Chapter Three — The Road to Independence

  The wagon train lurched forward with a shudder that traveled down the line like a ripple. Miles walked beside the Lindstrom wagon, dust already clinging to his boots even though the sun had barely risen. Captain Finch bellowed instructions from the front, trying to herd two dozen families, forty oxen, and a handful of hired trail hands into something resembling order.

  The noise was overwhelming—oxen bawling, men shouting, children whining, pots clattering in wagons—but beneath it all was a low hum of excitement. A current of hope. A sense that the entire train leaned westward with hungry hearts.

  Miles kept his head down and tried not to look too green.

  But Jonah Collins noticed anyway.

  “You’re starin’ like you’ve never seen a wagon train before,” he said, falling into step beside him.

  Miles kept his voice low, careful. “Not from the inside of one.”

  Jonah grinned. “Whole thing looks bigger when you’re part of it. Less like a parade, more like a beast you’re hitchin’ your life to.”

  Miles wasn’t sure if that was meant to comfort him.

  The train picked up a steady, grumbling rhythm—creak of wheels, clank of metal, the slap of leather harnesses as the oxen leaned forward into their burden. The morning chill soon melted, replaced by a rising warmth that pressed against the back of Miles’s neck.

  He adjusted his shirt and tried to mimic Jonah’s easy stride. His own legs ached already, the satchel strap digging into his shoulder. But pain was easier to swallow than fear.

  Ahead, a wagon hit a rut so deep it nearly pitched sideways. A shout went up as several men rushed to stabilize it. Miles instinctively moved to help, hands already reaching forward—then stopped when Jonah caught his arm.

  “Let Finch handle it,” Jonah murmured. “First day’s when folks get hurt tryin’ to be heroes.”

  Miles swallowed hard and stepped back.

  Finch and his men heaved with long wooden poles, rocking the wagon free with a deep, sucking groan. The oxen snorted, shaking their massive heads. Once the wagon settled, the train began moving again, more cautious now.

  Miles breathed out slowly.

  Ahead, the land stretched wide and open, rolling fields giving way to patches of woodland and the promise of even emptier country beyond. Civilization shrank behind them with every creaking turn of the wheels.

  There was no going back.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  A harmonica started up somewhere a few wagons behind them—a slow, wandering tune that matched the drag of feet and the groan of the oxen. It gave the morning a strange, melancholy beauty.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Every so often, Miles caught Jonah watching him from the corner of his eye. Observing. Filing things away. That made Miles uneasy, though Jonah didn’t seem dangerous—just curious.

  As the sun climbed higher, the train slowed. Murmurs rippled through the line. Finch raised a hand.

  “Hold!” he barked.

  The wagons creaked to a stop.

  Miles’s heart thumped. Had someone recognized him? Had someone noticed he was no boy at all?

  But the problem was ahead, not behind.

  A stream cut across the road—nothing more than a shallow ribbon of water, but enough to warrant caution. The oxen balked at the muddy bank, stamping and shifting while teamsters urged them forward. Several wagons had to be angled just right to avoid sinking into soft ground.

  “Come on,” Jonah said. “Good chance for you to learn somethin’.”

  Miles followed reluctantly.

  Finch stood at the water’s edge, boots sunk in mud, gesturing sharply. “You—boy—get over here.”

  It took Miles a heartbeat too long to realize the captain meant him.

  He jogged forward, trying to keep his stride loose and boyish.

  Finch pointed to the nearest wagon. “Hold the oxen’s yoke while Jacob guides ‘em. Keep their heads straight. They spook easy at water.”

  Miles froze for a fraction of a second.

  Oxen were huge up close—towering animals with rolling shoulders and horns that could gut a man. Their sheer size swallowed him in shadow. Their breath came in hot, grassy huffs.

  He forced his voice steady. “Yes, sir.”

  Jonah shot him an encouraging nod, but Miles barely saw it.

  He stepped toward the yoke.

  One ox flicked an ear in his direction. Another stomped, sending a spray of mud onto his borrowed boots. The wooden yoke was heavier than he expected—thick, rough, and slick with sweat from the animals’ fur.

  Jacob clucked his tongue. “Easy now… there you go… Straight ahead.”

  Miles gripped the yoke, pushing against the oxen’s massive strength. The beasts pressed forward, muscles rolling beneath their hides. The whole world seemed to tilt as the wagon lurched into the stream.

  For a terrifying second, Miles thought he’d lose his footing.

  Then he found balance.

  The oxen moved through the water with heavy, deliberate steps. Mud sucked at their hooves, but they didn’t falter. Miles kept the yoke straight, chest tight, breath shallow.

  By the time they reached the other bank, his arms trembled and sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.

  Finch gave a grudging nod. “Not bad, boy.”

  Miles swallowed relief. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jonah smirked from the side. “Told you you’d be alright.”

  Miles pretended not to notice the pride warming his chest.

  When the entire train finally crossed the stream and regrouped, the sun had climbed high enough to bake the muddy bank dry. Dust rose again, and the line moved on.

  Hours passed. The land unfurled wider and emptier. Birds circled overhead. Clouds drifted like cut cotton. The hypnotic rhythm of the trail lulled the younger children into sleep in the wagons.

  Miles walked in silence, adjusting to the ache in his legs, the heat on his neck, the constant awareness of every person who might see through him.

  He thought he was settling into a rhythm when a scream tore up from the far end of the train.

  The kind of scream that made every head turn.

  The kind that meant trouble.

  Miles’s blood chilled. Finch shouted orders as people scrambled out of the way.

  “Miles!” Jonah grabbed his arm. “Stay close!”

  But it was too late.

  A panicked mule had broken from its harness, dragging half a crate behind it and barreling directly toward them—wild?eyed, frothing, hooves churning the ground.

  Miles had seconds to react.

  And everyone was looking at him.