Son, if you are reading this I know you have found your way home. Please do one last favor for me and find Amelia Wakeland. I want you to help her if she is in need. I have never met a sweeter soul, and I’m worried about her.
Your loving mother
Clint read the note several times before tucking it into his shirt pocket. He placed the bookmark back in the Bible and returned it to the table. Walking from the room, he thought he’d done little over the last few years to show his mother how much she meant to him. What a fool he’d been. He’d do this one last thing she’d asked of him.
Feeling as if the walls were closing in on him, Clint walked outside to look over the ranch. He thought about his future without his family. Even though he’d been far away, he always knew he had a place to call home. But could the ranch be a home without his family? He didn’t think so. He walked until he was exhausted, mentally and physically. That night, after he checked on his horses once last time, he returned to the house and tossed his bedroll on the floor in front of the fireplace. But sleep didn’t come.
* * *
The next morning before dawn, Clint was on his way to the Wakeland ranch. As he approached the house, he looked over the land. Like his ranch, it appeared desolate, no cows or horses grazing in the pasture. It felt like every person and animal had disappeared from the face of the earth. He was just about to rein in at the house when a man walked from the stable.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Hope so.” Clint took the man’s measure. He looked to be younger, but he was almost as tall as he was, just not as muscled. He looked none too pleased by the interruption. Clint pushed back his hat on his head and rested his hands on the saddle horn. “I’m Clint Mitchum. I’m looking for Amelia Wakeland.”
If the man recognized Clint’s name, he gave no indication. “She left with Tom Nelson two weeks back. Headed to the Llano River.”
“That river covers some territory,” Clint replied.
“That’s all I know,” the man responded curtly.
Clint could tell he didn’t want to offer more information. “Thanks.” He turned Reb back in the direction of his ranch. His mother had asked one last thing of him. He’d failed her when she was alive; he wouldn’t fail her in death. He’d find Amelia Wakeland no matter how long it took.
* * *
Returning to his ranch, Clint walked to his mother’s bedroom, picked up her Bible and headed for the door. He stopped in the front room, his eyes drawn to that raggedy little doll in the rocking chair. Something seemed to be telling him to take the doll with him. It was just a brief thought that made no logical sense, but he walked to the rocker and grabbed the doll. After he stuffed both items in his saddlebag, he loaded his packs on Champ and rode out. He didn’t know if he was leaving the ranch for the last time. He didn’t want to think about the future now. It might take a few weeks, a few months or a few years to find Amelia. After that, maybe he would be in a frame of mind to plan his future.
He rode at a slower pace because his horses hadn’t had time to recuperate from the grueling ride on the way home. Riding always helped him sort things out in his mind, but it also gave him too much time to think. He wished he’d asked the man at the Wakeland ranch more questions. Grief had taken hold of his every thought, and he hadn’t been thinking straight at the time. He realized he didn’t have much information to go on. He wondered why that man had stayed behind at the Wakeland ranch when the place looked to be abandoned. He’d have to focus on what he did know. Amelia Wakeland was alive two weeks ago, and she was headed to the Llano River. He decided to ride to Honey Creek to find Whitt and the boys. The odds of finding Amelia in the same location were not in his favor. Although Whitt had told him several families from La Grange were headed to Honey Creek, so it was as good a place as any to start looking for Amelia.
* * *
Days later, Clint arrived in Honey Creek at dusk. It didn’t take him long to find Whitt Newcombe once he described the boys to a family he’d passed camping on the river.
Whitt saw Clint as soon as he reined in at their campsite. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I left the day after I arrived in La Grange,” Clint said as he dismounted.
Whitt understood what Clint was saying. He gripped Clint’s shoulder. “I’m sorry the news wasn’t better.”
“Me too.” Clint looked around for the boys. “Where’s Bo and Boone?”
“Over by the stream where we’re panning. They think looking for gold is fun.” Whitt laughed. “I hope after a month they still enjoy it.” Whitt poured Clint some coffee. “I just came to grab some grub and coffee.”
“Any luck yet?”
Whitt reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out a small pouch that held gold flakes along with several tiny nuggets and held them out for Clint to see. “I remember my pa always told me gold will follow a certain path in a streambed, from inside bend to inside bend, so I looked for slow-moving water that ran in that direction. He also told me when I found black sand, that was a good sign. I searched all day for what I thought would be the best spot. When I saw the logjams and idle pools of water here, I thought it was the perfect place to start.”
Clint inspected Whitt’s findings. “It does look
