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way to the door, and I was in no mood to be restrained further. Without even thinking about it, and without hardly hearing her words, I reached up and threw her hand off my shoulder. Then I made for the door.
    But seeing me rebuke Almeda so rudely was all Pa needed to jolt him out of his stunned silence. Grabbing at Almeda’s hand was the worst thing I could have done.
    Pa’s eyes flamed with rage. He leaped forward and hit me hard across the jaw. I staggered and fell back onto the floor.
    I don’t know what my face looked like, but it was hot, and I was trembling from the blow. I crawled back up to my feet.
    â€œIt ain’t no secret where your loyalties lie,” I said. “Everything for the women, but you won’t lift a finger unless it’s against your own son!”
    I turned again, tore open the door, and stalked off, slamming it behind me. I heard nothing more from inside the house.
    My horse, Gray Thunder, was still saddled. I had my bedroll and what I needed for fire and cooking—plus the rifle Pa’d given me. So I didn’t worry about food or money or the rest of my gear.
    I just mounted back up and galloped away.

Chapter 5 On My Way
    I planned to ride straight down to Sacramento, where I was supposed to see a man in the Express office. From there I would follow the trail east till I came to the Flatt Bluff station, where I’d be trained by a fellow by the name of Hammerhead Jackson. He’s the one who’d get me started with the job—or at least that’s what the man who recruited me in Marysville had said.
    As I set off to Sacramento, I rode up to Little Wolf’s to say goodbye and to get something to eat. I asked him if he’d loan me three dollars and fix me up with a couple days’ grub. He gave me five dollars, as much hardtack and apples as I could carry, and a few potatoes. Then I cantered off, only glancing back a time or two to see him still standing there, watching me go. I wished he was coming too.
    By riding pretty hard, I got to Sacramento late the next afternoon. I was anxious to get to Nevada, so as soon as I got to town I hunted up the office of Russell, Majors, and Waddell, the company that ran the Pony Express.
    I had a paper the guy in Marysville had given me when he’d been recruiting for riders. He said to show it to them at the office and they’d send me on my way. So I walked into the Express office as soon as I found it, and walked in holding the paper. The man looked at me kinda funny when I told him what I was doing and showed him the paper.
    â€œWhat’s your name, boy?” he asked.
    â€œHollister,” I said. “Zack Hollister.”
    â€œWhat’d that feller tell you about riding for the Express?”
    â€œNot much, I don’t reckon,” I said.
    â€œYou know what you’re getting in for?”
    â€œHe told me the hours is long and the work is hard, that your rump gets so sore you can’t feel your legs no more, and that sometimes there’s Indians.”
    â€œWell, he got it right . . . on all four counts,” said the man, then looked me over up and down again. “And after what he said, you still aim to go?”
    â€œReckon so,” I answered.
    He just kinda stared back at me, then shrugged, put a paper out on the desk, and licked his pencil.
    â€œHow old are you, boy . . . I mean, Hollister?”
    â€œTwenty-one.”
    â€œMite old for the Express.”
    He seemed to be thinking for a minute, then muttered something about not being able to be too particular. Then he wrote something down on the paper. It looked like he wrote down the number 18, but I was looking at it upside down.
    â€œYou got kin?”
    â€œMy pa,” I said. “And my brothers and sisters and my stepmom.”
    â€œYou got a whole family?” said the man.
    I nodded.
    â€œDidn’t you know we want orphans?”
    â€œDidn’t figure it’d