Donald Wayne Manning

Twenty seven years of searching ended tonight, here in this Cheyenne restaurant and at this table. The woman looked straight into the eyes of the man sitting across the table, the one who had murdered her husband and sexually molested her without mercy. "I'm going to expose who you are Frank Martin. What you have said might be so, and no one will believe me. But you are the last one and I came here to see justice done even if it means killing you myself." With a sneer the big man responded, "You . . . kill me Just how will you do that little lady . . . will you use your bare hands?" "No Frank, if it comes to that I'm going to use the gun I'm holding under this table." Suddenly alarmed the man lunged out of his chair and across the table in an attempt to grab her when there was an explosion and the .38 caliber bullet ripped upward through the table top, entered his rib cage and passed through his heart before exiting just below his left shoulder blade. He fell dead upon the table top with his crimson blood contrasting brightly as it saturated the white tablecloth. The roar of the blast had sounded extra loud within the confines of the hotel dining room.

When the man awoke the air was cool and the boat was rocking. His mind suddenly adjusted to his situation. Bilge water . . . I'm wallowing in stinking bilge water Grasping the lifeboat's gunnel he managed to pull himself up to where he could look over the side. His vision was blurry, he rubbed his eyes trying to get them to focus. The sky was overcast except on the horizon where the sun hung just above the ocean. He was confused but his mind was trying to clear. Is the sun setting, or rising? He slowly turned his head as he looked in all directions seeing only water, water everywhere . . . but there towards the bow, a blurry lump of something lying on the seat . . . no, it couldn't be, his mind must be playing tricks on him. There's no little boy sleeping up there. His head was swimming with dizziness as he looked back at the sun, it was being swallowed by the ocean, a setting sun. Now he had his directions, the sun sets in the west. He was suddenly confused as he thought, does it set in the west . . . or is it the east? Come on . . . surely you know this . . . sure it's the west . . . I think? Any sailor knows that . . . is that what I am, a sailor? What's my name . . . surely I know my own name . . . it'll come to me. How did I get in this boat? My head, it's throbbing like . . . Suddenly his eye caught movement towards the bow and then a cough, a cough that sounded like a child. "Who are you?" There was no answer, the lump he could barely make out settled back down. "Answer me, you hear? Who are you?" Nothing, no more movement. Was it a breeze that moved some canvas? The cough . . . did I really hear it . . . or was it my imagination. I'm so dizzy, head is swimming. What's real . . . and what's not.

Not moving from his position on the porch Jordan Scarbrough's eyes scanned the twelve mounted men. "I see you brought enough hands to get your cattle off of my place." "Or to hang a nester," said one of the mounted men. Burt Wolcott quickly said, "Now that's enough of that, let's see if we can't settle this peaceably. It seems this fella made a mistake and came to the wrong place to set up house keeping." Brandt Kelso stepped into view and stood in the doorway. Wolcott saw him and his face turned red. "So now you've joined this nester, it wasn't bad enough that you were a turncoat and went over to Sheldon." Jordan took another drag off of his cigarette and then flipped it into the yard. "Your beef is with me mister, not with Kelso." "You damn right it's with you. Who do you think you are shooting one of my men and then running them off of this place? I am Burt Wolcott and this land belongs to me, it was abandoned and I took possession and that makes it mine, it's now part of the Rocking W holdings. And you better take a hard look around at all of these men Scarbrough, because that shotgun you're holding doesn't scare me one bit." "If even one of your men goes for a gun this shotgun is going to become real important to you Mr. Wolcott because it's going to blow you right out of that saddle and after that it won't matter to you what happens because you'll be out of it."

Abigail Becker awoke with a sudden jolt of fear, the room was dark and for a few moments she couldn't place where she was. Then, somewhere off in the distance she heard a gunshot and suddenly it all came back with a rush, she was in the boomtown of Virginia City Nevada. She had been dreaming and it had been a worrisome dream. Her memory activated and brought her worries to the forefront. She had lost her man, the love of her life back when her father accused him of being a thief, of throwing in with the two Mexican vaqueros and stealing his cattle. How foolish she had been to believe her father. That belief had cost her the man she loved. Luke Scarbrough's words of two years ago were still fresh in her memory, "I'd not marry a woman who didn't believe in me." Four days ago she learned the truth, Luke had been innocent. Now two years after he had left her she had tracked him here to Virginia City only to learn that he had long since gone east to fight in the war between the North and the South. Through his friends and family she was in the process of getting his mailing address, but would he answer her letter when she sent it? Would he ever consider taking her back? Was he even still alive? ******** This is the epic saga of the life and times of the Scarbrough family during the era of the American Civil War.

For a brief moment young Luke Scarbrough was at a loss as to where he was. Darkness surrounded him and then he recognized the sound of an ember popping and it all came back to him. He . . . they, were back at the wagons, the site where the massacre had occurred more than two weeks ago. They had gotten back here during the night, he and the four he had taken back from the Indians; his older sister Belle, little sister Sally, and the two Anderson kids, Clara and Johnny. It now must be in the wee hours of the morning because when they got here they had celebrated their return for over an hour before finally going to bed. No one was stirring and the fire had burned out except when the breeze briefly brought an ember back to life causing it to momentarily flare brightly and then go dim. It was cold, he pulled the wool blanket tighter around his shoulders and neck. He would keep the nightmare at bay by staying awake a few minutes, maybe then it would not return. Come daylight they must load up and continue on to Oregon, on To Journey's End. But can they now make it before the mountain passes are blocked by heavy snow? NOTE: "To Journey's End" is the exhilarating sequel to "Taken; Ordeal on the Oregon Trail".