by Al Lacy
Jerrod looked at Yates, then at his cringing family, then back at Yates. Tears flooded his eyes and he moved toward the preacher sobbing, “Pastor, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I’m so sorry—please forgive me!”
Before Yates could make any kind of reply, Jerrod turned toward the love seat where Dottie sat with her children. The preacher stepped up beside him, ready to intervene if the big man showed any sign of aggression.
Face wet with tears, Jerrod sobbed, “Dottie, I’m sorry I hit you! How could I have hit you? Please forgive me!”
Dottie sat with an arm around each child, looked up at him, and said, “Jerrod, this cannot go on. We can’t handle it ourselves. I see that now. Surely you must see it, too. You’ve got to have professional help. You must go to Dr. Carroll.”
“But I—”
“You did a horrible thing, Jerrod! You battered your own pastor. Look at his face!”
Jerrod turned and set searching eyes on the preacher. He turned back to Dottie and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Being sorry’s not enough, Jerrod. I know you’re sorry, but the damage is done. You’ve got to get help.”
Jerrod sleeved away tears from his cheeks and started to say something else when he heard the sound of a carriage and horses pulling up in front of the house. He headed to the door to see who it was. He recognized Louella in the carriage, but his attention was drawn to the two riders on horseback. Sheriff Max Donner and Deputy Myron Hall were soon out of their saddles and headed for the porch.
Jerrod went rigid, clenching his fists. Howard Yates laid a hand on his shoulder and said in a subdued voice, “Take it easy, Jerrod. They’re here because it’s necessary.”
Sheriff Donner preceded his deputy to the door, stepped in without being invited, and gave Jerrod a hard look. “Jerrod Harper, I’m placing you under arrest for assault and battery. Mrs. Yates told me what you did to her husband, and I can see the evidence with my own eyes.”
“Is Reverend Yates pressin’ charges?” Jerrod asked.
“I don’t know if he’ll press charges or not, Jerrod,” Donner replied, “but right now we’re takin’ you to jail for beatin’ up on him. We’ll see later about charges.”
“Sheriff, I’m not goin’ to jail. I told the man I’m sorry, and I know he’ll forgive me.” He looked at Yates. “Right, Pastor?”
“Jerrod, it doesn’t make any difference whether he forgives you or not,” Donner said. “You’ve proven yourself to be a menace to society, and you’re going behind bars until I say different. I warned you about this before.”
Dottie drew up beside her husband, touched his arm, and said, “I don’t like to see you go to jail, honey, but Sheriff Donner has to take you in so you don’t hurt anyone else. We’ll get this all worked out. Help is available, and we’ll get you the best there is.”
“I’m not goin’ to jail, Dottie! You hear me? I’m not!”
Max Donner set his jaw and said, “Preacher, you take Mrs. Harper and the children to another room, will you?” As he spoke, he pulled a pair of handcuffs off the back of his belt.
Reverend Yates glanced out the door at his wife, who cautiously waited on the steps of the porch. “Dottie, let’s take James and Molly Kate and go outside,” he said.
Dottie gave her husband a fearful look and motioned for the children to come to her. “Jerrod, this is best for all of us right now. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, but something has to be done so you won’t.”
Jerrod ignored Dottie as Yates led her and the children out onto the porch. His eyes were on the handcuffs in Donner’s hand. He backed away two steps and braced himself. “I’m not goin’ to jail, Sheriff,” he said.
“You can go the easy way or the hard way,” Donner said. “Choice is yours. I suggest you choose the easy way and hold out those wrists.”
Jerrod Harper’s pent-up fury exploded. He lunged at the sheriff with his fist. Donner dodged the blow, and as Jerrod set himself to throw another punch, Myron Hall moved in and brought the barrel of his revolver down hard on the back of Jerrod’s head. Jerrod went down in a heap, unconscious.
Dottie rushed in, face pinched, and knelt beside him, stroking his face. “Oh, Jerrod, I love you. It’s going to be all right, honey. You’ll see. We’ve just got to get you some help.”
Jerrod was still out as Donner and Hall draped him over the saddle of Hall’s horse, hands cuffed behind his back. When the two lawmen sat doubled up on Donner’s horse, the sheriff looked down at Dottie and said, “You’re welcome to visit him anytime, Mrs. Harper.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said, holding the children close to her.
“You gonna talk to Dr. Carroll?”
“Yes. I’ll go to his office tomorrow morning, then I’ll let you know what he wants to do.”
“All right, ma’am,” Donner nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Jerrod Harper was beginning to stir as the two lawmen rode away, leading the horse that carried him. The preacher patted Dottie’s arm and said, “The Lord will work it all out for the best, Dottie. Remember Romans 8:28.”
“Yes,” she smiled through her tears. “All things is what it says, doesn’t it?”
9
RIP CLAYSON’S WAGON TRAIN traveled for three days out of Fort Bridger with the cavalry escort before the men in blue had to turn back. Five days later, the train veered off the Oregon Trail onto the California Trail, and on September 25, the jagged, towering peaks of the Sierra Nevada Range came into view.
It was now September 27, and the Sierras still seemed as far away. Clayson told those who had never traveled in mountain country that it was merely an optical illusion. In a few more days, it would seem that God had suddenly pushed the mountains their direction, and they would be climbing into the foothills.
There had been no Indian trouble since leaving Fort Bridger, for which all were thankful. They were nearing Mohave Indian country, but the Mohaves were friendly toward whites. This was good news to the weary travelers.
Night after night, John Stranger and Breanna Baylor had taken walks together, and on this night, the moon was full and countless stars twinkled in the vast heavens above.
About a half-mile from the camp, the pair found a large round rock at the edge of a bubbling stream. Breanna sat down and John stood over her, looking down into her moon-struck face. They were in tall timber now, and the night breeze sang to them in the treetops. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled. Its cry was long and lonely. Moments later, the cry was answered from another direction.
John smiled, looked at the surrounding forest, and said, “Sounds like boy and girl, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Breanna said. “And I think they’re going to meet somewhere out there in the moonlight.”
John’s thoughts rushed forward to the day when he and Breanna would part again. His heart went heavy. He stepped to the grassy bank of the stream and watched the moon dance on the rippling surface. Then he turned and looked again at Breanna. He let his gaze absorb the picture she made in the silver moonlight, with the deep of the forest behind her. He loved this woman more than he ever knew he could love someone.
“The Lord sure went out of His way when He made you, Breanna,” John said.
“You flatter me,” she said, smiling.
“It’s not flattery, my lady,” he responded, walking toward her. “It’s fact.”
Breanna reached for his hand, took it, and pulled him down beside her. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, then John gently folded her in his arms.
“I love you, Breanna,” he said. “There’s no way you could know how much I love you.”
Breanna laid her hand against his cheek and said, “And there’s no way you could know how very, very much I love you my darling.”
The kiss was sweet and tender, then they held each other for a long moment.
“The Lord has been so good to give us a love like this,” Breanna said.
“I’ve thanked Him in eve
ry way I know how ever since He brought us back together. I treasure you, little lady.”
All was quiet for several minutes as John and Breanna savored the sweet moment together, then John broke the silence.
“Sweetheart …”
“Yes?”
“We’ve prayed that the Lord would give us direction about our future together.”
“That we have.”
“The Holy Spirit has been speaking to me in that still, small voice.”
“He’s been speaking to me also,” Breanna said, easing back in his arms so as to meet his gaze. “May I tell you what He’s been saying to you?”
John smiled and playfully cuffed her on the chin. “You really think you know?”
“No, I know I know. Our hearts beat in the same rhythm, John, and because the Lord Jesus lives in both of our hearts, He’s revealed His plan to both of us.”
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“Let’s stand by the water,” she said, taking him by the hand.
John rose to his feet, helped her up, and put an arm around her as they stepped to the edge of the stream. Breanna looked up at him and said, “We both have our special callings from God, John. And as much as we love each other, it’s His will that we carry on in our work for the time being.”
“Yes.”
“You’re so very much needed in this Wild West, darling. People not only need to hear the gospel you preach wherever you go, but they also need the help you give in so many ways. The Lord has His hand on you, and I know that for now, you must continue to travel and let Him lead you to those you are to help.”
John nodded and smiled. “And for the time being, you are to continue your medical work and share the gospel with your patients whenever possible.”
Breanna smiled in return. The night breeze toyed with her hair, dropping a lock onto her forehead. “So we both know,” she sighed.
“Yes. But at least we can be together from time to time. And then …”
“Then?”
“When it’s God’s time, I want you to become my wife.”
Tears glistened in Breanna’s eyes. “Oh, John! That will make me the happiest woman in the world!”
“And it will make me the most fortunate man in all the world!”
They kissed, embraced, and headed back for the camp, their hearts filled with the peace of God about their present work, and about the future.
On September 30, the wagon train was winding along the trail in tall timber, nearing the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. As usual, Curly Wesson’s vehicle was in the lead, and Breanna sat beside him. It was almost noon, and the sun bore down from a clear, azure sky. A cool wind swept off the ragged peaks to the west, stirring the treetops. A half-dozen broad-winged hawks could be seen overhead, riding the currents, their shrill screeches echoing across the uneven land.
Rip Clayson and John Stranger rode side by side some fifty yards ahead of the Wesson wagon. Rip admired John’s black gelding and asked him how he had come by the horse.
“Was up in Montana,” Stranger said, smiling. “I happened upon a ranch on the Yellowstone River a few miles southwest of Billings. Horse I owned at the time had a bad leg, and I needed to buy a new one. Found the rancher and his hired hands all gathered at the corral. Seems they had this black gelding that nobody could ride. Just as I came upon the scene, the black was throwing the toughest bronc buster in the territory—at least that’s what a couple of the cowhands told me.
“I took one look at the big black as he bounded all over the corral, back arched, head down, stirrups flying from the empty saddle. He was a mean one. His eyes bulged with fire and his nostrils flared as he snorted triumphantly, having thrown another would-be rider.”
Rip squinted at something he saw on the trail some distance ahead, but it was too far away to make out what it was. He looked at Stranger and said, “I know what you’re gonna tell me. You rode him, and the rancher sold him to you.”
“Not quite. After seeing the top bronc buster in those parts get thrown, the rancher cursed the horse and said it was useless. The only thing he knew to do was take him to an auction and let some poor sucker buy him.”
“But you—”
“Yep. I stepped up and asked the man if he’d let me try riding him. He laughed and said, ‘Tell you what, long, tall, and gruesome. If you can ride ’im, you can have ’im.’”
“And you rode him.”
“Well, I don’t want to brag, you understand.”
“Oh, of course not,” Clayson said with a smile.
“I did ride him, and I’m the only mortal who’s ever ridden him.” Stranger leaned forward in the saddle and patted Ebony’s neck. “Isn’t that right, big fella?”
Ebony nickered and bobbed his head.
Rip’s attention was drawn once again to the spot on the trail ahead, and this time John noticed him squinting.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I think there’s somebody down and hurt up ahead.”
“Let’s check it out,” said Stranger, touching heels to Ebony’s sides.
Curly and Breanna’s conversation suddenly broke off as the two riders galloped ahead.
“Wonder what that’s about,” Curly said.
“They must’ve seen something up there. They’re in a plenty big hurry.” Breanna shaded her eyes from the sun and added, “They’re stopping up there by those boulders. Looks like a person lying by the side of the trail.”
Seconds later, they saw John mount Ebony and ride toward the wagons at top speed. He thundered to a skidding halt beside Curly’s wagon.
“We’ve got a man up here who needs you real bad,” he said to Breanna.
“What’s the nature of the problem?” she asked as she reached into the wagon for her medical bag.
“Some kind of epidemic in a village nestled in the foothills,” John said, sliding from the saddle. “He’s running a high fever and almost delirious. Says more than half the village is either dead or dying.” He lifted his hands to help her down. “I figure you ought to take a look at him before we let the wagons even get close.”
“You’re right,” Breanna said. “He could be highly contagious.”
Stranger led Breanna to Ebony and lifted her up behind the saddle. As he was swinging up in front of Breanna, she said to Curly. “Don’t let anyone come any closer.”
“Wouldn’t think of it, ma’am,” he said.
Stranger took the medical bag from her and said, “Get a good hold around my waist.” Then he put Ebony to a gallop toward the spot where Rip Clayson knelt beside the sick man.
As Ebony skidded to a halt, Rip stood up and watched John slide from the saddle, then help Breanna down. She took her medical bag and knelt beside the man who lay on the ground.
“So now there are two mortals who have ridden Ebony,” Rip whispered to John.
“She’s been on him with me before,” John said. “I guess I didn’t phrase it right. I’m the only mortal who’s ever ridden him alone.”
Rip grinned. “I have a feeling Ebony would let Breanna ride him alone.”
“I’m sure he would.”
Rip and John drew close as Breanna bent over the sick man. She was talking to him in a low tone and unbuttoning his shirt.
“The headache is real bad?” she asked.
“Yes’m,” he replied weakly. His eyes were dull, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face.
Breanna took one look at the red blotches on his chest and began buttoning his shirt. “How long have you had this?” she asked.
The man licked his dry lips and choked, “Week.”
“Did you have an immediate loss of appetite?”
“Yes.”
“Headache came on at the same time you started feeling ill?”
“Yes.” His teeth were chattering from the chills in his body.
“What’s your name?”
“Wayne Zeller,” he said. Then his eyes closed, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
&n
bsp; Breanna rose to her feet and turned to the men. “Did either of you touch him?”
“I did,” Rip replied. “Why? What does he have?”
“Typhus,” she said. “How far is the village?”
“About a mile. Just around the next bend.”
“Since you’ve already touched him, Rip,” Breanna said, “I’ll need you to put him on your horse and take him to the village. I’ll go with you, then I want you to go to the train and wash your hands thoroughly in kerosene and lye soap. Be sure to clean under your fingernails.”
“You’re not going into that village alone, Breanna,” John said. “I’m going with you. Rip can go wash right now. I’ll put the man on Ebony’s back, and we’ll walk there together.”
Breanna knew by the look in John’s iron-gray eyes that to argue with him would be a waste of time. “All right,” she said with a sigh, “let’s go.”
John moved to the man, bent to pick him up, and noted that there was no rise and fall to his chest. His head lay to one side, and his mouth hung open.
“He’s dead,” John said, turning back to Breanna.
She hurried to the man, knelt beside him, and felt for a pulse. There was none. She stood and said, “Let’s take the body to the village. Did he say what he was doing out here, Rip?”
“Trying to get help. He was heading for a ranch somewhere this direction.”
Breanna nodded. “You go get washed as I told you. John and I will be back to the wagon as soon as I can assess the situation in the village. Don’t touch anyone in the camp until you’ve washed. You’re carrying the bacteria on your hands. And when you’re done, rub some udder salve into your hands. It’ll offset the damage done by the kerosene to your skin.”
“All right,” Clayson said. “Is … is typhus something like typhoid fever?”
“I’ll explain when I come back so everyone in the wagon train will understand,” said Breanna. “Right now, John and I must get to the village. I’ve got to do what I can to stop the epidemic before everyone there dies.”