Dori’s hand flew to her mouth. Leave it to Curly to come up with such an idea.
Stancel only tucked his chin into his neck and declined. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much good at such demeaning chores.”
Curly put his hands on his hips and glared, but Katie piped up.
“I’ve never cooked out in the open, Curly, but if you’ll be for teaching me, I’ll be glad to help.” Her offer raised an outcry from the cowboys.
“Aw, Boss, if I’d know Miss Katie was gonna be assistant cook an’ bottle washer, I’da volunteered to stay,” Bud protested.
“Me, too,” Slim growled.
Curly smirked. “Too late, pards. See you back at the ranch.”
His disgruntled friends marched off, leaving Dori filled with glee.
It didn’t last. The departure of the outfit left her vulnerable to Stancel’s unwelcome wooing. When not busy with the cattle, Curly, Bud, and Slim had foiled the easterner’s attempts to get Dori away from the crowd. Now it took all Dori’s cunning to avoid being alone with him. Matt and Sarah were still in the honeymoon stage and often wandered off together. Curly appeared unwilling to let Katie out of his sight. That left Seth to protect Dori. Instead, he infuriated her by standing aside and acting amused at her predicament.
One afternoon, Stancel followed Dori to a shady glade where she’d gone to hide from him. Taking her by surprise, he pinned her arms and attempted to kiss her. Dori jerked free and slapped his face with a resounding crack. Tears of rage stung her eyes.
Stancel shrugged. “Why fight the inevitable? Remember, Worthingtons always get what they want.”
Dori raced back to camp, vowing to show him up so badly he’d tuck his tail between his legs and slink back to Boston.
A full moon and a crackling campfire on the night the travelers reached Sugar Pine Logging Camp and the flume gave Dori the perfect opportunity. She encouraged Matt to relate some of the local legends. She then added, “Of all the escapades concerning the Sierra Nevada area, the most thrilling is ‘riding the flume.’ Daring men jump into crude, sixteen-foot boats called ‘hog troughs’ or ‘hog boats.’ They are lowered into the gushing water as it cascades from the mountains down to the valley.”
“Yes, and it’s both dangerous and foolhardy,” Matt snapped.
Dori didn’t give an inch. “I admire anyone brave enough to ride the flume.” The growing interest in Stancel’s face showed how well her scheme was working. “I’d ride a hog boat myself except that Matt would skin me alive.”
“You’ve got that right, little sister. Remember what happened to H. J. Ramsdell?” Matt didn’t wait for her answer. “The New York Tribune reporter, two millionaires, and a drunken carpenter rode a flume back in 1875. Ramsdell climbed to the top of the trestlework to see the huge logs roar down the flume. He later wrote, ‘It was like the rushing of a herd of buffalo.’ ”
“What happened?” a wide-eyed Sarah asked.
Dori said nothing. She’d heard the story since childhood. Now she secretly gloated. Stancel’s enthralled attention showed that tomorrow would repay everything she’d suffered at his hands.
“The two-hundred-pound Ramsdell thought if the millionaires could afford to risk their lives, so could he. Only one of the fifty mill hands and loggers standing around agreed to go with them. An experienced flume shooter warned, ‘You can’t stop, or lessen your speed. Sit still, shut your eyes, say your prayers, take all the water that comes. . .and wait for eternity.’
“The hog trough was lowered into the flume. The carpenter jumped into the front and Ramsdell into the stern, with a millionaire in the middle. The second millionaire leaped into a boat behind them. When the terrified reporter finally opened his eyes, they were streaking down the mountainside. The trestle was seventy feet high in some places. Lying down, Ramsdell could see only the flume stretching for miles ahead. He thought he would suffocate from the wind. The hog trough hit an obstruction. The drunk carpenter was thrown into the flume and had to be dragged back inside.
“The second boat crashed into the first. Another man was hurled into the water. Splintered boats and bodies slid the rest of the way to the bottom of the flume.”
“I say, old chap, it sounds like jolly good fun,” Stancel exclaimed, eyes gleaming.
“Are you a raving lunatic? Those men fell fifteen miles in thirty-five minutes. They were more dead than alive when they reached a place where they could get off.” He stood. “Enough of such stories, folks. Time to hit the sack. Tomorrow comes early.”
Dori stayed to stare into the fire after the others left, then started to get up. A firm grip on her shoulder pressed her back down. How dare Stancel touch me. She whirled and froze. “You.”
“Yes, me,” Seth spit out. “I’d like to wring your pretty neck. Pranks like putting a wet rope under Worthington’s tarp and making him think it was a snake is one thing. Goading someone into a situation where he can be injured or killed is a different story. Wasn’t slapping Stancel when he tried to kiss you enough punishment?”
Dori scrambled to her feet. Embarrassment surged through her. “You saw?”
“I did.” Seth crossed his arms and his face looked like a thundercloud in the dim light. “I despise Worthington’s attitude, but he’s still a human being, created in the image of the God he doesn’t believe exists. What if Stancel dies while showing off for you, trying to prove he can do everything westerners do? Is ‘getting even’ worth knowing someone may be hurled into eternity without God?”
Dori saw in Seth’s clear eyes what her conscience had been trying to tell her. Sickness rose from the pit of her stomach. Sickness and the knowledge she had demeaned herself in Seth’s eyes. How could she have allowed the desire for revenge to carry her to such unspeakable lengths? She grabbed Seth’s arm, fear washing away everything but the need to undo what she had wrought. “You don’t think Stancel really means to ride the flume, do you?”
“I believe he will do anything to impress you.”
Horrified, Dori cried, “We have to stop him.”
Seth’s strong hand covered hers, but he sounded defeated. “I only hope we can.”
Twenty
“I only hope we can.”
The concern in Seth’s voice about Stancel riding the flume haunted Dori and robbed her of sleep. What if they couldn’t stop him? Dori took a long, quivering breath. What had she done? She knew from past experience that once Stancel set his mind, his stubbornness made the most uncooperative mule on the ranch look tractable as a lamb.
Dori planned to approach Stancel first thing in the morning, but she couldn’t get him alone. Sugar Pine Camp buzzed with activity, and for the first time since Stancel arrived at the ranch, he appeared to be avoiding her.
“If I say anything in front of the others, he will ride the flume just to save face,” Dori reasoned. “He didn’t actually say he was going to do it. Surely when he sees the hog troughs, he will back down.”
That’s what you think, her conscience jeered. What if Matt has to tell Miss Brookings her nephew drowned while trying to show he has more courage than the experienced loggers and mill hands who are smart enough not to jeopardize their lives?
The thought sickened Dori but steeled her determination. She must stop Stancel at all costs, even if it meant groveling. She hated doing so but had no choice. If that didn’t work, she would ask Matt to start them back to the ranch immediately. Muleheaded as Stancel was, he wouldn’t defy his host.
Dori caught up with Stancel at the top of the flume a few minutes before the rest of the Diamond S party arrived. He stood with a group of loggers who were obviously dumbstruck with his garish outfit. Gaze fixed on a hog boat tied at the head of the flume, Stancel’s expression made Dori’s flesh creep. She forced a laugh through a throat dried with fear.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” She pitched her voice so only he could hear and pointed to the rushing water encased in a V-shaped trough that zigzagged down the hillside “You can see why it t
akes a fool to attempt riding the flume. I apologize for what I said last night. I don’t really admire men who do stupid things. I was just spouting off.”
“Reah-ly.” Stancel turned from staring at the flume and looked down his long nose at her. “Nevertheless, I intend to go. It will be the thrill of a lifetime.”
Dori froze. “Your lifetime may be mighty short if you insist on riding the flume.”
He ignored her.
She raced back to her brother who, along with the rest of the party, had caught up with them. “Stancel is determined to ride the flume,” she cried. “Stop him, Matt.”
Matt leaped from Chase’s back and strode toward the Englishman. “Get this and get it straight, Worthington. No one in his right mind, especially a foolhardy easterner, is going to ride the flume while I’m around.”
A rumble of agreement rose from the loggers.
“Rubbish. You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do.”
Cold chills rushed up and down Dori’s spine at the sneer in Stancel’s voice.
Matt’s eyes flashed in the way that warned of trouble ahead for anyone who crossed him. “You are not riding the flume. Seth, Curly, bring your lassoes. We’ll hog-tie this fool until he gets some sense in his head.”
Worthington shrugged but only said, “That won’t be necessary.”
A sigh of relief went through the crowd. It changed to disbelief then cursing when before anyone could stop him, Stancel freed the boat and leaped into it. “Worthingtons always get what they want,” he called.
To Dori’s horror, Stancel’s legs tangled. His face changed from triumph to terror. He pitched forward in the hog trough and sprawled on his belly, head facing downstream. No sound came from his tightly clamped lips, but the appeal for help in his fear-filled eyes threatened to tear Dori’s heart up by the roots.
In a twinkling, Seth raced alongside the flume and dug his boot heels into the needle-covered ground.
“God, give him strength!” Dori cried.
From his precarious position on the bank above the flume, Seth stretched out a long arm. Stancel caught Seth’s wrist in a death grip and leaped to safety—but his sudden movement threw Seth off balance and into the hog trough. Before he could right himself, the boat hit an obstruction. Splinters flew. The impact hurled Seth into the flume, ten feet ahead of the boat.
“Oh Lord, forgive me.” Sobbing and crying out to God to save Seth from the results of her willfulness, Dori staggered down the incline, clutching at branches and small trees. Realization hit like an avalanche: If Seth died, life would cease to have meaning for her. Her boots slipped on the needle-covered ground. She wildly tried to save herself—and failed.
The next instant, Matt’s powerful grip bit into her shoulder. She stumbled and fell to her knees, hitting one on a rock. Scarcely aware of the pain, Dori’s gaze riveted on the flume where Seth was fighting for his life. Please, God, don’t let Seth die. I am so sorry. Save him and I promise. . . She could not continue.
“Stay where you are,” Matt ordered before sprinting after Seth, who had been unable to launch himself back into the hog trough. Dori strained her eyes to follow Seth’s progress. Her heart beat with joy when she saw that, several yards ahead, the flume leveled out slightly. The clutching water wasn’t quite so swift. Matt’s giant strides had taken him parallel with the boat. With a mighty bound, he managed to hurl himself into the hog trough.
A split second later, fresh horror stopped Dori’s breathing. Just ahead, the flume took a sharp, downward turn. Seth’s only hope was to get back into the boat before it reached that point, but he obviously was fighting a losing battle. Would the two men Dori loved more than life itself perish because of her petty desire for revenge?
❧
When Seth hit the icy flow he knew that every ounce of stamina built up by hard work and clean living couldn’t save him unless he got into the hog trough. No one could survive the battering he was receiving from the rushing water, but his attempts to reach the boat were futile.
“God, unless You intervene, I’m a goner,” he cried through chattering teeth, but his words were lost in the churning water. Then a Bible promise learned in childhood brought hope to his weary mind. “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.”
With a final burst of energy Seth grabbed the sides of the flume in a death hold, hoping he could hang on long enough for the boat to reach him. A strange calm settled over him, a sense that he was not alone. He clutched the sides of the flume. The hog trough was almost within reach, but the greedy current was too strong. Fingers numb with cold, his grip loosened. He flung his arms forward in a last attempt—and missed. This, then, was the end. Please, God, take care of Sarah. And Dori.
A heartbeat later, strong hands clamped on Seth’s wrists like bands of iron and yanked him into the hog trough. Yet the danger was not past. Above the ever-increasing roar of untamed water, Matt bellowed in Seth’s ear, “Hang on and pray.”
In the twinkling of an eye, the two men in their splintered boat plunged headlong into the ever-increasing torrent.
❧
Heartsick and trembling, Dori watched the men vanish around the bend. The sound of weeping told her she was not alone. Sarah and Katie, white-faced and clinging to one another, had reached her. Curly tore past, slipping and sliding in his downward rush beside the flume.
Sarah’s fingers bit into Dori’s arm. “What’s happening?” she cried.
“I don’t know.” Dori licked her parched lips. “All we can do is wait. Curly will come back and. . .” She couldn’t continue.
“I can’t bear to wait.” Sarah cried. She dropped to the ground and covered her face with her hands. “We have to do something to help.”
Katie knelt beside Sarah and gathered her in her arms. “I’m for thinking the best way we can help is to pray, then decide what we should do.”
“Do?” Dori asked, too numb to understand.
The Irish colleen nodded. “For sure. Should we wait here, hoping Matt and Seth will escape harm and return? Start back to the ranch?” She shook her head. “We’ll know better when Curly returns. Now, let’s pray.”
Dori caught the black look Katie sent toward the bedraggled man who had silently joined them. “Mr. Worthington, if you don’t care to pray, then begone with you.”
Stancel stared for a moment, then stumbled a short distance away and sat down under a tree, leaving the three women to petition heaven on behalf of Matt and Seth.
Pain washed through Dori. Surely they will manage to get out of the flume and come back, her heart insisted. Although this escapade has probably killed any chance of Seth’s ever caring for me. She pushed the thought aside. Now was no time to think of herself. Dori also tried to banish visions of the splintered hog boat and rushing water, but to no avail. As Katie said, all they could do was to wait.
Several hours later, Curly returned with a battered and bruised Seth Anderson, both riding unfamiliar horses. “The boss is down below with a wrenched ankle. He’s gonna be fine, but it hurts too much for him to ride,” Curly reported. “The man who lent us these horses is taking Matt to Madera so Doc Brown can give him a once-over.”
“Thank God!” Sarah threw herself into her brother’s arms, tears streaming.
Dori swallowed the lump of relief that sprang to her throat and turned away to hide her desire to hug Seth like Sarah was doing. Stancel’s voice stopped her in her tracks. He looked more than ever like a scarecrow in his torn clothes when he shuffled over to Seth and held out an earth-stained paw.
“Much obliged, old chap. Ripping of you to lend a hand. Puts me in your debt, and all that.” He cleared his throat. “I was a bit distracted there for a bit, but I could have extricated myself shortly. Of course, you couldn’t know.” He shrugged.
Dori wanted to hit the obtuse man. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Seth. A white line formed around his lips. He ignored Stancel’s outstretched
hand, clenched his fists, and stuck his face close to the braggart’s. Then he let loose with both barrels.
“You just don’t savvy, do you, Worthington? You deserve the licking of your life. I’d love to give it to you, but I am not going to do it. If you don’t start using whatever brains God gave you, there’s a lot worse ahead for you.” Seth paused. “You think you could have saved your own worthless hide? Never on this green earth. You’re right about one thing. You’re in my debt. But you owe a far greater debt to Someone else.”
A poignant light crept into Seth’s eyes, a light that made Dori feel more ashamed than she had ever been in all her years of careless living.
“I risked my life to save yours, Mr. Stancel Worthington III. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, did a lot more than that. He died on a cross to save your soul. If you’re any kind of man, you’d best get your nose out of the air and start admitting who’s really in control. Otherwise, you’re no better than the braying donkeys on the Diamond S.”
Dori wanted to applaud, but Curly had the last word.
“A-men,” he drawled. He clapped Stancel on the shoulder so hard the Englishman staggered. “Cheer up, old chap. If the good Lord could save a miserable cowboy sinner like me—which He did—then I reckon He can save an ornery critter like you.” Curly freed his hand and scratched his head. “I’ll tell the world, though, it’s gonna take some doin’, even for Somebody as big as God.”
Twenty-one
Stancel Worthington III was strangely silent on the long trip home. He kept to himself for much of the way, riding apart from the others in the party and only speaking when spoken to. For the first time in Dori’s acquaintance, she saw uncertainty in his eyes. Had what she privately called “Seth’s Sugar Pine Sermon” pricked Stancel’s vanity and begun to make a difference in his life? She fervently hoped so.
Romance Rides the River Page 12