Walk By Faith. Rosanne Bittner

      “I’ll stop him!” Michael declared, taking off his hat. Before he could make a move, a large man wearing a blue greatcoat and riding a black horse charged past them so fast that he raised a cloud of dust. His dangerous speed caused Clarissa to turn and look as the man dismounted before his horse even came to a stop. He landed into the father and ripped the belt out of his hand.

      “Try picking on someone your own size,” the man fumed.

      Women screamed, and more people gathered and cheered him on as the stranger began using the belt on the father, whacking him several times while the boy moved away to cringe beside his mother, who’d been wringing her hands and watching the beating, obviously afraid to try to stop it.

      “How does that feel?” the man who’d interrupted the beating raged.

      “It’s Dawson Clements!” Clarissa exclaimed, recognizing the horse and the greatcoat first, then managing to get a look at his face.

      The father cowered, putting up his hands. “What I do with my son is my own business!”

      Dawson tossed the belt aside. “It’s my business now!” He landed a fist into the father, and the man flew backward against his wagon. Then the father charged Dawson, managing to punch him in the face. Dawson returned the blow with several of his own, appearing to become almost out of control. Finally the mother screamed for someone to stop him.

      “He’s killing my husband!” she wailed.

      Michael and several other men moved in and grabbed Dawson away while the man he’d beaten slumped to the ground beside a wagon wheel. It took five men to gain control of Dawson, who finally shook them off and told them to leave him alone. The man’s wife ran to her husband, and the young boy stood there crying and looking at Dawson.

      “Now he’ll beat me worse because of what you did,” he sobbed.

      “No, he won’t,” Dawson vowed. “Because if he does, I’ll be back! I’ll lay welts on him that will never heal!” He brushed himself off and bent down to pick up his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. He plunked it on his head and turned. It was then he recognized Michael. He looked at the man strangely, then scanned the crowd to see Clarissa standing there with Sophie in her arms.

      Still breathing heavily, he limped toward them. Clarissa noticed his knuckles were bloody, and there was a cut on his left cheek. A bruise was quickly forming around it.

      “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he told Clarissa. “And you, ma’am,” he added, looking at Carolyn.

      Clarissa could still see the rage in his blue eyes, lurking there behind those dark clouds. “You did what you felt you had to do,” Carolyn told him.

      Clarissa looked away, not sure what to say or what to think of him now that she’d seen the violent side of the man.

      “Hi, Mistoo Clement,” Sophie spoke up. She seemed not at all intimidated by Dawson’s bloody, disheveled look. “You got a owie,” she added, pointing to his cheek.

      Dawson’s whole countenance changed when he addressed the little girl. “Hello, Sophie,” he told her.

      “Do you still got a owie on you leg?” she asked.

      Dawson removed his hat and smoothed back his hair, which was still extremely thick and wavy even though he’d obviously had it trimmed. His face was clean shaven, and even more handsome, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. He replaced the hat, glancing at Carolyn. “The leg is much better. It still pains me now and then, but I never got an infection, and the wound has closed. I expect I have you to thank for that, Mrs. Graham.”

      Why did this man have a way of somehow moving her deeply? “I’m glad I was able to help.”

      “You nearly killed that man, you know,” Michael told him.

      “Maybe I should have. The boy and his mother would probably be better off.”

      “‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’”

      Dawson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe the Lord uses some of us to wreak that vengeance,” he answered. “I happen to have a short fuse when it comes to treating a helpless child like that.”

      “Quite obvious,” Michael answered with raised eyebrows.

      Dawson nodded to the women, then brushed past them to get his horse. He mounted up and rode closer, pointing to a huge oak tree on a hill in the distance. “See that tree?”

      Clarissa shaded her eyes. “Yes.”

      “That’s where I’m camped,” he told them. “I have rounded up about eight families heading for Montana. I wasn’t going to take on any more than that, since it might be too much to handle, but you three and the little girls are welcome to join us if you’re still looking for a guide. We’re hoping to head out in five or six days, unless we get a lot of rain. Come on over tonight and camp with us if you like. That will give you a chance to get to know some of the others and make up your mind if you want to travel with us.”

      “Is there a preacher among your group?” Michael asked.

      Dawson scowled. “No. I suppose you think they need one?”

      “Of course they do,” Michael answered, giving Dawson a smile and a wink. “I imagine they’d appreciate having one along. They are Christian people, aren’t they?”

      “I suppose. I didn’t bother asking,” Dawson answered, obviously irritated by the question.

      “Well, then we’ll come by and get acquainted,” Michael told him.

      “Suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to be part of any praying or preaching.”

      “I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Michael answered with a teasing note to the words.

      Dawson nodded. “Good.” He glanced at Clarissa. “See you later then.” He turned his horse and rode away, and some of those who’d watched the fight stared after him.

      “Did you see what he did?” someone commented.

      “A very violent man,” said another.

      Michael turned to Carolyn and Clarissa. “What do you two think? Should we join his group?”

      “I think we should do whatever you feel is right, Michael,” Clarissa answered. “After all, I’m more or less the tagalong on this venture. You’re the one who should make the major decisions.” She was not about to admit that the thought of traveling with Dawson Clements filled her with a strange, pleasant excitement, mixed with apprehension. She realized that ever since the day she’d nursed his leg, she’d been hoping they might run into him again. Still, after what they’d just witnessed…

      “Well, I say we give it a try,” Michael said. “I’m thinking the Lord wants us to go just because Dawson Clements is the guide. I have a feeling God means for me to do something to help that man, much as he’d resent it. There is something about him that strikes the heart.”

      Yes, there is, Clarissa thought. She liked the fact that there was nothing fake or pretentious about the man. Clements didn’t try to pour on the charm like Chad would do. He had an air of honesty and no nonsense about him. Dawson seemed to be a man who meant what he said and very likely a man who did not break promises or lie to get what he wanted. He was nothing like Chad, and perhaps that was what she liked most about him.

      Chapter Six

      May 1, 1863

      Clarissa switched her lead oxen and shouted, “Giddap!” She’d practiced driving the four-oxen team for the past two weeks and felt confident she could handle them. The man who’d sold the animals to Michael told him that by the time they reached their destination, they would be very attached to the poor beasts that would haul them and their belongings all the way to Montana.

      Already Clarissa could tell the man