flabbergasted by the damage to the buildings, too, not to mention the destruction of the less substantial tents and shacks along the river that had not yet been replaced by more sturdy construction. Many of those were not merely damaged, they were gone! Will paused to murmur a brief prayer for the new settlers. He hoped they had all found a safe place to weather the storm.
Judging by the brave souls who were out and about, picking through the rubble and surveying the destruction, most had taken shelter in time.
He paused to ask the closest survivors, “How is everybody?” and was relieved to hear that there had been no deaths reported, as yet.
The town hall, of which they had all been so proud, had been leveled as well, leaving nothing but the limestone rock foundation. Part of the roof was also off Pete Benjamin’s blacksmith shop and it appeared that some of the substantial stores along Main had been hard hit.
Will cantered upriver, in the direction of Zeb’s mill, slowing to allow his horse to choose its footing carefully in view of the debris. An amazing amount of refuse littered wide Main Street and it got worse along the narrower Mill Road that led west, toward the falls. There, although many of the trees still stood, they were missing their tops and their remaining branches held all sorts of rubbish, as if a giant, malevolent hand had discarded it there.
He passed a small group of wagons, also tattered and wrecked, before he encountered his old friend, hoofing it into town. “Zeb? You okay?” Will shouted, quickly dismounting to join him.
To his relief, Zeb answered in the affirmative. He had a slightly bloody handkerchief pressed to one temple and his clothes were filthy, but he seemed otherwise unscathed.
“I’ve been better,” Zeb said, dusting off his trousers with his free hand. “The mill’s a mess. I don’t think there’s even one shingle left, not to mention the heavier lumber. How about you?”
“My house made it and the rest of the Circle-L is fine, too, along with all the hands, thank the Lord. We headed off a stampede and kept the buffalo at bay. It was close though.”
“Sounds like you did better than we did,” Zeb said, grimacing and gesturing at the destruction all around him. “Look at this. It’s unbelievable.”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Will told him, “as long as all the folks are okay. How about your sister?”
“Cassandra’s fine, thanks.”
“Good. Has anybody checked Pete’s? The livery stable didn’t look too good when I rode past. I didn’t see any sign of him or his farrier, Edward.”
“I’m going to organize a search party to cover everyone’s place and make sure they’re alive and kicking. What are you going to do now, go back to your spread or stay here and help us?”
Hesitating, Will was reluctant to admit what was nagging at his conscience. “I’ll help, of course. But first, I thought I might ride out and see how that wagon camp is faring.”
“Some of them pulled out before the storm. I warned them, but…”
Will muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe it. What was their wagon boss thinking? Didn’t he see the signs in the changing weather?”
“I wouldn’t worry. They probably didn’t get far,” Zeb said. “But you know settlers. They’re all alike. Once they get it into their heads that they have to press on, there’s no reasoning with them.” He paused and sighed. “Can’t tell about the ones who left. The ones that tarried certainly didn’t escape damage.”
“Did you happen to notice a wagon with a real pretty older daughter? She had blue eyes and a dress to match, and dark hair.” He blushed when his friend waggled his eyebrows and stared at him.
Zeb chuckled. “If I didn’t know you the way I do, Will Logan, I might think you were interested in her in a personal way. I thought you were looking for a widow woman with older children who just needed a home and hearth, not a swain.”
“I didn’t say I was going to court the girl,” Will said flatly. “But her father is a nasty old man, a lot like mine was, and she was having to take care of a wagonload of children, including some that weren’t her kin. It’s perfectly natural that I’d be concerned for my fellow man.”
“Yes,” Zeb said, “it is. Except in this instance, your fellow man is a woman.”
“As if I didn’t know that.” Fisting his reins, Will put his left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the horn and vaulted easily into the saddle. “How long ago did the first wagons in the train pull out?”
“About two hours, I think. I remember that the sky was already darkening when they passed by.”
“All right. I’ll head down the trail and see how they’re doing, then come back and help you here.”
“Be careful,” Zeb warned. “Just because the worst seems to be over doesn’t mean it can’t fire up and hit us again.”
Will knew he was right. And that thought gave him chills all the way from his nape to the toes of his boots.
Not only had the wagons been in danger before, they could be again. Soon. Perhaps even before he managed to reach them.
Hoping against hope that someone from the rest of their train would ride ahead to check on their welfare, Emmeline kept scanning the trail and surrounding hills. When she spotted several riders silhouetted against the gray sky, she was at first encouraged. Then, she realized that the stationary men, watching from the backs of their horses, were Indians!
Her hand flew to her throat. She didn’t know what tribe they were from, nor did she care. The few Indian women she had noticed, in or near small towns along the trail, had seemed wary, almost afraid. She fully understood their reactions. The Indians were outnumbered and vulnerable in that particular situation. And now that she and what remained of her family were stranded in the middle of nowhere, that was exactly how she felt, too.
As she and Johnny prepared to put their shoulders to the side of the wagon to try to move it, Joanna kept insisting that they wait. “Don’t try to push that over by yourselves. You’re not strong enough. Do as I told you. Get your papa. He’ll know what to do.”
Emmeline didn’t want to inform her that Amos was dead, yet what choice did she have when her mother kept insisting? “Papa’s…Papa’s not able,” she said, hugging Glory and speaking through one of the cracks in the upended wagon.
Joanna gasped audibly. “Dear Lord. Why not? Is he hurt?”
“Yes,” Emmeline said.
“Then you should be tending to him. Go. Do it now. I’m fine. Really. I’m not injured a bit and I can wait as long as need be.”
Emmeline’s voice broke as she forced herself to explain. Reality was almost too terrible to voice. “Papa’s gone to heaven, Mama.”
“No! No, that can’t be. He’s just hurt. You’ll see. Go look again. You must be mistaken.”
“When the wagon turned over, an ox fell on him. Big Jack is okay but Sam is dead. And Papa’s underneath him.”
“Get him off. Save your
