As arable farmland grows scarce, the United States opens up former sections of Indian Territory for homesteading. Those who want to claim land must make a run for it. Rachael, wearing trousers and sitting astride a spirited horse, pulled the floppy hat lower to disguise her face. She could ride and shoot, but she’d also need nerve and luck. The newspaper estimated over a hundred thousand men and a few foolhardy women would rush into Oklahoma territory in wagons, on horses, bicycles, and by foot when the cannon boomed at noon. Even a train, packed with people ready to jump off, waited for the signal. The Oklahoma Land Run of 1893 held only forty-two thousand plots, so more than half the hopeful settlers would be disappointed. Rachael could not be in that group. Jess Hunter thrashed with alternating chills and fever and called for water. When he received no response, he struggled to sit up. Rachael was gone. His friends had ribbed him about writing for a mail-order bride. He should have listened. Jess looked around the shack. His claim stake was gone! He struggled to his feet and whistled for his horse. No familiar whinny answered, and Dandy wasn’t in the pasture. Was she a horse thief too? He vowed to track her down—just before he passed out.