As it turned out, he wasn’t, but I still felt encouraged. He was on another horse and Fair One was still mine.

After a solitary breakfast in my tent, I heard someone clear his throat outside my tent, then spit. One of the new guards swore and the other one laughed. I waited, wondering, then heard, “Miss Everett? Miss Everett? Care to see an old Yellowstone codger?”

I knew that voice. I pulled aside the tent flap and there he was, scratching away. I still didn’t know where to look, except that with the other hand, Muskrat Watkins led Fair One to the tent. She looked as glad to see me as I was to see her. “Are you hungry?” I asked her, wiping at my tears.

“I gave her some oats.” Muskrat stopped scratching and whispered. “An Indian brought her by the corral. It was darker’n pitch but whoowee, I knows a pretty piece of horseflesh when I see one.”

“I was hoping that Indian who left him would ride Fair One to Canada,” I said in a low voice.

He whispered back, that old reprobate. “Oh, Miss Everett, I managed to look the other way when he picked out a pretty good cavalry remount and rode off.” He laughed, spraying me and Fair One with tobacco shreds. “I think it was the adjutant’s horse.”

I laughed, too, but softly. “Well, in that case…Mr. Watkins, what are you doing here?”

“I threw in with General’s Howard’s banda merry men after we got outta Yellowstone. I had enough of tourists. Most uf’um got no common sense.” He pulled a sad face, then brightened noticeably. “’Cept for yer pap. He made some kinda deal with that one-armed general, and what do you know, I’m temporarily working for the U.S. Army.”

So they really were trying to find me. My father and his deals. Maybe they weren’t as far-fetched as Mother made them seem.

“Promised him I’d find you and bring you home,” Muskrat Watkins said. “Here we are.” He peered at me closely, but not in an intrusive way. “You had quite a trip, didn’t you?” There was no condescension or embarrassment in his voice.

“I did, Mr. Watkins.” My eyes filled with tears. “Please keep Fair One safe.”

“I’ll take’r back now, Miss Everett,” he told me. “Never you mind. I promised him I’d get you to Omaha. Promised your father I’d get you home and I will. Fair One, too.”

“I know you will, Mr. Watkins,” I said. “Did…the Indian say anything?”

Muskrat scratched himself thoughtfully, and not on his face. Dear me. “He said sumpin’ that made no sense.”

“Try me.”

“He said maybe he’d pay two chickens for you, if you kept Fair One alive.”