Trail Angel Read Online Free Page A

I’d tell you to wait for the railroad. Some say it will be done in a year or two.” He grinned at the miner. “But I reckon all the gold will be gone by then.”
    A hush fell over the men. They stopped moving and shushed anyone who interrupted. The Colonel drew on his pipe as if daring to be contradicted. He took another draw.
    â€œThe problem in reaching Montana is that the South Pass takes you south and west,” he said, looking to the miner as he emphasized the word. “You want to go north. That means you’ll have to double back to reach Montana’s gold fields.”
    He raised his voice as he addressed the full crowd. “You’ll be crossing those mountains, not just once, but twice if you take the South Pass.” This stirred the men. The Colonel looked to the one who had spoken earlier. “What does your guidebook say about that?” The man looked away.
    While the others talked among themselves, Josey Angel appeared at the Colonel’s side, his hands fidgeting like it was an effort to stand still in a crowd of strangers. He listened as the old man whispered something. Nodding, Josey Angel looked to be taking a head count—or choosing targets. The others fell silent.
    Her father cleared his throat, drawing attention away from the heavily armed newcomer. “Colonel, you’ve spoken to me of the Bozeman Trail, your shortcut, but the men here have heard it’s closed.”
    â€œIt was closed, to settlers, at least.” The Colonel studied the pipe’s bowl as if he’d tasted a bad leaf. “It’s going to reopen this year. The government’s treating with the Indians, and the army plans to build three forts along the trail this summer. They might be open by the time we get there.”
    â€œIndians? It sounds dangerous,” said a banker from Atlanta who traveled with his family.
    â€œEvery trail west is dangerous,” the Colonel said. “But more men die from accidents, disease or stupidity than Indians.”
    Caleb Williams spoke out. A thick-limbed handyman who had worked for Annabelle’s husband before going off to war, his wife died in childbirth while he was gone. He returned home as Annabelle’s family prepared to leave. After her father hired him to drive one of the supply wagons, he seemed eager to display his worth.
    â€œWe don’t need these Yankees to protect us from Indians,” he said. “Don’t we all have guns? Aren’t we all men?”
    â€œSome of us have families,” a lawyer from Savannah said.
    The men renewed their argument. The Colonel didn’t seem concerned, puffing at his pipe and whispering to Josey Angel again. After the men talked themselves out, the banker with two children spoke up.
    â€œHow do you know the Indians will make peace?”
    The Colonel emptied his pipe with a few raps against the heel of his boot. “I don’t, not for a fact. Any man who tells you otherwise is not to be trusted. That’s why a sensible man takes precautions.”
    He looked at Josey Angel as he said the last part, then stood to his full height and crossed his arms, like posing for a photograph, his message clear to Annabelle. Whatever we’re paying them, he means to show it’s a bargain.
    â€œEven with peace, the trail’s not easy,” the Colonel continued. “It’s not marked like the Oregon trail. There are deep ravines that run into cliff faces so steep they can’t be crossed. There are badlands where, if you don’t know where the springs are, the alkaline water will poison your stock.”
    He paused and looked at the faces of those gathered nearest. No one spoke.
    â€œIf you know where you’re going, you will pass through the richest hunting ground in the world. Great herds of buffalo, elk, mule deer and antelope. Fat prairie chickens, grouse and quail.” He let those words sink in, seeming to enjoy the look on the