ORPHANS PREFERRED

By Sid

WANTED: Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over eighteen. Must be expert rider

willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. $25 per week.

The sun beat down on Jimmy a long time before he could bring himself to

look away from that sign; that sign posted high and mighty in front of the

general store, for all to see and take notice of. Somehow, from the way

people were breezing by, Jimmy didn't think anyone had taken as much notice

of it as he had. He stared at it so long and so hard that those who walked

by were more curious at the young man blocking their path than in what he

was apparently so engrossed in.

Jimmy's eyes skimmed over the sign again. He concentrated so hard he nearly

gave himself a headache. He sounded out the words as best he could, but all

he could decipher was "wanted", "rider", and "risk".

Drawing a deep breath, Jimmy hitched up his breeches and walked into the

bustling store. The elderly woman behind the counter looked worn to a

frazzle, he realized, and the red-headed wisp of a girl beside her was

flushed with excitement as she ran here and there at the beck and call of

several customers at once. Never a patient man, Jimmy gritted his teeth,

inwardly fuming. He wasn't going to get any answers from either of them with

all these folks in here demanding this and that, and he wanted answers now.

There was no time to waste.

Preparing to stride through the mass of townspeople, Jimmy suddenly noticed

a lanky boy of about twelve or thirteen laying in the front window seat. He

had a peppermint stick jutting out from his mouth and was watching the

goings-on with curiosity. "Josiah!" the young girl suddenly shrieked from

across the room. "You get over here and help me an' Aunt Cissy!"

Sheer panic washed over the boy's face. He jumped up and bolted toward the

door. Jimmy reached him in seconds flat, and the boy looked down in

amazement as broad, tanned hands grasped his suspenders and held him in

place. Up, up went the boy's head, and he found himself looking into a pair

of stern eyes framed by a weather-beaten cowboy hat. The firm set of the

man's mouth stunned poor Josiah into silent shock. His jaw fell, and the

candy stick dropped to the floor unheeded. The man carefully, but quickly,

lifted him up and took him outside.

"Your folks run this place?" Jimmy asked once they were outside. He could

see he had frightened the boy, but he couldn't keep from sounding harsh.

Josiah nodded. A moment later he apparently found his spunk, and in a

quaking, yet oddly impressive little voice, he demanded, "Wh-what do you

want with me, mister? Are you goin' to rob my uncle's store?" Then his baby

face crumpled like a paper sack, and tears spilled from his eyes. "Aw, gee,

mister, don't rob my uncle. This store's all they got, and my Aunt Cissy

would--"

"Would you shut your mouth?" Jimmy lifted his head and checked quickly to

see if anyone had heard this exchange. There was no one around for yards. He

turned his attention back to Josiah. "God a'mighty, boy, I just asked you a

question."

Quietly, Josiah nodded and hiccuped. "What do you want with me, mister?"

Jimmy sighed deeply. Shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and

impatience, he sat down on a nearby wooden bench, and drew the boy alongside

him. "Look, kid," he said after a brief pause, "I'm sorry if I scared you. I

have no intention of robbin' your uncle, or anyone else. I just want some

answers."

Josiah's bravado was restored. Wiping away the traces of tears with the

back of his dirty hand, he smiled wide and sat down next to Jimmy. "You got

any questions, mister, you come to the right fella."

Jimmy smiled. It softened his face and set the boy's fear at rest. "Well,

I'm real glad to hear that, son," he replied seriously.

"Name's Josiah. Josiah Sutton. What's yours, mister?"

"James Hickock."

Josiah settled back on the bench, throwing his legs over the rail in front

of him and clasping his hands behind his head. "Well, fire away, Mr. Hickock."

"How old are you, Josiah?"

"Nearly thirteen. Thirteen in June."

"You know anything about this sign posted up in front of your uncle's

store?"

Josiah poked his head around Jimmy to peer at the front door. He turned

back to Jimmy, a puzzled, slightly embarrassed expression on his face. "Miss

Annie's Beauty Palace? Gosh, Mr. Hickock, what do you want with that place?"

"Don't be a fool, boy. The *other* sign."

Josiah looked again, more embarrassed at his mistake. "Oh. The one askin'

for riders?"

"Yes," Jimmy agreed wryly, "that one."

Between the two of them, it was difficult to get proper treatment in

any town which fancied itself halfway civilized, and even in some of the

ones that didn't fancy themselves much of anything at all. Buck was far more

sensitive to it, but Ike was just as aware. When they rode into a new town

together -- one bald and mute, the other shunned as a half-breed -- it was

always the same: curiosity followed by hostility, as predictable as the sun

and twice as forceful. And neither of them could ever get used to it.

This town seemed quiet enough, but Buck and Ike had learned long ago

not to trust any first impressions. They themselves were living, breathing

reminders that nothing was what it seemed.

It was Ike who saw the paper nailed up on a notice board in the

middle of the town. When Buck looked up from securing his horse to the post,

Ike was gesturing wildly, signing 'Come now, come now' over and over.

Sighing, Buck dropped the reins and made his way toward his friend, who

poked the paper repeatedly with his finger to draw attention to it.

"Yeah, yeah, Ike, I *see* it, all right?"

Despite his lack of vocal communication, Ike was getting his point

clearly across. When Buck raised his eyes from the sign back to his friend,

he saw the excitement and determination in his face, and knew without a

doubt Ike intended to try his hand at applying. Buck sighed again. "You mean

to go and try out, don't you?"

Ike just nodded and smiled hugely.

Buck turned back to the paper and read it aloud, as if to emphasize

some unknown point with Ike. He squinted at his companion in the noonday

sun. "Ike, you're a fool. We ain't that skinny or wiry, neither one of us."

Again, Ike gestured: 'We ride.'

"Hell, yes, we ride. Everybody west of the Mississippi *rides*, Ike,

it ain't nothin' to brag about. We ain't got no business tryin' out for some

ridiculous job for some unknown firm of Russell, Whoever, and His Brother on

another one of your whims!"

Now Ike frowned his disapproval. 'Bad mood.'

"Oh, don't start. I ain't in a bad mood; you just know I'm right,

and you don't like it."

Ike shook his head. He pounded his fist on his chest and glared at

Buck. Buck didn't need to know signs to know Ike's reply: '*I'm* right.'

Adjusting the bandanna covering his smooth head from the scorching sun, Ike

threw his hands up in the universal sign of disgust and stalked off in the

direction of the nearby saloon.

Just as he reached the doors, he heard Buck's footsteps behind him.

Biting his lip to keep from grinning, Ike swung around. Buck was striding up

the steps, and it was clear to Ike's knowing eyes that his friend had once

more given in. He couldn't keep the smile away now and he beamed in Buck's

direction.

Buck shot him a withering glance. "None of that now, all right? I'm

givin' in because I know if I don't you're just gonna go off by yourself and

do it anyway, and where would you be without me? I can't have that on my

conscious, McSwain, so don't think I'm doin' this for your benefit. I'm

doin' it for my own peace of mind. I don't want your downfall on my head."

When he reached Ike, Ike signed: 'It will be fun', and slung an arm

around Buck's shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, a real good time." Buck rolled his eyes, but as the doors

swung shut behind them, the sound of his hearty laughter carried out to the

street.

By now Louise had read the sign so many times she didn't even need

to concentrate to see the words. It didn't matter, anyway, because the words

weren't as important as their implications: Money. Food. Work. Shelter.

Escape.

Louise unpinned the sign from the notice board. No one was around to

see her do it, but even if there had been she would have done it just the

same. She looked at the paper in her slim, trembling hands before folding it

up and tucking it in the pocket of her skirt. Biting her lip with

determination, she continued on her way.

As was her habit these days, Louise walked with her head bowed, eyes

on the ground, preventing her gaze from meeting anyone else's. She walked

close to the raised sidewalks, watching her skirt trail the ground.

Sometimes her neck got stiff from walking this way, but it was better than

the alternative: in this town where women were greatly outnumbered, the

slightest eye contact with a young girl known to be working in a brothel,

for whatever reason, was merely an excuse for a man to bestow unwelcome

attentions.

'Like Wicks last night.' Gasping at the unbidden thought, Louise's

head flew up, eyes watering at the memory. Quickly she dropped her gaze back

to her feet and continued on. Her brown eyes swam with tears of shame. 'If

only I had tried harder to fight him off...If only I hadn't smiled at him

yesterday morning. If only I had fought harder...'

She had reached the edge of town, the customary grounds for the less

reputable establishments, such as Wicks's popular cathouse and saloon, where

she now ducked inside. She noticed with dismay that Charlotte was nowhere to

be seen, though several of the other girls lounged around, drinking whiskey

and playing cards. It was barely eleven, and business was slow; a handful of

dusty cowboys were the only customers, and they seemed far more interested

in their respective hands of poker than in the scantily-clad ladies on

display.

"Wh-where's Charlotte?" Louise was surprised she managed to get out

that much. The other women frightened her. They probably would have been

sorry had they ever discovered this, but years of their chosen profession

had worn away all the niceties of day-to-day life, and they were more likely

to look at Louise with ambivalence than concern.

Sally barely looked up from her cards. "Upstairs in her room."

"Is she--" Louise didn't have time to finish her question 'Is she

with a customer?'. At that moment Charlotte's door opened, and one of the

less savory clientele came out, buttoning up the last of his filthy shirt.

Bowing her head once more, Louise made her way up the stairs past

him. When they met halfway, the man grabbed her by the arm and jerked her

close to him. She stared at him with huge, frightened eyes.

"My word, you're a pretty one somewhere in there, ain't ya?" His

breath was stale, and hot on her skin.

She said nothing, but her knees buckled.

"Come on, girl, I just paid you a compliment. Ain't you gonna say

thank you?"

"She will say nothing of the kind, you animal."

Louise looked up in the direction of the voice, relief flooding her

features. She wrenched her arm free and dashed up the stairs into

Charlotte's open arms, where she dove and burrowed for protection.

The man cackled merrily and went on his way, not offended in the

least. Charlotte shut the door behind them and smiled at Louise. "Well,

sugar, how are you doin' this mornin'?" She did her best to sound cheerful,

but Louise's face was a sight: one eye bruised, the opposite cheek swollen

and purple, a cut zigzagging under her nose and across the top of her upper

lip, a slight bump protruding from the bridge of her small nose.

Louise's smile was wobbly in return. She sat down on Charlotte's

bed, brushing her heavy hair away from her face. Charlotte could see that

the hand she used shook violently, its delicate wrist ready to snap.

"Charlotte, I -- I know you've helped me so much already, and I...I

feel right badly about askin' for more, but..."

"Go on, sugar."

In answer, Louise reached into her pocket and withdrew the folded

paper. She handed it to Charlotte wordlessly. It took but a moment to read,

and when she had finished, Charlotte folded it back up, pursed her lips in

concentration, and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at the young girl before

her.

She touched a lock of Louise's brown hair. "I reckon I have me a

pair of barber scissors around here somewhere."

"Marshal?"

"Hmm?"

"Marshal?"

Sam snapped to attention. "Yes?

"A pound or a half-pound?" Tompkins waved his hands at the bags of

flour before them.

"Oh...ah, a half-pound, Tompkins, thanks."

"Do you want that..." Tompkins's voice trailed off, realizing he had

lost Sam once again. He trained his eyes in the direction Sam was staring,

but saw nothing especially interesting: a couple of men arguing over the

rows of feed, a few shelves of new canned goods, and through the window Emma

Shannon could be seen petting a horse tied down at the side of the store.

Shaking his head in resignation, Tompkins shuffled off to get Sam's

remaining purchases.

Lost in his private world, Sam watched Emma Shannon bend her curly

head near the horse's face and murmur at it, smoothing her hands over its

head and mane. Never before in his life had Sam wished he was any animal,

but at that moment he would have given just about anything to be that

knock-kneed, sway-backed horse.

'Well, just about anything,' he reminded himself as he thanked

Tompkins and left the store with his goods in his arms. Horses didn't get to

thrill with pleasure at the light they put into a person's eyes, or to know

the pressure of soft, warm hands on your back as you glided a smiling woman

around and around a room filled with music and people and laughter, and they

certainly didn't appreciate the way a woman could smell like fresh flowers

on a cool spring morning.

And he doubted they could sympathize with the way Emma Shannon's

bright, sunny smile hit him so squarely in the stomach and knocked the very

breath from him. As she advanced toward him, Sam tightened his hold on the

packages he carried and waited for her to reach him.

"Marshal." She gave a polite nod, her eyes dancing.

His Adam's apple quivered noticeably. "Hello, Emma."

"How are you today?"

"Fine. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you."

"That's good. Enjoying this nice weather we're having?" Teaspoon had

once remarked to Sam that he went about his courting as if he had been

advised that dull conversation was the way to win a woman and he meant to

give it his all.

"Mmm, yes, lovely weather." Emma closed her eyes and lifted her face

to the sun. Sam watched her admiringly.

When she looked back at him, he said, "Teaspoon tells me you'll be

runnin' the way station for this new mail express that's being started."

Emma nodded. "Yes, one of their agents asked me if I might be

willin' to give up my property for the use of the company, and I told him

yes, if I could have the managin' of it." She laughed. "I really ought to be

going, Sam. It was real nice talkin' to you."

"Oh, you, too, Emma." Sam watched forlornly as she turned and walked

away, ambling slowly down the dusty streets to her property on the outskirts

of town. He cursed himself inwardly for not finding an excuse to make her

stay. Laughing at his own awkwardness, he continued on to the jail.

Teaspoon Hunter was inside, chair leaning against the wall, feet

propped on the desk before him, hat resting on the bridge of his nose. The

faintest of snores could be heard from underneath. Sam grinned, settling the

goods down quietly on the a nearby chair. He carefully took the door in both

hands, and with all his strength slammed it shut so hard the hinges rattled.

A loud bang, and the legs of the chair crashed to the floor,

followed by Teaspoon's booted feet. In one great motion, the grizzled Texan

shot to his feet, shoving his head back in place on his head. When he saw

Sam he stopped and relaxed into his ever-present laconical grin, and in a

slow drawl, commented, "Oh, it's only you. At the very least I figured we

was bein' overrun by the return of the Alamo."

Sam shook his head, a good-natured smirk on his face. "And here's me

thinkin' I might be disturbin' you by comin' back so early. Didn't you say

you were gonna sort through those papers Russell, Majors, and Waddell sent

you?"

Teaspoon nodded and coughed nervously.

Sam persisted. "And didn't you say you need a good solid week, at

least, to prepare yourself for these boys they got comin'?"

"I believe I may have said such a thing."

"And *aren't you the one* who's meant to give these boys their final

interview?"

"Ah," Teaspoon cleared his throat. "I did see that in my job

description, yes."

"And don't these boys start arriving Monday?"

"Sam, I don't know what you're on my case about. Don't you see me

walkin' out the door? I am on my way." Assuming an air of offended dignity,

Teaspoon straightened the leather vest over his portly stomach and sauntered

out.

After an indulgent chuckle, Sam's face grew serious. It was time to

ride out to the trading post. He had to see about arming these boys who were

willing to risk death daily.

Someone was kicking Cody's boot. From underneath the brim of his hat

he couldn't tell who it was, but he had his suspicions. He emitted another

snore to see if it would stop, but it only earned him a kick that knocked

his teeth loose.

"Good God almighty!" he yelled, jerking upward and pushing his hat

back onto his head in one awkward movement. He squinted up at Grady,

standing stone-faced in the rising sun.

"I turn my back on you for ten lousy minutes and come back to find

you catchin' up on your beauty sleep. Bill Cody, I swear to God you're as

useless as--"

Cody grinned, relaxing into the familiar rhythm of Grady's fury. He

spit out an unpleasant taste in his mouth and rose slowly to his feet,

stretching lazily and looking around him as if something might have changed

during his brief nap. He slapped Grady's arm companionably and nodded in all

the places he was supposed to as his friend ranted on. He had no intention

of interrupting, but waited patiently, like he always did.

When Grady had finally spluttered out of breath, Cody broke into the

silence. "Now, Grady, my friend, I know how this all must seem -- you

runnin' off to town to rustle us up some nice, respectable jobs workin' for

some nice, respectable rancher type of fella, and you come back to find me

snorin' away. I know how you must feel--"

"Don't give me that load of horse manure, Billy." Grady had calmed

himself and now watched Cody with amusement, his arms crossed over his

chest, one eyebrow raised. "You have no idea how it feels, because this is

about the tenth time it's happened, and it's always me that comes back to

find *you* sawin' logs. How about we swap things around for a change? Next

time *you* go out and search for us a job, and *I'll* stay behind to catch

forty winks."

Cody put a hand to his chest and looked deeply offended. "Now,

Grady, how can you even suggest such a thing? You don't want to go and mess

with the natural order of things, do you? You can't mess with Mother Nature,

son, she'll get you back." At the end of his speech, he yawned contentedly.

"So -- you get us a job?"

"I didn't get us nothin' but a suggestion. The old lady in the store

says some rancher livin' about three miles south of town is buildin' a new

barn and hirin' extra hands. Says every unemployed hand for miles is tryin'

to get on there, so we'd best be on our way. And be quick about it, Billy,

for God's sake."

They were packed and ready in minutes, soon heading in the direction

of the ranch. Cody would have preferred a more leisurely pace, and Grady of

course wanted to ride hell for leather, but they settled on a brisk gallop,

passing through the town far too quickly for Cody's taste.

The ranch owner, Mr. Quigley, took one look at the two young men and

made up his mind to hire them on the spot. They were lean and wiry and the

dark-haired one looked a hard worker. He couldn't say the same for the

blond, who had far too much mischief in his eyes for Quigley's taste; but he

could be taught, and it was clear these friends came as a package. He told

them they were hired and sent them into town to purchase themselves

necessary items. Grady was very pleased.

"Not five minutes with the man and he hired us on," he said proudly.

"I got a good feeling about this place, Billy, I tell ya."

Cody was unimpressed -- with Quigley, with the job, with this town,

everything. He could already feel the boredom settling in. Ranch work could

never be enough for his restless spirit. The day in, day out *sameness* of

life could never be enough. William F Cody had long ago made up his mind

that he would have more.

They were walking back to their horses when Cody saw the sign posted

to the wooden pillar. It was the 'WANTED' that caught his attention. He read

it at first with only mild interest, but its three brusque sentences

quickened his heartbeat. "Grady, would you look at this."

"Dammit, Billy, you know I can't read."

"'Wanted'," Cody read. "'Young, skinny, wiry fellows not over

eighteen. Must be expert rider willing to risk death daily. Orphans

preferred. Twenty-five dollars per week.' Twenty-five dollars!" he

exclaimed. "That's a damn fortune, Grady!"

"Billy, we got good-paying jobs!" An uneasy look crept into Grady's

eyes. "Jobs that ain't askin' us to risk death daily!"

Cody repeated the words in a tone of awe, "Risk death daily."

With those three words, Grady knew that he had lost his partner, his

best friend since childhood; had lost him to the promise of those three

threatening words. And when Cody slipped his own packages onto the top of

the stack in his friend's arms, Grady knew it was to say goodbye.

The pretty girl regarded her companion with big, slightly confused

eyes. He had taken an hour to down his first shot of whiskey and had barely

touched his second, and yet he was talking as sad and mournful as if he'd

been at the bottle all night. His curly head was resting in his hands, his

eyes fixed on the table before him.

The saloon girl, whose name was Sara, regarded him ruefully. When he

had walked in three hours earlier, Big Susie, the owner of the saloon, had

taken Sara by the arm and led her over to him. "Here's one about as pretty

as you," she told Sara as they walked. "See if he's as handsome with the pay

as he is with those eyes." And Sara had looked forward to a customer without

tobacco juice staining his lips, a customer who couldn't be much older than

she was. That was an especially nice change.

But the young man didn't want companionship of that sort. He just

wanted to talk and for her to listen. And Big Susie had warned her those men

were the worst kind of customer, but nice if a girl wanted a night of peace.

"I'll regret that decision for the rest of my life. I mean, what

made me leave Virginia, for God's sake?" the young man suddenly asked,

lifting his head, staring across the room as if he expected the answer to be

written in the mirror behind Levi the barkeep. He turned back to Sara.

"Prettiest country you'll ever see," he promised her. "You should go." He

didn't wait for her to reply. "It's my *home*. My home. And yet I packed up

my things, I saddled my horse...d'you see her out there? Over there by that

big, ugly ol' gray thing. That's my girl. That's Katy."

"Maybe you need a *real* girl." Sara put as much emphasis in her

voice as she could. A night of peace was nice enough, but she couldn't take

much more of this.

"What am I doin' out here in all this godforsaken *dirt*? I've never

seen so much brown in my life. Isn't anything green around here?"

The funny thing was, his tone wasn't excited. His voice was hardly

above a whisper -- slightly agitated, but with an underlying ache of

loneliness. Sara's patience was restored. She felt sorrier for him than she

ever had any other living creature. She patted his hand like a sister.

"There, there," she said comfortingly. "There, there."

He looked at her with startled blue eyes, as if she had woken him

out of his reverie. He blushed, suddenly bashful. "Aw, miss, I'm sorry to go

on like this."

"You just need someone to listen," she said kindly. "You're one of

those men that needs ties." She spoke with assurance. "Some men have to be

on their own, with nothin' to hold them to anything. They go crazy if

somethin' holds them back. You're just the opposite: without ties to

somethin', you're lost, you're lonely. You had ties that you left in

Virginia. It was time to leave them. Now it's time to make new ties."

The young man brightened. Sara was amazed at her own insight. And

then another idea struck her. "Wait here," she said. In a moment she was

back with a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. She thrust it into the

young man's face. "There," she said triumphantly. "Read that."

He skimmed it quickly, then looked at her, puzzled. "Me?"

"Can't hurt nothin' to try, can it? Start things new. Put Virginia

behind you. Start a new life. That's what I did. 'Course, I can't say I'm

proud of the life I started, but you can be."

His smile was touching. He looked so young with the light of hope in

his eyes that Sara felt much older by comparison. "Thank you, miss. I -- I

think I will."

He stayed a while longer, and Sara soon forgot about him. She took a

customer upstairs and it was morning before she thought of the young man

with the sad story. Big Susie stopped her on her way to the kitchen and

handed her ten dollars. Sara gaped at the amount. "Lord, Susie, where'd this

come from?"

"From that boy you was talkin' to half the night. He looked around

for you and you was gone, so he give me the money. Made me promise to hand

it to you first thing I saw you. So here you go. He left behind that paper

Levi had on the notice board."

"The one askin' for riders?"

Susie nodded.

"Well, maybe he decided not to go." Sara looked again at the money

in her hand. "Then again, maybe he did. I'll cross my fingers for 'im.

Wouldn't want all that hope to go to waste. You shoulda seen the hope in his

eyes, Susie."

Susie nodded, this time knowingly. "Hope, huh? Well, he'll learn.

Time enough yet. After all, he's just a kid."

Emma hummed to herself as she smoothed the tablecloth over the

wooden table. She pushed the wooden benches carefully into place, proud of

the cleanness and newness of them. The firm hadn't asked her to go all out

like this, but Emma was determined that these boys coming to stay would find

themselves a home as well as a place to sleep and eat. Her heart swelled

with pleasure every time she thought of it. Six poor orphans she hoped to

have just a bit of motherly influence on. And the knowledge that she was

taking part in history, for Emma knew how momentous this new Express would

be.

A secret adventurousness in her had been awakened, albeit

unknowingly, by the young agent from Russell, Majors, and Waddell. As he sat

on there on her porch, sipping her iced tea and matter-of-factly discussing

the details of how the Pony Express would work, Emma's mind whirled with the

excitement of it all. There was never a moment's doubt in her mind that she

would take part in it.

The rapid preparations had paid off at last, and now the boys were

here. Teaspoon had expected five, and five were waiting for him in town when

he went to meet them: a tall blond with twinkling eyes and a smirk cut

deeply into his face; a sternly handsome young man with a stubborn set to

his jaw; a mute with a kerchief wrapped around his hairless head, his mouth

soft with humor, and his companion, an Indian with the darkest eyes Emma had

ever seen, and a calm, easy-going countenance. Then there was the tiny young

woman in spectacles who had cut off her hair and was calling herself 'Lou'.

She had determination etched into every inch of her face and something in

her steely demeanor won over the boys' respect where her less than

intimidating frame did not. Emma knew her secret, and without being asked,

she would keep it. Till then she would play along with the this brave girl

she already admired so much. And if 'Lou' was what it took to gain this

girl's trust, then 'Lou' it would be. The sixth one had surprised them all:

a late-comer, having barely met the deadline for hiring. He was tall and

lean, soft-spoken and yet strong-willed.

Sam said he had a real good feeling about all of them, and Emma

trusted Sam's judgment. Even more than that, she trusted her own. She didn't

know what came next with those boys and this dangerous job they would

undertake -- if they would all get along or if they would be at each other's

throats, if this Express would be a stunning success or a miserable failure.

She didn't know if she would be able to cope. All she knew was that she

would try, and these young folks would try, and Sam and Teaspoon would try.

And she trusted that. The hope in their bright young faces, in Teaspoon's

weathered eyes, in Sam's earnest face, and in her own heart -- whatever

happened, at least they had that.

For Emma, it was enough.

THE END

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