The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  He reached for his knife and slashed the reins short. Jumping on the back of his horse, he didn’t have to spur it. With nostrils wide and ears back, it leapt after the racers ahead.

  Frisco yelled a warning as his horse raced toward the line of onlookers left behind. They parted just as he broke past them. Leaning forward, it was all Frisco could do to keep the shortened reins in his hands. Good thing he didn’t have a lengthy ride before him.

  He streaked past a few men running on foot. The bicyclist had already crashed in a tangle of wire and metal. The wagons in front of Frisco bounced frightfully. He dodged as a barrel of spirits fell out of the back of one and busted on the ground. His horse easily overtook the wagons, which were only then reaching their full speed. A few more strides, and it was only the horse riders ahead.

  Riding low, Frisco was making up for his late start. The draft horses and mules were no match for his mustang. It didn’t hurt that his horse knew every hillock and ditch along the way. Together they anticipated the gentle slopes and washouts, but she still wasn’t the fastest horse running, and that was where his preparation came in handy.

  As the riders in front of him approached the steep banks of the canyon, they slowed. Frisco had studied the red cliffs enough to know that no one would try to rush down them. Their frustration was evident as two, then three, began pacing along the edge of the drop-off. They were losing their advantage, and they didn’t like it. He, of all people, understood. Finally, one spurred to the north to follow the creek until a suitable crossing could be found. The others, not wanting to miss their chance, raced after him. Frisco turned to the south. As long as he was the first person through the pass . . .

  A hat appeared at the edge of the gully, and then a man pulled himself over the ledge. With a sharp stake in hand, he ran a few feet, then drove the stake into the ground. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief and waited on the approaching runners. He obviously didn’t see Frisco watching from behind.

  Of all the low-down . . . why did Frisco have to care so much? With a groan, he tugged his short reins and directed his horse toward the sooner. He’d have to be quick. It wouldn’t take long for riders to find their way across.

  “What’s your name?” Frisco called.

  “Eldon Fender,” the man replied. “And you can move on because this is my land.”

  “There’s no way you made it here on foot,” Frisco said. He fumbled with his stub pencil and jotted down another name on his sooner list. “But thanks for the information. It’ll be useful at the land office.”

  Two riders were reaching the creek, and behind them came the bulk of the crowd. He really had to go. He couldn’t leave it to chance that it would take them long to cross.

  But then, just like a rotten apple, another man dropped out of a tree a ways farther. Was there a moonlighter under every branch and rock? With apologies to his horse, Frisco headed toward him.

  Getting this right could mean the world to someone who’d obeyed the law. Were the tables turned, Frisco would want someone to do the same for him. He turned to look over his shoulder again, and the two riders had disappeared. In their wake was a cornucopia of conveyances. If they’d found the way through, there was nothing to keep others from following. As quickly as he could, Frisco jotted down the name on the homemade flag attached to the man’s stake, then spurred his horse toward the crossing.

  “I promise, this is the last time,” he said. “We’re almost home.”

  Almost home. And he had more than the horse to answer to. Sixty-four families were counting on him to have Redhawk established by nightfall.

  Caroline didn’t wince at the sound of the gunshot, but the roar of the crowd startled Hardtack. When his rear end dropped, she had a split second to keep him from bolting. She braced herself with the reins pulled tight, but it was no use. The first runners had gone, and her horse was going to be running sideways if she didn’t give him his head. At the thunder of the fort’s cannon, Hardtack took out.

  “I guess we’re going,” she yelled to Amber.

  “Do it!” Amber yelled back.

  Caroline slackened the reins, and with a whoosh they were hurtling ahead. The wagons on either side of them were just beginning to rock forward as they passed. She only had time to see the man with the stake step across the line and drive it into the ground before he was a blur behind her. The thundering hooves pulled her focus ahead. A fall could be deadly. She had to control her horse’s speed so she didn’t lose Amber.

  Even with the slight delay, the girls were still among the first runners. As the line was left behind them, they spaced out. It occurred to Caroline that as the first ones streaking across the territory, she could stop at any point and claim land, but better acreage lay ahead. So much lay ahead.

  Every nerve in her body sang as she rushed headlong into the wind. If only she could bottle this feeling—but too much, and she’d never survive. Her heart would give out and her lungs would explode, but it was glorious. The men who raced along with them began to peel off to the north. Seemed like she wasn’t the only one who knew that an obstacle lay ahead, but she might be the only one who knew a way through.

  She looked over her shoulder. Amber had fallen behind, but she was coming with the single-minded purpose that Caroline expected from her. They were nearing the embankment. Once she crossed, others might try to overtake her in the pass, but on the opposite side there should be land for all. At first, anyway.

  The embankment was a dark smudge ahead, the only spot with trees and shadows on the sun-drenched prairie that day. Then Caroline saw something that made her blood boil. A man climbed out of the gully to the south. Where had he come from? Cheater! How many were there? With hours of a head start—maybe days—there was no guarantee that there was any land available on the other side of the canyon. Fear crept up her throat. It wasn’t right. Someone should do something.

  And then someone did.

  A racer arced out of his path to confront the man. Caroline cheered even though they couldn’t hear her from that distance. Thank goodness for the deputy, or whoever he was. Having been privy to the efforts of the marshals and the military in this area for years, Caroline had no use for lawbreakers. She hoped settlement would run criminals out of the territory entirely. She didn’t want them living among the honest contestants.

  “Almost there,” she yelled to Amber.

  Reining in Hardtack, Caroline picked her way down the embankment that would take miles off their route. A campfire smoldered, proof that someone else had been squatting illegally. There was no telling how many lawbreakers had used the gully to avoid the patrols.

  Barely slowing down, Amber crashed through the undergrowth down the steep embankment. “I’m here,” she panted. “Let’s go.”

  Good thing Amber was on the slower horse. With her determination, Caroline doubted her friend would’ve waited for her.

  Together they splashed across the shallow river and climbed up the other side. Caroline caught her breath. The land spread out before them untouched. They were the first, but others would be coming, and quickly. And as close as they were to the southern border, they’d soon face challengers from there too.

  “This way.” She spurred Hardtack and rode straight for the most desirable area. It wasn’t quite as flat but had a river curving through it and trees. She and Amber raced until the river was just ahead, and then Caroline stopped. She might be close to Frisco’s land, but he’d be so busy with his town, he wouldn’t have time to bother her.

  “We’re here,” she said to Amber. “Pick your spot.”

  Amber bit her lip. “I want access to the river, but Bradley wants more pasture. I’ll head this way.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Caroline said. “And remember, our claims are a quarter of a square mile. Find the surveyor’s cornerstone before you drive your stake.”

  Amber nodded, then with a cavalry-worthy yell, flapped her reins and took off.

  Caroline slid out of the saddle and fumble
d with the ties on the bedroll. She had to get her stake and mallet. Once she drove the stake, the land was hers. Then she’d poke around along the riverbank and make sure no one else was there—but if they were, they couldn’t have been there fairly. While her father might be mad that she’d decided to run without consulting him, using his name would be enough to scare off most troublemakers.

  The stake was rough, but her gloves protected her. The ground gave slightly under her feet. Good fertile ground that the rains had made ready for spring planting. She held the stake upright and, with a firm pounding, had it driven. Caroline stepped back and unfurled the flag that announced her name as the rightful owner.

  Was that all it took? Was it hers? She turned slowly and looked over her land. She’d done it. All on her own she’d accomplished this, but it was just the beginning. Now the real work began.

  Taking Hardtack by the reins, Caroline began to search for the corners of her land, three of them marked by stones. She’d heard that many planned to start plowing immediately. Even turning over dirt would help prove that they were making improvements on the claim and make it harder to take away. She didn’t have a shovel, but at least she could gather some wood and start a cook fire.

  Something looked odd in the grass over yonder. Caroline strode there, surprised to find that her legs were still a bit shaky from the exhilarating ride. Even Hardtack seemed winded, although she’d ridden him much farther before. When she made it over the rise, she saw that the ground had been turned. Neatly laid rows, and they hadn’t been the work of one night. There were already tender sprouts coming up. Caroline looked over her shoulder. She was alone, but someone had been there and had been there illegally.

  It couldn’t be Frisco’s place. He wouldn’t have let her get there before him—of that Caroline was certain—but someone would show up soon.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Last night when she’d swiped the mallet from the carpenter’s shack on the fort, she had known this would require a toughness from her that she’d never needed before. This wasn’t playing chess with her stepmother; it was real life. There were real consequences, and she couldn’t count on someone else fighting her battles for her. Whoever had planted that plot had done so illegally. They had taken a risk by working land they didn’t own. It wasn’t her place to reward their speculation. She’d raced for this farm, and she would defend it as soon as the other runners found their way around the gully.

  It didn’t take long.

  Instead of coming from the north, the lone rider must’ve come through the same pass she’d taken. He was riding like a prairie fire was chasing him, and he was headed straight for her stake. He must not have seen her over the rise. Caroline ran across the field as he jumped off his horse, pulled her stake out of the ground, and tossed it aside.

  She hadn’t run so fast since she’d chased her little sister years ago. She’d nearly reached him when he took his own spike from his saddle, but then he looked up, and she skidded to a stop. Frisco Smith? Her eyes widened. He stood there panting with a stake in his hand, looking at her like she was a ghost.

  How had she beat him? But she couldn’t show weakness. She moistened her lips. “I was here first,” she rasped. “This is my land.”

  His mouth twitched. He blinked. His hand tightened on the spike, and his jaw clenched. “Miss Adams? You’re breaking the law. You’d best get back to the fort before your father finds out.”

  Her father? Caroline had done this to prove herself, and all anyone wanted to talk about was her father. She swooped down and snatched her stake, straightening the flag for him to read. “I put this in the ground. This is my claim.”

  “No.” He put his foot over the hole the pulled spike had left behind. “This is my land. This is where I was going. You can go somewhere else.”

  His land. She blinked into the wind. She’d wondered about the garden, but with all the possible spots along the river, she hadn’t been sure. Well, she’d beaten him. She didn’t know how, but she had, and she couldn’t bow out now. She wouldn’t get another chance.

  “Go somewhere else,” she said. “You have the whole valley.”

  He shook his head. “This is my land. I’ve worked it already. I have the map—”

  “The map doesn’t mean anything.”

  Horsemen came over the ridge. They’d worked their way around. Soon the whole area would be crawling with people looking for a place.

  “Be reasonable.” His words were fast and harsh. His face had turned an odd shade of green beneath his swarthy complexion. “You can’t prove a homestead. You can’t farm. You don’t want this. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but it’s time you grow up. This isn’t a game, and you can’t have it just because your pa is the major.”

  Had he always thought so poorly of her? Caroline blinked dry eyes. It would’ve been nice if they could have remembered a shared past fondly, but ever since she’d arrived in the territory, he’d done his best to insult her.

  “You’ve mentioned my father twice now,” she said. “You don’t suppose he’ll let you run me off my lawfully obtained homestead, do you?”

  A horseman rode up, then seeing them, streaked on down the valley. The white canvas top of a wagon appeared, bouncing over the horizon.

  “They’re coming,” Caroline said. “You’re running out of time. Do you want to wager that the court will give you this plot?”

  Frisco’s jaw worked. A part of Caroline’s heart shriveled at the anger in his eyes. But she was strong. She didn’t need his permission. She was doing this on her own.

  “Good luck, Miss Adams.” He jumped on his horse with his stake in hand. “You’re going to need it,” he said as he spurred the horse and shot out after the others.

  Chapter nine

  He’d guarded his tongue, but his temper was raging. His horse seemed confused to be running away from the place they’d been working over the last months. Frisco was confused too. It was unfathomable. After all his planning, all his preparation, he’d been beaten by a novice. With every stride, he debated turning around and trying to reason with the stubborn woman, but there was no time for negotiation. Already the crowd was hot on his heels, fighting for whatever land the moonlighters hadn’t illegally claimed.

  He roared across the river, only to find a rested horse grazing next to a cook fire that had been burning all night. Another sooner to add to his list. He pressed on, but a man riding ahead of him slid off his horse and drove his spike. He spun and squared off to Frisco with a challenge in his eye.

  Frisco was no fool. He’d lost that claim fair and square. He headed south. At a distance he saw racers coming to meet him. They’d gotten across the southern border. Everything was going too fast. If he didn’t find a place soon . . .

  He turned north. “Come on, girl,” he begged the horse. “Give me just a little more.”

  When he broke out of the trees on the riverbank, he paused. Ahead was a whole campsite—tents, wagons, cots, fires. There had to be nearly fifty men there. Was it a campsite . . . or a town site?

  “Come on up.” A man pulled his pocket watch out by its gold chain and flipped the cover open. “We still have town lots available, but you’d better hurry.”

  Frisco’s heart sank. Town lots? He was supposed to be securing a town for others, not joining this one. But today was not the day for indecision.

  “Yes,” he said. “What’s the best lot you have left?”

  “Twenty-five after noon, and you ask that question? The main street is marked with green stakes. There are a few lots left on the far north of Main Street. Branch off to the east if you want to be more centrally located. You could take out and look there.”

  This was what he’d come to? Settling for a back lot in someone else’s town when he’d planned to be the founder of his own? But procrastinating would mean he’d get nothing.

  He followed the green markers past men hurriedly scrambling to pitch their tents. He got off his horse and walked into
a lot.

  “Hey, this one’s taken,” a man called from a group of people in the next lot.

  “Sorry. How about that one?” Frisco asked.

  The man turned to his companions. They leaned their heads together, then reached a decision. “Take that one, friend. We’re glad to have you.”

  This wasn’t the end. He wasn’t giving up on his dream, but he couldn’t let the unexpected paralyze him. Frisco pulled his horse behind him to a piece of pasture already set about by people. Redhawk had its own Main Street, and it was on the banks of a river. It had more shade. It had more timber. Now that timber all belonged to Caroline Adams.

  And what was she going to do with it? Nothing. Frisco’s blood boiled. Likely some smooth-talking huckster would sugar her up, and next thing you knew, he’d have her hand and her land. Frisco’s jaw clenched as he drove his stake into the ground. He’d always admired Miss Adams’s determination and intelligence, but he’d never thought she’d misapply it so grievously. The more he thought through the day’s events, the less sense it made that she’d beaten him to the land. Had she used her connections at the fort to get her across the line before noon? He’d thought she had more character than that, but maybe she’d changed more than he’d realized.

  Wagons had begun to pull in over the horizon from the west. Horses lathered in sweat were driven by men with desperation all over their faces. Frisco watched as they were directed to lots here and there. Overall it was organized, considering that everyone had descended at the same time. At least that was what he assumed. Surely if someone had come early, the first racers there would have denounced them. Instead, everyone was working in cooperation.

  Hammer strikes rang out across the field. No, no longer a field—a town. What had been a field was now a town.

  But it wasn’t his town.

  He would get his land back. He would. Otherwise he’d have to face his investors and tell them that he’d failed. By May 22, he was to meet them in Purcell and lead them to their new homes, if they hadn’t found him first. One month. He had to have a city for them, or he had to return their money—all one hundred and seventeen dollars of it. He had the money in his traveling case, but that didn’t sway his determination. He mustn’t fail them.