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Jo's Triumph

De
144 pages
In the late 1850s in and around Carson City, struggles between the Indians and the local whites are growing. During the struggles, Joselyn, a young orphan, meets Sarah Winnemucca, a Paiute girl who becomes her friend and gives her some valuable advice. When Joselyn takes that advice and escapes from the Carson City Home for Unfortunate Children, she has no idea that her boy's disguise and her love for and expertise with horses will lead her straight to the Pony Express. Joselyn becomes Jo and turns to a life that demands all her inner strength and resources. Then the meanest man on the route learns her secret and uses it to extract a promise that kept or broken could mean death.
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Jo’s Triumph
1.Carson฀City 2.Dayton 3.Miller’s 4.Fort฀Churchill 5.Buckland’s 6.Shelly฀Creek 7.Cold฀Springs 8.Jacob’s฀Spring 9.Dry฀Creek 10.ellsWrubbG
11. Robert’s฀Creek 12. Sulphur฀Springs 13. Diamond฀Springs 14.JacobsWell 15. Ruby 16.Mountain฀ Springs 17. Cherry฀Bend 18.Butte 19.Egan฀Canyon
Jo’s Triumph Nikki฀Tate
ORCA฀BOOK฀PUBLISHERS
Copyright฀©฀2002฀Nikki฀Tate
2
Jo’s฀triumph
Library฀of฀Congress฀Catalog฀Card฀Number:฀2002102203
04฀฀03฀฀02฀฀•฀฀฀5฀฀฀4฀฀฀3฀฀฀2฀฀฀1
Orca฀Book฀Publishers฀gratefully฀acknowledges฀the฀su its฀publishing฀programs฀provided฀by฀the฀following฀a the฀Department฀of฀Canadian฀Heritage,฀the฀Canada฀Cou for฀the฀Arts,฀and฀the฀British฀Columbia฀Arts฀Council
pport฀of gencies:฀ ncil฀ .
Cover฀design฀by฀Christine฀Toller฀ Cover฀&฀interior฀illustrations฀by฀Stephen฀McCallum Printed฀and฀bound฀in฀Canada
1.฀Pony฀express--Juvenile฀fiction.฀I.฀T itle. PS8589.A8735J67฀2002฀฀฀฀฀฀jC813’54฀฀฀฀C2002-910250-PZ7.T2113Jo฀2002 Summary:฀In฀1860,฀a฀young฀girl฀escapes฀from฀an฀orphanage฀in฀ Carson฀City,฀disguises฀herself฀as฀a฀boy,฀and฀joins฀the฀Pony฀Express฀ where฀danger฀and฀adventure฀await.
ISBN฀1-55143-199-8
on฀Data
All฀rights฀reserved.฀No฀part฀of฀this฀publication฀ma reproduced฀or฀transmitted฀in฀any฀form฀or฀by฀any฀mea electronic฀or฀mechanical,฀including฀photocopying,฀r or฀by฀any฀information฀storage฀and฀retrieval฀system฀ known฀or฀to฀be฀invented,฀without฀permission฀in฀writ the฀publisher.
National฀Library฀of฀Canada฀Cataloguing฀in฀Publicati Tate,฀Nikki,฀1962-
y฀be฀ ns,฀ ecording now฀ ing฀from
ForTobyinanticipationoffuturereadingadven-turesandforDadandStew,whobothurgedmetoGoWest.
Teachers’฀guide฀available. 1-800-210-5277 ฀www.orcabook.com IN฀CANADAIN฀THE฀UNITED฀STATES Orca฀Book฀Publishers฀ Orca฀Book฀Publishers PO฀Box฀5626,฀Station฀B฀ PO฀Box฀468฀ Victoria,฀BC฀฀Canada฀ Custer,฀WA฀฀USA฀ V8R฀6S4 98240-0468
Chapter One
Faster,Marigold!Thechestnutmaregallopedacross the฀flats฀outside฀Salt฀Lake฀City. “Go!”฀ I฀ pressed฀ my฀ heels฀ to฀ her฀ sides,wrappedmyfingersinherwildtangleofmane,andurgedheron,myown฀hair฀whipping฀about฀my฀face.฀ Ilaughed,thinkingofthewarmbis-cuits฀ and฀ gravy฀ Ma฀ would฀ have฀ ready฀ whenIgothome.IdgiveMarigoldslegsa฀good฀rubdown฀when฀we฀got฀back฀to฀the฀ farm.฀Already฀I฀could฀feel฀her฀muscles฀ unknotting฀beneath฀my฀hands.฀
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Marigold฀took฀the฀bit฀between฀her฀ teeth฀and฀bolted.฀ “Watch฀ out!”฀ I฀ screamed,฀ hauling฀ herheadtotheside,desperatetoturnher฀so฀she฀didn’t฀step฀in฀the฀—฀ Marigoldlurchedasherfoothittherabbit฀ hole.฀ With฀ a฀ sickening฀crack, she฀ stumbled.฀ Down฀ she฀ went,฀ her฀ eyes฀ wild.฀ I฀ sailed฀ over฀ her฀ shoulder,฀ mymouthgapingasItriedtoscream.Only฀a฀harsh฀gargle฀came฀out฀as฀I฀hit฀ the฀ground.฀ Clip-clop-clip-clop.฀For฀a฀moment฀I฀ thoughtitwasMarigold,trottingawaywithout฀me.฀But฀the฀chink฀and฀jingle฀ of฀harness฀and฀the฀rumble฀of฀a฀heavy฀ cart฀made฀no฀sense.฀ I฀ opened฀ my฀ eyes฀ to฀ the฀ shadowy฀ grayshapesoftheorphanagesleepingroom.฀I฀swear,฀I฀didn’t฀know฀whether฀ to฀ laugh฀ with฀ joy฀ because฀ Marigold฀ hadn’t฀ really฀ broken฀ her฀ leg฀ or฀ weep฀ with฀the฀knowledge฀that฀I฀was฀still฀at฀ theCarsonCityHomeforUnfortunateGirls.Therewouldbenowarmbiscuitsand฀ gravy,฀ for฀ my฀ mother฀ was฀ dead,฀ lost฀ in฀ childbirth฀ along฀ with฀ my฀ tiny฀
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baby฀ sister,฀ Grace.฀ At฀ the฀ thought฀ of฀ my฀ dear฀ mother฀ and฀ sister,฀ my฀ eyes฀ stung฀ and฀ I฀ rolled฀ onto฀ my฀ stomach฀ and฀buried฀my฀face฀in฀the฀pillow.฀ Sliding฀ my฀ hand฀ along฀ the฀ rough฀ sheet,฀ I฀ felt฀ for฀ my฀ penknife฀ hidden฀ underthepillow.Allaround,thirteenothergirlsslept,theirbreathingdeepandeven.Ienviedthemtheirlastmo-ments฀ of฀ rest.฀ Heaven฀ knows,฀ Miss฀ Critchett฀ would฀ be฀ coming฀ ar ound soon฀enough฀to฀wake฀us.฀ “Six฀ o’clock,฀ ladies,”฀ she’d฀ say. Then฀ we’d฀ pray฀ and฀ Mrs.฀ Pinweather฀ woulddeliverasolemnsermonaboutproperdeportmentandtheevilsofginbeforewewouldbeallowedtoformtwosmart฀ lines฀ and฀ march฀ —฀ ฀ in฀ silence฀ —฀to฀the฀eating฀hall. Breakfast฀was฀never฀a฀meal฀to฀get฀ excited฀about.฀Porridge฀and฀weak฀tea฀ filled฀ our฀ bellies,฀ I฀ suppose,฀ but฀ my,฀ howImissedMasbiscuitsandbacon.Worst฀of฀all,฀we฀had฀to฀eat฀that฀paltry฀ meal฀without฀speaking฀a฀single฀word.฀ Now฀ why,฀ I฀ ask฀ you,฀ would฀ the฀ good฀ Lord฀ have฀ put฀ tongues฀ in฀ our฀ heads฀
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if฀he฀didn’t฀mean฀for฀us฀to฀make฀good฀ use฀of฀them?฀ MissCritchettandMrs.Pinweathersaw฀ things฀ otherwise.฀ Both฀ held฀ the฀ opinionthatexcessivechatterwasoneof฀ many฀ behaviors฀ considered฀ perni-cious.฀ They฀ never฀ explained฀ exactly฀ what฀perniciousdameeam,nttbueyth it฀ clear฀ that฀ it฀ was฀ neither฀pious฀nor conducive฀ to฀ the฀ development฀ of฀ good฀ moral฀character.฀ Supposingnobodydroppeddeadofboredom฀during฀the฀morning฀lessons฀ in฀reading,฀writing,฀and฀numbers,฀we฀ wereallowedanhourforasilentdin-nerbeforeafternoonlessonsindeport-ment฀ and฀ domestic฀ studies.฀ Those,฀ I฀ loathed฀ more฀ than฀ anything.฀ I’m฀ no฀ goodatneedlepointandmending.Whyshouldwebejudgedasvaluableornotbased฀on฀how฀per fectly฀we฀can฀stitch฀ Lord฀Bless฀This฀Home?฀Nobody฀asked฀ whetheranyofuscouldgentleafoal,handleateam,orstartthree-year-oldsundersaddle.AttheseIwasasskilledas฀ any฀ boy,฀ but฀ at฀ the฀ orphanage฀ it฀ wasconsideredmostunladyliketobe
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interested฀in฀the฀work฀of฀men.฀ WideawakeaftermyhorribledreamaboutMarigold,IcrepttothewindowandranmyfingersunderthewindowledgejustasIhaddoneeverymorningth sinceJuly8,1859,thedaymybroth-ersleftmebehind.Onenotchforeachdayofmyimprisonment.Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine.฀I฀dug฀the฀tip฀of฀my฀knife฀ intothesoftwoodandmadeaslantedmark฀through฀the฀previous฀four.฀ “One฀ hundred,”฀ I฀ whispered.฀ One฀ hundred฀days฀since฀my฀brothers฀had฀ abandonedme.Onehundredandtwodays฀since฀the฀death฀of฀my฀father฀on฀ the฀ wagon฀ trail.฀ Fifty-six฀ days฀ since฀ my฀twelfth฀birthday.฀ I฀ closed฀ my฀ eyes฀ and฀ pressed฀ my฀ forehead฀ to฀ the฀ windowpane.฀ What฀ would฀Pa฀think฀of฀me฀being฀here฀and฀ theboysgoingontoCalifornia?Surelythat฀ was฀ not฀ what฀ Pa฀ had฀ in฀ mind฀ when,฀through฀his฀pain฀and฀fever,฀he฀ had฀ said,฀ “Jackson?฀ Will?฀ You฀ take฀ care฀of฀little฀Joselyn,฀you฀hear?” MythroatfeltfunnywhenIthoughtofhimlyinginthebackofthewagon,
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