Bad Billy cried out and yanked at his tether. The crazy ole goat didn’t like all the ruckus made by the Boomers. She checked to make sure Michael was still playing inside the wagon and walked over to the trees where the goats had been tied. They’d eaten all the leaves off the nearby bushes. As soon as things settled down and the last of the wagons crossed the river, she needed to find something for Lara’s beasts to eat.
Wagons had been fording the river for hours, and there were still many more.
“Jo.”
She patted Billy and handed him a wad of grass she’d plucked then rushed back to the wagon and stooped down. “How are you, Grandpa?”
He shivered, and Jo tugged the quilt over his chest.
“Do you need another quilt?”
He shook his head. “Need pill.”
Jo counted the hours in her head since his last pill. Lara had said to try to spread them out since she didn’t know when she’d be able to purchase more of them. She hated seeing him suffer. Since their parents died, he’d been the only one who gave a hoot whether they lived or not. Even Jack, their own brother, had up and left them.
She hurried around to the dust-coated tent and crawled inside. Her hand shook as she opened the bottle. The precious pills popped out. She quickly gathered them up, making sure not to lose even one. Then she carried a single pill and a ladle of water around and helped him drink. “Do you think you could eat some lunch? Although I don’t know if I can find anything that isn’t covered in dust.”
“Not yet. I just need to rest.” He yawned and then coughed several times. “Did Lara get off?”
“As far as I know. She rode up to get as close to the start as she could, but I didn’t follow her.”
“She’s a fine horsewoman.”
Jo looked away. Just once, she wished he’d compliment her. The question hovering in the back of her mind for days spilled out. “What happens if she doesn’t get a claim?”
“I believe that she will. But God will provide if she doesn’t.”
Jo rolled her eyes and blew out a sigh. That was always his pat answer. Had that miserable soddy been God’s provision? And if God was so good at providing stuff, why couldn’t he give them a steer so they could eat some beef instead of squirrels, turtles, and pigeons? Why did her parents have to die if God cared so much?
“Aunt Jo, I gotta go. And I’m hungry.”
“Go see to the boy. I’m just gonna rest some more.”
Jo stood and dusted off her skirt, which was an effort in futility, then helped Michael out of the wagon.
She thought of the pretty house she would have one day and knew it would only happen by hard work on her part. God didn’t even know she existed, much less want to provide for her. No, the best thing she could do was to get away from this wretched land—this filthy dirt—and find someplace where she could live the life she’d dreamed about.
The train chugged closer to Guthrie, making Mark’s gut swirl. Each mile brought him closer to his dream of owning his own chain of stores—the first one in Guthrie. He had to get land. Failing wasn’t an option, not with the two carloads of supplies he had coming in later today. People would need all manner of supplies that they hadn’t been able to carry with them on the run—lumber, cookstoves, food, and building materials. Mark stood taller. He was the one with the foresight to plan ahead and realize those needs, and he’d be the one to reap the financial benefit.
The wind whipped his face and threatened to steal his hat away, while coal dust powdered everything like a layer of sooty snow. He held on to the railing surrounding the outside of the platform at the back of the third car with sweaty hands that he had to keep wiping on his pants. At first, he’d planned on getting a seat inside but then decided against it. The train was packed with men sitting on the laps of other men, the aisles were full, and there were even men riding on top of the rail cars. Getting out of the cars would be difficult, especially with the platforms full. Six men even shared his small landing. He glanced up at the top of the car behind the one he was riding, and watched the men clinging to the top.
He shook his head. Fools, all of them. He wouldn’t risk his neck like that. At least he’d had the foresight to climb aboard the platform early, claim his spot and hold it, even though he’d been bumped and scowled at by others trying to get on. No matter. What was done was done.
He watched the rolling hills of Indian Territory sail by. He had no plans to ever ride on the platform of a train again, but this one time was quite exhilarating. His father, the great Wilfred Hillborne, and his father’s protégé, Mark’s older brother, Baron, would be appalled at his behavior. Of course, neither of them would be caught dead participating in such an uncouth event as a land rush. Both were fuddy-duddies with no sense of adventure.
Still, he had to give his father credit for funding this venture even if he didn’t agree with it. Just another reason he had to get land and make a good profit. The sooner he paid back his father, the happier he’d be. He didn’t like being beholden to him.
The train jerked, and Mark tightened his grasp. It wouldn’t do to fall off before he got to the Guthrie Station. If he got a fast start at the beginning of the race, he might be fortunate to get a town plot close to the railroad station. It would make transporting wares from the depot to his store much easier.
His thoughts turned to Abigail and how she’d pleaded with him not to go to a dirty town on the prairie. She was scared to death of Indians and being so far away from a big city. He was sick of hearing her whine about that and about leaving her behind. Part of the reason he chose the Oklahoma Territory was because he knew she wouldn’t follow him out there. She was beautiful, but too spoiled for his liking. Too bad he didn’t find that out sooner.
“What kind of business do you intend on startin’?” the impeccably dressed man on his left asked.
“A mercantile.”
The man nodded. “I’m a tailor. Perhaps I can purchase supplies from you if ’n you get a plot.”
“I have a good supply of fabrics arriving later today actually, including some plain, striped, and diagonal worsteds, mostly in shades of navy and black. There are also some fine finished tweeds in checks and plaids. Mind you, my stock in the finer fabrics isn’t large, but I can order more if you need me to.”
The man had started nodding when Mark first mentioned the fabric he had in stock and still continued. “Fine! Fine. That’s far more than I would’ve hoped for.”
“I also have a good supply of needles in various sizes, scissors, thread, and the like. My name’s Mark Hillborne.”
“Everett Daggert. Most folks call me Ev.” He held out his hand, and Mark shook it. Ev eyed Mark’s sack suit in appreciation. “I’m glad to meet another man who knows how to dress well.”
Mark nodded as he checked the time on his pocket watch. He frowned. It was well past one, and the race had already started. What would he do if no land was left when he arrived? Surely the train would beat the riders to Guthrie, even with the late start. He certainly hoped so.
He sighed and studied his platform mates. While he didn’t particularly care about making friends, establishing relationships with other men who owned businesses was crucial. The other trio of men on the platform, who looked enough alike to be father and sons, kept to themselves, even facing the opposite direction. They talked so low that the noise of the train drowned out anything they said. No sweat off his brow if they wanted to keep to themselves. One of the men pointed at something on the far side of the train, but Mark couldn’t distinguish what it was. He started to turn and face the outside of the train when it suddenly jerked, hissed, and slowed. He spun about and spied a small wooden structure. Was that the Guthrie Station or just another water stop?
Whoops and cheers rang out from the first car, and men jumped off the top of the train. Mark lurched into motion, grabbing his satchel off the floor. He eyed his stake, making sure it was still there, and then, even though the train was still moving, he studied th
e ground for a flat spot and jumped. He hit hard, rolled, then found his feet and took off running. As he angled his body toward the land behind the depot, he saw a crowd already gathered there, much to his dismay. He pushed his confusion away and aimed for the land past them. His feet pounded hard, and he ran for all he was worth, as a herd of men stampeded behind him.
The train’s whistle blasted, announcing its arrival. Even though this was supposed to be the first train to reach Guthrie, there had to already be several hundred men there. Sooners, no doubt. Sneaked in and claimed their spots already. Or maybe the trains from the south had beat them. He gritted his teeth but didn’t slow his pace.
Signs marked the streets, so rather than head straight for the most crowed area, he aimed for the street north of the depot and hurried up the slight incline. He passed people with their shingles already hanging from two sticks in the ground, stating their name and sometimes the type of their business. Oftentimes, someone was standing at the front of the lot, waving people on. As far as he could see, men were working. Some already had supplies out and were hawking their wares.
Mark couldn’t believe his rotten luck. Breathing hard, he slowed his pace.
A man waved him on. “Don’t give up. Just find the last piece of land and claim it. Go on. Others are right behind you.”
He nodded his thanks and hurried on. Three blocks from the train station his steps slowed as his eyes landed on the prettiest thing he’d seen since meeting Joline Jensen—an unclaimed lot. The lot on the far side already had a tent on it as did others farther down. How had this one been missed? He stepped across the invisible threshold and drove his stake into the ground. Then he straightened, looping his thumbs in his suspenders and watching the other frantic Boomers pass him.
His neighbor to his left nodded and grinned. “I wondered when someone was going to notice that plot hadn’t been claimed. If ’n I’d had a son old enough, he’d have gotten it.”
Mark smiled, very glad the man didn’t have a son. He wasn’t as close to the depot as he’d hoped, but the way he figured, with this huge crowd, there would be plenty of men who didn’t get a claim who might be interested in hauling freight. Stretching, he surveyed his plot. It wasn’t the one he’d hoped for, but with all the wares he had coming, by tomorrow, he would be doing a stiff business. He needed to hire several workers to get his large tent erected and stocked. His thoughts rushed to Jo Jensen again. Where was the pretty girl now?
He shook her from his mind and got back to work. From his satchel, he withdrew a ball of string and a supply of sticks and began staking out his mercantile. He wished he’d thought to bring a fabric sign with him, but by tomorrow, he’d have the one he’d had made just for this event.
Besides the tent, the first things he needed to have brought to his booth were the half-dozen barrels of water he’d sent by train. Gilbert, his father’s employee, had thought him crazy to ship barrels of water, but Mark knew that with so many people competing for the land, there was bound to be a shortage of the precious liquid. Just how much he could get for a cup was the question. He grinned.
Yes sir, by tomorrow night, his pockets would be lined with coin.
Though Sunny wanted to gallop constantly and Lara preferred it, she reined him to a brisk trot, hoping to conserve his energy. He was too valuable to lose. She glanced at the sun, estimating that she’d been riding for close to two hours. Looking around and behind her, she only saw three riders, and one of those veered to the right as she watched. He must be heading for Kingfisher.
Lara angled Sunny to the left slightly, trying to remember all that Grandpa had told her about the lay of the land—but it all ran together with no map to refer to. Should she stop here and claim this section? And how was she to know if someone else already had when she couldn’t see the whole one hundred and sixty acres at once?
She crested a hill and allowed Sunny to pick up his speed as he descended it. A man stood in a copse of trees, waving his flagged stake as a signal to ride on. This land was claimed. “Please, Lord, help me find an available claim.”
Everything depended on it.
She kept Sunny to a trot across the hilly land as much as possible, knowing the horse could last much longer at that speed. She crossed several more rolling hills and realized there was no one around. She searched right and left. Only a single rider followed her. Was this the spot she should claim?
One more hill—to see if there was a water source—and she would stop. She held her breath as she crested the hill and pulled Sunny to a stop. His sides expanded and shrank with his labored breathing.
A wide creek, surrounded by trees on both sides ran through the beautiful span of land. She looked to her left, and her stomach clenched at the sight of a stack of stones that indicated the corner point where four sections of land met. Her heart picked up speed. She could claim this land. It was perfect. And not a soul was in sight.
But hoofbeats pounded behind her—close behind.
“Hi’yah, Sunny!” She slapped the reins against his neck.
The surprised horse bolted forward and down the hill. Rocks scattered beneath his hooves. Lara held her breath, wishing she hadn’t pushed him so hard on the slope, but her family’s existence rested on her getting this land.
Suddenly, Sunny stumbled. Lara grasped at the saddle horn, but her hand slipped. Strings of Sunny’s mane slid through her fingers as she scrambled for a hold. And then she was flying over the horse, through the air. Darkness claimed her.
Gabe’s heart nearly flew from his chest as he watched Lara sail over the head of her falling horse. He should have called out to her. Let her know it was he who was following her, then maybe she wouldn’t have felt the need to hurry so badly. He should have slowed down and not pressed her. This was his fault.
At the bottom of the hill, he jumped off Tempest before the horse stopped and ran to Lara. Blood seeped from a cut above her eyebrow, as well as multiple scrapes on her face and hands.
He jumped up and grabbed the reins of the buckskin, at the same time checking to see if the horse was injured. At least the gelding was standing. Blood ran down his front legs, but all four hooves were securely on the ground. The horse panted and blew, still winded from his long ride. Gabe needed to cool down the animals, but first he had to tend to Lara. He led her gelding to a shady spot and checked to see where Tempest was. The horse had found water and was helping himself to a drink. Gabe jogged over to him, grabbed the reins and tied them to a hackberry bush. Then he unfastened his bedroll and bag of supplies, making sure to keep his claim stake close at hand. Picking a wide-open spot, he shoved the blue-flagged stake into the ground, becoming an instant landowner. Pride swelled through him, but it was short-lived.
Under the shade of an oak tree, he shook out his bedroll then hurried to Lara’s side, scooped her up, and carried her to his blanket, where he laid her. She moaned but didn’t awaken. He knew little about doctoring, except that he needed to tend her wounds and cover the worst of them. Tugging off his bandana, he jogged back to the creek, dipped a corner of it in water, and returned to Lara’s side. Kneeling beside her, he gently pressed the damp cloth against the biggest cut. It probably needed stitching up, but he had no needle or thread.
But maybe she did. He glanced at the buckskin and realized there was no gear attached to the saddle. Looking back at the hill, he saw that Lara’s satchel and bedding had come loose in the fall. He quickly fetched the items, along with her battered straw hat, and brought them back. He felt odd rummaging through her unmentionables, but it had to be done. The first thing he noticed was the sad state of her grayed garments. Oh, they were clean, but faded and frayed. He tugged out a petticoat, easily ripping the thin fabric into strips. At the bottom of the bag, he discovered a rolled-up piece of fabric and untied and unrolled it, thanking God for the supplies inside.
The only thing missing was a bottle of whiskey to cleanse the wound and ease her pain, not that he thought she would imbibe. Ten minutes later, he sat
back on his heels and studied his handiwork. Lara would have a jagged scar, but it would heal, and maybe her hair would hide it.
She’d be horrified to know that he’d run his hands down each of her limbs, making sure there were no breaks—and thanked God there weren’t. Those pants, which surprised the dickens out of him, had protected her legs. She would be sore and in pain for a few days, but she would live. He hoped.
He heard a scuffling and saw a rider sliding down the rocky hillside. Gabe strode out to let the man know the land had been claimed. He started to motion to the man to ride on, but a thought streaked across his mind.
“Hey, mister, you got any whiskey?”
The man grinned and reined to a halt, his horse prancing and blowing hard. “You aim to celebrate gettin’ a claim?”
Gabe shook his head. “My woman got hurt. Her horse didn’t take that hill as well as yours and mine. I need some whiskey to cleanse her wounds.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He reached behind him, unfastened his saddlebags, and pulled out a half-empty bottle of scotch. He gave it a lingering look then tossed it to Gabe. “I guess your lady needs it more than I do. Mind if I water my horse a speck from your creek?”
“Go right ahead, and thanks a heap. And no one has passed us in a long while, so the next section may be unclaimed.”
“Thanks!” The cowboy grinned and tipped his hat and trotted his horse toward the creek. Gabe rushed back to Lara’s side, mulling over the fact that he had a creek on his own land.
When he poured a small portion of the scotch on Lara’s forehead, she groaned and twisted away from him. She raised a hand toward the cut, but Gabe grabbed her hand and pulled it away.
“W–what happened? W–where am I?”
He plugged the bottle and scooted closer to her. “Your horse took a fall, and you fell off. Injured your head, mostly.”
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