Earlier that night, Bill Taylor leaned back against a worn leather sofa and tapped a new pack of Camels against the heel of his left hand.  “These ready-rolled cigarettes sure are nice.  Ramsey girl, you sure are nice, too,” he said, then laughed out loud.  “Nothing like the threadbare-calico-queen I’m married to.  Always telling me, Bill, why don’t you try your hand at this or that?  Bill, why not ask Raymond Hargis for a try at his line of work.  You know, Bill, I really bet you would be good at working in a retail store.  If she had a clue of how I feel about mister high-and-mighty Hargis, she would keep her mouth shut.  I like things just the way they are.  I can go and come as I please.  Being tied down to a job is just as confining as a jail cell.  There are easier ways to make money.  I have friends in Florida who know where the big money is,” Bill stated.

At the other end of the sofa, Ramsey Phillips considered the man she had shared the evening with.  He had been a mighty good-looking and persuasive man until now.  For a minute, she felt a cold sensation on the back of her neck, and she shivered.

“What’s the matter, Ram?  You shook like someone stepped on your grave!” Bill said.

“I just had a thought,” she said.  “The kind that makes you consider where you will spend eternity after all this foolishness is over.  You never told me you were married,” Ramsey said.

“Well now, Girl, I guess you should have asked!  I got married in high school, and it’s been downhill ever since.  As for me, I never have cared for the holier-than-thou types.  I don’t care for their moralistic thinking.  I do whatever I want to, and you should do the same.  First thing you know, you will be going to church and struggling to feed a bunch of hungry kids.  My old man is a farmer.  He worked himself and a couple of good mules to death trying to keep a bunch of skinny kids fed.  Now that’s no life for me.  I don’t intend to die behind a plow.  As a matter of fact, I think I will head east. Maybe the Tallahassee textile mill will be starting up.  I was a pretty good night watchman for Burlington.  Maybe they will hire me back.  I had my own game going and dressed my friends pretty good while I worked there.” Bill Taylor upended a shot glass; his voice slurred.

Suddenly Ramsey saw a chance to end this relationship.  “If you’re serious, there is an eastbound train coming through here at midnight.  You might want to hurry; it’s eleven thirty now.  The midnight express doesn’t stop in Huntsville unless it’s flagged at the train depot, but it will slow down coming through town.  I will take you to a point by the tracks where you can get on without breaking your neck.  When I was small, my brother and sister use to get on from there and ride the train back down in the valley.  I was riding boxcars when I was nine,” she said.

The courtyard lights bathed the room in an eerie light that framed her face through the sheer curtains.  Bill watched her facial expression bathed in the red and blue of the neon lights outside.

“Girl, you better snap out of what’s bothering you!” Bill Taylor snapped.  “That look of yours scares me!  Do like me, blame our sins on the liquor!”

Shaking her head as if recovering from a trance, she said, “I’m alright.  Come on!  I will take you down to the railyard.” A few minutes later, south of town, a lonely whistle blew, signaling the midnight freight was moving into town.  “Here comes your ride!  You better get ready to jump aboard!” Ramsey said hurriedly.

Earlier that night, Bill Taylor leaned back against a worn leather sofa and tapped a new pack of Camels against the heel of his left hand.  “These ready-rolled cigarettes sure are nice.  Ramsey girl, you sure are nice, too,” he said, then laughed out loud.  “Nothing like the threadbare-calico-queen I’m married to.  Always telling me, Bill, why don’t you try your hand at this or that?  Bill, why not ask Raymond Hargis for a try at his line of work.  You know, Bill, I really bet you would be good at working in a retail store.  If she had a clue of how I feel about mister high-and-mighty Hargis, she would keep her mouth shut.  I like things just the way they are.  I can go and come as I please.  Being tied down to a job is just as confining as a jail cell.  There are easier ways to make money.  I have friends in Florida who know where the big money is,” Bill stated.

At the other end of the sofa, Ramsey Phillips considered the man she had shared the evening with.  He had been a mighty good-looking and persuasive man until now.  For a minute, she felt a cold sensation on the back of her neck, and she shivered.

“What’s the matter, Ram?  You shook like someone stepped on your grave!” Bill said.

“I just had a thought,” she said.  “The kind that makes you consider where you will spend eternity after all this foolishness is over.  You never told me you were married,” Ramsey said.

“Well now, Girl, I guess you should have asked!  I got married in high school, and it’s been downhill ever since.  As for me, I never have cared for the holier-than-thou types.  I don’t care for their moralistic thinking.  I do whatever I want to, and you should do the same.  First thing you know, you will be going to church and struggling to feed a bunch of hungry kids.  My old man is a farmer.  He worked himself and a couple of good mules to death trying to keep a bunch of skinny kids fed.  Now that’s no life for me.  I don’t intend to die behind a plow.  As a matter of fact, I think I will head east. Maybe the Tallahassee textile mill will be starting up.  I was a pretty good night watchman for Burlington.  Maybe they will hire me back.  I had my own game going and dressed my friends pretty good while I worked there.” Bill Taylor upended a shot glass; his voice slurred.

Suddenly Ramsey saw a chance to end this relationship.  “If you’re serious, there is an eastbound train coming through here at midnight.  You might want to hurry; it’s eleven thirty now.  The midnight express doesn’t stop in Huntsville unless it’s flagged at the train depot, but it will slow down coming through town.  I will take you to a point by the tracks where you can get on without breaking your neck.  When I was small, my brother and sister use to get on from there and ride the train back down in the valley.  I was riding boxcars when I was nine,” she said.

The courtyard lights bathed the room in an eerie light that framed her face through the sheer curtains.  Bill watched her facial expression bathed in the red and blue of the neon lights outside.

“Girl, you better snap out of what’s bothering you!” Bill Taylor snapped.  “That look of yours scares me!  Do like me, blame our sins on the liquor!”

Shaking her head as if recovering from a trance, she said, “I’m alright.  Come on!  I will take you down to the railyard.” A few minutes later, south of town, a lonely whistle blew, signaling the midnight freight was moving into town.  “Here comes your ride!  You better get ready to jump aboard!” Ramsey said hurriedly.

Laying on the dirt floor, Willy began to regain consciousness.  The pain was dull, and breathing was hard.  He tried to focus his eyes; slowly, he began to remember being shot as he had opened the doors.  He heard voices, but they seemed far away.  Moving his head to the right, he saw a pair of shiny boots.  A rifle barrel hung loosely down beside the boots.  The dream had come true.  Slowly he tried to clear his foggy brain.  Voices came to him in his dream. He couldn’t move his body, but turning his head, he saw the wheels of Bonnie’s car.  Looking under the car, he gasped as his eyes met hers.  Laboring for each breath, he tried to form words with bloody lips.  Bonnie lay bound and gagged on the dirt floor of the barn watching him.  Her body shook as tears and fear welled up in her eyes.  The sight of her lying on the floor, looking at him, helped clear his mind.  “Lord, what have I done now?  I have killed the only person I have ever loved!  All my manipulation has cost Bonnie her life!’ he thought as he lost consciousness again.

“McDonald, if you take them out of here, you will surely be stopped.  This country is crawling with Texas Rangers!” Bart said.

From behind McDonald, a voice said, “Boss, we got another problem.  There are people up at the house again.  Walking around the car McDonald looked through the crack in the wall.  A U.S. postal truck had pulled up to the house, and a woman and man got out.  It wasn’t long until a boy stepped out and began to explore the yard.

“Hey, Boss, is the post office delivering people now?” McDonald sighed and said, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Bart looked around the barn and up in the loft.  He said, “McDonald, this place is half full of hay!  Let’s light it off and get out of here!”

McDonald walked back to Willy and looked down at the unconscious figure, and said, “Smitty, you and Bart light it off before the kid comes sniffing around the barn.  Everybody else, head back to the cars now!”

A line of men left the barn through the side door, making their way back through the woods where the cars were located.  Bart and Smitty piled bales of hay against the doors and walls to make sure the barn went up quickly.  Bart quickly lit bales of hay around the barn.  He knew how quickly barn fires could go up, and how the local farmers would rush to stop the spread of a big fire.  “Smitty, we need to get out of here fast!  The fire will attract every farmer from miles around!” he said.

Willy regained consciousness and lay watching Bonnie struggling to get free.  Fear and despair were in her eyes.  Just like in his dreams, there was no hope of getting loose.  He tried to roll over, but it was no use; he was too weak.  Once the fires were lit, Bart waited at the side door for Smitty to exit.  Just before he left, he turned and looked back at Willy.  Their eyes locked, and Willy knew those were the eyes in his dream.  This time the eyes were real, and he saw no mercy in those dull grey eyes.  Almost before they could get out of the barn, the fire was rising on all four walls.  McDonald and his men ran down the trail to get as much distance from the barn as they could.

“Boss, that is one big barn!  The fire will be seen for miles!  We need to get out of here!” one of McDonald’s men said.

McDonald replied, “As soon as Smitty and Bart get here, we leave!” In a few moments, the two men came running down the trail.  “Okay, Gentlemen!  Let’s get out of Texas.  Bart, you will receive a nice surprise in the mail.  I think you and I need to rekindle a working relationship when this blows over.” McDonald’s men loaded into the car and headed for the main highway.

Bart headed for town to make an appearance.  His shoulders dropped from the stress.  ‘That was close!’ he thought.

The fire began to climb the walls all around the building.  The smoke was boiling and filling the building.  Unable to move, Willy thought of Bonnie lying on the other side of the car.

‘OH GOD!  NOT BONNIE!  SAVE HER!’ he prayed.  Looking back at Bonnie, he saw nothing but love in her eyes.  Their eyes locked one last time as the smoke thickened.  Willy’s eyes dimmed, and he lay still.

"Grandpa, while you were away today, a mister Jones came by with his son Alfrado. They were headed for Austin and didn’t have time to wait for your return. He told me he would stop by to see you on his way back home,” Grace said.

“Great,” Daniel said. For a moment, his eyes were once again lost in the firelight. “Grace, that was Tanner Jones. You may have heard a little about my old friend Tanner. He probably influenced my life more than any one man ever has. Sit with me, and I will tell you of when I first heard of him.” In anticipation, Grace curled up on the couch beside the fireplace and pulled a quilt over her legs.

Daniel chuckled, and his easy manner made her feel at home. “I can’t think of a better place to be when the snow falls than right here in front of this fireplace. I better start at the beginning, so you will know all about this family you’ve married into!” Daniel said with a smile.

Daniel moved around in his old chair. His eyes strayed to a picture above the fireplace. On the mantle, a large picture frame held a picture of several men dressed in tattered Confederate uniforms. Oddly enough, there stood with them a tall black soldier dressed in the uniform of a Union soldier. They all stood behind a frail woman and a small boy. It was apparent they all had suffered from the bitter years of war. In the photo, their arms were linked together, and each face held a smile.

Grace saw him looking at the picture above the mantle and quickly moved to pick it up. “Grandpa, who are all these soldiers, and how did they come to have their picture taken with a black man that fought for the other side?” she asked.

Daniel grinned as he took the picture from her, and his mind seemed far away as he passed his hand over the glass-covered picture frame and said, “I always thought the smiles in this picture seemed out of place for people in such an emaciated state. When the war ended, I headed home from Virginia. With me were my surgical nurse of four years and several wounded soldiers. We were traveling in a military ambulance pulled by a team of mules.”

Gray uniforms filled the streets of New Orleans. Bearded men were wandering aimlessly about or waiting at the ferry landing to cross the mighty Mississippi. On every corner, Union soldiers stood about watching the crowds. Along the river, the sounds of boat whistles heralded their arrival. Their decks, once loaded with bales of cotton, now ferried men of all ages headed home. Some moved aimlessly about with no apparent future plans. New Orleans had become a destination point from which men deployed in all directions. The sound of riverboat whistles echoed through the streets of the French Quarter. The splash of stern wheelers churning the river sent excitement coursing through Daniel’s body. His heart quickened as he thought that Emma might be somewhere in these crowded streets.

Maneuvering the wagon through the French Quarter, Daniel came to the building where his medical practice had been before the war. He had run a noted practice that had flourished. People from near and far came to be treated by Dr. Daniel Black and his staff. Stopping the wagon in front of the building, he could not believe his eyes. Not a vestige of the past remained. Four years before, he had stepped through those doors in expensive suits. He was admired by those who knew him. Now the doors opened into a saloon, and the course notes of a saloon piano spilled onto the cobblestone streets. Daniel Black had left New Orleans with all the honors men could bestow, for he was going to war as a savior for the wounded. Today, he had returned to New Orleans as a middle-aged man who no one would recognize.

Suddenly, he saw the streets of New Orleans filled with happy, well-dressed men donning top hats and carrying diamond-studded canes. The women dressed in colorful dresses and bonnets with the always present fold fan and parasol in hand as they strolled through the French Quarter. Shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs from his mind, Daniel saw the scene change back to reality...haggard, battle-worn men standing about in the streets. Top Hats and studded canes had been replaced with worn uniforms, and branches of trees used for crutches for the maimed. The sound of ferryboats moving to and fro across the river, carrying men across the mighty Mississippi, was the only thing that remained the same. “Giddy up!” he yelled at the mules, wanting to hurry from this dismal scene.

Midday, the wagon passed through a forest of white birch trees between two hills. Just as they rounded a bend in the trail, Danny pulled the wagon to a stop. Before them, a man sat on an old worn-out horse in the middle of the trail.

“Hello thar, folks,” the man said, trying to make small talk.

“You have been following us since we left Buckley. So, what’s on your mind, mister?” Tillie asked.

“Wall, you shore get right to the point, don’t you, missy?” the stranger asked.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Tillie said.

“I see you folks need a man along. I decided I would just come along and make myself useful,” the man insisted.

“I have a man along and don’t want or need your company. So, you best get along back the way you come and leave us alone,” Tillie stated firmly.

“Now ma’am, that boy ain’t no whar near a man, and I are offering my services free of charge!” the man insisted.

“Get out of my way and keep your distance from us. I don’t need your help,” Tillie said.

The grimy man’s face took on a hard look, and he said, “You don’t understand, missy. I ain’t asking. I be a-tellin’ and from now on, you jest be a-doin' as I say.” A slight smile crossed his grimy face showing a single tooth in the front of his mouth.

“Boy, you go ahead and toss me down that rifle and be really careful as you do,” the man said as he pulled a pistol from his waistband. Suddenly a cloud of dust rose from his heavy buffalo coat, followed by the sound of a pistol echoing across the mountains. The jolt shocked him, and he grunted before turning to look at the small woman sitting on the wagon seat, holding a smoking pistol.

Tillie spoke firmly, “Drop that pistol, mister, or I will put a second shot in the same spot where I put the first.” Shocked and surprised, the man dropped his pistol and ran his hand inside his coat. Pulling a bloody hand back, a look of horror crossed his face.

“Woman, you done gone and gut shot me!” he yelled.

It was an invigorating spring day. A day one can genuinely say, “This is the day the Lord has made.” Where high above the southern plains, an eagle soared; his great wings spread on a warm breeze. His keen eyes scanned the sea of green far below him in total silence from his lofty view. A large field rat scurried through the tall grass; unaware he could be the eagle’s next meal. Circling high above, the predator glided effortlessly on the rising warm air, spreading his wings like fingers to hold his lofty position. He could not descend because below in the grass were other predators. They were dangerous hunters that did not hunt for food.

The eagle screeched, and below, Elizabeth Masters shaded her eyes and looked up at the beautiful bird circling in the rising heat. From high above, the eagle saw the wagons below as small white blocks in a sea of green. They bounced and rattled across the prairie pulled by slow-moving oxen. Unknown to those who walked beside the wagons, a small party of Indians watched closely from the tall prairie grass. Their numbers were few against the rifles of the wagon train, but their leader was wise in the way of war. He was a young brave who was quickly making a name for himself. To the braves that lay in the grass, Bald Jo Kline was a fierce warrior whose medicine was strong. These slow-moving wagons were a prize too great to resist.

Bald Jo Kline watched the white men walking along beside their wagons. The men carried fine weapons, but it seemed evident they didn’t know how to use them. The train was mostly a collection of older men and women that walked along indifferent to their surroundings. His band consisted of two seasoned warriors and one young brave on his first raiding party. A young brave named Dog Head had his heart set on a redhead of hair among the white eyes and was far ahead of the wagon train. Bald Jo looked up at the sun, sweating heavily. He smiled. It was the hottest time of the day. The heat made the white-eyes careless and tired. They would not be watchful.

Bald Jo’s raid down into the settlements had not been successful. They had one less brave and one less horse. The settlers had been ready for such a raid. He must change his tactics. Again, they were outnumbered and outgunned. Even so, Bald Jo saw the wagon train with its fine horses and the new weapons as a prize too good to pass up with the bad odds. He scanned the men and women and focused on the beautiful woman with golden hair. For a long time, he could not break his eyes from her.

The following day Sarah sat by the small stream with a knife whittling away pieces of a branch and letting them float away in the current. “Mr. Bess, where do you think this river flows?” she asked.

The question got Joe’s attention as he walked past her and replied, “It should flow right into the river we were on last night. It should intersect downstream above where the Indians are waiting for us.” Suddenly, he stopped, dropped to his knees in the sand, and grabbed Sarah’s hand.  “Sarah, what are you doing?” Joe gasped. A look of distress on his face.

Sarah looked at the small pieces of wood that she had been shaving off the stick floating away from her. “I’m just relaxing while I soak my feet. Why?” Hearing the alarm in his voice June came over as Joe jumped into the stream, trying to catch as many pieces of wood shavings as he could.

“Joe, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“These chips will float downriver, and any Indian that sees them will know where we are. Sarah girl, how long have you been doing this?” he asked.

Sarah looked at the stick she had whittled down to a point. Tears came to her eyes, and she wept. Joe Bess put his arms around the young girl and tried to comfort her by saying, “Sarah, it is okay. I doubt they will see them—just remember we are in the wilderness, and everything here must be part of the natural scenery, or it is like a book telling a story.”

Miller walked along in the cold rain. It had been hours since he had heard the explosion that shook the ground. The river he was following had given him a glimpse of the fire through the woods. He had heard the gunshots and war cries before the explosion, and he changed directions. Crossing the river, he had climbed the side of a hill to get some distance from whatever had happened. Hours later, and just about to drop, he crawled in below some thick cedar branches and went to sleep.

A few hours later, soaking wet, he crawled from under the cedar and stood in the cold rain. He scanned the direction he was headed each time lightning flashed. On the side of a mountain, there was a dark spot. It could be a cave or overhanging rock formation. Once again, he trudged along, making his way higher up, hoping to find a dry place to get out of the frigid wind.

Sighing deeply, Miller sat on the windward side of a boulder that partially blocked the wind. Resting there for a minute, he waited in the dark for a lightning flash. The lightning flashes had been his way of keeping himself on course through the night. A strong bolt of lightning to the north assured him he was closer to a point over the prairie where he might see the herd. Trudging along, he grumbled to himself, “I got to get out of this rain!” As if by divine direction, he suddenly stood before a dark hole in the sheer face of a rolling hill. ‘Well, it may be a hole full of Indians, bears, or wolves, but if I don’t get out of this cold rain, I will die anyway,’ he thought.

 Stepping into the dark cave, he instantly realized he was not alone. A strong smoke odor stung his nose, and he eased his pistol out of its holster. Backing against the wall, he stood very still. He could hear the quiet breathing of more than one human.