Trail of Courage

1When a land forgets its legends, See but falsehoods in its past, When a nation views its sires In the light of fools and liars— ’Tis a sign of its decline, And its glories cannot last. Maj. J. Fairfax-Blakeborough Southeastern Colorado Territory, April 1856 “I am going on that wagon train whether you like it or not.” Megan folded her arms over her chest, her stance wide and defiant as she faced her adopted family. Pa Floyd growled. “Megan Susanne Floyd, we understand you need to find out what happened to yer brother, but our concerns lie with the train. It’s too early in the year fer travelin’. You were too young to remember the trip gettin’ here. Injun attacks are bad enough, but it’s spring. Winter ain’t quite over yet, and it usually has a few late surprises. Just when we think it’s over, a snowstorm hits. You’re takin’ a risk, goin’ back through Injun country.” He pulled on his beard as his anxiety increased. “Don’ understand why they’re not takin’ the Santa Fe Trail.” Megan gave her father a tight smile. “We’re traveling southeast to avoid the Kiowa and Comanche war at Sandy Creek. According to Mr. Peabody at the General Store, there should be plenty of water on the southern route. Besides, we’ve got no choice in the matter. If the train’s going south, so are we.” Pa swiped his hand over his mustache and down his grey beard, pulling on it again. “Don’t rightly trust that Jones feller none. But Paul’s goin’ with you. Keep your eyes open wide, Megan girl.” She nodded. “I will, Pa.” She glanced at Paul then turned her gaze back to her father, who scratched at his whiskered face. The familiar motion pulled her lips upward. “We will.” “Yer smart enough to know five wagons ain’t safe against an Injun attack.” Pa stressed his objections in his usual quiet voice. Seeing her knowing grin, he forced his hand down to his side. He nodded toward the small group of people climbing into their wagons at the far end of the wheel-rutted street. “Them folks ain’t made from the same stock as most of us out here. They’re city folk an’ don’t belong where every day is a struggle. The law is who draws a g*n the fastest. The train leader—that Jones feller—ain’t impressed me none at all. He’s a mite shifty.” Pa glanced around their small group: his wife, who nodded in agreement with his last statement, and their two oldest sons. His watery gaze rested on the two younger children. “Guess, I shouldn’t be callin’ either of you children anymore, but,” he pulled his wife to his side. “You know your ma and I always thought of you as our own, and we’re right proud of how the two of you have grown up.” He stood a little straighter and gave Megan and Paul a quick nod. “Right proud.” Megan fidgeted with the small satchel in her hands. She knew she was different from most women and didn’t fit in with proper folks. Her long, black braid, honey-colored skin, and dark brown eyes let everyone know she was Indian, although from what tribe remained a mystery. She also knew her adopted father was worried about how the people in Arkansas and Tennessee would react to her asking questions about her murdered parents. It was her older brother, Clay, she wanted to learn about. What had happened to him? Why had he never tried to find her? She caught Paul’s gaze and gave him a tiny smile. His sun-bleached brown hair curled against the short collar of his off-white shirt, and his fingers worried the brim of his worn, brown slouch hat. Pa was right. Paul had grown into a respectable young man. His story was so like hers but worse. Her parents had been taken from her while his father and brother had left him behind to die. Because they shared such a similar past, they had bonded almost immediately. One night when she’d caught him crying, he confided to her that his mother had also been killed—like hers had. In an unaccustomed move, Paul grabbed hold of Megan’s hand, his pale green eyes staring down at her. “If this is what you need to do…” “It is.” Megan wanted to cry. These people had taken her in when she was a ten-year-old child and raised her as their own. They were good people—but this trip was too important to her. Searching for her brother at the Mississippi River landing in Eastern Arkansas was vital. Before she could move on with her life, she had to know what had happened to him…uncertainty about his fate had followed her for seventeen years. Still, a part of her felt guilty, as if she were betraying the Floyds and all they’d done for her. Boots clapped on the boarded sidewalk and stopped behind her. Whoever it was cleared his throat. “Miss Floyd, the wagon train’s ready to head out. If’n we want to make the pass by night, we can’t tarry any longer.” Megan turned and offered the scruffy mountain man a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. Mr. Daniels and I won’t be long.” He hobbled back down the sidewalk and stepped off into the muddy street, heading toward the small cluster of wagons next to the livery stable. She followed the line of storefronts with her gaze. Shopkeepers and customers bustled in and out of the buildings as they went about their daily lives. She’d worked in her father’s trading post for years and knew most of these people. They were her friends. With a sigh, she turned back to her family, their faces pinched with worry. She pressed a fist over the ache in her chest. “I’m sorry…” Ma Floyd threw her arms around Megan’s neck and held on tight for a few moments then dropped her arms and stepped away. “Okay, now. I’m a mite worried ’bout you agoin’ with them city folk—don’t even know how t’ properly shoot a g*n. But you’re a good girl. Smart and steady goin’. And you’ll have Paul travelin’ along to protect you as well. Go. Find your brother, then come on back home. Both o’ you.” “You keep yer eyes and ears open, li’l sis.” Seth’s deep voice rumbled. “There’s Injun trouble everywhere.” “Mind your rifles, and make sure you have plenty of ammunition. Stock up at Fort Gibson, even if you don’t run into any trouble. You can never have enough,” Tom added, his voice a bit more gravelly than usual. Through her tears, Megan offered a shaky smile. Turning, she walked toward the wagon train and an unknown future. Neutral land between Texas and Kansas “I don’t like this one bit,” Paul groused. “We should’ve made camp several hours ago. Oxen might be able to eat grass along the way, but they still need to rest as much as horses or mules.” “Mr. Jones swears there’s a river just up ahead deep enough for the animals and for refilling the water barrels.” Megan understood her brother’s worry. Her own head was filled with doubts about the men leading this wagon train. “He said that two hours ago,” he whispered in a low voice, pulling his coat tighter. The weather was cold for spring, and the strong, biting wind didn’t help matters. She turned her angry frown toward him. “And what do you suppose we should do? Stop here?” She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a loud huff. “We’re already considered troublemakers thanks to your constant yammering about Indians.” “But—” She reached over and pinched his lips shut with her fingers as she glared at him. “Don’t say another word. I know there are Indians out there, but it’s no use trying to convince Jones.” “Umm, Miss Floyd?” Megan’s head jerked toward the male voice nearby. “Mr. Johnson! I-I’m sorry, did you need something?” She hit Paul’s shoulder with her fist and hissed, “That’s for embarrassing me. If I hadn’t been so focused on you…” “That’s all right. I had a brother once too. Ornery to the end, he was. I was wantin’ to ask the two of you about your huntin’. Our oldest, Shawn, said you were able to kill a few rabbits yesterday and…well…” He pulled his collar away from his neck with his finger, then roughly adjusted his hat. “To be honest, we had a bad time of it back in Cañon City. I’m not the best hunter, and this cold weather ain’t helpin’ none. Fewer animals to hunt.” Megan smiled. “Would you like for us to help? We can even teach Shawn if he’d like to learn, so he can help out too.” Even in the dim evening light, she saw the relief wash over Mr. Johnson’s face. “My wife and I would be much obliged. We didn’t want to ask anyone else. The others don’t seem to be farin’ much better than we are.” “We’ve noticed the same thing. Paul and I would be glad to help out your family, Mr. Johnson.” “Please, name’s Nate. This here’s my wife, Kathy, and you’ve met Shawn and little Katie.” “I’m Megan Floyd, and this is Paul Daniels.” Kathy’s head peered around her husband’s broad shoulders. “Miss Floyd—Megan—we’d be right proud for you to camp beside us instead of keeping to yourselves. It’s not safe. A weight would be lifted if you’d let us help out with the cooking. The children are now quite good at washing up.” Megan met her brother’s gaze and winked. Turning, she smiled at Kathy and was amazed when the older woman’s smile erased ten years. She must have been pretty before she moved west. “I speak for both of us when I say we would love some help,” Paul said. “It’s been hard since we left home. I’m ’fraid we haven’t made the best impression with the others on this train.” Megan slapped Paul’s leg. “Who hasn’t made the best impression?” When he didn’t respond, she asked again, trying not to laugh and knowing the Johnsons’ chuckles weren’t helping any. “Paul…” “Fine,” he grumbled. “I haven’t made a good impression.” “Well, then. That’s all settled.” She sighed. “Ma always says there’s a light at the end of a dark tunnel, and this journey just got a bit brighter.” Near Ft. Smith, Arkansas Bryan MacConnell stared at the ruins of his family’s home. Nothing was left of the modest house except broken wood and the burned remains of everything his family owned. And he saw no sign of his grandfather. This was not the homecoming he’d envisioned after resigning his post as a US Army captain in Indian Territory a few weeks back. For the past seventeen years, he’d traveled through some of the roughest terrains, scouting for renegade Indians and looking for possible fort sites. But the sight greeting him now was almost as bad as what he’d witnessed on the prairie. He’d enjoyed the nomadic, solitary life, but now he wanted more. His grandfather’s failing health had given him the push he needed. Grandfather was the only family he had left. Turning, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Grandfather!” He waited a few seconds, listening for a response. Where was he? The barn was mostly intact. A miracle, considering the building was made of wood and filled with dried hay. He glanced inside, but nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him except for the silence. The animals and his grandfather were gone. Everything looked normal inside, except for the lack of livestock. Had whoever done this taken him? He shook his head in frustration and walked back to where his horse was tied. He had one foot in the stirrup when he heard a small cough followed by a low grunt. Dropping his leg, he ran to an overgrown path. As he got closer, he heard another, deeper grunt. The trail led to an ancient burial ground deeper in the forest. The plants were brown and lifeless from the winter months. The long-forgotten rock structures had been his favorite stomping grounds growing up, so he knew the trail well. Halfway along the unused track, he found him. He appeared uninjured and was dragging and pulling a small, shaggy, dark brown goat behind him. Not a tall man, his grandfather’s bowed shoulders and lean form were visible through his buffalo-hide coat, belying a hidden strength age hadn’t seemed to diminish. “Bryan! It’s good you’re home!” Reading the concern on Bryan’s face, Grandfather’s smile fell. The welcoming sparkle in his dark eyes turned into a sharp glint as he let go of the rope tied around the goat’s neck and shuffled forward. Bryan held up his hand at the unspoken question in his grandfather’s eyes. “Nothing’s wrong.” He almost choked on the words, hoping they weren’t a lie. “I was just worried about you. You’re all right?” Grandfather stopped in the center of the path, both fists propped against his bony hips. His bushy gray eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Do I seem injured or sick? Faa—you worry over nothing. I am strong as buffalo. Now, what is left of house? I was roundin’ up Sam’s goat before he ate everything in sight. Managed to get animals out through door in back of barn.” Bryan stared at the older man and let out a quick sigh of relief. “You know about the house?” The wrinkles in his scowl doubled. “I may be old, but mind’s sharp as eagle’s. Senses still work too. Heard men’s laughter and taunts as they set fire to house and barn. Been some trouble with white men in town. Claimed we stole land. Even spoke to white government to have us removed.” Bryan turned and walked beside him. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I was worried you and Sam were hurt. If your best friend’s goat is here, where is he?” “Chasing men who burned our home.” Bryan stood beside his grandfather in front of the charred ruins of their family home. The structure wasn’t much, but he’d grown up here. Working this land hadn’t been easy. His father had been a trapper, not a farmer. Luck had always followed Ian MacConnell. After several skirmishes with the law, his father had found himself married to a beautiful Caddo girl with a baby on the way, raising cattle. With the help of his wife’s large Caddo family, he’d sold his beef to the army for a small profit, but couldn’t get the wanderlust out of his system. His father had left when Bryan was young, and he’d never heard from him again. Bryan kicked through the rubble, scattering ash and small pieces of charred wood, looking for anything salvageable. Not that he was expecting to find much. They’d never had many possessions to begin with. After his father’s disappearance, they’d struggled to keep the ranch going. The Caddo were farmers, only hunting occasionally for meat. But his mother had never given up hope her Ian would come back to her. She’d tried to fill the gap left by his father’s absence, but her short life had been hard and lonely. When the cholera epidemic had spread through the region, her death had been a blessing. “There is nothing left, Grandson.” The old man’s voice, gravelly and hoarse from age and overuse, comforted him. The words, however, did not. Everything was gone. Bryan turned and met his grandfather’s clear gaze, wondering at the old man’s strength. Years fell away, and he felt like a small child again, with his grandfather calmly taking care of the situation. If Grandfather hadn’t gone in search of Sam’s troublesome goat… With one last sweep of his foot, Bryan turned over a lump of material. Once he brushed off the ash and dirt, he discovered it was more dirty than it was burned. The underside remained untouched by the fire. Bold geometric patterns in blue, green, and tan stood out from underneath layers of ash and dirt. His grandmother’s wedding quilt. Bryan knelt, resting one denim-covered knee on the floor. With the back of his hand, he brushed off the dirt. Cradling the blanket in one arm, he stood. Ignoring the stunned gasp from behind him, he unfolded the heirloom, the pressure in his chest growing as his lungs demanded air. He opened the last fold in the small blanket and sucked in a long, relieved breath. The edges were singed and blackened in places, but the beautiful woven design was intact. He closed his eyes in quiet relief. His grandmother’s death had been difficult for their small family. He and his mother had worried about Grandfather. Their love for each other had made Bryan feel safe as a child when his own father was never there. In the worst of times, his grandparents’ love had remained strong. He stared at the well-worn material in his grasp with the ghost of a smile. The blanket held a lifetime of love. Bryan wanted that kind of love. As a veteran soldier, traveling from place to place never left a lot of time for courting. Life as a scout was dangerous. He never knew if the next band of Indians he encountered would be friendly or on the warpath. There were too many relocated tribes in an area unsuitable for keeping everyone apart. Filled with a barren yet stately beauty, the Indian Territory and the lands west were severe and uncompromising. Women did not live there. At least not the kind of woman he would want to settle down with. He turned, passed the quilt to his grandfather, and walked away from the ruins. Gathering up their few horses, he secured them to an unburned portion of the corral’s fence. Rounding up the goats and their one cow, he herded them several miles down the narrow trail to the closest neighbor’s farm. Hopefully, they would take them in exchange for a small wagon. Then somehow, before morning, he would have to convince Grandfather and Sam to make the trip with him into Indian Territory.