June, 1780

At nineteen, John Carson was a broad-shouldered man with his mother's fine fea­tures and his father's intimidating dark eyes. When he stood up, as he did now from the bench he shared with Adam Williams in front of the general store on Richmond's busi­est street, his height made him appear to be a tower of a man.

"And there's another one," Adam said, getting up to watch a second covered wagon pass by. With brown hair and brown eyes, the top of Adam's round hat barely reached John's shoulder. "They go to Kentucky, no doubt. Well, I say they can have the place. I hear it has nothing but Indians and no comforts at all. The desire to settle new land is quite without reason, and I'll never go. I intend to stay where the people are more civilized."

"Kentucky will be pleased to hear it," John said, lifting his hat and running his hand through his dark wavy hair. "That is precisely where we will part company for I have my heart set on seeing the land beyond the mountains."

"Part company? Never! We have been friends since you first set foot in Mahala and our mothers would never hear of such a thing. Besides, I have grown quite fond of you. You are handy at attracting handsome women, you see," Adam cringed as a child practicing the harpsichord in a house nearby hit another wrong note.