Free The Journey of Josephine Cain by Nancy Moser Page A

Hudson could feel the nerves of the workers tighten, for in proving their accuracy, the Indians were also proving that if their mark was a railroad worker, they wouldn’t miss.
    Finally, the seventeenth Indian shot his arrow—and it hit the handle, knocking the shovel down. He looked to the ground, disgraced. But Hudson and the workers were relieved, and he heard more than one mumble of “Good” and “It’s about time.”
    “I don’t think it’s wise to give them confidence,” he said.
    “It’s just a game,” Oscar said.
    Hudson was not alone in shaking his head. “This may look like a game, but I assure you, it’s not.”
    “Let’s have a race!” someone yelled. “Ponies against our locomotive!”
    A cry of assent rose up. Hudson hated the idea. This day couldn’t end soon enough.
    He saw the Indians mount their ponies and get in a line. They seemed eager for the race.
    Hudson looked upon the scene, feeling wary. Then he heard the general’s voice from near the cab of the locomotive.
    “Come, ride inside,” the general said to Spotted Tail.
    At first the chief seemed reluctant, but he climbed on board. The Indians lined up even with the front of the locomotive, ready for the signal.
    Hudson felt his gut grab. “This will not end well—either way.”
    One worker went out in front of the line of riders, raised his arm, then lowered it. “Go!” the workers yelled.
    The ponies sped forward, ahead of the train. The Indians were thrilled with their certain victory and let out a whoop that made Hudson shudder.
    But then the engine gathered speed and easily passed them. Victorious, the engineer blew the whistle full blast. The sound so startled the Indians that they bodily swung to the off-side of their ponies, hanging on with their legs over the back.
    And then, it was over.
    “We won! We won!” the workers yelled.
    Hudson shook his head. There might be a price to winning.
    The Indians returned, their heads down, clearly crestfallen at their defeat.
    “Now they can leave,” he said.
    “Are you really afraid of them?” Raleigh asked.
    “I’m cautious. I just know if I had strange people building across the land my ancestors had held for centuries, I’d be upset and want them
gone
.”
    Raleigh stared after the Indians, as if taking this in. “Surely the general knows what he’s doing.”
    I hope so
.
    Spotted Tail was talking with General Cain, making arm gestures to include his braves and . . . eating?
    “Oh no,” Hudson said. “They’re wanting food.”
    Sure enough, the general ordered the cook to set out a meal.
    This was getting out of hand.
    But General Cain asked a few of the railroad men to eat a meal with the Indians—Hudson included.
    When they sat around the tables in the dining car, the Indians tried to pick up the plates but found they were nailed to the table. Yes, it
was
odd, but necessary. Otherwise the jostling of the train would bounce them all over the place.
    Food was served. Immediately, the braves ate it with their eyes. But they hesitated and looked to Spotted Tail. He, too, held back. Did they think it was poisoned?
    General Cain filled his plate then passed the bowl around. “Eat,” he said.
    The rest of the workers did just that, and as soon as they did, the Indians dug in, shoveling food into their mouths with their fingers.
    Hudson felt sorry for them. It was clear they hadn’t eaten in a long time. No one spoke, which was fine with him. The sooner they were done eating, the sooner they’d be gone.
    When the serving bowls were empty, the braves picked them up and swiped the last bits with their fingers.
    Spotted Tail stepped over a bench. He said something to the translator, who told the general, “He says you are to fill our horses with sacks of flour and quarters of beef.”
    The general also stood and freed himself of the confines of the bench. “No. We let you eat with us here, but you can’t carry any food away with you.”
    Spotted Tail let off a long