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open until past midnight, Hook and his bunch would be ill-prepared to take the trail at first light. Ike and several other men helped McQuade load the supplies into Ike’s wagon.
    â€œI bought extra coffee and sugar,” said McQuade. “If any of you run short, come and talk to Ike.”
    It was a truly unselfish act to which every man and woman could relate, and McQuade became one of them, for better or worse. There now was a solidarity among
them that had been absent, a bond that Chance McQuade knew he must have, if they were ever to each the Rio Colorado. In his own mind, he was sure of one thing: reaching this Promised Land in Texas might be the easy part. McQuade’s mind harbored a growing suspicion that Rufus Hook had a far bigger stake than just establishing a new town. He had within his reach, thousands of acres of Texas land, for almost nothing. When Texas became a state, which someday it must, Rufus Hook could become the wealthiest man in North America. 1
    â€œI’m riding ahead to look for water,” said McQuade, as the train prepared to take the trail again. As McQuade rode past the Flanagan wagon, he tipped his hat to Mary, and she smiled. It was enough to banish from his mind all thought of Rufus Hook and the dangers which might lie ahead. Riding along, he thought ahead. The train was a little less than three hundred miles from the Neosho River, where they would cross into Indian Territory. While there were outlaws in southern Missouri, he expected little danger from them or from Indians, until they reached the Territory. It would allow some time for his teamsters to gain some confidence, and accustom them to standing watch at night. While these people had little wealth to attract thieves, their livestock was sufficient to interest outlaws as well as Indians. When McQuade had located water for the night’s camp, he returned to meet the wagons. Reining up on a ridge, he could see them coming. There he waited, expecting to see the Hook wagons following at a distance, but there was no sign of them. He doubted Hook would stop short of the McQuade camp, for there wouldn’t be sufficient water without going out of the way to find it. When the Peyton and Warnell wagons drew near, he rode ahead of them to the creek he had chosen. There was still an hour of daylight, and as the men began unharnessing their teams, McQuade sought out the Burke wagon. While old Andrew Burke and his troublesome
sons had made it hard on McQuade, they were part of the train, and his sense of responsibility told him he should at least inquire about Matthew. He found Mark and Luke unharnessing the teams, and old Andrew greeted him in silence, without enthusiasm.
    â€œHow’s Matthew?” McQuade asked.
    â€œAlive,” said Andrew.
    â€œI brought back some laudanum from town this morning,” McQuade said. “If there’s a need, you’re welcome to some of it.”
    â€œWe’re obliged,” said Burke grudgingly. “We’ll keep it in mind.”
    McQuade turned away. Matthew Burke would need whiskey to break his fever and fight off infection, but let them get their own. Rufus Hook had an abundance of it. Reaching the Peyton wagon, he found that Maggie Peyton, Ellen Gunter, Minerva Haymes, Lucy Tabor, and Odessa Bibb had begun sharing the preparation of meals, and instead of five supper fires, there now were just two.
    â€œLadies,” said McQuade, “that’s a downright smart move. I won’t be surprised if it’s quick to catch on.”
    â€œIt already has,” Maggie Peyton said. “The others are followin’ our lead. We was all killin’ ourselves findin’ wood for a fire of our own. With six of us sharin’ the work, it’s easier on us all.”
    â€œSix?” McQuade looked around and saw Mary Flanagan coming from the creek, a big two-gallon granite coffee pot in each hand.
    When supper was ready, McQuade thoroughly enjoyed