time.”
Charley turned on the girl. “Olivia, you know Uncle Nate said not to talk to strangers.” His voice was a furious whisper.
“They aren’t strangers. They’re nice people.” The girl’s whispered answer made Sarah smile again.
“Why don’t you bring your family to our cabin for a warm meal? You can wait there until this storm blows over.”
The two looked at each other.
“Uncle Nate said to stay with the wagon.” Sarah could hear doubt in the boy’s voice.
His sister pulled on his sleeve again. “Lucy is already cold, and night’s coming. It’s just going to get colder.”
“We have stew on the fire,” Sarah said. The thought of the waiting meal made her stomach growl.
“Why are you even asking them?” Margaret stepped forward and took each of the children’s hands in her own. “Now take us to your wagon, and let us take care of the rest.”
The children looked at each other and shrugged, giving in to Margaret’s authority. They led the way to the covered wagon, listing on a broken axle, at the side of the trail. The canvas cover whipped in the wind. So Mr. Colby had made it almost all the way to town before breaking down. Another half mile and he would have reached safety. But where they were now... Sarah glanced at the bare slopes around them, peppered with tree stumps.
As they drew close, Olivia dropped Margaret’s hand and ran to the wagon.
“Lucy! Lucy, where are you?”
A curly head popped over the side of the crippled wagon, and a young girl with round eyes stuck her thumb in her mouth and stared. Sarah guessed she looked about five years old.
Out here, away from the shelter of the trees and brush along the creek, the wind roared. Sarah marveled at its fury, and the children huddled against the gust.
Margaret stepped to the end of the wagon and looked in. “Is this all of you? Where is the rest of your family?”
Olivia’s teeth chattered. “There’s only Uncle Nate. We’re supposed to wait here until he gets back.”
Sarah stamped her feet to warm them. Mr. Colby should know how dangerous it was to wander around this area alone. Uncle James had warned her and Margaret to never go anywhere outside the mining camp without him after they had arrived last evening. Between claim jumpers and Sioux warriors scouring the hills, even visiting a sick neighbor was a risk.
She stepped forward and put her own warm cloak around Olivia’s shoulders. “He can find you at our cabin. We need to get in out of the weather, and you need a hot meal.”
Charley looked at her, his lips blue in the rapidly falling temperatures. “How will Uncle Nate find us?”
“I’ll leave him a note.”
Olivia and Charley exchanged glances, and then Olivia nodded. “All right, I think he’ll be able to find us there, if it isn’t too far.”
Sarah scratched a brief message on a broken board she found near the trail and put it in a prominent place next to the campfire. She raked ashes over the low coals with a stick and stirred. The fire would die on its own.
She took Olivia’s hand in hers as Margaret lifted Lucy out of the wagon. Uncle James untied the horses, Charley took his mule and they started up the trail toward home.
Sarah’s breath puffed as they climbed the steep hill, her mind flitting between worry and irritation with the children’s uncle Nate. These children needed her, no matter what their uncle said. Somehow she would see that they received the care and education they deserved.
* * *
As the snowfall grew heavier, obscuring the distant mountains, Nate gave up. He’d been wandering these bare, brown hills since midmorning and hadn’t seen any sign of game. He and the children would just have to make do with the few biscuits left from last night’s supper.
When the wagon axle had finally broken yesterday afternoon, he thought the freight master would have helped them make repairs, but the man had only moved the crippled wagon off the trail and then set on his way with the bull train again.
“We’re less than a mile from town—you’ll be fine until we send help back for you. Just keep an eye out for those Indians.”
And then they were gone, leaving Nate and the children alone.
Less than a mile from Deadwood? It might as well be twenty, or fifty, when everything they owned was lying by the side of the road. By the time the gray light of the cloudy afternoon started fading, Nate knew the bull train driver had forgotten them.
They had spent the night on their own with little food and a fitful fire. Morning had brought clouds building in the northwest and he’d hoped he’d be able to find a turkey or squirrel before too long. But here he was coming home empty-handed.
As he hurried over the last rise, Nate’s empty stomach plummeted like a stone at the sight of the wagon. The wind had torn one corner of the canvas cover and it flapped wildly. Why hadn’t Charley tied that down? Didn’t he know his sisters and all their supplies were exposed to this weather?
And why hadn’t they kept the fire going? They had to be freezing.
The hair on the back of Nate’s neck prickled. The wagon tilted with the blasting gusts of wind. It was too quiet. The horses were missing. Even Loretta was nowhere in sight.
Nate broke into a run.
When he reached the wagon, he closed his eyes, dreading what he might see inside. They were just children. He had been so stupid to leave them. He had let his brother down again.
He gripped the worn wooden end gate and slowly opened his eyes. Nothing. Just the barrels and boxes of supplies. The children were gone.
Why had he taken so long? He should have stayed closer to the wagon. He had been warned about the Indians in the area, attacking any settlers who were foolish enough to venture out without being heavily armed.
He knew why he had taken the risk. No game. No food. He had had to leave them for a few hours.
He turned into the wind and scanned the hills rising above.
“Charley!” A gust snatched his voice away. “Olivia! Lucy!”
A wolf’s howl floating on the wild wind was his only answer as he slumped against the wagon box, his eyes blurred with the cold. It had been the same when he and Andrew had returned from the war, back home to the abandoned farm. The wind had howled that afternoon, too, with a fierce thunderstorm. But they were gone. Ma, Pa, Mattie... Ma and Pa were dead, but Mattie was lost. None of the neighbors knew where she had gone, or even when. Years of searching had brought him only wisps of clues, rumors that this cowboy or that miner had seen her in Tombstone, or Denver or Abilene, but she was gone without a trace.
Nate’s legs gave way as he sank to the ground.
The wolf’s howl came again, answered by several others. A pack on the hunt? Or a Sioux raiding party?
Nate
