbackagainsttheroofforleverage,HugheslookedatArcher’sfingersinadeathgripontheroof’sledge,andthenatthefearintheman’seyes.Inonesearingrush,Archer’swordsfromearlier,

braggingthathewouldkillBarleighbeforethenightwasover,rangloudinhisears.HughesimaginedArcher’sfingersinadeathgriponBarleigh’sneck,oronatrigger,squeezingit,abulletbeingreleasedintoBarleigh,thatsamelookoffearinhereyes.

Hugheshesitated,hishesitationgivingwaytoasimmeringmadness.HesawArcher’smouthmoving,but

thesoundofhispleaforhelpdidn’tregister,thewordsfallingsilentlylikethesnow.Hughespulledhisrevolverfromitsholster,easedthehammerback,andtookasteadylookatthemanontheotherendofhisgun.Hefelt—nothatred,notrage—butanunflinchingassurednessthatthispersonwhowantedBarleighdeaddidn’tdeservetolive.HeaimedthebarrelbetweenArcher’sfrightened

eyes.Thesoundofhispulse

beatingloudinhisearsandechoinginhishead,thecoldsweattricklingdownhisforehead,theshakingofhisguninhishand,theunsettledfeelofshallow,fastbreaths—cloudedhisthinking.AvisionofBarleighwatching,waitingtoseeifhe’dchoosewhethertocrossthatfinelinethatseparateshumanityfromthedarksidetuggedathim,

hoveredoverhim.He’dcrossedthatline

before.Heunderstoodthecostitexacted.

ForHughes,notkillingQuanahParkerwhenhe’dhadthechancehadbeenaneasydecision.Thathadbeenamatterofsurvival,ofself-preservation.NotkillingArcherwentmuchdeeper.Thiswasamatterofpreservinghisownsoul.

Hugheseasedthe

hammerdownandholsteredhisgun.Hereachedouthishand,grabbingforArcher’scoatsleeve.

“Oh—oh,no—youain’ttakingmein.”GeorgeArcheryankedaway,releasinghisfingertipgripontheroof,kickingoffthewallandflinginghimselfbackward.Helandedwithathudonthefrozengroundbelow.

“Youcrazysonofa

bitch.”HughespeeredovertheledgeatArcherlyingontheroughice,abrightredhalopoolingaroundhishead,andsnowfallingsilentlyonhismotionlessbody.Helookedupattheopenwindowandthesteepslopeoftheicyroof,thenacrosstherooflineatthegutterrunningdownthesideofthebuilding.Heinchedhiswayacrosstheledge,crawlingdownthegutter,thenloweringhimself

totheground.Walkingoverto

whereArcherlaysprawledinthesnow,hisbloodacontrastingstainagainsttheicywhitenessbeneathhim,Hughesbentdownandinspectedthebody.Asharpsectionofjaggedicewasembeddedatthebaseofhisskull,theformationprotrudingfromthesnowlikeanicebergpeekingoutofthesea.

Hugheswroteanoteforthesheriffandleftitwiththebody.

*****Awhiteoutobscuredthesunset.Snowblewsideways.ThedesertedstreetsofSaltLakeCitywerechokedwithafootofsnow,morecomingdownnonstopsinceitbeganjustafterStoney’sfuneral.Hughesstoodatthewindow,watchingforBarleigh.Pacingtheroom.Goingbacktothe

windowagain,andagain.Whyaren’tyouback?

Ihopeyou’veholedupsomewheresafe.

Somewheresafe.Lessunsafe.

Hespunawayfromthewindow.Grabbinghiscoat,hat,andsaddlebags,rollingupanextrablanket,hemadeaquickstopinthekitchen,stuffingthepouchesfullbeforeheadingforthebarn.Hewascoveredinsnow

whenhewalkedintohismare’sstall.“Sorrytodothistoyou,Rose,butsomeoneneedsourhelp.”

Feedingthehorseanextrahelpingofoatswhilehecurriedandsaddledher,heputseveralextraportionsintoabagandtieditinsidehisbedroll.Helookedaroundtoseewhatelsehemightneed.Anextrarope.Matches.Watercanteens.Coffee.

Mariocameinfrom

hisquartersoffthewestsideofthebarn,rubbingsleepfromhiseyes.“Mr.Lévesque,IthoughtIheardsomething.SurewashopingI’dseeBarstandinghere.What’dyoudotoyourforehead?Yougotagooseeggonit.”

“Iranintoalamp.No,it’sjustme,butI’mcertainIknowwheresheisfromthedirectionsherodeafter—”Hughescaughthimself.He

closedhiseyesanddroppedhischintohischest.“Damnit.AndItoldherIwasthebestkeeperofsecretsshe’deverneed.”

Mariopausedinthedoorway,staringatHughesforalongmoment.“Bringherbacksafeandsound.Goodridersarehardtocomeby.”Hegaveaquickwink,andwentbacktobed.

Snowdriftedhockdeepinplaces,withmostof

thetrailcoveredinasolidpack.Thewhiteouthaddiminishedtoasteady,heavysnowfallwiththewindgustinginsurpriseattacks,layinglowonemoment,thenextrippingthroughthevalleywithahatefulforce.

Thenormalhour’sridetothesecretcavewherethehotspringsbathsoothedwearyPonyExpressriderstooktwiceaslong.BythetimeHughesdescendedthe

steepslopeintothelevelgladewhereheandBarleighhadlastpicnicked,hismarewasblowinghardthroughhernostrilsfromexertion,hercoatclumpedwithiceandsnow.

Hughesdismounted,tryingtoquellarisingpanic.Therewerenofootprintsorhoofprintsinthesnow.Noevidenceortraceofhumanorequineactivity.Heturnedaround,listening,tryingto

getafeelforwhathewashearing.Therewassomething.Thereitwasagain.Asound.Hismarewhinnied,heralertearsprickedforward.

Hekneeledontheground,waiting,listening.Again.There.Astrangeecho.Aclopping.Hoovesstrikingonsolidrock.Smiling,heledhismaredownthenarrowpassageandintothecave.

“Hello,Hughes.I’m

beyondthepool,upagainstthefarwall.”

“Howdidyouknowitwasme?”

“Yourmarenickeredintheglade.IrecognizedRose’snicker.Shesoundsmorelikeastallion.ItremindsmeofDeal,myhorsebackhome.”

“MaybeI’llgettomeethimsometime.Maywecomein?”

“Please.”

“I’mslidingyouaboxofmatches.KeeponeburninguntilIgetthishorseunsaddledanddriedoffandwegetourbearings.”

“Ofcourse.”Hughesfumbled

aroundinthesaddlebags,locatedtheboxofmatches,andslidthemtowardBarleigh.“Comingtoyou.”

“Got’em.”Shestruckamatch,thesmellofsulfurfillingtheair,andforan

instantBarleighsawtheManWhoSeesWithWolfEyesstaringbackather.

ThehorsesateoatssidebysideoffthedampfloorofthecavewhileHughesbuiltasmallfire,usingasstartertheextracottonropehe’dbroughtalong.He’dgatheredanarmloadofoldfallenbranchesfromthepinetreeintheglade,usingsome,settingsomeaside.

“Icouldn’tleaveheroutinthestorm,”saidBarleigh,gesturingtowardherhorse.“Shewouldhavefrozentodeath.”

“Ablizzard’snoplaceforahorseorawoman.I’dhopedyou’dbehere.”

Thesoftglowofthefirecastliquidshadowsonthewall.HughessatnexttoBarleighandreachedforherhand,butshepulledback.

“Hughes,whenIleft

Stoney’sfuneral,Iwantedtoclearmymind.IneededtorethinkeverythingIthoughtIknewaboutmyfamilyhistory.Theenormous,suddendetachmentfrommypast—it’sbeyondconfounding.”

“Iunderstand,”hesaid.Heknewwhatitwasliketofeeldetachedfromone’sfamily—atleastfromone’sfather.

“AndpoorStoney—I

justacheinside—theguiltissuffocatingme.I’mdrowninginsadnessforhim,forme,formymother,butI’mafraidifIletgoofit,ifIgivevoicetoit,it’llliveonforeverintheair,somewhereoutthere,andwillcomecirclingbacktohauntme,’roundand’roundtheglobe,likeanastywind.”

Barleighstoodupandpacedaroundthefire,walkingovertowherethe

horsesstoodmunchingtheiroats.“Iwanttoscreamtillmythroat’sraw,totearmyhairout,myheartout,anythingtofeelaworsepainthanI’mfeelinginside.”

“Youcanshoutitalloutandit’llgonofurtherthanthiscave.Getridofit.Leaveitinthiscavern.”

“How?Howisthatpossible?”Barleighbegantoshake,theemotionsofthelasttwodaysandthelackof

sleepoverwhelmingher.Hughesstood,

removedhisbootsandgunbelt,slidoutofhistrousers,tookhisvestandshirtoff,andpiledeverythingnexttohissaddlebags.Inhislongjohnsandbarefeet,hewalkedtowhereBarleighstoodwiththehorses,holdingouthishandforher.

“Whatareyoudoing?”

“I’mgoingtoshow

youhowtogetridofyoursadness,howtoleaveithereinthecave.”

“Hughes,I’mnot—”shestammered,shrinkingawayfromhim.

“Don’tbesilly.It’snotwhatyou’rethinking.It’spurelyinnocent.Takemyhand.Trustme.”Heheldouthishand,waiting.

Shehesitatedamoment,thentookit.Hehelpedherremoveherclothes

downtoherlongjohns,thenledhertothepool,andtogethertheyslippedintothewarmwaterofthehotsprings.

ThewatercameuptothelevelofhischestbutwasoverBarleigh’shead;sheclungtotheledge.“Letgo,”hesaid.“Trustme.”

Sheletgooftheledge.

Withahandoneithersideofherwaist,holdingher

atarm’slength,Hughesmotionedforhertoholdherbreathandfollowhim.Theyduckedbelowthesurface.Theintensityoftheheatonherfaceshockedher.Sheresurfaced,clingingtohisneck,gaspingforair.

“Nexttime,you’llbeusedtoit.Whenyougounder,scream.Letitallout.Scream.Shout.Curse.Releasealltheanguishyouhaveinside.Getridofall

that’shurtingyou.”Barleighnoddedher

understanding.“Waterwillholdthe

sound—yourwords,yourpain—andnotletlooseofit.Everythingyougivetothewater,it’llholdforever.”Heheldhisbreath,andshedid,too.

Heheldontoher,andtogethertheyslippedbelowthesurface.Barleighscreamed,cursed,yelled,

tightfistedandkicking,Hughes’shandsaroundherwaistkeepinghersteady.Whenshecouldholdherbreathnomore,shepushedoffofhim,risingandgulpingairintoherlungs.Then,shedovebelow,andagainheheldhersteady,lettinghershoutouthergrief,releasingitintothewater.

Shedovebelow,againandagain,untilshewasspentphysicallyandemotionally,

havingnothingmoretorelease,nothingmoretogivetothewater.Thelasttime,insteadofpushingoffofhimformoreair,shecollapsedinhisarms.

Heswamtothesideofthepool,placingBarleighontheledge.Shelaystillandquiet,steamrisingoffherbody.Hugheseasednexttoher,rubbingherback,massaginghershoulders,waitinguntilshewasreadyto

speak.Longmomentspassed

beforeBarleighsatup,danglingherfeetinthewater.“IfeellikeI’vepurgedsomethingpoisonousfrommybody.Ifeelbetter.Thankyou.”

“I’mglad,”hesaid,relievedtoseetherelaxedexpressiononherface.

“Todwellonthepastcan’thelpmenow.It’sdone.Butforthepresent,I’m

starved.Ihopeyoubroughtoneofyourfancypicnicswithyou.”

Theysatontheedgeofthepool,sippingwineandeatingdriedfruitfromwhatHughesconfiscatedfromthekitchen.HisstandardfineembroideredlinensandengravedpewterplateswithmatchinggobletsmadeBarleighsmile.

“Asforthefuture,I’vedecidedtogobackto

Texas.Ihaveababysisterwhoneedsme.WhoknowsbetterthanIdowhatachildneedswhodoesn’thaveamothertoraiseit?”

“Whataboutus,Barleigh?DoIfitintoyourfuture?”heasked,feelingamixtureofreliefanduncertainty.

“YousaidyouwereleavingforCalifornia.Ithoughtyoudidn’twanttoworryaboutanyonebut

yourself.Especiallynotaboutme.”Barleighhesitated,thenlookedupintohiseyes.“Doyouwanttofitintomyfuture?”

“God.Morethananything,ifyou’llletme.”

Hughesloweredhimselfintothepool,takingBarleighbythehand,easingherintothewarmwater.Hesatherontheledgethatlayjustbelowthesurface.“Iwanttheluxuryofworrying

aboutyou.I’llhangupmybadgeforever.I’llwalkawayfromeverythingtofitintoyourfuture.”

“Myfuture’snotgoingtobeveryexciting,raisingmybabysisterandrebuildingtheranch.Yourlifeissothrilling,so—”

“AllthethrillIneedisseeingyouwakeupnexttomeeverymorning.”Hetookherfaceinhishandsanddrewhertohim,kissingher

mouth,relievedtofinditwilling,seekinghim,wantinghim.

Herkisseswerehungry,herarmsandhandsandfingersexcitedandeagertotouch,tofeel,toexplore,tobeexplored.Shewantedmore.Standingontheledge,sheunfastenedherlongjohns,peeledthemdown,andsteppedoutofthem.

Hughessuckedinhisbreath,hiseyesfeastingon

herwet,nakedbody.“MyGod,you’rebeautiful.”Hesteppedoutofhislongjohns,tossingthemoutofthepool.Reachingoutforher,holdingontoher,heloweredherintothewater.

“Hughes—”Barleighwrappedherlegsaroundhim,entwiningherarmsaroundhisneck,lettinghimkissherwhereverhewanted,givingherbodytohim.

“Barleigh,”he

groaned,kissingandtastingeveryinchofherexposedbodythatwasabovethewater’ssurface,hishandsexploringtherest.

Shewhisperedagainsthisear,kissingthewords,caressingeachoneintoplacewithherlips.“Iwantyoutomakelovetome.”

Hugheswassureofwhathewanted—hisbodywassure.

“Yourstrength,”he

said,kissingher,“andyourbeauty,”hetastedhermouthagain,“shattersme.Youreyestakemeapartandputmebacktogether,abetterversionthanbefore.”Hebrushedhislipsacrosshers,thenkissedheragain,longanddeepandslow,cuppingherfaceinhishands.“FromthefirsttimeIsawyou,IknewyoucouldturnmyworldupsidedownandI’dstandonmyheadgladly.”

“You’vesetmyworldspinningbackonitsaxis.”Shetracedherlipsdownfromhismouth,overhischin,kissingthesmalldipatthebaseofhisneck.

“Haveyouever—?Areyoua—?”

“No,I’venever—.Yes,I’ma—.”

“Marryme.Tomorrow.Ican’ttakesomethingfromyouthatyoucannevergetback.Ifyou

won’tmarryme,thenno,Iwon’tmakelovetoyou.”Hekissedheragain,hisbodyhotandwantinghers.

“It’snotjusta‘want.’I’vediscoveredwhatIneed.IknewthefirsttimeImetyoutherewassomethingdifferent,somethingspecialaboutyou,thoughmanytimesIpushedyouaway.Notanymore.Makelovetome.”

Shewrappedherarmsaroundhisneck,herlegs

tighteraroundhiswaist,pullinghimtoher,kissinghim,tastingthewineonhismouth.Thehotmineralwatersloshedaroundthem,overtheirheads,outofthepoolandontothegranitefloorastheytwirledandsplashed,theirbodiesentangling,clingingtooneanother.

Hughesheldback,lettingBarleighmoveatherownpace.Steamroseoffthesurfaceofthewater,offof

theirbodies.Barleigh,clutchingandgasping,screamedoutHughes’snamewhilethewindshowlingthroughthecanyonscalledouttospiritsandghosts.

Thefireplayedout.Shadowsfaded.Snowdriftedintothecavefromthecrevasseaboveandmeltedonthewarmfloor.HughesliftedBarleighfromtheedgeofthesteamingpoolandloweredherontotheblanket.He

coveredherwithhiscoatbeforecheckingonthehorsesandgivingthemanotherhandfulofoatsandwarmedwaterfromthemeltedsnow.

Whenhereturned,shewassittingup.“HowcanImarryyou?PeoplethinkI’maboy.”

“Noteveryone.”“Whatdoyou

mean?”“Ispilledthebeans.

I’msorry.Itslippedout.If

Mariohadanysuspicions,Ierasedalldoubt.”Hughesofferedanapologeticsmile.

“Hecanbethepreacher.Heusedtobeone,anyway,beforehiringonwiththeExpress,butnoteveryoneknows.Hefeltprivateaboutthat.”Barleighyawnedandstretched,thensighedadeepsighofrelief.

“Iguessthatmeansyou’regoingtomarryme.”Hugheslookeddownather,

waitingforananswer,butshewasfastasleep.

*****AjoltstartledBarleighfromherdreams.Shesatupstraight.“Hughes?”

“I’mhere.Nightmare?”Hemovedheroffhisarm,whichhadfallenasleep.

“Sorry,Imadeadroolpuddle.”Shewipedawaytheshallowpoolofdroolonhischest.“Ouch—what

happenedhere?”Shetouchedhisforeheadwithherfingertips,afleetingpanicseizingher,wonderingifitwassomethingshe’ddoneintheheatofdeliriouspassion.

“Iranintoalamp.Sortof.Itknockedsomesenseintome,though.MademerealizehowmuchIworryaboutyou.Thatit’saluxuryIlookforwardto,and...thatIloveyou.”

Barleighshiftedonto

herelbow,proppingherheadinherhand.“I’msorry—Ijustnownoticedit.Iwokeupwiththisthought,andIhadtoshareit.”

“AreyouignoringthatIsaidIloveyou?”

“Yesandno.I’llhavetogetusedtothatword.Isthatallright?”

“Yes.And,ifIwakeupeverymorningwithyoudroolingonmychest,everything’llbeallright.”

Hughesyawned,thensaid,“So,what’sthethoughtyouhavetoshare?”

“Itcouldn’thavebeenQuanahthatraidedourranch.PapasaidhesawwarriorswatchingfromtheridgedaysbeforeBirdiegavebirth.QuanahwasinSanAntonioonthosedays,accordingtoyourencounterwithhim.”

“That’sright,”Hughessaid.“Hewas.”

“Thenightofourraid,

hewouldhavehadtohavetraveledhundredsofmilestohavebeenpresentforthatevent.Evenifhewastherethenightoftheactualraid,thatFridaynightthewheelswerealreadyinmotion.Itwouldhavehappenedanyway,withorwithoutQuanah.”

“Youcouldberight,”hesaid,consideringthepossibilities.

“Eitherway,you’re

notresponsible.Pleasedon’tletthateatawayatyou.Leavethoseguiltyfeelingshereinthecave,too.”

Hughestookherinhisarms,histenderkissgrowingmorepassionate,urgent,anddeep.“Iloveyou,BarleighFlanders.You’llhavetogetusedtohearingthat.Whatdidyoumean,earlier,thatyou’vediscoveredwhatyouneed?”

“AconversationwithMissMaeve.Shetoldmeto

keeplookinguntilIfoundwhatIneededinlife.I’vefoundit.”Barleighfeltarushofhappiness,ofpeace,lyinginhisarms.

“Thatmakesmeahappyman.WhatelsedidMaevetellyou?”

Barleighblushed.Thememoryofthatday’sconversationbroughtaflushtoherskin.She’dlearnedthatthereweremanydifferentwaysamanandawomancan

findintimatepleasurewitheachother’sbodies.

“IhadlotsofquestionsforMissMaeve,andshewasgenerouswithheranswers,”Barleighsaid,aslowsmilespreadingacrossherface.

“Remindmetosendherageneroustipandathankyouwhenwegetback.”

“Onedaysoon,wecanexplorethoseways,butrightnowIwantyoutomake

lovetomeagain.”Shepressedherbodyagainsthis.Herurgentkisses,fingerscaressinghim,strokinghim,teasinghim,gavehimalltheencouragementneeded.

Hetookher,tookwhatsheoffered.Thistime,hishungerforherbodyconsumedhim,theurgetopleaseheragaindrivinghimwild.Whathe’ddeniedhimselfthefirsttimehe’dmadelovetoherinthepool,

hewouldnot,couldnot,denyhimselfnow.Holdingnothingback,whenhefeltthemomentofBarleigh’spleasure,heletlooseofhispassionwithascorchingwave,sendingheatpulsingthroughbothofthem.

“MyGod,woman.”HewrappedBarleighinhisarmsasshelayonhischest.“Thatcouldsendaweakermantohisdeath.Anditwouldn’tbeashamefulway

todie.”Wrappedineach

other’sarms,theylayinthedarknessofthecave,breathingeachother’sbreath,facetoface,lipsbrushing,eyelashestickling.Outside,thesnowhadstopped,cloudsopenedtothedarknessbehindthem,andstarstooktheirrightfulplaceinthevelvetsky.

*****Barleighawoketothe

whisperedwords“Iloveyou”spokensoftlyagainstherear,Hughes’shandstrokingherhair.

“Iloveyou,too,”shewhispered.

“I’vebeenwatchingyousleep,andI’vebeenthinking.”

“Uh-oh.Snoringagain?MamaGrizzlyinhercave?”

Helaughed.“No—nosnoring.I’vehearditsaidthat

lovegroundsus.Idisagree.Isayloveuprootsus.Lovingyouhascausedmetowanttochangethingsaboutmyself,tobemorelikewhoIknowmytrueselftobe.Whatdoyouthink?”

Whatdidshethink?Barleighrolledover,restingherheadagainstHughes’schest,listeningtothesoundofhisheartthumping,thesoundofwaterdrippingdownthewallsofthecave,tothe

horsesmovingabout,tothesoundofherownbreathandpulsecombinedwithhis.

“Ithinkwithlove,uncertaintyisguaranteed—thatloveoffersnoguarantees.That’swhatmakesitvaluable,whatmakesitworthtakingariskatanycost.I’mjustafraid.”

“Loveisworththerisk.But,whatareyouafraidof?”heasked,kissingthetipsofherfingers.

“ThatthepeopleIgivemyheartto,thepeopleIlove,alldiebeforeI’mreadytoletgo,”shesaidsoftly,notwantingtogivepowertothewordsorthethought.

“Cashinginyourfearandlettinggoofyourheartisthehighcostofhope,mydear.Hopeiswhatfuelsthefireoflove.Areyouwillingtocashinyourfears,andletgoofyourheart?”

Barleighglancedat

themanshelaywith,felthisarmsholdingherclose,andsheconsideredthisquestionandallthatitmeant—thethingsthatshefeared,whatshemightloseifsheletgoofherheart,whatshemightgainifshedid.

“Iam.AndI’mneverlookingback.”

*****AnoticeintheSaltLakeCityDeseretNews,theSanAntonioSentinel,andtheNew

OrleansTribunalread:

HughesPierceLévesqueofNewOrleans,LouisianaandSanAntonio,Texas,andMissBarleighAlexandriaHenriettaFlandersofPaloPinto,TexasandSaltLakeCity,UtahTerritory,weremarriedinholymatrimonyon

Thursday,November28th,1860.OfficiatingwasReverendMarioRussooftheCentralOverlandCaliforniaandPikesPeakExpressCompany.Thebrideworeawhitelacegownwithbeadedpearlaccents,andsurprisedherguestswithadisplayofWesternbootsand

spursasherfootwearofchoice.Inlieuofabridalveil,sheworeabrightyellowMexicansombrerotrimmedingoldandblackaccents.OfficialreceptiontofollowattheMengerHotel,SanAntonio,Texas.Detailstofollow.

“Getyourridinggear

ready—I’vegottogetyoutoTexas”wereHughes’sfirstwordsforhisbride,afterthe“Idos”hadbeensaid.

*****ThestagecoachpulledintoSanAntonio,Texas,atnoononNewYear’sEve,thetowndecoratedinfestiveholidaycolors.Barleighpulledthetelegramfromherreticule,thesmalldecoratedbagaChristmasgiftfromHugheswhenthey’dstopped

overnightinthetownshipofDallas.Sheheldthefragilepaperthatwastornatthecreasesfromthewearandtearoffoldingandunfoldingit.

ShelookedupatHughes,feelingtheweightofhisstare.“Ijustwanttoreaditagain,”shesaid,castinghereyesdownatthetelegram.

Tryingtokeeptheanxietythathadbeenhauntingherfrombuilding,

sheconcentratedoneachword.Hermother’sconditionhadworsened,Jameson’stelegramhadsaid,andtimewasoftheessenceiftheywishedtomakeareunionpossible.Thetelegramwasalmostfifteendaysold.

Havingsaidtheirgood-byestoMarioafterheperformedthequicknuptialsinSaltLakeCity,Hugheshadsentthreetelegrams,onetoJameson,onetoWinnifred

Justin,andonetoLeighselle.He’daskedallthreetorespondassoonaspossible,andtosendtheirrepliestotheofficeinSaintJoseph,Missouri,whereheandBarleighwouldbecatchingastagecoachforSanAntonio.

“IfLeighsellestilldoesn’twanttoseeyou,andIcan’timaginehernotwantingto,afterItellherournews,then,we’llhavetoacceptherdecision,”he’dsaid.“ButI’m

goingtodomydamnedesttoseethatyouandyourmotherarereunited.”

AfteronelastnightattheSaltLakeHouseHotel,BarleighsleepingintheroomontheothersideofthewallfromtheroomreservedforExpressriders,theymadeafinalstopattheMercantile.WhileBarleighpurchasedsupplies,HughesarrangedforagifttobedeliveredtoMarioRusso,thesignaturecard

reading,“Ihopethesewoolieswillkeepyourtoeswarmformanywinterstocome.”Then,offtheywent,ridinghardforSaintJoe.Theychangedponiesattheexpressstations,retracingbackwardBarleigh’sandStoney’sfirstrideintoUtahTerritory.

*****Winnifred’stelegramread:

Congratulationsmydarlings.Ishall

headtoSanAntoniowithStarlingandbepreparedtostayseveralweeks.WillbeleavingHogMountainRanchinEsperanza’sandJulio’scapablehands.ShouldbeinSanAntoniobyChristmas.WillsendtelegramtoJamesonattheMengerHotelasyouinstructed.

Love,AuntWinnie.Jameson’stelegram

read:Mybesttothe

happycouple.Unfortunately,MissBeauclaire’sconditionworsenseachday.Timeisoftheessenceifareunionispossible.I’vereceivedMrs.Justin’stelegramandhavesecuredaroom

forheradjacenttoMissBeauclaire’s.DoHurry.Leighselle’stelegram

wastheoneBarleighlingeredover.Reread.Foldedandunfolded,overagain.Shesilentlymouthedthewords“Iloveyou,Mother”toseehowtheyfeltinhermouth,inhermind.Eachtimeshespokethewords,theybecamemoreapartofher,takingrootinherheart,growingafraction

witheachbeatandpulse.Hughesleaned

forward,liftingherchin,seekingBarleigh’seye.“Darling,sayitaloud.Practicehowitfeelstohearthemspoken.”

“Notyet.Idon’twanttojinxanything.”Barleighsmoothedthepaperonherlapandreaditagain.

Leighselle’smessageread:

I’msohappy

forbothofyou.Howveryperfect.Hughes,IunderstandwhyyoutoldBarleigh.Yes,youHADto!Ishouldneverhaveaskedyounottointhefirstplace.Iwishfornothingbuttogettoseeheragain,togettoholdheragain,beforeIleavethisworldbehind.Shesoundslikea

remarkableyoungwoman.TellherthatIloveher,havelovedheralways,untilIcantellhermyself,face-to-face.I’mdoingmybesttohangon.Pleasedoyourverybesttohurry.

*****TheMengerHotelwascongestedwithhordesofpeopleintownfortheholidayseason.Hughestook

Barleigh’shandandledherthroughthecrowdedlobbyfulloffestivefolksinhighspirits,pasttheshinyblackgrandpiano,andtowardthebackstairwell.Takingthemtwoatatime,hepulledheralongwithhim.TheburgundyandpinkfloralcarpetingmuffledthesoundoftheirfeetastheyrandownthehalltowardHughes’soldroom,theroomLeighsellenowkept.

Standingbeforethedoor,HugheslookedatBarleighandsaid,“Areyoureadyforthis?”

Sheleanedpasthimandpoundedonthedoor.“Whatdoesthattellyou?”Shesmiledathim.“Yes.I’mready.”

Afteralongpause,Hughesknockedagain.“Hello?”

Theywaited,theireyesmeeting,holding,then

separating.Hughesknockedon

thedoor,moreinsistent,speakingintothecrackofthedoorframe.“Leighselle?Areyouinthere?”

Barleighstoodnexttohim,aglovedhandpressedtohermouth.

Hughesputahandonthedoorknobandturned.Itopened.Hepushedthedoorintothecold,darkroomthatsmelledoflavenderandlye.

Hesteppedinside,lookingaround,takingnoteofwhathewasseeing,ofwhathewasnotseeing.

Easingoutintothehallway,heturnedtoBarleigh,shakinghishead.“Thebed’sbeenstripedtothemattress.Nocoalsorashesinthefireplace.Itsmellsofrubbingalcoholandlyesoap.Thisroom’sbeenvacantforawhile.”

“Afterallwedidto

gethere,andwe’retoolate.”Tearsrolleddownhercheeks.

“Darling,I’msosorry,”hesaid,swallowinghard,holdingbackhisownemotion.

“Wedidn’tmakeitintime.Iknewit.IknewassoonasIgaveintothenotionoflovingherthatshe’d,she’d....”

Hughestookherinhisarmsandheldhertight

againsthischest.“I’msosorry,mylove.”

“Ishouldhavesaiditaloud.Ishouldhavesetthewordsfree,thatIlovedher.Then,theywouldbeouttherefloatingaroundsomewhere,andmightfindtheirwaytoher.”BarleighpulledherfaceintoHughes’slapelsandsobbed.

“Let’sgofindJamesonandWinnie,”hesaid,kissingthetopofher

head.“I’msorry.IhatethatIdidn’tgetyouheresooner.”Heclosedthedoorbehindthem.

Theylookedintotheroomnextdoor,afterknockingandgettingnoanswer.Barleighrecognizedthecoatandhatononebed,andonthefloorwasababy’sdoll.

“Well,atleastweknowAuntWinnieandStarlinghavearrived.I

wonderwheretheyare.”BarleighpickedupStarling’sdoll,placingitontheotherbed.

“It’slunchtime.Let’sheaddowntotheColonialRoom,ifwedon’tfindJamesoninhisroomfirst.”

Jamesondidn’tanswertheknockathisdoor,soBarleighandHughesmadetheirwaytothecrowdedColonialRoom.Tablesofjovialhotelguestsfilledthe

roomwithboisterousconversationsandbrightlaughterwhilediningonasumptuousfeast.

“Idon’tseeAuntWinnie,”saidBarleigh,glancingaroundtheroom.

Hughesturnedaroundinaslow,completesweepoftheroom,eyeingeachtable.“Jamesonisn’there,either.Perhapsthey’vechosenthepatio.”HeputhishandonBarleigh’sbackandsteered

hertowardthesidedoor.Sunshinepoked

throughthickpalmfrondsthathoveredoverthepatio,creatingasoftandinvitingshade,thewintertemperatureinSanAntoniostillpleasantforoutdoordining.Atthefarthestendandawayfromthedoor,Hughesspottedatable.Whitepressedlinenclothsandsilverbutlerservicegleamed.Crystalglassessparkled.Afloral

arrangementwasplacedinthecenter,thecandleawaitingtheneedforafire.

Jameson,withhisbacktothewallforobservingthecomingsandgoingsofothers,stoodandwavedthemoverassoonashesawHughes.

ToJameson’sleftandrightsattwowell-dressedwomen,oneholdinganinfant,theothersippingfromasugar-rimmed,cut-crystal

glassoflemonade,withaninfusionofdarkamberliquidswirlingthroughout.Bothwomenlookedupandsmiled.

Barleigh’sbreathcaughtinherthroat.ShereachedforHughes’shand,buthereyeswereonthefrail,thinwomansittingatthetableacrossfromAuntWinniewhowassippingthelemonade.Thedelicatewoman,whosesmile,finefeatures,andcat-likeeyes

mirroredherown,heldStarlingagainsthershoulder,pattingthebaby’sback,ahalf-emptybottleofmilkonthetable.

“That’sher.That’smymother,”saidBarleigh,knowing,notasking.

“Indeed,sheis.LeighselleBeauclairehassurprisedmeyetagain,”hesaid,hiseyescrinklingatthecornersashesmiled.

Whilethecrowdof

festiveholidaytravelersdinedontheiropulentfeastsandthewaitstaffboreplatesandtraysoffoodanddrinktoandfromtables,abeamingHughesLévesquetookhiswifebythehand,andtogethertheymadetheirwaytothetableatthefarendofthesun-drenchedpatio.

<<<<>>>>>

Acknowledgments

Whilethisbookisaworkoffictionandthecharactersarefigmentsofmyimagination,theswingstationsandhomestationsmentionedareaccurateaccordingtothePonyExpressroute,andtwoactualridersarementionedbyname,EaganandHaslan.Theexperiencesmycharactersendurealongthe

PonyExpresstrailarefabricated;however,somemirrorpurportedfactualevents,suchasthewolfscenewheretheriderwassavedbybuglinghishorntofrightenawaypredators.Effortstocensorthemail,tamperwiththemail,andstealthemailwereabundantduringtheprewaryears;however,theconspiracyspecificallytargetingPresidentLincoln’sletterstoCaliforniabeganas

aseedofmyimaginationandgrewintoanactualplot.

Researchforthisbookwasmadeeasybytwovaluableandenjoyableresources:ThePonyExpressTrail:YesterdayandToday,byWilliamE.Hill,andOrphansPreferred,byChristopherCorbett.IkeptMr.Hill’sbookopenandonmydeskforthreeyearsandwouldrefertoitmanytimesforhisinvaluableinsight

regardingparticularstationsandtrailconditionsalongtheroute.And,inanNPRinterviewabouthisbookOrphansPreferred,Mr.Corbett’swordsfueledmyimaginationwhenhesaid:“ThehistoryofthePonyExpressisrootedinfact,butlayeredinfiction.”Hearinghisinterviewspurredmetodotwothings:purchasehisbook,whichwasafunandfascinatingread,andthenit

motivatedmetothrowmyownhatintheringandaddanotherlayertothefictionandthemythofthePonyExpress.

Alongwiththeabovementionedbooks,IfoundotherinformativeliteraturethroughtheSaintJoseph(Missouri)Convention&VisitorsBureau,thePonyExpressMuseum,andwww.ponyexpress.organdwww.xphomestation.com.

WhileresearchinghistoricaldataonQuanahParkerandtheComancheraidsinNorthTexas,IcameacrossS.C.Gwynne’sEmpireoftheSummerMoon:QuanahParkerandtheRiseandFalloftheComanches,theMostPowerfulIndianTribeinAmericanHistory.Imusthavereaditatleastfourtimes,andthenkeptithandywhenIneededareminderofthebrutalityoflifeonthe

westernfrontier.AlthoughIampart

NativeAmericanIndian(maternalgreat-grandmotherwasfull-bloodedCherokeeandpaternalgreat-grandmotherwasfull-bloodedBlackfoot),Idon’tpretendtospeakanynativetongue.TheLakotaSiouanlanguageIusedformybookwastakenfromTheFullTextoftheLahcotah:DictionaryoftheSiouxLanguage,

UniversityofPittsburghLibrarySystem,authorsJ.K.Hyer,W.S.Starring,andCharlesGuerreu(originallyprintedin1866—notincopyrightandnolongerinprint).Icross-checkedthisinformationwithwww.native-languages.org.BecauseofthemanydialectsoftheSiouanlanguage,IwantedtomakesurethewordsIchosewerecorrect.IapologizetoanyNative

AmericanifI’venotdoneanaccuratejob—pleaseemailme—I’dvalueyourcoachingforfuturemanuscripts.

ThoughthePonyExpressoperatedforlessthantwoyears,itwasduringacriticaltimeinAmerica’shistory,andboththeponiesandtheriderscapturedourimaginationsandourhearts.We’restillwriting(andreading)storiesaboutthemmorethan150yearslater.

ANoteFromtheAuthor

Thisisthe“ThankYou”page—themostimportantpageofthebook.Thenwhyisitattheback?Iseeitasbeingatthebottomofapileofpages,holdingeverythingupthat’sontop.Because,withoutallthepeopleIhavetothankwho’vehelpedmeandwho’veencouragedmealong

theway,thisbookwouldn’thavelegstostandon.

Tomyearlyreaders,ReneeJordan,MeggElliott,BeverlyHelton,andSusanBertram,Ioweallofyoumuchthanks,manysushidinners,bottomlesswineandendlesschocolate,andmoregratitudethanIcandescribe.

Tomyadorablefather-in-lawTheodorLukas,whosefirstlanguageisGerman,thankyouforbeing

myfirst“official”readerandpurchaser.Hearingyourlaughterandseeingyourtearsasyoureadshowedmethatagoodstorytranscendslanguagebarriers.

TomydearfriendInesEishen,whosewordsofencouragementwhenIwasyourstudentandyouweremyEnglishLiteratureandCreativeWritingprofessorgavemethecouragetofollowmydream,grazie.I’m

gratefulforourlastingfriendship—itfeedsmysoul.

ToCarolDawson,author,editor,andcourageousleaderofthesummereditingretreatinAlpine,Texas,sponsoredbytheWriters’LeagueofTexas.Thankyouforyourkindhonesty.Ithurtcuttingmyfirsttwenty-fivebeautifullywritten,eloquent,poeticpages,butyouweresoright.“Gettothenitty-gritty,”you

said.Yesma’am.ToSaraKocekand

DavidArethaatYellowBirdEditors,thankyousomuchforyourexpertiseinpolishingmymanuscriptandinadvisingmewithyourstraightforwardanswerstomymanyquestions.Ican’timaginehavingamorepositive,professionalexperienceduringtheediting,revising,andrewritingprocess.I’mlookingforward

toournextcollaboration.ToGaryB.Haley,my

oldhighschoolchum,thankyouforyoureagleeyedproofingandcritiquing.GaryistheaccomplishedauthorofthenovelTheAttunement,afast-pacedthrillerreminiscentoftheJasonBournestories.

ToBaron,Ryan,Angie,Malachi,Erik,Marla,Miriam,andKrista,Iloveyouall.Now,someonepleasepoptheAlmondage!

*****Andtoyoumydearreaders,Ioffermysinceregratitudefortakingthetimetoreadmybook.Ihopeyouenjoyedthestoryandcharacters,andperhapslearnedsomethingnewabouttheAmericanwestandthePonyExpress.Ifyoufeelsoinclined,pleaseleaveareviewontheOrphanMoonAmazon.compageandonGoodreads.ForGoodreads,youcanfollow

thelinkprovided.ForanAmazonreview,justscrolltotheendofthebookandAmazonprovidesaconvenientreviewcapabilityrightonyourKindleorKindlereaderapp.YourreviewisinvaluableandprovidesthefeedbackIneedtobecomebetteratmycraft.Youcanalsoleavefeedbackonmywebsiteatwww.TKLukas.comandattheOrphanMoonFacebook

page.Ifyouwouldliketoreceiveperiodicupdatesaboutmyprojectsandexcerptsofworksinprogress,includingbookstwoandthreeofOrphanMoon,pleaseleaveyournameandemailaddressatthefollowinglink:http://www.tklukas.com/contact-me-newsletter.YoucanlookforbookstwoandthreeoftheOrphanMoontrilogyin2016.

AbouttheAuthor

T.K.Lukas,anaccomplishedequestrianandauthoroftheaward-winningcontemporaryshortfictionOfMurder,Mayhem,andMagnolias,liveswithherhusbandonasmallranchinruralPaloPintoCountyinNorthCentralTexas.Theirthreegrownchildrenarescatteredacrosstheglobe.Alongwith

internationaltravel,sheandherhusbandenjoyspendingasmuchtimeaspossibleridingtheirhorsesthroughthewoods,takingtheirdogsforwalks,andwatchingtheirBeltedGallowaycattlegetfat.Sheiscurrentlyworkingonthesecondbookinthe“OrphanMoon”trilogy.Visitheratherwebsitewww.TKLukas.comandattheOrphanMoonFacebookpage.

Theauthorwithherappaloosamare,HollywoodJackieGN.“Holly”isthecovergirlforthebook.Youcanseehowthecoverart

wentfromaphotographtothefinalmasterpiece,anoriginaloilonwoodpanel,byvisiting:http://www.orphanmoon.net

OriginalcoverartbyrenownedTexasartistSharonMarkwardt.http://www.sharonmarkwardt.com