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headed to town to take care of bank business.
    Stuart Granger had not been just the banker in the small town; he and Davis had been best friends. They had grown up together, wandering the woods near their homes, chasing small animals and each other. They’d swum in the lake, fished in the summer, and skated on the frozen pond in the winter. As the years went by their focus had shifted from chasing small animals to pursuing the pretty young girls in town.
    Davis had made the trip to the bank alone because he hadn’t wanted his mother to know about the financial problems that forced him to ask for a loan. If he didn’t get the money from the bank, the farm could go under and he had no idea how to tell his mother the house her husband had built with his own two hands when they were first married would be sold out from under her. She had barely recovered from his death merely six months before.
    Located in west North Carolina, the Cooper farm had been small, with all the effort going into growing vegetables for the market, as well as selling eggs from the chickens and milk from a few cows. Two years of bad weather had resulted in poor vegetable crops and the death of one of the cows had added to their losses.
    During a heated conversation between the two men over the unlikelihood of Davis securing a loan, a young boy raced past the bank, his hands cupped over his mouth as he shouted “fire.”
    The smell of smoke had greeted Stuart and Davis as they stepped through the bank’s doors onto the boardwalk. “That smoke’s coming from my direction,” Davis yelled as he vaulted onto his horse.
    He’d raced the distance between town and his home. The dusty road leading up to the farm had already swarmed with neighbors, hauling water in pails from the nearby creek. A line had formed from the creek to the barn, with men, women and children passing buckets. He’d jerked the reins and slid off his horse. Black dense smoke poured out of the barn, and flames shot up into the sky.
    Someone shouted to him that his mother and sister were in the barn. Davis pushed his way through, in an attempt to reach the door, but strong arms pulled him back seconds before the roof collapsed. Smoke and debris mushroomed up from the ground, sending sparks raining down on the crowd. Within minutes, two of the four walls had collapsed, and Davis stood staring at the old barn that had become his family’s grave.
    After almost two weeks of drinking himself into oblivion every night, Davis received a visit from Stuart. No surprise to Davis, friendship or not, there would be no loan from the bank. Stuart convinced Davis it was in his best interests to sell the farm and start over somewhere else. So Davis handed the deed over to Stuart, placed flowers on his family’s graves for the last time and left.
    A year and a half later, he’d grown tired of his life of drifting and hiring out as a cowboy on various ranches. He joined up with Ezra Franklin who took him on as a scout. Looking into the bloodshot eyes of the young man, Ezra told him right off no liquor for scouts on the trail, and Davis agreed. The nightmares had pretty much stopped, so he didn’t need oblivion anymore to sleep.
    Good food, no booze, and hard work had cleared Davis’s head. The hours he had spent roping cattle and chasing strays had toned muscles in his arms, legs and back.
    Davis had plans for Oregon himself. He’d already told Ezra this would be his last trip scouting. The check tucked securely in his pocket that Stuart had sent him covering the balance on the farm’s sale, Davis had finished running from demons and was ready to settle down and start over in Oregon country.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Things went smoothly for the first few days. Davis and Emma fell into a routine. Joshua came by first thing in the morning to get Davis up and out of the wagon. While they were gone, Emma busied herself straightening up the wagon and cooking breakfast. After