We were going to make one stop before we left Hays, and that was a stop at the general store, where Phillip stacked hundred pound bags of dry goods at the back door of the store.

"Two hundred pounds of coffee, hundred pounds of flour, hundred pounds of sugar and two hundred pounds of beans. Anything else you need this morning?"

"Yes, waist guns. What do you have in the way of waist guns?"

We walked to the counter at the front of the store. Guns of all varieties and makes were hung on the wall behind the counter, and in racks nearby.

"You expecting a civil war?" Phillip asked.

"Hunters and farmers buy all kinds of guns. We carry them all. What can I interest you in today?" the proprietor asked.

"Sammy Boy, step up here and tell the man which gun you like. We're going to need all the guns possible where we're going. You need to have waist gun."

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, not sure Samuel was ready to carry a waist gun.

"He needs to be able to protect himself. When we go to the gold fields near Denver, he'll need to know how to shoot and have a good six shooter. He can practice while we are doing the survey in Colorado Territory."

I kept my mouth shut as Samuel stepped up to the counter to look at the waist guns hanging on the wall and laid out on the counter.

"Tie down rig. You have a rig that ties to my leg?"

"Gunslinger style?" the proprietor asked.

"Yeah, gunslinger style. I want a gunslinger's rig."

The proprietor looked at Phillip for approval.

Phillip nodded.

"Give the boy what he wants. It's his gun."

The man went through a door and in five minutes he came back carrying a box.

"Just got these in, it's a Colt gunslinger model. No better gun around. They are tested and sighted in before they leave the Colt Company."

He set the box on the counter and took off the lid.

Samuel reached in and brought out the belt and holster. He strapped it on, and he reached into the bottom of the box and pulled out a Colt .45. He dopped it in the holster like he'd done it a hundred times.

Samuel bent to tie the rawhide that hung beneath the holster. When he stood up, he looked like a very young gunslinger.

The proprietor watched this. He looked at Phillip. He looked at me. He looked at Samuel.

He said what all of us were thinking, "He looks like a gun slinger."

"Is it loaded?" Phillip asked.

"No, we sell cartridges for all models. We don't load our guns. We already have trouble holding on to our guns, and we keep the Colts locked up in the storage area. Too expensive to risk having customers walk off with them.

"How much for the Colt?" Phillip asked.

"$150.00."

"I just want the gun, I don't want to buy the store," Phillip said alarmed.

"It's a Colt," the proprietor said. "No better six shooter made."

"You sure you want this one, Sammy Boy. It's a lot of gun," Phillip said.

"I want this one," Samuel said.

"Add it to the dry goods. I'll need two pairs of jeans. Two shirts, socks and a pair of boots for the boy," Phillip said.

The proprietor took us to a section with clothing that was mostly rugged gear for men who worked outside for a living. Phillip let Samuel pick out what he liked, and it was added to the bill that had gotten rather long.

I'd been with Phillip when Dan gave him the money for supplies and pay for a year for both of us. I'd seen stacks of money in banks I'd dealt with, but I'd never seen anyone carry as much money as Dan gave Phillip. He held on to my pay. I hadn't done any work yet, but he had plenty to buy clothes, supplies, and the Colt.

I wasn't a fan of guns. I carried one if I was going into a situation that might require it. I'd worn a waist gun more since I joined Phillip and we started west. I knew the South and I knew when I was treading on dangerous turf. That's when I took my six shooter out of my carpetbag. Made sure it was clean and loaded, and I strapped it on.

Giving a waist gun to a fifteen or sixteen year old boy seemed excessive to me. If we got in that much trouble that we needed Samuel's help to get us out, we were really in trouble. Thinking I had earned the right to speak up, I waited until I was on the wagon seat beside Phillip, and I could see Samuel riding out ahead of us before I spoke up.

"Do you really think it's wise for Samuel to have a gunslinger's rig, Phillip."

"It's what he wanted," Phillip said, like it was all up to Phillip.

"Yes, it is what he wanted, but is it wise for him to have it?"

Phillip didn't jump right on it and tell me that he'd decided what Sammy Boy needed. We moved along as usual.

"Where we found him. What was happening to him, and Lord knows what else has happened to the poor kid," Phillip said. "The way he jumps when we ask him to do something."

"He's getting better with that. He's calming down some," I said.

We were having an entirely different conversation than I thought we were having, but as usual, Phillip was way out ahead of me.

"There's a reason he jumps into action when we speak," he said.

"What's that?"

"Nester had him jumping like that. You think he has just forgot about Nester?"

"I haven't given it much thought," I said.

"He fears that Nester is going to come after him, and he's going to take him back."

That required a bit more thought than I'd given it.

"Now, he has the means to defend himself. That gun tells him that no one is going to make him do anything he isn't willing to do. I have been thinking about getting him a waist gun since shortly after we found him. It's one way for him to lose the fear he has."

I wasn't going to tell him how much sense that made. Why didn't I think of it? He's old enough to have a waist gun if Phillip taught him how to use it properly. Neither one of us wore a waist gun, unless we thought it was necessary. We'd see that Samuel did the same.

Phillip often made sense of things I'd given no thought to. He said he would train Samuel to shoot and how to handle the Colt. That was all well and good, except for what I saw Samuel doing a few days later as Phillip was busy setting up camp and getting the fire going. I walked around the corner of the wagon, and Samuel had his back to me. He was wearing that gunslinger rig, and I went to get Phillip.

A little aggravated because I interrupted him, he followed me down the side of the wagon.

Standing with his back to us, and two feet from the back of the wagon, so he wasn't seen, Samuel was quick drawing the Colt. He spun it on his finger, letting it slip into the holster in a single motion, before drawing it again, and dropping it back. He drew ten times , and I swear he did it faster each time. The kid was fast.

Where'd he learn to handle a gun?

"You want to tell me where you learned that?" Phillip said.

Samuel dropped the gun, and he stumbled trying to pick it up.

"Me? Learn that?"

"You don't speak English all of a sudden. You knew what you wanted when I went to look at guns. Just how is it you not only know a Colt .45, but you handle it like a gunslinger?"

"I, ah, well Nester sort of taught me," Samuel said.

"Let's get a cup of coffee and you can tell me how it is you can draw like that."

"When he went out of the house, if he was going to work or do something around his piece of ground, he left his six shooter hanging on a spike next to the kitchen door. If he was going to town or riding a ways, he'd grab it and strap it on. On the days he didn't take it with him, I strapped it on and practiced being a gunslinger. His gunslinger rig is older than this one, but it's the same model and all. I've been learning to draw it for years. Since maybe when I was twelve or thirteen."

"Why didn't you just shoot him when he left the gun behind?" Phillip asked.

"Nnever left it loaded. I don't know where he kept the cartridges. If I'd have had a bullet, I'd have killed him a long time ago," Samuel said. "I dream of killing him."

"I want you to take that rig off. I want you to leave it in the wagon, except when I take you out and let you practice with it. You'll know that Nester can never take you again. You are free of him, but we don't wear guns to supper. Do you understand me, Sammy Boy?"

"Yes, Sir," he said, going to put the Colt up before coming back to sit next to the fire.

A few days later, as we continued moving west, we pulled over to camp for the night in a stand of trees not far from the trail. When we stopped, there was a pile of trash someone half burned, and among the trash were a dozen or so unbroken bottles. Phillip immediately knew what to do with them.

I watched him set the bottles up about thirty feet away on a log. He told Samuel to go get his gunslinger rig. Samuel came back with the Colt on and the rig tied down.

"Let me see it. I want to make sure it hits what you aim at."

Phillip took the gun and he loaded it from the box of cartridges he'd brought from the wagon. Once he loaded the gun, he turned to face six bottle he sat on the log. He brought the gun up, steadied it and fired. The bottle on the right broke as the bullet struck it.

"You are to aim like I just did. You shoot one bullet at the bottle on the furthest left and you can work your way toward the center, shooting the next bottle each time you hit one.

The bottles were safe. I wasn't sure I was, and I made a point of standing behind them.

Those bottles lasted a lot longer than I thought they might. Each night when we pulled over to camp, Phillip set up the five surviving bottles after adding a sixth bottle to the targets.

Each evening he put the six bottles back with a half dozen other bottles that were cushioned so they didn't break accidentally before Sammy Boy got to shoot at them.

At the end of the week Samuel hit one of the bottles. I don't know it is the one he aimed at, and he didn't say, and we all celebrated with another cup of coffee.

Target practice kept going each evening. It was a nice change of pace, but it wasn't long before we ran out of bottles. Samuel was becoming a better shot, and one day after Phillip set up all the bottles we have left, Samuel not only quick drew the Colt, he shattered the rest of the bottles.

"Can't afford to keep shooting up the cartridges I bought. We might need a few if we run into trouble along the way," Phillip said. "You've done well, Sammy Boy."

Samuel took the praise in stride. Not only did he look like a gunslinger when he wore the rig, but he walked with a confidence he didn't have before. I began to think Phillip was right again. Samuel felt like he could stop Nester from taking him to own him again. The knowledge seemed to calm him in a way nothing else had.

The guns were put up for a time when we might need them. With three of us being able to hit what we shot at, we'd be safer.

Goodland was half the size of Hays. It wasn't a big town, but there were places to buy everything we need for the year we planned to be north of the town working. Goodland was a crossroads where you could continue to the Colorado Territory a few miles west, or you could go north to reach Nebraska Territory and trails west and back toward the east.

I suspected that a lot of people went north from Goodlands, rather than risk the long trek across Kansas during the summer heat. We stopped at an eatery when we first reached Goodland. Our waitress was just what we were looking for, and she spoke of the towns past as well as future plans for the city's growth. We rode through the rest of the town to get familiar with the places where we could buy goods, and we stopped at the general store to buy enough cartridges to see us through a year in the wilderness where we hunted food.

We left the wagon in front of the general store and walked next door to the saloon.

"Three beers," Phillip said to the bartender, before all three of us got to the bar.

The bar keep gave one glance to Samuel before setting a tall cold one in front of each of us. This was the land of mountains and gold mines. Ice was never in short supply, and saloons around here always had cold beer. It was refreshing to say the least. If we had to go through all of Kansas to earn this beer, I'd pass on that trip, but since we'd made the trip from east Kansas to West Kansas, I thought we earned that beer.

The barkeep was as talkative as the waitress, he spoke of the miners and the settlers heading this way, and how the town was growing faster than anyone thought it might. He'd done well opening the saloon, and they got customers from all over the world. When there was talk of gold, there was a steady flow of the people wanting to get rich.

Samuel wanted to ride to the cabin, and I tied Chestnut to the back of the wagon. We'd been fed, had a beer, and it was time to get down to business.

Phillip clicked his tongue, jiggled the reins, and the horses were ready to go.

The trail was flat and straight as we were quickly beyond the development.

"You got on Steward and the teamsters for drinking," I said.

Phillip knew I often checked his logic and he recognized my technique.

"You know very well that there are some things that require a beer when you can get one. Nothing quenches your thirst better than cold beer. There's a big difference from having a cold beer and having ten cold beers, and you know it."

I counted three saloons in Goodland, and that was on the main street. There very more could have been more. The construction was as haphazard as in most towns that were popping up as there was a need for them.

The trail leading into the cabin was a few miles west of the Colorado Territorial border. I felt some relief when we crossed into Colorado. I lived through Kansas, and I couldn't help but feel like we were in a much better place.

The trail to the cabin was narrow and maybe a couple of miles long. We'd stopped in Goodland in mid afternoon, and it wasn't dark yet. At our usual walking pace, it took maybe four hours to go to from Goodland to the cabin in the wagon. On horseback we could get to town in an hour at a trot. We were totally isolated at the cabin, but still close enough to town to go for something we needed as a need became apparent.

Having spent so long in the middle of nowhere, the town being that close was a comfort. We could settle down to do the surveying and still go into town if we pleased.

The cabin was well constructed. It was sturdy, built with good size logs, and the fireplace inside was big enough to heat the entire cabin with no strain at all. The built in features for cooking over the fire were touches that most cabins don't have. Someone planned this cabin for comfort and convenience.

"This was a hunting cabin," Phillip said, as we waited for our first cup of coffee in the cabin.

Some men from Denver bought the land and used the cabin for hunting expeditions, when the bank bought the mountain, the cabin came with it. The men who used it for hunting didn't want to sell, but the bank paid them enough for it to get them to sell. They had enough to build two cabins after they sold this one."

"Did they realize the surveyors would be using it while surveying for the bank?" I asked.

"I'm sure it crossed their minds. We aren't in the main mountains here, but in the winter you can be stranded for weeks after a big snow storm. We have enough supplies to spend an entire winter inside. We'd need to go out to get water, but there's a well fifty feet away and there is a creek and a pond within easy walking distance."

It was too dark back in the forest where the cabin was to do any exploring, once we unloaded the wagon, putting the dry goods in the cabin's pantry. We unloaded all our personals, putting them in the living quarters, and there was plenty of room to move around. It wasn't cold out, but it was cool as September was wasting away.

There were six bunks, and we unstacked three for us to use and left the others stacked in a utility room where there was more storage space. Even with the fire burning down in the stone fireplace, we could hardly keep our eyes open, and one by one we took to our beds, and it was so nice to have a solid structure around us as we drifted off to sleep.

I woke to birds singing and a new day when we wouldn't move except on foot, and then we moved a little faster than the wagon went most days. I had no worry I'd wear myself out or get thirsty or need to graze.

There wasn't a barn, but there was a stable for more horses than we had. It still had hay from the last occupants of the cabin, and we'd take the horses up to a meadow nearby to let them wander and graze on the nice days.

The beauty of the place was unmatched by anything we'd seen in a thousand miles. This was the wilderness, but complete with breathtaking views and wonderful vistas. The tall trees were a comfort, and after I put the coffee pot on the fire I stoked, I put on my jacket to go outside.

I hadn't looked to see if Phillip and Samuel were still in bed, but I ran into Phillip coming out of the stable with a bucket of water. He'd been giving the horses water.

"Morning, John. Welcome to Prosperity."

"Prosperity?"

"It's what the businessmen who used this cabin called it. It's burned into the log above the door," Phillip explained. "We can take the horses up to the meadow once we eat."

"I put the coffee on," I said.

"I was about to go put a pot on the fire. It usually stokes right up In the morning if it is still burning when I turn in. The cabin is toasty warm at most hours. Some days you need to open the window and the door to cool it off. The nights can get cold but the days are pleasant. When you're accustomed to being outside, this place is a palace."

"It is," I said.

Our first day was spent getting acquainted with the most important features our new home furnished us. Phillip and Samuel went hunting carrying the 30/30. Phillip was determined to teach Samuel to hunt with the rifle. We hadn't gotten into the surveying yet, but the idea was that Phillip and I would go survey and Samuel would hunt for our supper. We had a way to store and keep meat for an extended period, but we all agreed fresh was best, and Samuel was anxious to learn to use the rifle.

On the third day Phillip got the surveying equipment out, and he shot the angles around the clearing and showed us how to take a reading and how to write it so it could be understood. We could all survey, with Phillip doing most of the readings, but he showed us what it was he was doing, and if need be, Samuel or I could take readings.

The mountain was huge. It stretched for well over a mile in each direction and then it was several miles up and over to where Phillip did his surveys the year before I met him in New York City. He'd come to New York to discuss the surveying he did here. The partners involved in the bank's purchase of land were all delighted to buy this parcel.

We developed a routine and we each knew what to do when it was time to do it. Samuel mostly did the hunting and took care of the horses. Phillip and I would go out shortly after first light, and we might ride to where we were surveying, or we might walk to nearby sections.

Each day was much like the last day, and surveying wasn't much of a bother. If I was alive, and I was very alive at the cabin in the forest north of Goodland, I wanted to get out, breathe fresh air, and enjoy the beauty that surrounded us.

I'd been to a lot of places in the south, and there were some garden spots I looked forward to seeing, but nothing matched the beauty of that mountain and the forest surrounding it. I felt so entirely alive there, it was hard to describe. Being alive was good. It was very very good and I planned to make the most of it.

It was while doing the survey, I began to think about my Virginia horse ranch. I'd always admired the green meadows and expansive properties filled with horses. Many times I found myself stopping my buggy to lean on the top rail of a fence to watch horses frolic nearby. I'd always thought I'd buy one of those ranches one day, but I was too busy making money. Now, I had money, and I was alive, and when I found the right place, I was going to buy me that horse ranch somewhere out here in the west.

It felt good to have a plan. It felt good to have a friend like Phillip and someone like Samuel to fuss over and worry about. As much as I'd grown over nearly a year, Samuel had grown by leaps and bounds, compared to me. He had become a strong growing boy with confidence and a desire to learn and to help in any way possible.

I'd always been footloose and fancy free, because my life was my own, until I was in danger of losing it. I'd had nearly a year to consider where I was and what I was doing. I'd gone to a dark place that I didn't expect to return from, but I had returned, and life had a different meaning for me. I wasn't going to give up being free to do as I pleased, but there was a plan that involved something besides making money.

I would buy a horse ranch and I was going to send for Barnaby. I needed to wire George that I had lived, and I was ready to give Barnaby a home, if he still needed one. I wasn't ready yet. I hadn't found the place where I'd settle, and the mountains were a bit too rugged for a horse farm. No, I hadn't found the place where I wanted to put my horses, but I'd know it when I found it, and then I'd send the wire.

*****

The fire warmed the hands of the hobos, as they watched the carrots cook. It was fall in New York City, and the mornings could chill you to the bone.

Barnaby took potatoes and carrots he bought for the hobos to the freight yard, once he got up and before reporting to work. There were always new hobos, and some didn't know why the boy brought food to start their day a couple times a month, but they were glad he did.

Barnaby knew that he once waited and hoped someone would make enough money to buy potatoes and carrots they'd share. It was an unspoken rule, if you are lucky enough to make a little money, you shared a small amount to feed the hobos who slept at the freight yard.


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