Early November, 1858

Bullets whizzed by and shouts erupted from the side of the road. The woods around Princeton, Mississippi were prime for turkey hunting. But the group Mel Cartwright had run into seemed to have forgotten more than simply gaggles of fowl traveled the road to Vicksburg.  

Charger, the Cartwright's soon to be prize stud Morgan, reared violently, his eyes rolling back in fear. Mel held on to the side of the buggy for dear life and prayed the beast would exhaust himself before they ran some poor soul off the road. Or worse!   

As the buggy rounded the next corner there was an earsplitting crack and Mel watched in horror as the horse separated from the buggy and raced toward the river. An empty cotton wagon loomed ahead. Eyes firmly closed, Mel jumped, seconds before the vehicles collided. 

“Sir, are you hurt?” Samuel Elliott had been standing at the river's edge with his brother when they had heard the collision and turned just in time to see a body flying through the air. He could not believe the young man was alive, let alone conscious enough to be gathering the belongings that where spilling out of several large trunks. 

“I implore you, sir. I must know if you’re injured!” Sam insisted when the young man only looked at him blankly and immediately returned to gathering his things. “Please allow me to assist you.” 

Mel looked up just in time to see the man reaching for a petticoat and a pair of pantaloons. Snatching them up quickly before he touched them, Mel tossed the underclothes into the last trunk and closed it firmly with a bang. “Just a few bruises,” Mel leaned against the trunk for support, “I was lucky.” 

“I doubt luck had anything to do with it,” Sam commented sagely. “You were fortunate to land on the grass. The ground near the river is quite soft. Are you certain you are all right?” The lad was still sitting on the trunk and appeared to be barely holding himself aright. He had a rather dazed look about him and suddenly Sam had a curious urge to put his arm around the young man. This feeling only intensified when he caught sight of his brother approaching from the river. 

“That’ll be John coming to assess the damages,” Sam nodded toward the swiftly approaching figure. “I beg you not to take anything he says personally. It’s been a rough day.”  

“Were you not taught proper handling and horsemanship?”  

Despite being warned about the man's lack of decorum, Mel was taken aback by his harsh words. “I can assure you, sir, I know how to handle a horse,” Mel replied with a forced calm. “There are a group of turkey hunters not far from here. One of them shot across the road just as I was driving by. Charger's a stout horse, but he's still young and has not yet been trained around guns.” 

The young man's reaction momentarily cooled John’s anger. He hadn't expected the lad to stand up for himself. He glanced quickly at his brother who was standing with a bemused look on his face. Having heard the shot, John nodded. “Be that as it may, the damage is done. How do you intend to make restitution?” 

Having just remembered something of vital importance Mel did not even hear John's demand. Without giving the men a second thought, Mel turned and ran toward the buggy. “Thank you, God.” The sliding box camera slid safely from beneath the seat where it had been stowed earlier. Amazingly, it did not appear to be damaged. 

John's anger returned full force as the young man abruptly turned his back and ran toward the wreckage. “See here! Such insolence is not to be tolerated!” His brother may well be amused, but he was not. He had little time for such nonsense. If his partner ever showed up, they would be leaving for New Orleans within the hour. 

Sam suspected the young man was not feeling quite as well as he pretended. The fact that the lad had once again seated himself on the trunk even in the face of his brother’s anger was telling. “Go easy on him, John. It was just an accident.”   

“Did you mention restitution, Sir?” Mel stammered, the reality of the predicament beginning to sink in. Father would be understanding of course, but not pleased and Mel hated to disappoint him. 

“If you’re old enough to drive, you’re old enough to take responsibility for the consequences,” John insisted. 

“I can work,” Mel offered without thinking. Working on this man's plantation for a few days would be an interesting experience and allow the matter to be taken care of without involving Father. Still slightly dazed from the fall, the details of such an undertaking did not immediately occur to Mel.  

“I’ll have no nosey press boy working for me,” John exclaimed, having spotted the badge the young man was wearing. "That box there must have some value, if the way you're clinging to it is any indication. I'll just take it as collateral until you can come up with the money.”  

“You can’t take my camera!” Mel squeaked. The camera was invaluable and necessary. 

John hesitated. He could tell from his brother's silence that Sam did not approve. Perhaps he was being a bit hard on the lad but John was tired of people taking advantage of him. The damaged wagon would be costly to repair and the young man had to learn to take responsibility for his actions.  

The lad's father had obviously been remiss in his teaching. In his current state of mind, John was only too happy to fill the void. “You don’t have much of a choice,” he said, snatching the box out of the lad’s hands and walking away. 

Mel immediately started after the man, but the sudden pressure of a firm hand stopped all forward movement. “Unhand me, this instant!”  

“You're a brave heart,” Sam chuckled, releasing the boney arm once he was sure the young man wouldn't be tackling his brother from behind. “I wouldn’t advise going after him just now. Let him cool down a bit first. I’m Samuel Elliott by the way.” 

The undeniable kindness in the man's voice caused Mel to relent. Mr. Elliott's sparkling blue eyes and lazy smile immediately cooled Mel's anger. He bowed slightly, acknowledging Sam's introduction. “Melin, ah, that is Mel Carter, sir. At your service. 

“Surely the man will see reason,” Mel insisted after shaking the man's hand and settling back down on the trunk. “He's taken my property and refuses to allow me to work off the debt. And what's this foolishness about the press?”  

Sam was well aware of the circumstances that had fueled his brother’s anger, but he was not at liberty to explain. “He must have noticed your badge,” he said instead, motioning to the lapel of Mel’s overcoat. 

“Oh.” Mel looked down to where Patrick Cartwright's press badge was neatly pinned. When dressing earlier in the day it had seemed like the perfect accessory. 

“He’s a bit put off by the press,” Sam continued, “Don’t take it personally.”  

They both turned, as a man appeared leading Mel's horse. “He doesn’t appear to be hurt.” Sam stood aside and watched as Mel skillfully checked the horse for any signs of injury. 

“Is there someone you can send word to regarding your buggy?”