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as tall as Ella Barton before. It hadn’t taken but a moment over lunch to realize that she knew the most about farming of any of the members.
    By the time each of the sixteen women around the table had introduced herself, it was time to get back on the train. Ruth hadn’t had a chance to draw Mr. Drake aside and inform him of Mr. Lucas Gray’s misunderstanding about the Ladies Emigration Society. Now, as she lay in the twilight thinking about it, she wondered anew how Mr. Gray had come to associate the Ladies Emigration Society with such poppycock as some kind of “bride business.”
    Thinking about Lucas Gray made her wonder if all the men in Dawson County sported holsters and guns. Did they wear spurs that jangled when they walked? When she scolded Jackson—mildly— about speaking with a stranger, Jackson said that meeting Lucas Gray was like having Texan Joe step out of his book. The boy’s eyes shone with wonder as he talked about Mr. Gray’s invitation to visit “a real ranch.”
    Ruth had to admit that her first experience with a real cowboy had been . . . interesting. He might lack a sense of proper etiquette around ladies, but Gray exuded a certain kind of charm. Not the kind of charm she would ever find attractive, of course, but still . . . charm. Sadly, he did walk right along the edge of propriety in his dealings with ladies. He spoke without being properly introduced, invited himself to sit and have tea, and expounded on personal topics that any gentleman— Whatever happened to your plan to think positive thoughts? You were going to resist the habit of judging others so quickly, remember? For all your thinking of Mrs. Jamison as a rebel, hasn’t she been kind to that poor Sally Grant? And they’ve all been wonderful to Jackson. You were going to stop being so suspicious. Hope for the best. Look toward the light.
    Brushing the back of her hand across her forehead, Ruth decided that perhaps she should exercise her new outlook in the matter of Mr. Lucas Gray. In fact, now that she thought about it, she wondered if he might have been having a little fun at her expense earlier today. Perhaps his mention of ordered brides and weddings and circuit riders was just another version of a tall tale. People initiated newcomers with things like that all the time. Don’t forget how the men at Fort Wise “welcomed” new recruits.
    The more she thought about it, the more certain Ruth was that that was exactly what had happened between her and Lucas Gray. In fact, the rascal would probably laugh when he recounted how he’d toyed with a “greenhorn.” Ruth forced a chuckle of her own. If Lucas Gray thought he was going to fool General George Washington Jackson Dow’s widow with wild talk about how westerners engaged in instant weddings, he was mistaken.
    As for Jackson’s visiting Mr. Gray’s “spread,” that would never happen. Jackson Dow was not going on any flights of fancy about life in the west. He was going to school in Cayote, where he would study hard and graduate with perfect grades. If he got bored, he would work at the general store—or the livery, if it came to that. He liked animals, although Ruth wasn’t comfortable with the inherent dangers of working around horses. Be that as it may, in five years George Washington Jackson Dow II would be a freshman at Washington University in St. Louis, and this little trip into the west would be nothing more than fodder for stories to tell the General’s grandchildren someday.
    Mail-order brides, indeed. As night came on and murmurs gave way to snores, Ruth smiled to herself. Perhaps she’d entertain someone in St. Louis with her own tall tale about cowboys and such one day.
    Wouldn’t that be amusing?

    Hettie Gates had already awakened, freshened up, and returned to her temporary seat at the back of the emigrant car when the sun began to fade the indigo sky. Ella and Zita were still sleeping and Hettie was glad. She needed time to think. Chasing