The Fiery Ring

by Gilbert, Morris

  “You can’t just leave him here,” she cried.

  “It ain’t our problem,” Kaufman said brutally. “Come on, Cam.”

  “She’s right. We can’t leave him here.”

  The older man stared at the one called Cam. “What do you propose to do? It’s time to pull out.”

  Cam’s eyes darted around, and he said, “Look, there’s that old caboose. It’s been there for months.” He turned to the girl and said, “We could put him in there. There’s a stove in it. It’s been condemned, but at least you can get a fire going. Maybe you can find a doctor. The station agent’s name is Powell. He’ll help you.”

  “Come along, Cam. Leave him there.”

  “No, give me a hand, Kaufman.”

  Kaufman cursed under his breath but obeyed the younger man. Joy followed them and saw as they struggled to get the injured man inside that he had passed out. She followed them in, and the younger man said, “We’ve got to go. Go see Powell. He’ll help you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Come on, Cam. We’re behind schedule.”

  Joy looked around. She had never been in a caboose before. There was an ancient potbellied stove in the corner, and she hoped she could find something to burn, either wood or coal. She leaned over the man and saw that his face was as white as chalk and he was still unconscious. They had placed him on the bunk, which was fastened to the wall. She glanced around and spied some old wooden boxes. Between her pocketknife and some good hard stomps with her foot, she managed to splinter one into pieces. She dug to the bottom of her pack to find the matches, then lit a fire in the stove. She added a few chunks of coal she found, and soon a fire was blazing.

  She turned her attention to her patient. “Can you hear me?” she asked, leaning over the still figure. She got no answer and thought, I’ve got to get help.

  Leaving the caboose, she went to the station, which was as small as a station could be, she thought. When she stepped inside she saw an older man with silver hair and bright blue eyes watching her. “Who was that the guys put in the car? Your man?”

  “No, just somebody I met, but he’s hurt bad. Are you Mr. Powell?”

  “That’s me. Well now, that caboose has been there for three months. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “Would it get you in trouble if we stayed there?”

  Powell grinned, studying the girl. “I’m sixty-six years old, and nobody wants my job. Stay there as long as you please.”

  “I’ve got to take care of him. Could I get some water?”

  “Sure. I got a bucket here. Plenty of water. What’s your name?”

  “Joy . . . Smith.”

  Powell did not miss the hesitation but did not press the issue. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know yet. Two men jumped on the train and beat him and kicked him. He’s hurt real bad, Mr. Powell. He needs a doctor.”

  Powell shook his head. “No doctor here. I’ll stop in and take a look at him after I get off.”

  He looked at the girl, wondering about her history, then said quietly, “You’ve been in a bit of trouble, I take it.”

  Joy stared at the man. “Yes,” she said. “Quite a bit.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sister Hannah

  The smell of meat cooking awoke Chase. He blinked his eyes and started to sit up, but an unbelievable stab of pain in his side caused him to lie back and catch his breath. Something on his forehead was shutting out the vision of his right eye, and reaching up, he discovered a damp cloth.

  For a moment he was confused, and then the scene in the boxcar started coming back to him. The last thing he remembered clearly was a tremendous blow to his side as he lay on the floor trying to get to his feet. And then other vague memories flitted through his mind—he recalled someone lifting him—but then he must have blacked out.

  He lifted his head slightly and saw someone standing with her back to him, cooking at a stove. He cleared his throat and found his lips almost too dry to speak. The long blond hair that fell down the back identified the person as female, and he assumed she was the girl he had tried to rescue.

  “Hello,” he said feebly. The girl turned around, and he saw that she was very young. She came and bent over him, and by the sunlight that filtered through the window he saw that her enormous eyes were an intense shade of blue. She was wearing a pair of overalls and a blue wool shirt. “Where is this place?” he croaked.

  “It’s a caboose in Nebraska. Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get you some water.” She dipped a cup down into a bucket, and then said, “I know you’re awfully sore, but can you lift your head enough to drink?”

  “I’ll try.” Very cautiously Chase lifted his head. Despite his care, the pain in his side made him blink, but he was so thirsty it didn’t matter. He gulped the water down as she tilted the cup. He almost choked on it and then pulled his head away. “That’s good,” he murmured.

  “You remember anything after the fight?”

  “Not much. What happened to those two?”

  “I’ll tell you later. What’s your name?”

  “Chase Hardin.”

  “My name’s Joy.” She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Joy Smith. I introduced myself yesterday, but I don’t expect you remember much from yesterday.”

  “How did I get to this place?”

  “You were unconscious, and the men that work on the train helped me get you off at this stop. We’re in an old abandoned caboose. The stationmaster says we can stay here until you get well.”

  “Must have some broken ribs. I can hardly move.”

  “I was waiting for you to wake up because I’m going to try to find a doctor. Do you want something to eat?”

  “No, not hungry.”

  “Well, I’ll put the water bucket right here. You can reach down and get water with the cup. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  Chase took the cup and considered the girl. She had a smooth complexion and regular features. “Well, Joy Smith,” he said, “it looks like you’re the boss. I can’t do much to help you.”

  “You just lie there. I’ll be back soon, and I’ll bring you something to eat. Maybe some soup.”

  “That sounds good.”

  She stood looking down at him for a moment, then said, “Your forehead won’t stop bleeding, and it’s a bad cut. I think it’ll have to be sewn up.”

  “I didn’t help you much, did I? Not much on saving damsels in distress.”

  The girl’s face changed, and he saw a look in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She hesitated, then said, “You did your best, and that’s all anybody can do.” Finally she turned to leave, saying, “You lie still. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The sun was bright as Joy moved quickly down the tracks. She found Mr. Powell inside the station, and he asked how the patient was doing.

  “He’s not good at all. He needs to see a doctor.”

  Powell shook his head and took off his glasses. “That won’t be easy,” he said slowly. “The closest one I know is Dr. Thomas, but he’s all the way over at Broken Bow. That’s nearly fifty miles.”

  “I’ll just have to go get him.”

  “Doubt if he’d come. He’s not much on charity cases.”

  “I’ve got a little money.”

  “Not much I’d guess, Missy.”

  “But he needs help! His head needs to be sewn up, and I think his ribs are broken.”

  William Powell had seen a great many hobos in his day. They came and went, and in most cases, he was glad to see them go. But this girl was different. He thought for a minute and then said, “I’ll tell you what I would do if I was you, Missy. There’s a lady who lives not two miles from here—in a farmhouse all by herself. Gettin’ on in years now, like I am. I think she must be pushin’ seventy, but she’s strong and able. Most folks go to her when they have hurts. She’s a midwife, but she’s done plenty of
doctorin’, including gunshot wounds. If I was you, I’d go see Sister Hannah Smith. Maybe she can help your man.”

  Joy’s face flushed. “He’s not my man. He’s just someone who needs help.”

  “All right, then. In any case, Sister Hannah’s on the main road. I can’t leave here, but it’s only a couple of miles if you don’t mind a walk.”

  “I can do that.”

  “All right. Go out to that road and go east. Just stay on the road, and ’bout two miles from here you’ll cross a little bridge over a creek. It’s the only bridge around. Sister Hannah’s house is the first one on the left. I ’spect she’ll be home, unless she’s out doin’ some of her preachin’.”

  “Preaching? She’s a preacher?”

  William Powell scratched his head and grinned. “Yep, she’s religious all right. Makes a fellow plumb nervous the way she lights in. She’s a good healin’ lady. She’ll pray over your man—I mean that fella—but she’ll do whatever she can for him in a medical way too.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Powell. I’ll go right now.”

  Powell talked to himself as he watched Joy turn and walk rapidly down the road. “That girl’s got a lot of grit. It’s a pity she’s gotta be out on the road like this. Gotta be a story behind her, but she didn’t offer to tell none of it.” He put his glasses on, took one final look, then shook his head. “Sister Hannah don’t set well with ever’body, but that girl ain’t got much choice—nor the fella over in that caboose, for that matter.”

  ****

  After crossing the bridge over a gurgling creek, Joy saw a two-story white house to her left, with a driveway leading up to it. Quickening her pace, she strode down the drive. She saw a barn out back and a corral with two horses. A huge German shepherd snarled at her, but Joy saw that he was chained. She climbed the steps to the porch and knocked on the door. No one came for a few moments, and she thought, If no one’s home, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Then she heard the sound of footsteps, and the door opened slowly. The woman who stood there was very tall for a woman and strongly built. Her silver hair was coiled behind her head, and she had a pair of penetrating blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She studied Joy carefully before asking, “What are you doing out here, young lady?”

  “Are you Mrs. Smith?”

  “Most folks just call me Sister Hannah. Come in outa the cold.”

  Joy stepped inside, and when she pulled off her hat, her hair fell down over her shoulders. “Mr. Powell, the railroad agent, told me about you, Sister Hannah. He said you’re good with sick folks.”

  “The Lord Jesus is the healer. I’m just His instrument. Are you sick, child?”

  “Oh no, it’s not me. A man got hurt in a freight car last night. He was badly beaten. We got him off, and he’s in an old caboose down by the station.”

  “I know that caboose. What’s this man to you?”

  Joy hesitated, then said, “I’d been riding the freight train when two men got in the car. They started to . . .” She hesitated, and color flooded her cheeks. “They started to bother me, and this man—he had been sleeping in the corner—tried to take up for me. But they beat him and kicked him. I thought they’d kill him.”

  “Did they bother you after they whipped him?”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “I wonder why not. Wasn’t nothin’ to stop ’em.”

  Joy lifted her head and met the silver-haired woman’s eyes. “I had a thirty-eight, and I pulled it out of my bag and told them I’d shoot them if they didn’t get off the train.”

  “And they did it?”

  “They did after I shot one of them. Oh, just in the arm a little bit. I’m a very good shot, Sister Hannah.”

  “Well, my stars alive, I can’t believe it! You shot a man and then made ’em jump off a moving train?”

  “I had to. I was afraid. I don’t think they got hurt, but they would have killed the man that tried to help me.”

  Hannah Smith studied the girl in front of her and noticed that her lower lip was trembling. No wonder, she thought, I’d be afraid, too, if I’d gone through that. “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Joy Smith.”

  “You got a home?”

  “No. My folks died a year ago. I’m trying to get to Galveston so I can meet up with my brother, and then I want to get back to Virginia, where I used to live.”

  Sister Hannah knew there was more to the story than this, but first things first. “All right,” she said. “I’ll get my medicine bag. We’ll hitch up the horse and go see what we can do.”

  “Thank you, Sister Hannah,” Joy said with a gush of relief. “I . . . I didn’t know what else to do, and Mr. Powell says that the doctor is fifty miles away.”

  “Well, we’ve got Dr. Jesus with us. Come along. We’ll go hitch up that ornery mare.”

  Twenty minutes later the mare was hitched, and Sister Hannah was coming out of the house with a black suitcase. She put it in the back of the buggy and then asked, “What you usin’ for sheets and covering?”

  “Nothing. There’s a bunk there, an old mattress, but no covers at all.”

  “Well, that won’t do. I’ll go get somethin’. Probably need some pans and pots to boil water in too.” She disappeared into the house and soon returned with blankets, sheets, and a burlap bag. She put those in the back along with the medical bag, then slowly climbed in and picked up the lines. “Get up, Ginger!” she said forcefully, and the mare started up at a brisk walk. They had not gone a hundred yards before Sister Hannah turned and said, “Joy, are you a Christian girl?”

  Joy ducked her head and swallowed hard. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”

  “Well, you can’t get away unless you jump outa this buggy, so you sit there, and I’m going to tell you how Jesus saved me and filled me with the Holy Ghost.”

  Joy turned and smiled. “That’ll be fine, Sister Hannah. I’d like to hear it.”

  “Not everybody does, but I like to tell it.” She began speaking, and Joy was amazed to find out that Sister Hannah had been a wild young woman in her earlier days. She did not go into great detail but told enough to let Joy know that she had led a wild, sinful life.

  “I got married and had six children, all married up now except for Susie. She lived with me until she died two years ago. My husband, Lester, he up and died on me five years ago. I didn’t get saved until after Lester died, but when I did get religion, I got it good. The Lord convicted me of my sins, and I got saved in a holiness meeting. It took five nights at the altar, but when I got it, I got it good. I’ve been tellin’ everybody ever since about Jesus and His precious blood and doin’ all the good I can.”

  “Are your children far away?”

  “Oh, land no! They’re all here in the county except for Jeannie, and she married a fella from California. They’re doin’ good, though. The Lord gave me a promise. ‘All thy children shall be taught of the Lord,’ and that’s what happened.”

  Sister Hannah turned to face Joy and said, “I know you’re runnin’ away, child. I don’t know what you’re runnin’ from, but whatever it is, it ain’t nothin’ that Jesus can’t fix. So I’m gonna tell you how to find the Lord, but first we’ll take care of this sick man of yours. How old a fella is he?”

  “I don’t know—he looks about twenty-five, I guess. His hair is black, the blackest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, we’ll see to him, and then we’ll have plenty of time to talk to you about findin’ your way to glory.”

  As the buggy pulled by the station, Mr. Powell came out and said, “Hello, Sister Hannah.”

  “Hello, Brother Powell. You wasn’t at church Sunday. You be there next Sunday, you hear me?”

  “I’ll sure be there,” he called back, smiling. “If you need any help with that feller, call on me.”

  Sister Hannah sniffed. “What good does he think he’d do? I’d just as soon have a gorilla around a sick man as him.”

  Sister Hannah pulled the buggy up next to t
he caboose and got out. She picked up her black bag and followed Joy to the steps at the rear of the caboose. Joy went on up and said, “Let me take your bag, Sister Hannah.”

  “Maybe you’d best do that. That’s a pretty high step.”

  Joy took the bag and waited until Sister Hannah was on the rear platform. She opened the door, and Sister Hannah followed her in. She put the bag down and went to stand beside the bed. “Are you all right, Chase?”

  “Sure.”

  “This is Sister Hannah Smith. She’s going to help you. She’s real good at doctorin’ people.” Then turning to Sister Hannah, she said, “This is Chase Hardin.”

  Chase looked up at the large woman with the bright blue eyes and said, “I’m in pretty pitiful shape, I guess, Sister Hannah.”

  “Well, the first thing we gotta get straight is that nobody can help you except the Lord Jesus. Dr. Jesus is the one you need. I can do some stitchin’ and some bandagin’ and a few things like that, but He’s the one that’s gotta help you.”

  Chase found himself smiling despite the pain. “My dad would have agreed with you.”

  “He was a Christian?”

  “Yes. He was a preacher and a good one too. I’m sorry to say that I’ve gotten away from what my dad wanted for me.”

  “Well, first we’re gonna pray, and then we’ll go to work.” Sister Hannah bowed her head and laid both hands on Chase’s shoulders. She prayed with such vigor that her voice filled the space.

  “Lord Jesus, this here man is hurt. He needs your help, and you know I can’t do nothin’ except as you help me. So I’m askin’ you who gave sight to the blind and hearin’ to the deaf and legs to them that couldn’t walk and life to them that was dead to come down to this man and help us to do whatever you want done to him. And make him strong and hale, and do more than that, Lord—I’m askin’ you to touch his spirit. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Chase said. He was overwhelmed by Sister Hannah, and he watched as she took off her coat and picked up the black suitcase. She opened it and removed a large brown bottle. “Here, take three good swallows of this.”