Prologue

1851, Lawton, Indian Territory

“Don’t move! The bandits could be anywhere!” Cole Weston hissed.

Instinctively, the two girls in front of him dropped to a crouch on the arid Oklahoma prairie, their eyes wide. One was as blonde as a goldenrod flower, while the other had hair as black as a raven’s wing.

The sun glared into Cole’s eyes, causing a drip of perspiration to run down his brow, and his chubby hand tightened on the long wooden rifle. The plains’ grasses were orange and dry with this late summer heat, and for a moment nothing moved.

“Cole! Stop being such a fiddlehead. I’m not going to sit down here in the dirt all day!” the slightly taller of the two girls — the one with raven hair— shouted and stood up suddenly. Ada Weston was all of seven years old and the middle sibling of the Weston tribe, and she had clearly had enough of her older brother’s foolishness.

Why does she always have to ruin the game? Cole Weston despaired. He had been told by Ma and Pa to get his two errant sisters out from under their feet on the ranch today, and even with plenty of wide open land and acres to explore, Ada and Nellie were still being stubborn brats as far as he could see. He was twelve years old. That made him the oldest and the one in charge.

“You two gonna argue?” Nellie looked up at them, her dress and face smudged with prairie dust. Suddenly, a gap-toothed grin spread over her face.

“Look! A bird!” she cried out, pointing over Cole’s shoulder.

He turned to see not one bird but several specks of black coming off the XYZ hills and towards the settlement. From the way they cavorted, Cole guessed what they were immediately.

“Crows. Ravens, maybe. That’s some good spotting, Nellie,” he ignored Ada’s glare as he walked over to his youngest sister, scooping her up in his arms and setting her on her feet.

“But you know what? Maybe there were bandits going through here. What do you think that is, Nells?” Cole pointed at the dirt in front of them.

They were in a natural hollow between the rise and roll of parched ground. Cole knew this place flooded come winter, and this dip was all that was left of the overflow river.

There in the dirt were deeper imprints that looked like half-moons stamped all over.

“Wolves?” Nellie’s breath hitched.

Cole laughed, throwing a glance at Ada to make sure that she hadn’t wandered off too far. She was pretending not to pay attention, but he saw the way she glanced at the dirt tracks, too.

“Ada?” he asked. “You remember those, right?”

“That’s easy, of course I do. Horses, Cole.” Ada rolled her eyes and groaned.

“That’s right. A horse came this way and—” Cole squinted, looking at the tracks. He tried to remember what Pa had taught him about tracking.

You have to imagine the animal that made them. How big they were. How they moved.

“Too many tracks here. I’d say two horses, maybe, and they went up the hollow.” Cole hunched down to look at the dirt some more. He tried to figure out how recent the tracks were, but he couldn’t remember how to tell.

“But don’t worry. If there are any bandits, I’ll shoot them straight off their saddles, and then we can take their horses for our ranch!” Cole made an exaggerated growl as he stood up. He flourished his wooden rifle in the air like he was picking off riders in the distance. His rifle was carved out of one piece of ash wood, and it was about the best thing that Pa had ever given him.

Nellie squealed in delight, while even Ada smirked at his antics. He made ‘ptchoo’ noises as he pretended to duck and fire and whirl from one side to the next.

“COLE!”

A scream cut through the hot summer air. It was their mother’s voice, and it was set at a pitch that Cole had never heard before. His stomach somersaulted as soon as he heard it.

“ADA! NELLIE!”

Cole spun around, and that was when he heard the first snarl of shots in the distance. He knew what pistol fire sounded like. All the Weston children did.

“Ada, stay close to me!” Cole said, turning at once to scoop Nellie into his arms before turning back towards their ranch. It wasn’t very far away, although all the family ranches of their home in Lawton, Oklahoma were spread out across the rolling prairie land.

“I’m coming!” His mother’s voice was a desperate shriek, and Cole struggled to hold the squirming Nellie, forcing himself to run faster. Whatever had happened, it was bad, really bad.

“Cole!” This time it was Ada’s voice which cut through the air, and it was shot through with fear. Cole slid to a halt to realize he had raced past her as Ada had lagged behind. He turned… to hear a terrifying whoop as riders burst out from around the hill, following the dried river bed behind them. There were three of them, on piebald black and white ponies, and Cole’s heart hammered in his throat.

“Indians,” he whispered. Time appeared to slow down to a halt and he saw every detail of their attackers. The victorious snarls on their faces, their long black hair in loose knots or braids whipping behind them, the way they leaned forward and low over their horses’ mounts with only reins but no saddle or stirrups. In their hands they held up their long rifles, shaking them in the air in fury.

The Indians were coming straight for them. Cole knew instantly that there was no time to run.

“Hide! The bushes!” he hissed, spinning in his tracks to plunge into the dense sassafras grass, and straggly, summer-dried bushes that crowded the dried up river bed. His calves erupted in flames of pain as thorns scratched and bit at him. Twigs caught at his clothing and Nellie let out a low moan.

“Shush, Nells, shush!” He clamped his baby sister close against his shoulder. The wild whoops of the riders were getting louder, the Indians were screeching in blood-curdling cries, and the pounding of their horses’ hooves made a thundering noise on the dry earth.

Maybe they won’t be interested in kids — the thought rushed through Cole’s mind as he pushed deeper. At least the horses wouldn’t follow into the brush, would they?

More cracks split the air as people let off guns, but Cole couldn’t tell if it was the Indians firing at them or the Lawton townsfolk shooting back. He pushed into a particularly dense patch of black-barked thorn bushes and dropped to a crouch. These violent plants were old — with thickened trunks shooting high, curling whips in a whirl around them — and forming a natural hollow at their base. Cole set Nellie down as the hollers and calls continued behind them and put a finger to his lips.

“You gotta be quiet, Nells.” He looked down to see his sister’s eyes were large and dark, her chubby face pale with terror.

Where was Ada? Cole looked up, and back the way they had come. Ada was supposed to be right behind them. Where had she gone?

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get Ada,” he hissed, looking through the thicket of bramble branches, before pushing himself through.

“Ada?” Cole whispered. All he could hear were shouting voices and the sound of stamping hooves.

A shrill scream burst into the sky. It was Ada’s voice; Cole would recognize it anywhere. He jumped up, heedless of the lines of pain that scored down his body from the jagged bushes in time to see the flash of a white rump. Two of the Indians were on the run, racing back the way they had come as gunfire sounded across the plains after them.

There was a heap on the river bed. One of the Indians was lying on the floor, sprawled at an odd angle and his horse was gone. Cole immediately saw red seeping across the Indian’s back where he had been shot.

“Ada?” Panic tore through him. Where was she?

Cole called again, heedless of the sounds of shouting as he forced his way to the dry river bed to see that his sister had gone.

“Cole! Get away from there!” His mother was shouting, as she and a number of the other Lawton ranch-folk crested the edge of the river embankment, their rifles in hand. Cole saw his mother reload in smooth, practiced movements as she trained the gun on the dead Indian while the others slid down the side of the bank.

“Where are your sisters, Cole?”

Cole heard his mother’s terse voice and suddenly realized what had happened. He felt like his whole world had turned upside down, and as if his heart had fallen out of his chest.

His mother and the others hadn’t run into Ada heading their way — because Ada hadn’t got that far.

His little sister had been taken by the Indians.

Chapter One

1861, Lawton, Indian Territory

“Son.”

Cole looked up from the dazzle of bright morning light to see his father’s kindly, but worried eyes as he placed a firm hand on Cole’s shoulder. Around them came the scatter of tears and rushed voices, as other families waited at the staging post to mount one of the big caravans, destined for the war.

He’s looking up at me now, Cole realized. He didn’t remember exactly when he had overtaken his father, but now the twenty-five year old found himself staring down at a man marked with age. His eyes were lined with wrinkles and his head was stooped where once Cole remembered him standing as tall and strong as a redwood.

“Pops?” Cole whispered. He could see his mother behind him, holding Nellie’s hand in a vice-like grip from which his little sister was busy trying to disentangle herself. On the other side of his mother was the regular vacant space where Ada should be, but hadn’t been since that terrible day…

Stop thinking about that. Trust in God. Cole shook his head and refocused on his dad, who was trying to tell him something about provisions.

“…your mama was worried, so she packed them anyway. And you’ve got your tool kit, just like I told you? I know they’ll give you all sorts of things as soon as you get billeted, but you must keep your tool kit. I can’t tell you how many times a bit of stitching saved my life.”

“I got it, Pops,” Cole patted the bag on his shoulder and sighed. It was probably the third time either his father or mother had made him go through the inventory of what he was carrying, and all he could think about was how heavy the bag was already.

“And your rifle. They’ll try to give you a new one, but the Springfield is one of the finest they ever made,” his father said brusquely, for Cole to heave the weight of his father’s prized rifle on his other arm.

“You didn’t have to give this to me, Dad…” he started to say, for a shadow of his father’s old strength suddenly flared through him.

“Be quiet and take the rifle, son. You promise to take care of yourself out there, won’t you? You come back. Come back for your Ma and Nellie,” his father’s voice wavered on the last line, and it wasn’t just from the years of smoking Virginia tobacco. This was the part that made Cole’s heart break. He couldn’t stand seeing his father weak.

He didn’t say for Ada, of course, and Cole didn’t expect it — but her absence was still an Ada-shaped hole at the end of every sentence, the empty chair at every family meal. Cole knew exactly what his father was saying. Their family had already suffered one terrible loss, and his father was scared that his mother wouldn’t stand it if she lost another child.

“I’ll come back, Pa. I promise,” Cole said, reaching up to put his hand over his father’s as it squeezed his shoulder. For a moment, that old strength was back, and Cole felt tendons like stock wire and a grip that could wrestle an unruly colt.

Then the grip faded, and with it a spark of light in his father’s eyes as Cole watched the man dwindle into himself, stepping back.

“You do that, son, you do that,” old man Weston said, as he made way back to his mother and little sister to say his goodbyes.

“Damn those Union tyrants!” his mother hissed fiercely, as she grabbed Cole in a one-handed hug that Cole returned.

“Hey, careful Ma — you’ll break one of my ribs before I even get going!” Cole gasped, but he still felt joy flooding through him. He didn’t think his father’s estimation was right, and thought that his mother would probably outlive all of them.

“Just you give ‘em hell and get back safe,” his mother said.

“I will, Ma. Someone’s got to stop them,” he agreed. Everyone had heard the stories about how the Union was eating up states; getting them to sign up to some federal government that no one voted for, and then demanded they pay rates and taxes. Cole didn’t know so much about that side of things, but he’d listened to the recruiters who had spent the last spring coming around, travelling to every village and ranch around here, and extolling the evils of the new Unionist power.

“Someone always does,” his mother sighed and suddenly disengaged, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes as it was Nellie’s turn.

Cole wasn’t prepared for his sister’s sudden cannonball hug as she ran at him and hugged him even tighter than his mother had.

“Poop-head,” Nellie said to him, breaking off just as quickly before hitting him in the arm.

If that was all the retribution he got from her for leaving her and going off to war, Cole thought he was probably doing alright. Nellie, with her straggling dirty-blonde hair and crooked frown had grown into a terror in the last ten years. Even though she was barely thirteen now, she already had half the folk of Lawton scared of getting on the wrong side of her. Cole was going to miss her play fights, and even her temper.

“Move out! We haven’t got all day! Come and meet your future, my lads!” There was the shout of the caravan driver — one of the lead recruiters by the name of Elwood — as the young man banged the side of the caravan and jumped up to take the reins of the four-horse pulling team.

This was it. Cole clambered up alongside the other young men of Oklahoma, heading for the nearest confederate muster point, to be sent to their first training camp. As soon as had he found a seat, one of the other confederate recruits — a slightly older fella than Cole with a pudgy face — turned to him.

“What’s that, a Springer? You know they won’t let you keep that, right?” the chubbier youth made to reach over to swipe Cole’s rifle, before he quickly yanked it back.

“Over my dead body!” Cole cradled his father’s rifle across his chest. It was his father’s most prized possession.

“Suit yourself. Let’s see what the sergeant thinks about it, shall we?” the chubby guy gave Cole a gap-toothed smile.

“Hey! Easy down back there. Save it for the Union, huh?” Elwood suddenly turned around to holler, before catching sight of Cole, still hugging the rifle to him.

“Good on you, bringing your own. Armory will be happy about that!” Elwood laughed, turning to shout loudly and crack the reins to get the horses into a kicking start.

Their caravan kicked up the dust as its wheels suddenly started to roll.

Ma! Pa! Cole turned back around to try and get a glimpse of his family, but couldn’t see them through the smoke. Why had he been so stupid as to get into an argument when he could have been waving at them? He cursed himself as he waited for the dust to settle. When it did, the strip of houses at Lawton staging post looked like children’s toys, but he could still see the small crowd of people gathered there.

Cole raised his hand. He swore that he could see Nellie’s yellow bandanna, but then it was gone in the crowd, and Cole realized that nothing would ever be the same again.

***

“Eyes sharp, everybody,” Elwood said as he urged the horses a little faster down the trail. It was their second day of travel and they had come off the high plains to cut their way through rolling, wooded hills.

“This here, is Indian territory, as I’m sure you all know,” Elwood called out, staring with keen eyes as he angled his ten gallon hat against the sun’s glare. Their recruiter had a strong southern twang, and if Cole had to guess, then he’d reckon the man was from Texas. He didn’t look too much at ease with heading through the swathe of land that had been set aside for the Native Indians.

It was still a very volatile area, Cole knew, as everyone in Oklahoma did. The Indian territories were full of tribes that had been forcibly pushed out of their old lands, and they were eager to exact revenge in the form of raids or attacks.

The men who took Ada are in here somewhere, the murderous thought flashed through Cole’s mind.

Took, he reminded himself, not killed. He prayed every night that Ada was still out there somewhere, despite both his mother and father saying that there was no hope anymore.

Surely God wouldn’t just take her like that, Cole reasoned with himself. It was the only way he could make sense of the tragedy.

It would take them another day to get through to Gainesville, Texas, where they were to be welcomed into the confederate training camp.

But this is the quickest route, isn’t it? Cole thought as he settled into his seated position and checked his rifle. The sights were straight and true, just as Cole didn’t expect anything less from anything his father owned. It was a multi-shot rifle, capable of holding six bullets in the stock, which he loaded with precision from the bandolier that his father had also given him.

Around Cole, the other raw recruits struggled with the rifles that the confederates had brought with them. Most of the people here ranged from seventeen —and perhaps a few years younger than that, by the looks of them — to their late twenties, and while most seemed familiar with rifles, there were a sizeable number who weren’t.

“You need to press the stock into the shoulder like this, see? It’s for the recoil,” Cole showed another of the incredibly young looking recruits, as their wagon clipped and wobbled forwards. He got a nervous, resentful look in response, but also noticed how the youth tried to copy his stance all the same.

The day grew long, and the sun started to descend towards the distant Dallas hills as Elwood drove them tirelessly on through the brush. Cole got the sensation that there were eyes watching them from every bush and behind every tree. He’d be surprised if the Indians didn’t already know they were there.

“Okay. Well, we’re not going to make the border tonight. We’re going to have to find a camp and bed down, and make for Gainesville in the morning!” Elwood called out.

“Bad idea,” Cole muttered under his breath.

“What’s that back there? Someone got a problem?” Elwood half turned to call back, just as there was a phwip of something tearing the air.

Elwood, the confederate recruiter and guide jerked forward and slumped over the reins, blood spreading down his neck.