The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  “Your voice is mellow and reasonable, as always,” returned Burger. “Let me try to be equally so. These young men are not experts in the craft of guns. Let Stonegate send us an expert to explain in detail what they propose, then we can make an intelligent decision!”

  “These experts cannot be spared to take a long journey, just now,” answered Don. “Also, the way is dangerous, and we cannot risk their capture.”

  “I cannot believe what I am hearing!” said Burger. “The poor men in my quarter are the spear carriers that man the walls. They are what the Raiders fear. Even the tax we pay the Prophet protects us more than your precious guns. Stonegate has guns. Did they protect their farms from being raided? Let the young man tell us how the Raiders leave them alone?”

  “Then if the guns are of no value, then why do you care?” asked Councilman Wilson. “You should have no objection if we reduce our stockpile.”

  “You are twisting my words,” retorted Burger. “And how do we know that any of this story is true? Maybe this young man is the one that took her captive in the first place!”

  Maitland gained the floor. “We must not forget that Stonegate gave all these artillery shells in the first place. It would be the height of ingratitude to refuse their request.”

  “They were well paid—don’t forget that!” returned Burger.

  At this, Wesley interjected himself into the debate. He told how Amber had told him exactly the same story that Don and Crispin had told. And he said that he had questioned all three of them for hours. He explained that he was sure that their story was true. But the debate did not end there. In fact, they continued wrangling for almost an hour before the mayor called for a vote. No one was surprised when the council deadlocked three to three.

  The mayor was sweating visibly. “How would you vote if you were able, Marshall Blake?” he asked.

  “‘Aye’ would be my vote, Lord Mayor. I see little to lose and a potential gain of information.”

  “Can we all keep this matter behind closed doors?” asked the mayor of the whole council. Then he pointedly gazed at Burger. “Councilman Burger?”

  “Things have a way of leaking out, Mayor. Vote accordingly.”

  “I shall,” returned the mayor. “But now I think it is time to excuse our guests. I wish to ask you and the marshall a few more questions before I cast the deciding vote. So we will take a short recess—a quarter-hour.”

  The councilmen stood, stretched, and filed out. Councilmen Clarke and Evans both took some time to shake Don’s and Crispin’s hands and to express thanks to them both for saving a “daughter of Steamboat.”

  Wesley escorted Don and Crispin down the stairs and stopped them for a hurried conference just outside the courthouse door. “The vote is going to go our way,” he whispered, urgently. “I can’t explain now. Walk as though you are returning to my house. A wagon with a canvas over the back will drive by you. The man will stop, and you will immediately get in and lie down under the tarp. He will drive you out of town where you can pick up the horses. The things you request will be given you.”

  Don was slow in grasping what Wesley had said. And so it was that he hesitated for a minute, before smiling and grasping the other’s hand and whispering thanks.

  Crispin jumped two feet straight up. Then he said to the older man, “Lord Wesley, We can’t thank you enough. But I hoped to be able to say goodbye to Amber.”

  “She said the same, young man. Do what I say, and even that may be arranged. Now off with you!”

  †

  A half-hour later, the wagon drew to a stop and the driver spoke as he pulled the tarp aside. “Well, here we are, gents. You can get out, now.”

  They were in a stable that was full of activity. Their three horses were there. And Red had a new packsaddle with something wrapped in gray-green canvas. The pack appeared to be the proper size to hold three shells. But there were three other horses there, and two other men dressed for the trail. One wore a simple shirt and brown trousers with high boots, very much like Crispin. The other wore a mail coat and a leather hat with visor. The other horses somewhat resembled the three that Don’s party had ridden. But the stable also had two other people present, as well. One was Marshall Blake. The other was Amber.

  “Lore-man,” said the marshall. “We don’t have much time. You need to leave quickly!”

  “But who are these people?” asked Don, in confusion. “Can’t we even thank Lord Wesley?”

  “One thing you need to understand is that Lord Wesley is a meticulous planner,” returned the marshall. “He has tried to think of everything to get you away safely. These other two will leave now. They will openly ride past the main gate and take the road to Stonegate. Watching eyes will see them. That is fine. We want them to be seen.”

  “I am also to tell you that Lord Wesley has not forgotten the reward that he owes you,” continued the marshall. He brushed aside their protests.

  “What about you?” asked Crispin, moving to Amber’s side.

  “I could not let you go without saying thanks,” whispered Amber, looking into Crispin’s eyes. “But Father said I must not delay you.”

  “I have time,” said Crispin softly, taking her hand.

  “No, you don’t,” she said, breaking into tears.

  As they stood there whispering together, Don and Marshall Blake shook hands with the other two riders.

  “I hate to see you risk your necks for us,” began Don, hesitantly.

  “Don’t give it a thought,” came the return. They led their horses out of the stable, mounted and rode down an alley to the west. The marshall pulled the door almost shut and they walked back to their horses. Crispin was holding a weeping Amber in an embrace and was stroking her hair.

  “Get your armor on, Lore-man, and put this duster on over it,” ordered the marshall in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

  Don armed himself, pulling his mail coat over his head, buckling his sword belt over it, and then putting the beige duster on over the whole. The duster was a long, canvas overcoat, but divided in the front and back for riding. A similar duster was provided for Crispin and two large, shapeless gray felt hats with broad brims provided head covering for them both.

  The marshall dressed to match and then led out a large riding mule. “We must leave now and hope that the other two will have drawn the watchers away,” he said. “The council meeting will have broken up, but we don’t think anyone will expect that you could leave so quickly. By dark you should be several miles away from town.”

  He turned to Crispin and Amber. “Amber, you wait here inside the tack room. Lock the door on the inside and open only for your father or me.” He smiled. “Finish your goodbyes, children!”

  Amber kissed Crispin on the cheek. They embraced. But for once, Crispin was at a loss for words. “Goodbye, Amber,” he said, finally. “I will come back.”

  “God go with you, Crispin,” she whispered. Then they broke apart.

  Soon they were moving quietly down the alley, but to the west. They crossed a stone bridge, then threaded their way through a small settlement on the north side of the river. They walked their horses as though they were in no hurry. The few people they met seemed to pay them little attention. The paved streets turned to gravel as they moved farther up the hill away from the river, then even the gravel vanished as their way gradually changed to a trail leading over the ridge. Evening was fast turning to dusk, and a rosy glow could be seen.

  It was nearly dark when Marshall Blake drew rein. “I will leave you now,” he said. “Follow this trail to the west. Go as far and fast as possible. The Prophet will want you, and badly. No place will be safe for long.”

  Don stammered his gratitude as they hurriedly shook hands and parted. Again, Crispin seemed to have little to say, beyond “Thank you!” The cover of darkness settled down up
on them. Don looked back to the east at the rust-colored mountains and wondered if he would ever see them again. Then they spurred forward.

  Chapter 18

  †

  Down the River

  For with much wisdom is much sorrow; as knowledge increases, grief increases. Ecclesiastes 1: 18 HCSB

  They are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock for want of a shelter. Job 24: 8 HCSB

  Don idly watched the left front wheel of the heavy wagon. It had a slight wobble as it turned. The morning was wearing on and the day was beginning to get hot. Don glanced at the rim rock to the north and toward the line of willows to the south. He watched the muscular hind quarters of the team that pulled them and heard the crunch of their large hooves on the gravel. Then he looked back at the wheel. Crunch. Crunch. Wobble. Wobble.

  Abel sat on the seat a couple of feet to Don’s left. But the older man had little to say. He was a good driver and looked the part of a peddler. As he drove, he seemed to be deep in thought. Don was not in the mood for conversation, anyway.

  The entire trip had not been in silence, of course. Abel was full of facts about the lower river valley, through which they were traveling. He knew the names of all the hills, ranges, creeks, town sites and battlefields. It had been interesting for the first two days. But as they neared the Prophet’s land, the conversation had lagged.

  Don suspected that Abel was thinking ahead about the job that lay before them. But Don’s thoughts kept returning to the Owl Hollow of two weeks before. He knew that he was getting obsessive or maybe even morbid. But he could not stop the memories from flooding back.

  Their mood had been light and both Don and Crispin had been flushed and excited as they recovered their supplies from the hasty cache and turned the corner toward the south. They had ridden all night, but the horses were still strong, so they kept on. Soon the valley west of Steamboat lay well to their rear. They had pushed the horses hard and though they kept a good watch behind them, they had seen no sign of pursuit. They made it back to Owl Hollow before dark on the second day.

  The green meadow and the tidy cabin were pleasant to see. Crispin was complaining about saddle sores, but the sight of home made him grin. They had seen no sign of the Diné scouts. But just as they left the tree line, Don looked back and saw a figure step out of the trees, wave, and then vanish. They had not arrived undetected.

  They stepped off and tied their horses by the front gate. As they started to unpack, Samuel came out to help. He was alone, but he greeted them warmly. “Glad to see you!”

  Crispin pointed. “What do you suppose is on the pack horse?” he asked.

  “They gave you everything we wanted?” asked Samuel, tugging at the canvas to take a look. He loosened the hitch with haste.

  “Nearly,” answered Don, as he stripped off his mail and laid it on the front porch. “But they did not come easy.” Crispin helped Samuel with the pack cinch, and they soon lifted the panniers off. Samuel examined the shells closely as they stacked their gear on the ground.

  “Amber is safe with her family,” said Crispin. “She sends thanks.”

  Samuel looked up. “Oh, good,” he said. “Very good. You did well! One large shell and two smaller ones. That will be satisfactory.”

  “How are the fair guests?” asked Don. “Is Rachel still sick?”

  Samuel walked over put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “Rachel is gone,” he said. “All four of the young ladies from Stonegate left two days ago. Several Diné scouts, as well as Abel, Eric and Bobby went with them. They should have no trouble.”

  “But why didn’t she wait?” asked Don. “Were they well enough to travel?”

  “All the Stonegate girls recovered quickly. Then they insisted that they wanted to leave right away. I agreed that sooner was safer, so we sent them on.”

  “Then I can’t stay,” said Don, urgently. His face began to feel hot. He shrugged Samuel’s hand away. “I’ll have to leave today. Which way did they go? Couldn’t you have waited until I got back? Didn’t you know that I wanted to take Rachel home?”

  “Donald, Betsy has a note for you from Rachel. I have a good idea of what it says. You had better read it before you decide what to do!”

  Don stepped past him through the gate and up the front steps of the cabin. He said a brief hello to Lyn and Betsy. They were kind, but said little. Lyn was not the chatty type, and Betsy was in a hurry to see Crispin. She gave him a folded piece of paper sealed with a drop of red wax, then hurried out the front door. Don took the note and walked up the stairs to his room in the keep. He waited until the door was closed before he broke the seal.

  It was well that he was alone when he read it. He had looked forward to seeing Rachel like a starving man looks forward to a meal. He wanted to spend hours talking to her and planning their future. It would have been hard to have an audience as the disappointment hit him. The note read:

  Dear Donald,

  When you read this I will be on my way home. We will be well escorted and quite safe. Deborah told me of my family’s death and your part in it. She also told me about the woman that kept her prisoner. I see that you have not been honest—nor even faithful to me, for that matter. Why were you so reluctant to leave that wicked woman, if you truly cared for me? If Deborah had not been there, would you have ever gone on?

  I am grateful for what you did to rescue us, but I also feel betrayed.

  Please do not try to follow me!!

  Rachel of Westerly

  †

  Remembering what she had written, Don felt for the horn pen case on his belt where he kept the letter. In the end, he had not followed Rachel to Stonegate. But it had been hard. He still remembered the confrontation with Deborah. She had not been apologetic in the least.

  “I like Rachel,” she had said. “I did not tell her anything but the truth. She wanted to know about her family, and I told her what you had told me. I had no idea that you had kept it a secret.”

  “But why tell her that I was unfaithful to her?” Don had demanded. “You know that is not true! I behaved correctly with you, didn’t I?”

  “With me, yes. But what about that woman?”

  “What about her? I never so much as held her hand?”

  “You spent a night in her bedchamber! She did not invite men in there to discuss the weather.”

  Don had been stopped by that comment. The woman had given him something to drink, then he remembered waking and being led to his own room. That was all. But it did look bad.

  “I told you before that I did not touch her!”

  “No,” came the answer. “You said you did not remember. I think you chose to forget!”

  Don had given up at that point. Throwing up his hands, he retreated. Betsy had brought him a plate of food, which he had eaten alone in a dark room.

  †

  “Deborah!” he said aloud.

  Abel turned and looked at him. “Let’s not go through that again,” he said. “She did not spare you, but you can’t put all the blame on her. So don’t! She did not force Rachel to leave.”

  “If only I had been there,” groaned Don. “I could have explained. I know Deborah put it all in the worst possible way.”

  “Deborah is a decent person,” Abel said. “She saved your neck and risked her life for your Rachel and the others. Don’t forget that.”

  “I suppose so,” returned Don. “But I don’t know what to do. Right now, I don’t even know if I love Rachel or just my image of her.”

  “As I said before, she needs time to grieve. Let her return home and try to rebuild her life. She will give you another chance if she cares for you.”

  “But suppose some other man comes along? She is impulsive …”

  “I can’t give you a guarantee.” Abel looked at the sky. “Look
s like storm clouds off to the west. We might have a storm coming.”

  Don took the hint and dropped the subject, but his stomach felt like it was full of ground glass. He glanced back at the other wagon, and could see Eric and Bobby talking on the front seat. They had assured him that they had delivered Rachel to her home and that she had a comfortable place to stay. The other women had been left at Stonegate. No one from Stonegate had sent him a message.

  Samuel had mentioned the idea of a scouting trip down river, disguised as peddlers. The idea had sounded appealing to Don since the trip seemed likely to be dangerous enough to get his mind off his disappointment. But he had not foreseen the long hours on the road with little to do but think.

  They stopped for lunch at a wide place by the road next to a clump of tamarisk and built a fire. Bobby boiled some coffee, and fried some flank steak and potatoes and onions to go with left-over biscuits from breakfast. He also heated some leftover soup in a cast iron pot. Don’s mood had affected them all. They said little as they drank their coffee and cleaned their plates. The teams foraged for a few wisps of grass near where they were picketed.

  †

  Don had moped around his room and the stable for the next two days. He had gone over all his gear and repaired, oiled and sharpened everything. He had re-shod Snap and pulled the horse’s tails. He had eaten with the others, but he and Deborah had avoided each other as much as possible. Don had said nothing to her beyond “Good morning,” or “Good night.” Jane was the only one remaining of the group of rescued girls. She had little to say to him, but was not unkind. Stanley and Crispin spent most days scouting, though they usually returned by sundown.