Bart and Frank paced the cell they shared, passing each other. Frank was pale and gnawed his fingernails.
“We’ve got to find a way to get out of here and go after Georgie and Chris.” Bart paused from time to time to grasp the bars and give them a shake. They were solid though, and wouldn’t give way.
Night had fallen, and Steve was just dozing off. Tomorrow would take care of itself—he’d learned that through his years in the army and while he’d been a wagon master.
Suddenly he heard a voice whisper, “Bart?”
“George?” Bart scrambled up on his bunk and peered through the bars of his cell. “Thank God you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you? Those bastards didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Noelle?” Frank sounded desperate to know the fate of the young girl. Steve couldn’t blame him. Once those
