Angel Train

by Gilbert, Morris

  After the sermon Gwilym said, “We’ll now have the closing prayer,” but he halted for Tremayne had stood up. “Yes, Brother Tremayne?”

  “I want to be baptized, Pastor.”

  Gwilym stared at the man. “It’s freezing out there.”

  Tremayne shrugged. His face was rather pale, and he said, “I’ve trapped beavers when the weather was this cold and came out soaking wet. I did that for money. Can I do any less for God who has saved me?”

  “You mean,” Gwilym said, “you want to be baptized—right now?”

  “The river’s there and you’re here. I hate to ask you to get in that cold river, but I’m ready.”

  “Well, hallelujah!” Gwilym shouted, and his face shone with joy. “That’s the spirit I like to see in a new believer. Come along, everyone.”

  The whole crowd went to the river and watched as Gwilym waded out waist deep. Tremayne followed him. Tremayne stood with his head bowed while Gwilym said, “Now out of obedience to the command of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I baptize you, Brother Tremayne, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” He grabbed Tremayne by the back of the neck, lowered him into and under the water, and finally pulled him up.

  “Glory to God!” Gwilym shouted. “You won’t forget this, my son.”

  The two men came to shore where the women had blankets. Charity said, “Pa, you go in and get dry clothes on right now. You, too, Casey. You’ll catch your death.”

  While they were inside changing, Elsworth said, “Well, Charity, there’s a man who means business for God.” He shivered, shook his head, and added, “It would be hard for me to put myself in that river.”

  “He’s a strong man,” Emily said. “He’s going to do something good for God with that kind of spirit.”

  * * *

  CHRISTMAS WAS PAST, AND the New Year was coming. There had been little celebrating. Tremayne went back to his mill afterward, but there was little work to do until the spring, and he knew he had to find more parts for the mill. Without much to occupy his time, he felt lonely, but one thought calmed him: I’ve spent months in the mountains all alone and never knew I was alone, and here I am, two or three days, and I’m lonesome for people. I guess that’s what God does to a man.

  For the rest of the morning, he tried to put his thoughts out of his mind but then gave up. By midafternoon he was riding into Oregon City where he met Charterhouse who invited him to eat with him. Afterward they discussed how life was different now for both of them.

  “I never told you this,” Charterhouse said, “but I was a barrister back in England.”

  “That some kind of a lawyer, Elsworth?”

  “Yes. I could qualify here to be a lawyer without much trouble. Emily wants me to do it.” He laughed. “I could become a judge. I might have you in my court. Now that would be—”

  “Look, Elsworth, that’s Frank Novak. He’s not a man to abuse a horse like that.”

  Indeed, Novak was riding at a reckless, breakneck speed and flogging his horse, which was nearly staggering. He fell off the horse and yelled, “Tremayne!”

  “Something’s wrong,” Tremayne said. He approached the frightened man. “What is it, Frank?”

  “It’s the Indians. They hit my cabin. We fought ’em off, but I seen smoke. I think they burned out the Wilsons.”

  “Which way were they headed?”

  “Headed toward Gwilym Morgan’s homestead.”

  Men started to gather as Novak gasped out his news.

  Studdart exclaimed, “Tremayne, you’re the only one who’s fought Indians. Tell us what to do.”

  “Studdart, you raise all the men you can. I’m going on ahead.”

  “You can’t go by yourself.”

  “I’ll be all right.” He ran to his horse, mounted, and yelled, “Meet me at the Morgan place with all the men you can get and as quick as you can!”

  As he rode out, Tremayne found himself praying as hard as he could. Lord, I’m not able to do much, but I’ll do whatever You would have me do. Keep the Morgans safe. Help us to fight off these Indians. He leaned forward and drove his mount at the utmost speed.

  * * *

  CHARITY LEFT THE CABIN, calling out, “Pa, I’m going over to see Stefan and Zamora.”

  “All right, Daughter. Watch out now.”

  She saddled her mare and started down the road. She hadn’t gone more than a few hundred yards beyond sight of the cabin, when she heard gunfire. Quickly she wheeled her horse, and fear gripped her. She rode the mare back, and when she saw the cabin, her heart grew cold. Painted Indians were firing at the cabin. There was only one window, but the door was open, and Evan and her father were returning fire. One of the Indians already lay prone, but there were many of them.

  Charity tried to wheel her horse, but she heard a shrill yelp and saw one of the Indians jump on his pony and come after her. She rode as swiftly as she could, but the Indian caught up with her, reached out, and knocked her from her horse. She hit the ground on her back, which left her breathless. Instantly the Indian was on top of her. He was smeared with yellow paint, and there was an unholy expression in his eyes. He was grinning at her, and she fought him, but he cuffed her in the face and said something in a guttural language. He dragged her to his horse, removed some rawhide, tied her hands, and then threw her on her horse. He tied her feet underneath the mount so she couldn’t escape, and then he mounted his own horse swiftly and called out. Three more Indians soon appeared, riding bareback. Her Indian captor was a tall man with commanding features. He uttered something in their native language and then rode off, pulling Charity’s mount by the reins.

  She heard more rifle fire and prayed for herself and for her family.

  * * *

  TREMAYNE PULLED UP IN front of the Morgan cabin. Evan and Gwilym were stepping outside.

  “Are you all right?” he yelled.

  “Yeah, we fought them off. We had extra rifles loaded. We killed one of them and wounded another, I think.”

  Evan said, “But they took Charity. She had gone on her horse to visit the Krisovas, and they caught her. I saw four of them leading her away.”

  “We’ve got to catch her,” Gwilym called.

  “I’ll go get her. Give me a fresh horse.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Evan said.

  “No, you stay here. Studdart is leading a band here. When he comes, I want half of you to go to the west; the others to the east. Ride hard. They’ll have to go through the pass over there so they’ll be somewhere in that area. We’ll pinch them in.”

  Tremayne checked his pistol while Evan changed his saddle to a fresh horse. Casey mounted and, glancing at Gwilym, said, “I guess it’s time for God to do some work.”

  “But God uses men,” Gwilym said; his face was pale but determined. “God be with you, my son.”

  As Tremayne left the homestead, Evan said, “I feel we ought to be going with him.”

  “He’s done this sort of thing before, Son. We’ll do what he says.”

  * * *

  THE INDIANS HAD RIDDEN hard for more than two hours. It was growing dusk. They had stopped long enough to kill a cow that belonged to one of the settlers; they built a fire and were now roasting the meat on sharp sticks. They ate it nearly raw, and the tall Indian who had captured Charity threw her a chunk of uncooked flesh. He uttered something that must have meant she was to eat. She shook her head. He slapped her and issued another guttural expression. He spoke as if he had a mouthful of hot mush. His hot eyes frightened her. She took the meat, tried to cook it, and took a few bites.

  The Indians had managed to get liquor, probably from a cabin they’d raided. She had always heard that they couldn’t manage alcohol well. They began singing and dancing, and she hoped they would all pass out and give her a chance to sneak away. But the tall Indian tied a strip of rawhide around her neck, and he held the other end. He gave it a jerk to let her know he was in control. He said something and then grabbed her dress. He rippe
d the front of it down. She tried to strike him, but he doubled his fist and hit her in the forehead. She fell to the ground, and then he fell on her, tearing at her clothing.

  “God help me!” she cried. The Indian merely laughed. She got one glimpse of the other Indians who had gathered to watch. They were laughing, too, and Charity knew that life was a very precious thing, and she could very well be about to lose it.

  Suddenly a shot rang out, and the tall Indian fell across her. She heard more gunfire. She pushed the Indian off and saw Tremayne riding and firing as he rode. The Indians tried to run, but he was too close. He shot two of them, but the last one dashed into the thick woods. He leaped off his horse and came to her.

  “Are you all right, Charity?”

  Charity felt him pull her to her feet and felt his arms around her. She held him tightly, and tears ran down her face. “Yes, you were in time, Casey.”

  The two stood in that scene of death, and as they did, Charity was suddenly aware of a great and startling truth. She had thought as the Indians had led her away, I’ve lost everything. She had thought of the things she would never have.

  She looked up and said, “Casey, I almost lost you.”

  “You’ll never lose me.”

  He kissed her and she clung to him. “I want to be your wife, Casey.”

  “That’s a miracle to me.” He stroked her hair. “God is good. He’s a great Deliverer. Come, I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE SUN HIGH IN the sky shed a bright gleam on the frozen earth. It was the first day of January in the year 1856. Tremayne and Charity had been married that morning by her father, and there had been a celebration. But the two left, and now they were approaching the cabin Tremayne had built.

  Charity felt strange as if she had passed a milestone and could never go back again. Ever since Tremayne had saved her from the Indians, she had been rejoicing in the deliverance God had provided. He had asked her how long she wanted to wait before getting married.

  “Not long. I’m ready to be a wife.”

  He had grinned at her and said, “I’m ready to be a husband.”

  They had wasted no time, and now on this first day of the New Year, they arrived at the cabin. He helped her off her horse and tied their animals. He said, “Let’s look over your new home.”

  She had seen it before, of course, but he showed her the sawmill, which was in working order now, and then the cabin. It was almost exactly like the one she had been living in with her family.

  He walked with her to the river at the bottom of a steep hill. “The boats come once a week, at least, but that’s about the only people who pass by here.” He turned to her and said, “You think you can be happy here, Charity?”

  “I know I can.”

  He had worried about this. “You’ve lived with your family and with others. It’ll be different up here.” He hesitated, and she saw he was troubled.

  She put her hand on his chest and said, “I’ll be happy. You’ll be here at night, won’t you?”

  “Nights and days too,” he grinned. “I found a verse in the Bible that says the first year a man is married, he ought to stay at home and please his wife.”

  She laughed. “I think you made that verse up.”

  They walked along the perimeter of the claim. “You think you can have your children here and not be lonely?” Casey asked.

  “Well, what do you think a marriage is? You and me. Yes, I’ll be happy.”

  They looked at the river and then at the dark forest. He said, “I’m going to build you a big, fine, frame house with glass windows one of these days.”

  Charity looked at her husband and knew she had found the man she could love all the days of her life. She took his hand, and her smile was tremulous, but with joy and happiness she said, “We’ve got each other, Casey, and that’s all we need.”

  He took her in his arms then and held her, and the two thought of all the tomorrows ahead of them, and they were happy.