Measure of Grace

by Al Lacy

  Both men grew quiet and soon were dozing.

  Some two hours had passed when Ace Decker awakened at the sound of horses blowing and men talking. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend on the next bunk. Keith Nolan had also just awakened and was cocking an ear toward the sounds.

  “They’re back,” said Decker.

  “Yeah. And we’re in for it. I can feel it in my bones.”

  The words had barely left Nolan’s mouth when the bunkhouse door swung open. Both turned to see William Shaw’s husky form silhouetted against the brilliant sunshine. Shaw spotted them lying on their bunks, stepped in, and slammed the door.

  Both men sat up as Shaw stomped toward them, an angry flush darkening his cheeks, and his jaw squared. His fiery eyes measured the two cowhands. “Why weren’t you two at the funeral?”

  Decker and Nolan looked each other, then Decker raised his eyes to meet the boss’s glare. “We couldn’t face the crowd, knowin’ that everyone in and around Elkton has been told it was our fault Buck got himself trampled to death.”

  “It was your fault!” boomed Shaw. “When I waved at you and got your attention, there was plenty of time for one of you to gallop your horse to Buck, pick him up, and ride out of the way of the charging herd. But both of you took the coward’s way out, got yourselves to safety, and let Buck die.”

  Decker jumped off the cot, face bloated with anger, and snapped, “That’s the way you saw it, boss, but it ain’t the way it was! There absolutely was not time for one of us to safely get to Buck. Don’t be hangin’ his death on us! We ain’t cowards, but we ain’t fools, neither. There was a chance we couldn’t have made it to him in time.”

  “That’s right!” said Nolan, rising to stand beside his friend. “It’s like we told you day before yesterday when you chewed us out, boss: we’d have been gamblin’ with our lives to attempt it. You can’t blame us for Buck dyin’! We didn’t start the stampede.”

  Shaw’s eyes were suddenly cold. His icy stare remained a fixed and calculating pressure against both men as he hissed through his teeth, “There was time to save Buck, and you know it. You are cowards! And you’re both fired.”

  Sudden shock flashed across both faces, draining them of color.

  “N-now, boss,” said Decker, “y-you don’t mean it! We’ve been with you for almost f-five years. We’ve done you a good job.”

  “Yeah,” said Nolan. “We’ve worked hard here. Please don’t fire us! We ain’t cowards.”

  “Hah!” blared Shaw. “You proved you were cowards when you didn’t show up at the funeral. You couldn’t face the crowd because you let Buck die in order to safely preserve your own rotten hides.”

  “It ain’t fair for you to fire us!” said Decker. “Like Keith said, we didn’t start the stampede.”

  “I’m not arguing with you anymore about it,” said Shaw. “Pack up your gear and get off the ranch.”

  Nolan scrubbed a palm over his eyes. “But—”

  “I said get off the ranch!” roared Shaw. “Or I’ll call for some of the men to throw you off.”

  Decker and Nolan eyed each other, then quietly took what few personal items they had in the drawers of the nightstand between their bunks and headed for the door.

  William Shaw followed them, and when they stepped outside, a group of ranch hands were collected on the porch, having heard what was going on inside. To the group, Shaw said, “You boys keep an eye on these two. I just fired them. They’re going to the barn to saddle up and get off the ranch. If they don’t move fast, give them reason to do so.”

  To a man, they nodded.

  Decker and Nolan could feel the eyes of the men on their backs as they hastened to the barn. When they led their horses out of the corral a few minutes later, there were more ranch hands on the bunkhouse porch eyeing them warily.

  They swung into their saddles and put the horses to a gallop. When they were off the ranch, they slowed the horses to a walk, and looked at each other.

  “Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” asked Decker.

  A wicked sneer twisted Nolan’s features. “If you’re thinkin’ that we need to find a way to get even with Mr. William Shaw for firin’ us, I am.”

  “Exactly,” growled Decker. “He’s gonna suffer. I don’t know how, yet, but he’s gonna suffer.”

  On the day after the funeral, William Shaw walked up to his son, who was harnessing a team of horses to one of the ranch wagons at the huge Bar-S barn. “Pick up a dozen sacks of oats and a dozen sacks of barley, Jordan. Just have George put it on my bill.”

  “Will do, Papa,” said Jordan. “Anything else?”

  “No. That’ll do it.”

  “All right. See you later.”

  There was a stiff wind blowing from the north off the snowcapped peaks of the Sawtooth Mountains, and it was cold enough to make Jordan wear his denim jacket.

  Half an hour later, Jordan pulled the wagon up in front of Crum’s Feed and Grain in Elkton and slid down from the seat. He met up with a rancher he knew as he was crossing the boardwalk. They greeted each other, then Jordan entered the store.

  George Crum, who was about William Shaw’s age, was behind the counter, scribbling notes on a sheet of paper. Looking up, he said, “Oh. Hello, Jordan. What can I do for you?”

  “Papa sent me to pick up twelve sacks of oats and twelve sacks of barley, Mr. Crum. He said to put them on his bill.”

  George nodded. “Lester’s in the feed barn out back. Just drive your wagon back there. He’ll help you load up.”

  Jordan felt his stomach muscles tighten. He had been hoping that Lester Crum wouldn’t be working at the store today. Lester was a schoolmate of his and Knight’s, and he didn’t like either one of them.

  Jordan didn’t like Lester, either.

  Moving outside, Jordan climbed in the wagon, guided the team around to the side of the building, then headed them toward the rear of the property where the feed barn stood. He noted that a crew of men were digging a ditch on the adjacent property, and had dirt and rocks piled alongside it.

  When he moved into the barn, Lester was up on a flatbed hay wagon, pitching straw into a pile on the dirt floor. When he saw Jordan, he gave him a sullen look. “Whattaya need?”

  “A dozen sacks each, oats and barley,” Jordan replied in a friendly tone, trying to keep things civil between them. “Your pa has already put it on our bill.”

  Lester pointed to a far corner of the barn. “You know where both are kept. You’ll have to load ’em yourself. I ain’t about to help you.”

  Frowning, Jordan stepped up to the side of the wagon. “Your pa said you’d help me load up.”

  “Well, I ain’t goin’ to.”

  “Lester, why do you insist on being so hard to get along with?”

  The blond sixteen-year-old laid down his pitchfork, hopped off the wagon, and met Jordan eye to eye. “I don’t. Except to you and that no-good friend of yours.”

  “And why is that?” asked Jordan, moving even closer to him.

  “I haven’t been able to stand Knight since he became a stupid religious fanatic. That’s why. And I can’t stand you because you’re his friend.”

  “So what has Knight done to you since he became a Christian?”

  “He’s made me sick to my stomach with all his talk about Jesus, and heaven and hell, and all that gibberish. I don’t like him tryin’ to ram it down my throat.”

  “Come on, Lester,” Jordan said with a sigh. “Knight isn’t like that. He talks to me about becoming a Christian, but he doesn’t try to ram it down my throat. He’s simply sold on what’s happened to him and wants to share it with others. He has the right to believe what he wishes. Don’t tell me he tries to shove it on you.”

  “I don’t want to hear any of it, and he’s stupid for believin’ it! Somebody oughtta pound his face for bein’ so stupid.”

  Jordan felt his blood heat up. “Knight isn’t stupid, Lester! And if you don’t take it back right now, it’s your
face that’s going to get pounded!”

  Lester bristled. “Oh, yeah? And just who’s gonna pound it?”

  “I am!” Jordan made a fist and drew it back.

  “Hold it right there!” came the booming voice of George Crum as he hastened from the door toward the boys. “Don’t you hit him, Jordan!”

  Fist still clenched, Jordan looked at Crum with fire in his eyes. “He insulted Knight Colburn, and I don’t like it!”

  “Now just calm down,” said George, drawing up. “What do you mean he insulted Knight?”

  “Lester said Knight was stupid for being a Christian, and that somebody ought to pound his face for being so stupid.”

  George glanced at his son. “Lester is entitled to his opinion.”

  “Yeah? Then tell him to keep it to himself! I’m not going to stand here and listen to him insult my friend.”

  “Well, don’t stand there,” said George. “Load up your sacks of grain and take ’em home. They’re already on your father’s bill.”

  Jordan’s impulse was to pound George’s face, but he resisted the temptation. Turning away, he went to a small cart and wheeled it to the spot where the grain sacks were piled. Father and son stood and watched while he piled a dozen sacks of oats on the cart, then wheeled it outside and loaded them into the wagon.

  Jordan was still struggling to maintain control of his temper when he returned with the cart to pick up the second load. While he was putting the sacks on the cart, he could hear George speaking in a low voice to Lester, and what words he could pick up were like fiery darts, for George was telling Lester he agreed that Knight Colburn was a fool for being one of those “born-again” types. George added that Knight’s parents were also fools, and a lot of good his religion did Buck when he was facing the stampede.

  Jordan’s breathing was erratic with fury as he wheeled the cart out the door and loaded the sacks onto the wagon. When he was climbing into the seat, father and son appeared at the door, and George said, “You shouldn’t treat Lester like you did today, boy. Don’t you ever threaten to hit him again.”

  Jordan’s eyes turned to the color of slate. He spoke from his built-up anger in a knifelike tone. “If you don’t want him to get punched, then tell him to keep his mouth shut about Knight!”

  George’s eyes widened and his face flushed. Shaking a fist at Jordan, he rasped, “Get outta here! Go on! Get outta my sight!”

  Jordan snapped the reins and turned the wagon around. When he looked back at the spot where George and Lester had stood, they were gone. He put the team in motion again, and as he headed toward the street, red-hot fury was welling up in him. It showed in the lines of his mouth and the flush of his face.

  Suddenly Jordan’s attention was drawn to the pile of dirt and rocks that ran parallel to the ditch that was being dug on the adjacent property. At the moment, the ditch diggers were absent. Pulling rein, he jumped out of the wagon, hurried to the dirt pile and picked up a fist-sized rock.

  Returning to the wagon seat, he guided the team back onto the street, then angled the wagon toward the front of the feed and grain store. As he hoisted the rock to throw it, he was aware that there were people on the street who could see him, and he had a flash of memory about the trouble he had gotten into when he had thrown the rock through Ben Slayton’s window. But he was so angry, he didn’t care.

  Teeth clenched, the sixteen-year-old hurled the rock into the window, shattering it.

  When Jordan Shaw arrived back at the Bar-S, he was still fuming over the incident at the feed store. He pulled the wagon inside the barn and began unloading the sacks and piling them next to the feed bin. He was almost finished when he heard two male voices outside. One of them was his father, but he wasn’t sure who the other man was.

  As he lifted the last sack onto the pile, he turned to see his father entering the barn along with Elkton’s town marshal, Mike Woodard.

  His heart leaped in his chest.

  There was anger on William Shaw’s face, but he held it and let the marshal speak.

  “Jordan,” said Woodard in a tight voice, “I’m arresting you for breaking the window in George Crum’s store.”

  Jordan swallowed hard. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “Marshal, Mr. Crum prodded me into it. Lester started the trouble by saying insulting things about Knight Colburn. Knight is my best friend. Mr. Crum made it worse by also insulting Knight’s widowed mother and dead father. I was just—”

  “That was no cause to break his window,” said Woodard.

  Jordan looked to his father. “Papa, you can’t let him arrest me. I couldn’t just stand there and let those two talk that way. I had to—”

  “Jordan,” William said levelly, “this is the second time you have done something like this in two weeks. I paid Ben Slayton for the hardware store window, and I made bail for you so you wouldn’t have to do time in jail. But this time you’re going to pay George Crum for the window out of your own money, and you’re going to do your time in jail. Maybe it’ll help you learn to control that flinty temper of yours. You shouldn’t have let what Lester and George said about the Colburns cause you to throw a rock through their window.”

  Jordan’s countenance fell.

  “I’m going to keep you behind bars for fourteen days, Jordan,” said the marshal. “I hope it’ll teach you how wrong you were to destroy Mr. Crum’s property.”

  Tears misted Jordan’s eyes. “Papa, please. Please reason with him. I don’t want to go to jail. Please, help me.”

  William’s features were stony. “I warned you last time not to ever do anything like that again. Since you didn’t listen, it’ll do you good to spend two weeks behind bars.” A scowl creased his face. “You’re a shame to this family!”

  Jordan looked away from his father’s blazing eyes.

  Woodard took hold of the boy’s arm. “Let’s go, Jordan.”

  William was still glaring heatedly at his son as the marshal took him out of the barn. When they drew up to the marshal’s horse, Woodard said, “Climb up in the saddle. I’ll sit behind you.”

  Feeling sick inside, Jordan obeyed, and the marshal swung up, reached around him, took the reins, and put the horse to a trot.

  As they rode away, Jordan looked back to see his father standing with arms folded across his chest, still glaring at him.

  JORDAN SHAW HAD BEEN IN HIS CELL for less than an hour when he heard the office door that led to the cell block open, followed by footsteps coming down the narrow hallway. He was sitting on the canvas cot, looking at Willie Beemer in the cell next to him. Willie, who was the infamous town drunk, was known to spend a great deal of time in Elkton’s jail for trouble he caused when he had spent too much time at one of the saloons. He was sleeping soundly. The other four cells were unoccupied.

  When the door opened, Jordan’s attention was drawn that direction. He stood up when he saw who it was. Moving to the bars, he managed a weak smile. “Knight! It’s good to see you.”

  Drawing up to the cell door, Knight said, “Since there isn’t any school today because the teachers are having that special meeting, Mom sent me into town to buy some things at the general store. I ran into Bessie Higgins there, and she told me she saw Marshal Woodard bringing you into town on his horse, and that he took you into the office.”

  Jordan’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t hear about it on the ranch?”

  “No. Anyway, as soon as Bessie told me you were here, I came over. I’ll have to get Mom’s groceries later. Marshal Woodard told me about you breaking George Crum’s window and why. He said I could come back and see you. Jordan, I appreciate your standing by me when Lester spoke against me, but you shouldn’t have let it make you so mad that you tossed that rock through the window.”

  Jordan shrugged. “You’re my best friend. I didn’t appreciate him making fun of you for being a Christian. He said you were stupid, and called you a fool for being one of those born-agains. His dad agreed, saying your parents were also fools, then he made me
really mad when he said, ‘A lot of good Buck’s religion did him when he was facing the stampede.’ ”

  Knight’s eyes misted. “Marshal Woodard didn’t tell me about that.”

  “He doesn’t know about it. I told him that George Crum had insulted your widowed mother and your dead father, but I didn’t go any further with it.” Jordan paused, then said, “Did the marshal tell you he took me to the feed store and made me apologize to George Crum for breaking the window?”

  “Yes. He also told me that your dad said you have to pay for it.”

  “Mm-hmm. I know I lost control of my temper, and I shouldn’t have thrown the rock through the window, but I just couldn’t stand the way they spoke about you and your family. I know I have a problem with my temper and I’ve tried to do better with it, but I can’t seem to keep a level head when I get mad.”

  “Well, again, I really appreciate your loyalty, Jordan,” said Knight, “but I don’t like to see you behind bars because you lost your temper. As you well know, I used to have a real problem with my temper, too, but when I got saved and learned to let Jesus take control in my life, I found that things got a whole lot better. I’d really love to see you open your heart to Him. First, because you need to be saved so you can go to heaven when you die, and second, because the Lord can change you down inside and make things a whole lot better in your life while you’re here on earth.”

  Jordan lowered his head and looked at the floor. “Like I’ve told you, Knight—I’m just not ready to do that, yet.”

  “Well, just what’s it going to take to make you ready? God warns in His Word not to put off salvation, Jordan. If you—”

  Knight’s words were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway that led from the office. Jordan’s head came up, and when the door opened, Knight looked around. Marshal Woodard stepped into the cell block with Sylvia and Lorene Shaw on his heels.

  “Someone else here to see you, Jordan,” said Woodard.

  Both women rushed to the cell and embraced Jordan through the bars. Sylvia had tears in her eyes as she said, “Thank you for coming to see him, Knight.”