Silent Survival

By Frank Digweed

This story begins in the late 1800s with the immigration of an Irish family to the New World. One year after arriving in Boston, brothers Sam and Johnny Shamus travel West to fulfill a family dream. The brothers start a small ranch in the Dakota Territory and try their hand at raising horses. When a tragic accident takes the life of Johnny, his brother Sam is left on his own. In time, Sam takes a pretty Sioux woman as his wife, and my main character is born. Their son, Samuel, is raised between the Sioux tribe and the White man's township during the lawless period in our history when racism, greed, and violence prevailed.

After the violent deaths of his mother and father at the hands of evil, young Samuel, a.k.a. Night Hunter, begins his quest for revenge. His strong upbringing from both his shaman great-grandfather and the Sioux tribe, along with the faith and hope of his Irish heritage, compel him to begin his epic journey for justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781684989744

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1: Boston

2: The Journey

3: Buffalo Creek

4: Heading Home

5: The Double Bar S Ranch

6: Spring Arrives

7: The Visit

8: A Good Trade

9: The Sioux Camp

10: Living in Two Worlds

11: The Vigil

12: Half-Breed

13: The Journey to Manhood

14: The Meeting

15: Great Sadness

16: Revenge

17: The Hunt

18: The Chimney

19: A Vanishing Act

20: In Town

21: Poetic Justice

22: The Ride to Mesa Flats

23: The Trial

24: The Empire

25: The Funeral

26: The Trip to Town

27: The Winding River of Life

28: A Sad Past

29: Business in Mesa Flats

30: The Clients

31: Ambush

32: A Long Wait

33: The Gathering for Jim Coach

34: The Edge of the Cliff

35: Coming Home

36: Light and Darkness

37: Peace

38: Sunday Morning

39: Ranches

40: New Encounters

41: Storm Clouds

42: Rising Winds

43: The Lull before the Storm

44: The Storm

45: The Aftermath

46: The Service

47: Wedding Bells

Epilogue

The Circle of Life

About the Author

cover.jpg

Silent Survival

Frank Digweed

Copyright © 2022 Frank Digweed

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-68498-973-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68498-974-4 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

In memory of my in-laws, Ed and Marge Parker

Acknowledgments

Aspecial thank-you to John Del Vecchio for his patience, guidance, and expertise with writing and editing and to my daughter, Lisa, and her husband, Anker, for providing the extra enthusiasm and support that enabled me to bring Silent Survival to its culmination.

Prologue

County Cork, Ireland, 1839

Asmall wedding procession passed slowly among the unkept graves. At the head of the line walked eighteen-year-old John Shamus, the groom. He was a handsome, rugged lad with a quiet disposition. On this day, he was bursting with pride, love, and anticipation.

John turned to behold the sunlight falling upon the flowing red hair of his bride-to-be, Mae Casey, also eighteen years old. She was tall and slender. But unlike John, she had a fiery nature, or as her ma had often said, This daughter a mine be full a piss an' vinegar.

The couple ambled through the churchyard cemetery, searching, finally stopping at the single marker of John's mother and father: Here lies Irene Beth and David Henry Shamus. Loving husband and wife. Devoted mother and father.

John laid his hand on the cold stone and said a short prayer, asking his parents to bless this marriage.

At the gravesite of Mae's mother and father, the markers read Here lies Caroline Louise Casey. Loving mother, wife, and devoted teacher. Her father's epitaph read Here lies Samuel Henry Casey. Loving father, husband, and dedicated doctor.

Mae turned and buried her face in John's shoulder. Tears ran down her cheeks.

John whispered in her ear, Darlin Mae, yer parents an' mine were dear friends. Yer pa delivered me an' Ned an' saw ta our family's care for many a year. Aye, an' yer ma saw ta our schoolin'. Aloud to all, John continued, Let us bow our heads an' pray. With a forlorn smile, he added, I'm knowin' our loved ones be with us this day.

From the cemetery, the procession moved to the little white church. The wedding was a joyous occasion, an omen of hope. As the priest pronounced John and Mae husband and wife, those gathered smiled and laughed, nodded knowingly to each other, and slapped the backs of those next to them.

When the ceremony was over, the wedding party moved outside the church to a pretty spot under the trees.

The spirited Mae Shamus started the reception by raising a pint and toasting her mother and father. Me dad didn't git ta walk the bride down the aisle today, an' me dear mom didn't see this ring go on me finger, but they be here among us.

A hearty cheer went up!

John followed her toast with one of his own. Here's ta me ma an' pa. Knowin' they didn't git ta hug the bride today, but…I be doin' that for them.

A rousing cheer went up! In these times of poverty, it had taken a lot of scrounging to provide the food and drink for this special occasion, but the robust spirit of the Irish had prevailed.

A year passed. John and Mae were at the church cemetery for another joyous celebration. Once again, they strolled through the gravestones and stopped at the headstones of their parents. John smiled, and tears dampened Mae's cheeks. In silence, they asked their parents to bless the baptism of David, their first grandson.

In 1842, and again in 1843, John and Mae returned to the church, stopped in the cemetery, asked for the blessing from the deceased, and beamed with joy and pride as they introduce their ancestors to infant Sam and, the next year, to baby Johnny.

John, our dear departed woulda so loved our boys.

He smiled wistfully. Aye, Mae, our sons woulda brought joy ta their lives.

The happiness the couple felt in these moments was dampened by worry for the future.

Over the next few years, the Shamus clan managed not only to hold on to their farm but to expand the yield. Unlike their neighbors, John raised horses, dairy cows, and chickens. He and Mae also managed a large vegetable garden, making them a wee bit better off than those around them.

Mae's heart was as big as her spirit. Ofttimes she would greet John as he came in from the barn or the fields, shaking her head, pursing her lips, and saying to him, Maggie O'Dell's young'uns be hungry. I sent her over a chicken an' some eggs, or Poor Cassie Shea hasn't eaten in two days. I gave her a loaf an' some milk.

John would always give her a knowing smile and a warm hug.

One evening, in the summer of 1845, John stood with Danny Donahue in his potato field. The men looked down at the dying plants. Danny drove a spade under the withered leaves of a potato plant and turned the soil. The tubers he uncovered were black, inedible.

Danny was distraught, his face haggard. Look what the blight be doin' ta me crop, John. I kan't feed me family!

Across County Cork and throughout Ireland, the Great Hunger had begun.

In the following weeks and months, the Donahues, the Sheas, the O'Dells, and thousands of Irish farmers abandoned their land. The total loss of the potato crop ushered in deeper poverty, massive starvation, disease, and death. These families joined the droves of people emigrating to America.

John's older brother, Ned, was born in 1819. He was a widower with no children, a stone mason by trade. In 1846, while lifting a heavy gravestone, Ned suffered a crippling back injury that drove him to the ground in agony. He was forced to move back to the farm.

John and Ned often sat on the front porch in the evening and talked. Ned felt helpless. His health was going steadily downhill.

He often spoke up, John, I be wishin' I could be a more help on the farm.

John always smiled at his brother and said, Don't ya be worryin' none. The lads an' I kin handle things.

And Ned often said, John, things ain't gettin' any better here in Ireland. Do ya think it might be best if ya moved yer family ta America?

And John always answered him, Nay, brother. We'll not be leavin' ya an' yer busted back ta care for the farm.

And Ned's final reply was Now don't ya be worryin' about me, John. Just be doin' what be best for the family.

The fight for survival became harder. John remained determined and stubborn as a mule. He held tightly to the hope that things would get better. Mae filled in the gaps, continuing to provide a warm, loving home for the boys. Each night, she lit the kerosene lantern. The boys would come in from working with their father. Their shoes were worn; their clothes, tattered and repaired.

Wash up an' get yer books, Mae ordered. Tonight it be geography. No dinner 'til yer lessons be done.

Years passed, and the different personalities of the Shamus boys emerged. One night, after their offspring had fallen asleep, Mae and John talked quietly.

Ah, but oh, Lord, Mae whispered, the boys be growin' so fast. How kin we keep 'em together an' healthy? I fear for their futures.

John answered, Ah, Mae, as do I.

Mae gave John a sad smile and said, They be so different, dear. David favors yer father. He has his gentle heart. Sam takes after me dad, such a serious child. She paused a bit before saying, An' then there be young Johnny… With that, she chuckled.

John grinned and said, He be his mother's lad. He'll always be full a song, laughter, an' piss an' vinegar.

These quiet moments with his wife filled John with strength and peace. The couple fell asleep that night with a deep appreciation for the gifts in their life.

In 1859, the potato famine came to an end; but poverty, disease, and hunger remained. The Shamus farm suffered a great loss that year. Uncle Ned failed to come to breakfast one morning. When John checked on him, he found that this man of stone, who had survived so much, had died peacefully in his sleep.

As John and his sons dug Uncle Ned's grave, the anger in John's soul fueled his every shovel full of dirt. Sweat poured off him. His heart ached.

Brother, ya be but forty years old. Too soon…too soon.

John paused and looked about. His anger was heightened by the scattered coffins lying between the gravestones, unburied because the grave diggers themselves had succumbed to the Great Hunger. The wood in some of the coffins was rotting, infested with worms and other insects. Upon leaving the cemetery, John looked down from the hill across the homes and hovels of the town, now one-third vacant from death and emigration.

In the spring of 1860, the Shamus family spent an afternoon working in the church cemetery. By the end of the day, the graves of their loved ones were in good repair. Fresh flowers adorned each stone.

On their way back home, Mae looked at her husband and asked, Who'll be tendin' the graves when we be gone?

John gave her a quiet reply, I asked Kevin O'Leary iffen he would see ta their care. He promised ta do what he could.

Earlier that same week, John had sent his grown sons to make a sad delivery. The young men led the family milk cow, June, and their dog, Shamrock, to the farm of their longtime friend and neighbor, Kevin O'Leary. He had promised to take good care of them. Sam was stone-faced, young Johnny tearful, and David devastated as they petted Shamrock for the last time and said goodbye. When they left for home, their faithful friend barked and pulled at his leash. He didn't understand why he was being left behind.

John and Mae were now thirty-nine years of age, and their three boys were young men. David was twenty; Sam, eighteen; and young Johnny had turned seventeen. The family farm was but a shell of what it had once been. Poverty had stolen the market for their livestock. Toward the end of the Great Hunger, they had eaten what they couldn't sell. Next week, the local bank would own their farm. The time had come to follow in the footsteps of so many of their countrymen.

That last night by the hearth was a very sad one. It had taken generations of hard work to build this family farm. Now they were abandoning it, leaving it all behind and heading toward a very uncertain future. Their conversation turned to the many friends and family who had already left Ireland.

Johnny spoke up, Ma, the Murphies wrote us last year. Do ya reckon they still be in Boston? Maybe we kin find 'em when we git there.

Mae responded, Perhaps we kin, son. It be nice ta know how they be doin'.

John lay awake late into the night. He was troubled by many questions. Foremost in his mind was the news of the heated slavery debate and the impending war in America. His sons were grown men. Would they be drawn into the conflict, or would they find work and realize the dream of another farm? What would things be like at the end of this trip? Was he leading his family into heaven or hell? Shortly before dawn, he fell into a fitful sleep. It was all in God's hands.

The next morning, John closed the door on the old farmhouse for what would prove to be the last time. As the Shamus family turned and walked slowly away from everything they had ever known, they prayed this move would provide them with a brighter future. The small handcart trailing behind them carried their personal belongings. Generations of memories were stored in their hearts.

After walking for two days, the Shamus family arrived in Queensland harbor. The following morning, they made their way down to the pier to a ship that lay at mooring. The rising sun shone off the smoke stack, off the fore and aft masts of…the SS Molly Grey. Excitement gripped the family; they stood in awe.

David broke the silence. She sure be big, Pa!

Aye, that she be.

Sam asked, Yer sayin' the trip ta America be takin' over two weeks, Pa?

He answered, Aye, son. She be one a the old, slow steamers. Then with an impish grin, he added, An' passage be thrifty.

As they climbed the gangplank to board the SS Molly Grey, Johnny exclaimed, Ma, I've oft dreamt a sailin' on a ship!

She chuckled and replied, Ah, son, yer dream be about ta come true.

The Shamus family made their way to the port side of the ship and joined the passengers along the rail. The sea had a way of claiming a ship's luster. After ten years of ocean crossings, the Molly Grey was showing signs of her age. John frowned as he looked down at peeling paint and rust spots along the rail.

As the ship got under way, the people lining the rails waved to those left behind.

Mae wrapped her arm around John's waist and asked, Do ya think we'll be seein' our homeland agin?

Slowly he shook his head. Nay, darlin, I'm thinkin' not.

When the shores of Ireland had faded from sight, passengers were directed below decks. Grim reality hit as they descended into the bowels of the ship and entered their dim-lit, cramped berths.

Mae exclaimed, Good Lord, John! It be filthy down here, an' it smells horrible!

A silent anger welled up within John. This wasn't what he'd expected! He'd been had—led into subjecting his wife and sons to conditions worse than the lowest animal he raised on his farm. He spoke not a word.

Most of the passengers got seasick on the first day of travel. After a couple of days, the Shamus brothers managed to gain their sea legs. Mae and John, however, suffered bouts of motion sickness throughout the entire trip.

Sam would long remember his ma crying out, Oh, John, I'm so sick. The movement never stops, an' the smell be horrible.

His father's weak reply was I know, darlin'. I know.

Rough seas and foul food only added to the distress. Mae's and John's clothing became stained with vomit. They were unable to keep anything down and suffered from dehydration and diarrhea. John struggled to stay strong for his wife.

In days to come, there would be a number of burials at sea. As on other emigrant ships of the time, some passengers would never get to see the shores of America. These poor, unfortunate souls took their hopes and dreams to a watery grave.

In mid-May of 1860, a cry went up from the deck of the steamship Molly Grey.

Land ho!

The crew set about opening the ship's hatches. Eager passengers blinked their eyes as they emerged from the dim depths into the bright sunlight. Soon they were lining the rails, breathing in the sweet, fresh air. Before them lay Boston Harbor.

John leaned into the rail for support and took in the sights unfolding before him. A ray of hope rose within his frail body, gave him strength, and lifted his thoughts.

We be getting through this. I be seein' a new farm, a house, horses, a brighter future.

1

Boston

Squawking seagulls greeted the Molly Grey as she came alongside the pier. The crew threw lines to waiting hands on the dock, the ship settled into her mooring. At long last, the gangplank was lowered.

David, Sam, and Johnny were among the last to disembark. They helped their sick, weakened parents down the long decline. Once Sam's feet were planted on the unmoving dock, he breathed a deep sigh of relief and said a silent prayer of thanks. Then he succumbed to the rush of excitement building within him. A huge smile broke across his face; he raised his fist in triumph. They were in America!

The Shamus family joined the milling group of passengers on the pier. Sam looked into the faces of the people gathered about him. Many were smiling. Some showed deep concern; some, fear. Others, like his parents, portrayed the ravages of the crossing. A lucky few were greeted by friends who had preceded them; yet most had no home, no lodging, nor any means of support. What they all shared was hope.

A booming voice rang out, Folks, follow me! I'll be showin' ya ta yer new home.

The ragged procession moved slowly from the pier, through the streets of Boston, and into a poor, run-down part of town. The happy glow in an eye and the smile on a face faded. They now walked the streets of the Irish district.

On their first night in America, the exhausted Shamus family shared a single room in a dilapidated boarding house. David's face was gloomy, Johnny's cheerless, and Sam's bleak. John said a solemn evening prayer.

Then suddenly Mae piped up, Gentlemen, I'll be seein' smiles, knowin' we never go ta bed with a frown.

The reaction of the Shamus men was immediate. Downcast gazes lifted, lips broke into smiles, and eyes darted to each other. Mae, this beacon of light, never failed them. A splinter of determination pierced the gloomy moment.

That night, as his exhausted family slept, Sam lay listening to their breathing. Here they were in America, in one run-down, dirty room. His ma and pa were sick and weak. The family funds were near gone. This was not at all what he had envisioned. Before Sam finally drifted off to sleep, he wondered what tomorrow might bring and what might he do to improve their lot.

The first full day in America began at the crack of dawn. Sam stepped up and took charge. He left Johnny to care for their frail parents while he and David went to find something to eat. When they returned, they carried two freshly baked loaves of bread and a container of buttermilk. This breakfast was the best morning meal they had eaten since leaving Ireland. Even his ma and pa managed to keep some food down.

After breakfast, David and Sam left the boarding house in search of work and better lodging. Once again, they left their younger brother behind to look after their folks.

At their departure, John had protested the arrangement, Yer ma and I be fine here alone, lads.

Sam had patted his pa on the arm and gently responded, Nay, Pa. Johnny be happy ta stay an' help out.

David smiled as he added, You and Ma need ta rest up an' git back on yer feet.

John had grudgingly relented. Good luck, lads. Be careful.

A warm sun shone down on the narrow cobblestone streets. As they walked the Irish district, Sam and David became caught up in the activity around them. A vendor hawked his wares on a street corner. Merchants sold their goods in front of their shops. A crippled old man begged under a streetlamp. Though the people in the streets were poor, they managed to respond to a nod and a smile. Even at the early hour, singing and laughter spilled out of a run-down pub. As they passed, David caught a lilt and sang quietly. His steps lightened.

Sam's eyes dug deeper as they traveled. He made note of the random groups of roughnecks loitering about. Ah, David, a man had best take care on these streets.

They were retracing their steps from the day before. On the fringe of the Irish district, Sam recalled a sign that read Kelly's Livery. Two smaller signs had been nailed to the hitching rail out front. One read Man wanted. Must be good with horses, and the second, Two rooms for rent. In due time, Sam found what he was seeking.

A big man was working at the anvil in a shed beside the barn. He laid his hammer down and walked up to them. Top of the mornin', lads. I be Brian Kelly. Kin I help ya?

Sam replied, I be Sam Shamus, and this be me brother David. We saw yer sign for work.

The smile on the ruddy Irishman's face broadened as he looked them up and down. His gaze settled on David, the bigger brother.

Kelly asked him, Would ya go ta the barn, lad, and fetch me the black horse in the first stall?

David hesitated a moment before he turned and headed for the barn. Soon the sounds of a big ruckus erupted. There was neighing and the sound of banging. The blacksmith stood beside Sam with a big grin on his face. Sam gave him a worried look. After a bit, things became very quiet.

Suddenly David appeared at the barn door. He led a big black stallion over to Brian and handed him the halter rope.

The big Irishman roared with laughter. Lad, ya got yerself a job.

When talk of wages came up, David asked, I be wonderin' about yer two rooms for rent, Mr. Kelly.

The smithy let out another laugh. It be Brian, son. Let's go have us a little look.

The shed wasn't fancy, but the two rooms were good sized.

Brian said, Needs a bit a cleanin'.

David replied, We kin take care of that. There'd be us, our little brother, our ma an' pa.

Brian's brow wrinkled. Well now, five of ya, eh? A wee bit crowded.

Sam raised his eyebrows and declared, "Not as crowded as the Molly Grey from Ireland nor Kate's boardin' house on Clancy Street."

Brian laughed and looked from lad to lad.

Then David asked, Would me pay cover the rent?

Sam quickly added, I'd lend a hand from time ta time, Brian.

The smithy raised a hand to his chin, paused a moment, then issued a welcomed response. Well, I reckon we kin give it a try.

Both Shamus brothers broke out in smiles.

David beamed, Ma will be so pleased! How soon kin we move in?

Brian answered, Soon as ya start workin', lad.

David turned and headed for the barn. Sam left for the boarding house. The family had a new home.

A couple of days later, Sam and Johnny walked Boston's business district. The streets were clean, the brownstone buildings neat, and the people well dressed.

Johnny said, Ah, Sam, a wee bit different than our part a town, eh?

They came across a well-dressed man standing in the street in front a large stone building. The sign across the building read Hawthorn Bank and Trust.

The man's face was flushed, and he was muttering under his breath, Damn worthless Micks! If I get my hands on them…

Before him sat a fine coach hooked to a team of beautiful black horses. The coachmen were nowhere in sight.

Nathan Hawthorn owned both the bank and the coach.

As he walked up to the man, Sam gave Johnny a smile and a wink. Might we be a help, sir?

The man whirled and barked at them, Can you drive a team of horses?

Johnny politely replied, Aye, sir, that we kin.

The crotchety banker was in a bind. He snapped a reply, Well, don't just stand there! Hold the door for me.

Johnny obeyed. Once inside the coach, the banker thrust his head out the window and issued directions to his home. The Shamus brothers climbed onto the coach's seat, and just like that, they had jobs.

As the days passed, John and Mae started to regain their strength. John began to help out at the stable, and Mae resumed household tasks.

The rumbling of war was on everyone's lips. Irish lads began to appear on the streets sporting Union uniforms.

On street corners, recruiters attracted crowds of young men. Join the Union Army, lads. Wear the uniform. Git three meals a day, an' git paid ta boot.

John and Mae noticed the expression on the faces of their sons whenever a soldier went by and saw how their blue eyes lit up with excitement.

At one of the evening talks, Johnny burst out with Ma, the baker's son, Tom Flynn, signed up today.

In an instant, his ma and pa responded.

Mae said, Nay, Johnny. Don't ya be thinkin of it.

John followed with Be listenin' ta yer ma, son. Come spring, we move west ta find good land. Knowin' it'll take every hand ta build our farm.

His stern gaze left Johnny, moved to Sam, then to David. Though the boys nodded in unison, the lure of joining the army continued to captivate their minds.

In early September, fate dealt a sudden devastating blow. John and Mae were still feeling the lingering effects of their ocean voyage when John developed a cough. Mae caught his cold. Soon their coughing grew harsher; fever began to rack their bodies. By the middle of the month, they lay in bed, side by side, fighting to sleep or down a cup of broth.

David and Sam spent the better part of a day scouring the streets for a doctor. Their efforts proved futile. Pneumonia ran rampant in the Irish district.

On that day, as they reached home, David broke into tears and voiced his fear, We gotta do somethin', Sam! Ma and Pa be dyin'!

Sam's shaky response was laced with anger and frustration. It just ain't fair, David! Look at all they been through! They be fightin' so hard!

Johnny met them at the door, his eyes wide with alarm. Ma had trouble breathin' while ya be gone! She seems a bit better now. He looked at David and Sam and whispered, I be scared!

The brothers continued tending to their parents, seeing to their needs as best they could. On the last day of September, just after midnight, Sam woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of crying. He rushed to join his brothers at their parents' bedside. The bright light in their lives had gone out. Mae Shamus had passed. There was no comforting their weakened father.

As dawn broke, John managed to utter his final words, Lads…I love ya…Go forth…Build our dream.

As the three Shamus brothers dug the pair of graves in the local cemetery, tears of grief fell to the ground like the falling leaves. An emptiness like nothing they had ever experienced filled their souls. David, Sam, and Johnny were devastated.

David took the loss of his parents the hardest. Evenings found the big lad taking solace from a pint at the local pub. Things slid rapidly downhill. Soon Sam and Johnny found themselves walking the dangerous streets at night, searching for their brother, often finding him passed out in an alley or a gutter.

Each time, they picked him up, carried him home, and tried desperately to help him. Each time, the brokenhearted lad promised to stop his drinking. Each time, the spirit in a bottle drew him back.

Brian Kelly became concerned. Lads, ya must be findin' a way to help yer brother. His work be fallin' by the wayside.

One evening, Sam stopped David as he left for the pub. David, do ya remember Pa's last words? We must go forth an' build the dream.

David broke down and cried and promised yet again to put aside the bottle.

Sam said the evening prayer that night, and they turned in. Later he woke in the darkness to find David's bed empty. Once again, David had slipped away to the pub. Yet another promise broken. Something inside his poor brother was busted, and Sam couldn't find a way to fix it.

One bitterly cold night in December 1860, David didn't return home. The next morning, Sam and Johnny found his body in an alley amongst the rats and the trash. This kind, gentle giant had been brutely beaten, robbed, and left to freeze to death.

The police were indifferent. The Irish gangs had struck again.

Along with the agony of their tears, Sam and Johnny felt a cold fury. In their hearts, they knew that David's killers would never come to justice. They laid their beloved brother to rest beside their ma and pa.

Sam and Johnny coped with their losses by pouring themselves into their work. Their good friend Brian Kelly allowed them to remain in the shed. They, in turn, worked for him in the evening. With continued free rent, they were able to save most of their pay from Nathan Hawthorn. By the spring of 1861, the brothers had accumulated enough funds to begin their move west.

Working for the crotchety old banker had proved to be a challenge. It required a tolerance that was not part of the Shamus brothers' nature. Only the promise of a dream kept their deep dislike for the banker in check. Now the time to leave, to seek land in the west, was near at hand.

Raindrops fell from the eaves of Mr. Hawthorn's stable. Sam and Johnny stood in the doorway watching the town come slowly to life. Behind them sat the shining coach that would deliver their demanding boss to his bank. The excitement that had been steadily growing within the brothers suddenly burst forth to brighten the dreary morning.

Sam grinned broadly and gave his brother a hearty slap on the shoulder. 'Tis a special day, Johnny.

His young brother's face was aglow with anticipation as he responded, Aye, Sam! This day's been a long time comin'!

The brothers harnessed the team and drove the coach to the front of Nathan Hawthorn's home. Rainwater poured off Johnny's hat as he jumped down from the driver's seat to open the coach door. The cranky old banker rushed from his home to the side of the coach.

Before entering he thrust his umbrella at Johnny and ordered, Take this! Once seated inside, he stuck his head out the window and shouted, Well, don't dally! I'll be late for work!

The coach lurched forward. The crotchety old man would arrive at his bank on time.

Later that afternoon, the rain abated. The coach left the front of the bank at precisely 5:00 p.m. and returned its surly owner to the doorstep of his elegant home. Then Sam and Johnny ended their workday by giving the team of black horses a final rubdown. As they left the stable, Johnny suddenly paused and turned to look back at the banker's lavish white house. A devilish grin spread over his face.

He raised his hand in a hearty wave and issued a quiet, cheerful farewell. Take heart, Mr. Hawthorn! Tomorrow the sun will shine!

Sam broke out in laughter.

The next morning, Sam and Johnny woke well before dawn. Johnny stepped out of the shed into the darkness and returned with two daisies in his hand. He laid them on his parents' pillows, then blew out the lamp. Sam closed the door for the last time—just as his father had in Ireland. They had already said their sad farewells to their good friend Brian Kelly.

There was a lively spring in their step as the brothers hurried through