sun broke over the horizon, spreading yellow-gold light across the grass. The Mustang nuzzled at my shoulder, and I squared my shoulders. âI have to go,â I told Hiram and Annie. We all held back tears as they wished me well, then I led the Mustang back toward the wagons. He whinnied once, a shrill, piercing call. The mares answered him from where they stood in Andrew Kylerâs herd of stock. I followed the Kylersâ wagons heading toward the line that was forming. The Mustang pranced along beside me, never pulling on the lead rope, but dancing sideways, then back, his neck arched. The ox teams plodded forward slowly, deliberately, as though they were alone in understanding what two thousand miles really meant.