Jang and Tom: Wagon Masters

Comic Western · Three books of misadventure in one

Jang & TomWagon Masters

Two thoroughly unqualified Philadelphia debtors do the only sensible thing left: invent new names, print flashy handbills, and sell themselves as expert wagon-train guides.

Jang

Sharp-eyed, silver-tongued, and permanently one scheme ahead of disaster.

Tom

Big-hearted, broad-shouldered, and forever scratching the back of his neck while the world falls apart around him.

A river crossing that becomes a floating circus.
Pawnee warriors negotiated with… dentistry.
A bear hunt that turns the hunters into the hunted.
Bandits routed by the world’s clumsiest human pendulum.

I. Wagon MastersII. Philadelphia FolliesIII. Transcontinental

“Great funny story about some good hearted con men trying to start a new life out west.”Amazon customer review · ★★★★★

Kindle · Paperback · Hardcover | 350 pages (print) | Kindle edition Aug 15, 2026

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If the trail was worth it — tip the trail boss.

Read an excerpt · from “Debtors on the Run”

In the spring of 1867, somewhere east of the Missouri River but not nearly far enough west for comfort, two men stood outside a livery stable in the dusty town of Independence, staring at a wagon that looked like it had lost a fight with a tornado and never quite recovered.

The taller of the two was a broad-shouldered fellow with a round, pleasant face that seemed permanently set to “mild panic.” His name was Tom McGillicuddy, though most folks just called him Tom, partly because it was shorter and partly because he answered to almost anything if it wasn’t “creditor.” Tom had a habit of scratching the back of his neck when trouble loomed, which meant he spent most days looking like he was trying to detach his own head.

Beside him—considerably beside him, as Tom took up a fair amount of horizontal space—stood a much shorter man with sharp eyes, a neat mustache, and the impatient energy of a terrier who’d spotted a rat. He wore his hat tilted at a precise angle that suggested he believed himself to oversee things. His name, or at least the name he answered to, was Jang.

When he was a boy back in Pennsylvania, his pa had a habit of hollering "Dang, Bill!" every time he wanted something fetched. Little Bill, not yet wise to the ways of swearing, heard it as "Jang Will!" and answered to it proudly. By the time he figured out the mistake, the name had stuck harder than molasses on a boot heel. Folks called him Jang, and Jang he remained.

His real name, the one on the wanted posters back in Philadelphia, was Bill. Bill Whitaker. But nobody out here knew that, and Jang aimed to keep it that way.

Tom cleared his throat and nodded toward the wagon. “She’ll do, Jang. Four wheels, a canvas top, and only one axle looks ready to snap. That’s better than the last three we looked at.”

Jang folded his arms and scowled up at the vehicle as though it had personally insulted his mother. “One axle ready to snap is still one too many, Tom. We’re supposed to be leading a wagon train across the plains, not providing comic relief for the Indians.”

Tom scratched the back of his neck. “Well, we did put out the handbills. ‘Experienced navigators. Reasonable rates. Guaranteed safe passage to California or your money back.’ Folks signed up quick enough.”

“Folks signed up,” Jang muttered, “because we charged half what the real outfits wanted. And because you told Mrs. Abernathy her late husband was waiting for her in Sacramento with a gold mine and a new set of teeth.”

Tom looked wounded. “I never said the teeth part. That was you.”

Jang waved a dismissive hand. “Details. Point is, we’ve got twelve families, thirty-six children, seventy-two oxen, and one preacher who thinks we’re sent by Providence. And we’ve got exactly zero idea how to get them past Chimney Rock without losing half of them to bad water, broken wheels, or sheer stupidity.”

He paused, then added darkly, “Mostly our stupidity.”