In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

two sprints of a quarter mile, a medium distance race of about three quarters of a mile and a longer race of a mile and a quarter. Bethany's stable held two animals showing promise; a red and white stripped filly who could sprint like the wind, and a gold and brown colt who might prove himself as a distance racer.

Tessa, a slight girl who worked as her head groom, met her at the door this morning.

"Glory is feeling pretty fresh, Miss Bethany," the girl told her. "I think she's ready for her workout."

"Saddle up. I want you to ride her this morning," Bethany said.

Tessa smiled delightedly. Bethany knew the girl wanted to be a rider because a rider got a percentage of the purse, so she had decided to see if Tessa could handle it. She saddled her own tricorn, a gold and brown mare and followed Tessa out to the practice track south of the nut orchards.

Bad Blood on The Rise

NESTLED FURTHER NORTH in the same foothills above the valley, a far different family conference was taking place. The two ranches shared a border along Gold Creek whose headwaters lay in the mountains to the east. The creek, dotted with small gold & gemstone claims, most of whom had been sponsored by St. Vyr, rushed down the mountains to join the Black River, the body of water bisecting River Crossing from Miner's Town.

Even from the outside, the ranch houses were different in style. The Golden Tricorn was a gracious Spanish style hacienda with a tiled interior courtyard and a well in the center. The J-4 ranch house was tucked up under the Ironwood trees bordering the valley. Although as large as its rival, the Johnson house was a timber-built two-story with a breezeway between two bottom stories. The kitchens and laundry were on one side and the living and dining rooms on the other to avoid the intense summer heat.

The Johnson patriarch, Ira, was still tall and broad shouldered with bright blue eyes and a leonine shock of white hair. Before settling in River Crossing, Ira Johnson had been a member of the Grayling Clan who controlled Highland Mountain Stronghold. Having risen as far as he could in his own clan, he decided that opportunities in the lowland city states might prove easier to surmount. An ambitious man, he had traveled to the lowland City States, studying how to become a power in the three states bordering Highland Mountain. Introducing himself as a businessman, he made influential contacts. During this time, he met and married a woman whom he thought would fit in with his new station when he achieved it. Pending that time, he set her up on a captured farm at the edge of Highland Mountain territory. When the war with the neighboring Kawasaki family had led to the demise of Johnson's Grayling clan and the death of his wife, he fled Highland Mountain to the town of River Crossing and the J-4 ranch he had won by cheating in a card game.

Johnson had been a handsome man in his youth and had bequeathed his looks to his three sons. Emory, the oldest, made the most of his choir boy looks and natural animal magnetism with the ladies. He was quick-tempered, intolerant of opposition from both men and women, and prone to violent fits of anger when he had been drinking. The youngest son, Abner, was the most like his father in appearance. He was vain of his long golden locks which he kept tied back with a leather string. His dark blue eyes and clean-cut features made many women sigh over him. He enjoyed his position as a member of a powerful family and his reputation as a gun hand. The middle son, Samuel, shared his brothers’ clean-cut features and blue eyes, but his hair was a dark, burnt honey color. Unlike the other two, he had inherited their mother’s brown eyes and more importantly, her sense of right and wrong.

The current discussion like that on the Golden Tricorn concerned the coming fight, but offense was the topic here. Samuel was making coffee in the big tin pot. Abner was cleaning his gun at the table. Emory sat straddling a wooden chair with his arms crossed on its back. Ira turned from looking out the window to glare at his oldest son.

"When are you going to get married to that St. Vyr gal? You’ve been sparkin’ her long enough."

Abner giggled. "He ain’t! Not if she has anything to say about it!"

"You shut up!" Emory slapped the table with his fist so the cups on it jumped.

Ira frowned at his son. "What’s wrong there? You’re a fine-looking man and you will have a share in the ranch."

"She don’t like him," Abner grinned and blew a kiss at his older brother. "He tried to kiss her at the last dance, and she boxed his ears. When he went over to tell her it was time they got married, and she threw him out."

Ira snorted. "Rushed your fences, did you? Well, you go into town, buy up a big box of chocolates, and take it out to her. You be real sweet and apologize for taking liberties."

Samuel brought the pot to the table and poured coffee into their cups. "Might be too late for that; I heard old St. Vyr sent off for a husband for her. Some range detective out of Bitterstone."

"I swear boy, you got a better spy system than anybody I know! Where did you hear that?"

Samuel shrugged. "If some of us talked less and listened more, everyone could hear what I hear."

Ira fixed his middle son with a cold stare. That had almost sounded insolent. But Samuel was never insolent to him. He grunted.

"You hear a name with this rumor?"

"Alec McCaffey. He’s supposed to be coming in on the train from Junction City this week."

Ira’s fingers drummed on the table for a minute. "McCaffey, ain’t he the one cleaned up that mess at