Adam’s eyes opened wide at Nat’s fervor. He shifted into a more comfortable position and stretched. A mighty yawn followed and he stumbled to his feet. “Guess our discussion will have to wait.” He yawned again, so wide he wondered if he’d dislocate his jaw. “Nothing like a blizzard, hot food, and a warm fire to make a man sleep.”
“Goodnight, Adam. I’m glad you came.”
Adam gripped Nat’s hand, strong as his own, yet never failing in kindness and blessing. “So am I.”
An hour later he wondered at himself. Why should he lie awake, reliving that poignant moment? Wind shrieked around the corners of the cabin and through the treetops. The thud of snow too heavy for branches to bear sounded like intermittent explosions. God grant he would not be needed this night. No man or horse could get in or out of town until the storm abated. Gradually the warmth of wool blankets and the well-banked fire did its work and Dr. Birchfield slept.
He awakened refreshed and to winter beauty beyond words. Massachusetts had storms and snow, but Wyoming had outdone any Adam remembered. The first thing he noticed was stillness. Antelope had not yet dug itself out of the worst storm of the winter. His teeth chattering, Adam dressed in the warmest clothing Nat had provided, poked a single coal into the fire, and eagerly clutched the mug of hot coffee his brother thrust into his hands. “Whew! This is welcome.” Adam, who seldom drank the bitter brew, was overcome by the rich fragrance and warm comfort and drank heartily. “How cold is it?”
“Ten below. A real winter heat wave.” Nat laughed out loud at Adam’s astonishment. “It cleared off after the storm. Look.” He pointed out the cabin window, whose bottom half lay packed with snow.
For one crushing, unexpected moment homesickness attacked Adam like a living, breathing thing. How many times had he eagerly peered from the window at Concord into such a snowy scene? Sleighing parties with jingling bells and laughing young men and women, clam chowder suppers and pumpkin pie with whipped cream no fluffier than the snowdrifts made Adam’s insides twist.
A heavy but compassionate hand fell to his shoulder. “I feel the same way. There hasn’t been a winter since I left home that I haven’t remembered Mother and Father, and you.” The grip tightened and Adam had to strain to hear the next words.
“I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.”
A snowball-sized lump formed in Adam’s throat and he blinked hard at the husky voice of his exiled brother. “We just have to keep praying that Father will realize….” He couldn’t continue and secretly welcomed the interruption when it came.
“Hey, Doc, Preacher! You fellers all right?” The stentorian yell effectively shattered the fragile moment.
Nat’s hand fell and he strode to the door, pulled it open, and stepped back when a shower of accumulated snow fell.
“Well, I’ll be!” Adam stared at the solidly packed wall of snow outside the door.
“We’ll have you cleared soon,” the same voice boomed. “Snow stopped before daybreak. Folks’ve been digging out ever since. Some of us figgered as how we better get you clear in case anyone needs marryin’ or burying’ soon.” Ribald laughter followed the remark.
“I doubt anyone will want either but thanks, boys. We’ll have hot coffee for you when you break through,” Nat promised at the top of his lungs before closing the door.
Faster than Adam expected the door burst open and a dozen lusty giants surged in out of the cold. They looked like the snow and ice statues Concord citizens built each winter.
“Don’t mind the dripping,” Adam told them. “We’ll mop up when you’re gone.” He pushed the rescuers closer to the fire. “Is everyone all right?”
“Why shouldn’t they be?” One big man raised his frosted eyebrows. “With this much snow not even the Pronghorn or Silver’s open. Unless someone fell out of bed or something, you’ll get no customers today, Doc.” He took a long swig of coffee.
The prophecy proved false. Just after noon a half-frozen cowboy leading a lamed horse staggered to Adam’s door and collapsed after pounding on it. It took time to get his story but Adam finally learned that Mark Justice was in trouble again.
“We g-got c-caught,” the messenger gasped, trembling in spite of the hot drink Nat had helped Adam get down him. Shivers made his teeth chatter until his words blurred. “I th-thought he w-was right b-behind m-me.” Unashamed tears fell. “M-my horse w-went d-down and wh-when I got him u-up, I c-couldn’t find M-mark.”
“Drink some more of this,” Adam ordered, and he helped steady the mug.
Finally the cowboy could continue. “I hollered and heard an answer but it sounded far away.” He gulped and stared at Adam. “When I found Mark he had a broken leg. We got to the line shack, God knows how. Probably because Mark keeled over from pain and I tied him in the saddle. Anyway, I did what I could after buildin’ a fire and we slept some. But this mornin’ Mark was out of his head with fever.” His eyes still held shock. “I was scared to leave him and scared not to.” He leaped up and almost fell, too exhausted to do more than plead. “He needs you Doc. If you don’t go, Mark’s gonna die.”
“I’ll go. Adam set his mouth in a straight line. “Which line shack?”
“Follow my trail. It’s a good five miles. Out toward the Lazy H but in the trees, not down by the river.”
“I’ll go with you.” Nat reached for boots and coat.
“What about him?” Adam pointed at the patient who had sunk back once he had delivered the critical message.
“Be right back.” Nat shouldered past him out into the brilliant day. Fifteen minutes later he appeared with a red-cheeked, well-bundled woman who took charge and shooed the brothers off on their difficult journey. “Land sakes, nothing wrong with this lad but worry and being tired. Go on.”
“I knew I could count on Mrs. Greer,” Nat said once they had decided snowshoes would be better than horses although it would take longer. “Best thing that ever happened to Antelope was when Greer set up his store and his wife stood right behind him.” His tone turned somber. “It’s going to take everything we have to save Mark.”
“I know. I’ve been praying ever since the boy came.”
Nat’s radiant smile echoed Adam’s statement but he said nothing. A long, tough trek lay before them. Wasting breath on talking could only make the ordeal worse.
The time of testing had come. Every ounce of muscle and strength gained in facing hard climbs and adverse conditions pitted itself against the worst odds known to humankind. A dozen times the young cowboy’s words came back to Adam, tossed from the rising wind and spitting snow that heralded another storm.
We got to the line shack, God knows how.
Each time the words brought comfort, warming Adam’s cold body that even the heaviest clothes and most strenuous exertion couldn’t keep from chilling. Once he stumbled and noticed how quickly Nat came to lift him up, just as he lifts those who fall and stumble in life itself, Adam’s dazed brain thought. He ploughed on, now leading and peering into the early gloom that had settled with the new storm at the rapidly filling tracks made by Mark Justice’s partner. At other times, Adam simply followed in the footsteps of his big brother, as he had done so many times before. The journey became a parallel of life and tangled in it were the faces of two lovely young women from West Virginia.
“Think of something other than storm and whiteness,” Adam ordered himself. He concentrated on Red Cedars. Would the Browns like the unusual gifts he had managed to find and have shipped? Ivy Ann’s pert face, wide-open eyes, and smile when she saw the deerskin moccasins tantalized him. Laurel would like hers, too. She probably wouldn’t exclaim in Ivy’s manner but Adam felt sure of Laurel’s pleasure. Would the precious painting of Antelope Mrs. Hardwick had done at his insistence tempt the family to leave everything comfortable and come West? Adam’s laughter at the way Ivy Ann and Laurel would set Antelope upside down drifted off with the wind. What would poor, silly Sally Mae think of the twins?
“Adam, stop!” A stro
ng hand grabbed him. Nat looked like a snowman. He put his mouth close to Adam’s ear. “You’ve passed the end of the footprints.”
Adam looked down. A pang went through him. Dreaming of two gently bred young women had caused a lapse of concentration. He silently followed Nat back, chiding himself for his inattention. The treachery of this changeable land allowed no time to dream.
“Here!” Nat abruptly turned left. The footprints and hoof-prints showed more clearly under the gigantic evergreens that had helped protect the ground from such heavy drifts. A little later Adam shouted with joy.
Through the fury of snow that proclaimed its defeat against the two travelers, a rude structure loomed, the line shack.
A lighted lantern, and a stirred fire later, Adam threw off his snowy outer clothing in one fluid motion. He bent over Mark Justice who tossed and muttered and whose hair lay in damp strands over a hot forehead.
“We have a fight ahead,” he warned Nat.
“I know.” Nat had already filled a large kettle with packed snow to melt and heat. “What are his chances?”
“Better than when he had the bullet in him but not much.”
Adam kicked off his boots and pulled on the heavy dry socks they’d brought in their packs. Then he opened his medical bag and went to work.
For three days the storm raged outside the lonely line shack, a monster ready to devour anyone caught in it. For three days a war raged inside the shack, the fight for a man’s life. Adam didn’t close his eyes for the first thirty-six hours and only consented to snatch a little sleep with Nat’s firm promise to rouse him should there be the slightest change. Twelve hours later he awakened to find Nat bending over him and smiling broadly. “The fever’s broken. The snow packs you used worked, thank God!”
Every trace of weariness and sleep fled before the good news. Adam bounded from the bed. Never had Nat looked more beautiful than standing there unshaven and wrinkled, red-eyed but rejoicing. Careful nursing would bring Mark Justice back to the range again.
Limited by what supplies they had been able to carry, Nat made broth and tenderly fed it to the cowboy who was too weak to do it himself. Adam continued his almost twenty-four-hour care, whistling to himself when Mark’s gaze followed him.
“I don’t know who really saved me,” were the first words that came when Adam finally permitted Mark to speak. “If my pard hadn’t gone for help or if you hadn’t come—” His fingers nervously twitched the edge of the rough woolen blanket that covered him. He licked dry lips. “I-I reckon it was God.”
Adam glanced sideways at Nat. Did he want to burst out with what lay in Adam’s own heart? Would he, could he resist taking advantage of everything that had happened to bring Mark to God?
Before either brother could answer, Mark went on. “This is the second time.” The dawning of understanding showed in his eyes and brightened them against the dark circles of illness.
Adam held his breath. Saying too much or too little might destroy the opportunity.
Nat smiled a singularly sweet smile at the cowboy. “Mark, you’re very wise.”
Red color stole through the white face to the roots of Mark’s hair. “God must care a whole lot about me to send help and save my life twice.” He straightened as if jabbed with a spear. “Why, it’s three times, isn’t it?” His eyes lighted and a weak smile crossed his face. “That time I came to church, you said God sent Jesus to save us, didn’t you?” His gaze bored into Nat. He laughed, a kind of wild but happy laugh. “I read in a book that some folks in the world believe if you save someone’s life that person belongs to you. I guess that means I belong to you—no, to God—and that I’ll have to be riding with Him from now on?”
Nat’s steady gaze never wavered. “That is up to you, Mark. The same way it’s up to you whom you choose to bunk with and make your pard.”
Tired out by the extra effort, Mark dropped back but before he closed his eyes he mumbled, “Gotta tell my pard we’re gonna have a new trailmate from now on.”
Adam’s eyes stung. What would Father and Mother and the Browns think if they could see into this line shack? Would they realize how all the heartache and struggle fell away when measured against the soul of one wild cowboy?
Chapter 9
The conversion of Mark Justice rocked Antelope. Nothing had set tongues wagging and heads nodding as much as the dramatic change in the cowboy once shot by the sheriff in self-defense. When the second storm abated and an unnatural warm spell followed, Nat went for help. Mark bit his lip to hold back the pain when his comrades lifted him onto a steady horse. The curses they expected to split the air never came. Blood ran down Mark’s chin from where he had driven his teeth into his lower lip but he said nothing and stuck on the horse.
At his request, the men took him to the Lazy H bunkhouse instead of into town. “What’s a little old broken leg?” he demanded once Adam pronounced the break clean and healing well. “You poor fish will have to be out checking on how many cattle got caught in the storm. I get to lie in bed or hobble around a nice warm bunkhouse, shoot the breeze with Cooky, and take me a va-cation.” He didn’t add what he told Nat later. “I’ll have a chance to read the Bible you gave me. Now that I’m riding with God, I want Sally Mae to know about Him. She always did listen to what I have to say and she’ll be coming around soon. I better get ready.” He clutched the Bible and jauntily waved goodbye to the Birchfields.
More of the story came from other Lazy H hands.
“Crazy kid,” one rangewise cowboy told Adam. “Never preaches. Just lays there readin’ that Bible.” He squirmed a bit then looked square into the doctor’s eyes. “He told us everything that happened there in the line shack. Blamed if I didn’t go and get a cinder in my eye just then and have to rub it out.” He cackled. “A lot of the other men sat there rubbin’ their eyes, too. Guess it kinda got to us.” He took a deep breath. “Makes a feller sort of wonder. I mean, Mark’s never been out and out bad but you don’t find them much wilder. He’s shore changed.”
“How come you never see Mark Justice around here no more?” became a standard question in Antelope.
“Aw, he’s got religion,” someone always answered, but a dozen times Nat or Adam saw the look in some of the other cowhands’ eyes, the look that “made a feller sort of wonder.”
“You know, Mark can be one of the best witnesses for Christ around here simply because he’s one of the cowboys,” Nat said one evening. “Any time a man or woman or child whose life isn’t so spotless accepts the Lord, that person can be a powerful influence.”
“I wonder how Mark can keep from preaching,” Adam mused.
“I told him just to live it and baffle his friends!” Nat confessed.
Winter passed with a spate of spontaneous get-togethers with various Antelope families, the church program, and snow, snow, and more snow. The infrequent letters from Ivy Ann, always with a brief message Adam suspected Laurel tucked in secretly, brightened days made long and weary by the fight against cold, sickness, and accidents. Adam gloried in knowing if he hadn’t been where God wanted him to be many of those who came down with pneumonia would surely be dead. If at times he longed for a companion, a wife, he quickly drowned the wish in the joy of being with his brother.
Suddenly, spring came, not stealing into Antelope like a thief in the night, but with a rush of warm days that release rivers from their captivity and sent them gleefully chuckling, free from winter hibernation under sheets of ice. Tiny flowers sprang up. New life abounded and Adam lifted up his head and gave thanks. Only one sore spot remained: It had been a long time since he heard anything from his friends, the Browns, or from Mother, who faithfully smuggled letters to him. How had they kept through the winter? What news Antelope had came slowly and only after a long time. If it weren’t for Dan Sharpe, who had already made one round trip out for a top-heavy load of supplies, the world since the snowfall might as well not exist!
One early evening Adam felt more tired than ever. If only his
patients would follow his advice. At times he despaired of ever convincing these people that when he ordered rest it didn’t mean after all the usual work chores ended. Yet he couldn’t blame them. Every family busy with spring work toiled from sunup to past sundown. How could they do anything else when duty called?
Adam sighed, wishing Nat would return from whatever errand had called him out. The cabin felt empty without patients, or Nat. Too tired to eat the warm supper he found saved for him by his thoughtful brother, Adam restlessly paced the floor longing for he knew not what.
Suddenly the door flung open and Nat came in, his mouth stretched wide in an expression of glee. He tossed his hat into a corner.
“You look like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland, “Adam told him, unreasonably resenting Nat’s obviously high spirits when his own were mysteriously low.
“I’ve just seen a vision.”
“You’ve what?” Adam was jolted out of his doldrums.
“Not a religious vision,” Nat quickly amended, “but a vision of fair young maidenhood.”
“Sally Mae’s in town again?” Adam taunted while a quiver of anticipate went through him. “Since when is she a vision?”
“My good man.” Nat drew himself up as if offended, but his twinkling black eyes ruined the attempt. “I am not referring to Sally Mae Justice. I am referring to a young and lovely woman who pursued me down the street, clutched my arm, and looked into my face then said, ‘Hello.’ Furthermore, a young lady I have never seen before.”
“Are you making this up?” Adam demanded, while that same odd lurch of his heart pumped blood against all reason.
Nat’s keen look replaced his teasing. “No, Mrs. Greer explained it all. In the dim light the young woman mistook me for you.”
“What young woman?”
“You haven’t heard from Ivy Ann Brown for a long while, have you?” Nat grinned tormentingly with the expression that contrasted so to his serious demeanor when ministering.
Wildflower Harvest: Includes Bonus Story of Desert Rose Page 8
