Free A Man Called Sunday by Charles G. West

wagon train, is only going from here to Fort Fetterman. Now, I have no objection if you want to go with us that far, but I must warn you that you’ll be on your own from Fort Fetterman on. There will be no troops available to escort you to Montana.”
    Now it was Freeman’s turn to pause and consider that. He had hoped that the lieutenant might suggest the possibility of some military protection beyond Fort Fetterman. A few days before, he had been determined to continue, even after the other wagons turned back. Now he was not so confident that it was the safest thing to do. He glanced at Mary Beth and found an expression of genuine concern on her face. “Well, sir,” he said to Findley, “I ’preciate what you’re telling me. I reckon I’ll talk it over with my wife before we decide.”
    â€œYou’re kinda gambling on that land still being available, aren’t you?” Findley said.
    â€œWell, maybe a little, but my brother is hoping to buy up as much of that land as possible, and he’ll have a place for us.”
    â€œYou folks must be well fixed for finances,” the lieutenant remarked.
    â€œMy brother is,” Freeman was quick to reply. “He was one of the lucky ones at Last Chance Gulch up at Helena. Mary Beth and I don’t have but a little to make a start.”
    â€œI wish I could promise you an escort to the Yellowstone,” Findley said, talking mainly to Freeman’s wife, “but you’re welcome to go with us to Fort Fetterman.”
    â€œWe’ll talk it over,” Freeman said, “and if we decide to keep going, we’ll be ready to roll in the morning when you pull out.”
    â€œGood enough,” the lieutenant said, and walked with them to the door.
    The discussion between David and Mary Beth Freeman started as soon as they were outside the station door. With no knowledge of the country beyond the North Platte River, the young couple found it a difficult decision to make. Married just eighteen months, they had never been faced with a choice that might mean the difference between life and death, so their deliberations continued until bedtime that night. With Mary Beth’s assurances that she was willing to risk facing whatever dangers might lie beyond Fort Fetterman, David decided to prepare his wagon to roll at first light. “There’s a chance for a good life ahead of us with your brother and the others,” Mary Beth said, “and a dead certainty that there’s nothing behind us in Cheyenne.”

Chapter 4
    Roll call proved Lieutenant Findley correct in his speculation that his men were too short of cash to finance any serious drunks. Every man was accounted for, even the teamsters, with only the few cuts and bruises usually associated with the rough saloons in Medicine Bow. Among those who did have enough money to buy more than a couple of drinks was Jake Bradley. Complaining of a bad head, he pulled his horse up beside Luke’s paint to wait for the wagon train to pull out of Medicine Bow. “I swear,” he commented painfully, “that bartender musta put some kinda poison in that whiskey, as bad as my head hurts this mornin’. How come you ain’t sufferin’ like me?” He paused a moment when he encountered the disinterested gaze from the ever-stoic scout. “Where were you last night, anyway?” It occurred to him that he had not seen Luke since he joined a group of the army teamsters at a back table.
    â€œI went to bed,” Luke replied indifferently.
    Jake shook his head in mock amazement. “I swear, you’re a regular hell-raiser, ain’t you?”
    â€œI had a drink,” Luke responded dryly. “That’s all I wanted.” In Jake’s opinion, there was something untrustworthy about a man who didn’t like to get drunk every now and then, and he said as much. To which, Luke responded, “I got things I need to buy with