Chapter 1

1

Chick-uh chick-uh, chick-uh chick-uh.

From beneath the train, iron wheels clacked against their rails, speeding along the track as one, great beast. Giant plumes of steam shot from its metal smokestack as it roared along the plains. The horizon stretched out for miles and miles of flat land. It was devilishly hot inside, even with the train windows cracked to allow in the desert air. Ladies fanned themselves, and gentlemen pat their sweat casually whilst reading the newspaper. Currently, the train was on its way from Georgia, through Mississippi, and into the new land of the Arkansas territory. Directly in the middle of the compartment, riding beside her mother, little ten-year-old Violet Donovan stared out the window, watching the horizon pass by.

Violet was the curious sort, with big brown eyes evenly set in a peachy, soft face. Her curls were loose and matched her eyes, tucked currently into a pale blue bonnet. She wore a blue dress, done up with lace and bows along her hems. It was the nicest dress she owned; despite the heat, her mother insisted she wear it. Mrs. Donovan, sitting beside her child, rode otherwise alone. The ring on her right finger suggested a widow, and the price of her dress implied her wealth. Violet laid her arms along the edge of the window, staring mindlessly towards the horizon. Even the glass was hot, but Violet didn’t mind. “What’s Arkansas like, Mama?” she asked. “Does it look like this?”

“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Donovan. She took a photograph from her clutch purse, examining it. On the back was an inscription in pencil: Donovan Estate, AK, 1874.“All I know is what the house looks like.”

“It’s so much smaller than back home,” said Violet, looking at it. “Do I get horses?”

“Of course, sugar. Maybe not as many.”

Violet went back to her window. “Don’t see why we gotta move anyhow,” she said. “I liked home just fine.”

“Things change, Violet.” Her mother returned the photo. “Doesn’t mean it’ll be a bad change.”

“Hm.” Violet tapped her fingers on the glass, leaving little smudges behind. As her mind wandered, something peculiar caught her eye. An unusually thick cloud of dust kicked up like a storm, just a few yards away from the train. Looking closer, Violet saw horses obscured by the cloud. A thrill of excitement shot through her, and she turned to tug on her mother’s arm.

“Mama!” she said excitedly. “Horses! I saw horses outside! Men ridin’ em, too!”

“What? Don’t be silly, child.” But Mrs. Donovan looked out anyway. To Violet’s surprise, the horses and their riders were gone from sight. Mrs. Donovan clicked her tongue. “I swear, your mind gets away from you sometimes.”

“But I really saw ‘em!” she swore. “Honest!”

“Yes, Violet.” Mrs. Donovan closed her eyes, resting her head against her seat.

Disappointed, Violet went back to the window, eager to find the mystery horses again. She saw no sign of them. With a sad huff, she laid her forehead against the hot glass, wondering if she had in fact imagined it.

That’s when she heard rustling above them. Violet looked around and saw that a few other passengers noticed the noise as well. Violet pushed herself to her knees, craning her neck over their many heads to see if something was happening.

Bang!Shouts of surprise echoed through the compartment like an ocean wave. People fell back, women clutched their pearls, and young Violet braced herself against the headrest of her seat, staring at the back of their train car.

The door, just seconds ago, had been kicked wide open. In came two bandits, bandannas covering their lower faces. The first was a colored man, a derby low on his forehead. Wireframe glasses pinched his nose. In each hand he held a loaded six shooter, both of which were pointed at the terrified passengers. The second, carrying a dangerous Winchester rifle, was a Chinaman, his hair long and braided down his back. He wore a cowboy’s hat, the brim nearly hiding his dark eyes.

“Alright y’all, stay still and keep your hands where I can see them!” The first man barked orders, leaving the passengers cowering in their seats. When the panic settled, the two slowly made their way through the compartment, eyes scanning the crowd patiently. Violet’s mother grabbed her tight, and pull her in to safety. Still, both frightened and fascinated, she struggled to watch.

“Now,” the bandit continued, “comply with our request, and we shall rid you of our presence right quick. We’re lookin’ for a Mr. Randolph Johnson!” They continued to walk through the train car, until they were just parallel to Violet’s seat. She watched through her mother’s arms as the man continued to search. Violet turned to the second. His face had not changed expression, his eyes sharper than knives. The Chinaman turned suddenly to where Violet was watching him. He didn’t seem too old. Violet felt his eyes pierce into hers, yet as frightened as she was, she couldn’t look away. Their gazes only broke when Mrs. Donovan shielded Violet with her arm.