A Bad Place To Be

by John Hansen

  “That damned Hollis did this to you?” said Sarah angrily.

  Josh smiled weakly. He’d never heard Sarah swear before. “Hollis’ day is coming.” And then seeing Lester and Rufus come up behind Sarah, Josh said: “Morning.” Reaching down he rubbed Rufus’ head, who had come up alongside of him. “Hey, Rufus dog. How are you?” Josh had missed the three of them; they were like family to him.

  “Boy, you look like crap but I’m guessin’ you already know that,” said Lester lightheartedly.

  Josh managed a laugh. “Yeah, I kinda figured I wasn’t lookin’ my best today.”

  “Well come on down to the cabin,” replied Lester. “We’ll get ya cleaned up ‘fore breakfast,” he added, knowing that Sarah would be the one in charge of that.

  “Much obliged,” said Josh.

  “It’s just good to have ya back,” replied Lester.

  “Yeah, we missed you,” added Sarah.

  “Well, I’m thinkin’ I can’t stay long,” said Josh with some hesitation in his voice.

  “What?” said Sarah almost immediately. “Why not?”

  Josh sighed and then he said sarcastically: “I expect as soon as Hollis and his chief deputy retrieve this gold that Hollis stole they’re gonna come huntin’ for me. I don’t wanna bring that pack a varmints down on you guys. They’re my problem.”

  “Boy, that knock on the head has affected your memory,” said Lester in his usual gravelly voice. “You done forgot what friends are for. If that bunch a riffraff comes up here we’ll all deal with’em.”

  “I can’t ask ya’ll to do that,” replied Josh, “especially with Sarah here.”

  Sarah was quick to jump in: “Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “How ‘bout we do this,” said Lester calmly. “We’ll clean up your wound, Josh, and have a little breakfast and you can get a little shut-eye and then we’ll talk.”

  Josh was too overwhelmed by the pain, fatigue, and hunger that he was feeling to argue with Lester’s logic, and so he said: “Alright, you win.”

  “Good,” said Lester, “now why don’t you let me tend to Thunder and Sarah can tend to you. I’ll be along in a little while.”

  Just being back at Lester’s place seemed to ease Josh’s pain. It was peaceful there amongst the big ponderosa pines; there was a wholesomeness to it that Josh never felt in any town. And truth be told, there had been a restlessness within him while he had been gone; it was especially bad when he allowed his mind to dwell on Sarah for too long.

  As they entered the cabin Sarah pulled a chair out from the table. “Sit yourself down and I’ll see what I can do to clean up that wound.”

  Josh did as Sarah had asked without a word of protest or false stoicism or macho nonsense. He was anticipating her touch and the feeling that it gave him. Already, he had the beginnings of some goose bumps and his heart was beating a little faster.

  There were two coffeepots on the stove; one much bigger than the other contained water for washing the breakfast dishes, and the other coffee; neither had come to a boil yet but that was okay. They were humming along in a halting staccato, endlessly trying to gain momentum. There was steam coming from their spouts—steady but not forceful. Sarah poured some of the hot water in a porcelain washbasin and immersed a rag that was normally used for washing the dishes in the water. She wrung it out and began to gently wipe away the dried blood on Josh’s head. Josh grimaced and recoiled slightly as she attempted to clean the wound itself. “Sorry,” said Sarah as she looked intently at the wound in the poor light of the cabin.

  “It’s okay,” said Josh. “I appreciate your doing this.”

  “Well, I don’t know about you, Mr. Morrow,” said Sarah in a teasing tone. “This is the second time I’ve had to patch you up. What would you do if you didn’t have me around to take care of your bullet wounds and knocks on the head?”

  Josh paused before responding to Sarah’s playful inquiry. He knew what he felt and what he wanted to say, but verbalizing it wasn’t that easy. The chasm of silence was widening between them. It was nearing the point of social uneasiness when Josh finally said: “Hopefully, I’ll never have to find out.”

  Sarah’s immediate reaction was one of joy that Josh didn’t want to be without her, but then almost as quickly she thought, maybe he’s hoping that he never gets shot or hit in the head again. And so she continued to work at removing the dried blood, dirt, and horse manure from his scalp and face. However, momentarily she saw Josh’s left hand slowly come up and grasp her hand with the rag in it. He lowered her hand and looked her in the eyes. “What I meant to say was, I can’t imagine being without you.”

  Sarah’s eyes began to well up with tears. She’d been hoping to hear these words or something similar for some time, but she’d pretty much given up on that ever happening because of her past. But now that she had she was uncertain as to how to respond. The stigma of having been a whore had left her doubting her self-worth not just as a person but as a lady. She felt as if everything that she said or did now was subject to being judged by others. But then it became a moot point as Josh gently sat her down on his lap and kissed her softly. And then he said: “There’ll come a day, not long from now I hope, when we’ll be shed of this country and all of this stuff will be just a bad dream.”

  Sarah wiped away some of the tears that had now run down onto her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I hope you’re right, Josh. This country is just so wicked. I sometimes think we won’t survive it.”

  Josh sighed. He often wondered the same thing but he said: “Better days is comin’. Ya’ll just gotta believe in that.” And then he kissed Sarah again. It felt better than he ever imagined it would, and that was good, he reckoned, as there’d be no turning back with her now—not without a lot of hurt.

  After breakfast, Lester and Sarah convinced Josh to lie down on Lester’s bed and get some sleep. His head still throbbed unmercifully, but maybe a little less so than before he had gotten there. Once he was lying on the bed, Josh could feel the fatigue and stress flow from his body. Sleep quickly overtook him, and it wasn’t until late afternoon that he got free of its grasp. He’d slept hard. Lester and Sarah had gone on about their day, checking periodically on the slumbering Josh. They’d worked the sluice box together until about four o’clock, when Lester suggested Sarah try her luck at catching some fish for supper. There was a decent-sized beaver dam up the creek a ways that never failed to surrender a few trout, and so Sarah set out with Rufus for the pond created by the beavers. She had her willow pole, an extra hook, and a shovel for digging worms. It was a warm, sunny day and her spirits were high—not at the prospect of catching fish but rather her future with Josh. Except for the occasional raspy calls of a couple of ravens circling overhead and the high-pitched chatter of a pine squirrel in a big Douglas fir tree behind her, it was a quiet setting. And then it happened—the tranquility was broken by the loud report of a rifle. It had come from down by the cabin. Sarah pulled her line out of the water. Her heart was out of control. She’d been expecting something like this to happen but she had tried to bury it in the back of her mind, hoping that it wouldn’t. She had no weapon, but nonetheless she started towards the cabin and the men who had given her respect and a new life. She’d taken only a few steps when there came another single gunshot and then in rapid succession another four or five shots. And then silence. Sarah paused to listen. She could hear shouting but she couldn’t make out what was being said. And so she went on cautiously paralleling the creek in the aspen and intermittent pine trees, uncertain but fearful of what awaited her at the cabin. She was near the icehouse when she heard a voice that she thought was Hollis’ shout: “Eddy’s dead.” And then there came another rifle shot from the cabin, which provoked a barrage of eight or nine gunshots from three different directions. The gunfire excited Rufus, who began to bark. Sarah, who was kneeling on the ground beside Rufus, put her arm around him and whispered frantically to him: “Quiet, Rufus. Be quie
t.” But it was too late. She’d been spotted.

  It was Jake who alerted the others: “Hey, Sheriff, I spotted the whore,” he shouted. “She’s right above the cabin. Why don’t you and Edgar keep them boys busy while I see if I can capture her.”

  “Sounds good,” shouted Hollis. “We’ll use her for bait.”

  Josh knew that Jake would have the upper hand, as he only had to make it about thirty yards and then he would be out of view of the window on that side of the cabin. He’d seen Edgar pop up to take a shot earlier, so he had a good idea of where he was at and what he would probably do when laying down a covering fire. He figured that both he and Hollis would be concentrating their fire on the open windows and not the closed door. Josh carefully unlatched the door and opened it about an inch. He stood back from the door and sighted through the crack at where Edgar had been hiding. It was just enough to shoot through. Josh had no sooner lined up his sights when bullets started pinging through the window and into the dishes, boxes, and cans on the shelves. Sure enough, Edgar rose up just enough to fire at the cabin’s east window, which was all that Josh needed to put a bullet in his head. Edgar crumpled immediately, but not before Jake had made his dash towards Sarah. Josh couldn’t see what was going on but he could hear Sarah scream. And then Hollis, realizing what had happened to Edgar, began putting bullets through the door, one of them grazing Josh’s right hip. It spun him around and onto the floor.

  “You okay?” shouted Lester, who had blood trickling down his right cheek from an earlier ricochet that had nicked him.

  “Yeah,” hollered Josh excitedly, “but I’m not sure about Sarah.”

  “Ain’t much we can do for her now without gettin’ killed,” said Lester, clutching his rifle.

  And then both Lester and Josh heard Jake shout in a frantic voice: “Get off a me, you damned dog. Quit it.” Suddenly, there was a gunshot and almost simultaneous to that a loud yip and then silence. Josh made eye contact with Lester. The hurt was visible on both their faces. “I’m sorry, Lester,” said Josh.

  Lester nodded his head. “Me too, just hope Sarah is alright.”

  “Yeah, I do too,” said Josh.

  And then from outside came Hollis’ voice. “Jake, did ya get the whore?”

  There was a short delay and then an angry, frustrated Jake shouted back: “No, this damned dog attacked me and while I was fightin’ him off the little bitch went and locked herself in the old-timer’s icehouse.”

  “Well, bust the door in,” shouted Hollis.

  “Can’t,” replied Jake. “The place is built like a fort.”

  Inside the cabin, Jake’s predicament brought a chuckle from Lester. “Thata girl, Sarah. Those two dumb asses’ll never get ya now.”

  Josh was about to ask Lester what he meant when Hollis sounded off again. “Jake, never mind the whore. We’ll burn these two yahoos out and be done with ‘em.”

  “Sounds good to me,” hollered Jake. “This whore ain’t goin’ no wheres ‘cause there’s a crossbar on the outside a the door and I done put the bar across it. I guess the dumb bitch didn’t figure on me lockin’ her in there.” Jake’s laughter could be heard all the way back to the cabin.

  Lester smiled and shook his head. “Well, Mr. Deputy, we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”

  It was dark as molasses and real quiet inside the icehouse. After Jake gave up pounding on the door and making threats, there had been no sounds that Sarah could hear except her sniffles. She was sad that Rufus hadn’t made it into the icehouse with her. He’d been right behind her but had turned on Jake when he was about to catch her. Rufus had saved her. And now she knew she had to do what she could to try and help Josh and Lester. All of the good things in her new life were about to be destroyed. It was fortunate for her, however, that she had a couple of stick matches in her shirt pocket from earlier that morning when she had been starting a fire in the cabin’s stove. She knew that there was a candle on a stool in the corner of the room to the left of the door, but where could she strike a match? Sarah stood for a moment facing the door, trying to recall if there was anything in the room that she could use for this. The day she and Lester had come to the icehouse, he had lit a match by running it vigorously several times back and forth on the leg of his Levis and it just popped to life. She’d seen other old-timers light a match this way and she marveled at their ability, but she wasn’t wearing those new kind of pants and she had only two matches. But then it came to her: the smell of venison off to her right. There were a couple of quarters of a deer hanging from iron meat hooks that were attached to the ceiling. Turning to her right, Sarah started slowly forward with her hands out in front of her. She’d taken only three steps when her left hand bumped into one of the quarters of meat, causing her to instantly stop. The meat was cold and firm and it had kind of a sweet musky smell. Keeping her hand on the meat, Sarah felt her way up the leg to where the meat hook had been inserted. She grasped the shaft of the hook where it came out of the ceiling; it was rough. Holding onto the shaft with her left hand, she fished one of the two matches that she had from her pocket with her right hand. She ran her finger along the shaft to get a sense of it, and then she carefully placed the match head against the shaft and made a striking motion. Nothing—the match had broken and the head was lost somewhere in the darkness on the floor. Sarah continued to cling to the meat hook with her left hand, the meat only inches from her face. She allowed her head to tilt forward and rest against the meat in frustration. “Dammit,” she said aloud. “How could I be so stupid?” She sighed deeply and then reached into her pocket for her last match. She felt the match and positioned her fingers about midway along its length. She attempted to rest the match head on the meat hook’s shaft, but her hands were trembling and she couldn’t do it on her first attempt. Sarah lowered her hand with the match so as to collect herself. She knew that she had to have light; without it she’d never be able to get out, at least not through the tunnel, and going back out the front door was not an option. She felt like crying and almost did but then she caught herself. Images of Josh and Lester came into her mind. She had to do this for them, and so once again, she positioned the match on the meat hook’s shaft. This time she applied less pressure and then struck the match. Nothing. Instantly, fear began to envelop her. It was like being buried alive. Sarah knew that she could remove the bar from her side of the door and in due time Jake would remove the bar from the outside and open the door, but that would be like surrendering to the devil; she’d rather be dead. And so after saying a quick prayer she applied the match one more time to the meat hook. Much to her relief, it burst into flame. Cupping her hands around the burning match, Sarah turned and moved towards the candle on the stool near the door. She moved slowly so as to not accidentally extinguish the flame. Still, the end of the natural life of the match’s flame and Sarah’s lighting of the candle were almost simultaneous. The candle’s flame was tenuous at best and Sarah knew that she would need to work quickly, but carefully, to remove the ice blocks so that she could exit her icy tomb through the escape door. She grabbed ahold of the first ice block. The coldness stung her hands and its weight buckled her knees slightly. Moving just one block had left her slightly out of breath; nonetheless, she turned and grabbed a second and a third and so on until she had methodically revealed the escape door. Dropping to her knees, she opened the ground-level door. She was greeted by darkness as black as coal. She rose from her knees and retrieved the candle from the stool. She could see Lester’s “go-to-hell” shotgun and his stash of gold. She would need to take both out through the tunnel. She had barely started when she was struck with just how small the tunnel was. To say that it was claustrophobic would be an understatement, especially if it was dark, and it was almost a given that the candle would never survive the crawl out with dirt falling from the roof of the tunnel. But what choice did she have, and so off she went, sliding the shotgun in its wrap and the bags of gold before her, being careful to always place the candle in a safe p
lace. The tunnel was far more claustrophobic than the icehouse. It was just big enough for Sarah to move on her hands and knees. In places there were roots protruding from the walls, mostly small stringy ones that appeared to have grown after Lester had dug the tunnel; where they hung down from the ceiling they would grab hold of Sarah’s hair. The first time that this happened she screamed—her scream, of course, was heard by no one. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, which only worsened her claustrophobia. Her fear of the tunnel caving in grew as she slowly moved her cumbersome procession of the shotgun, gold, and candle before her. Her heart was pounding loudly and her breathing had quickened. She began to imagine an awful scenario of where she would find the tunnel already collapsed in front of her. The tunnel was too tight to turn around in so she would have to back out, but what if the tunnel was to cave in behind her? She would be trapped, buried alive. The thought caused her to whimper and take several rapid breaths. Still on her hands and knees she froze in place, fearful that her movement might make her terrifying fantasy a reality. She began to cry. She first hung her head between her arms and then she surrendered to the paralyzing fear and lay flat on her stomach, her face cradled in the cool soil. She lay there for a moment and sobbed quietly. She could feel her tears blending with the dirt on her cheeks but she didn’t care. Her mind had traveled back to better times at home in Boston. She could see the blue sky and the sun and her family. Life had been good—or at least a damned sight better than it had in Bear Creek. Sarah dug the fingers of her right hand deeply into the soil; she clenched it tightly as if to vent her frustration. “I should never have come west,” she said to herself. But then, just as quickly she thought of Josh. He had been the one good thing to come from her agreeing to leave Boston. Deep down she knew that she had to compose herself soon, if she was to be of any help to Josh and Lester. And so once again Sarah got on her hands and knees, and after taking a deep breath to calm herself she started her slow crawl. She tried to concentrate on staying calm and not thinking bad things. It seemed to be working—she was making good progress. Finally, she reached a point where the tunnel started to go up. She was elated as she recalled Lester telling her this was where the tunnel was close to the exit. After steadying the candle she shoved the shotgun in its wrap ahead of her. She had almost reached the full extent of her reach when the gun barrel bumped into something. Instantly, she heard a hiss and in turn she screamed. “Oh shit,” shrieked Sarah in an angry, trembling voice. Her heart was in her throat, pounding furiously. Slowly, she held the candle out in front of her so she could see better and there it was: a snake. It was good sized, maybe four feet long, but it was not making any rattling noises. Sarah knew next to nothing about snakes except that a rattlesnake was poisonous and it rattled when it was upset. This snake had hissed once but it didn’t appear to be aggressive. It may have been because her fear was turning to anger and defiance that gave Sarah the courage, but she jabbed the snake hard with the barrel of the shotgun. Immediately the snake slithered away into the darkness, but in the same direction that she had to go. The snake’s reaction bolstered Sarah’s resolve to move forward. And so she started out again, slow and methodical, pushing the shotgun, gold, and candle in front of her. She’d gone only five or six feet when the tunnel turned fairly sharply to avoid a huge root of one of the ponderosa pines. The height of the tunnel was lower here by almost half, causing Sarah to lie flat and pull herself over the surface of the ground. She’d just cleared this low spot when she saw it, but she wasn’t sure due to having looked into the candle for so long that her eyes had bright spots when she looked into the far darkness. And so she closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them. There it was: a faint shaft of natural light. The tiny opening must have been how the snake had gotten into the tunnel. Sarah’s spirits were soaring. She quickly got to her hands and knees and started forward. She’d gone only a few feet when in her haste she brushed the candle’s flame against a root and it went out. “Dammit,” said Sarah aloud. The darkness was overpowering except for the tiny slit that she could see directly ahead. Seemingly oblivious to the snake but hopeful that it had exited the tunnel, she crawled as fast as she could into the near darkness. The tunnel was quickly getting steeper as the shaft of light grew stronger. And then finally, Sarah was at the end. She was directly beneath the rock slab. Eager to be free of this underground prison, she pushed up on the rock. Her first effort moved it six or eight inches, exposing the sky and trees above. Sarah put her face close to the opening, wanting a breath of fresh air that didn’t smell of dirt; she was greeted instead by smoke. An adrenalin rush fueled by concern for Josh and Lester immediately shot through her.