Free Travis by Georgina Gentry

in. He didn’t even want to admit to himself that he felt responsible for her. He touched his fingers against the brim of his Stetson by way of farewell and yelled to the children, “See you in Guthrie this afternoon!” Then he whistled to Growler. “You going with me, boy?”
    The dog hesitated, ran to him, then turned and raced back to the blond toddler. Boo Hoo put her arms around the dog’s neck and he licked her face. Damn it, he knew now he’d lost his dog for good. He had never felt as lonely as he did at this moment.
    Violet had gathered everyone up and was loading them in the wagon. “Good luck, Mr. Prescott.”
    “Good-bye.” All the children waved to him.
    “See you in Guthrie.” He had mixed feelings about riding away and leaving them, but people were starting to gather along the starting line where the cannon was. Some had fine horses, some drove buggies or wagons. There were even several on foot or riding bicycles.
    Damn, he should have hung on to that extra horse, it would have given him an advantage when Mouse tired out. He cursed himself for a soft-hearted fool for taking responsibility for all these children.
    He had to hold Mouse back as the line straightened out and soldiers made ready to fire the cannon; the gray stallion was ready to race.
    Then the gun boomed and with a cheer, the crowd of thousands was off, racing for free land in the Indian Territory.

Chapter 5
    When the cannon boomed, Travis dug his heels into Mouse’s sides and they were off like a shot. However there was no need to urge the big gray forward. Mouse liked to run and his long legs drummed like pistons across the flat prairie. Around them, dust swirled up like a brown cloud from thousands of other horses. To Travis, it seemed like the noise of all the shouting people, running horses and rolling wagons reverberated like thunder.
    Where would the best land be? Maybe somewhere in the middle of the staked-out ground because the westernmost areas were more apt to be without streams of water, land not good or rich enough to graze cattle or horses. The easternmost land would be covered in the scrub oak trees that grew from Texas on north. He’d been over this ground years ago during cattle drives with his adopted father, Colt.
    He looked behind him as he rode. His big horse was already outrunning most of the line. He heard a shout as a racing buggy hit a gopher hole and turned over, spilling a man out onto the grass. Then a team of mules stopped and refused to move farther, hee-hawing in indignation as the irate driver cracked his whip over their heads.
    The people running on foot were easily being left behind in the blowing dust. There were good horses galloping all around him as men rode the race of their lives, hoping to win a farm.
    Travis’s wrist was throbbing again, but he ignored it. He’d been in worse pain than this often over his career as a lawman. How many times had he been shot or stabbed and survived to fight again another day with nothing but a few scars to show for it?
    The April day was warm and the prairie grass grew tall and green as he raced on. Scarlet Indian paintbrush and other wildflowers bloomed across the grasslands as he rode. It seemed quiet now that he was leaving the others behind. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a train whistle and knew that other settlers were riding the train into the Unassigned Lands, hoping to be able to jump off and stake a claim as the train slowed. He tried to imagine all the thousands of eager people coming in from all four sides of the Indian Lands, hoping to stake a claim for free farms.
    Mouse was lathered and blowing now, and Travis slowed to a walk as he rode. He didn’t want free land bad enough to ride his beloved horse to death, although he figured there were greedy men out there willing to kill their mounts to win this race.
    It seemed quiet, although he could still hear shouts and running horses far behind him. Where did he want to stake a claim? He reined