The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  “Friend Stan and I have been setting up a hideout for several years now,” continued Samuel. “You see, about forty years ago, a beetle epidemic killed the spruce trees in a forest some distance away on the other side of this ridge—which we call the Hogback.” He paused and began to sketch a map in the ground next to the fire. “The beetle killed most of the trees. The very young ones were untouched, and a few individuals somehow were spared, but most of the stand was lost. The dead trees have been falling for years now, and the whole area is a maze of fallen logs, sometimes four or five deep. Many young trees, up to forty years old, have grown up and the grove looks like a forest again. But it is nearly impassable. And that is good.”

  “The meadow in the middle of the stand of timber is hard to approach,” continued Samuel. “There is a cabin in a small basin that we call Owl Hollow. And that cabin is our place of refuge. It is very difficult to find, unless you know the paths through the jumble of fallen trees. It provides almost as good a barrier as a city wall. Men can move through it, but very slowly and with great difficulty. Horses cannot pass except on our trails—and we make sure they are hard to see.”

  “Surely there must be herders up here—with sheep or cattle,” asked Don. “Hunters, wanderers, scouts. How could this cabin stay hidden for very long?”

  “When I found it, twenty years ago, it was in poor condition. A few might remember that the ruin was there. But I blocked all the trails, or nearly so, and spent a year there, working on it, fixing it up.”

  Samuel paused and took a sip of coffee, staring into the flames. “I was younger then, and my needs were few and simple. I had a bag of silver that Ariel had given me for services rendered. That gave me enough for food, tools, and supplies. So I rebuilt the cabin, and even added to it. There is a stony ridge behind the cabin that has good granite, and there were some friends of mine from Ariel and Bethuel. Anyway, they joined me there later and amused themselves for the best part of another year in constructing a stone—wing. What do you call it, Stan?”

  “It is really a keep,” replied Stan. “But it looks like a wing, I suppose. The main thing is, it is fireproof. Even if the cabin were to burn, the keep would still stand. And there is a well inside that would provide plenty of water. So it is quite a safe place, even if someone were to find our trail through the log-jumble. We could hold off any small band of Raiders, for quite a long time.”

  “Stanley is one of my friends from Ariel, that I mentioned,” continued Samuel. He gave a little smile. “You probably had figured that out. It is a big country up here, and even though plenty of people pass by, we think the secret of the cabin is safe. We do take great pains to hide our tracks, as you will see. And we don’t usually ride in or out in daylight. Tomorrow will have to be an exception, but the Diné are scouting for us. They will make sure that no one is watching.”

  Eric spoke for the first time. “Is there room at the cabin for all of us?”

  “Bless you, boy!” exclaimed Stan. “This cabin has sprawled out over the years! We could sleep thirty there easily enough. And if you’re worried about food, don’t be. We have enough beans, corn and oats to feed you for a year. You may get tired of the diet, but you wouldn’t starve.”

  Stan took a last drink of his coffee, then tossed the last few drops on the fire. “I think our lunch is about ready,” he observed. “Samuel hasn’t mentioned it, but my wife, her sister and my nephew and I have all been livin’ at Owl Hollow for the last year. We sort of take care of the place, even though I reckon that it truly belongs to Samuel.”

  “Oh, don’t talk nonsense,” interrupted Samuel, gruffly. “It is as much yours as mine. All I ask is a bed when I need it, and maybe a hideout for a few friends.” He smiled at the last and winked at Don. “I think you will like this place, Lore-man. And our friend can make things happen in short order, as you can see!”

  Don glanced toward Samuel and nodded. Then he looked at of the grove of fir to the south and saw a figure moving. He pointed with a quiet gesture. Samuel’s and Stanley’s eyes met. “My nephew,” said Stanley. “He’ll join us here for lunch. And speaking of lunch …”

  Stanley rose, took a pair of tongs, and lifted the metal lid of a black kettle. A delicious aroma came out with the steam. Don could smell onions and juicy roast meat. Without fuss, Stanley began to lay out the meal. He sat the kettle on the edge of the fire and began arranging metal plates and spoons on a nearby sheet of canvas. The moving figure had resolved itself into a teenage boy, striding rapidly toward the tent. He was nearly beardless, with dark brown hair, under a green cap with a short bill, a brownish rough-woven shirt and dark brown trousers. He wore high-topped boots and carried a short sword on his right hip. The main thing Don noticed was the crossbow. It was metal with a wooden stock and seemed to be lovingly cared for. The young man gave a cheery smile to the ladies inside.

  “Lunch is ready,” called Stanley. “I should’ve known the tapeworm would be here, right on time.”

  “Such an unflattering name,” teased the young man. “Can I help it if I am a growing boy?”

  “A cheeky scamp, more like it,” grumbled Stanley. “Before he embarrasses me, let me present my nephew, Crispin. He does little but run and eat and shoot that crossbow o’ his.”

  “A man must concentrate on a few things that he does really well, Uncle Stan,” returned Crispin. He gave a salute to the group. “Well met, I am sure!”

  The others introduced themselves, as Abel rejoined the group. There was a wash basin nearby, and he began soaping his hands. Everyone lined up to follow suit, and Stanley took a smaller pan of hot water and some cloths into the tent for the ladies.

  It did not take long to serve the lunch. Most of the party went through the line and filled their own plates. But three of the girls were so worn out that they simply rested on mats inside the tent, and Abel and Stanley saw that everyone had a steaming plateful. Rachel felt well enough to come out and eat by the fire, as did Margaret and Amber. The other three ate a little, but did not stir from the tent.

  The meal was delicious. Besides an elk stew with potatoes, onions and carrots, there were biscuits, butter, jam, honey, a corn and chile pudding, cheese, dried fruit and an apple pastry for dessert. There was cold water and cider to drink, besides the coffee. Don sat next to Rachel as they ate. Neither said much, but Don could not stop looking at her. He teased her about how dirty her nose was on the night they were rescued. She retorted that his day-old beard had looked like a wild man’s—not at all like the neatly shaven lore-man she had last seen. They smiled and looked into each other’s eyes.

  Crispin quickly proved to be a hit with the ladies. He filled his plate and joined the three in the tent, and soon had them laughing; weakly, it was true, but still laughing. “I must confess,” he said, with a happy grin, “that I am the fastest runner, the best tracker and the best shot with a crossbow in these parts. Ladies also find me witty and charming and—”

  “Humble?” asked someone. It sounded like Jane’s voice. Rachel giggled and blew some specks of food onto the fire.

  “Hardly that,” put in Stanley, in a resigned voice. “He’s a sassy pup. Pay him no mind.”

  “Now, now,” came a cheery retort. “I’m not boasting. Simply telling them the simple truth. They will find it out sooner or later, so why not now? But tell me about yourselves. You seem to have the urge to wander.”

  “Hardly that, good sir,” returned Carla. It was the first thing Don had heard her say in hours. “We were invited to travel at sword point. And the swords seem to still be against us, even though they are not to be seen. But if you are such a good scout, why are you not off with the Diné?”

  “Oh, yes, well I am glad you asked,” came the quick response. Then he whispered something in her ear. She giggled some more. Don looked over his shoulder, and saw Crispin’s cheeky grin. He even has dimples. That was Don’s th
ought, and it was true. Crispin had a dimple in each cheek that showed when he smiled. And he was always smiling, it seemed.

  And so it went for another hour. They relaxed and most even took a short nap, finding pieces of shade where they could. Crispin soon bade them farewell with much joking and hand-kissing of the girls, and then jogged on foot back to the crest of the hill where he was soon out of sight. Danny and two of his friends rode in, and ate a quick meal, then departed just as quickly.

  Eric and Bobby watered and checked over the horses while the rest helped clean the dishes and put the camp in order. Samuel explained that Stanley would not break camp until later. Some more scouts would probably take a meal, and Crispin would watch the trail for a few hours. The main party would continue on, with all possible speed, but they could not arrive in Owl Hollow until long after dark. All agreed that although it would be best to get the girls to a real house as quickly as possible, they would have to camp out tonight.

  “Unfortunately, it is a good forty-five, maybe more like fifty miles to the cabin from the House of Healing,” explained Samuel. “I have ridden it in one long day, with a good horse, but it is not possible to go that fast with our invalids. We have come over fifteen miles, and there is another camp set up about fifteen miles from here. That will make the ride tomorrow an easy one. We should be there tomorrow by the early afternoon.”

  “I will ride with you and show you tonight’s camp,” said Abel. “I helped set it up yesterday. It is not as easy to find as this one. The Diné helped us, and they are very good at making a camp that is hard to see. Besides, I want to keep an eye on my patients.”

  They explained the plan to the girls. Jane and Sara made no attempt to hide their displeasure at having to ride so far. Both insisted that they felt perfectly safe where they were and asked why could they not remain for at least another day and rest. Carla said nothing. Amber finally told them quietly that she had no wish to take chances and would walk barefooted the rest of the way if necessary to stay out of Balek Brown’s hands.

  “You heard the same stories as I,” she insisted, firmly. “He will never quit looking for us! I will not feel safe until I am back home. I certainly do not feel secure where we are. So quit complaining!”

  After that outburst, the group fell silent and began to collect their belongings. Bobby and Eric re-saddled the girl’s horses. Abel was riding the mule, and he saddled his mount himself. He had a plain black saddle with breast collar, breeching, and large saddlebags marked with red crosses.

  Rachel made a point of thanking Abel and Stanley for their many kindnesses. Margaret was equally gracious. All the others echoed their thanks, as well, while they were getting mounted. A few minutes later, all were on their mounts, wrapped in their cloaks, and ready to depart.

  They quickly passed over the hogback to avoid being visible on the skyline and then began heading northwest, parallel to the top of the ridge. They followed a game trail and made good time for the first hour. Things began to deteriorate after that, and rests became more frequent. But they all kept gamely on. Even Carla was able to stay on her horse.

  It was dusk when Abel led them into the camp. Again, there was a large tent for the women, and a simple canvas shelter for the men. Everyone had warm wool blankets, which was good, since they could not risk a fire. They tied the horses in the black timber after watering and sharing the half-sack of grain among them. They had a cold meal of wrinkled (but sound) apples, cheese, and sandwiches. The men divided the night into watches, and the rest went to sleep.

  Don took the first watch and moved quietly to the edge of the timber where he could see the valley below. The moon had risen and though it was not full, it shed enough light for him to see quite well. A few dark clouds scudded by, and he could hear an owl hoot. It was a good omen, he decided, since Owl Canyon was their destination. And then what?

  He thought about that question for some time. Of course, the girls would stay there until they had recovered their strength. Then they would have to try to get them safely back to their homes. And then what? What future could he have with Rachel? Could he ever be accepted in Stonegate again? It seemed doubtful. Bringing back the captives, or some of them, would be a good thing, but he did not expect that Gray John would be satisfied. No! He was finished in Stonegate, and Rachel’s brother hated him. How could he share Rachel’s life on her land—he would never be accepted there, either. And what could he offer Rachel elsewhere? She was used to hard work, yet her family lived quite comfortably. He could not imagine her back at Goldstone with his father. Yet she cared for him, of that he was sure. And his feelings for her were deep as the roots of the Western Wall. He was nowhere close to an answer when it was time to awaken Bobby. After shaking Bobby awake and showing him a good place to keep watch, he found his bedroll. Sleep came quickly.

  †

  He dreamed that night that he was running down a dark path in the forest. Both sides of the trail were lined by wolves with long yellow fangs snapping at him. Behind him were Gray John and Howard with swords—chasing him—laughing and running tirelessly. He could see Waverly-stead up ahead, with Lady Wilma in the open doorway, her arms spread in welcome. He was so tired! Then his legs were tangled in something, and he fell. He could feel the tip of the swords against his back. Then he awoke, sweating. His feet were tangled in a piece of canvas. It was still dark, but he heard voices. He sat up and saw Stanley in the moonlight, coming toward the tent.

  “All secure,” said Stanley. “Go back to sleep.”

  Don curled up on the canvas mat and pulled the blanket over him. He did not see how he could go back to sleep. He seemed unable to quit thinking of his past or his uncertain future.

  The morning was crisp, but not freezing. Don had just got back from a cold wash at the spring. His face was cool and his hair still damp when he passed the corner of the tent and saw the young Diné. He had obviously come a long way, and much of it on foot. His face was drawn and sweaty, and streaks of dusty sweat marked his bare arms. His rough cotton shirt was darkened under the arms and in the middle of his back. His feet were muddy and soaking wet to the knee. He had the broad face and stocky build that seemed typical of his fellows. He was kneeling on one knee, head close to Samuel’s, and they were in an earnest conversation.

  It soon became clear that the young man had delivered a message, and that Samuel had merely asked him to repeat it. Don missed most of the repetition, but he heard the words “woman,” and “Raiders.” Samuel asked, “Were any killed?” He seemed to tense like a coiled spring, but he visibly relaxed when the youth shook his head in the negative. “No one killed, sir. Shamed, maybe. And beaten, of course. But not killed, or even bad hurt.”

  Stanley turned from the coffee pot to ask, “Any news?”

  Don walked into camp and asked “What?”

  Samuel raised his hand. “Yes, yes. There is news. But I don’t want to have to tell the story ten times. Stanley, give Billy here something to eat.” He motioned toward the young Diné. He looked to his right and saw a lock of ash-blonde hair—it was Margaret peering out of the tent. “Lady Margaret,” he said to her. “Tell the others that it is high time for them to start moving! We have some news, and I won’t wait more than a few minutes before I spill it.” They soon heard some thuds and moans coming from the tent.

  Don gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, as the party gathered in front of the tent, near the cook fire. There seemed to be no sign of Jane, but Samuel began to tell the news, anyway.

  “We have just heard news about our diversion,” he began. “I don’t know how many of you knew the whole story, but we worked hard to direct the eyes of the Prophet’s Raiders away from us. We sent a wagon with some women in it up the Kolaroo River. We hoped that if anyone was watching the House of Healing, that they would think that you were in the wagon.”

  He paused and looked from face to face. “It now appears
that someone was, indeed watching. Horsemen rode out and blocked their way. The driver and three guards were outnumbered four to one.”

  “I wonder how the riders happened to arrive just then,” commented Abel.

  “I wonder too,” returned Samuel. “But clearly the Raiders went there to recapture some women.”

  The girls flinched at this. “Oh, No!” said Carla, who was obviously feeling stronger. “Will they never leave us alone?”

  Amber looked worried. Her black hair showed a slight reddish highlight as the first glow of dawn struck it. Her hazel eyes were large and liquid. “The Prophet’s arm is long,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, yet musical. “No one in Steamboat, or any nearby land, feels safe from him. With good reason! How we hate him!”

  “I fear,” answered Samuel, “that your rescue has been a bitter pill for Balek Brown. The Prophet, himself, will also be angry when he learns of it, to be sure. But Balek has lost face, and the only way to regain it is to either get you back or—well, perhaps catch and kill your rescuers would help him regain face. But he has to do something. Don’t expect him to give up easily!”

  “Anyway, then the Raiders surrounded the wagon. They disarmed the guards, who did wisely not offer resistance. They quickly determined that the four women in the wagon were all bar girls from Glenwood. Actually, that was not true. One of the girls was Deborah, whom you may know.”

  “Deborah!” exclaimed Don. “That was not in the plan. Is she harmed?” The girls echoed his question.