Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  I’ll help Vince make it—and without shooting Duvall.

  So firm was his resolve that he walked to the table, poured water from the pitcher into the basin, then picked up his shaving brush. Quickly he lathered his face, then shaved the two-week beard with hard, even strokes.

  When he was finished, he looked at himself, feeling a satisfaction. Vince would be angry, but it set the timetable back by two weeks. Jake lay down again, looked at his watch, and saw that it was only a little after midnight. He lay there thinking. How does one force a man to face up to his life?

  He could find no answers, but he pinned his hopes on what Vince had said: “I sometimes wish my family thought a little better of me.”

  Then he went to sleep, determined to stick with Vince and somehow make him see that Vince himself was the only one who could make that come to pass.

  CHAPTER 4

  A MIDNIGHT CALLER

  Jake awoke coughing, almost strangling, and when he sat up, he gagged instantly, for the smoke that filled the room was thick.

  In one terrifying moment, the thought came to him: The hotel’s on fire!

  The thought screamed silently in his mind as he rolled off the bed and lay down on the floor. The air was clearer there, but a fit of coughing grabbed him and he had to wait until it passed before he could do any more. Someone was yelling below, and Jake began to crawl toward the door. He reached up to turn the brass knob, only to jerk back when it burned his hand. The door itself was sending off heat waves, and through a crack he saw a yellow glow.

  He rolled over and began crawling toward the balcony door. On the way, he stopped and grabbed his pants, which were on the chair, wiggled into them while lying flat, then pulled on his coat.

  Keeping as close to the floor as possible, he moved until he got to the balcony door and opened it. As soon as it opened, a flash of light caught his eye, and he turned to see the door leading to the hall burst into flame. Quickly he stepped outside and took a deep breath of the fresh air. It was not really fresh, though, for the flames on top of the building were leaping high into the air, filling the area with thick, acrid smoke.

  Time was short.

  It was only ten feet to the street level, and men below were motioning to him, yelling, “Jump! Jump!”

  Jake threw one leg over the rail, then suddenly paused and cast a look at the balcony outside of Vince’s room. The door was shut, and he hesitated, watching the leaping flames for a moment, then pulled his leg back and ran down the balcony. The two balconies were not joined, so he climbed up on the rail and jumped as hard as he could. The heat of the fire above struck him as he fell sprawling on the other balcony. Instantly he got to his feet and tried the door. It was locked, so he stood back and began to kick at it. His foot went through and he reached inside, turning the lock and swinging the door open.

  The interior of the room was filled with black smoke, and the far wall was blazing. Jake took a deep breath, went on his belly, and crawled toward the bed. It was dark in the room, and the smoke was bad, even on the floor. When Jake reached the bed, he raised himself to his knees and threw his arms across it. The smoke blinded him as he groped for Vince. Finally he found Vince’s body, inert and motionless.

  “Come on, Vince!” he yelled, struggling to his feet, but his mouth and eyes filled with smoke, and he was suddenly choking. Fear came then, and he knew he couldn’t stand the smoke much longer. Through weeping eyes, he saw a coat thrown across a chair. Quickly he grabbed it, wrapped it around Vince’s head, then reached down and picked him up. Stumbling, he made his way across the room toward the balcony, but before he got to the wall, the ceiling gave a great creaking roar, and he knew it was collapsing.

  He reached the door but, blinded by the smoke, missed the opening and ran into the wall. He fell with Vince on top of him, and then the roof came down. He pulled at Vince, but at that moment something struck him a wicked blow across his right foot. The pain was almost unbearable, but he yanked his foot loose and tried again to get Vince out, crawling because he couldn’t stand. Overhead the raging flames licked at the sky, and he saw that the entire room was blazing now.

  With all his strength he gave a heave and the two of them rolled out onto the balcony—but the outer wall began to lean, and Jake looked up to see that it was toppling. He grabbed Vince in his arms, struggled upright, and, though he could put no weight on his right foot, lurched to the rail and simply leaned forward. He flipped over, lost his hold on Vince, and then hit the ground, landing on his back with a force that drove all the breath from his lungs.

  Looking up he saw the wall of the building, blazing with yellow fire, slowly coming down on top of him. He rolled over, getting as far on his side as he could. Then something struck him, and he knew no more.

  Jake came out of unconsciousness suddenly, with no hint that he had even been in a deep coma.

  One moment it was dark and quiet; the next he was awake, pain washing over him. He tried to look around, but there was something over his eyes. A man’s voice was saying, “… have to keep a close watch on him. I’m afraid that he might have some internal injuries.”

  Jake spoke, his voice a raw croak. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  The doctor moved to his side at once. “Well, so you’re awake. That’s good. I need to find out some things. Just answer and tell me where you hurt and then we’ll give you something for the pain.”

  “Right ankle,” Jake whispered. “Right hand, too.”

  “Yes, I know about those. They’ll be okay. But do you hurt inside? Chest or stomach?”

  “No.” Jake was hurting too bad to waste words but managed to say again, “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  “You got them scorched. I want to keep the strong light off of them for a few days. No more injuries?”

  “No. Yes—sore throat.”

  “You took in too much smoke. Now don’t try to talk any more. Just relax.”

  Jake asked, “What about my friend?”

  A pinprick touched Jake’s arm as he waited for an answer, and suddenly he began sliding into a warm darkness. “What about …?” His voice trailed off.

  He woke again, thinking it had been only a few minutes since he drifted off, but suddenly he knew it must have been longer. He was in a dark room, but the bandages were not on his eyes. There was only a table, a chair beside the bed, and a single door. The window across the room was heavily curtained, but he could tell that it was daytime.

  Looking down, he saw that his right ankle was bandaged, as were his right wrist and forearm. A raging thirst assailed him and he tried to call, but his throat was too dry. Then he saw a tiny brass bell on the table and rolled over to get it. That simple act awoke the nerves in his ankle, but he rang the bell despite the pain.

  Almost at once, a man in a white coat came into the room. “Well now, you’re awake! How do you feel?” He was a short man with a fat paunch and light blue eyes. He read the request in Jake’s eyes and at once poured a glass of water. “Let’s try to get you upright,” he said, and Jake almost fainted with the pain but finally was sitting up in bed.

  He drank the water greedily, then asked, “Where is this?”

  “St. John’s Hospital,” the man said. “You’ve been here—let’s see, oh, two days. You were hurting pretty bad when you first came.”

  “I’m hurting pretty bad now!” Jake whispered. His eyes burned, and he blinked them. “My eyes are better, though.”

  “They were scorched, but the doctor says if we keep them medicated and away from strong light for a while, they should be all right.”

  “What else is wrong with me?”

  “No bones broken, which is a miracle!” The orderly shook his head and gave Jake an admiring look. “You’re a pretty tough fellow! Not many men can have a burning building fall on them and not get killed. The leg is pretty badly strained, and the arm, as well. Got some burns, too, which must hurt like the devil. But you’re alive, and that’s what counts. You drink some more w
ater, and I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to look you over.”

  Jake lay there, grateful, since he was left-handed, that it was his right that was hurt. Then he realized that he still didn’t know about Vince. When the doctor came in a few minutes later, he asked, “How’s the man I pulled out?”

  The doctor, a very thin man of fifty with a pronounced Adam’s apple that moved up and down when he spoke, shook his head. “I’m Dr. Sealy. Sorry to have to tell you, but he didn’t make it.” He pulled the chair close to the bed and sat down on it. “I think he was dead when you pulled him out. The smoke got him, I’d guess.”

  A sense of frustration swept over Hardin. He’d known Vince only a short time and recognized that there was something bad in him—but somehow he’d been bound to him, perhaps by the fact that Vince had gone out on a limb for him. Oh yes, he realized that Vince had actually risked little—nevertheless, he couldn’t help thinking he might have been able to help him.

  There’d be no way to do that now, Jake realized, and the futility of his efforts and of Vince’s death came down hard on him. Dr. Sealy saw it and said briskly, “Well, well, too bad! A young man like that, but you did your best from what I hear. Now then, let’s check you over.”

  Though the man was a good doctor, the examination was painful. Finally he said, “You ought to be dead, but really there’s nothing wrong with you that rest won’t repair, Mr. Franklin.”

  The name went off like an alarm bell in Jake’s mind.

  He thinks I’m Vince! That seemed impossible, but as Sealy continued to talk about his injuries, Jake suddenly remembered the mixed-up coats. They must have found Vince’s papers in the coat I was wearing. But somebody will know better—like Tony. He’ll spot me right off.

  Sealy continued, speaking of the fire. “Bad thing, that fire. Not too many got out. Only three, I think. Building must have gone up like tinder.”

  “Did Tony make it, the owner?”

  “No, he didn’t. Friend of yours, I suppose.”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Sealy stood up, his face dim in the dark room. “I sent a wire to your people as soon as I treated you. Thought it best, and there was nobody to ask.” He rummaged in his pockets, came out with a slip of paper. “Got an answer this morning. It says, ‘Will pick up Vincent Franklin within a week. Will travel home by steamboat.’ It’s signed ‘Rachel Franklin.’”

  “Thanks, Doctor.”

  “Well, you need lots of care, and the family can do it better than we can. It’s a good idea, too, to go by boat. You can stay in the stateroom where it’s dark during the day. I’d say you can leave as soon as she comes. Is this your mother?”

  Jake took a deep breath, and feeling as though he were taking a leap into the dark, he cleared his throat. “No, Rachel is my sister.”

  “Well, I’ll be checking on you. Don’t move around too much, and don’t let the light get at your eyes. I’ll get you some smoked glasses to wear after you leave.”

  “How long will I be laid up?”

  “Oh, if you mean how long till you’re fully recovered, quite awhile. Say … two months. But you’ll be able to get around with crutches within a week, maybe. Then a cane. Your eyes, though—be very careful of them!” He rose and went to the door, then turned and came back to the bed. “The man you pulled out of the fire, was he a good friend of yours?”

  “Just a fellow I met on the boat several weeks ago. I sort of liked him.”

  Dr. Sealy said slowly, “His name was Jake Hardin.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was wanted for murder. Killed a man on a gambling boat. The sheriff came and identified the body by the papers the fellow had on him, telling who he was.” Sealy studied his patient carefully, then added, “A bad way to go, even for a murderer. Well, they buried him in Potter’s Field. He didn’t have any money, and nobody was likely to pay for his funeral.”

  “He had some good about him, Doctor,” Jake said. “More than some I’ve met.”

  “I suppose that’s so.” Dr. Sealy nodded, then left the room.

  Jake lay there quietly, thinking. He grieved over Vince Franklin, over the good things about him. All afternoon he lay there and finally was given a shot when the pain got bad.

  The next morning he found he was able to eat a little. “Put me in a chair, Rog,” he said to the orderly. “I’m sick of this bed.”

  “Yeah, sure,” the orderly said. He helped Jake into the chair, then asked, “You want anything? I got stuff to do, Mr. Franklin.”

  “Go on, Rog. I’ll be all right.”

  He sat there, relieving the muscles that had stiffened from his days in bed. Carefully he tried to move his right foot, but the stab of pain made him catch his breath. “Going to be awhile before I’ll stand on that,” he murmured. His wrist was not much better, but as he sat there, he was conscious of how fortunate he was. How had Rog put it? “Not many men have a burning building fall on them and live through it!”

  Well, he was alive. Battered and burned, but alive.

  The future loomed before him darkly, like a tunnel whose end he couldn’t see. Maybe there’s no end to it, he thought. Maybe all this is just an accident. He thought of Captain Daniel Harness with his rough-hewn theology. Dan would never think it just happened, Jake mused. And Rachel wouldn’t either, if what Vince said about her is so.

  He thought then of the girl who was coming to meet him, to take him home with her to a place he’d never seen, to live among people he’d never met. And he thought of the wild plan to reform Vince that had taken form in his mind on the night before the fire. Now, in the quietness of the hospital room, it seemed even more insane than he’d thought possible.

  He pictured Vince as he’d seen him for the last time, standing at the door with something like grief in his eyes. “Men like you and me, we never change. “

  Something in Jake Hardin rebelled against that. He had knocked around the world quite a bit and had picked up his scars, and he’d seen many a man go down to defeat and ruin. He’d always figured that was just the way the cards had fallen to people. But now … now he was starting to wonder if a person couldn’t change his hand and make life what he wanted. Maybe all a person had to do was want it badly enough.

  Now the memory of the futility in Vince’s words rubbed against him, making him uneasy. He didn’t want to believe it.

  The sun was bright outside, outlining in yellow the blanket someone had pinned over the window. The sun would never shine on Vince Franklin again, that was true enough. But if Vince had lived, he might have found his way. At least, Jake tried hard to believe that.

  Finally he took a deep breath, put the thoughts of Vince and the futility of his death away, and forced himself to think on his own danger. “Got to get away before that girl gets here,” he muttered. “She’d see in one look that I’m not Vince, and when they find that out, the next question will be ‘Who is he?’ It won’t take them long to figure out that Jake Hardin isn’t buried in that grave at all.”

  He lay awake late into the night, and though his injuries pained him, he refused to take the morphine the nurse urged on him. For hours he thought of escape, but it was hopeless. He couldn’t walk or see, and he had no money. He assumed that some cash was in Vince’s wallet, but he didn’t think it was much.

  Finally as dawn came to illuminate the cover over his window, he forced himself to hammer out a plan of sorts. I’ll get the wallet and hire someone to come and take me away the day before the girl arrives. Maybe there’ll be enough to get a place to stay and someone to take care of me until I can move around. Have to be a secret place, because they’ll be looking for me as soon as Rachel comes and her brother’s not here. He lay there trying to find a better way but could not. Finally he decided. Got to try it. Not much of a chance, but like Vince said, I have to play the hand I’ve been dealt.

  For the next five days Jake did everything he could to put some sort of action into his plan. One of the orderlies, a man named Asa Blunt, was not
a promising candidate as an accomplice, but he was the only choice. Jake took pains to be friendly toward him and quickly discovered that Blunt was open to making money and was not overly scrupulous. Jake began by mentioning that he would much rather stay in New Orleans than go back to Virginia, adding, “I’ve got money enough to pay for a place, but I guess my sister would find me no matter where I tried to stay out of her way.”

  An avaricious light had gleamed in Blunt’s muddy brown eyes, and the next day he waited until after dark, then came to Jake’s room. “Been thinking ‘bout what you said, ‘bout a place to stay.” He licked his lips, glanced cautiously around, then said, “I mebbe got a place, but it’d come high.”

  Jake nodded, saying, “I’d pay pretty well, but it’s not going to be easy. I can’t check out of this place. You’d just have to roll me out to a carriage after everyone was off duty.”

  “Sure, that ain’t no problem. Now about the money …”

  Jake finally agreed to a larcenous figure, but after the man left, Jake was not happy. “He’d turn me over for a reward in a minute—but at least it’s a way out of here.”

  That was on Tuesday. Jake knew he had to be out soon, so he spent every day trying to strengthen himself by eating all he could—but there was nothing he could do about his injuries. His eyes were very sensitive to light, and he could hardly bear the pain when the dressing on his ankle was changed. Still, he had no choice.

  Dr. Sealy came in on Friday evening, about six o’clock, and looked him over. Standing back he said, “Well, you’re better, but not much. I’ll be glad when you get home and can get total care.”

  “You’ve been mighty good to me, Doc,” Jake said. “Couldn’t ask for better treatment.”

  “Thanks, but it’ll be better when you get home. Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”