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Page 283
Chapter Fourteen
1858
Abby heard the wagon train and its echoes in the canyons before she saw it: the squeals of aging axles against wheels and frames against beds; the chaotic thudding of the feet of cattle and the hurried animals' protests; men's calls to one another.
Since awakening at the ancient Indian site, she had walked for hours along the twisting dirt path that hugged the side of a folding, weathered mountain. Her special sense had been her guide.
Hoisting the strap of the tote bag to the crook of her elbow, she lifted her awkward beige skirt and began to run. She soon saw the rear of the last wagon, its tattered canvas cover flapping as it rolled forward, its light breeze swaying the low trailside bushes along the edge of the mountain.
Smiling, Abby quickly passed the rumbling prairie schooner. She waved with only a brief

 
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