The Western Justice Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  She had brought some of her romance novels. On one of her return trips from the barn, she had brought one inside. It was called Ivanhoe and was written by Sir Walter Scott. She had read it more than once, but now she sat down and passed the time reading. There was a sufficient supply of coal oil to keep the lantern burning dimly, and she read the story of the knight and the fair lady and the dark lady again. Finally she closed her eyes and held the book to her breast. I wish life was like that. That some man would come along and care for me and tell me the things I want to hear, but I don’t think that will ever happen.

  On the third day, the wind dropped and the snow stopped falling out of the sky. She went over to Ty and said, “The storm is falling away, Ty.” She saw that he was unconscious, but he was burning up. She pulled the cover back, wet some cloths in the dishpan where she melted the snow, and covered his body as best she could. The cloths grew almost hot to the touch, and she dipped them again into the cold water. Finally the fever came down, and he fell into what seemed like a normal sleep.

  Once again Raina tried to pray, but it was a failure. “I wish I knew God,” she whispered, “but I don’t. So God, hear somebody’s prayer. Help this man and help me to get out of this place.” She waited for some kind of answer, but all she heard was the silence and the crackling of wood in the stove. She said wearily, “It’ll just have to be like it is.”

  She sat down beside Ty, picked up his hand, and held it. She stayed that way for a long time. She felt alone… without a future, with a bad past, and no present. Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and she gave in to the sorrow and grief that had been building up. As the storm abated outside, so her spirit seemed to grow weak and weary.

  CHAPTER 6

  The day had passed and the night, and now getting up from the floor Raina saw that the fire was practically down. The room was freezing cold, and she had to start with the few pieces of kindling she had made by breaking one of the drawers to a small cabinet. As soon as she got a blaze going, she picked the smallest bit of firewood and laid it carefully and then added two more pieces on top, leaving room for it to draw. The sight of the yellow flames flickering and the sound of the crackling was cheerful.

  She rose and went to the door. She opened it, looked outside. She felt smothered somehow by the coldness, the terrible, awful coldness of the weather. She shut the door then laid her hand against it. It made a solid wall of walnut, but it was a feeble thing against the onslaught of the bitter cold.

  She listened closely and heard the wind rising again. It whirled around the house corners and blew down the chimney, making the stove smoke. She felt the chill bite into her shoulders, and with the fire burning it only made the temperature bearable.

  She knew she had to go make snow water. Finally when she went out, she found the horses stamping. They looked pitiful to her. She fed them from the grain that had been left and some of the hay. She gave them two buckets of water each and then went back inside. She took the dishpan and made enough snow water to fill buckets. Then there was nothing left to do.

  Finally she saw Ty turning from one side to the other and coughing. “Are you all right, Ty?” she said.

  “It’s cold.”

  “Let me wrap you up in another blanket.” She took one of her own blankets, put it over him, and tucked it in closely so that the air could not get through. She had thought to put one of the blankets underneath him so that the cold rising would be barricaded off. “I’m gonna fix you something to eat, Ty.”

  “Not hungry.”

  She ignored his words and cut off two slices of ham and made more of the oatmeal from their diminishing supplies. There was a little piece of pork fat, and it made the skillet greasy. The ham sizzled in it as she warmed a small skillet full of the oatmeal. She poured it onto a plate, went over, and said, “Sit up, Ty. You’ve got to eat.” He said nothing, and she helped him into a sitting position, and then she fed him. “How do you feel, Ty?”

  “Rotten.” He opened his eyes and stared at her. His eyes seemed to be hollow, and he whispered huskily, “I’m no help to you, Raina.”

  “That’s all right. We’re going to make it.”

  Ty said, “That’s what Jim said, but he didn’t.”

  She got up and put two small logs on the fire. “I can’t use up all the firewood, but you know, Ty, I think it’s warmer on the floor.”

  His teeth were chattering, and she pulled the blanket off, made a thick fold, and said, “Come on. Lie down here.” She helped him out of the small bed.

  He lay down as close to the stove as she dared allow, and then she covered him up with all the blankets. “That feels good,” he whispered. His eyes shut.

  She said, “Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes, I feel like I need water all the way through me.” Indeed, his lips were chapped, and when she fed him he sipped the water gratefully. When he had drunk enough, he laid his head back and whispered, “I wish I could help you, Raina.”

  “We’ll be all right.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  The day passed, the night, and another day and another night. The woodpile was going down alarmingly, but she could not afford to have no fire. It had helped some to put Ty on the floor, for the heat radiated outside the woodstove for a few feet. Finally she lay down with him, and the warmth of her own body seemed to help him.

  Later that day she went outside, and to her surprise she heard a faint sound. She looked over and saw a hen staggering out of a small building. She walked over to the building, looked inside, and saw that there were four more, but they were skinny and all trembling with the cold. She picked up the one hen, shut the door, and taking a sharp knife, cut its head off. She went to the barn and got some of the feed for the horses and scattered it inside for the chickens, and while she was there she found just outside that there was some cracked corn. It could be eaten if it was soaked, but the chickens could eat it, too, and that thrilled her.

  She walked inside carrying the chicken and said, “Something good, Ty.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There are five chickens out there. We’re going to have us a nice chicken stew.”

  She worked hard making the stew, which was really nothing more than chicken soup. She dressed the chicken and boiled it. For the next day they ate chicken, chicken, and chicken, even the gizzard and the liver.

  The food seemed to help Ty, for his eyes grew brighter, and he said, “How many chickens did you say there were?”

  “There’s four more out there, so we can last a week on that.”

  “I feel sorry for the poor chickens.”

  I feel sorry for us, Raina wanted to say, but she did not. She watered the horses, fed them, and saw that the feed was going down rapidly. What will we do if the feed goes and the horses die?

  The next day she went out, and the chickens were huddled in a far corner. Their feathers were drooping, and their eyes were glazed over, but they were alive. She had found a narrow pan and knew they must be thirsty, so she took the bucket of water and the pan and filled it. One of the chickens came over at once, clucking feebly, and began to peck at the water, and then the others came. “You poor things. You’re starving, aren’t you? I’m afraid you’re going to have to die for us.” She realized she had never felt sorry for a chicken before, and she had had fried chicken all her life. Finally she left and went back.

  Ty was sitting up in bed. “You know you could bring those chickens in here. It’s warmer than it is in that henhouse.”

  “I think you’re right, Ty.” At once she left, and it took her four trips, but the chickens were inside. She brought some of the feed and the pan out, and soon the warmth of the fire helped the birds. One of them seemed to be dying, and she managed to pour a little water down its throat. The bird began to perk up and finally ate a little.

  “How much firewood is left, Raina?”

  “About half of it.”

  “How long do you think it will last?”

 
“Well, it all depends. We can’t have big roaring fires like I’d like to have.”

  “No, but this cabin and that firewood is saving our lives and now those of the chickens.” His voice was somewhat clearer, and she moved closer and put her hand on his forehead. “Your fever’s about gone!” she exclaimed. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Well, I do feel better.”

  “Could you eat some more chicken soup?”

  “I believe I could.”

  She stirred up the fire and put the pan right on the coals from the front where she usually loaded it. Soon the soup was bubbling, a full stew pan. She poured two bowls of the soup, went over to Ty, and said, “Can you feed yourself?”

  “I think so.”

  She gave him one bowl and a spoon, and then she took the other. “This is good,” she said.

  “Sure is. I thank the Lord for those chickens.” He hesitated then said, “That’s what my friend would have said. Jim Adams. He always believed in the Lord, even when things were at the worst.”

  “Have you known him long?”

  “Just a few months. We worked on the railroad together.” He then told her how they had been captured by the army and thrown into a prison. He ended the story by saying, “He gave his life for me, Raina. He could have gotten away if he had left me there, but he didn’t do it.”

  “What a good man he must have been.”

  He suddenly changed the subject. “That wind’s picking up.”

  She had finished her soup, and she went over to the door and cracked it. “It’s blowing hard. I don’t think—” She suddenly stopped.

  Ty asked, “What is it?”

  “There’s a deer out there. He’s coming this way.”

  “You’ll have to shoot him, Raina.”

  “I’m not much good.”

  “There’s that shotgun. You can’t miss.”

  “All right, Ty, if you say so.”

  “Bring me the shotgun.”

  She took it to him.

  He checked the load and said, “Get as close as you can and pull one trigger. If he doesn’t fall, pull the other one.”

  “All right, Ty.” Raina took the shotgun, moved to the door, and closed it behind her. She half expected to see the deer run away. The poor creature was weak and did not seem to see her. She walked on the snow, and when she was no more than five feet away she lifted the gun. She pulled the trigger. The deer was knocked backward. It lay there bleeding in the snow. Raina felt tears come into her eyes, but she knew that this was life or death. She took the shotgun inside and said, “It’s down.”

  “I wish I could help you dress it.”

  “I helped my brother-in-law dress a deer once. I think I can do it. I’ll cut off some steaks and bring them in. Then I’ll get the rest of it.”

  The deer was indeed lank and had lost most of the fat, but it was the closest thing to a feast that they had had. She worked hard getting the deer cut up, and finally she had all the meat inside. She was panting with fatigue. Ty had fallen asleep again. She put the meat over to one side of the cabin and cut it into smaller pieces so she could fry it.

  When Ty woke up a few hours later, she told him what she had done. “We’re gonna have a steak now. I cut a couple out.” She put two pieces of small wood in the stove, and when it got popping she took the two steaks and put them in the large frying pan. They sizzled for a while.

  Ty said, “That smells better than anything I’ve ever eaten.”

  Indeed it was good. The two of them ate slowly, chewing the tough meat.

  “Did you save the liver?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It would make a good soup. The liver is the best part of a deer, I think.”

  “We’ll have that for supper.”

  They sat there with the odd sensation of being full and not hungry.

  “You know we’ve got enough food here for a couple of weeks if we take it easy,” Ty said. His voice was thin, and his weight loss was obvious by the hollows in his cheeks and in his eyes.

  “We’ll be all right. I think your friend was right.”

  “He said God was going to get us out of it. I never believed him. I guess I need to now.”

  They were quiet for a time, and he slept. When he woke up she left him and looked outside. “I’ve never felt cold like this,” Raina said.

  “I did once, up north in Michigan. Went up to work as a timberman, but I was no good at it. It got even colder there.”

  The next three days passed without incident. Raina had found the well and was able to get water from it. She fed the horses and watered them and was glad to see that there was still a bag of feed that would last another week or maybe two on short rations.

  The deer had been thin, but she used every bit of it, and they had fresh meat every night.

  A couple of days passed, and their supplies were low.

  Ty had awakened that morning and taken a deep breath. “My lungs feel good,” he said.

  “Oh, Ty, that’s wonderful.”

  “Let me get out of this bed and sit up like a human being.”

  She helped him out of bed, but he didn’t really need it. She saw that there were hollows in his throat where he had lost weight. “Our wood’s not going to last much longer,” she said.

  “Well, now that I’m strong we can get out of here. How are the horses?”

  “I’ve kept them on low rations, but they look strong.”

  “We’ll need ’em to get us out of this place.”

  “I expect so.” She had sat down on the floor, soaking up the meager heat the stove threw off. “Do you think God had anything to do with leading us to this place?”

  Ty looked at her and said, “We’d be dead if we hadn’t found it. And then that deer coming and the chickens… Makes me think God is in some things.”

  “I think so, too.”

  The two sat there quietly talking, and he said, “Give me two more days and we can go. As long as no more bad weather comes.”

  They waited the two days, and the weather was clearer. “We can go now. We’d better take any supplies left, including food for the horses. We should also kill the last chicken and take it. Don’t know how long it will take us to get to Baton Rouge.”

  “Well, the sun’s shining. I think God has helped us,” Raina said. “I’m thankful that we made it.”

  Ty suddenly turned and faced her. “You saved my life, Raina. Thank you for that. I hardly think I’m worth saving, but you did it.”

  Raina felt a warmth. She had learned to trust this man, and in his weakness he had revealed that he was a good man. She had not really doubted it before, but now she knew it beyond any doubt. “I’m glad for both of us.”

  The sun was shining even brighter as they left. Ty had managed to hitch the horses to the wagon, and they had watered and fed them. As they left the cabin, they got into the wagon, and Ty looked back. He stared at the house and shook his head. “I’ll never forget that place, Raina.”

  “Neither will I. Thank God for that house.”

  “Amen,” Ty said. “I’ll say amen to that.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A loud screeching noise brought Raina out of a fitful sleep. She sat straight up in bed and looked around wildly for a moment, then realized the sound came from the street below. The room was cold, but she threw the cover back and dressed in her warmest clothes. As she dressed, she looked down where Ty had slept, and a start of fear ran along her nerves. What if he’s left me? The thought frightened her more than she had thought it would, for she realized that she was helpless without him. As soon as she was dressed, she began pacing the floor. She was ordinarily able to handle a crisis, but the strain of the storm, the imminence of possibly freezing to death, and the crisis of running away from all she knew to some destiny that she could not even think of—-had all worn her down.

  Finally she stopped and walked over to the window. The street was muddy, and a man was driving a wagon pulled by four mules. He was striki
ng them steadily and methodically with a whip. She could hear his curses clearly.

  She roamed the room restlessly, then finally she walked over to her baggage and pulled out a copy of one of the romances she loved so dearly. She had read it at least five times, but she found some sort of comfort in pulling the blankets off the bed, wrapping them around her, and reading the story again. It was a story she loved about a young girl who was pursued by an evil man. She snuggled deeper into the cocoon she had made out of blankets, and as always, she was able to turn her mind away from the immediate and very real problems into the world of fiction.

  I read too much, and I know these stories aren’t true, she thought. But it gives me some sort of pleasure. I don’t see anything wrong with it. Her sister had criticized her endlessly about reading what she called trash, but Raina had paid her no mind at all.

  She was so deeply engrossed in the story she paid little heed to the footsteps, for it was apparently busy in the hallway. But then she heard the two knocks, a hesitation, then three knocks. She came out of the chair quickly, throwing the blankets back on the bed, and tossed the book back into the box she had taken it from.

  She got to the door, unlocked it, and opening it, she stepped back. She had no idea what to say to Ty. He looked tired, and the sickness had worn him down. He had not shaved so he looked scraggly and rough. “Come in,” she said. “But it’s cold in here.”

  “Well, we’ll be leaving anyway.” Ty stepped inside, glanced at the bed for a moment then back to her. “We’re going on. We’re not too far from the Mississippi River. There’s a little town on the bank there. We can sell the wagon and the team, and we’ll take the boat up to where the Arkansas feeds into the big river.”

  “What if somebody hears about us and recognizes us?”

  “They’ll be looking for a couple. I’ll get the tickets, and I’ll go in by myself. There’s always a lot of activity on those boats when they pull out. People leaving, others hurrying on. You just hide yourself in there. The cabin is room number 206.”

  “Do you really think that we’ll be safe?”