No Escape: Suspense and Adventure in the Authentic Untamed West

By Della May Olson

NO ESCAPE is both a tragedy and a story of courage and redemption. Mistakes made must suffer consequences. Mattie summed it up when talking to Jed, her former employee and now captain of the handcart company with whom she and her twins are hiding to escape the vengeance of her former escaped from prison husband, Benjamin Farkle. “Jed, I have done so many things wrong in my life. Do you think I can ever be forgiven? Do you think God ever thinks twice about me?”
Mattie finds answers to her question as she and Jack Sisson leave the handcart company to search for Dolly, her eight-year-old twin daughter, lost in a horrific hailstorm, and presumed dead, while along the Sweetwater River in Wyoming. Ten years later Farkle, who has embraced the dark side, finds Mattie in Weaver, Wyoming. After a tragic confrontation with the evil Farkle, Butch Weaver, moans to Jack Sisson, “Can anything be worse?”
After Jack’s answer Butch continues. “Hatch is dead. Your house burned to the ground. Half the family is ailing. I can’t be very cheerful.”
“Houses can be rebuilt. People mend. We can’t help Hatch, but we will never forget him, either. It’s time to lick our wounds and heal.”
“Words are easy, Jack.”
Interspersed with humor, church history, and romance, the excitement Never ends.

OTHER BOOKS BY DELLA MAY OLSON

LENA’S RAINBOW
TERROR ON LOCO RIDGE
GROWING UP BRONSON
CRAB APPLE PIE
NO ESCAPE
THE TANGLED ROSE
TANGLE CREEK
DRIVEN

www.dellamayolson.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665538794

Della May Olson

Della May Olson grew up on a ranch in Montana schooled in the ‘code of the West’. From a two-room schoolhouse in Sun River, Montana, to graduating from Mesa Community College, in Mesa, Arizona , at the age of thirty-nine, as class Valedictorian, she never lost her love of horses, sports, poetry, drama, and writing. Her poetry, especially Christmas themed, has won her many awards. The main award being the love of family and friends as they perform her works. She has lived in Cottonwood, Arizona for the past forty-seven years. Married to her husband Merle for sixty-two years, they have four children, all living in Cottonwood, fifteen grandchildren, and forty-two great grandchildren. Humor and action are hallmarks of her stories and poetry. She believes in faith, hard work and miracles.

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© 2021 Della May Olson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  09/28/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3847-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3879-4 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

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expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1     The Dance

Chapter 2     Butter 1830

Chapter 3     Benjamin Farkle

Chapter 4     The Crime

Chapter 5     The Trial

Chapter 6     The Twins

Chapter 7     Jack

Chapter 8     Jed And Nancy

Chapter 9     The Letter

Chapter 10   Iowa City

Chapter 11   Thunder

Chapter 12   Revenge

Chapter 13   Westward Ho

Chapter 14   Butch

Chapter 15   Nebraska

Chapter 16   The Stranger

Chapter 17   Wagons Ho

Chapter 18   The Storm

Chapter 19   The Search

Chapter 20   Wind River

Chapter 21   Zeke Weaver

Chapter 22   The Ghost

Chapter 23   Wyoming

Chapter 24   Rock Creek

Chapter 25   The Reckoning

Chapter 26   Colt

Chapter 27   The Marshall

Chapter 28   Chaos

Chapter 29   Aftermath

Chapter 30   Cattle Drive

Chapter 31   The Mirror

Chapter 32   Christmas

Chapter 33   Time

Chapter 34   The Mountain

Chapter 35   Three’s Company

Chapter 36   Wagon Master

This book is

dedicated to my Danish great

grandfather Christian Hansen

Shoemaker - - - Convert - - - Handcart pioneer

(Read his story included after the end of the novel)

Chapter 1

The Dance

Ow, Mama, that pulls, cried eight-year-old Dagmar as her mother pulled the child’s gold hair into two tight pigtails that hung half way down her back.

Dagmar, stop that noise or I will give you something to cry about. Now go find Dimitri. He needs to clean up for the party tonight, too.

Unable to calm the frazzled nerves that challenged her self-worth ever since she was the cause of her father’s untimely death in Dawson, Missouri, and the incarceration of her husband, Benjamin Farkle, in a Missouri prison, Mitty found it increasingly difficult to control her anxiety. Even more so since she learned Benjamin had escaped from prison and would certainly now be looking for her and the twins to exact his promised vengeance.

Dagmar was not about to let her mother off without venting her own eight year old’s anxieties. Don’t you mean Dolly and Dimitri need to get cleaned up. You always forget that we have new names. My new name is Dolly, and your new name is Mattie. Remember! And our last name is now Fransen. I like Fransen a whole lot better than Farkle, don’t you? I wish Jed is my real father. How come you are not coming to the dance? You promised!

Oh, Dolly, I am so sorry to have gotten you and your brother tangled up in this mess. Go now and have fun at the dance. If you need anything, Jed or Nancy will help you. I’m just too tired.

Jed Fransen was the captain of the Mormon handcart company with whom Mattie and the twins were traveling. Nancy was his wife. They had known Mitty since before the twins were born. First as housekeeper and caretaker for Mitty’s father, Cletus Merck, and then to continue to work for Mitty after her father’s sudden death and the birth of the twins. Things had changed. The old script had been thrown out. Now Jed and Nancy were the parents of the twins. And Mitty, now Matie had unwittingly been placed in the role of Jed’s second wife. Only in name.

At first it seemed safe and secure hiding among these dedicated pioneers, who not being able to afford other means of transportation, were trudging halfway across the continent, pushing and pulling their meager belongings in two-wheeled rickety carts, hoping to find refuge and peace with the crusade of thousands of other Mormons fleeing to the barren desert of the Salt Lake Valley in the territory of Utah.

Mattie found no fault with these Mormon pioneers who willingly sacrificed all they owned and their lives if necessary to find this Zion. They had been sorely persecuted in the states of New York, Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois, culminating in the assassination of their beloved founder and prophet Joseph Smith, and his brother Hyrum Smith, in a Carthage, Illinois jail. Crossing on the ice of the frozen Mississippi River, the first pioneers to leave their beloved city of Nauvoo, Illinois, looked back to see their beautiful, newly completed temple in flames. The year was 1846. Crazed mobs wanting to destroy the infant church made it impossible for them to stay.

Mattie admired their courage, their faith, and their fortitude. While they prayed for strength, Mattie prayed for forgiveness, and for wings for her aching feet. Her motivation, her grind, was to keep her children safe. She was just so darned tired. Tired of sleeping on the ground. Tired of so little food. Tired of the sucking mud. Tired of the blistering heat. Tired of telling lies to her children. Tired of pretending she was the second wife of Jed Fransen.

The twins were born in Dawson, Missouri in 1850. They were conceived in a tawdry St. Louis hotel on the night Mitty married Benjamin Farkle. They knew little of their father, who five months later was convicted of a crime he and their mother had perpetrated. But only Benjamin was convicted. The horrible obscenities he swore as he was led away to prison in handcuffs and chains came from the very depths of hell. I will be back! he screamed. Just you wait. I’ll get you!

The twins were told their father drowned in a flood along the Missouri River before they were born. Mattie knew of his recent escape from prison. Fear clung to her like a transparent rain soaked garment that she could not shed.

The handcart company stopped early. It was the 4th of July, and Captain Fransen promised an early halt if, and when they reached the banks of the Missouri river at a place called Winter Quarters, located on the western edge of Iowa near Council Bluffs. This mostly deserted town of log hovels had been winter refuge to the first group of Mormon pioneers crossing the plains to escape a society that did not want or did not understand them.

Most of the handcart people were from foreign countries; England, Sweden, Switzerland, Denmark to name a few. Few knew what the 4th of July meant, and could care less. The early stop appealed to their aching bodies. In the evening violins and fiddles would miraculously appear from quilt wrapped bundles in the bottom of handcarts. Visiting, toe tapping, singing, and dancing would alleviate many a pain and sore muscle.

As Mattie finished sprucing up her children for the festivities, Jed Fransen strolled by. He put his arm across Mattie’s shoulders commending her for a good day on the trail. Mattie could not help it. She turned and laid her tired head on Jed’s chest to hide her tears. Jed, she said stifling her tears, can we talk?

They walked a short distance from the group and sat down on a decaying cottonwood log. Jed took her work hardened hands in his and asked, What is it? Are you ill? Has Nancy said something to upset you?

He had grown fond of Mattie. Probably more than he should have. His feelings had run the gauntlet with this woman. When he and his wife Nancy had been hired by Dawson banker Cletus Merck as handy-man and housekeeper nearly nine years ago, he had little sympathy for his employer’s cold and haughty daughter Mehitable, or Mitty as she was called then. Now she is Mattie. They cared even less for Mitty’s despicable, lazy husband, Benjamin Farkle. It was no surprise to them when he was accused of robbing his father-in-law’s bank. Mitty, the sole survivor of Cletus Merck’s fortune, took over her father’s bank, when he died in a heroic attempt to save her from certain imprisonment.

Out of sympathy for the pregnant and ill Mitty, thinking to leave as soon as the baby was born, Jed and Nancy remained as servants in the Merck household. They watched the metamorphosis as repentant Mitty changed into the woman she now seemed to be. But mostly it was the twins who saved them all, bringing laughter and sunshine into their drab and dreary world.

Clutching the front of the log with her hands and leaning back as far as she could, she turned and looked at Jed. With frustration she pleaded, I am so everlastingly tired of this jaunt. When are we going to leave this group and head out on our own. Like we planned. Like you promised. Remember? You, Nancy, the twins and I were going to find a hidden paradise somewhere in this vast country where we would be safe. Safe from the likes of Benjamin Farkle.

Mattie, I am so sorry. I can’t

Why? I have money! You promised!

That’s not it. When I agreed to lead this company to Salt Lake, I did not know how it would affect me. Once I almost lost it, but my testimony of Jesus Christ has been rekindled. I would not only be deserting this people, but my Savior as well. I cannot leave them now. Not after coming this far. They need me. They depend on me. Because of them I feel whole again.

I realize that, Jed, but . . . but . . .

No buts about it! I was hoping and praying that you would catch the spirit of this people and become one with us. Even to being baptized. But I guess that was asking too much.

Oh, Jed, I want to. I want to be baptized. I want my children to follow your teachings. But the way it is now, it is impossible. I am already supposedly a member of your church. I am your second wife to everyone’s thinking. How can I suddenly jump in the water and shout praises to God? The lie we are living makes it impossible. I am doomed no matter which way I turn.

There is always the truth.

I would never diminish the respect these people have for you.

Ah, Mattie. Poor, good Mattie. I understand there is a large wagon train camped at Council Bluffs. You can join them if you like. I could take you there.

And could you promise me that Benjamin Farkle would not be there?

You know I cannot do that. It seems you are stuck with us. When we get to Salt Lake you can proceed on your own. These people depend on me. I cannot desert them.

Jed, I have done so many things wrong in my life. Do you think I can ever be forgiven? Do you think God would ever think twice about me?

Mattie, Mattie, my poor Mattie! They stood and Jed took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her upturned tortured eyes. I will say this just once more. God loves you. He knows your name. Open the door. Let him in. Let him heal you.

Does he know Mehitable Farkle, or does he know Mattie Fransen? Can you tell me that?

Jed put his arms around Mattie and held her tight hoping to stench her tears and her fears. Just then Nancy happened upon the couple.

Excuse me! she said without trying to hide the irritation and disdain she felt upon seeing her best friend in her husband’s arm.

I’m sorry, Nancy, said Mattie wiping her tears on her sleeve. I just . . . I just . . . needed help. I need some understanding. It’s not what you think.

You don’t need to explain anything to me. I have eyes! I thought you would like to know the boys are teasing Dolly again, calling her Doll Face.

Never mind, said Jed eager to get out of a situation that could only get worse. I will take care of it. He wondered how he had ever gotten himself in such a pickle. Nancy was his wife, the love of his life. Mattie was . . . Mattie was disconcerting. Sometimes he wished they had never crossed paths. Yet then he would never have known the twins. Somehow it seemed the Lord was responsible for putting Mattie and the twins in his care. Along with fifty other immigrants needing his help! Oh well, he had a little girl to save from her tormentors. Sometimes Dolly was too much like her mother.

Mattie had become a thorn in Nancy’s side. If she convinced Mattie to leave, she would lose the twins and she could not do that. Would not do that. Not if she could help it.

It’s your turn to cook tonight, said Nancy turning her back on Mattie to hide a tear of her own. I’ll see if I can find something to start a fire.

I know, answered Mattie. She had become quite adept at Dutch oven cooking. She paused to stretch her aching back, hiding her calloused and blackened hands in the folds of her tattered skirt. In the distance, across the river, she could see the dust of a wagon train. She was tempted to flee to them but dared not.

There were two trails going west. One was for the Mormons, and one for the other adventurers seeking gold, or a new freedom at the expense of the native Americans. She was sure one of those wagon trains would harbor Benjamin Farkle. She felt safe on her side of the river with the Mormons. Most of the Gentiles considered the Mormons to be vermin of some kind. Surely Ben would not look for her among them. Or would he? Lately nightmares about Ben plagued her sleep, making both her nighttime and daytime hours a continual nightmare. Last night the dream ended with a dagger stuck in a plate of butter. There were drops of blood sliding off the butter.

Supper tonight would be biscuits and beans. Just like it had been for days. Of course, there would be no butter for the biscuits. Or jam. Or anything that smacked of civilization or etiquette. Mattie set out with a vengeance to prepare the meal. If Nancy did not like it, it was too bad. She looked around to see if anyone was looking and then sprinkled a pinch of sand in the beans. Immediately sorry, she tried to pick the sand out, but the beans were destined to be gritty tonight. Which would not be much different from all their meals. A dark thought crossed her mind. If something happened to Nancy would Jed be hers, in reality and not just pretend. She dismissed the thought with tears running down her face. She was a horrible person. Maybe Benjamin Farkle was justified.

Mattie did not join the festivities around the campfire. Instead, she watched from a distance, sitting on a bluff not far from camp. Fiddles began playing and the dancing began. The setting sun painted the sky with orange and magenta, making a gorgeous backdrop for the happy dancers.

A swarm of mosquitos arose from a marsh along the river. Mattie swatted them as best she could until a welcome breeze sent them away. She could see the twins having a good time and it filled her heart with gladness. She saw Jed swing Dolly up and around with Dimitri watching. Then she saw Dimitri try to do the same with his sister, but they fell in a heap. Jed rescued them and they all had a good laugh, including the twins. Jed and Nancy loved the twins as if they were their own. Sometimes Mattie wondered if she should just disappear and leave the children with the Fransen’s. Having never known real love until the day she held the babies, one in each arm, the thought of abandoning them now was more than she could bear, even if it would ensure their safety. After all their father had never seen them. As Fransen’s they would be safe even if she fell into his evil clutches.

As she sat there pondering their future, the past stole uninvited into her mind. She wanted nothing to do with it. Erase it. Forget it. But then in her mind’s eye she saw a long dinner table. Her father sat at one end and she at the other. There were no guests. In the center of the table, all by itself, was a plate with a slab of butter on it. There was nothing else. Timidly she asked her father to pass the butter. He did not.

Butter. It seemed such a trifling thing now. Whenever she politely asked for something during their meals, just the two of them together, she was completely ignored. She hated her father for other reasons, but as ridiculous as it sounded, butter stirred her anger against him more than anything else. It was not really the butter that angered her, it was the fact of her father’s complete ignorance of her existence. The bit about the butter proved it. He never heard her. He never passed it. He never said I love you to his plain little girl who so desperately needed it.

Suddenly a cold shiver ran down her spine. As if evil was lurking close by.

Chapter 2

Butter 1830

Mattie’s story began in 1830. There was one big problem when she was born. She was a girl. Cletus Merck needed a son to follow in his conceited, illustrious footsteps. In his estimation girls were for cleaning house and having babies. His only contact with the baby was to insist that she be named Mehitable after his despised mother who had given him nothing but sisters.

So, her name was her second problem. No one could spell it. When she went to school the boys claimed it gave them the right to hit her. After all, did not it say she was hit-a-ble. Her teacher shortened it to Mitty, in an attempt to quell the insults and fighting.

Her third unbearable problem came when she was eight. She came home from school one day to find her mother, who was seven months pregnant, lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of water and blood. Mitty ran as fast as she could for help, but when she and the hired man returned to the kitchen they found the mother was dead. The tiny dead fetus was a boy. When Cletus Merck returned home from the bank and found his wife dead, with Mitty crying in a corner, in his anguish he said to the little girl, Oh why, couldn’t this have been you.

From then on Mitty’s problems could only multiply. Her mother had given her a doll wearing a pretty red dress for her sixth birthday. It was Mitty’s solace and escape to sing and rock the doll as her mother had sang to her. Cletus caught her singing to the doll and became enraged. He took it away from her and hid it in a trunk.

Cletus pulled her out of school. She was just starting the fourth grade. He claimed that girls did not need to go to school. It made them think they were superior, and it surrounded them with questionable friends, both male and female. Mitty’s teacher found ways to get books and lessons to her. Mitty hid them in the loft in the barn. She not only loved the books, but she loved the horses. Pablo, the stable boy, a young man about her age, caught her singing in the loft one day. He was the son of Nina Rodriquez, the current housekeeper. To earn his keep, Cletus had made him clean the stalls and feed the horses that were kept either in the stalls or in the corrals.

What are you doing here, he cried? It was hard to tell who was the most frightened of the two. I have to tell someone you are hiding here, he stammered. Mitty had blankets, articles of clothing, food, and trash scattered around. She had gotten too comfortable in her lair. Mr. Merck does not allow tramps on his property!

Whoa, there! Do you know to whom you are talking? I own this place and I own you! Mitty could not believe she had been so bold. She started to tremble.

Do not, Pablo replied, picking up a pitchfork that lay in the hay, and pointing it at Mitty. Her bravado fled like a frightened hare running from a dog.

Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Do you know how to read? See all these books. I can read.

Why would I want to read. I shovel manure. I sleep in the shack behind the chicken house. My mother brings me leftover food, but I am not allowed in the big fancy house.

You should learn to read. Then you could leave here and get a good job. In town. I am going to own the bank someday. If you don’t tell on me, I can teach you to read.

Pablo put the pitchfork down and said, could I work in your bank? Would you hire me?

Of course, she said, brushing the hay from her hair and clothes.

Ok then. I won’t tell. Teach me.

An hour of lessons followed by an hour with the horses was their usual time together, weather and chores permitting. Pablo learned to read and Mitty learned to care for horses. They arranged their meeting times at hours when no one was likely to be around, although she had at times, made a quick dive into a hiding place and Pablo had to quickly appear to be attending to business. Pablo taught her to ride, to saddle a horse, and to curry and clean them.

Although the youngsters thought their secret rendezvous was unknown, Pablo’s mother knew. She packed extra food on Pablo’s plate, which he always took to the barn to eat, so there would be enough for two. Other people hired to work around the place smiled behind their backs and kept the secret inviolate. Cletus Merck could care less, as long as they were not under his feet. His only interests were in foreclosures and how much he could add to his growing bank accounts and his considerable acreage.

Where did this gray horse come from? Mitty exclaimed one morning early as a ray of sunshine from the barn’s open window turned the horse’s shining back to silver and gold. Wow! I get her. She’s mine!

Pablo laughed. If you think your pa would even let you touch that horse, you’re crazy? I watched as your pa brought her in last evening. There were a bunch of highbrow men with him, and one fancy lady. He was bragging about how much the horse cost and about how he was going to show her in St. Louis and win prizes. And maybe race her. The fancy lady gave him a kiss when they were alone. And he kissed her back. For a long time.

Really! I don’t care. I hate her, and I hate him.

What if she is going to be your new mom?

You’re stupid. No one could like him that much.

I’m guessing your mom did. Besides, he owns a bank.

Now I hate you. Saddle the gray. I’m going to ride her.

Do it yourself. If you get caught it’s not my fault.

Mitty did as she was told and rode the horse around the corral. The horse was gentle and well mannered. It was an immediate love affair between the girl and the horse. She forgot her anger at Pablo. She’s mine. she said. I will call her Miss Thunder.

As time went by the two friends ventured farther and farther from the stables on their almost daily rides. Mitty rode Miss Thunder and Pablo rode a smaller bay gelding whom he just called Friend.

I found an old trail that goes off the bluff down to the river. Let’s try it tomorrow. Ok? asked Pablo with his fingers crossed.

Ok. But we will have to leave early before anyone is up and around.

The next morning early, Mitty and Pablo found themselves on their horses almost sliding down the steep trail off the bluff to the river. At the bottom they found a trace of a wagon road heading north along the river. Following it they could see a shack in the distance with some activity going on around it. They tied the horses to some cottonwood trees and crept on foot through the trees to see what was happening.

Hiding behind a huge fallen cottonwood tree trunk they watched as two men clad in mountain man gear pulled their flat bottom river boat up to a makeshift dock by the shack and unloaded what looked to be furs on the dock. They drug the bales into the shack and after a short while they stood, surveyed their surroundings, got back in the boat and headed down river to, apparently, St. Louis which was about ten miles downriver by boat.

What should we do, stuttered Pablo?

First of all, keep your mouth shut. We did not see nuthin’. Mitty the more adventurous of the two started running towards the shack. But I got to see what they put there.

Wait for me! hollered her companion in crime not wanting to remain alone.

The shack was set in a curve of the steep bluff with cliffs touching the water’s edge. The only way to go further upstream would be by boat. It was a secure hidden nest.

Mitty pushed open the door which was hanging by one hinge. The room smelled of dust and rodents. Pablo pushed in close behind her. As their eyes adjusted to the light they were surprised to see the room empty. It was impossible. They had seen the goods taken into the shack with their own eyes.

There must be a secret door somewhere. Mitty was about to step out onto the dock when the end of the board she was standing on suddenly flipped up almost hitting her in the back of the head. Pablo did not know whether to laugh or cry.

There’s a secret room under the floor, she exclaimed, righting herself from where she had fallen on the dock. Underneath the floor she could see the secret stash of furs. Let’s get out of here quick, she stammered. They might be pirates! They might come back. They will probably kill us.

When they reached the horses, they rode back to the top of the bluff as fast as they could push the sweating horses. As they topped out on the bluff who should they meet but Cletus Merck sitting astride his horse Midnight. His face was black with fury. He reached down and grabbed the reins of Mitty’s horse.

What do you think you are doing? he screamed. Who told you, you could ride this horse? This horse is not meant for children. Look what you have done. She is lathered up like she had been in a laundry tub. Pablo, take these horses to the barn and take care of them. Now!

I’m sorry, sir. It’s all my fault.

Now, I said. Are you deaf?

Pablo dismounted and took the reins of both horses and started for the barn. His shoulders were hunched. He did not look back.

Mitty had slid to the ground. She had never defied her father. They had scarce spoken to each other over the years. They were strangers riding separate cyclones, waiting to mesh in a terrific tornado. She looked up at her father with terrified eyes afraid he would strike her with the quirt held high in his hand. Instead, he said, did you see anything interesting down there?

No, sir. We just went to the river and turned around and came back. I . . . I know how to ride . . . to ride. I wish the gray mare were mine. Can she be mine? Please! I beg you. I will do anything.

Stop that babbling. I will see you, young lady, at dinner. He turned and rode away, leaving Mitty to walk the half mile to the house by herself. She did not know whether to cry or be mad. By the time she reached the house she was definitely mad. If she could not have the horse, she would steal the horse and run away. She knew where her father kept a pistol. She was thirteen years old. Old enough to take care of herself.

Dinner was roast beef, potatoes, cold slaw, gravy, and fresh baked rolls that Nina had just taken from the oven. As usual Mitty sat at one end of the table and her father at the other. She had bathed, curled her hair and wore her most grownup gray dress. Nothing was said.

Mitty took a bite of the meat, and then broke her roll apart and said with as much dignity as possible. Please pass the butter. Nothing. She was used to being ignored and eating her bread dry. But not this time. She politely asked again. Again nothing. So she shouted, I want some butter!

Cletus was figuring the profit he would make on the furs he knew were stashed in the old shack. The fur trade was dwindling. It was time to rid himself of the trappers who had enlarged his coffers every year. He ignored his daughter’s annoying request.

Take her away, he said to Nina who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen waiting to serve dessert.

I hate you, Mitty cried upsetting her dinner plate and spilling the contents on the floor. Before running to her bedroom, she ground her heel into the roll that had fallen on the carpet. It was not buttered.

The next morning Mitty went early to the barn. She went immediately to Miss Thunder’s stall. The horse was gone. She started to scream. Pablo came running from the tack room with an armful of his personal things trailing behind.

Where’s Miss Thunder?

I am sorry, said the subdued young man. The fancy lady came and took her last night. She was smiling and laughing like she owned it. Before she got on the horse Mr. Merck kissed her again.

I can’t believe it. How could he do that and not even say a thing? I hate him. What are you doing with all your things?

You are not the only one to hate him. He fired my mother and me. I don’t know where we will go. I already miss you, Miss Mitty. Goodbye.

The two friends stood with their arms around each other. All they could do was cry.

Later that day Mitty was sent to Memphis to live with her Aunt Grace.

Chapter 3

Benjamin Farkle

Young Benjamin Farkle should have stayed in North Carolina. He could have stayed and fought it out with his childhood enemies, the three Welk brothers. However, the sheriff who was courting Benjamin’s mother, not wanting to put his sweetheart’s only son in jail, took a page from Horace Greeley’s book and urged the young man to go west.

The trouble all started with a piebald horse that Ben claimed to have won fair and square in a race down Rocky Bottom Hollow. Charlie Welk swore that Ben stole the horse. It was inevitable that trouble would rear its ugly head between Charlie, Ike, and Sam Welk, and their low life neighbor Benjamin Farkle. It had been brewing since the boys were in grade school.

Ben knew his horse Nifty could win the race against Charlie’s piebald, especially if at the last minute he threw off Nifty’s saddle and rode bareback Indian style. The purse was to be the other’s horse. Old Pie would be a good prize. Ben could not afford to lose Nifty.

Ike and Sam Welk turned out to be the judges and the only