Prologue

Night Bear was filled with fury, burning hot and bitter, as he spoke with Gray Elk, the leader of the Crow Tribe. The hour was late. The camp was resting in silence. Only the sound of a lonely wind howling across the open plains like a tortured spirit offered company. The wind bit at a weak fire that would soon fade into darkness.

Night Bear could sense his leader was already weary and thirsty for sleep. “We must attack,” he said in his native tongue. “The white man is growing too dangerous.”

Gray Elk nodded as firelight flickered across the black water of his dark eyes.

Night Bear remained steady and patient. Gray Elk was older than he was—and wiser—but Night Bear feared that he was afraid of the white man. He sensed it in Gray Elk’s expression, the way he held back—heavy with restraint, cautious and guarded. At the same time, Night Bear understood his hesitation. They had reason to fear.

They had all seen what the white man was capable of.

Still, he thought, if we do not fight now—if we continue to hold back—our children will suffer even more than they already have.

“The white man has attacked us without mercy,” Night Bear said. “They push deep into Crow land. Many of our warriors have been killed. The white man come with their guns, burn our camps, and leave our dead on the ground like dung.”

The image of a wild party of white men riding into the Crow camp like shadows in the middle of winter—when food had been scarce and the cold deadlier than a hungry bear—cut into Night Bear’s mind like a dead man crawling out of a cursed grave. The snow had been bitter, the winds angry, when the first rifle shot. pulled him from a dream. Their warriors started yelling… Then, the smell of death had crept through the camp as the riders shot their rifles without reason or mercy.

They came to kill.

“You are remembering,” Gray Elk said in a troubled voice. “Your eyes bleed with fury.”

“My wife and two brothers were killed,” Night Bear answered, unable to hide the rage in his voice. “Our people have suffered greatly because of these intruders. They steal our food. We cannot feed our own women and children. If we do not fight now, soon, we will all sleep in death.”

Gray Elk nodded. “You speak the truth, Night Bear. I understand your fury—but fury often brings death. Anger must be bridled. A Crow warrior is taught to control his emotion, focusing on the fight, unburdened by memory or thirst for revenge. When the eagle attacks its prey, it does so only with focus and reason.”

Night Bear could not deny Gray Elk’s words. He knew his fury was not wise, and foolishness led to recklessness. However, many of the Crow’s enemies had fought with honor—before the white man arrived.

These men have no honor, no soul. They must suffer for what they have done.

“You are still warrior, Night Bear,” Gray Elk continued. “You have fought in battles and won the respect of your people. I understand your pain. Have I not also inherited the blood and suffering of our people?”

Night Bear frowned as a hard wind sliced across his face. “Gray Elk, the white man do not honor the land. The time will come when our people will have only death to hunger for.”

Gray Elk knows I’m right. His eyes hold no anger for me, only sorrow for my pain and regret for the loss that causes my rage.

Gray Elk sighed. “Night Bear, I do not disagree that these men have dishonored our people. They have touched the souls of our people with blood on their hands. That is unforgivable and cannot go unpunished. But please, listen to my words. The white man has weapons that bring more death than our weapons can. We cannot defeat them in the way we have always fought.”

“Yes, I… I know. We must adapt if we are to overcome them,” Night Bear admitted, then hesitated.

For several moments, Gray Elk studied him with piercing eyes. When Night Bear did not continue, he said, “Your eyes are not unwise. Tell me your thoughts.”

Night Bear stared into his leader’s eyes as the wind continued to howl across the open prairie. “The buffalo are becoming more scarce. Trails created by the white man are growing. One, in particular, which the white man call the ‘Oregon Trail,’ has proven to be dangerous for our tribe. Wagon trains, army patrols, trappers—many men use this trail. If they continue to invade the land of the Crow, it will soon become dead land.”

“The cursed trail,” Gray Elk spoke in a sorrowful voice. “It has brought much grief to our people.”

Nodding, Night Bear continued, “When I was scouting, I spotted a wagon train moving west down this trail, guarded by a tall man. I have learned that the white man’s army thinks good of this man. His reputation carries in the wind, far enough that even other tribes know of him.” Night Bear narrowed his eyes. “They call this man ‘Luke.’”

Gray Elk gave him a shrewd look. “You desire to attack the wagons.”

It wasn’t a question.

“We must stop them, Gray Elk,” Night Bear insisted as images rushed through his mind: his hands, carrying a dead woman to the middle of the destroyed camp; her body, laying in the snow beside two dead Crow warriors.

Her mouth, frozen with blood…

“You still see the death of your wife, Night Bear. For that, I am sorry,” Gray Elk said sadly. “You are still young, but your heart has grown old before its time.”

“They must suffer. Their women and children must suffer. We must banish them from Crow land!”

“Night Bear, you have the heart of a bear and the spirit of an eagle. I have seen you in battle, and it is a sight that would frighten even the strongest of warriors—yet you also care deeply for your people, and that will make you a great leader someday.”

Gray Elk paused, but Night Bear sensed he had more to say. The leader of the Crow tribe was very wise, and he always considered his words carefully, so Night Bear held his tongue and waited.

When Gray Elk took the hand of death, Night Bear would take his place as leader. He had taught his successor much, yet Night Bear still had much to learn from him.

As impatient as Night Bear was to strike, if his leader forbade him to attack the white man, he would obey.

Gray Elk sat very still while Night Bear waited before finally speaking. “Do you believe all of these people are our enemies, Night Bear?”

Night Bear shook his head reluctantly. “Some are blameless, as our women and children are blameless. But they have caused suffering to all our people, and as our innocents have suffered, so must theirs. These devils must taste their own blood and mourn their own dead—in ways that will terrify their hearts.”

After another long pause, Gray Elk bowed his head. “Yes, the white man must suffer, Night Bear. I may be old, but the warrior in me still cries out for vengeance.”

“Then, I have your permission to attack the wagons?” Night Bear asked, remaining steady and focused as the rage in his heart continued to burn. His soul had grown bitter, his eyes darker than this night. He hungered for the white man’s blood.

But Gray Elk was right; they must not act without thought.

The white man is not foolish, and we cannot win if we act like fools ourselves.

The song of nature filled Night Bear’s ears as he waited for his leader to answer—the whoosh of rushing wind, the whisper of rustling grass, the high-pitched chirping of night birds and insects.

At length, Gray Elk raised his head. “Stop the wagons, Night Bear. Our people must not suffer any further.”

“Yes, Gray Elk.” Night Bear stood up. “I will bring honor back to our people.”

“The Crow have never lost their honor,” Gray Elk corrected sharply, “only become cursed by the white man. We must destroy the curse.”

Gray Elk’s eyes darkened, and Night Bear suddenly realized that his elder’s rage burned just as hot and bitter as his—he just refused to allow it to control him.

His face never shows how his heart burns, but his eyes speak from his soul.

“I will take Silent Hawk, Snow Buffalo, Thunder Wolf, and Crying Eagle with me. I will leave the rest of the warriors in the camp. If I need more warriors, I will return for them.”

“Strike without mercy,” Gray Elk ordered. “The white man’s thirst to stay alive makes them venomous. As we have stared into the eyes of the snake and witnessed its evil, so too have we stared into the eyes of these intruders and seen their wicked souls.”

Night Bear stood and bowed, then went to his teepee—the empty home that had once been filled with warmth and the love of his wife.

Now, Snow Flower’s soul is far from me, taken while I lay on the ground bleeding. Unable to protect her. Watching helplessly as her body fell beside me, cold… silent.

Night Bear stared into the darkness consuming his teepee. He didn’t need light to know where his wife had once rested; he could still smell her scent, still hear her voice. They used to talk for hours into the night, cuddled next to a warm fire as snow howled outside. Even when food had been scarce and their stomachs all but empty, Snow Flower would still find a reason to smile.

A tear slid down Night Bear’s face as he mourned as a child would for his mother. He allowed the tears to fall. There was nothing else to do.

Except finish this fight.

Chapter One

“Best go meet up with Tucker and Reed,” Dane Steele told Luke Vance.

Luke was riding in front of a small wagon train on his horse, Thunder. Bush, his dog, was trotting beside him, enjoying the clear blue sky and refreshing wind coming off the plains.

Sure is a pretty day, Luke thought. Never seen the plains before. Can’t say I would want to live out here in the open like this, though. Not a town in sight for miles. Julesburg feels far away now, like I’m in the middle of nowhere.

“Okay, Dane.”

Dane had become like a second pa to Luke, who no longer called the man ‘Mr. Steele.’ When the wagon master had taken him on as a lost dog—much like Bush—Luke had never expected to come this far. There was nothing in the world Luke wouldn’t do for him.

A lot sure has happened.

He dropped back to Eve, who was driving their wagon just as easy as milk comes from a cow. “Gonna drop back and find Tucker and Reed.”

Eve smiled. “Okay. Don’t be long.”

She sure looks pretty sitting there, driving the wagon.

Eve had come a long way, developing a stronger sense of self, more drive, and plenty of grit. She’d been brave before, but now, she seemed downright fearless.

Just hate that the Devlins are back with the wagons. Thought they might be done for sure.

“That wagon of ours is doing good.”

“Sure is.” Eve kept her smile steady. “Horses are doing well, too. Land ain’t so bad, right? The trail is smooth.”

“You got that right.” Luke hesitated, reluctant to leave his wife, but he had a job to do. “Well, I better go find Tucker and Reed.”

With a last, tender look, Luke forced Thunder to ride on, passing the Devlins on his way to the rear of the wagon train.

As he passed, Ridge Devlin threw a sour look his way, but Luke paid him no mind. He was used to the man’s attitude, and there was no sense in locking horns with him. Ridge Devlin was a snake if there ever was one.

Tucker and Reed had fallen farther back than Luke had anticipated. The two were jabbering away as he rode up with Bush.

Luke smiled, glad to see Reed opening up. He was still shy in front of the womenfolk, but he’d loosened up a bit around his fellow scouts. The scout was fairly new to the train, but he had a good heart, despite his rough appearance. He didn’t look tough, exactly—more like a shrewd young banker with a mean streak and a rifle.

“How’s it going, boys?”

Reed shrugged; he may have started to relax around Tucker and Luke, but he was still a man of few words.

Tucker can hold his own. I haven’t seen Reed in a fight yet. Not sure what he’ll do. Don’t seem like the kind to turn yellow, though.

“Awful quiet out here,” Tucker remarked, then smirked. “I was just kidding Reed about Willow. He’s sweet on her.”

“Am not!” Reed barked.

“You sure ’bout that?” Luke grinned. “She’s right pretty.”

Luke examined the landscape, his grin slipping as he listened. Reed’s grumbled replies to Tucker’s teasing faded into the background.

Tucker’s right. It’s too quiet. Reckon there should be a critter or two around.

“You fellas seen anything?”

“Saw some buffalo about three miles back,” Tucker answered.

“Yeah, I saw them, too.” Luke’s stomach tightened. Something wasn’t right. He sat up on the saddle and had a good look around. “Any tracks?”

Tucker shook his head. “Ain’t nobody been down this way for a while, far as I can tell. Ground is dry, though—don’t hold prints too good.”

“Birds were singing up by the wagons…”

We ain’t far from Crow territory, and from what I’ve heard, they ain’t exactly friendly. Of course, Luke had never met a Crow Indian, so hearsay was all he had to go on.

Before Luke could share his concerns with Tucker and Reed, a speck appeared on the northern horizon. He narrowed his eyes and eventually made out a lone man on horseback.

He nodded toward the distant figure. “Look there.”

Tucker and Reed turned to look.

“Can’t tell much from here—too far away—but it’s definitely a rider,” Reed muttered. “Can’t tell if that’s an injun or a white man.”

“Indian,” Luke replied, staring at the rider. “See the way he’s sitting? No saddle on his horse.”

“Crow, most likely,” Tucker added. “Was wondering when we might see them.”

The rider just sat there, watching the wagons from a good distance away.

“Reckon he’s a scout?” Tucker asked.

Luke didn’t like the way the rider sat, motionless as a statue, just… watching. Still, he reminded himself that this land had been theirs before white settlers had arrived to claim it.

No need to reach for a rifle every time an Indian shows up.

Then, four more riders joined the first. All five sat like stoic sentries carved from granite.

“They must be Crow,” Tucker said. “Could be going after the buffalo we saw. Actually, I was gonna tell Dane it wouldn’t hurt if we hunted one or two. Mighty good meat.”

“Best leave them be,” Luke murmured. “I don’t like the looks of ’em.”

Luke continued up the trail with Tucker and Reed, and the riders didn’t follow.

“Just watching us, I reckon,” Tucker said, glancing over his shoulder as the riders faded from view. “I’ve seen some Crow before, but they usually leave us alone.”

“I guess…” Luke replied. “But you must’ve heard the talk back in Julesburg. Army renegades attacked a Crow camp last winter—killed a bunch of them for no reason.”

“Ah, them injuns ain’t gonna make no fuss,” Reed said dismissively. “The army would be on ’em like a tick on the underbelly of a bull.”

“Think Reed is right,” Tucker said. “West is changin’, Luke. The Indians know they can’t win—not saying I’m proud of that, but… this land ain’t theirs no more.” He shrugged. “Just the way it is.”

“All the same, I best tell Dane, just in case. You fellas better move up a bit and stop riding so far back from the wagons. There was five of them and only three of us—no reason to make yourselves easy targets.”

Luke had grown to think of Tucker like a brother, and he couldn’t stand the idea of anything happening to him.

Maybe me and Reed might become like brothers, too.

Luke urged Thunder into a canter to catch up with the train, deciding to check on his wife before reporting to Dane. He rode up to his wagon and greeted Eve. “Bench sore yet?”

“Not yet.” Eve smiled. “Been sitting here thinking about how pretty this prairie is… how open. I’ve never seen land like this, Luke.” Then, she frowned. “The air is warm, but I can almost feel winter in it, like the chill never quite leaves the plains.”

“Well, we’re heading for the Cheyenne Pass, and plenty of snow builds up in the mountains in winter.” Luke tried to sound casual, but he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder.

To his relief, Tucker and Reed had reached the back of the wagons. Tucker was smart. Luke could read him the way brothers do. Satisfied that his fellow scouts were safe as anyone could be out here, he turned back to Eve. Every time he looked at her, he saw what he was fighting to protect. Eve was his life.

I don’t need anything but her.

“Luke?” Eve looked into his eyes. “Is something the matter?”

“Nah.”

“Your eyes say differently.” Eve’s beautiful smile gave way to a worried frown. “What is it, Luke? Did you see something back there?”

“Nothing to worry about. Just need to talk to Dane, is all.” Luke smiled. “You just worry about avoiding rocks and ruts on the trail.” Before she could ask any more questions, he tipped his hat and rode off to find Dane.

Dane was in his usual place at the front of the wagons, leading the train.

“Dane, we need to talk.”

Dane slowed his horse a tad. “See something?”

“Five riders. Coulda been Indians,” Luke answered, unease churning in his gut. “Didn’t like how close an eye they were keepin’ on us.”

“We’re close to Crow territory.” Dane studied the plains. “I call these plains ‘Dead Man’s Land.’ Nothing out here except wild buffalo. Winter can kill a man in seconds. The natives know how to survive. They know this land—but let me tell you, we’re strangers here, Luke.”

Luke’s disquiet grew as Dane went on.

“You heard the news back in Julesburg, so you know it wasn’t good. A whole camp of Crow Indians slaughtered last winter. If I’d known, might’ve turned back. Army don’t ride this far out unless they got a good reason. If the natives attack us…” He shook his head. “We’ll be dead before anyone even knows we need help.”

Dane’s tone dripped with a deep concern; by any standards, this wagon train was small. Sure, that meant they moved faster, but smaller trains also provided more tempting targets—fewer guns, less men to fight.

Luke had picked up on Dane’s worry as soon as they left Julesburg, but they had no choice but to keep the wagons going. If they got caught out here when winter hit, they’d be dead for sure.

“Think they’ll attack us?” Luke asked.

“Let’s pray they don’t. I’ve done a little trading on the way through Crow land before, but they ain’t very friendly. Only traded some food for a spare horse.” Dane’s gaze swept the plains. “We’re all over this land, Luke. I try to keep my peace with the Indians, but… Sometimes, all it takes is one group of guns to rile up a snake nest.”

Luke wanted to ask Dane if they should turn back and hunker down in Julesburg for the winter. But they still had to make it to Oregon, one way or another. It was best if they just keep moving.

Maybe the Crow won’t bother with such a small wagon train.

“Listen, Luke,” Dane murmured, “stay close to the wagons from here on out. Tell Tucker and Reed to do the same. Best if we don’t ride too spread out—easy to kill a fella when he’s off riding alone.”

Luke nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Never liked being out in the open like this, and grass is awful tall, to boot. Anything could be hidin’ out there.” Dane pointed west. “Storm’s moving in. Can’t barely see the clouds yet, but trust me, this time tomorrow, the trail will be muddy. We’ve been making good time. Might as well make camp early and gather as much dry wood as we can before the storm hits.”

“Sure thing, Boss. I’ll let everyone know.”

“Steer clear of the Devlins, okay? I hated to take them back on, but I got their young ’uns to think about. Ridge would’ve struck out all alone and gotten his whole family killed—the blasted mule.” Shaking his head, he took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. “Anyway, don’t mess with him unless you have to.”

“Okay, Dane.”

“Oh—one more thing,” Dane added as Luke turned to leave, “and this is a personal favor.”

“Sure.”

“Keep an eye on Ridge. I don’t like the way he’s been lookin’ at Willow. I’m guessing he ain’t happy about her decision to quit—any more than he was when Eve told ’im she’d had enough.”

“You can count on me,” Luke assured him, then guided Thunder back down the line of wagons until he reached Eve.

“Dane is gonna stop the wagons early. Storm’s coming.”

She nodded, seeming relieved. “Okay, Luke. Horses can use a rest anyway.”

Luke nodded and dropped back to explain the situation to Tucker and Reed. Then, making sure they were out of earshot, he added, “Just stay close to the wagons in case the Crow decide they want some blood.”

Chapter Two

Eve picked up a puny-looking twig. “Not much wood around here.”

Not much of nothin’, in fact, except open land, she added to herself. I can’t imagine how cold the winters are out here on the plains.

Eleanor Price touched the belly of her brown wash dress, much like Eve’s, where the swell of her unborn baby showed the progress of her pregnancy. “I pray we reach Oregon before the baby is born,” she murmured, looking around.

Eve agreed heartily. She didn’t want to see Eleanor’s baby born before she and Tucker could get settled into their new life together. “We’ll reach Oregon in time, you’ll see—and even if we don’t, you’re in good hands.”

Willow Jones, who was standing next to Eleanor, nodded fervently. She was younger than both Eve and Eleanor, but in Eve’s opinion, just as pretty. Sadly, the girl’s confidence had been badly damaged during her time working for the Devlins, so Eve and Eleanor had made it their mission to build her back up.

Willow reminded Eve of herself because she recognized the fear in the girl’s eyes. Luke had helped Eve fight her fears, and she was much braver now. Willow didn’t have anyone like that, but she did have her folks—unlike Eve, whose father had sold her to the Devlins to care for their children along the trail. While Willow’s parents hadn’t sold her off, she had survived working for Ridge Devlin and his wife, Goldie, just like Eve—another thing they had in common.

“Eleanor,” Willow began, “is it hard being pregnant?”

“Mostly just feels… different, is all. It is a bit awkward, but the worst is trying to get back up from sitting!” Eleanor laughed.

“Maybe someday, you and Reed will get married and have a family,” Eve remarked casually as she spied another piece of wood and snatched it up. She smiled at Willow, silently thanking God that Dane had stopped the wagons early.

Willow blushed. “Eve, I’m only sixteen…”

She’s so sweet and innocent.

“Never too young to think about getting married,” Eleanor teased. “Of course, maybe waiting until you’re a hundred isn’t such a bad idea, either.”

A giggle burst from Willow’s lips, and the two older girls joined in. The trail was hard and wasn’t showing any signs of getting easier, but moments like these, laughing with friends, helped Eve keep from worrying herself sick.

Every mile was dangerous. Horses and livestock had to be rested, watered, and fed at regular intervals. Even if everything within the train went smoothly, all manner of things could threaten their progress—even their lives: sickness, attack by outlaws or Indians, limited supplies, the weather… the list went on and on.

The trail’s no picnic, that’s for sure.

Dane was a good leader, though, and with Luke, Tucker, and now Reed as scouts, Eve was confident that they’d reach Oregon—if only by the grace of God.