Andrea Bordeaux, a 17-year-old orphaned heiress is kidnapped by Wild Bunch members after her grandmother recognizes them, cuts Andrea's hair and dresses her as a 12-year-old boy. Pursued by a posse, the outlaws take her to the Hole in the Wall Hideout, where she manages to  hide her identity while listening to the gang plan the ill-fated Belle Fourche bank robbery. Andrea "Andy" tries to reform the youngest outlaw Billy Blackburn and convince him to take her home. Plenty of adventure, humor and youthful romance abound in this fast-paced novel which follows actual events of the mid-1890s.
 

REVIEW

The stage is set for nonstop action in this western historical novel by Jean Henry Mead with it's delightful blend of western fiction and Wyoming history. The dialogue rings true and is peppered with humor, making for a thoroughly enjoyable read. The early introduction and resulting misadventures of Tom "Peep" O'Day (who is blamed for the bungled bank robbery at Belle Fourche,South Dakota) adds a wonderful balance to the storyline and offers an interesting insight into members of the Wild Bunch. An added bonus is the epilogue which details each gang member's fate. If it's a wild ride you're looking for, Escape will take you on an adventure that will leave you breathless.

Reviewed by: Taylor Fogarty, American Western Magazine

EXCERPT

Tom "Peep" O'Day sat his horse carefully along the Continental Divide, afraid his extremities had succumbed to frost bite. Trusting his pinto's instincts, he dropped the reins to cross himself and tent his frozen fingers.

"Lord, I know I ain't been law abidin' lately. But if'n you see fit to spare me, I'll do whatever's right. Quit drinkin' and even give up women." Tom stumbled over the words, but figured he wouldn't live long enough to regret them. Stiffly stroking Lightning's neck, he decided he'd better plead his case as well.

"Sorry I got you into this, old feller." The bandana muffled his voice, and Tom doubted he could be heard above the wind. Sitting a good horse was how he wanted to die, but if he was going to hell, he didn't want the devil roasting his pinto. "Lightnin's the best hoss you ever made, Lord, and I'd be plumb grateful if you'd spare him from Hell's fire and damnation. You might even want me along to take care of 'im. "

Crossing himself a second time, he considered his recent horse thefts and rustled cattle drives. He feared he would die before a reward poster could advertise his banditry. Life ain't fair was his last thought before darkness blanked his mind. Later, he could remember falling from the saddle. Dragging himself from the snow, he reckoned he'd gone to sleep or been toppled by a limb, but thought to check himself for bullet holes. Throat constricting, he knew he was going to heave.

Lightning's steamy breath warmed the back of his neck, causing convulsive chills. Struggling, Tom reached to pet the gelding's muzzle. Lightning nudged him in return, urging him to stand. Ain't no better hoss in Wyoming, he mused. Hell, in the whole damn world. The pinto nudged him and whickered reproachfully. Groping for a stirrup, Tom pulled his body upright and slapped haphazardly at his clothes.

Before his boot could find the stirrup, an icy, northwest wind spattered the lanky man with show. Life was hazardous along the Continental Divide. He had best remount before he became a permanent part of the landscape. His impulsive jaunt into Rock Springs to spend his rustle money had been his undoing. His friend Walt Punteney had warned him about unexpected storms, but the sky was as blue as a newborn's eyes when he left the ranch.Walt's voice seemed to reverberate between his ears: "You durn fool! I seen it snow in Casper on the fourth a July. You gotta be prepared in high country."

Tom was well aware of Wyoming's unpredictable weather, but had never seen the snow so deep in May. The Lord must be clearnin' house, he thought as he hunched over Lightning. When winds finally subsided, he was grateful to be alive, his repentance all but forgotten. As he descended a draw, he recalled overhearing gang members discuss his questionable ability to survive as an outlaw. A skimpy education didn't mean he was stupid."Tom O'Day is wise in important matters," he told himself. "I know more about hosses and whiskey brewing than anybody."

He had earned his nickname "Peep" by watching others, but had to admit that his curiosity had gotten him into trouble. His old man had whipped him good for sneaking in to sample his secret brew. If his mother had found out, they would have both been roasted for life. Maggie O'Day was a good woman, but she didn't understand that a man needed something stronger than sarsaparilla to wet his whistle.

Lightning plowed through snowdrifts, chest deep at times, as Tom rehearsed his story of charming the painted ladies. Walt would be sorry he had neglected to come along. Swigging from his canteen, he swished water around in his mouth and decided not to swallow. He would quench his thirst in Lander.