Measure of Grace

by Al Lacy

  Jordan’s features were white. “But you can’t hold me like that. It’s not right. You’ll just get yourself into trouble with the law, and—”

  “No, we won’t,” said Decker. “Keith and I are plannin’ on leavin’ Idaho in a couple of months. Before we go, we’ll leave you tied up in a secluded cave we know about. It’s about two thousand feet higher than where we stand, right up there close to Castle Peak. By the time you work yourself free, we’ll be long gone. Ain’t nobody gonna find us. But it’ll sure feel good knowin’ we made your pa hurt inside, thinkin’ you were dead.”

  “Please,” said Jordan. “Don’t do this. It’ll make my mother and sister suffer, too.”

  “Can’t help that,” said Decker.

  “Please. Don’t put them through this,” begged Jordan.

  “It’s gonna happen, kid,” said Nolan, “so you might as well shut your mouth about it.”

  Jordan saw it was of no use to beg them. They felt no compassion toward anyone in his family. He remained mute while Decker and Nolan bound his hands behind his back, and tied him to a tree. Leaving him there, they took over two hours to go down to where they left the horses and the mule. He watched while they hefted the dead deer onto the mule’s back, then they hoisted him into Decker’s saddle. Decker swung up behind him, Nolan mounted his own horse, and with William Shaw’s son their captive, they rode down the trail.

  An hour later, near the old abandoned cabin, a young but huge cinnamon-colored grizzly wandered out of the forest, moving silently in spite of his great size. Sniffing the air, he followed the scent that had first met his nostrils some distance higher up, carried by the cool breeze.

  When he saw the cabin—with which he was familiar—he knew the source of the scent lay in that direction. When he was within a few yards of the cabin, another scent seemed to mingle with the first one, and he stopped. The second scent was unpleasant.

  He rose up on his hind legs, lifting his eight hundred pounds to his full nine-foot height, and studied the area. The second scent was the foul smell of man. He shook his head and snorted to clear his nostrils of it.

  Dropping down on all fours again, he moved closer. When the first scent became stronger, he spotted its source. The red fluid shed by some mountain animal; red fluid that he had tasted and enjoyed many times since growing into maturity from his cub days.

  Moving in closer, he spotted the blood-soaked denim jacket that lay draped over the fallen tree. Hurrying to the spot, the massive bear lowered his head, salivating, and sniffed the jacket. Suddenly the smell of man was so strong, it weakened the blood scent and infuriated him. In a frenzy, he ejected a wild roar, clawed at the jacket, ripping it some, then picked it up with his teeth and headed into the forest toward higher elevation, leaving his fresh tracks in the soft earth.

  The grizzly had gone some twenty yards when he found the man scent too obnoxious and let the jacket fall from his mouth. Leaving it behind, he kept on climbing.

  Late that afternoon, William Shaw and Knight Colburn guided their horses up the steep slope through the forest, searching for the old cabin west of the east fork of the Salmon River and south of Castle Peak. They had come upon other cabins, but none were abandoned.

  Suddenly William spotted a cabin through the trees and pointed with his chin. “I wonder if that’s it, Knight.”

  “Could be,” said Knight, peering at it.

  They soon drew up to the front of the old cabin and dismounted. They entered the cabin and found evidence that someone had been staying in it quite recently. The ashes in the fireplace were still warm and there was beef jerky in the cupboard, along with dried fruit. The battered bucket that sat on the counter had fresh water in it.

  As they moved back outside, William said, “I think this is it, Knight. All the dust in there tells me it hasn’t been used for a long time, yet the fresh food and water and the warm ashes say it has been used quite recently.”

  “Well, if you’re right, sir,” said Knight, “Jordan has to be around here somewhere.”

  Suddenly William’s attention was drawn to the freshly cut wood on the north side of the cabin. “Let’s look over here.” He stepped off the porch, hurrying that direction.

  Knight was quickly beside him.

  When they reached the spot, they saw the ax lying on the ground and the fresh blood on the fallen tree. They noticed the hoof prints, and the boot prints in the soft earth.

  Suddenly Knight gasped and said, “Look! Bear tracks!”

  Both men knelt down and Knight indicated the outline of the twelve-inch-wide indentations in the soft earth. “I wrote about grizzly paws in my newspaper article that Claude Hayward printed, Mr. Shaw. I did a study about grizzlies and other bears for the article. These are grizzly paws.”

  “I read the article,” said William, swallowing hard as he looked back at the blood on the tree. “The grizzly made its kill right here, then apparently took whatever animal it had killed to eat it elsewhere.”

  They studied the other marks in the ground, and both were puzzled about the unmistakable evidence that men and horses had been on the spot recently, but it was impossible to tell whether it was before or after the grizzly made its kill.

  Choking on his words, Knight said, “M-Mr. Shaw … someone—someone was cutting wood right here. The … the ax is still lying on the ground. I … I hate to say this, but the victim may not have been an animal. It could have been whoever was chopping wood.”

  William looked at the blood on the fallen tree in morbid horror. His face lost color. “Oh, it can’t be—it just can’t be! No! Not Jordan! It can’t be!”

  Pointing up the slope toward the northwest, Knight said, “The grizzly’s tracks lead that way.”

  “Let’s follow it,” said William.

  Taking their rifles from the saddleboots and leaving their horses tied to trees, William and Knight headed up the slope toward higher country, following the bear’s tracks.

  Only minutes later, Knight pointed ahead. “Look! It’s something bloody lying on the ground.”

  They hurried together, and when William saw that it: was a shredded, bloody denim jacket, he cried, “No-o-o-o! It can’t be Jordan’s jacket! It just can’t be!”

  With trembling hand, Knight picked it up, pinching it by the collar between his fingers. “I … I’m afraid it is Jordan’s, sir.”

  William Shaw recognized the jacket and knew it belonged to his son. Guilt overwhelmed him as he touched the tattered jacket. “What have I done? I’ve been a stubborn fool. I wouldn’t listen to Sylvia, and now my son is dead!”

  Not knowing exactly what to do, Knight put an arm around the brokenhearted man and patted him on the back. “Mr. Shaw,” he said, “you only did what you thought was best for Jordan. We all understand that.”

  William looked into the compassionate eyes of Knight Colburn and said, “Thank you. Thank you. Knight, I’ve got to find Jordan’s body. I have to.”

  “I understand, sir,” said Knight. He pointed up the trail. “The grizzly apparently took the body to his lair somewhere higher up.”

  With heavy hearts, William and Knight followed the grizzly’s tracks, but were stopped short only minutes later when they topped a rise and found themselves at a stream bank less than a hundred yards from where they had found the jacket. The stream was wide but shallow. They could find no evidence that the grizzly had gone either direction on the bank which was laden with a broad expanse of small rocks, so they waded across to the opposite bank, but could find no evidence there either, for the same reason.

  Desperate to find Jordan’s remains, they went back to the horses, put the jacket in a saddlebag, and rode up and down the stream on both banks until sundown. There was no sign of the grizzly’s tracks nor of Jordan’s body.

  Both men wept as they headed down the trail toward the ranch, dreading to break the horrible news to Sylvia and Lorene.

  “I’ll ride into town first thing in the morning,” said William. “I’ll report this to
Marshal Woodard and ask him to form a search party to help me find Jordan’s remains.”

  At the Bar-S, Sylvia Shaw was in the parlor, upset over Jordan. Mark Hedren was there, trying to be a source of strength to both Lorene and her mother.

  Knowing that no one in the Shaw household was going to be very hungry, Annie Colburn was in the kitchen, preparing a light supper.

  She had already fed the ranch hands and knew that she could always fix more food if Knight and Mr. Shaw came home with Jordan. While her busy hands made quick work of the preparations, she was praying in her heart for a safe return of the men.

  When the meal was ready, Annie left the kitchen and moved up the hallway toward the parlor. She could hear both Sylvia and Lorene weeping, and Mark talking to them in a low, soothing tone. Pausing when she reached the door, Annie observed the scene. Her own heart was still tender and sore over the loss of her adored husband. Tears of sympathy quickly flooded her eyes.

  Dabbing at her cheeks with a hankie, Sylvia noticed Annie standing at the door, wiping tears. Mark and Lorene saw it and turned to look at her.

  Finding her voice, Annie said, “I know it’s getting late, and they’re not back yet, but don’t give up.” She cleared her throat gently. “Supper’s ready. It’s quite simple: only bean and ham soup and brown bread and cheese.”

  Sylvia sniffed and said, “Annie, I’m sorry, but I just can’t eat anything right now.”

  “I understand, honey,” said Annie, “but you must keep up your strength for when your husband and son return.”

  Sylvia nodded, sniffed again, dabbed at more tears, and stood up. “You’re right, Annie. I’ll try. You’re making tea, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. The kettle is boiling.”

  “Good. Hot tea does sound inviting.” Then she said to the others, “How about you two?”

  “Maybe we can get some of that soup down,” said Mark, rising to his feet and offering Lorene his hand. “How about it, honey?”

  “I’ll try,” she said, taking his hand.

  At that instant, they heard the back door open.

  “It’s them!” Sylvia gasped, hurrying through the parlor door past Annie, and dashing down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Annie followed, with Mark and Lorene on her heels.

  When they entered the kitchen, they found a gray-faced pair staring at them with sad eyes.

  Sylvia felt her heart straining against the paralyzing terror that leaped into her chest. Her eyes were round in the ashen pallor of her skin. “Oh no! You found Jordan! He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  William took Sylvia in his arms, and Knight went to his mother.

  Holding Sylvia tight, William said, “We—we didn’t find Jordan, honey, but we found evidence that something terrible happened to him.”

  “What? What happened to him?”

  Guiding her to one of the kitchen chairs, William said, “Here. Sit down. I’ll tell you about it.” Then to his daughter he said, “Here, Lorene. You’d better sit down, too.”

  “Come on, Mom,” said Knight, guiding Annie to another chair. “You sit down, too.”

  William sat down on a chair so he could look at Sylvia and hold her hands, and while Mark held onto Lorene and Knight kept a hand on Annie’s shoulder, he told them the story.

  When he finished, Sylvia gripped his hands. “It just can’t be, William! It just can’t be! Maybe the jacket is just one similar to Jordan’s.”

  “No, honey,” William said sadly, “it’s Jordan’s, all right.”

  “I want to see it!”

  Shaking his head, William said, “Honey, no. You don’t want to look at it. It’ll just upset you worse.”

  “I want to see the jacket!” Sylvia said, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  William sighed and started to rise.

  “I’ll get it, Mr. Shaw,” said Knight, and dashed out the back door.

  Annie moved to Sylvia, bent down, and kissed her cheek. “I’m here for you, honey,” she said softly.

  Sylvia patted Annie’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Then turning to Lorene, Annie bent down and kissed her cheek, saying the same thing. Lorene wiped tears and thanked her.

  William said, “This is all my fault, Sylvia. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, and had shown our son more love and understanding, this whole nightmare wouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry. So sorry. I hope you and Lorene can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

  “Papa,” said Lorene, “you were only trying to teach Jordan to do right toward others. Maybe you could have gone at it a little differently, but you were doing what you felt was best. Please don’t punish yourself.”

  “She’s right, dear,” said Sylvia. “Don’t punish yourself.”

  Knight’s footsteps were heard on the back porch, and Sylvia tensed up. When he came through the door bearing the bloody, tattered jacket, she felt a cold prick her skin.

  Moving up close to her, Knight held the jacket so she could get a sufficient look at it. He let her see the front, then turned it so she could see the back. Turning the front of the jacket toward her once more, he said, “It’s Jordan’s all right, ma’am.” His voice was hollow, like the tail end of an echo.

  Sylvia let out a wail and broke into deep, mournful sobs.

  Supper was forgotten.

  While the others stayed with Sylvia, Mark rode to town and brought Dr. Philip Warner back with him. The doctor immediately gave Sylvia a strong sedative, telling her it would take effect within half an hour and would help her to get some sleep.

  The doctor told William to send for him again if he was needed.

  Sylvia clung to her husband. Never once did she utter a word of blame toward him. She told herself William was blaming himself enough. She would not add to his misery.

  Holding Sylvia tight, William ran his eyes to the others, then looked back at Sylvia. “I’ll go to Marshal Woodard in the morning, show him the jacket, and ask him to form a search party to help me find Jordan’s remains.”

  “I’ll be part of that search party, Mr. Shaw,” spoke up Mark Hedren.

  “Good,” said William. “Thank you.”

  “Mom,” said Knight, “may I go along, too? I realize it will take me out of school for whatever time we’re gone, but—”

  “It’s all right, son,” said Annie. “If the tables were turned, Jordan would do it for you.”

  “Thank you, Mom,” said Knight, patting her cheek lovingly. “I’ll catch up on my schoolwork as soon as we get back.”

  “I appreciate your letting him go with us, Annie,” said William. “Knight has proven over and over that he indeed was Jordan’s best friend.”

  Sylvia was fighting the effects of the sedative, but the stronger force of the medicine was winning the battle. Everyone saw that Sylvia was getting drowsy.

  Annie said, “Mr. Shaw, if you’ll help Sylvia to the bedroom, I’ll tuck her in.”

  Sylvia’s eyes were droopy as William carried her to their room. Annie hurried ahead and turned down the covers. Lorene followed, and as her father laid her mother on the bed, she said, “I’ll stay with her, Papa.”

  “No need for that, child,” said Annie. “You and your papa need some time with each other. You go on back to the parlor. I’ll stay with your mama.”

  Both William and Lorene thanked her and left the room.

  Sylvia was already asleep. Annie pulled the covers up over her, then slid the rocking chair that sat by the window up next to the bed and eased into it.

  As she rocked silently back and forth, Annie whispered to the Lord, praying for this family who so desperately needed Him. She and Buck had talked to the Shaws on several occasions after they were saved, trying to make them understand their own need for salvation, but they had politely told her they had their own ideas about life, death, and eternity.

  “Please, dear Lord,” Annie prayed aloud, “let this tragedy work in their hearts and minds so it will result in them receiving You as their Saviour.”

&n
bsp; Back and forth she rocked, her work-worn hands clasped tightly in her apron-clad lap.

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Marshal Mike Woodard held Jordan Shaw’s tattered, bloody jacket in his hands with his young deputy, Bob Price, looking on.

  Shaking his head, Woodard looked at William Shaw, Knight Colburn, and Mark Hedren. “There’s no way Jordan can still be alive.”

  “We’ve accepted that, Mike,” said William, his voice breaking. “Sylvia and Lorene had a hard time with it, but they know all we can hope for is to find Jordan’s remains.”

  “I understand,” said Woodard. “Not until the remains are found can it come to closure in your hearts and minds. I’ll go to work on it right away. I’d say if we could get another four men, the search party would be the right size. I’ll leave Bob here to watch over the town while I’m gone.”

  William nodded. “I’d say eight would be enough. It might get cumbersome if we have too many.”

  “Right. Since it might take a few days, you fellows pack up some food and bedrolls for yourselves and wait at the ranch. It won’t take me very long to come up with four more volunteers. See you in a couple of hours or so.”

  At the same time William, Mark, and Knight were riding out of Elkton toward the Bar-S, Ace Decker and Keith Nolan were about to leave Jordan Shaw sitting on the floor of the room in their cabin they called his cell, and go to work at the sawmill.

  Jordan’s boots had been removed and his right ankle was chained to a post, with just enough length to allow him access to the food, water pitcher, and chamber pot close by. The chain was fastened securely to his ankle with a four-inch bolt through the links, and the nut was so tight it would be impossible to remove without pliers and wrench like the ones used by Nolan to put it on.

  Since the room was on the front side of the cabin, Decker pulled the window shade down so anyone passing by on the road could not see in. He chuckled and said, “Well Jordan, ol’ pal, we’ll see you this evenin’. You have yourself an enjoyable day.”