ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
No book ever gets written alone, and no book ever finds its way to a reader alone. As I wrote this book, several of the bookstores that had previously supported my work closed their doors, and it didn’t seem right not to acknowledge their passing.
I walked in the doors of The Mystery Company in Carmel, Indiana, for the first time in the spring of 2004 after making my first professional short story sale to a western anthology (
The Wild in Noblesville, Indiana, was primarily a children’s bookstore, but the owner, Jane Shasserre Mills, welcomed my books and hand-sold a great many of them. Noblesville will not be the same without you or the store, Jane.
I briefly met the staff at the Waldenbooks store in my hometown of Anderson, Indiana, but Eric and Stephanie went above the call of duty to host a great book signing for me. Thank you. I hope you both have found careers that allow your love of books to carry on.
Finally, to all of the booksellers who have been gracious and kind to me, especially Margi Kingsley and the staff at the Noblesville Barnes & Noble, who are still fighting the good fight, making sure books find their way to readers’ hands every day, thank you for all that you continue to do.
Also . . . this book wouldn’t have been possible without the continuing support from my writing friends (you know who you are) and those who have helped guide my books to their final form: John Duncklee; the Berkley production team; Faith, Cherry, Liz, and Chris; and most importantly, Rose, whose confidence in me never wavers.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The challenge of mixing fiction with history is never ending, especially when the mix includes a venerable organization such as the Texas Rangers. In each of my books, I have tried to capture the high-quality character and spirit of the Rangers, most eloquently described by Walter Prescott Webb in his highly respected book
Mr. Webb’s ideal of a Ranger is a high standard. One that continues to be apparent in the modern Texas Ranger organization. It is my hope that every time I tell a Ranger story, I uphold the character and honor of all Texas Rangers, past and present.
For other historical works concerning the Texas Rangers and the Frontier Battalion, the following books have served me well:
Online resources such as
PROLOGUE
October 1861
The forceful north wind pushed through the walls of the cabin, searching out every nook, cranny, and snakesized hole it could find. It was a harsh cold that was nearly bone chilling, a surprise to a young man’s skin that was more accustomed to long, hot, Texas summers than the mystery of the Dakotas or the promise of constant blizzards in the faraway land of Montana. It was the first hint of the coming winter, and the certainty of the change of seasons was not lost on Josiah Wolfe, who slowly stirred awake under a thin blanket, wholly unprepared to step foot on the floor and get a start on the day.
Winter in East Texas was mild, and the deep drop in the temperature was an anomaly, a drop more akin to late January mornings, though rare even then, than October ones. Beyond the suddenness of the cold, roiling clouds were visible through the window, lighting the room in gloomy shadows instead of the happy sunshine Josiah had hoped for the night before. He’d finally drifted off to sleep, fear mixing with excitement over the new adventure that lay in wait for him the next day.
Josiah pulled the blanket over his head and tried to snuggle deeper into the feather mattress and fall back asleep.
He had dreaded the coming of this day, even though he had been more than excited by some of the prospects of it.
He was sure he was ready for whatever was coming his way. He had to be, but . . . the pine cabin had always been just over the next horizon, even when he had ventured into Tyler or Waco as a boy, then as a young man, with his father or a friend nearly always at his side. Texas was all he knew, the only part of the world that made sense to him. Leaving it made him nervous, but not in a can’t-breathe kind of way, just nervous in a not- knowing-what’s-next kind of way.
If only the cause of his leaving Texas were to see the world for fun and profit and not to take up arms in a war he had yet to understand, then he would have been truly excited. But that was not to be. He
The day of his departure had arrived with the push of a cold, hard wind—whether he was ready or not.
Below, under the loft where he’d slept since he could remember, his mother moved about as quietly as she could, preparing the morning meal. The deep aroma of coffee reached his nose, further provoking him to climb out from underneath the comfortable blanket.
He glanced out the window as he stood, searching for the silhouette of his father walking the land, or coming out of the barn, easing through his morning chores. But Josiah saw nothing moving. It was almost like the world
