by Griggs, Winnie; Pleiter, Allie; Hale, Deborah; Nelson, Jessica
“Hurry it up.” McGraw turned his horse away, muttering something about fools and lawmen.
As he galloped up to the back of the blacksmith shop and pulled the black bandana from its nail on a back door post, Clint felt a clumsy prayer gush from his heart. Let Winona see. Keep Lars safe. Spare lives tonight. I’m more than ready to be done with this. With a final glance in the direction of the hill where he knew Winona would be watching, Clint turned his horse toward the end of town where Bryson Reeves waited.
He and the private veered north out of town, following the Cimarron River until they came to the side of the Chaucer property that jutted up against its banks. Full dark was settling in fast. An owl hooted over Clint’s shoulder, a pair of dogs barked at each other from back toward town. The quiet night sounds of Brave Rock would not stay quiet for long tonight.
Reeves swung down off his saddle and pulled a heavy set of wire shears from his saddlebag. “Bend the wire back,” Clint advised when Reeves began snipping random wires to make a hole big enough for cattle.
“There’s hardly time for that,” Reeves balked. “We don’t want it to look obvious.” Obvious was exactly what tonight was.
McGraw really was the brains of the outfit, Clint realized. That was clear enough. “Well,” he countered, “there’s hardly a point to risking scrapes on cattle we might be able to sell later.” Just because the private gave him a blank look, Clint couldn’t help but add, “Anyways, won’t it be obvious once we start shooting?”
Reeves shrugged and kept snipping until Clint swung down off his own horse and began pushing the sharp wire back on itself to make a safe exit. So many things could go amiss here. The further he got into this, the more it was going to take an act of God to come out of this with no men dead.
A shout and burst of light to his left told him the other three had ridden onto Chaucer property and a barn fire had taken hold. Now was the time to make his move.
Keeping his voice casual, Clint pulled his black bandana back up and said, “Time to get going.” As if it were all part of the plan, Clint got on his horse and pulled out his rifle.
Only it wasn’t, and Reeves hollered, “What are you doing?” They were supposed to begin driving the cattle across the river, only heading over to the houses if the signal of two gunshots had been given.
Clint turned his horse in the direction of the three cabins.
Reeves at least had the good sense to look puzzled. “I didn’t hear no gunshots.”
Clint reverted to the oldest trick in the book. “You didn’t hear that?”
Reeves eyed him suspiciously. “I didn’t hear nothin’.”
Clint wasn’t interested in lingering for a debate. “Time to go, Reeves.”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t hear no guns.”
If Clint made it to the cabins in time, there might be no guns to hear. It was a long shot if ever there was one, but tonight was a night for slim chances to succeed. “Suit yourself,” he called over his shoulder as he galloped toward the house.
The familiarity of the scene was like a punch to the gut; Clint found himself barreling through the night toward a fire with lives at stake. If the Chaucers had any sense at all, the barns had been emptied of people and animals, but he couldn’t count on that. He couldn’t count on anything except himself tonight—and maybe a little Divine assistance—and the weight of it pressed down on his lungs with a fierceness that hadn’t ever left since the night of Katrine’s fire.
It had become “Katrine’s fire” in his mind. Not Lars’s fire, or the fire, but a personal event. Over the course of the past two weeks, this had become not just about Brave Rock’s future, but hers. He admitted to himself that he was not rebuilding a cabin for Lars, but for Katrine. It was as if he could not help himself from fixing everything in her life that he could reach, deeply aware of the parts he was helpless to restore. Or ever to bring into being. Today had shown him she’d come to mean more to him than ever was wise. He’d fight tonight to bring McGraw down so the scoundrel could never hurt Katrine again. He’d fight tonight to make Brave Rock a place where Katrine Brinkerhoff could safely raise a family with whatever husband God had in mind for her.
The fact that it couldn’t be him would just have to fester as the wound that it was.
McGraw, Strafford and Wellington—nearly unrecognizable in dark clothes and black bandanas—were circling around the eldest brother’s barn, touching torches to any parts that hadn’t yet caught fire. McGraw had somehow seen fit to dismount his horse and commandeer the Chaucers’ wagon, now filled with tools and items clearly pulled from the barn. So McGraw had decided open thievery suited his tastes as well as scare tactics, had he? Really, was it hard to believe a man capable of burning Lars in his own bed would stop at any crime? Clint could tell by the way McGraw’s head kept turning toward the cabins that if the private felt the barn fire failed to give the Chaucers enough incentive to clear out, one if not all of the homes would be next. Theft, fire, destruction—it was only a matter of time before someone would start shooting.
The thought slid into Clint’s head as easily as he raised his weapon. Might as well be me.
Clint had thought the moment he actually turned on McGraw would feel huge. Momentous and dangerous, like jumping off some kind of a cliff. It didn’t. It felt more like pushing out of a dense forest into a field where the straight path in front of him opened up into clarity. Without a word, without so much as a hitch of breath, Clint kept his horse at its current speed and rode right through the line, sending three bullets into the wagon’s front wheel.
The sharp sound filled the night sky, followed by shouts, a cascade of splintering wood and the whinny of the horse as the wagon crashed off its wheel and pulled everything down. The confusion gave Clint just enough time to yank off his bandana and hat so that his face could be seen, and head full tilt toward the cabins, hoping Chaucer eyes would find him before Chaucer bullets.
Chapter Fifteen
Katrine stared at the spot on the hill where Winona no longer stood watch, feeling as void as the bare landscape. Winona had ridden to Lars, giving the signal to set the drastic events of the night into motion. Everyone Katrine cared about was galloping headlong into danger, and she felt as trapped out here under the open sky as she had inside the burning cabin.
You can pray. You must pray. She knew these truths, but her hands refused to fold and her head would not bow. She paced the grass in front of the church, stared back at the yellow light of the windows, then paced more. Somewhere to her west in the direction of the Chaucer lands, where she could now see a menacing yellow glow begin to flicker over the ridge, a trio of gunshots rang out, and Katrine’s whole body flinched.
Tell someone. The thought shook her to action, as far from her youthful need to keep quiet as Katrine could ever imagine. It was as though she had no choice—this time, staying silent would not, could not stand. Without a shred of hesitation, Katrine ran into Elijah and Alice’s house, banging open the door without so much as a knock.
“Katrine?” Elijah looked up from his chair.
“Guns! At the Chaucer lands. Clint is there, and Lars will be soon.”
“What?” Elijah dropped the book he was holding.
Katrine squinted her eyes shut, her English failing her at a time when she must explain so much so quickly. The sound of two more gunshots filled the air through the open door—a more convincing alarm than Katrine’s words could achieve.
Sending up a wordless burst of prayer for clarity, Katrine tried again. “Lars is not dead. McGraw tried to kill him when he burned our cabin. He’s been hiding because Lars knows McGraw and the other privates are the Black Four.”
Alice rose off her chair. “McGraw? The Security Patrol?”
“Yes.” Katrine tried not to shout, but her heart begged him to hurry with every beat. “It was those four who trapped me in my house and set it on fire. They thought Lars was inside.” Elijah’s eyes widened, and Katrine’s throat tightened in fr
ustration. It was too many details to make sense. She hardly understood it herself. How could she convince Elijah and Alice to lay aside the deception and offer their help? “They are horrible men and Clint is riding with them right now to trap them. Winona went to tell Lars to help the Chaucers before McGraw takes their land and—”
The sound of more gunshots stole whatever words remained, leaving her only to cry “Help!” and clutch the watch that hung from her neck in desperation.
Elijah was already off his chair and reaching for the holster that hung on a peg by the door. “Clint had you keep this from me?”
“If too many knew, it would be more dangerous for Lars.”
“Gracious!” Alice’s hand went to her chest. “Lars is alive?”
The exclamation seemed to feed Katrine’s sense of dread. What good was Lars alive if he was heading into a gun battle at this very moment? What if he and Clint both lay dying at the hands of that terrible Sam McGraw? Her eyes went to the reverend. “We must do something!”
Elijah’s eyes took on a hardened quality Katrine had never seen the man display. “Alice, gather a basket of medical supplies. I’m going to get Gideon. Evelyn can stay here with Katrine while we sort this out.” For one brief second he stilled, his eyes boring straight at Katrine. “McGraw. You’re sure? Clint is certain?”
More shots rang out and someone in the distance shouted, “Fire over west!”
Sure enough, Katrine’s next breath nearly choked at the faint scent of smoke. “Yes!”
Elijah finished the buckle on his holster and grabbed his wife’s hand. “Then Heaven help us all tonight. Alice, bring the wagon as soon as Evelyn arrives, but stay back behind the pond. I’ll send injured folks to you or send a messenger if it’s safe to come onto the Chaucer land.”
Katrine and Alice stood staring at the open doorway as Elijah raced out, mounted his horse and galloped into the darkness.
Alice’s fingers trembled as she grabbed Katrine’s elbow. “Samuel McGraw and his men are the Black Four? How could they do such things?”
All the fear and anger Katrine had been struggling to hold in check seemed to roar out of control, licking at her like the fire that had devoured her house. “Because he is an awful, terrible, heartless man!” She put a hand to her forehead, ashamed of her own outburst but beyond being able to control it. “And he is shooting at Lars and Clint while we are standing here doing nothing!”
An efficiency settled behind Alice’s eyes. “We will not sit here and do nothing. We have medical supplies to pull together and Evelyn will be here any moment. Your ordeal ends tonight, Katrine. God willing, our men will put a stop to the Black Four for good.” She put her hands on both of Katrine’s shoulders. “And Lars lives! I shall pinch Clint Thornton’s ear until he hollers for putting us all through that—right after I hug him for saving so many lives.” She undid the apron around her waist and picked up a lantern, heading for the infirmary. “Come now, let’s go. We can pray while we stock my bags.”
They had barely gotten the wagon hitched and the infirmary lanterns lit when Evelyn’s voice came from the yard. Katrine rushed to the window in the vain hope that either Lars or Clint had come as well, despite the foolishness of that idea. “In here!” she called to Evelyn, waving her away from the cabin and into the infirmary.
Evelyn burst through the door, eyes wide and out of breath. “McGraw? The other cavalrymen? It can’t be true, can it?” Her hand went to Katrine’s. “And Lars is alive? I can barely take it in.”
“My brother has come out of hiding to help save yours,” Katrine said, grasping Evelyn’s hand tightly. “These are dangerous men. I am worried for all of them.”
“Our men are brave and strong and in the right,” Alice declared as if the very words sent protection to Gideon, Elijah, Clint and Lars. “God defends the faithful. He is on the side of justice. That’s what we must try to remember.” Alice selected three bottles from the shelf and packed them alongside the bandages. She handed canteens to Katrine. “Here, fill these with the water from that jug over there and cap them off as tightly as you can.”
Katrine was grateful to have a task. As she ladled the water from the large jug into the set of small flasks, she begged God to keep Lars and Clint from harm. I will tell Clint how I feel and what I’ve done, she told her Lord. I will tell Lars what happened that night. I will trust in the truth and in You. Only give me the chance. She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, pushing away the thought that such a chance might never come. “Gud nade,” she prayed, aloud, falling into Danish. “Gud nade.”
Evelyn raised a dark eyebrow, more in tender curiosity than any kind of judgment. It was the first time Katrine noticed that Evelyn’s eyelashes were wet also. All of her brothers were in danger as well as her husband.
“God have mercy,” Katrine translated, tightening the last cap with resolve. “God have mercy on them all.”
“Amen to that,” Alice replied, taking the last flask from Katrine and closing her bag. “Keep on praying and don’t stop. If we are very fortunate, no lives will be taken tonight and we’ll have much to celebrate in the morning.” She ducked out the door and deposited her bag in the wagon bed. “I’ll try to make sure word reaches you as soon as I can. Tend to each other now, and boil some water so we’re ready to treat the wounded here.”
“I pray we won’t need it,” Evelyn said, looking toward the western ridge and the ominous orange glow that burned through the dark sky.
“You never know—someone might want to boil Samuel McGraw before the night is over.” Alice settled herself in the wagon seat and snapped the reins. “To think how much we all trusted them to be keeping the peace, not stealing it.”
“Gud nade,” Katrine called as Alice rumbled off toward the chaos.
“God have mercy,” Evelyn repeated, the tears finally winning over whatever calm she had left.
*
“Where have all those guns come from?” Reid Chaucer yelled as he reloaded his pistol with his back to the wall. The orange glow of the barn fire cast the cabin in long, flickering shadows.
“They have government supplies stocked up all over the territory,” Clint called back, his memory cataloguing every place he’d met the cavalrymen and how Lars had come across crates of ammunition. The more he uncovered the depths of these men’s evil, the more astonished he grew that Lars and Katrine were still alive.
Lars had not died. Katrine had not died. The marvel in that stuck to his soul, an antidote to some of the dark corners that had stolen his faith in recent years. All Clint had to do now was live through the next few hours.
That, and fight back the four varmints who currently had him and the Chaucer brothers outgunned, cornered and close to burning down. Anytime You’d like to show that Mighty Hand of Yours, Lord, I’d be obliged.
The volley of bullets died down for a moment as the Black Four—it made no sense to call them soldiers anymore, they were a bandit gang if not far worse— reloaded or moved closer. Clint peered through the window opening and found a shadowy target. Just before his finger pulled the trigger, a yell and Lars’s whistle signal broke the temporary quiet. Strafford cried out, clutched his leg and tumbled from his horse.
Clint’s jaw dropped as not only did Lars’s tall frame appear out of the smoke, but Gideon’s and Elijah’s, as well. As the gang whirled in surprise to meet the attack from behind, Theo Chaucer slipped out of the woodshed to pull Bryson Reeves down off his mount and knock the private out cold. As Clint pushed out the door, Gideon pointed to the side of the house in just enough time for Clint to send the butt of his rifle into Jesse Wellington’s chest. Half a minute more, and Wellington might have breeched the cabin door and killed both Clint and Reid with the pair of pistols he flaunted in his hands. Clint looked up toward the Heavens, sent up a silent Thank You kindly, and pulled a length of rope from his belt to tie Wellington’s hands behind his back before he got even a bit of his wind back.
Reid stormed up to We
llington from behind Clint, his hand drawn back for a solid punch. Clint caught the fist midair. “Hold on there, fella. There’ll be time enough for pleasantries later. Right now we’ve got a fire and animals to deal with. Drag him onto the porch and line him up with McGraw.” Thankfully, it hadn’t been hard to nab McGraw once one of the splintered wagon spokes had gashed his leg wide open. “No need to be gentle, but keep your temper in check for now.”
Looking up, Clint whistled through his teeth. “Gideon! They’re driving the cattle over toward the river. They’ve cut the fence.”
Always the best Thornton with animals, Gideon didn’t need any further instruction. “On it!” He wheeled his mount around and headed off in the direction of the riverbank.
Turning back toward the porch, Clint found Reid and Theo knotting off the ropes that bound McGraw’s feet. “We ought to send ’em into the barn to fight the fire!” Reid sneered, clearly hoping the barn would come down on these foes.
The darker part of Clint welcomed the visual of McGraw trapped in smoke just as he’d done to poor Katrine, but sense prevailed. “Not a smart idea,” he counseled, realizing his left hand was covered in blood. Somehow in the battle he’d reopened the gash he’d received pulling Katrine to safety. “Can’t risk these sneaky louts running off in the confusion.” Clint paused and gave McGraw his meanest scowl. “They’ll get what’s coming to them, I promise you that.”
“Look out!” came a cry as the east side of the barn gave way with a hideous groan. Sparks flew everywhere, and the next minutes were lost in a fury of water buckets, beating blankets and smoke. Lars and Clint fought back the fire side by side, their only greeting a quick, sweat-streaked smile between buckets of tossed water.