by Lynn Squire
A piece of brilliant white cloth waved from a nail on the bottom corner of the barn.
He set the wood down and leaned forward to examine the torn cloth. It shone in the moonlight. Could there be other evidence of an intruder? None of the Blacks’ clothes that he’d ever seen white like this—and certainly they wouldn’t wear such white clothing around the barn.
A quick survey revealed nothing more, not even a footprint; but that would have been washed away in the storm.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. Then, taking care not to damage the piece, he removed it from the nail. The cloth was wet. Obviously, it had been there before the storm.
Stepping away from the barn, Dixon tipped the material in the moonlight. There was no dirt on it, and the way it glistened reminded him of something he’d seen recently, but he wasn’t sure what. He dropped the cloth into his leather pouch. This was an important find. Perhaps the person whose clothing was torn let the animals out of the barn. But why would anyone do that?
Dixon gathered up the wood and hurried to the house. He needed to get this evidence to his office for a closer examination, though he’d have to wait until morning light to thoroughly examine the barn.
Blood pumped hard through his veins. He figured someone had it in for the Blacks, and he was determined to find out who it was.
Chapter 8
The glow of dawn pushed back the black carpet of night, but before the sun peeked over the rounded edge of the world, Sergeant Dixon had walked halfway to Surbank. The cool morning air seeped through his serge. He banged his gloved hands together in rapid succession, trying to get the blood circulating.
Joab’s dead animals now lay piled in the small coulee just east of the farm. He’d spent the night removing their bodies from around the farm buildings. The pile would likely attract coyotes and wild dogs, but at least the Blacks wouldn’t have to worry about these scavengers coming into their yard.
Dixon stomped his feet. His toes tingled as the blood flowed back. Later today, he’d get some men to come help bury the carcasses before they started to smell worse than they already did. He took a deep breath to dispel the memory of the stench.
Smoke teased his nostrils.
He lifted his nose to the wind and sniffed. Where was it coming from? No billows of smoke rose on the horizon. Wasn’t coming from the Indian reserve.
Pivoting on his heel, Dixon scanned the lay of the land until he saw the Blacks’ farm. Above the house smoke puffed like a large hot air balloon.
He took two running steps toward the farm and stopped. Would be best to get help. If that fire wasn’t contained it could destroy the whole community.
He whipped around and raced to town.
“Sarah, come help me with the horses.”
Sarah held a handkerchief up to her nose and continued her vigilant watch of Rupert’s still face. The sunlight trickled in through the curtains hanging over the east window. It touched the boy’s brow like a kiss from Heaven. “You can do it on your own.” Her eyes felt puffy and her body ached. She just couldn’t leave Rupert.
Joab’s hand touched her shoulder. “Love, it would do you good to get some fresh air.”
“No.”
She heard Joab grind his teeth, and she stiffened her back. Why couldn’t he understand that she needed to be with Rupert? Their only son. Their hope and joy. She muffled a sob with her kerchief.
“Please come.” He cleared his throat. “I need you with me.” He let out a slow breath that pulled at her heart.
Sarah pushed down the jitters in her stomach. Can’t life stand still? Better yet, can’t it go back a day? She’d keep Rupert home with her. They’d cut down the grass along the house. Perhaps work in the garden. The beans needed picking. She reached her shaking hand for the boy’s brow. With the tips of her fingers, she outlined his face.
Cold.
Tugging at her shawl didn’t keep that cold from seeping into her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Perhaps Joab was correct. “All right. All right.” She reached up and squeezed his rough hand. Fresh air would do her good.
When they stepped from the house, a cool breeze swept across the yard as though attempting to wipe away the past. Sarah searched for the dead animals but only saw flattened grass. Dixon said he’d remove them. She pressed her fingers against the corners of her eyes. Her tears wet them and escaped down her cheeks. Hadn’t she done enough crying?
They shuffled to the barn with arms wrapped around each other. Sarah’s feet weighed like wet sod, and her mind worked like thick jelly. She caressed her abdomen. Rest was necessary now, very important in fact. But how could she?
“You get Vic, and I’ll get Henry. We’ll put them out in the west pasture.” Joab heaved the door open.
“Why there? They’ll get too far from the house.”
“We’re not going anywhere, are we?”
She shook her head. Of course not.
“Then we might as well let them enjoy good pasture.”
They set loose the team of Morgans into the field that covered a good quarter mile square west of the farm. Sarah circled her finger on a fence post. Just that spring Rupert had helped his dad dig the holes for the posts. He’d beamed when he told Mrs. Richard how his dad and he had made the longest fence ever.
Mrs. Richard had murmured something about fencing costing too much. That hadn’t stopped Rupert from going on about how his dad was “keepin’ up with the ranchers west of Calgary.” The cantankerous matron had just smiled and ruffled his hair.
A sob caught in Sarah’s throat. Better Rupert didn’t see the devastation from last night. She wouldn’t have his dream crushed.
Joab put his arm around Sarah’s shoulder. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, then took a deep breath. The smoke from the fireplace in the house seemed stronger than normal.
A snap cracked through the crisp air.
Sarah looked back.
A dark cloud rose from her house, and after it, an orange flame flicked its snakelike tongue.
“The house!” Sarah bolted.
Joab whirled and broke into a run.
Her feet couldn’t move fast enough. Lord, no. Please … not our home.
Joab stopped by the well, yanked off the cover, and then dropped the bucket into it.
“We’ve got to get Rupert!” Her foot hit the step.
Joab grabbed her arm. “He’s gone.”
“No,” she screamed and reached for the door but snapped her arm back from the heat.
“We can’t help him.” Joab ran back for the bucket. “Wet your shawl.”
Hungry flames devoured her house … and her son. Their heat shoved her back. God, help us.
Water sloshed over the sides of the pail when Sarah shoved her shawl and Joab’s coat into the water. Her heart thundered in her ears. This must be a nightmare. This could not be true.
A gust of wind threw sparks in her face, and Joab snapped his coat at the flames. Sarah threw water on them. A flare shot back. They were losing the battle.
Cracking and splintering from above sent Joab and Sarah flying back. The roof eased itself into the flames.
Her stomach dropped with it.
As though surrendering itself, the sides of the house toppled inward. The sound rolled across the prairie.
“Rupert!” Sarah dropped her bucket and stepped forward.
Joab grabbed her arm. “Get more water.”
“But …” She stared at the fire eating the entrance to her home. “My Lord and my God.”
Joab let go of her and beat against the flames licking the prairie wool beside the house.
She had planned to cut that back today.
Her gaze wandered over the burning heap before her. Her house, gone. And with it, Rupert. “Does God hate us?”
“Sarah! Run. We’ve got to stop this.”
She rushed to the well. “God make it stop.” Her muscles strained as she cranked the rope to draw the water. If the
winds picked up, the fire could run for miles.
“Dump this sack into the water and start beating the flames back.” Joab coughed while he continued to flail against the burning grass.
The line of fire fanned out and spread eastward. A plague, it devoured the ground like locusts. Sarah wrinkled her nose as the acrid smell of smoke surrounded them.
Joab fought on the path to the barn, but the inferno moved too fast.
Sarah snatched up her damp shawl and beat the glowing embers. “You took my son.”
She bashed the conflagration. It took her house.
The flames leapt past her. Smoke stung her eyes. She wiped away the tears with one hand and sacked the searing tinder with the other.
The fire moved too fast. It pushed her up against the barn.
She pounded the flames.
A breeze picked up and flung sparks at the building. She swiped them off. “Joab.”
“Get out of there.”
She flogged a flame that nipped the corner of the wall and spread its tendrils through the grass beside her.
Joab’s strong hands seized her arms. They both coughed. He pulled her away from the barn.
Tears flowed down her cheeks.
The flames crept up the side.
“Get more water.” Joab slapped his coat against the wall.
Sarah flew to the well. Snaps from the fire bombarded her ears, sending cold streaks of fear up her spine. She drew another bucket.
The wind pulled at her skirts. It gained strength as the sun rose. Someone once told her the wind could take on the strength of a hurricane, sending a wildfire across hundreds of miles.
A blast blew her wild hair into her face. She flung it back and ran for the barn.
Flames crawled up Joab’s legs. He cried out.
“No!” She couldn’t get to him.
Joab fled the blaze, beating the gunny sack against himself.
“No! Please, God. No.” She raced along the fire line.
His shirt smoked. He dropped to the ground and rolled.
She threw the water on him and dropped to his side.
He writhed on the ground until the flames died.
“Joab.” She reached for him, but he jumped up. Mud mixed with ash covered his clothes, and the smell of burnt flesh infused the air around him. Her stomach rose in revolt.
The fire fed on the barn. Its heat scorched her back. She pushed off the ground and ran for more water. Her legs pumped though her mind lifted into a surreal spot, separate from this time and place.
The wall of continuous flame, a majestic, horrific demon, crept along the prairie grass. With her arm pressed against her eyes, she continued to fling buckets of water on the fire. Beads of sweat wet her brow and trickled down her face. She saw Joab’s sweat-drenched shirt and flung water on him as well.
“The plow line will keep the fire on our farm,” Joab shouted above the roar of the wind and flames. He pulled back from the blaze.
The wind thrust against the barn, and the building collapsed into a pile of red hot embers. They turned their faces away as sparks flew up into the air.
Sarah looked over her shoulder.
A finger of red and orange flickered in their wheat stubble … on the other side of that plow line.
“Look!” She pointed to the flames.
“How …” Joab snatched his coat and a burning plank from the barn. “We’ve got to stop it before it reaches town.”
The fire, a living creature—a dragon bent on destruction. God have mercy.
Chapter 9
Dixon flew to the fire bell by the Richard’s boardinghouse. He grasped the heavy rope and pulled with all his weight. No time for delay. Prairie fires wait for no one. Everyone needed to move—now.
While he puffed, the bell rang crisp and clear through the early morning air.
Doors flung open and the residents of Surbank gushed from their homes, some still pulling on their boots as they hurried to him. Except one.
Rounding the corner of the boardinghouse in a lazy gait, Abbadon wore not only a smirk, but his white overcoat.
A glance at the hem of Abbadon’s coat revealed mud that clung to the cloth, and dark clay that stuck to the man’s fancy boots. Evidence of Abbadon’s recent whereabouts? But there was no time to investigate further. Still …
Dixon stuck his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the leather pouch that held the piece of cloth he’d found on the Blacks’ barn. The material was the same brilliant white of Abbadon’s overcoat.
“Where’s the fire?” called Nathaniel as he bustled up the walk.
“At the Blacks’.” Dixon pointed in the direction of their farm where billows of smoke rose to meet the sky.
Barty ran down Main Street leading a string of horses. “Let’s go!”
Some men mounted, and others ran.
Dixon looked behind him as he swung his leg over his gelding. “You coming, Abbadon?”
But the man had disappeared.
Dixon grunted. No time to hunt for him. Time enough for that later. He spurred his horse, reined it around women scrambling for shovels from the General Store’s clerk, and galloped across the prairie where the smell of smoke grew strong.
The fire raced eastward, driven by the wind, and Dixon’s pulse sprinted in pursuit. The inferno could consume the town in a matter of minutes.
Neighbors fanned out in battle array, with sacks and shovels. Horses reared as men jumped off, swinging their sacks. The animals galloped away. Like the others, Dixon pulled his horse to a sliding stop and hurled himself from the saddle. He swung his own sack against the enemy flame and the heat it spewed at him.
A wild beast, the fire had jumped the plow line behind the barn and, while it gnawed at the wheat stubble, Sarah’s heart sank to her bowels. God have mercy.
Joab, like a madman, ran through the burning stubble, swatting at the flames that licked at his legs and brandishing the plank he had grabbed from the barn, wielding it like a sword. As though his actions flicked a switch in her, Sarah snapped up her sack and bolted after him.
“We’ll make a ring around us.” Joab set the stubble on fire with the burning plank he held in his hand. “And roll the dirt over it to keep it back.”
Sarah beat at the flames he started, then kicked the muddy loam over the embers tasting the straw.
“We’ll fight fire with fire,” he shouted over the roaring wind and flames.
The straw crackled and snapped and whistled as moisture escaped. Smoke flooded Sarah’s nose. She dragged tainted air into her lungs. Sparks landed on her skirts. She smothered them before she returned to do battle. A sharp pain shot across her lower back, but she had no time to rest and focused on the burning tinder before her. Please Lord, I cannot bear to lose—a flame bit at her foot, and she screamed at it.
The flames, which still fed on their buildings, roared on the other side of the plow line, while the wind drove the heat of the conflagration over her. Blisters formed on her hands, but still she continued the frantic rhythm. Beat, kick, beat, kick. She’d melt soon. So hot.
The counterfire now encircled them. Joab continued to roll the wet dirt on top of the burnt stubble, working his way methodically around them until the flames stopped their assault and died at the line of defense.
Sarah stood in the middle. Her mind carried her a hundred miles and several years away. If only they had not moved to this harsh land.
The wind continued to blow, stronger now, but the fire was beat.
She surveyed the field and scuffed her boot against the ground. Two inches below the wet dirt, powder and hard ground lay unaffected by last night’s storm. The rain had come too hard and fast to soak in, choosing instead to cut rivulet channels in the hard ground. Amazing.
The crop, what was left unburned, lay flat against the hard prairie floor, no longer harvestable. The hailstorm had ensured that.
Sarah lifted the corner of her mouth in a wry smile. Ironic how the hailstorm that destro
yed them probably saved the lives and livelihood of their neighbors. Had the fire started yesterday, the plow line would certainly not have been enough. Instead, it had slowed the fire in some places and stopped it completely in others. They’d have to make the line wider next year.
The wind whipped her skirts around her legs, causing her to stumble. She took a ragged breath. This gale could have driven the fire across acres.
Joab hobbled over to her. He smelled of smoke and burnt flesh.
Sarah gulped at the sight of the burn blisters on his face and the singed hair. Did God have no mercy?
Her husband’s eyes held hers, speaking of sorrow and great pain. He put his arm around her, and together they watched the fiery monster that still burned around the last of their buildings, consuming everything they owned. Had he not burned a circle against it, likely that monster would have fed on them as well. Sarah’s stomach lurched.
Joab’s arm trembled against Sarah’s shoulder. It slid from her as he sunk to his knees.
“God, why have You forsaken us?” She dropped down beside him.
He quaked as he whispered in a hoarse voice, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Dropping his head, he bowed low to the ground.
Sarah threw herself forward and wept. Her lungs ached for lack of good air. No one should have to endure such misery as this.
Chapter 10
The neighbors battled through the morning and, by noon, the fire had stopped. A black line of burnt stubble and grass marked the border of Joab Black’s property. To the north of that line lay the Kirkland’s pasture, unmarred by the fire. To the east, the Shackly’s field stood untouched even by last night’s hailstorm. Dixon shook his head. Astounding.
Tired, sweaty, and black from smoke, men and women headed back to their homes. Dixon scanned the crowd and noted the lack of Abbadon’s presence. The scoundrel may have felt that, not being from the area, he didn’t need to help; but, in this land, strangers, foes, and neighbors needed to stand together against a wildfire. Men like Abbadon ought to be hanged.