Under a Painted Sky Read Online Free PDF

I dive back under the canvas sheet and peek through the crack again. A man on a spotted horse slows to walk beside us.
    â€œMr. Calloway?” he barks, causing his droopy mustache to flap.
    Mr. Calloway doesn’t break his pace. “Morning. Do I know you?”
    â€œDeputy Granger.” He tips his hat. Its domed shape is the only round part of him. Sharp elbows, hooked nose, and an Adam’s apple that could rip holes in his bandanna. “I understand you took the quarter-past-ten passage aboard the
Whitsand
last night?”
    â€œYes, sir, I did. There a problem?”
    â€œSeen any girls pass this way?”
    I bite my tongue so hard I draw blood. The image of a noose dangles before my eyes.
    â€œGirls? No. Why?” Mr. Calloway removes his straw hat and wipes his bald spot with his arm. An angry sunburn stains his cheeks and nose.
    â€œA Chinese girl bashed in a man’s head last night and ran off.You seen her?”
    I cringe. Annamae blinks her hooked eyelashes once at me and grabs my hand. It’s a simple gesture, but it’s enough to keep me from fleeing in a hot panic.
    â€œNo, sir. The only Chinese person I’ve seen since Virginia was that fellow who owns the Whistle. Bought my canvas from him yesterday.”
    â€œShe’s his offspring. The whole place burned down last night, the Chinaman with it. People like that are careless.” The deputy’s voice drips with scorn.
    Mr. Calloway pauses before answering. “Didn’t seem careless to me, Deputy. Mr. Young was his name? He spotted a crack in one of my wheels and helped me fix it. Seems more a tragedy than anything.” He replaces his hat and shifts his gaze to the front wagon wheel.
    â€œWell, we ain’t talking about the father, we’re talking about his girl taking out one of St. Joe’s finest. And what I say is, a body don’t run unless the body is guilty.” His black eyes seem to zero in on me, and I stop breathing. Then they roam the rest of the wagon.
    â€œA slave girl ran away last night, too,” the deputy continues. “Don’t know if they’re in league.”
    Mr. Calloway shakes his head. “Well, I haven’t seen anyone, Deputy. Anyway, I can’t see girls running in this direction. This is rough country. Without a mule, supplies, they wouldn’t last three days. You’re better off searching St. Louis.”
    â€œThey sent out a group this morning. Believe me, I have better things to do than comb the weeds for a snake.”
    â€œGood day, then,” says Mr. Calloway, reverting his attention to his grunting oxen.
    I pray the man will leave now, and when he falls back, I unhook my fingernails from my palms. Then, the wagon hits a rock, and the clock belches out a chime.
    Annamae hisses in her breath, then clamps a hand over her mouth.
    The spotted pony brings Deputy Granger and his probing eyes even with us again.
    â€œI’m going to need to search you. You’re the only wagon on which they coulda hid. Might as well be thorough before I go home.”
    Mr. Calloway’s shoulders slump, like he might be sighing. Then he calls, “Whoa, boys and girls, whoa now!”
    I cast about for an escape, fear wringing my insides into a wet knot. The slivered openings on either side of the wagon reveal nothing but wide-open prairie.
    I lean over and speak into Annamae’s ear, so low that I cannot even hear myself. “I will turn myself in. Pull the sheet over you and hide.” I squeeze her palm.
    Our chariot, now our prison, staggers to a halt. Annamae pulls me back down as I start to rise, pointing to the crack on her side of the wagon. A weeping willow, one of spring’s first bloomers, drips down its branches not ten feet away.
    The deputy’s boots thud on the grass as he dismounts.
    â€œGoing to take a moment to move my clock,” says Mr. Calloway.
    We don’t hesitate. While Mr. Calloway pushes aside the