Lonesome Dove

The wind howled in a sudden change. Perry rode up and down the train, hollering instructions to tie down all everyone owned, to calm the oxen and horses, to hold your women and children close.

“Lucy!” Gregory shouted from the wagon seat, “Gather Miranda and Timothy! Don’t separate!”

Lucy grasped her brother’s and sister’s hands and pulled them close, wrapping her long arms around their shoulders. She tilted her face to the sky and watched as the heavens opened and rain poured down. She was drenched in seconds by the deluge. Lightning lit up the sky, causing the horses to spook and the oxen’s eyes to grow white.

“Kipper!” Lucy yelled above the roar of thunder. A black-and-white dog, roughly the size of a Border Collie, ran to her side. “Stay here, Kip,” Lucy said softly.

“Lucy, what are we supposed to do?” Miranda asked, pulling a wet strand of chestnut-brown hair away from her face. “Can we help Papa?”

Lucy shook her head, “Miranda, we can’t do anything…” Lucy felt helpless standing there watching her father and the others struggle to contain the oxen.

“Lou, I don’t wanna be in the rain no more,” Whined Timothy, tugging at Lucy’s soaked skirts.

“Anymore,” Lucy corrected. “And Timmy, think of it as an adventure! We’re like Kit Carson!”

Timmy’s eyes grew big at the mention of his hero—Kit Carson. “Just like Kit?” He said, so quietly that Lucy almost didn’t hear him.

“Just like Kit,” Lucy repeated, pulling him onwards.

“Stop the wagons!” Perry yelled, running his horse down the wagon train. “We can’t go on! We’re a few days out from San Antonio! We can’t turn back now!”



Lucy picked at her thin flapjack. They’d been stranded for several days now. The humidity was terrible, and the rain kept on coming and coming. At times, they’d think that it was over… and then it would begin again, in a torrent.

“Lou,” Timmy said. “I wanna go home!” Lucy grit her teeth to prevent herself from yelling at her little brother. She didn’t have the patience to sit and wait for this summer storm to pass. Every day, she asked her father if she could ride out—each day he refused.

Lucy had been riding since she could walk. It was the only way for her to get rid of pent-up feelings; and not being able to ride killed her. Then again, her father had never been too supportive of her riding. But it made her feel free, and freedom wasn’t something that most girls her age had.

Sheets of rain had been falling for the past half hour, and now as Lucy cleared away their meager breakfast, it began to fall even harder. She could hardly see through the rain. Then, squinting, she saw someone riding towards the wagon train. Her hands fumbled with the dishes in anticipation.

“Take these,” She muttered to Miranda, shoving the plates into her sister’s hands. She could just make out a lead rider, behind him were four other riders; all five were racing towards the wagon train.

“Perry!” Lucy yelled, running towards where she’d last seen the wagon guide. Her skirt dragged her down as she tried to run, all her clothing was soaked through.

Perry wheeled his horse to a halt and turned and stared down at Lucy, rainwater running down the brim of his hat, “Whattaya need, Miss Lucy?” He asked impatiently, his fingers twitching on the reins.

“Riders,” Lucy managed to gasp. “Heading this way. Five of them.”

Perry’s eyes widened and it was all he could do to nod at Lucy before he raced in the direction she was pointing.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a lull in the rain and the five strangers gathered every member of the wagon train together.

“Alright,” Perry said, dismounting from his sweat-lathered horse. “These men are Texas Rangers. They’re gonna help us get back on track, ladies and gents. They say—,”

Perry was cut off by what appeared to be the head Ranger, “—My name is Bill Neehan. I’m the captain of this here group of men. As your guide,” he nodded at Perry, “Was sayin’, I plan on helpin’ y’all get back to where y’all are s’posed to be. Men, introduce yourselves.”

The first man to speak after Captain Bill was a large, gruff looking man. His mere presence was imposing, and Lucy extremely disliked the way he caressed the pistol in its holster. His name, he told them, was Thomas Bentley; but he went by just Tom. The second man was wire-thin, pale, and gaunt. His eyes appeared to be slightly sunken and what few teeth he had left were just broken stumps yellowed from years of chewing tobacco. All he said was, “Murphy,” in a raspy voice that chilled Lucy to the bone. Murphy was the kind of man you’d see in your worst dreams.

The last two men were relatively normal. The second to last was tall and rather gangly, with brown hair that poked out from beneath his hat. He had a kind voice and an easy way of calming people. “Mornin’, y’all,” He said brightly, his eyes sweeping through the crowd and not stopping to make eye contact. “I’m Patches, and I’m a hand at Lonesome Dove, just a few days’ ride from here. I’m gonna help y’all to get back on track.”

The last man looked only a bit older than Lucy. He had shaggy blonde hair that needed to be cut, and stubble that needed to be shaved. He couldn’t sit still on his horse; fidgeting in the saddle as his green eyes danced around—making eye contact with every one in the crowd and stopping to linger on Lucy.

“Howdy,” He said, his voice soft. It was clear, almost immediately, that he was one who rarely spoke; and when he did his words were to be listened to. “I’m Samuel, call me Sam. I’m from Lonesome Dove, like Patches. I bid you all good luck on finding your way home.”

“Alright, listen up,” Captain Bill announced loudly. But the rest of what he said drained into nonexistence. Lucy only had eyes, now, for Sam.