Dedicated in loving memory of my great aunt, who was a mother to my father and a grandmother to me. She wanted to be a missionary when she was younger, but they didn't allow single women to go at the time. God had other plans though and she ended up being a missionary right in her own backyard. Even as she was being wheeled away for surgery, knowing her chances of surviving weren't good, she wasn't concerned for herself but was asking the nurse if she knew Jesus. She will continue to inspire me to love Jesus and others better and to work for the Lord.

"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain."

1st Corinthians 15:56-58

sss

"Tobacco?" a soldier asked Kid as he pulled a tobacco pouch out of his pocket.

He shook his head. "No, thank you."

He shrugged as if to say it was his loss.

Sister Ruth frowned. There wasn't a rule against chewing it in the stagecoach, but spitting out the juices was going to be a trick and a half with the stagecoach bumping along like it was. She hoped he remembered to spit into the wind and not against it. She tucked her skirts in closer to her legs in case he didn't.

He fingered the leather of the pouch tenderly, almost reverently.

"You seem to be awful fond of that tobacco pouch," Ruth commented, making conversation.

"A trophy from battle."

She assumed he meant that it was horse leather. "Huh, that's a bit unusual, but practical, I reckon. Was it your horse or your enemy's?"

"Neither. It's made from the skin of an Injun."

If Ruth had had a wad of tobacco in her mouth, it would have fallen out of her mouth because it was hanging open in horror.

Kid had been listening and was looking at the bag in disapproval, but it was Ruth who verbalized her disapproval first. "You took another human being's skin and made it into a tobacco bag?"

He tucked it back into his pocket. "It would be impolite of me to tell a lady such as yourself from where exactly, but yes, I fashioned it myself."

He'd missed the point. "That is one of the most disgusting, godless things I've-it's one thing if you needed to defend yourself, but another thing altogether to relish in the death this way. You need to ask the Lord's forgiveness."

"Ma'am, trust me, they ain't human and they definitely ain't Christians like you and me. They're just savage dogs."

April 1839

Ruth sheltered Mercy with her body more for worry about her witnessing the terrible scene than for fear of stray bullets because she knew the first bullet fired would be Kid's and he wouldn't miss his mark.

It was over in seconds.

Mercy looked up over her mother's shoulder despite Ruth having turned her away from the grisly scene. "Is he sleeping?"

"Yes, baby, in a way. It's very bad to play with guns. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Momma." Then she observed, "Daddy plays with guns."

"Daddy knows what he's doing. Only Daddy is allowed to touch guns."

She seemed to accept that. Ruth sat her in the wagon bed to play with her handkerchief doll while she and Kid quietly talked between themselves about what had just happened.

"We're not far from Fort Gibson if this map's right. We'll tell them what happened and let them take care of the body. My guess is that he was probably a wanted man. He had that look."

"It would seem that way. God have mercy on his soul."

"I don't like this part of the territory. It ain't safe. That's the second time some desperado's tried to jump us. I'm fixing to turn this wagon around if we have one more attack like that. He was going to shoot to kill. It wasn't going to be no warning shot. And I ain't shooting no warning shots either with my baby to protect."

"I know. He'd have been sorely disappointed though. What makes people think that a wagon that is clearly marked for revival is going to have anything worth stealing? Much less killing for."

"Most criminals I know ain't too bright. But you know, it's like every outlaw in the country has decided to relocate to this part of the country. It's a den of vipers. I guess they are smart enough to realize there ain't no law here to keep them in line."

"We'll be safe once we're in Indian territory, I'm sure. Sounds a little backwards, don't it? But you know funny thing is we ain't never been attacked by Indians."

"They ain't much threatened by a single family who ain't settled down in their land, I figure. It's settlers that get most of the trouble."

Ruth looked back at Mercy, who was still playing quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing. She should be out chasing lightening bugs not witnessing gunfights."

"The Lord's kept us safe thus far. I grumble a lot, but I trust Him, and we are almost in Indian territory."

The land in this part of the territory was picturesque, Ruth noticed. At least if the Cherokee'd had to move, it had been to a pretty place similar in ways to where they'd come from and not to the desert or the plains, where they would've had a harder time adjusting. The hills were rolling, the grass was green, the lakes plenteous, and there was an abundance of trees. Though all that was a small comfort after a forced march that had stolen so many lives needlessly.

They found Fort Gibson and reported what had happened. Kid described the long scar that had been on the man's face and the man had indeed been wanted, his crimes numerous.

They continued their journey and the next building they came upon was not a military structure but a church. It felt a bit like coming home after being so long in a hostile wilderness.

The first person they happened upon was an Indian man. He was dressed like a white man except that he wore a turban on his head.

"We're looking for a fellow named Evan Jones," Kid said, not knowing if he spoke English but hoping he did. "You know him?"

The man's English was just fine and he directed him to a place where building was going on.

The only white man currently working on the project was on the roof. They waved up at him and he climbed down the ladder to greet them.

"I'm Sister Ruth Cole and this is my husband, Kid. We weren't officially assigned to help with this mission, but Mr. Parry, a friend of ours on the American Board of Foreign Missions, suggested we come this way to see what we could do to help."

"Osiyo, that's Cherokee for hello." He was about Ruth's parents' age, late 50s, and he had a charming welsh accent. "I'm Evan Jones, a missionary to the Cherokee people."

"I'm a faith healer in the revival business," she said, gesturing to their wagon. "But we also want to help with the earthly needs here, the planting and the building. We've been following the removal in the papers when we can get them. And we greatly sympathize."

"I can't imagine what these people must have gone through marched through the middle of a hard winter, not caring if they were sick or hungry or what their age was," Kid added. "We ought to march all those in Washington that voted for their removal somewhere out of the way. See how they like it. Maybe to Canada."

"Kid," Ruth chastised but without much force behind it.

"So many died," Evan said sadly. "71 alone just in the people I had to take, but in our group, it was also a time of great revival. Praise God."

"That makes me happy to hear," Ruth said.

"You see, they didn't just do this to another Indian nation, which would be bad enough, they did it to a Christian nation, to their own brothers and sisters in Christ because of greed. The discovery of gold on their homeland did this, not because there was any fear of an uprising."

"The love of money is the root of so many evils," Kid said, thinking back to the violent men who had attacked them on their coming here.

"Amen to that," Evan said. "Well, we'd certainly love your help. There's so much to do before winter comes. You'll find them very hospitable despite the cruelty with which they were treated."

Mercy shyly peeked out at the strange man from behind her mother's skirts. "And this is Mercy," Ruth introduced.

"And how old are you?" Evan asked.

She held up 2 fingers then 3 fingers then back to 2.

"She's almost 3," Ruth said with a chuckle, taking her hand.

"Why what a tall girl she is for 3. I thought she was more like 5. And so very pretty too." Evan was giving her a warm smile. Mercy smiled back at him, but she didn't speak.

Evan suddenly looked inspired and looked up at Ruth. "I think I know just where you should be."