Montana Bride

by Joan Johnston

  Karl knew better than to let his mind wander to Hetty. Lumbering was far too hazardous an occupation to allow for daydreaming. He forced his frustrating thoughts about his wife to the back of his mind. He had to stay focused. And he had to make sure everyone else stayed focused.

  He noticed one of the men pause to roll a smoke near a pine where a bucker was knocking a wedge into the notched hinge with a wooden maul, the last step before the logger made his final cuts to take down a massive pine.

  Karl cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Move your butt, Marty, before that tree flattens you like a pancake!”

  Marty’s head came up as he yelped, “Son of a bitch!” and scampered out of the way.

  One more disaster averted.

  Karl kept expecting the men to mutiny when he corrected them, but although they grumbled and complained, none of them had shouldered his ax and walked away. Everything he knew about logging, he’d learned from books. He’d supervised men before on his botanical research trips, but he’d been an expert on the subject. He was using his wits and a lot of bluffing to stay a jump ahead of the loggers.

  Dennis had stood back and watched, waiting for the moment when things went to hell. So far that hadn’t happened, and Karl was determined that it never would.

  Dennis appeared at Karl’s shoulder as though he’d been listening to Karl’s innermost thoughts and said, “Feel like cutting down one more tree?”

  Dennis had seemed surprised at how quickly Karl became proficient at getting his tree to fall exactly where he intended it to land. He’d gone so far as to create a competition to see which of them could get his pine cut first and land it closest to a predetermined spot.

  Griffin stopped bucking limbs long enough to say, “Go ahead, Karl. You can take him.”

  At that moment, one of the lumbermen stood back and yelled, “Timmmmberrrrr!”

  Karl listened for the craaaccckkk that signaled the tree had fallen forward on the notched hinge cut into its base, folding over toward the kerf on the other side. Both the notched hinge and the kerf were angles cut out of either side of the trunk which, along with the direction of the wind and the lean of the tree, determined where the tree would fall.

  In all the weeks Karl had spent on the mountain, he hadn’t gotten over the excitement of watching the enormous pines fall. He raised his eyes and shaded them from the glare of the setting sun on the snow as he watched the tree’s majestic descent. The noise of cracking limbs was followed by the squawk and flutter of birds taking flight from nearby foliage.

  Karl realized in the utter silence after the mammoth pine landed that the other lumbermen had stopped to watch as well. He wondered if they felt the same reverence as he did for the felling of the noble giant, or whether they’d stopped to keep a watchful eye on something that could squash them like a bug.

  Karl heard Griffin say in a quiet, respectful voice, “Holy cow.”

  He turned to his stepson, met the boy’s gaze long enough to share the wonder in Griffin’s dark eyes, and said, “Yeah. Holy cow.”

  Griffin abruptly turned his attention back to the pine he was bucking as though the brief moment of togetherness had never happened.

  Karl was frustrated by his lack of progress getting the boy to trust him. Griffin did his work and kept his distance. Maybe Hetty was right and the kid simply needed time to adjust to having a father. “You can finish bucking those limbs in the morning,” he said.

  At that moment, the final length of the felled log Stefan and Buck had been sawing separated into two pieces, which rolled apart.

  Karl turned and yelled loud enough to be heard by the men who were spread out through the forest, “That’s it for the day!”

  He heard shouts of relief and name-calling between friends as each man shouldered his ax and began collecting bark to take back down the mountain for the bunkhouse stove.

  “You mean you aren’t going to take Dennis up on his challenge?” Griffin asked.

  Karl was surprised into blurting, “You want me to?”

  “You like doing it, so why not?”

  Stefan rubbed his aching back with the knuckles of both gloved hands and muttered, “I’ll lay a sawbuck that Dennis wins.”

  “I’ll take that bet,” Griffin said.

  Stefan looked startled that his wager had even been heard, let alone accepted.

  Karl wasn’t happy, either. He was pretty sure gambling wasn’t one of the things Hetty had intended for Griffin to learn by spending time with the loggers. “Where did you get the money to take that kind of bet?” he asked the boy.

  “I’m earning a wage, aren’t I?” Griffin replied.

  Karl hadn’t considered paying Griffin, but the boy was doing a man’s work, and the loggers were earning forty dollars a month plus room and board. “Are you sure that’s how you want to spend your hard-earned cash?”

  Griffin nodded. “You can do it, Karl.”

  The thing was, Karl was pretty sure he couldn’t do it. He was good, but he wasn’t quite as fast as Dennis. In fact, Dennis had beaten him every single time they’d engaged in one of these matches. And he’d rather not have an audience.

  “It’s getting dark,” he said. “You men should get started down the mountain.”

  “I’ve got four bits I’d like to bet on Dennis,” one of the loggers said.

  “Who’s going to hold the cash?” Stefan asked.

  “I will,” Buck said. “Will you take that bet, Boss?”

  “Come on, Karl,” Griffin said. “I think you can beat him.”

  He was so surprised at Griffin’s encouragement that Karl said, “Sure. Why not?”

  By the time the betting was done, more than thirty dollars sat in the pot. Only one person besides Griffin had wagered against Dennis. Andy Peterson had bet a five-dollar gold piece that Karl would win.

  Karl was surprised Andy had bet on him to win, because he’d been giving the kid a hard time ever since Hetty had told him how the boy had lured Grace to the barn. Andy had never once gotten riled at Karl’s probing questions about his intentions, and he’d worked hard and without complaint skidding logs down the mountain with his team of longhorns. As far as Karl could tell, there was nothing wrong with Andy Peterson. He just didn’t want the Texan anywhere near his stepdaughter.

  Karl turned to Griffin and said, “Want to come pick a tree for me?”

  “Can I?” Griffin said.

  “Sure,” Karl replied.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Andy asked.

  Karl thought the Texan was probably having second thoughts about betting his gold piece on the boss. “You can help me figure out where to put the stake,” he said at last.

  If Karl angled the kerf and the notch for the hinge correctly and gauged the wind and the lean of the tree, the trunk of the falling pine should drive the preplanted stake into the ground. In order to win the bet, he not only had to get his tree down first, he had to place it where he wanted it to go.

  “This one, Karl,” Griffin said, picking a pine with a trunk it would take three men to circle with their extended arms.

  “I’ll take this one,” Dennis said.

  “That’s not the same size. It’s a foot smaller around,” Buck said. He pointed to a different pine. A larger pine. “That one’s the same size.”

  Karl stared at Dennis, who looked chagrined. Karl was shocked. Was it possible Dennis had been choosing a smaller tree every time they competed? Surely not. And yet, Dennis didn’t argue with Buck. He simply moved to the second tree.

  Karl felt his heart lift. Lord have mercy. Maybe Buck had given him a fighting chance. Now all he had to do was take advantage of it.

  Karl leaned his head back to study the ponderosa pine Griffin had chosen for him to chop down.

  “Slants pretty far to the left,” Andy said.

  “But most of the limbs up high are on the right,” Griffin countered.

  Karl weighed the right-hand-heavy crown of the tree against the sig
nificant slant of the trunk in the opposite direction and realized Griffin had chosen a pine that had balanced itself out.

  Andy took off his glove, stuck a finger in his mouth to wet it, then held it up in the air. “Wind’s from the south.”

  “But gusting from the west,” Griffin said, pointing to a rustling spruce.

  Karl glanced at the spruce, then at the pine boughs above him, judging the swirling breeze. He saw movement in the distance and watched as Dennis set his stake in the ground. No one would be shouting Go! The game began with the first ax cut by either man.

  Karl heard a thwack and realized Dennis had begun. Karl didn’t even have his stake in the snow yet.

  “Run thirty paces in that direction,” he instructed Griffin, pointing with a gloved finger, “and plant my stake right between those two big pines.”

  “But Karl—” Griffin protested.

  “Do it!” Karl freed his ax, which was embedded in a nearby stump. He ran his gloved hands up and down the smooth handle, then made a slow arc with the ax to make sure he had plenty of clearance to swing freely. “Take out that chokeberry for me, will you, Andy?” Karl said, gesturing with his chin at a small bush behind him.

  Andy used a short ax he carried on his belt to chop off the plant at its roots. “Anything else?”

  Karl heard the steady sound of Dennis’s ax chopping wood and realized there was no time to waste. What else? What had he forgotten? He glanced around one last time, plotting his path of escape when the tree came down. By that time, Griffin had returned from placing the stake.

  “All right, boys,” Karl said. “Step back and join the crowd. I have work to do.”

  He waited one more beat, till he was sure both boys were safely out of range, then lifted his ax and made the first cut. Thunk.

  He heard a loud thwack in reply.

  Karl swung again. Thunk.

  And again heard Dennis’s thwack.

  Karl formed his kerf with strong, steady strokes of his ax, cutting up, then down, chips flying as he created an angled notch across the trunk, aimed at the stake where he wanted the tree to land. Then he crossed to the other side of the tree, picked a spot higher on the trunk, and began cutting another notch that would act as a hinge. When he was almost done chopping down the tree, he would insert a wooden wedge in the notch to both slow down and steer the fall of the pine, so the trunk didn’t bounce back and kill him.

  Karl had no sense of time. He relished the endless rise and fall of his ax and the mighty labor required of muscle and bone. Sweat dripped from his brow, slid down his nose, and fell in thick droplets on the snow. Dennis’s thwacks echoed back to him in the mountain air. They seemed to come faster and sounded louder than Karl’s solid thunks.

  Karl heard guttural shouts from the gathered loggers egging Dennis on, but he refused to look at his rival to see whether Dennis was ahead or behind. Karl maintained a steady rhythm. He was nearly there. He set the wedge and was making his final cuts when he heard Dennis yell, “Timmmmbeerrrr!”

  Karl didn’t stop. He took another swing at the trunk. And another. And heard the telltale crack that told him the hinge was breaking. He yelled, “Timmmberrr!” and leapt backward along the escape route he’d chosen.

  A moment later he felt his legs being struck out from under him. He was tangled with another body and spinning like crazy down the mountain over rough brush and stones. He came to an abrupt and painful stop wrapped around a pine stump.

  Karl groaned. It felt like his back was broken.

  “What the hell?” Karl looked down, still dizzy from the tumbling fall, to see who’d tackled him, and found Griffin’s body wrapped tightly around his legs. The boy’s eyes were closed. Karl reached out a hand—which he was happy to see he could move—and laid it on Griffin’s head. “Griffin?”

  The boy remained still.

  Karl tried sitting up and was aided by Andy, who’d raced down the mountain after them. The rest of the loggers were soon gathered around.

  “Are you all right?” Andy asked breathlessly.

  “I think so,” Karl said. “Check on Griffin.”

  Dennis was suddenly there to help brace Karl upright. “I can’t believe what happened, Karl. That crazy tree came down all wrong!”

  “What?” Karl was still dazed, still worried about Griffin, and unable to comprehend what Dennis was saying.

  “The kid saved your life,” Buck said. “Never saw anybody move that fast. Don’t know how he figured out Dennis’s tree was coming down the wrong way. You’d have been mincemeat if Griffin hadn’t tackled you.”

  Karl put his hands under Griffin’s arms, but before he moved him, he wanted to make sure the boy wasn’t badly hurt. “How is he?” he asked Andy.

  Andy’s face was chalk white. “I can’t find any broken bones, but his breathing is shallow. And he’s not waking up.”

  Karl pulled his stepson up into his arms, cradling him like a baby. “Griffin,” he said, gently patting the boy’s cheek. “Open your eyes.”

  Griffin’s eyes fluttered open, then closed and remained closed. Karl hoped the kid was only stunned, but he had an ugly-looking lump on his forehead. Karl realized it had gotten so dark he could barely see his hand in front of his face.

  “Somebody fire up a lantern before we end up standing here in the dark,” he ordered. “Andy, take your oxen and get down the mountain. Stop by the house and tell Mrs. Norwood that Griffin’s been hurt. Make sure Bao has his medicine box handy when we get there.”

  “Got it, Boss.” A moment later he was gone.

  “Let me take the boy, Karl, while you get up,” Dennis said.

  “No!” Karl held tight to Griffin. “Just give me a hand getting on my feet.”

  Dennis shook his head at Karl’s stubbornness but stuck his hands under Karl’s arms and helped him onto his feet with Griffin in his arms. Dennis demanded a lantern from one of the loggers and held it high, so Karl could see his way as he carefully headed down the skid trail carrying the unconscious boy.

  They hadn’t gone far before Griffin opened his eyes again. The first thing he asked was, “Who won the bet?”

  Karl was startled into relieved laughter. “Who cares? You’re damned lucky to be alive. That was a fool thing to do, but thank you.”

  “Who won?” Griffin persisted.

  “Dennis’s tree came down first,” Stefan called out from within the crowd of loggers following behind them.

  “But it never came close to the stake he set out,” Buck pointed out.

  “What about Karl’s tree? Where did it come down?” Griffin asked.

  “Karl’s tree hit his stake stone-cold center,” Buck replied. “You won big, Boss. So did you, kid,” he said to Griffin.

  Karl heard respect in Buck’s voice, but he wasn’t sure whether it was for him or the nine-year-old who’d rescued him.

  Griffin wriggled in Karl’s arms and said, “Put me down, Karl. I can walk.”

  “Be still,” Karl ordered. “You’ve got a lump the size of a hen’s egg on your forehead. Your mom’s already going to give me hell for letting you get hurt. All I need is for you to pass out again and hurt yourself worse. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  Griffin’s efforts to get free subsided, but Karl could tell from the tension in the kid’s body how uncomfortable he was in Karl’s arms.

  Karl knew Hetty must be crazy with worry over her son, but when he stepped inside the cabin carrying Griffin, she looked amazingly composed. Only the white knuckles on her clenched hands, and her short, fearful glance at him, told him how really terrified she was.

  Grace hovered at Griffin’s side as Karl carried him to the bedroom, frantically touching any part of her brother she could reach. “What happened? What stupid thing did you do this time?” she asked in a shrill voice.

  “Griffin saved my life,” Karl said simply as he eased Griffin onto his bed. Hetty and Grace took up places on one side of the bed, as Dennis joined Karl on the other.

  Grac
e’s mouth hung slack in shock. “Griffin saved you?”

  Karl nodded.

  Grace turned to her brother and said, “Oh, Griffin, I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you. How did you get hurt? What happened to your head?”

  “I bumped it,” Griffin retorted. “Don’t make such a fuss, Grace. I’m fine.”

  Bao entered the bedroom at that moment accompanied by Andy, who said, “I told Bao what happened.”

  Andy joined the crowd around the bed as Bao began his examination of Griffin.

  “Bump is good thing,” Bao announced when he was done. “Mean bleeding not inside head. You have headache?” he asked Griffin.

  “Yeah,” Griffin admitted.

  Bao turned to Hetty. “Cold cloth on head. Keep swelling down.” Then he turned to Karl. “Important you watch boy all night. Need rest, but no sleep. Must keep boy awake.”

  “I can do that,” Grace said.

  “We both can,” Hetty said, settling a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

  “You can sleep in your mom’s bed tonight, Grace,” Karl said. “Hetty and I will sit up with Griffin.”

  Karl saw Hetty was surprised by his offer to keep vigil with her. She glanced immediately at Grace, who said, “I want to stay. He’s my brother.”

  Karl wondered about the emphasis on the my, but before he could reflect on it, Hetty said, “Karl, you can’t afford to lose a whole night’s sleep. You still have work tomorrow. Why don’t we take turns?”

  Hetty smoothed Grace’s flyaway curls from her brow and said, “You and I can take the first shift, Grace. Karl and I will watch the rest of the night till morning.”

  “When are you planning to sleep?” Karl asked Hetty.

  “I can lie down on Grace’s bed and nap if I get tired.”

  “Why can’t I go to sleep?” Griffin asked Bao.