The way had grown mountainous so I couldn’t safely run the mare at full speed, but I gave her the feel of my heels a time or two and let her know with the leather that we had important business and couldn’t take our time. She increased her pace without objection.
I rode the rest of the way through the Dutch Flat region, crossed Canyon Creek, entered into the very southern tip of Blue Canyon, and at last began the steady climb up the southern slope of Sawtooth Ridge.
When I reached the small summit above Humbug Bar, I stopped for a rest.
It was chilly. Summer was most definitely past. The ridge was only about a thousand feet in elevation, but I knew snow would be lying in the shadows and hollows in another month or two. It wouldn’t be long in coming now. Even though it was a month too early, I imagined that I could almost smell the snow in the air.
I glanced around.
The sky was partially clear, but a thick black series of clouds hung over the mountains farther to the east, mountains whose very tops were already white from unseasonably early snows.
Soon I was on my way again, reaching the ridge trail along the Sawtooth and working my way, galloping when I felt I could risk it, northward past Helester Point, then eastward across Willmont Saddle. I pushed the mare hard for the next two hours.
All day as I rode, I couldn’t help thinking about what Christopher had said about our moving from Miracle Springs. I almost felt guilty for thinking about it, because I was worried for everyone’s safety, too, and my own future seemed a small thing in comparison. But I couldn’t help it. I loved it here, and I didn’t want to move.
Even as I rode, I was so aware of how beautiful these mountains were. Ever since we’d come from New York, this had been “home.” I would miss it so badly if I had to live somewhere else. I didn’t think I could bear it!
And I have to admit I had some negative thoughts about Christopher, too. I tried to fight them, but like the others I couldn’t help it. It was hard not to be angry with him even for thinking about such a thing as moving.
I paused in my ride to rest again, trying to think about now rather than the future.
It was probably close to noon by now.
I dismounted and sat down to eat some of the dried meat I had brought and an apple. But first I took a long drink from my canteen.
“Help me find them, Lord,” I said softly.
Till then the thought of not finding them hadn’t even occurred to me. Suddenly it dawned on me that we could be miles apart! This was an enormous country! What did I think—that I was just going to ride out and run into them?
What if they had seen tracks leading south? They might be halfway to Grass Valley by now or tracking along the American River miles and miles from here.
Worse, what if they were already headed home another way and walked unsuspectingly straight into Demming’s trap!
I began to be afraid.
Suddenly in the midst of my thoughts a scripture verse came into my mind.
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, I could hear Rev. Rutledge say as if he had spoken the words yesterday. In fact I probably hadn’t heard him preach on that passage in years. And lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
I paused.
He shall direct thy paths, came the words again. He shall direct thy paths!
“Lord,” I prayed again, “I do acknowledge you in all my ways and for everything in life—for life itself. Thank you for reminding me. I ask you to direct my paths, Lord, and lead me to Pa and Christopher and the others. Lead me, Lord . . . guide me to them.”
A while longer I sat, then remounted. An inner sense told me to keep riding in the same direction as I had been going.
I turned the mare’s nose again, and we continued northeast along Sawtooth Ridge.
Chapter 47
A Shot and What Followed
It was nearly sunset of a long and tiring day. I had probably covered fifteen or twenty miles altogether, and most of it over hilly and rocky terrain. I was sleepy and exhausted and already starting to think of making camp for the night, when suddenly I heard a shot in the distance.
It was not so close that the sound made me start. But instantly I reined in the mare and listened intently. I was sure it had been gunfire. I judged the distance to be a mile or two.
After about ten seconds, another shot sounded.
I lashed at the rump of the mare and made for the spot the sound had come from. It didn’t occur to me the danger I could put myself in. What if it was a stranger who didn’t take kindly to someone riding in and disturbing his game? Or what if I had not heard the sound of hunters at all but of a gunfight and now was riding right into the middle of it?
At the time, however, I didn’t think of such things. I only knew there were people out there somewhere, and I had to find out who they were!
I rode hard. No other sound met my ears except the clomping of the mare’s hoofed feet over rocks and dirt and dried grass and brush.
At an angled incline, I rode down the slope of the Sawtooth, now up a steep short rise, across its top, where I looked this way and that, then down the other side toward Burnett Canyon, across a creek, up a short uneven hill, and toward a wide meadow that spread out at the bottom of the canyon.
Gradually I slowed. I was just about to despair again, thinking I must have mistaken the direction of the gunfire, when I heard a welcome cry.
“Corrie!” came a shout.
I reined in and turned, glancing frantically about.
There was Tad running toward me from a wooded area at the edge of the meadow!
I turned toward him several paces, then leapt down and ran into his arms.
“Tad . . . I didn’t think I’d ever find you!”
“What are you doing here?” he exclaimed.
“Where’s Pa?” I said, suddenly remembering the urgency of what had brought me out into the mountains.
“Back there,” answered Tad, tossing his head back in the direction from which he had come. “And how did you find us?”
“Jump up behind me,” I said, “and I’ll tell you as we go.”
I remounted, then made room for Tad’s foot in the stirrup. A few seconds later he was sitting on the mare’s back, behind my saddle, and holding on around my waist. I gave him the reins, and he urged the tired horse forward at an easy canter.
“However you found us, you were lucky,” said Tad.
“Why’s that?”
“Because this morning we were making due south from here.”
“What brought you back?”
“Pa got onto a bear, and we tracked it back up this way all day.”
“Was that the shot I just heard?”
“I think so. I was out on the eastern flank, so I’m just making my way back in the direction of the others to see if they got the brute.”
Ten minutes later we were riding into the little camp they had made about an hour before. Christopher, Uncle Nick, and twelve-year-old Erich were the only ones there.
I jumped down and was crying in Christopher’s arms the next instant, with questions coming at me from all three at once. Before I had the chance to answer them, however, Pa came tramping into the little clearing, holding his rifle.
“Got him!” he exclaimed. “He’s back about seventy or eighty yards. It’s gonna take every one of us to move—”
He stopped, suddenly seeing me in their midst.
“Corrie!” he cried, “what in tarnation are you doing here?”
The next moment Zack came bounding in.
“Great shot, Pa! That bear didn’t have a—”
Now it was his turn to notice me. Gradually the hubbub died down.
“I snuck out in the middle of the night,” I said. “I had to try to find you before you came back.”
“Why—what in tarnation for?” exclaimed Pa.
“It started with a knock on the door,” I said, “yesterday morning.”
“Who was it?” Already Pa’s expression had grown serious.
“He didn’t give his name, Pa,” I said. Then I described him. I saw Zack’s face begin to lose its color. “He just asked for you,” I said, “then Zack.”
I went on to explain the rest of what had happened, including how the man had stopped Almeda and threatened her.
Everyone listened intently until I was through with what I had come to tell them.
Chapter 48
A Difference
After I was done, the silence gathered itself for a few seconds like a giant thundercloud. It didn’t take long for the storm to break.
“Why, that miserable no-good scum,” shouted Pa, “I’ll kill him!”
He was mounting his horse the next instant, his face red, and fury in his eyes. I’d never in my life seen him with such an expression.
Christopher jumped up and grabbed Pa’s arm from where it was clutching the saddle.
“Drum, don’t!” he cried. “It’s not the best way.”
“Don’t try to stop me, Braxton!”
Pa shook loose Christopher’s grip, then swung his leg up over the horse’s back and onto the saddle.
“Drum . . . no!” said Christopher, and his voice was one of command. As he spoke, he quickly reached up and yanked the reins from out of Pa’s hands. Then he stood calmly right in front of the horse and blocked his way.
“Confound you, Braxton!” shouted Pa, and it was obvious he was fighting-mad. “I failed my family once on account of that man, and I don’t aim to do it again. Now get outta my way before I knock you down!”
Christopher stood his ground.
Pa grabbed for the reins, then lashed at his gelding. It immediately lurched forward, sending Christopher sprawling to his back in the dirt. I was terrified and ran to him.
Pa wheeled and headed for the edge of the clearing. But from where he still lay on the ground, Christopher called after him.
“When you ran off before,” he cried, “it was only to make yourself a thief. If you go after this man now, Drum Hollister, you won’t be helping your family at all! You’ll be making Almeda the wife of a murderer!”
Christopher’s words sounded as a thunderclap to punctuate the storm that had erupted over the tiny clearing.
Pa reined in the horse and stopped.
The air hung heavy and silent, as if echoing the word over and over in all of our ears—murderer . . . murderer . . . murderer!
Pa turned his mount’s head and walked slowly back as Christopher climbed to his feet.
We all stood spellbound. I was terrified, yet unable to move so much as a muscle.
Pa dismounted and walked slowly forward, then stood in front of Christopher. Both men were breathing heavily.
“In my younger years I’d have horsewhipped you for saying a thing like that,” said Pa. His voice was soft. The anger had drained from him.
“I’m sorry, Drum,” said Christopher, returning Pa’s gaze with an intensity of love. “But you’re too good a man for this. You’re a man of God. You can’t do what other men might do.”
Still Pa stood, looking him straight in the eye.
“Besides which,” Christopher added, “I love you too much to let you do what was in your mind a minute ago. I’d sooner shoot you out of love with the rifle you gave me than let you shoot another man out of anger and hate.”
Still Pa stood.
“You’d shoot me to protect a man like Harris?” he said finally, not sure if he’d heard Christopher aright.
“No,” replied Christopher. “But I would do it to protect you from shooting him. The harm you were about to do was to yourself.”
Gradually Pa saw his meaning and slowly nodded.
“When we tell the Lord he can have his way with us,” Christopher repeated, “we can’t do what other men might do. We’ve relinquished that right.”
A moment or two more they stood, my father and my husband—father-in-law and son-in-law.
Pa nodded again, this time more decisively.
“You’re right,” he said, then stepped back, glanced away, and let out a sigh. “I’m much obliged to you for stopping me. What you did took guts.”
He gave Christopher his hand.
“I understand a little how you feel,” said Christopher, shaking it. “Part of me is fighting mad that he threatened Corrie, too. But we’ve prayed for that man, Drum. We can’t just go rushing off now and try to shoot him or lynch him. We prayed for his good. There’s an obligation on us. We have to do what God would have us do, not what we might do if left to ourselves.”
“What do you figure that is?” asked Pa, letting out a sigh and stooping down. He took a seat on the ground. All thought of retrieving the bear he had just shot was now far from his mind.
“I don’t know,” replied Christopher, sitting down next to him. “We’re going to have to talk about it, I imagine, and then ask him.”
I sat down beside Christopher. Gradually Uncle Nick and Erich, Tad and Zack sat down too. It was quiet again for a moment.
“I’m sorry I knocked you over,” said Pa to Christopher. “You okay?”
“Nothing a little liniment from the hands of my wife won’t fix,” laughed Christopher. “I’ve been knocked around worse by unruly horses.”
“Well, you got my apologies anyhow.”
“Think nothing of it, Drum.”
They were silent a minute, then Pa’s mind came back to the present.
“Well,” he said, looking around at the others, “if we still have any thoughts about saving that bear meat, we’d better get back and bleed him and cool him before he stiffens up any more than he has already.”
They all rose and followed Pa through the woods.
Chapter 49
A Costly Prayer and a Promise of Protection
I built a small fire while in the twilight the men went to slit the bear’s throat and stomach to bleed him and keep him from bloating. They hoisted it up by his feet with ropes slung over a stout tree branch to cool it down and drain out the last of the blood. Then after about fifteen minutes, they hauled him back to camp, where the hulking brown and blood-smeared carcass now lay covered with sheets and blankets at the edge of the small clearing.
If I could smell it, which I could, certainly so could animals for miles around. Somehow I had the feeling they would be able to detect what I yet couldn’t, that death was now mingled with its odor, and I suspected we might have unfriendly visitors before morning.
Now the men were back, and the fire was blazing. A night nip was in the air too. I was so glad I’d found them!
We had been talking quietly while the moon rose and the darkness completed its descent.
Zack and Pa were for setting out immediately in the direction of home. The rest of us were of mixed opinions. Everybody had their ideas and suggestions, but none of us knew what was the best thing to do. There was the night to think of, and the footing between here and Miracle Springs was not the best for horses even in the middle of the day. But we were afraid for Almeda and Katie and Becky and the children. It gave us all the shivers just to think of them being watched by that horrible man, and all of us so far away and unable to do anything.
What if he wanted food and took it into his head to go down to the house and get what he wanted from Almeda? What if he forced himself upon her? He’d seen me when I’d answered the door—what if he discovered I was gone and got mad and took it out on the others?
There were so many what-ifs, and none of them were good! The longer we sat there talking, the more I could see Pa getting agitated again.
“I’m for saddling up and heading down the mountain,” said Uncle Nick after a lengthy pause. “I don’t like the thought of that varmint hanging around there watching my family.”
Suddenly we all knew the decision had been made. It wasn’t even a matter of whether it was the right or wrong thing to do. We had to go, and now.
“The sky’s clear enough,” said Zack. “The
horses’ll make it fine if we don’t push them.”
“We gotta go back tonight,” agreed Pa, “or at least get close enough and then stop for a couple hours’ sleep.”
Sleep! I was so tired . . . I could barely stay awake now as it was! How could I possibly ride all night?
“What about the bear, Pa?” asked Tad.
Pa thought a minute.
“The meat hardly seems important alongside what’s at stake now.”
“How long would it take us to cut it and pack it up and load it onto the pack horses?” asked Christopher.
“Half-hour, an hour maybe,” suggested Uncle Nick, “to skin and quarter it and salt and wrap him up good.”
“Yeah,” sighed Pa, “I reckon we might as well take the brute with us. That’s what we came for. What the horses can’t carry we’ll leave for the mountain lions. We’ll smoke and dry the meat as soon as we get home. Or as soon as. . . .”
He didn’t finish. A few nods went around. The men all rose to their feet, took out their knives, and began the gruesome work. I wanted no part of the awful, messy process! I rose and went in the other direction and began saddling up the horses, one at a time.
About forty minutes later, the chunks of what used to be a bear were caked with salt and wrapped up tight to keep the flies out and roped onto the backs of the pack horses. All the other horses were saddled and the gear loaded. The horses were moving around uneasily, unsettled by the excitement and the bear smell.
The men came and sat down around the dying fire again for one round of coffee to empty the pot we’d made an hour earlier.
We were quiet a few seconds. By now it was dark. The fire flickered low.
Then Christopher spoke.
“There is one more thing we need to pray for before we go,” he said. “It will not take long, and the situation is dangerous.”
“We’re listening, Christopher,” said Pa.
“We have to pray for protection,” said Christopher.
He let his words sink in just a moment, then went on.
“Even though we’re so far away, we can pray for our Father to surround Almeda and Katie and Becky and Ruth and Nick’s little ones with his care. We can pray for his hand to shield them from harm. We can pray, as the Bible says, for him to build a hedge of spiritual protection around those two homes that no evil can penetrate. We can even pray for God to send angels to stand guard around them and watch over and protect them.”
The Braxtons of Miracle Springs Page 20
