CHAPTER 3

Harp and Emory traced and retraced a route on the maps spread out on the board table, under the flapping canvas shade, of how to come out west of Fort Worth. That would be a month. Then they’d have the stage route to follow to where they crossed the Red River and use it up through the Indian Territory to Fort Smith. On the far side of the Arkansas River at Fort Smith, they’d go north on the Butterfield route to Cassville, then over to Springfield. From there take the main road that went north to Sedalia, Missouri, and the railhead.

It looked easy on paper. But he could imagine all the problems they’d have from weather and people still wanting to resurrect fighting all over again. But they would make it. He had no doubt about that whatsoever.

“Tomorrow we roll out?”

Emory agreed. They had a long road to go. Conditions and people would get no better.

There was something in the air the first morning. Harp tried to spell it out. Was it the excitement of at last going north? Every hand was excited. Even his buffalo horse was fidgety when he saddled him. The new cook Ira Smith would do. He made a great breakfast. Doug was now set to ride point with Chaw. They were already out there and both knew the way for the next day. The wagons were loaded and rolling. Long had described to Ira the next night’s campground. The six-foot-tall cook knew the place.

An hour out, Long left Doug in place as right point rider, and with Chaw on his left set out to find the second night’s camp. Harp studied the big blue steer out in front leading, with the ringing bell on the great belt around his neck. He reined up and moved his horse aside to let the long line pass. They were going north.

Cowboys keeping the herd in place—together. Following each other’s tails like oxen yoked together for their lives to pull freight wagons and plows. Hard as it was to believe they were finally bound for Missouri with him and Long in charge—The O’Malley Brothers from Texas.