Rex Kingston looked back over his shoulder at the plantation that had been his family's since 1805. More than half a century of wealth and prosperity reduced to destitution by the damned Yankees. Just a few miles outside New Orleans, his rice crops had fed everyone from rich to poor. Now because a Yankee president and a handful of Bible-thumping Yankee bleeding-hearts his labor force was gone and with it his entire livelihood. Even as he sat in the driver's seat of the head wagon the blue-bellies occupied New Orleans, thankfully that wind-bag Butler was gone, but his replacement was no better. And since he wouldn't degrade himself with an oath of allegiance to that crooked railroad lawyer of a president, all that was left was exile. Banishment from his own childhood home!

The soft hand of his wife snatched his gaze from the high, white pillars of the big house. Regina Kingston's face was somber but strong. Two decades his junior, her face had only just started to line and hairs began to gray at the base. He managed to ruffle his thick, gray mustache with a sad smile as he gently patted her hand. She nodded to him without a word. They still had their three little daughters, Dalila, Eva, and Jezebel, in the back of the wagon. The other two wagons were manned by his four sons, Seth, Ham, Julius, and Darius. All of whom had served in the army or militia. Their gray uniforms given to the nearest Swamp. Armed with pistols, hidden beneath their fine clothes and charged with defending the last of the family fortune with their lives.

Over the past few days they had rounded up all remaining family property, some of it stolen. Boxed it all up in about a dozen half-rotten crates speckled with holes. Six crates in the two rear wagons. One brother drove the horse team while the other braced in the back with a pistol drawn and a box of matches ready. If the Yankees, or anyone, tried to take what was theirs, they were to set the wagons ablaze. If they couldn't have their fortune, no one could!

Kingston hardened his face and his heart as he turned to the road ahead. Was about to shout the order to move out when a foreboding sight froze him solid. About a hundred yards out, where the plantation trail met the main road, stood a man in black perched upon a pale horse. Too far out to make out his features but there was something ominous about the man's gaze. Even at a distance, his eyes seemed to sear in Kingston's direction from the shade of his wide-brimmed hat. Like the rays of a summer sun. Then suddenly the stranger turned and rode off westward down the road. The stomp of hooves soon echoed.

"Rex?" Kingston turned to his wife's worried face. "Who was—"

"Nobody!" he cut her off. "Just a passerby. No doubt heading west of this blue-coat Hell himself," he grunted before waving a hand forward with a loud shout. With a snap of the reins the wagon train was on the move. Carrying a family's hopes and dreams to an uncertain future on the frontier in covered wagons. Like so many had before.

Even as they exited the plantation grounds, when uncertainty turned to thrill and soon after to hope, Kingston couldn't shake the Haunting gaze of the man in black from his mind.

It was a quiet ride to the Yankee checkpoint. No one bothered them nor even shot a second glance. Now sweat streamed from ever pore as Kingston frowned down on the searching glare of a Yankee officer. Several blue-bellies blocked the road with rifles at the ready. Fixed bayonets shone in the sunlight. The enlisted men's faces were no friendlier than the officer's.

The young lieutenant inquired about their destination with a thick Boston accent. The insufferable snobbery of a bible-thumping school teacher who thought he knew better than his elders. "We're going to Texas," Kingston grunted.

"On business?" the Yankee asked.

"Family business!"

"And your cargo?"

"Just necessities. And the last of our possessions. "

"Possessions?" the Yankee's eyes narrowed. Kingston mirrored his expression.

"I suppose you'll be letting your band of plundering vandals rummage through my wagons? I expected no less! You've already robbed us of our property and our livelihood. Suppose it's a miracle we can keep the clothes on our backs!" Kingston hissed. His face twisted into a lined and leathery scowl.

The Yankee stood unfazed. "Property and livelihood indeed," he repeated coolly. An egg could have been fried on Kingston's head and he knew it. Self-righteous fools like the young officer made his blood boil. Looked at him like he was King Herod himself! As if his kind were any better. A rush of panic swept through Kingston as two Yankees came from his rear on either side of the wagon. The crafty fiends had been checking the wagons from rear to front while the young pup pestered him!

The surge of horror subsided as the soldiers reported all was well. Only the family and their luggage. Nothing unseemly or suspicious. Kingston fought with all his might not to let a smug grin curve his mouth in the face of the lieutenant's disappointed frown. "On your way then," the Yankee ordered with a slight edge. It took all Kingston's strength not to do any more than nod.

With a wave of the lieutenant's arm the blue-bellies swept from the road. A snap of the reins and the Kingston clan was on their way again. The tense glares of the Yankees followed as they passed. When the third wagon cleared the checkpoint Mrs. Kingston gently grasped her husband's arm. He turned to a hopeful, but mournful, smile. "We've made it, my love," she whispered. Her voice broke into a sob as she finished.

Kingston was unmoved by his wife's optimism. Especially considering the man in black he saw smoking a cigar against a tree just past the checkpoint. Was it the same one as before? Didn't see the pale horse anywhere. Nor did he get a good look at his face. Kingston ventured a curious glance back over his left shoulder and immediately wished he hadn't. The man in black had vanished! Was it his imagination? His fears and anxieties playing tricks in his mind? He questioned his sanity in a cold sweat.

With a fierce shake of his head Kingston banished all doubt in his mental faculties. Any number of men wear black. He couldn't possibly be the same man. Even so it was likely a coincidence. He turned to his wife with a stern face. "When we get to Texas is when we've made it," he snapped. Mrs. Kingston blinked in astonishment at his hostility, but soon hung her head in understanding.

That evening they made camp in a meadow. A swamp to the north and a thick tree-line to the east and west. A narrow path to the south before reaching the quagmire road. Not the most desirable path west but it avoided most Yankee patrols. The sun set and their campfire crackled with coals. Supper had been meager, but kept hunger at bay. Darius, being the youngest boy at sixteen, was restless as ever. "Pa, you suppose we might break out some of . . . our fortune?" Darius ventured with a boyish voice. Kingston eyed his son with stern curiosity.

"To sell?" Seth, the oldest, looked at him like he'd taken leave of his senses.

"No! I just mean for . . . personal use," his father's eyes narrowed. Mrs. Kingston glared in disgust. The glow of the coals reflected the flames of damnation in both parents' eyes. "It's just there's nothing to do is all!" Darius slouched in pouty defeat.

"We might consider putting the stash on sale," Ham suggested. "Plenty of friendly folks between here and Texas. Could be even some Yankees'd be interested."

Kingston stood to thunder like an Olympian. "I'LL BE DEAD BEFORE I DO BUSINESS WITH A WRETCHED YANKEE!" All four sons bowed their heads in piety. Kingston trembled with rage for the better part of a minute. His fingernails dug painfully into his palms. He felt the red heat of his face, knew it was red as the hot coals that crackled beneath him. Eventually his puffing gasps of breath eased, like a steam engine run out of fuel. He sat back down and tossed a nearby log on the coals. His two youngest daughters stuck their heads out of the back of the head wagon to see if their papa's storm had subsided. Jezebel, the oldest daughter, emerged from the rear wagon with the bucket of left-over stew in hand. She approached the campfire tentatively. Kingston sighed, he never wanted to be seen as a tyrant. But everybody who ever lived on the Kingston estate knew to fear his temper.

"Pa, what's the point in saving our fortune if we can't use it?" Darius looked up to plead. His voice was almost a whimper. "We're already west of the Mississippi, we got past them Yanks without any trouble at all!"

"And you really think it's worth the risk?" Seth growled.

"Enough," Kingston snapped softly, but firmly. "When we get to Texas, then we'll talk. Until then, not another word about it." Sullen silence settled around the fire. Kingston knew there'd be no more than talk of trading. Until they were out of the country, their fortune had to be kept secret. At least until they reached Brazil.

"HELLO, THE CAMP!" a grizzled old Cajun voice called out of the darkness to the south. Instantly Kingston and his sons sprang to their feet and produced their pistols. Jezebel didn't need to be told to run for the front wagon with the other girls.

"WHO GOES THERE?" Kingston roared.

"TWO WEARY SWAMP FOLK, WE ARE. HAVE GOODS TO SELL, WE HAVE. PERMISSION TO COME IN?"

"JUST ONE OF YOU! OR ELSE WE'LL SHOOT!"

"FAIR ENOUGH, MISTER," the Cajun conceded. The gentle copping of mule hooves were heard and soon a man in buckskins led his pack animal into the glow of the fire. He looked near Kingston's age, with a filthy over-grown beard and straw hat. The warm smile under his unkempt beard only made him look menacing. "Got me some goodies here," he drawled before pulling two sacks off the mule. "A couple alligator tails, scaled and everything. And four big old catfish."

Kingston eyed the bags in the stranger's hands. One shook every few seconds, evidently his catch was still kicking. "Asking price?" He lowered his pistol.

"Cold hard cash is best. But I take it you ain't got no Yankee dollars, else you wouldn't be on the move. I could do with some tobacco or whiskey. If'n you ain't got nothing else?" he finished with a leading tone. Kingston shot Darius a warning glare, the young man hung his head.

"Seth, go on and fetch the man a bottle of whiskey," he ordered before fishing his own tobacco bag from his pocket. The stranger accepted both payments gladly and handed the sacks off to Seth. The fire's glow made the swamp-dweller's face look all the more hideous. Word was most Swamp folk mingled with Indians. Remnants of the Creeks and Seminoles. Kingston's stomach churned at the thought of it.

The stranger pulled another sack from his mule. "Got me a Cottonmouth in here! Gutted and skinned already. She a big one and good eating! You got anything tastier than baccy and liquor to trade for?" His leering smile made Kingston's skin crawl.

"Pa," Darius ventured.

"NO!" Kingston snapped with venom in his eyes. Again Darius slunk in embarrassment. The stranger only giggled.

"No hair off my hide, Mister," he took up the male's reins and led it back towards the main road. "Goodnight to ya. And pleasant dreams y'all. Pleasure doing business with ya!" he finished with a howling laugh as the darkness of night enveloped him. Kingston and his family kept silent as his mule's hoof beats faded.

Seth took the newly acquired food to the front wagon. The other boys settled back into their seats around the fire. Mrs. Kingston flipped open her Bible to resume her nightly reading in the fire's glow. Kingston's eyes remained affixed by the darkness to the south. Both men were still there. Somehow he knew it! Then, with a soft snap, a match lit up in the blackness and a weathered face returned his gaze.

A man dressed in black, or some darker color, glared at Kingston. Even at a distance of at least 50 yards he could see the blazing inferno in his eyes. The face turned downward slightly as his hand placed a cigar in his mouth and lit it with the match. The mysterious man shook out the match but the sparks of burning tobacco lingered as he puffed. A dragon seething in the shadows. Moments that felt like hours later, the faint clopping of hooves were heard as the two strangers rode off to the west.

"Pa?" Seth's voice chimed.

"My love?" Regina's hand touched his and Kingston took in a deep gasp as he realized he hadn't been breathing. His sons all pestered him about his health and prescribed a good night's sleep.

"I'M FINE!" Kingston snatched his hand away from his wife and snarled at his well-meaning boys. "I'm off to bed," he grumbled, as if it were his own idea to begin with. "You boys remember to keep watching in the back wagons, take it in shifts a few hours at a time!" He shook his nerves back into place as he stomped to the front wagon. It couldn't be the same man as before! Could it?

The next day went far smoother than Kingston expected. They broke camp at dawn after enjoying a hearty catfish breakfast. They were on their way before the full light of day was upon them and saw no sign of either stranger. Despite his daughters' pleading begs, Kingston refused to spend the night in the tavern at the nearby town. Too many new faces and not quite enough misery. Half the townsfolk had probably taken the oath of allegiance to the Union. Filthy traitors! Sniveling cowards! Even if he didn't have reason to fear prying scalawags and inquisitive Yankees, Kingston wouldn't suffer the same air as them any longer than necessary.

They made camp near sunset and made a decent supper of one gator tail and some preserves. Near the end of the meal Darius opened his mouth to speak only to be shot down by his father's vicious glare. As the sun began to set Kingston eyed their new campsite. Another meadow, this one hemmed in entirely by thick forest. Except for the narrow exit to the south. A sanctuary? A cage? Perhaps both.

The night had been peaceful. Only the chirping and chittering of nocturnal woodland creatures. A soothing chorus that eased Kingston to sleep. Until a banshee wail jolted him upright. Old instincts from his youthful days took over and in instants he sprang from his bedroll in the front wagon and was charging into the night with pistol in hand. Again came the scream and he nearly shot the ghostly white figure rushing towards him. Almost too late, he recognized his youngest daughter, Eva. The poor dainty, thing leapt into his arms and clung to him like the ledge of a cliff!

Soon the whole camp was awake. The Kingston boys stumbled from the wagons with pistols at the ready. Mrs. Kingston rushed to her husband and daughter's side with a lantern in hand. Eva's silk nightgown was torn and dirtier by bushes and bramble. "Eva, what on Earth?" Kingston panted.

"A ghost, papa!" she sniffled. Her father tried desperately hard not to let his sigh sound like a groan. Of all the silly, girlish things! Old wives tales and superstitions had brought him to the very brink of a panicked frenzy!

"Oh, silly child!" Mrs. Kingston gently chided. "There is no ghost!" Kingston suppressed his anger and patted his daughter on the back. Most likely an owl or some other night-time critter spooked her.

"But I saw his eyes, mama!" Eva whimpered. "Moonlight shone through the trees and I saw him in a black cloak! His eyes under a black hood, like Death himself! I screamed and I ran! I felt him grasp at me! And I heard him chasing me!"

Kingston went stiff before gently handing the weeping figure off to his wife. "Child, what on Earth were you doing out in the woods?" Mrs. Kingston asked. As the girl explained she was off to the privy, her father took the lantern from her mother and crept carefully out the way she came. The Kingston boys soon produced their own lanterns and followed after their father. Kingston checked both cargo wagons and found the crates undisturbed. He then followed his daughter's footsteps out to the woods. Held up a firm hand to signal his boys not to follow him. They obeyed with sullen acceptance but kept all the more watchful.

Tense minutes crept by as the Kingston boys eyed their father's lantern-light. A glowing specter scanning the dark corners of the wilderness. They sighed with relief as the light in the darkness approached with their father's footsteps. Their relief vanished at the sight of their father's pale and stiffened face in the lantern-light. Kingston waved off his sons' questions as he passed by like a man in a trance. He returned to his wife to find Jezebel had produced a lantern of her own. Eva clung to her mother but was no longer quivering or whimpering. Kingston shook himself and furrowed his brow into a stern frown.

"Nobody goes back to sleep!" he snapped, loud enough to be heard by his whole family. All eyes were on him. "We leave at first light. Jezebel, you know how to shoot. You'll be standing a watch along with your brothers and I each night. And from now on no more sneaking off in the woods. We'll select a bucket for the privy and keep it between the back two wagons." The Kingston family cringed in unison at the thought. He snapped at Darius to fetch a bucket for the purpose and turned to go check on the horses.

"But what about the ghost, papa?" Eva ventured cautiously. To the girl's horror her father flew into a rage. Snatched her roughly from her mother's embrace and cuffed her hard across the face.

"Shut up you sniveling brat!" he growled, unmoved by her resumed whimpering. "There ain't no, ghost!" he snapped before thrusting her back into Regina's arms. Ignoring his wife and children's shocked expressions, he stomped off to the horses with the lantern held high. Fumed at the child and himself. But he knew he was right. No ghost leaves boot prints in the dirt. Stupid girl couldn't even tell the difference between a black cloak and a black hat!

The next several days were tense as they were uneventful. The Kingstons were on the road before the day was bright. They saw no one for miles. Even then it was mostly deserted homesteads and towns occupied by weeping widows in black and skinny orphans in rags. Elderly and infirm men wet their whistles with bottles and hip-flasks. All eyed the travelers with numb envy.

Kingston had to harden his heart. It was tough times for all of them. It wasn't his fault they were even less fortunate than him. But he had greater fears. Numerous times he considered breaking out the contents of the locked box in the front wagon. No! Not the time for that. Not yet! But his right hand scarcely left the holster at his side.

Time and again each day Kingston drew his pistol at the first sight of a man in black. Each time he awkwardly holstered the weapon with a grimace towards the innocent bystander. At one point he very nearly murdered a catholic priest! As the days of journey dragged on Kingston began to question his sanity. Was Eva's attacker even the same man? Was the Cajun peddler's companion the first night even the same man he'd seen at the Plantation and Yankee checkpoint? Maybe not, he tried to convince himself. But his mind could never truly settle the matter. He slept little at night and what few winks he did catch were haunted by glaring eyes in match-light. The black hat casting the faces features in shadow. Only those horrible, vengeful eyes!

They were barely a day's ride from Texas when the Kingstons stopped at a small town. The sight of it brought a scowl to the patriarch's face. Men of fighting-age roaming the streets unashamed. Un-widowed women smirking and gossiping. Children laughing and playing. Free blacks, runaways most likely, selling their own goods and speaking freely to whites. Scalawag-country! Filthy traitors! Kingston's hand gripped his pistol for a new reason.

No! Not now, not when his family and the remains of his fortune were at stake. He choked down every drop of his pride, released his pistol, and dismounted the wagon to enter the general store. He spoke no more than necessary. Purchased bacon and cornmeal, the first he'd seen of either in ages. Cuddling Yankees had its benefits. Keeping his patriotic sentiments private, Kingston paid the man and returned to the wagon with supplies in hand.

After loading the food he climbed up into the driver's seat beside Regina. Was about to snap the reins when a familiar voice caught his ear. He turned down the street to see the friendly Cajun peddler who sold them catfish and gator tail that first night of the journey. Same unkempt, hairy face. Same buckskins and straw hat. The old wretch took no notice of them. Jovially greeted the locals with a yellow-toothed smile, offering them freshly caught catfish and various other wares. His dark and mysterious friend was nowhere to be seen. But Kingston ran cold as he eyed the pale horse hitched to a post beside the Cajun's mule.

Kingston willed his heartbeat to slow down. Took deep gasps to control his breathing. No! It couldn't be the same one! There could be any number of horses that color. But that peddler? Could he have been heading this way all along? Could it just be a coincidence?

Regina grasped his arm firmly and asked what ailed him. Unwilling to trouble her with his fear, Kingston shook himself and brushed her hand away. Insisted it was nothing. Just couldn't abide all those Yankee-lovers! Damned treason it was! He'd see the whole town burn if he could!

The anger burned steadily in Kingston for hours. Even as the sun vanished over their campsite in the woods. Dark clouds blanketed the stars with the rumble of thunder. Still he seethed silently into the campfire. Regina and the children avoided his glaring gaze. Conversation was kept at a minimum. Gathered around the fire, the family's tense eyes spoke for them. What had they said? What had they done? Was it really those scalawags in town getting to him? Their father ignored them. Stood only to toss more logs on the fire. Fueling the flames and his rage.

They ate their dinner in the loudest silence ever. Broken occasionally by encroaching cracks of thunder. Lightning stabbed illuminating flashes about the camp. Jezebel shivered in one such flash as she exited the back wagon with a bucket of oatmeal, fanning her nose in disgust. The fire was burning low again. It's glow weakened and waned. Kingston sat like a statue. His eyes turned up from the flames and gazed into the darkness of the woods around them. Another sharp flash of lightning lit up the camp for a split second. Shadows stilted in the trees beyond. In the instantaneous illumination there was movement among the shadows. Not the swaying of branches or trunks, nor the graceful bounding of woodland creatures. One of those shadows in particular froze Kingston's blood.

The family patriarch rose with a roar. All but muted in the rumble of thunder which followed instants after the lightning. His wife and children gasped in horror as Kingston rushed to the front wagon in a frenzy. He ripped a key from his pocket like a dagger from its scabbard, stabbed it into the long lock-box behind the driver's seat and tore it open to reveal its contents. Moments later he emerged from the wagon to thrust loaded Henry Repeating Rifles in the shocked faces of his sons. One rifle he kept for himself and placed his Colt into Jezebel's trembling hands. Lightning and thunder burst in unison as the storm arrived. Rain drops began to patter like so many encroaching footsteps.

"CHECK THE WAGONS!" Kingston roared. His sons sprang into action. Regina rushed the girls to the front wagon. Kingston stomped after his sons. Seth and Ham called out as they secured the second wagon. Their father said nothing as he marched on to the rear wagon. His finger gripped the trigger. His eyes pierced the cloth covering of the wagon, as if he could see through to the intruder within.

"YOU! HALT!" Darius barked into the wagon from the driver's seat. He fired his rifle only to topple over as a pistol shot replied. Screams engulfed the camp. Kingston sneered as Julius foolishly dropped his rifle and lunged to his fallen brother's aid. With a guttural war cry he shouldered his rifle and fired thrice into the fabric ceiling of the rear wagon. Boot steps trampled to the wagon's rear and Kingston rushed in pursuit. A shadowy figure leaped from the carriage mere yards ahead of him. A flash of lightning instantaneously showed a black hat and jacket vanish into the trees.

With a frenzied howl Kingston emptied his Henry into the trees. Half his mind cursed his foolish waste of bullets, the other half desperate to rid himself of the cursed phantom. Desperate to protect his fortune. Desperate for peace!

Thunder and lightning mingled with bursts of gunpowder and lead. Kingston toppled to his knees as bullets zipped past him like so many horse flies. He mechanically took aim but squeezed the trigger only to hear a dry click. With a muttered curse he fled for his life. Briefly noticed Julius and Darius firing into the darkness. Blood stained the arm of his youngest. Kingston wasted no sigh of relief as he ran. Narrowly avoided Seth and Ham's gunfire as he rushed past them into the front wagon. Ignored his wife and daughter's screams as he rummaged the rifle crate for boxes of cartridges. After loading his weapon he rushed out with his arms full. Frantically tossed a few boxes to the ground between Seth and Ham.

"All the ammunition we have, don't waste it!" he thoughtlessly barked before clumsily rushing to the rear wagon and repeating the instructions to Julius and Darius. As his boys reloaded Kingston knelt and fired furiously into the forest. Occasional lightning flashes revealed crouching shadows with protruding gun barrels in the trees. But for every shot he fired another came in reply. He doubted they were Yankee soldiers, missing too wide for professionals. A voice in the trees barked in rebuke instants after several shots struck the wagons. Moments later the enemy shots zipped closer over Kingston's head. His eyes widened and he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"IN THE WAGONS, BOYS!" Kingston bellowed. "THEY WON'T RISK THE GOODS!" Father and sons clambered into the wagons amid a hail of bullets. With fingernails and knives they ripped open the canvas at the sides and fired at the unseen attackers. Only after they had exhausted their ammunition did they realize the enemy had ceased fire. Without a word they discarded their spent rifles and drew their pistols. The storm had passed them by. The rumble of thunder was a distant echo.

Hours of tense, sleepless, darkness elapsed before dawn cast its blood red glow on the Kingston camp. The full light of day revealed a camp riddled with bullets but devoid of foes. It was a most miserable, exhausted family that emerged from the wagons. Kingston and his sons took in deep gasps of unfouled air. Regina broke down in tears at the sight of Darius' blood-soaked arm. Fussing over her precious, wounded boy became her top priority. The other three Kingston boys set about breaking camp while their father checked the horses. He was pleasantly surprised to see they hadn't driven the horses off. The dirty thieves likely figured they'd need a means of transportation for the goods.

Seth came to hitch up the horses and Kingston crept carefully towards the treeline. He found splashes of blood amid the moss and tree bark, but no bodies. In a pond just inside the forest he saw a gator drag something from the shore beneath the water. A cruel smirk curved Kingston's lips at the thought of it being one of the scalawags. And end fit for a thief and a traitor! His eyes lit up and his smirk became a devilish smile as he realized it may well have been the man in black.

"THEY'RE GONE!" he danced back to camp to proclaim at the top of his lungs! "ALL OF EM!" he shrieked a shrill laugh. His wife and children stared in a shocked stupor as he cackled like a madman. Proclaimed with confidence that the thieves were routed and what remained of their ride to Texas would be peaceful. Regina forced a supportive smile as she took her husband by the hand. Awkward nods and grimaces prevailed among the children. By the time the wagons were ready Kingston had calmed himself and took up the reins with a confident nod. His wife seemed relieved but said nothing.

Much of the day passed in peace. Only the sun and stifling air troubled them. It was with a vibrant rebel yell that the Kingstons rumbled past a sign post marking the Texas border. Even Regina and the girls clapped their hands in a dainty, cultured manner. Kingston planted a firm kiss on his wife's mouth and she blushed crimson as a lovely smile parted her lips. They had made it!

Kingston snapped the reins back and grasped his pistol as his breath froze. His gaze unmoved by the wagon's sudden lurching halt. Regina righted herself only to gasp at four oncoming riders. Ahead of the other three rode a man in black on a pale horse. His eyes hidden beneath a wide-brimmed black hat.

The Kingston daughters peeked past their papa's shoulder with horrified whimpers. As the man in black closed in a sharp light stabbed Kingston's eye and a deep sigh turned to a hearty laugh as he recognized the tin star tacked to the man in black's chest. His hand fell away from his pistol. "TEXAS RANGERS!" he announced, as if to a royal court. The Kingston women sighed in unison. Hearty cheers sounded from the boys in the wagons behind. "Rex Kingston of Louisiana, at your service, gentlemen," Kingston removed his hat and bowed to the waist as the lead ranger halted alongside.

"Howdy," the grizzled lawman grunted with a sharp nod. The two men eyed each other in silence for a moment. The ranger's thick black mustache put an unpleasant depth to what Kingston figured for a habitually soured face. A lawman's business is rarely a pleasant one. "What brings you to these parts?"

Kingston blinked in astonishment at such an obvious question. "Why, those blue devils who took over our land, of course!"

"Brung your valuables, have you?" the ranger stabbed a half-burnt cigar into his mouth and lit it with a match. He puffed deeply as Kingston explained they had brought only what few possessions the Yankees left them. Keeping secret the family fortune shut up in the crates.

"If there's some border-crossing fee, I'm afraid I have little to offer you, Ranger . . . ?"

"Purvis," he snapped. "Magnum Purvis. And there ain't no fee." His voice was cold as ice. The ranger's frigid face and voice sent a wave of apprehension over Kingston. The elation he'd felt since morning vanished.

"Well, Mr. Purvis, I'm afraid I don't quite understand what the problem is," Kingston shrugged innocently. Purvis managed a cocky smirk.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Kingston stared back, dumbfounded. "We was neighbors, you and me. My grandpappy fought beside your pappy against the Redcoats under Andy Jackson. My kin kept to the swamps though. Except for one time, about ten years back, you and me hardly even saw one another."

Kingston blinked, still unable to recall seeing Purvis before. "It was ten years back you pulled up stakes to come out here to Texas?"

Purvis chuckled. "No, my relocation is a more recent development," he paused for another deep puff of smoke before tossing the cigar in dirt. "Ten years back you sold me something very precious. A man of business, like you, might call it an investment. And that investment paid off; brought me a greater fortune than I ever thought I'd have," a more genuine smile brightened his dour face. Kingston smiled with a sigh of relief, though he still could not remember the ranger. "And then about a week or so back, you stole that fortune from me," Purvis' face soured in an instant. His eyes blazed like a smithy's furnace. Kingston could only gape in confusion, his hands began to tremble. "That precious investment you sold me ten years ago, Mr. Kingston, you sure you don't remember that transaction? Only to you it wasn't very precious at all. In fact, as I recall, you sold her cheap!" he snapped.

Kingston's eyes widened at the memory of the transaction. "You!" he gasped in a dreadful whisper. A shocked cry from behind tore his gaze away from Purvis. Another four riders were coming from behind! Led by the Cajun peddler from that first night. Kingston turned back to the ranger and found himself staring down the barrel of a Colt and into hazel eyes of blazing hellfire. Eyes he had first seen in the glow of a match the night he'd first seen the peddler. "YOU!!!" Kingston roared.

The thunder of a gunshot cut Kingston off. He fell limp into his wife's arms with a hole through his forehead. Purvis was unmoved by Regina's cries, nor by the girls' screams. He quickly tore the tin star from his chest and tossed it away. The cursed thing still stank of the dead man he'd taken it off of! Purvis had been disappointed in the Texas Rangers, had heard a lot of bluster about them. The fools trotted right into the ambush they had set for them that morning. A bitter smirk curved Purvis' lips, at least they had been good for something.

With vengeful cries Seth and Ham came running from the second wagon and leveled their rifles at their father's killer. Both fell in a mingled bloody heap as Purvis gripped the trigger and fanned the hammer of his Colt. More shots were fired and Julius and Darius Kingston both fell dead in the dirt. The peddler, Purvis' long-time friend and neighbor Jacques, blew smoke from his own revolver. The townsfolk who had volunteered to join Purvis in his adventure all cheered. They were all Union men and were proud to have assisted in the downfall of a planter-family. Some had even deserted the Confederate army as it became clear the current conflict was a rich man's war but a poor man's fight.

Purvis ignored their revelry and dismounted to approach the rear wagon. Somehow he knew his fortune was in that one. Stepping over the bloodied bodies of the youngest Kingston boys, he climbed into the wagon and approached the nearest crate. A dirty, rotten container, that reeked soil and filth. The padlock was rusted but held firm as he gripped and pulled at it. He readied his Colt to shoot it off when he heard a sharp grunt from behind. Jacques smirked from the driver's seat, a key ring swinging in his grasp.

"It was in the old man's pocket," the Cajun chucked before tossing the keys. Purvis caught it in air with a grateful nod before removing the padlock and gently opening the crate. His own hazel eyes, reddened from tears and lack of sleep, gazed up in shock. More tears soon flowed from those eyes to stream down dark cheeks and curve down a short, rounded nose. The same nose that adorned the woman Purvis loved. The woman whose freedom he had purchased a decade ago. Purvis gripped the brittle, rotten crate so hard he could feel it begin to crack in his grasp. It was all he could do to keep from weeping himself.

"Susanna," he gasped his daughter's name in a trembling voice.

"PAPA!" the girl cried as she sprang from the crate to throw her arms around him. Purvis returned her embrace, squeezing her close like she would a doll. He feared he might choke her, but couldn't let go. Her cotton dress was long-since soiled and her frail body betrayed a meager diet. But she was still alive, and he had found her. Like he swore he would the day one of those Kingston boys lassoed her and dragged her off, claiming her as a runaway slave.

Jacques took the keys and began opening the other crates. Their unionist comrades got busy helping all the other girls out of their crates. They ignored the Kingston women's objections as they rummaged their luggage for clothing to replace the girl's soiled garments. Within half an hour the six kidnapped girls had all changed into borrowed dressing gowns. Such rich fabrics were beyond any of their dreams, but under the circumstances it brought them little comfort. Mrs. Kingston and her daughter's could only stand tearfully by as their property was stolen. The local Union men agreed to take in the other five girls. Would either find homes for them or else hand them over to the Union Army. Each girl was helped up on a mount to ride double. Susana, in an angelic silk gown, still clung to her father like a limpet. He nestled her in the saddle and assured her he'd never let such a terrible thing happen to her again.

"Your mama is worried sick about you, little darling," he told her. "Let's go home."

"What about us?" hissed Regina Kingston. She approached Purvis with a defiant glare. He blinked in silent indifference at her question. "Those slave girls were all we had! Now look at us! All our men are dead! You're just going to leave us here? Penny-less? What are we to do?" the last she said with a trembling voice, choking back tears with all her might.

Purvis shrugged. "Question is, do I give a damn?" he spat in the dirt and spurred his mount to trot away. Jacques gave a cruel chuckle before doing the same. Mrs. Kingston wailed after them. Shouting curses and oaths; condemning Purvis and his men for their love of black folk, damning them for betraying their home-state, and decrying them as thieves and brigands. Purvis paid her no mind. Even as she fell to her knees and screamed like a madwoman as her daughters wept in despair.