Texas! James could remember when the word had brought dread to the Lewis family, for his father Mordecai had been killed in Texas almost fifteen years ago by Spanish soldiers who regarded him as an armed intruder. But conditions had changed by the time Michael and Andrew had moved to Texas nearly ten years ago. Mexico had won independence from Spain and had opened the gates for immigration. Texas offered a start for the young, like himself, and a renewal for the older ones like cousin Frank.

He was not sure what it offered Annie; probably not as much as she expected.

He came, after a mile or so, to a clear-running creek. The gray ashes and cold, blackened remains of old campfires told him that many travelers had made camp here in the past. A good day’s wagon journey from the Sabine, it seemed a likely place to pause for the night. Deadfall timber nearby offered plentiful firewood. He dismounted, tasted the water, and found it good. After letting the horse drink, he tied it and began dragging up dry branches, breaking them over his knee. He wadded several handfuls of moribund grass left from last year’s growth and struck fire into them with flint and steel, blowing the faint spark gently into a blaze and adding small chips of wood. By the time Annie and Frank pulled in with their wagons, he had a good fire going. An hour or more of sunlight was left, but an hour did not mean much on a journey of this length. He watched Frank gently help Hope down from their wagon. “Easy, little mama,” Frank cautioned her, smiling. “The two of you have traveled far enough for one day.”

Annie surveyed the campsite, and James waited to hear her make some complaint about it. She disappointed him, for she said, “Nice place you found, James. I’m proud of you.”

“I always find us a good place,” he said defensively.

He unloaded the cooking vessels they would need to make supper. He had shot a young buck in the cool of dawn, so they had fresh meat. They had bought flour in Natchitoches, and corn they could grind for bread to save on the flour. They even had coffee, though they were careful to stretch it. There was just enough money for the real necessities. James was sure their journey to Texas had been much easier than the one Michael and Andrew made together a long time ago.

He and Frank’s boys watered the horses and mules, then staked them where they could graze on new spring grass. The older and most dominant of the two milk cows had a calf, so all they had to do was tie the calf to a tree; the cow would not wander far. The younger cow would stay close to the older one. Her udder was dry, but she was starting to show some, like Hope. James left the milking chore to Frank’s oldest boy. Milking cows was one job James had never relished, though he had done it often enough. Hunting was more to his liking. A cow’s teats fit his hands about as poorly as a plow handle.