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very long. But maybe, he thought with a wry twist of his lips, he was not welcomed by the men who did not know him because he was a half-breed.
    “Damn,” he cursed under his breath. He’d never entertained such self-doubt before, so why start now?
    A small body collided with his kneecaps, and Kase nearly toppled into the street. He reached out to grab the hitching post and straightened himself, but the hapless victim who’d careened into him was not so lucky. George Washington Davis sat sprawled in the dust beside Kase’s booted feet, his ebony skin covered with the dust of Main Street.
    “How’s it goin’ down there, G.W.?” Kase teased as he reached down to grab the boy’s arm and hoist him to his feet.
    G.W. was dressed as the urchin he was, shirtless and shoeless, with nothing beneath the overalls that hung from the boy’s bony frame.
    “Goin’ jus’ fine, Marshal. Pappy sent me to fetch you. Dat big old mule you call a hoss is all ready for you to collect.”
    The boy pointed toward Decatur Davis’s blacksmith shop at the end of town in the event Kase had forgotten exactly where it was he’d left his horse.
    “In that case, G.W., I’d better go get Sinbad.” The two started down the middle of the empty street together, and Kase looked down at the nappy-headed boy who barely reached his gun belt.
    “You think your pa would object to my giving you a treat for coming after me?” Kase inquired, his expression serious. He already knew the answer.
    G.W.’s eyes lit up. “No, suh.”
    Kase flipped G.W. a nickel and watched the boy run off in the direction of Al-Ray’s store. As Kase walked toward the blacksmith’s shop, he pulled out the gold pocket watch that had once been Caleb Storm’s father’s and noted the hour. Deciding he had time for a ride before dinner, Kase snapped the timepiece shut and worked it down into the watch pocket of his denims with his forefinger. Maybe a long, hard ride would drive some of the confusion from his mind. He always had done some of his best thinking in the saddle.



Chapter
Two

    The immigrant car of the Union Pacific bound for the end of the line at Promontory clattered and swayed as it rolled along the tracks. Part of a twenty-six-car caravan, the flat-roofed wooden box was sandwiched between a two-truck Shay locomotive and a jaunty red caboose. Rosa Audi swayed with the incessant motion of the train as she gazed out the window at the flowing landscape with the ever-changing colors of this raw new land. She had been staring for hours, at times aware of the passing grandeur, sometimes unaware of the scenery as she thought of home and family. Now that she was half a world away, Rosa knew her memories would have to last a lifetime.
    Everyone had gathered to bid her farewell on the morning she left Crotte. Angelina had come with her husband Genesio who had dressed in his finest suit, his hair slicked and parted in the center. Mario had worn one of his long, dour expressions. Guido had sat in the rocking chair beneath the grape arbor. Even though it was still early in the day, he was already drinking too much wine. Zia Rina and Angelina’s little Margarina had hovered about—questioning, straightening Rosa’s dress and hat, checking and rechecking the trunk and valise until Rosa thought she would scream. Finally, it had been time to leave. Pino loaded her baggage into the rickety hay wagon and helped her into the high seat beside him.
    Zia Rina had thrust a lush bouquet of carefully dethorned roses into her arms. Rosa buried her face in them, drinking in their heady fragrance while Pino flicked the reins over the horse’s back. The wagon had lurched forward, nearly unseating her before beginning the journey out of Crotte.
    Today, a month later, the memory of the parting was still vivid in Rosa’s mind. She remembered that she had waved and waved to them all as the wagon creaked and groaned its way up the winding road to the village. Never before had the old