Read Online Magnificent Passage by Kat Martin - Free Book Online Page A

while, son,” his father said. “Things are getting a little tight financially, and it’s time I did something about it. I want you to watch out for your mother. You’re the man of the family when I’m away, and I expect you to be in charge.” His father gave him a big bear hug. “I’m proud of you, son.”
    The dream clouded, then cleared.
    Thomas Rutherford, dressed in a somber black suit, sat next to him on the settee in the parlor of his home.

    â€œI’m sorry, son,” he was saying, “they’re gone. Wheel sheared off the carriage while they were crossing Potter’s stream. Your father and mother drowned beneath the wreckage.” Mr. Rutherford’s arm went around Travis’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
    Travis didn’t move or say a word.
    â€œI’m afraid there won’t be much money left after the bills are paid. I’d like to take you in, but your uncle Martin thinks you belong with family. He’s headin’ west. Looks like you’ll be going with him.”
    The dream came full circle.
    He was back in the wagon, the sun just beginning to creep over the horizon to outline the rugged mountains in the east. He could see the stiff mesquite scrub bending slightly in the brisk morning breeze, the dark sky fading to a rose-hued gold. He caught the first stirring of activity in the other two camps just a few yards away. As they’d had no money for the protection offered by a wagon train, they were traveling west with just two other families.
    Travis watched the brightening sky, pulled on his shirt and trousers, and waited for a little warmth to seep into the nightly desert chill.
    He saw them just before their piercing screams echoed across the camp. The eerie sounds chilled him worse than his fever. He stood motionless, so still he could feel the hair rise at the back of his neck.
    Uncle Marty leaped over the wagon tongue, grabbed a rifle, and stuffed a long-bladed skinning knife into the top of his drawers.
    Aunt Beulah sobbed hysterically. She scanned the hordes of painted attackers; her calloused hands twisted the
apron tied over her calico dress. The ground thundered with the sounds of running horses, their hooves jarring the hard dry earth.
    Travis jumped down and ran toward his uncle, just as his aunt ducked beneath the wagon.
    â€œUncle Marty,” Travis cried out, “there’s so many of ’em! What are we gonna do?” They were already so close he could see their naked brown flesh, painted and glistening with sweat.
    â€œGet under the wagon, boy—and pray!” was all his uncle had time to say before stumbling off to join the other two men running across the clearing.
    Shrieks and screams filled the air. Travis turned just in time to see a warrior, his face a mask of red glowing with hideous, white-circled eyes, thrust a hand beneath the wagon.
    â€œAunt Beulah!” Travis watched her scramble away frantically, tripping over the hem of her skirt as she tried to escape. She fell to her knees, sobbing, pleading. The warrior didn’t hesitate. He plunged the shaft of his knife between her breasts, and she crumpled to the dusty earth.
    â€œNooo!” Travis screamed, tears of rage and frustration running down his cheeks. People he loved were dying. He couldn’t let it happen again!
    He rushed forward and leapt onto the Indian’s back just as old Mrs. Murphy aimed her husband’s worn musket and fired. The warrior made a strangled noise, ran forward, and fell dead at the woman’s feet.
    â€œThere’s one I’ll take with me,” she cackled. She kicked the dead Indian and started reloading.

    Travis heard the whistle, then the sickening thud of the arrow as it entered her spine.
    He pulled himself to his feet. Racing forward, he dodged several attackers. A tomahawk blow sent a man spinning into the dust. Travis ran on. Nothing mattered now except reaching his