“Of course,” returned Samuel, with a chuckle. “We all know this. But what if I told you that I had 4,000 of those ‘exploding bullets’ here in this armory?”
“I would say that this armory is worth more than Glenwood, all the houses, land, crops and everything they could earn in a lifetime,” exclaimed Abel. “One of those bullets would be worth ten good horses, at least!”
“That may be a slight exaggeration,” mused Samuel, as he turned back to the cabinet. He brought out a green metal box marked with yellow letters, and opened it. He held out a shiny brass object that tapered to a copper point. “Here is a cartridge for this rifle. We have fired it enough to know how to use it—always during thunderstorms, by the way. The ammunition is in perfect condition. We have never had a misfire, even though it dates back to before my grandsire’s day.”
“No wonder you feel safe here,” blurted Don. “You could kill a man a mile away with one of those—and you have thousands of them!” It was unbelievable. Everyone had heard that a few cartridges might still exist, but they had no real value in war. Each was simply more valuable than any target that they could be aimed at. Don looked into the box, and it was true. There were hundreds of such brass cartridges in the box, perhaps even a thousand, and he could see several more metal boxes in the open cabinet. There were also two other objects wrapped in oiled cloth, evidently two more rifles.
“Perhaps the ancients could hit a target a mile away,” mused Samuel, looking at one of the shiny cartridges. “We think 300 yards is more realistic. Kelly and I have fired this rifle several times. As you say, since each one of these is worth as least as much as a good horse, we have not fired it often. But we understand how it is aimed and find it highly accurate. It does kick just as the ancient tales recount, and yet, if we held it very still, and carefully triggered it, the shot went true. Here is a shield that we used as a target.”
Samuel showed them a small round shield made of hide-covered wood, with a metal boss in the center. Several holes penetrated the wood, smaller than the end of a finger. The holes pierced the shield cleanly with some splinters torn loose on the back side. One of the holes penetrated the central boss, again going through the thin metal, the leather, and several laminations of wood.
“Clearly, that shield would be no defense,” observed Abel.
“Clearly not,” agreed Don. “But Samuel! Where did you get this, well—this store of bullets? And is this a safe place to hide it? I can’t believe you left it here, guarded only by two elderly women!”
Samuel held up his hand. “All right. All right! Your point is good. As to where we got it—we found it in a cache in an old mine about thirty miles south of here. We were looking for minerals, particularly limestone or gypsum for cement. We dug through a pile of rubble, looking for ore samples, when we saw the corner of a metal box. It proved to contain what you see here.”
“And as far as safety goes—First, the two ladies were not alone. You have not met Kelly, but he is our guardian of this place. But secondly, the only safer place than this would be in Ariel. And we may yet leave this stockpile there. But I have hesitated and will not make any decision until I feel a clear leading.”
“Ariel surely has other rifles that could fire these bullets,” urged Don. “I am not sure what you mean by ‘leading,’ but this one weapon hoard would be enough to defend an entire town. It seems selfish to keep it here.”
“I agree and feel the same way,” agreed Samuel, quietly. He picked up the rifle and pulled a metal fitting to the rear, causing the internal parts to clash with a snick sound. Then he aimed it out of the window for a moment before an audible click was heard. Then he returned it to the table. “But, consider this—have you ever heard of the ‘Dixie Rebellion?’”
“Do you mean the Civil War of centuries ago?” asked Don, puzzled.
“No. I mean a rebellion a few years ago in the southern part of the Prophet’s lands; an area they call ‘Dixie.’”
Don shook his head, negatively, glancing at Abel. “I remember it as being bloody,” said Abel, slowly. “The rebels were ruthlessly suppressed, as I recall. Oh, yes, there were rumors that some of the rebels had firearms that functioned. The Prophet took them all, I suppose.”
“You have the gist of it,” agreed Samuel. “The rebels unearthed an arms cache, and thought that they had to power to resist the Prophet. They unwisely bragged of their weapons and their power and accuracy. One might think that it would have given them some immunity from his tyranny, but it did more harm than good. You see, the Prophet had to capture or destroy those arms. He could not leave them as a threat to his southern border. So he simply sent a huge army down and wiped the rebels out.”
“But, didn’t the firearms give the rebels a great advantage?” asked Don. “They must have caused heavy losses.”
“True, but the more men he lost, the more the Prophet was determined to have the weapons for himself,” returned Samuel, with a sigh. “So the very weapons that the rebels thought would give them freedom, became such an irresistible bait that they caused their death.”
“What happened to the weapons?” asked Abel, picking up the shiny brass cartridge, and spinning it between his fingers. “Did the Prophet capture them?”
“No. The defenders were able to hold them off until they ran out of bullets. So the Prophet only captured some antique rifles, of which he had a huge supply anyway. Worse, the Prophet had some ammunition hoarded, and he used some of that to suppress the rebels. So in the end, he had less ammunition than he had before. We think he has a few hundred rounds, probably, maybe more.”
“You seem so sure of your facts,” commented Don. “How could you know all this?”
Abel and Samuel looked at each other. Abel interjected quickly: “Samuel has his sources, Donald. So do I. We will share them with you at the proper time. Just know that he is remarkably well informed, and that his information is good.” Both of the other men smiled at the thought. Then Samuel’s face turned stern, as he rewrapped the weapon and returned it and the bullets to the locked cabinet. “Remember this,” he said, looking each of them in the eyes. “If the Prophet ever learned that this was here, he would send an army of ten thousand to capture it, just as he did in Dixie. So our best defense is total secrecy, yet I must start sharing secrets with such as you. I will explain more later.” Then they walked back to the cabin to see if supper was ready.
Chapter 16
†
The Ambassador
Lift up a banner on a barren mountain. Call out to them. Wave your hand and they will go through the gates of the nobles. I have commanded My chosen ones; I have also called My warriors, who exult in My triumph, to execute My wrath. Isaiah 13: 2–3 HCSB
Don and Abel walked across the courtyard, a half-step behind Samuel. They climbed the stairs in the tower, passed through the door into the cabin, and then along the hallway, and down the wooden stairs. They found themselves back in the small cabin. The windows made the dining room bright and airy even in the evening. Two women were just lighting some oil lamps over a large table. The table was covered with a white cloth and set with twelve places. Another, smaller table was in the corner with four more plates.
They were first introduced to the two women, who were obviously sisters. The taller was Lynn, Stanley’s wife. Her handshake was firm, and her smile was sweet, but she had little time for small talk. The other was called Betsy, and she was Crispin’s mother.
“I can see that your son must be Crispin,” observed Don, smiling.
“The dimples, right?” she asked with a laugh. Don had to confess that it was the dimples, indeed, that had given her away. She was obviously the talker in the group. “So you are Donald, the lore-man. I would have thought that at least you would have had more sense than to drag these girls out of a sickbed. Whatever possessed you to hurry them up here—I just don’t understand!
”
As she finished, with her hands on her hips, she saw Crispin being admitted through the front door. “There’s that scamp, now,” she added.
“Later, Mama,” laughed Crispin, walking in the front door. “Uncle Stanley just got in. But you had better close the shutters, the light can be seen for forty miles.”
“You close them, dear,” returned Betsy. “Then wash up for supper. We are almost ready to put it on the table. Have you seen Kelly?”
“No, but I saw his tracks. He is scouting to the east, I think,” said Crispin, as he started around the cabin, closing the shutters. Don followed the others into the kitchen and took turns washing. Don was sorry that he had not changed his clothes and looked at himself ruefully.
Lynn caught his look just as she was putting a hot pan of biscuits on the top of the wood-burning kitchen range. “Donald,” she said sweetly. “We won’t be starting to eat for a few minutes. If you want to change clothes, you would have time. I think the wardrobe in your room has clean clothing that would fit you. But you are fine, the way you are.”
Don thanked her, and walked back to his room. He peeled off his clothes, gave himself a quick rubdown with a damp cloth, and tried on the clothing. The shirt was a bit too big, but the trousers were a good fit. When he returned, the tables were filling up. Lynn was organizing the seating, and the girls had already made their entrance. Rachel gave him a quick smile and took his hand. She was dressed in a simple long-sleeved light blue dress, with a bit of white lace at the collar and cuffs.
“Glad to see you,” said Don, smiling. “Are you staying in the keep?”
“Not me,” she said, with a little toss of her head. “Betsy said it is too cold. We have nice rooms in the big cabin. Amber and I are sharing a room.”
Lynn touched Don’s elbow. “I’d better set the two of you across from each other so you can talk.” As she directed them to their seats, she pointed to a black-haired man standing by the smaller table. “Have you met Kelly?”
Lynn introduced them, and Don shook his hand. Kelly was slightly taller than Don, and probably twenty-five pounds heavier, but certainly did not look fat. He greeted Don with a quick grin that vanished as quickly as it came. “Glad to know you. And double glad that these fair ones made it safely! Let me know how I can help!” He patted Don’s shoulder as if congratulating him. Don murmured a few polite words; then they went to their respective seats.
There were two vacant seats at the table. Lynn had put the six girls, Don, Samuel, Abel, and Betsy at the big table. She sat at the foot of the table, and Stanley at the head, as the host and hostess. Eric, Bobby, Crispin and Kelly sat at the smaller table. After a blessing, the platters of food began to be passed. And there was plenty of food: roast elk, beans, biscuits, potatoes, gravy, carrots, onions, and apple pie for dessert. But Don missed Carla’s bright red hair, and Sara was also missing.
“Where are Carla and Sara?” he asked Rachel, as the food was served.
“Both asleep,” she answered. “We will take them something later. We are all tired, but they are exhausted.”
“You poor lambs,” said Betsy. “Now—we know that you are tired, but you should try to eat something. I just don’t know what these men were thinking of!”
Jane nodded agreement, but Amber spoke up. “We are just so glad to be here, ma’am,” she said, quietly. “I’m sure these men were only trying to protect us! And, well—escape is a thousand times better than comfort. Do you know what I mean?”
“Of course we do, dear,” replied Betsy. “Of course. What a terrible ordeal. I think some of you are catching cold, too. The House of Healing is such a reservoir of infection!”
Don had noticed that Rachel had been coughing a little, and her eyes did look red. But she began to eat with a good appetite. He realized that he was also hungry. He had not had a meal like this in a long time and tried to do it justice. When he finished a second piece of apple pie, he noticed Rachel’s head was nodding. “Time for you to go to bed, sleepyhead,” he said softly.
Betsy picked up on this at once. “Donald is right. You must be simply worn out. I think we should excuse the young ladies. So say your good nights—we’ll get you settled and look in on the other two. Stan, there is coffee in the kitchen. Maybe you could pour it for anyone that wants some.” At that, Betsy and Lynn escorted the four girls away from the table to the stairs.
†
Don helped clear the table and noticed for the first time that the plates were all fine china, although not a matched set, they were un-chipped—obviously antiques. Nothing that nice was being made in recent times, he knew. The silverware was the same, all antique sterling. He commented on it to Samuel.
“Antiques they are,” agreed Samuel. “But sometimes there is no harm in buying the best. It was no more trouble to bring nice china up here than poor crockery. Oh—we have tin plates too, which we use for every day. But for special occasions, Lynn and Betsy like to have nice things. And so … It pleased me to see them happy.”
They stacked the dishes and coffee in hand they moved to the sitting room. Stanley lit an oil lamp. Don sat in a comfortable chair and enjoyed the treat of a good cup of well-brewed coffee. As Stanley and Samuel talked with Kelly about the events of the last few days, Don kept thinking about Rachel. Clearly, they had to see that the girls were returned to their grieving families as soon as possible. They had to rest a few days, of course, until they had recovered from their hardships. Perhaps they should send a messenger to Stonegate—but on the other hand, if the captives could be returned within a week, was a few days’ notice worth the risk of sending a messenger?
Don’s head also began to nod as he finished his coffee. “Donald,” said Samuel. “You had best go on to get some sleep. But before you go, let me ask you one question.”
Don stretched and yawned. “Of course.”
“Remember that Deborah wants to join us. You know her. Do you agree that we should let her come to Owl Hollow? Would she cause problems here?”
Don hesitated before answering. It was an excellent question. “Problems could be possible,” he said, finally. “She may have an agenda of her own, and that could cause friction. But she certainly has helped me several times, even saving my life. So, I can’t speak against her coming, if it means her safety.”
“How much trouble could she cause?” asked Abel. “Certainly, we should be able to deal with any friction if that is all we need fear. Can we trust her?”
“Trust her, yes,” returned Don. “I do not think you need worry about that.”
“Fair enough,” said Samuel, standing up and taking Don’s empty cup. “Thanks for your perspective. You may as well call it a day. We’ll be along to bed soon.”
It was not long before Don put his head on his pillow. Sleep came quickly. There were no dreams, not that he remembered.
†
After breakfast, the conversation with Stanley, Samuel and Kelly resumed. They sat on benches in a corner of the courtyard that made up the center of the keep. Abel was busy with his patients, but Don was invited to join the conference. Kelly whittled on a stick of wood, with a wrinkled brow. Stanley sat and sipped a mug of hot cider. The morning was crisp and cold. There were surely several degrees of frost during the night, but the frost was melting. It had also snowed a bit, and a thin layer of white covered the courtyard. Samuel had sent Eric and Bobby away on an errand.
“Donald,” began Samuel. “We need to plan our next step. The girls need to rest, of course. Lynn and Betsy will never let them go until they are stronger.”
“I know,” Don returned. “But they want to return to their homes as soon as possible. Rachel is my chief concern, of course, but they all must have worried, grieving families …”
“Of course they do,” agreed Stanley. “Though several seem to be coming down with a cold.”
“We need to talk with Danny and find out what he has seen,” continued Samuel. “He will have something to say about these matters. Certainly, he has earned a place at our conference table. That is, if we had one.”
Samuel paused and gazed across the courtyard, lost in thought. No one interrupted. The only sound was the drip of snow water into a bucket and the scraping of Kelly’s blade. “I think we must return Amber to Steamboat very quickly, though,” he said at last.
“Why her?” asked Kelly.
“I understand that her father is a wealthy merchant,” returned Samuel. “We have never been able to cement relations with Steamboat, and now may be the time. Also, the trail leads over the mountains, and snow could block the way at any time.”
Don had heard of Steamboat. It was a town to the north, somewhat isolated. Don had assumed that it was firmly in the orbit of the Prophet since it has no history of resistance to him. Even the most western line of watch towers, erected to warn the free cities, were well to the east of the valley where the city was said to lie. “Isn’t Amber’s town a friend of the Prophet?” he asked.
“Not so, Lore-man,” returned Samuel. “They of Steamboat trade with him and his followers, and offer no resistance to the movements of the Raiders or any of the Prophet’s forces, for that matter. No doubt some who live there are the Prophet’s followers. But the town is walled, with town guns, and it has never been occupied by the Prophet’s troops. They have tried hard not to be an enemy of the Prophet, though.”
Stanley smiled. “Perhaps when we return Amber, we can get an audience with the leadership. It is a great opportunity.”
The Stonegate Sword Page 30