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Page 287
voice level, she asked, "Where's Arlen?" Surely she was not too late.
"He's ahead," Jem Woolcott said. "There's a horse acting a mite skittish, like it had a burr under its saddle, and"
Abby did not wait for the rest. Clutching the strap of her tote bag, she lifted her skirts and pushed her way on the thin, treacherous path, around people, past wagons, and oxen teams. Breathing heavily, she inhaled the almost forgotten stench of sweat and other livestock excretions in the otherwise sweet, pure air of this time. She tried hard not to trip along the uneven trail as she increased her speed. She had to reach him.
She was vaguely aware of slower footsteps behind her, her sister's cry, "Abby?"
She found Arlen near the front of the wagons, trying to quiet a rearing roan on the narrow dirt trail. "Abby!" he shouted with a delighted smile.
His appearance made her hesitate. His face was fuller than Mike's, his chin not quite so firm, his eyes deeper set and more pale. He was shorter, his body more slender yet muscular. His clothing consisted of wrinkled but sturdy trail garb. But he still resembled Mike enough that Abby nearly cried.
Arlen turned quickly away as the nervous horse demanded his attention. He tethered it to a sturdy bush then approached, his arms outstretched. "We were all worried, Abby." He pulled her close in a brief hug, then released her. "Where were you? How did you find us?"
She forestalled further questions by confus-

 
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