Sara Rose by A. H. Holt

Sara Rose by A. H. Holt

Genre – Frontier Action Adventure
Time Period – 1800’s
Location – Ohio, Illinois
Description – Sarah Rose’s husband comes home drunk and angry once again. He lunges to grab Sarah Rose and falls down the cellar stairs breaking his neck. Sarah Rose knows his family will accuse her of murdering him so they can take her children. With the help of her Uncle, Eli, she devises a way to hide his body so that no one will find it, packs up her three boys and leaves Ohio to settle on a claim on the plains of Illinois.

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#marriage #love #abuse #abusive husband #murder #northwestern #frontier #covered wagon #Conestoga #historical #novel #travel #Ohio #Illinois #books #land grab #action #adventure #crime #suspense #1860’s #overcoming #romance #strong female lead

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First Chapter

Sarah Rose grasped the polished handrail and leaned forward, straining to see into the gloom at the foot of the stairs. The dark shadows made it impossible to see all the way down to the last step.

“Are you hurt Hans?” She called for the third time.

Hans didn’t answer. Sarah turned away from the open cellar door and rushed across the kitchen to get a lighted candle from the table. Returning to the open doorway, she held the candle holder high to throw light onto the bottom of the steps.

Hans’ long legs splayed across the last step. Gray dimness hid the rest of his body.

Descending the steep stairs step by careful step, Sarah continued to hold the candle above her head.

Her heart pounded. A crushing fear made it hard to breathe.

But I must find out. I must know.

As she moved down the staircase, Hans’ entire body came into view. Her thoughts raced and jumbled.

Maybe he’s knocked himself out. He probably hit his head and knocked himself out. He looks as limp as an old rag.

Hans lay perfectly still. Sarah gathered her skirts and hopped awkwardly over the last step to avoid touching his sprawled out legs.

Bending low, she placed the candle holder on the hard dirt floor. She moved back a few feet to watch her husband’s face.

His ruddy cheeks were deathly pale, and his eyes were closed as if asleep. He still did not move.

I’m afraid to move nearer–afraid Hans might only be pretending he’s knocked out.

Sarah expected her husband to jump up from the floor at any moment, reach his rough hands out to grab her. He would laugh out loud when she screamed in fright.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she stood trembling, watching her husband. He didn’t move.

Still afraid, but finally beginning to hope, Sarah bent close to Hans. She reached out to touch his chest with one finger.

When she felt no movement she hesitated, caught her breath and gathered her courage to place one hand flat in the middle of his waistcoat, just above his gold watch chain.

She felt nothing. There was no response to her touch, no sign of life.

Hans wasn’t breathing. He really wasn’t breathing. Still trembling with fear and dread, Sarah moved closer to kneel at the man’s side.

She placed the fingers of her right hand along the side of Han’s throat. Her heart seemed to leap when she could feel no movement. His skin still held warmth, but he was surely dead.

Dead. Hans is dead. He would never hit me again—never scream at me again, drunk or sober.

Gasping with shock at the rush of gladness that filled her body with strength. Sarah Rose straightened to her full height to stare down on the body of her husband of eight years.

She felt stunned. She was almost numb with the shock of her reaction, but she could feel no shame for her joy.

Hans came home only a few moments earlier. He was drinking, or to be precise, he was drunk.

As usual when he drank too much, his voice grew too loud and raucous and his temper became uncertain.

He visited his brother Otto’s tavern in the village to drink and gamble almost every evening in the last few months. The hour was extremely late. It was long past midnight when he threw open the back door.

Sarah Rose sat at the polished oak table in the main room of the house. She was writing a long overdue letter to her brother James.

Both of Sarah Rose’s brothers were much older. They left home years before, determined to see the world and make their way doing anything except farming.

Sarah Rose remembered the comfort of their love and care when she was a small child. It had been so long though, she could hardly remember their faces.

Michael still wandered somewhere. No one knew where. He hadn’t written in years, but James finally grew tired of his aimlessly traveling here and there and moving from job to job. He met a young woman somewhere in the west, fell in love and married.

He and his wife took up a land claim and started a farm near a place called Lacon in Illinois. He wrote to Sarah Rose every month, telling her in great detail how he progressed in planting crops and building a home.

Hans began yelling even as he slammed the back door wide open so it banged against the wall. “Why are you sitting up here in the middle of the night wasting a good beeswax candle, you stubborn, thoughtless woman? What are you doing?”

“How many times must I speak to you about your wastefulness? Will you never learn anything? Are you unable to learn anything?”

Sarah jumped up to stand beside her chair. Staring down at the floor, she kept silent, letting the tirade flow past her.

She knew from experience that anything she might say to defend herself would only make matters worse. When Hans was far-gone in drink there was no reasoning with him.

Hans closed the door and stopped to hang his hat and coat on the pegs in the wall near the back door. He took time to straighten his coat with exaggerated precision. He adjusted the drape of the coat twice to make sure it would stay exactly as he placed it.

He always became excessively careful of his clothing when he drank. He finished fussing over his coat and hat and turned to reel across the room. He fell into the chair Sarah Rose vacated when he entered the house.

  The candle light sparkled on the gray hairs just beginning to show in his thick hair. Still a handsome man, with his dark hair and large eyes in a well-shaped face, his excessive drinking could be seen in several ways. He had gained a lot of weight, and the skin around his eyes was puffy and discolored. 

“Since you’re astir anyway Woman, fetch me some food. I’ve not eaten a bite since I ate my dinner at the mill this noon.”

Sarah Rose turned to open the cupboard. She took down a platter of ham and some biscuits left over from supper.

Suddenly, Han’s eyes fell on Sarah Rose’s almost completed letter to James. He jerked himself forward in his chair to stare down at her words.

Angered either by what he read or by the whole idea of the letter, he reacted by grabbing up the sheets of paper in one hand and waving them over his head. He leaped from the chair, knocking it over backwards with a crash as he lurched across the room to confront Sarah Rose.

Placing one hand against the side of the oak dish safe to steady himself, Hans screamed, “Why are you writing to that good-for-nothing brother of yours again?”

“Look at this. Just look.” He shook the papers over Sarah’s head.

“I told you before I will never again allow you to truck with such a fool in any way. What’s wrong with you? When he refused to give up his foolish adventures and come back here to civilization to help me with this farm I forbade you to ever write your brother another letter.”

“Don’t you remember what I said? Can’t you remember anything I tell you?” 

“But, Hans, please. I must write to James. He’s my brother.”

“Why do you insist on defying me? Do you have no respect for me as your husband? Is that it?”

“No Hans. No–of course that isn’t it.”

Hans’ face flushed an ugly red. His words slurred and his voice took on a far-away, thick sound.

He took a step closer to Sarah Rose. He still held the crumpled pages of her letter to James high in the air with his left hand.

Holding the platter of ham in trembling hands she turned to face him. He stared down at her for a long moment, then reached out to slap her cheek sharply with the fingers of his right hand.

Jerking away from the sting of the blow, Sarah Rose dropped the wooden platter of ham slices to the floor and turned to run toward the back door. Hans reached out to catch her shoulder and spun her around to face him.

“Don’t attempt to get away from me, you clumsy fool. You can’t get away from me. You’ll never get away from me.”

“You know I’ll always catch you and when I do I promise you. Your punishment will be ten times worse than if you stand still and face me.”

Roughly pushing down on Sarah’s shoulder, Hans continued yelling, his head down, his face held close to hers, “Just look at what you’ve done now.”

“Look,” he repeated, pointing to the platter and the pieces of ham scattered on the floor.

“How can you be so wasteful? You know I’m short on money this year. Anything we don’t need to eat we could sell.”

“Do I have to watch you every minute? Get down there on the floor and pick up that food.” 

“You don’t fool me at all, you vindictive witch. You dropped that meat on purpose. You dropped it because you knew I wanted it, didn’t you?”

“No—no, of course I didn’t, husband. Please, I’ll pick it up. I can clean it so it won’t be wasted.”

“Do you think I would eat food from the floor like a filthy dog?”

Sarah dropped her head and didn’t try to answer.

“You will though. You’ll eat every mouthful. Do you hear me? I’ll see you get nothing else to eat until this meat is gone, until you eat every piece of it.”

“Maybe that will teach you not to be so wasteful. Now hurry and clean up your mess. I still need my supper.”

Sarah knelt on the floor at Hans’ feet. With shaking hands she gathered up the slices of ham to place them back on the platter.

As she hurried over to the larder to replace the platter on the shelf, Hans turned back toward the table, bending to pick up the over-turned chair from the floor.

“I’ll cook you some bacon and an egg or two. It will only take me a moment, Hans. See, the fire’s still bright.”

“I don’t want any bacon or anything else. You’ve completely ruined my appetite with your clumsiness. Go get a rag or something and clean up that streak of filthy grease you left in the middle of the floor. Try not to be such a slattern.” 

“My mother would be horrified if she could see this. I think you do things like this hoping to shame me with my family.”

Head down, Sarah Rose crossed the room to open the cellar door. She felt angry and afraid, but helpless.

I know Hans is burdened with debt and directs his fear and anger over that at me, but he will eventually kill me in one of his drunken rages. Perhaps I’ll be better off when he finally does it.

She knew from bitter experience, she could do nothing but agree with Hans until he stopped his raving and dropped off to sleep. He always became completely unreasonable when he drank. He seemed to regret it though. He never failed to beg her forgiveness and vow never to drink again the next morning.

Sarah Rose grabbed the rag mop from its hook behind the cellar door. Leaving the door standing open, she rushed back to scrub the mop at the streak of grease the slices of ham left on the polished oak floor.

When the floor was clean of grease, Sarah Rose started back across the room to return the mop to its place on the cellar door. She heard heavy footsteps behind her and realized Hans rushed after her.

Startled and afraid, without thinking, she whirled to face him, still holding the mop handle in both hands.

When Hans reached one hand out to grab Sarah she flailed out in panic with the mop handle, striking him sharply on his right shoulder.

Clearly beside himself with drink and consumed with rage that she would strike him, Hans made a harsh sound deep in his throat—an animal like growl as he spun to lunge for her, both hands like claws. She jerked away in fear, moving closer to the cellar door.

In his maddened rush, the tips of Hans’ fingers slid from Sarah Rose’s shoulder. He staggered a step or two and lost his balance.

One hand grabbed for the doorjamb, but could not hold his weight. He fell backward through the open door.

Heart pounding and hands trembling with shock Sarah continued to stare down at the body of her husband.

Over and over she thought. I am free. Free of his drunken rages.

He will never scream and rail at me again. He will never again hit me or twist my arms to torment me.

I am free of Hans. I am free.

Then full realization came to her. A sickening knowledge that shook her so deeply she almost cried aloud. She was wrong. Completely wrong. Free of Hans she certainly was. Yes, but she was not free of Hans’ family. She was not free of Otto and Han’s mother.

As soon as Hans’ brother Otto and his mother know he is dead they will surely accuse me of murdering him. They will see me hanged so they can take over this house and farm.

After that, it will be easy for them to take all of Hans’ property. They’ll take the Mill, everything.

They will take Hans’ sons as well. They will take my sons.

Still trembling with shock and fright, Sarah bent over the body of her husband once again. She placed her hand against her husband’s throat to further assure herself that his blood did not flow.

It seemed so impossible Hans could really be dead. She felt compelled to reassure herself.

Convinced her husband indeed lay dead, not just knocked out, Sarah stood up, straightened her shoulders and stepped over his legs to climb back up the stairs. When she reached the kitchen she transferred the candle to her left hand and used her right to carefully shut and latch the cellar door.

Her soft lips set firmly in an expression of determination, Sarah Rose moved quietly but purposefully. She immediately crossed to the front of the house and climbed up the ladder to the unfinished second floor.

When she reached the middle of the ladder, she thrust her head and shoulders through the opening and into the loft. Holding the candlestick high. she could see the pallet her sons Daniel and Thomas used for a bed spread close against the chimney for warmth. Both boys slept soundly. Only the tops of their white-blonde heads peeked out above the quilts.

Relieved the children slept undisturbed through her husband’s tirade, Sarah climbed back down the ladder. She walked over to place the candle in the middle of the table.Resuming her chair, she sighed aloud and dropped her head into her hands.

I must think of something to do. There must be some way to keep Otto and the rest of Hans’ family from finding out he is dead. To keep them from finding out at least long enough for me to get the children away from here.

The obvious thing would be to dig a hole in the dirt of the cellar floor, bury him and cover the place with old furniture or something.

No-No. That wouldn’t work. That wouldn’t work at all. Otto would know Hans was somewhere on the farm as soon as he saw his horse in the paddock.

Even if I got rid of the horse, Otto would search everywhere until he found Hans’ body. Then when he named me murderer my guilt would be unquestioned. If I do that I will certainly hang.

Minutes passed. Suddenly, Sarah Rose finally knew what she must do.

Raising her head high she let her hands fall away from her face. Pushing her chair back and squaring her shoulders, she stood up.

She walked over to the eastern side of the house to lift the curtain and peer out of the window. It was almost dawn. No red yet lay in the pale gray sky of early morning.

As soon as it’s light enough, I’m going to run to Uncle Eli’s cabin. I’ll fetch him back here to the house to help me.

Eli will help me–I know he will. He’s strong enough to help me. I will need his strength to do what I must.

Taking a spill from the fire, Sarah Rose lit the lantern she kept hanging beside the cellar door. Opening the door again she slowly descended the stairs.

Shuddering in distaste, she pulled her skirt close to her side to avoid dragging it against Hans’ legs.

When she reached the dirt floor, she crossed the cellar to look intently at the two barrels sitting on racks that rested against one earthen wall of the cellar. Grasping the edge of the largest barrel with one hand, she shook it as hard as she could. It barely moved.

Nodding her approval of the sloshing sound the liquid made when the barrel moved, she turned back to the stairs, again carefully avoiding Han’s body. She hurriedly climbed back up to the kitchen, closed the cellar door firmly and re-latched it. Blowing out the lantern, she returned it to its peg.

In the few minutes left before full light, Sarah quickly but carefully folded the best of her clothes and all of the children’s things. She emptied most of the fine hand-embroidered linen out of her wooden trunk and packed it full of clothes. She even took all of Hans’ clothes that hung on the wooden pegs driven into the wall near his side of the bed.

Moving about the bedroom as quietly as she could, she worked in the dim glow thrown through the door by the candle on the table in the main room.

She didn’t want to bring the candle into the bedroom for fear the light would cause baby William to wake.

When she finished packing the clothes, Sarah Rose returned to the main room. She gathered up the books and slates she used to teach Daniel and Thomas their letters.

Once she arranged the school things in the trunk, she added her grandmother’s candle mold and made room for a few of her favorite books. Satisfied she had remembered the most important things, she forced the trunk lid closed and locked it.

Sarah Rose stopped her work and returned to the window now and again to look out at the sky. As soon as the first streaks of red touched the horizon, she went in the bedroom bent over the cradle a moment, checking to make sure the baby was well covered and slept soundly.

Grabbing a knitted shawl to throw around her shoulders against the morning chill, she crossed the kitchen to pinch out the candle flame. Silently, she left the house by the back door.

Gathering her skirts against her legs to keep them away from the wet grass and weeds bordering the narrow way, she ran along the path to Eli’s cabin.

Plans—desperate plans filled her thoughts.

Eli is big and strong. If I can only convince him this is the right thing to do. He’ll agree to help me do it–he must agree to help me.

 He’s all I have—the only one who can help me. We’ll be able to do this together.

If the children will only continue to sleep for another hour, it will all be over. They’ll know nothing about it.

We will be safe. Everything will be all right—will be hidden and we’ll be safe.

Eli must understand. I know I can make him understand.

Soon Sarah’s breath took on a ragged sound, as much from nerves as from the effort of running. She raced past the fallow fields and through the edge of the wood to enter a tiny clearing.

Eli’s cabin was small, perfect for a man living alone. It had one room and a sleeping loft, with a shed addition where he stored wood out of the weather and kept his horse. Sarah never saw the inside of the cabin any way but neat and spotless.

Eli even kept the yard area around his home swept free of leaves and brush. He said it was to keep snakes away.

Pounding on the door with her fist, Sarah Rose called Eli’s name twice then stepped back away from the cabin far enough so he could identify his early morning visitor through the window.

Already awake and dressed when Sarah knocked on the door Eli jumped to his feet to answer. She heard the sound of his boots striking the floor before she finished knocking. He lifted the bar, and threw the door open.

“What is this, Sarah Rose? Whatever is wrong?

“It’s not even full light yet. Is someone sick at your house?”

“Oh, Eli, I desperately need your help. I have killed Hans.”

Eli froze in place as though something held him still. His mouth dropped open in astonishment.

He didn’t say anything—he couldn’t, but after a long moment he sort of shook himself and hurriedly stepped back from the door, motioning with his hand for Sarah Rose to step inside. Turning to shut the cabin door firmly, he dropped the wooden bar back in its brackets as though to keep out an invisible enemy.

Eli didn’t speak, but turned away from Sarah Rose to walk over to the fireplace. Taking a cloth from the pocket of his loose vest he lifted the iron teakettle from the bracket that held it over the fire.

Moving to the table he poured hot water into a china teapot.

Returning the iron kettle to the hob, he took a tin canister from the chimney-piece and poured a generous number of black leaves into the pot.

“Come over here and sit down at the table, girl. Your face is as white as a sheet and you are obviously beside yourself.”

“You must drink a cup of this hot tea. Then you can tell me what in the name of heaven really happened. You’re not making sense.” 

“Here, put some of this sugar in your cup—use more. The tea will be ready directly. You’ve clearly had a terrible shock to be talking so wildly.”

He pushed a pewter dish half filled with brown sugar across the table so Sarah Rose could reach it easily.

“Oh…Eli.” Sarah bowed her head to cover her face with both hands. After a moment, she drew a deep breath and dropped her hands.

Staring up at Eli with haunted eyes, she fixed her tea, took a sip and spoke in a shaky voice, “You must listen to me, Eli. I’m telling you the truth. I killed Hans.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please Eli, just listen to me. Don’t argue—just listen.”

“Hans came home in a drunken state very late last night, as he often does these last months. You’ve seen him. You know.”

“He screamed and shouted, ordered me to fix him some supper. When I began preparing the food he found a letter to James I had just written lying out on the table.” 

“The sight of the letter inflamed Hans with anger. He literally screamed at me in his rage.”

“He finally struck me. You can see the mark on my face.”

“His raving and the blow unsettled me so much I dropped a platter of meat on the floor. After I picked the meat up, he ordered me to clean the traces of grease the meat left on the floor.” 

“I opened the cellar door to get the mop and without even thinking, I left it standing open. When I finished cleaning the floor and started to return the mop to its hook on the back of the door, Hans suddenly jumped up and ran across the room behind me. I heard his footsteps and realized what he intended.”

“I don’t know how it happened, Eli. I felt so frightened I really don’t know what I did.”

“I still held the mop in my hands. I can’t remember exactly how, but some way I hit Hans on his shoulder with the mop handle.” 

“When I did that, his face got so red and ugly he was simply terrifying. He reached out for me again, but in his wild anger and drunkenness his hand slipped off my shoulder.”

“He lost his balance and fell through the open cellar door. He hit about half way down the stairs.” 

“He fell really hard, Eli. He must have struck his head on one of the steps or something as he went down.”

“I thought at first he was only knocked out or maybe even lying there faking, hoping I would come close to check on him so he could reach out and grab me to give me a fright.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him, Eli. I swear to Heaven I didn’t mean to kill him, but he’s really dead.”

“I put my hand on his chest and he wasn’t breathing and then I felt his neck. He is truly dead.”

“Don’t fash yourself so about it Child,” Eli’s face paled with shock and surprise. He turned away from the table to pace back and forth across the room.

Finally came back to stand beside the table. Looking down at Sarah Rose, he said, “It was clearly an accident Girl, anyone can see that—it was an accident.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Sarah Rose. It wasn’t your fault. Hans did it to himself.” 

“Everyone who knows Hans knows he is—was drunk more often than sober lately. He stayed drunk most of the time for almost the whole of last year.”

“His excessive drinking has been a scandal for at least two years. All you must do is explain what happened, just as you’re telling me now.”

“Hans’ brother Otto won’t know it was an accident, Eli. You know he won’t. Neither will his mother.”

“They hated me from the first—you know that.” Sarah’s voice sounded strained and her eyes were full of fear.

“They’ll deny Hans ever drank himself into such a state.No one will refute their word.”

“That is probably true, Sarah. I hadn’t thought of that. Otto wants this farm, doesn’t he? He may even have taken a mortgage on it when Hans borrowed money from him to start the mill.” Eli shook his head in concern and lowered himself into the chair across the table from Sarah.

“Eli, you must listen to me.” Sarah put down her tea cup to stand up and lean over the table toward her uncle. “Otto and his mother will go to law and accuse me of murdering Hans.”

“That is how it will be. Surely you can see that.”

“I can say I was there at the house with you and saw what happened, Sarah Rose. I will swear it was an accident. That it happened because Hans was drunk.”

“That won’t work either, if you stop and think it through. You know it is as I say. Otto will only accuse you of lying to protect me and he will be believed.” 

“Remember, Otto and Han’s cousin Luther Biedermiester is the county magistrate. Luther will believe exactly what Otto tells him he must believe. He will agree with Otto and his mother when they say that I killed Hans deliberately and you are only lying to protect me.” 

“I know that if I don’t do something this morning I’ll be hanged for Hans’ murder. They will take my sons and this farm and all the other lands my father left. They will find a way to get even the fields and woods that are to go to my brothers.” 

“Think Eli–please think. You can’t get involved in that way. They will never believe you. They may even say you helped me to murder Hans and hang you for murder as well.”

“What in the world do you mean to do Sarah Rose? How can I possibly help you?” Eli stood up and began pacing back and forth again.

“Come back up to the house with me, please Eli? I have an idea, and I need your strength. What I must do I cannot do with only my own.”

Eli Rossberg stared at his sister’s child for a long moment. Tall and well made, when she stood up straight as she did now her brilliant blue eyes were almost level with his.

Strands of dark hair escaped from the thick single braid that reached below her waist. Soft wisps had pulled loose to curl around her face.

Even pale and worried sick with the burden of this trouble Sarah Rose was strikingly beautiful. Her lips were usually smiling when she visited him, but today she held them grim and tightly closed.

Her head was high and her chin firm. Three angry red streaks left by Han’s fingers stood out on her white cheek.

“What is it that you plan to do, Sarah?”

“I’m going to hide Hans’ body so no one will ever find it. Once it is safely hidden we will pack the big wagon full of food and tools.”

“We’ll take my boys and go to my brother James in Illinois. Later we will take up a claim of our own near James. We will be free of Otto and the rest of Hans’ family forever.”

“My conscience, Child. You can’t even think of doing such a thing. Hiding a body is like admitting guilt. Besides, there is no time to do it anyway.”

“Otto will be here in a few hours. He will surely catch us. You know he comes here every week to see his brother, and he hasn’t been here since early last week.”

“No he won’t, Eli. No. Otto won’t come here today—not today and not this week. He left yesterday morning for Philadelphia.”

“How do you know this?”

“Hans told me day before yesterday that Otto would go. He said Otto needed to tend to some business about wagons for the new hauling enterprise he started. He won’t be back here for close on to three weeks.”

“I thank the Lord for small blessings. We’ll be gone away from here long before he comes back. If I have my way, we’ll be packed and loaded and gone from here before this day is over.” 

“I’ve thought it all out Eli. Listen to me—just listen.”

“We won’t carry any furniture with us. We’ll take only what we must have to live and those things necessary for us to start a farm when we get to Illinois. If we work fast we can pack everything in the wagon and leave before this day is gone.”

“If we do that we’ll be completely out of Otto’s reach by the time he returns from Philadelphia. We’ll be so far out of his reach we’ll never have to worry about him or his mother or any of Hans’ family ever again.”

Eli shook his head. Watching Sarah’s strained face, he asked, “What made you think of this, Child?”

“I’ve told you. You know I have dreamed of going to Illinois to be near James for years. It was impossible before, but now it’s the only way.”

Eli Rossberg continued to pace for a moment, then he turned to face Sarah Rose. “Let me get my hat and coat. You finish your tea and I’ll come with you.”

Sarah Rose moved to the door. “I must run ahead back to the house. Baby William will be waking. It will soon be time for his morning feeding.” 

“Please stop and check around the paddock when you come up, Eli. It’s almost a certainty that Hans’ horse will need tending.”

“He was very drunk when he came in last night and he often forgets—he often forgot to tend the animal when he drank too much. The poor thing is probably standing outside the gate still saddled and with the bit in his mouth.”

When Sarah left Eli’s cabin it had grown light enough for her to run freely along the path back to the house. Her thoughts were a jumble strained. She felt almost dazed.

This plan to leave and join my brother has lived in the back of my mind for a long time. Many nights in this last year, waiting for Hans to come home and fearing he would come home drunk yet again, I dreamed of leaving him someday.

I made the lonely hours pass by planning and scheming and dreaming of finding a way to leave him. A way to take my boys and homestead near James in Illinois.

A woman with only young boys to help her can’t begin to fell large trees to clear land and earn a living creating a farm in the forests here in Licking County. It’s impossible, it takes great strength—a man’s strength—to cut trees and remove stumps to clear land and prepare it for planting.

My father left me this farm but only a few of its acres have yet been freed of the forest. What few trees that were cut since Hans and I made it our home were cut with hired labor. Han’s showed little interest.

He always disliked farming. He was much more interested in other ways of earning a living.

He did well for us at first. He sold a large piece of the farm to pay for the materials he needed to build his woolen mill and for several years enjoyed great success.

The mill preyed on Hans’ mind. He got in trouble financially. He didn’t want to have to go to his brother or his mother for help.

They helped him find part of the money he needed to build the mill in the first place. Shame made him hide his need.

He caused the trouble himself through his gambling—gambling and drinking. He lost money he needed to keep the mill in raw materials and pay the workers.

Hans always found difficulty controlling his temper, but as the trouble at the mill worsened, he began to drink more and more.

When he drank, Hans always became loud and ugly. He made no effort to control himself.

I love James’ letters—I read them over many times. He describes in detail the open plains interspersed with stands of timber covering the area of Illinois where he and his wife settled and built their home.

He repeatedly mentions there are many open claims made up of naturally cleared acres just waiting for the plow. He also notes proudly that there are few stones in the soil of his claim.

James makes Illinois sound an easy land. A land filled with deep, rich soil perfect for growing corn and other grains.

Moving there to take up my own claim is my dream. My beautiful but futile dream for three years–a waste of thought I indulged in to take my mind away from my unhappiness.

But now—now it’s possible. I can join James, take up a claim where the land is naturally cleared and ready for plowing.

I can make a home for my children. I know I can support myself by farming with Eli’s help.

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Kendrick’s Pride by A. H. Holt

Second Book in The Kendrick Family Story

Genre – Western
Time Period – 1920’s
Location – Colorado
Description – Kendrick is thrown into a battle for the survival of himself and his family. A twisted tale of betrayal, intrigue and violence set in the early 20th century American frontier.

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First Chapter

I filled the stove with kindling and added a couple of chunks of sap-filled pine to heat the place up fast. In minutes the sides of the heater glowed red from the roaring fire. By the time it calmed down I was warm and nearly finished making entries in the ranch books.

I suddenly heard running footsteps on the path from the house.

 “What the devil….”

The office door flew open to crash back against the wall and Meg fairly jumped through the opening. Her face glowed a pasty white and her hair tumbled down on her shoulders. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

 Sobbing between every word, she shrieked, “Oh Ken—Ken—you—you have to come up to the house–now—please hurry.

“You have to hurry. It’s Sheriff Collier–the town sheriff from Belden—the sheriff and two other men are in our parlor. They say we have to give them the boys—right now–today.”

 Startled by her tears and mystified by her crazy sounding words, I stood up and leaned over the desk —, “What in the name of Heaven do you mean—what are you talking about. Meg?”

 Meg didn’t say another word. She just looked at me through her fingers, tears streaming.

 I pushed my chair back and hurried around the desk to grab my wife’s shoulders with both hands. “Stop that crying Meg, for Pete’s sake—calm yourself—I can’t even understand what you’re trying to say to me. Take your hands down from your face and tell me what in the world you’re babbling about.”

 Dropping her hands so her whole body took on a defeated look, Meg looked up at me, tears streaming and wailed, “It’s true, Ken—it’s true. It’s what that Sheriff Collier told me—just now.

“One of the men with him claims he’s Trent and Tyler’s real blood uncle and the sheriff says we have to give him the boys.”

 “Well, you just stop your crying. It won’t do any good and you know it. Come on. We’ll go back up to the house and see what they have to say—somebody’s out of their mind—I just need to go find out who.”

 Taking my hands away and stepping around Meg, I rushed out of the office and stretched my legs as I strode toward the house.

Meg ran to keep close behind me, still crying aloud. “You can’t let them take the boys Ken—you can’t.”

 “Don’t be silly Meg,” I said over my shoulder.

“Of course they can’t take the boys—don’t be ridiculous. You just calm down—I’ll talk to the marshal.”

 Crossing the back porch, I threw open the kitchen door letting it slam back against the wall, crossed to almost run down the hallway and rush through the parlor door.

I stopped in the middle of the room and stared first at Collins then at the two men sitting nearest the fireplace. A slender young man in a boiled collar and a slick looking head of black hair perched on the edge of the seat of Mother’s rocking chair. He frowned up at me.

The fattest man I ever laid eyes on overflowed my dad’s easy chair. My easy chair.

 Collins tried to stand a little taller as he stepped closer to me, his hands out as if to stop me. “You just take it easy now Wayne Kendrick–don’t you go getting yourself all upset and excited. These here men are out here on legal business. I come with them because I figured you was likely to get yourself all riled up and try to cause them some trouble.”

 Collier turned to wave his hand at the fat man. “Mr. William H. E. Stinson, Jr. here showed me clear proof in writing he’s brother to them there poor little boys own real father, Mr. Hal Stinson. He come here all the way from back east in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to get them boys and fetch them home with him.

“Mr. Stinson’s ready to give them boys a fine home and a future you can’t never hope to match, Kendrick. You got to turn them boys over to him today.

“It’s only right. The man’s their only blood kin.”

 I took a deep breath to calm myself down. “Collier, take these two men and get out of my house.”

 “I was afraid of this, Kendrick—I been warned about you and your ways by a lot of folks around Belden. You needn’t come on all proud and stuck up with me. You can’t be talking to me like that anyway. You know I represent the law.”

 “You don’t represent any law around here, Collier. You’re nothing but the Belden town marshal, not the county sheriff. Nobody but the county sheriff or a sworn federal marshal can represent the law out here and you know that without me telling you.

“You take your friends here and get the devil out of my house.”

 The fat man leaned forward in my chair.

“Mr. Kendrick, please–please calm down and listen to what my lawyer has to say about this.

“I do have proof I am Hal Stinson’s older brother and blood uncle to those two poor little boys. I want to take them to my home back east and provide for them. I lost my only brother. I want to give his sons a fine education and the life they deserve.”

 Mad enough to fight, I turned to face Stinson, trying to keep my voice down and sound a lot calmer than I felt.

“To start with Mister, my boys are living the life they deserve. They’re well provided for and loved as much as any children can be loved. I don’t know what notion you might hold about the kind of life my boys live here with me, but they are fine and happy and have everything they need.”

 “But they’re not your boys, Mr. Kendrick.” The fat man grabbed both arms of the chair and straining, sort of oozed forward to sit on the edge of the seat.

“You must admit that, Sir. You simply took those poor little babies over without leave from anyone but that so-called marshal over at the Springs.

“You brought them back here where nobody knew where they came from and convinced a poor ignorant country judge you and your wife would provide a fine home for them.

“Marshal Collier here suggests to me that people in Belden tell him you only wanted the boys as extra hands to help you run this ranch.”

 I had to take me a deep breath. I felt about ready to explode. In fact, I was so mad my whole chest sort of jerked when I heard the fat skunk say that.

I took one long step forward and leaned forward to be closer to the fat man before I managed to say, “Mister, you get up out of my chair and say that again and I’ll break your head for you.”

 Collier rushed over to push himself between me and Stinson.

“Look here Kendrick, you calm yourself down now. If you hit Mr. Stinson I’ll have to arrest you.”

 “I’ll say this again Collier—you do not represent the law here. Now I’m going to leave this room to get my shotgun. I’ve asked you to leave. That’s all I intend to say. Now you get out of my house before I get back and take these two with you.”

 Without giving Collier time to answer, I turned and legged it out of the room, grabbing Meg by the hand as I went by to pull her along behind me. Without speaking I stomped down the hall to the kitchen.

 When we stepped through the kitchen door and stopped Meg turned to look back down the hall, her eyes wild. When she stopped sobbing and opened her mouth to say something, I slid my right hand over her mouth and shook my head to keep her quiet.

Leaning forward close to the kitchen door, I listened carefully, but could only hear a dull murmur of whispered conversation from the front room—no words I could understand.

After about one long minute, the three men moved into the hallway and left by the front door, closing it softly behind them.

 As soon as I dropped my hand Meg looked up at me with an expression of pure terror on her white face.

She finally managed to choke out, “What are we going to do, Ken? Tell me what we’re going to do?”

 “I don’t know, Meg. Please try to calm down.

“I’m certain this isn’t the last we’ll hear of those three. I just don’t know. If that little one with Stinson is really a lawyer, I expect he’ll swear out a warrant trying to make a legal claim to the boys as soon as he gets back to Belden.

“I’ll go to town first thing in the morning and talk this mess over with Adam Fletcher. He’ll know how to deal with Stinson if he does take us to court.”

 “Oh no—oh no.” Meg began sobbing aloud again.

“You don’t think a judge would—surely no one would give that horrible man our boys?”

 “Of course not—there is no possible way Judge Montague would give our sons over to that man. The whole thing is downright foolish. We adopted Trent and Tyler like we were supposed to, with the judge’s say so. Don’t be silly about it, Meg—use some sense and stop taking on so.

 “Look, go wash your face and put your hair back up. The boys and Katie will be home from school in a little while. I’ll catch them at the barn and explain what happened here, but I don’t want them to see you like this.”

 “I can’t help crying Ken, I’m so scared. You always think I can stop crying just because you say I should, but I can’t—I can’t help it.”

 “You’ll have to help it this time Meg—that’s all there is to it. I can reassure the boys and Katie, but if those children see you crying and carrying on like this, it’ll scare them half to death.”

 “I’m so frightened, Ken. Trent and Tyler are almost twelve years old. How could that horrible man come here trying to take them away from us now—after almost twelve years?”

 “I can’t explain it Meg, it does look strange for him to wait so long, but you just stop your crying and worrying over it. I’ll see Adam Fletcher tomorrow like I said I would and do whatever needs doing if that Stinson fella pulls the law into this. The boys will be fine.”

 “You can’t know that Wayne Allen Kendrick—you always think you know everything. You always say everything will be fine—but it is not fine always—it’s just not—no matter what you say. You know it’s possible the law might give those boys to that man.

“I’m taking Katie and Trent and Tyler and going home right now. My father will protect us.”

 “Meg, you are not to go to your father about this. I’ll take care of it. If I’ve told you once I’ve told you over and over—our business is our business. I don’t need Major Cason sticking his nose in.”

 “Darn you and your stuck up Kendrick independence. You should be glad my father’s willing to help us instead of acting so prideful.”

 “Well maybe I should, but I don’t want your father’s help. I’ve told you that hundreds of times and I mean it. I want you to stop running to Major Cason with every little thing.

“Try to have a little confidence in me, Meg.”

 “This is no little thing Wayne Kendrick—it would kill me if I lost my children. I mean it—it would kill me.”

 Meg stared up at me through her tears for a long moment and then turned to run into the hall, sobbing wildly. I could hear her feet pounding the steps as she ran up to our room.

 I stood where I was and stared after her, my thoughts buzzing around in my head. I finally shrugged and left the house and hurried toward the barn.

My head filled with pictures of Meg today and Meg ten years ago—the Meg I married. I can’t help but think she will surely drive me crazy one of these days.

After almost twelve years of marriage she still thinks of her father before me—every time we have a problem.

Sometimes I wish she’d go on back home to the Major permanently and leave me in peace.

I guess I don’t really mean that, but Major Cason has the idea he ought to rule just about everything—including my life.

He and I just strike sparks—it was like that even before I married Meg. I try to hold back, but the old scudder’s stuck his nose in my business more than once since Meg and I got married.

I don’t know what in the world he’ll say about this. He never wanted us to adopt Tyler and Trent in the first place even though it was Meg’s idea—well, I guess it was Meg and Aunt Letty’s together to begin with—but Meg sure went along with it—she even pushed it.

Katie met me at the barn door.

“Daddy—Daddy, Trent pulled my hair and I told him I would tell you and you would punish him good for being so mean to me.”

Lifting my daughter in my arms, I tousled her mop of yellow curls and laughed as I snuggled her close.

“What did you do to make Trent pull your hair, Miss?”

“Daddy—I didn’t do nothing to Trent. I’m a good girl.

“I didn’t do nothing to that big boy—he’s just mean to me—he’s always mean to me.”

Tall for his age, his head almost up to my shoulder, Tyler stepped into the bright sunshine, settling his hat atop his overlong blond hair.

“Little Sister, I saw you poke at Trent with your pencil over and over before he turned around and yanked on your hair to make you stop.

“We rode at least half a mile while he let your devilment pass without doing a thing. Shame on you for telling Dad and trying to get your brother in trouble.”

“Aw, Tyler, don’t tell on Katie. Dad knows how she is.”

Trent followed his brother out of the barn.

Once they stand side by side, it’s almost impossible to tell the twins apart.

I gave Katie a gentle shake and stood her on her feet. “You stop telling things on your brothers’ young lady, or I’ll have to send one of the hands to take you to school and bring you home every day.

“If you can’t tell the truth you won’t be allowed to ride with the boys.”

“I’m sorry Daddy. Please don’t do that.

“I won’t do it again—I promise. I like to ride to school with Trent and Tyler.”

“Go on up to the house and help your mama, Honey. She’s not feeling too good today. She’ll be glad to see you.”

I watched a moment as she ran toward the house, bright curls flying. Turning to the twins, I hesitated a moment, trying to get my thoughts together.

“What’s up Dad? What’s wrong? You look kinda upset.”

“I knew I couldn’t hide anything from you, Tyler. You’re right. I am upset, seriously upset. You boys come on up to the office and I’ll tell you about it.”

I returned to my chair, stretched my legs under the desk and rested my arms on the open ledger. Trent perched on one end of the desk and Tyler took the only other chair in the room.

After inspecting the top of my desk for a least a full minute as I tried to gather my thoughts, I cleared my throat. “We’ve never really talked about this boys, but I’ve never tried to keep it from you—you know you’re adopted, don’t you?”

“Of course we do, Dad.”

Trent laughed and stood up to parrot Major Cason. “You may call me Grandfather children, although you must understand and always remember, I am not your grandfather by blood, only by a verdict of the county court.”

Tyler broke in– “You stop mocking our Grandfather, Trent. He’s a bit silly, but he’s a good old duffer. He doesn’t mean anything by what he says.”

“I get your meaning Tyler, but I don’t think you should refer to Major Cason as an old duffer, either.”

I put my hand to my face to hide the beginnings of a grin.

Trent stood up straight and sort of announced. “Okay Dad. We know we’re adopted–so what’s going on—what’s got you so upset?”

I wished I didn’t have to tell them at all, but I stopped wishing and figured there was nothing to do but say it flat out.

“Sheriff Collier brought two strangers out here today. One of them is a Mr. Stinson. He claims to be your real uncle, your father’s brother.

“He doesn’t look a bit like Hal Stinson to me or either of you for that matter, but Sheriff Collier claims the man can prove he’s really your uncle.

“Stinson says he’s here to claim you boys, take you back east to live with him so he can give you the kind of life you deserve.”

“Tell him to—.” Trent sounded furious. He stopped talking but took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair.

I knew his actions meant he felt scared and upset. He only acted that way when something got too close.

“Easy son. You’ll have to keep calm. I know this is a shock, but you just take it easy.

“This visit today was most likely just the opening gun of what may be a real problem for us. I figure we’ll probably be going to court over your adoption before many days pass.”

Tyler looked down at his hands a moment before he leaned forward to stare into my face. His voice was soft. “Can this man claim us Dad? Can he take us away from you? Can he make us live with him?”

“No son–no, I won’t hear of it. We’ll fight him in court as long as it takes to prove you belong to me.

“The marshal who looked after you boys when we found you tried his best to find your family. Your mother and I advertised in the Denver paper and when no one answered our advertisements, we went to court and the judge signed adoption papers making you legally our own children.

“You’re legally my sons and I’ll go back to court as many times as I have to go to court to prove it. I just plain won’t let him claim you.”

Trent moved close to his brother.

“Don’t be getting upset now, Ty. You know Dad won’t let anybody take us away from here.”

“Maybe in the end Dad won’t have the say, Trent. Maybe some fool court will say we have to go with this Stinson.”

“Well I don’t care what a court says. I just won’t go. I’ll go hide in the timber or somewhere so they can’t find me.”

“You talk like a little kid, Trent. This is serious. Look at Dad’s face.”

Both boys turned to look at me with such a grim and half-scared expression I began to feel guilty.

“I’m sorry boys. I don’t mean to look downhearted about this—I’m not really downhearted.

“To be truthful I’m just plain angry and concerned. It’s a serious thing of course, and it troubles me to have to go through it. It troubles me to see you upset about it, but we’ll come out fine.

“I’m going into Belden first thing tomorrow morning to hire a lawyer and we’ll figure out how to defend ourselves against this.

“Don’t you two go around worrying about it–this mess has upset your mother badly, but it will upset her even more if she sees you two acting like you’re scared that man might win.

“He won’t win—you boys remember that.”

“We’re not scared Dad. I’ll get Ty to wipe that glum look off his face and we’ll make Mama think we’re not even concerned—that we think the man’s silly. I know you’ll take care of us—we’ll make her understand.”

Trent turned to his brother. “Come on Ty. Get a smile on your mug and let’s go get something to eat—I’m starved.”

As soon as the boys walked out of the door, I dropped my head on my arms. I felt wrung out. Each boy reacted exactly as I expected. Trent made light of everything and Tyler always saw the serious side.

Poor boys. What an awful fear for them to bear. I’d like to hurt that overgrown pig of a Stinson—hurt him terminally.

This mess is almost more than I can take in. To wait around almost twelve years. Then to come here demanding my sons as if it would mean nothing to me to turn them over—and daring to say I only wanted them to work on my ranch.

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The Malefactors by A. H. Holt

The Malefactors
By A. H. Holt

Genre – Christian Fiction
Time Period – Life of Jesus Christ
Location – Jerusalem, Israel
Description – An epic tale spanning the lifetime of its characters. Set in Israel during the time of Christ, the story follows the life and times of two thieves. Jerusalem as its background, the story moves from the brutal life of a highwayman to the warmth of family and to the ultimate betrayal and a shattering revelation.

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First Chapter

The hot, high sun of late afternoon beat relentlessly against the craggy rock cliffs overlooking the empty Roman road west of Jerusalem. Argubus the cripple seemed barely alive. He lay snuggled into a niche under a wide-overhanging cliff, high above the north side of the highway.

Many, many hours the old man spent sitting quietly, watching the road below, ever on the lookout for travelers. His lot, among the many followers of Barabbas, was to watch for some victim for the small robber band hiding in the bush filled wadi below. It was a trying, tiresome task, but one that him paid well. For Barabbas was generous in the division of spoils.

As he lay half-dozing in him as Argubus the Prophet. He the hot shade, Argubus’ thoughts were of the clever ways of his life. In the teeming city, people knew forever warned anyone who would stop to listen to his tirades of the anger God felt for his chosen people. They committed many sins.

Most mornings found him at the entrance of David Street. He marched up and down before the gate, waved his arms about and loudly prophesied the forth-coming curses that would soon be visited upon all Jewry by a vengeful God. He told his listeners of a God angered with his people for collaborating with the Romans—for allowing graven images to be displayed in the Holy City and for their many, many sins.

After his harangue, Argubus would go through the crowd holding out his beggar’s cup, seeking coins—coins he loudly proclaimed he would use to help the poor. He stared into the face of each person, a wild look of madness in his yellowish-brown eyes. The grim and fearsome expression on his sun-darkened face intimidated many out of at least one small coin.

When he gathered sufficient contributions, he would then leave the city, announcing to everyone in hearing distance that he was going into the desert to commune with God. He promised he would return the next morning to reveal his message to the people. Many scoffed at the old man’s preaching of doom, yet others believed and were fearful.

Argubus chuckled to himself as he thought of the foolishness of the devout. Especially those who believed him and gave of their small possessions, for he was a wealthy man according to the standards of his followers. He thought gleefully of a small hoard of coins hidden in a rock cleft directly behind where he sat. It was only a small sample of his treasure. He started to reach for the coins, to know the joy of holding their round smoothness in his hands, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a small dust cloud rising far up the road.

Keeping his head down, he crawled to the far side of the overhanging rocks. Staying bent close to the ground, he scurried down the steep path to the ravine behind the cliffs.

“Josias, Josias, hurry to the lookout and see who comes.”

Alarmed and excited, every member of the waiting band dropped what they were doing and rushed to gather around the old man. He waved one arm toward the lookout post.

“Go and see for yourselves.”

Josias, leader of the band and Emilack, the youngest member, rushed to climb the cliff path to the spot overlooking the road. Josias pushed his long hair away from his face and held one hand over his eyes to shade them as he cautiously peered over the rocks. The caravan was hidden from his view by a bend in the road. He motioned for Emilack to drop down lower in the rocks to assure he could not be seen.

The two men chafed at the long wait. Finally, the approaching caravan came near enough so they could examine it. Made up of a string of pack asses following a richly dressed merchant, the train moved slowly. The man rode on a fat black mule with richly caparisoned harness. Six poorly armed guards marched on each side of the merchant. The men moved dispiritedly, as though they were exhausted from a long day’s march.

Josias crowed with delight as he turned to Emilack. “Look, my friend. The caravan will be rich. Watch the way the guards walk—they’re exhausted. They’ll be no threat to us and there are no soldiers within miles. This could turn out to be an afternoon well spent.”

Still keeping their heads low, he and Emilack rushed back down the path to the waiting men. Motioning for them to come close so he would not have to shout, Josias ordered, “You men see to your weapons and get mounted. We’re going to take that caravan. It looks as if it was made for us.”

After a great scurrying about, Josias and ten well-armed men mounted their small but sturdy horses and rode to the narrow pass west of camp. Argubus returned to his lookout—he knew his part well. The robber crew hid themselves in the rocks and brush and waited impatiently for the old man’s signal to attack.

Argubus looked up and down the road again, to make sure no Roman Patrol rode within sight. As the caravan came abreast of the opening of the wadi that hid Josias’ band, the old man screamed the signal to attack. The men swept down on the caravan guards, scimitars swinging. It was over in no more than an instant and the tired guards were dead.

Josias himself held the merchant with his sword point in his throat. He ordered his men to clear the road of all evidence of the raid. Working in tandem, the men dragged the bodies of the slain guards into the broken rocks and brush and tipped them over into the ravine.

When the bodies lay all piled together, Josias’ men broke the rim of the ravine and pushed dirt over the dead guards. Finally, the robbers lead their own horses and the heavily laden mules through the mouth of the wadi and out of sight of the road.

Simon of Cyrenia sat his mount quietly, watching the eyes of the robber who still held his sword at his throat. Other members of the man’s band rummaged through his merchandise. His chest swelled with anger to know that the robbers touched his possessions, but he was cautious. Wisely reasoning that if the robbers planned to kill him he would already lie dead, he kept silent. All he could do was wait and see what would happen.

Tired of the golden-haired bandit grinning at him, Simon finally said, “I shall inform Rome of Pilate’s inability to make his province safe for honest merchants.”

“And well you may someday, my fine merchant,” Josias said, smiling at the anger so plain to hear in Simon’s voice. “If it happens that our master sees fit to hold you for ransom instead of taking your life.”

Simon of Cyrenia was one of the most successful traveling merchants in the Empire. He began his work young and seemed naturally shrewd to all those who dealt with him. Many named him a worthy descendant of Phoenician traders.

Usually he gathered costly items along the Southern Mediterranean Sea, conveyed them across the old Syrian caravan routes to Damascus and from there took them to Antioch and Corinth. He sold these goods to the wealthiest residents of those cities. Men and women demanded the best of the Empire’s offerings. Everything Simon offered his customers was of great value. The robbers shouted with joy as they opened the packs and examined their loot.

When it was full dark and safe, the men set out on a familiar path, leading the laden animals around the city to Gihon. From that place they could smuggle goods into Jerusalem by a secret door in the side of Nehemiah’s tunnel.

Moving everything in the packs took many trips by all members of the band that could be spared from guard duty. Carrying the heavy packs on their shoulders, the men splashed their way through the cold waters that flowed under the city’s walls. As soon as the merchandise all lay safely hidden away, Josias turned Simon over to two of his most trusted men.

“Take this merchant to the hidden valley, Micah. You and Elias stay there to guard him. Keep careful watch as you turn west of Mount Guarantania and Jericho. There will surely be Roman patrols moving about in that area. Take care you do not ride into them. This man will bring us a rich ransom.

“Don’t you dare forget to blindfold him when you get close to the mountain. He appears sharp and will probably remember everything he sees on the way. It wouldn’t do for him to remember the road to our valley.”

Barabbas watched Josias’ face as he recounted step by step every minute of the successful raid and described the valuable merchandise the men hid in their secret place. The bandit leader tried to keep a scowl on his leathered face, but could not contain an occasional grin. He was undeniably pleased with the returns from the attack on Simon the Cyrenian’s caravan.

He felt dismay however, when he learned that Josias decided to hold the merchant for ransom. It was Barabbas’ policy to kill everyone in a caravan. That policy served him well and kept his band in safety for many years. Only Josias dared to resort to holding his victims for ransom.

“You will let your greed for gold be our downfall, man. You’re a fool to hold men captive instead of killing them.” Barabbas began to shout angrily to Josias as soon as he rode into the hidden camp.

Josias showed no fear of Barabbas. Dismounting, he dropped the reins of his horse and approached the bandit chief. “Master, please listen to me. This is a truly wealthy merchant. He is far different from the usual petty traveling peddlers we find. His family will pay well for his release.”

“Yes, I suppose they will at that. But what of the day you hold a friend of Caesar or another official of the empire?”

Grinning impudently, Josias said, “That time Master, may be the day we have our fill of excitement.”

Barabbas stared at Josias thoughtfully. He valued the man greatly, but feared that his shrewdness and lack of fear would someday take him too far. He could endanger the entire band.

 “Meet me at the summit beyond Rimmon at dark tomorrow. We will ride to the valley and see this merchant. I, Barabbas, shall decide his fate.”

A little after moonrise the next night, Josias and Barabbas heard the challenge of a guard as they made their cautious way along a steep, rocky defile afoot, leading their horses.

“Halt where you are.”

“It is I, Barabbas, and one of my captains.”

“Enter Master, and peace be unto you.”

A small fire guided their way to a cave-like shelter. The opening was hollowed out from the limestone cliff by some ancient river. All the men of the band except the guard at the narrow entrance and one other man slept beyond the fire, rolled in their blankets.

Without a word of greeting to the man beside the fire Barabbas announced, “We will sleep the night out here, and tomorrow I will talk to the prisoner.” Taking his own blanket from the back of his mount, he joined the men who lay around the fire and soon fell asleep.

There was a great stir in the camp when the men wakened and realized Barabbas joined them in the night. Lucius, the captain of the band, feared the bandit chief’s visit. His band had found little luck in the last few weeks. He felt tremendous relief when after breakfast Barabbas covered his face with a scarf and called for Josias’ prisoner to be brought before him. Lucius’ heart swelled with pleasure when he noticed the serious look on Barabbas face.

I hope he’s so angry with that Josias he kills him as an example—right here before my men. If he does it here, it will make the cowards even more afraid not to obey my orders.

Following a guard, the prisoner emerged from an adjacent cave to stand before Barabbas. Turning to Josias and speaking pleasantly, Barabbas said, “Tell me about this fine prisoner we have here.”

“He calls himself Simon of Cyrene, Master. He is surely a merchant of great importance.”

“Is this so?” Barabbas said, laughing a little. “We shall see. Were his possessions many, my friend?”

“Yes, his goods are on their way to the usual place to be sold. I am convinced they will bring a tremendous price. Here is a heavy pouch of gold I realized from selling the fine animals of his caravan.”

Pulling a rolled sheepskin from a fold in his robe Barabbas said, “Good, let us write a demand to his steward for ransom. Here, use this fine sheepskin. To what relative shall we send our ransom demand, Simon of Cyrene?”

Simon’s voice trembled with anger. He held himself proudly, and stared into Josias’ eyes, “Write it to my son, James of Cyrene.”

“You will be pleased at the high value we set upon you Simon of Cyrene.” Barabbas turned to Josias, saying, “Captain, write the ransom for five hundred shekels.” He laughed aloud when he turned back and saw the expression of smoldering anger on Simon’s face.

Barabbas handed Simon his own business seal, stolen from the merchant’s personal possessions. “Here Merchant,” Barabbas said, “Stamp the demand at the bottom with this, so it will be recognized by your son.”

When Simon finished placing his seal on the document and handed it back to Barabbas, the bandit chief asked, amusement apparent in his voice, “Are you sure your son will think you worth such a sum?”

Simon turned away, pretending interest in the fire and refused to respond to the man’s crude humor.

Rolling the piece of skin tightly and tying it with a strip of rag, Barabbas summoned one of his men. “You will take this message to Cyrene. There you will find the house of Simon and give this to his son’s hand. The man you seek is known as James.”

Leaning forward, he stared into the man’s eyes. “Do not fail me. If you do you know I will punish you and all those you love. Remember what I say, I know where your family lives.”

Without another word, Barabbas stepped to the other side of the fire. Still masked, he confronted Lucius. “I am disappointed in you and your men, my friend. I will give you only a few more weeks to do your part.”

He turned away from Lucius without waiting for an answer and joined Josias at the horses. The two men immediately set out for Jerusalem, leaving Simon of Cyrene to wait in captivity for the many months it would take the messenger to deliver the message and return with the ransom.

The eastern band of Barabbas’ men, under control of Barsubus the Philistine, known to his men as Lucius the Hawk, because of his prominent nose and vicious ways, operated along the old King’s Highway in Perea. This was a vast, thinly populated area of wild and desolate country. There were many places to hide and escape if chased by the Roman Legion. The country, filled with rocks and gorges, contributed more to the band’s success than the wisdom of their leader, for although Lucius was noted for his savagery, he did not have the cunning of Josias.

After Barabbas and Josias left the camp, Lucius sat in the shade of an acacia tree, nursing his jealous anger over Josias’ success. “He’s got the best place to operate. Old Argubus advised it. Damn both of them any way.

“I’ll show them, I’ll pull the biggest robbery ever heard of, bigger than Josias ever dreamed. Salem has gone to Gadara to watch for the next large caravan coming in this direction. He’ll have plenty of time to ride ahead and warn us so we can get set.

“We’ll give Barabbas something to brag about of us. It will be a relief to stop him always talking of the exploits of that infernal Josias and his men.”

Lucius’ very jaws ached when he thought of the insult he suffered when Barabbas chided him for his poor showing with his men looking on.

 Josias and Argubus throw it up to me every time I see them. That Josias might not brag much, but he has a lofty air. He walks around with his head up in the air as though he thinks he’s better than anyone else—that’s worse yet—I’ll find a way to get even with him someday.

Far into the night Lucius schemed and plotted future deeds. He planned how he would execute the biggest robbery the Empire ever experienced. It would be so big it would bring out a whole legion from Rome. Then he, Lucius the Hawk, bandit leader, would have followers of his own. He would be able to get out from under the heavy thumb of Barabbas.

Lucius schemed on, completely unaware of his shortcomings. He never knew that Barabbas only kept him around because of his murderous ferocity. His activities often kept Pilate’s Legion searching the hills east of Jerusalem, leaving the road between Joppa and Jerusalem clear and enabling Josias to overcome many travelers.

It chafed Lucius greatly that he must await Barabbas’ orders as to what caravan he

might raid, and what merchant he might attack. He shook his head in bitterness as he thought of the ignominy. He could feel the shame in his gut, pressing, pressing against him.

Attack this one, it is poorly guarded. Do not attack that one–that one is a favorite of Rome or do not dare touch this other one, or this man is owed a favor. He did not need this rigid control, he could decide for himself. He could decide just as the upstart Josias did—and he would do it soon.

The headquarters of Lucius’ band lay well hidden in the foothills east of the Jordan River. The camp was in a small clearing amidst a jumble of rocks, locust trees and wild grapevines. It gave the band almost impenetrable cover. A spring furnished unlimited sweet water and some small caves in the stone wall more than filled the need for shelter during falling weather.

A merciless leader, the men of the band and their women feared Lucius’ unpredictability. Oftentimes he got the idea that one of his men may have complained to Barabbas of his cruelty. The thought didn’t bother him overmuch. He knew Barabbas had grown soft and would have little heart if it ever came to a fight between them. Lucius believed he would easily kill the bandit chief in hand to hand combat.

Late one morning, after dreaming into the night how he would glorify himself, Lucius was awakened by the high sun reflected on mica flecks in stones at the cave’s entrance. It was much later in the day than he usually rose.

Throwing aside his blankets and moving closer to the small campfire, Lucius chuckled as the women scurried to prepare his breakfast, thinking he was still in the bad mood of the previous night. He looked around the camp. Men were posted at the valley entrance and atop a high pinnacle of rock. Without instruction, they watched the road.

“Are there travelers on the road?” he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the man on lookout.

“I see no one, Master.”

The man’s answer greatly amused Lucius. He required his men to call him master whenever Barabbas wasn’t about to hear them. It helped somewhat to overcome his feeling of inferiority to the man who owned him, for Lucius was a slave.

Early in the afternoon, one of the lookouts rode into the camp with news of a large caravan heading to Jerusalem from Damascus. He described the caravan as well laden with goods and heavily guarded.

Jumping up to face the man, Lucius shouted, “Did you count the guards?”

“Yes Master—I counted twelve. They were well armed with spears and swords. Each of them carry one of those huge Damascus shields.”

“Were they mounted?”

“No Master, they are not. Only the merchant was mounted. He rides like a Samaritan. Two guards walked ahead of the caravan and the rest followed behind. Those men drove twenty heavily-laden pack asses before them.”

Turning to his men, Lucius raised his voice to say, “Prepare for an attack at first light. I will ride ahead and spy out their camp.”

Salem, the lookout that brought the message, stepped out of Lucius’ reach and spoke softly, “Master, it would be better for us to ride now and attack as they make camp. Those guards are all tired to exhaustion from their long march. We would have a great advantage over them. Also, we would have the entire night to escape.”

“You would give orders as Barabbas?” Lucius jerked around to face the man, yelling in his anger and astonishment at such temerity.

Cringing farther away, Salem said nothing more. He hurried to join the men who were busily stuffing food into their saddlebags. When they finished they brought the hobbled horses closer to camp, and made ready to ride. There was none of the normal jesting and laughter. Few of the men relished the idea of attacking so strong a force.

It took only a few minutes for the men to lead their horses away from the camp far enough to reach a flat area. Once the reached the plain and all were mounted, they spurred their horses to a gallop and headed for a hill several miles to the west.

When he reached the brow of the hill, Salem held his hand high, signaling for the men behind him to stop. Stretching out his arm, he pointed to the group of animals, off to the side of the roadway. A large fire revealed the outline of men huddled close together partly within the circle of light. Another, smaller fire glowed nearby. It undoubtedly provided warmth for the merchant.

Without dismounting, Lucius leaned forward to speak softly, “Withdraw out of sight in that hollow to the right. That’s well out of sight of the merchant’s camp. We can’t risk a fire. Even if they didn’t see it, they would smell it. You can sit close together to keep warm. Get some sleep if you can, and be ready to attack at first light.

“I’m going to check the area and make ready for a surprise attack at dawn.”

The men sat huddled together in the darkness of their hiding place, glumly muttering about “lambs led to the slaughter.”

Raising his head, Salem spoke softly, but loud enough for all to hear, “Surely Lucius is demented. He is planning for us to attack a caravan with more guards than he has followers.”

“I wonder about him of late,” Aaron of Judah muttered, “He has done some strange things since we were sent here from the Joppa road.”

A deep voice from the shadows said, “We were only sent here because Barabbas trusts Josias more that he does Lucius.”

“Shh—keep your voice down—he comes.” Salem cautioned.

Lucius dismounted and thrust the reins of his horse to the nearest man without looking at him. In a harsh whisper, he demanded, “Are all of your weapons sharpened? Have you checked your shield bucklers? You know a loose buckler can cost you your life—check them now—all of you.”

“All is in readiness, Master.” One of the men answered for the group.

In the semi-dark and cold of the early morning, ten reluctant highwaymen mounted their horses to follow Lucius as he rode over the hill and onto the sandy edge of the highway. Holding their animals in to move quietly, they headed for the camp of the Samaritan.

Lucius, overbold and dreaming of his forthcoming triumph, allowed his horse to wander from the sandy roadside onto the main track. The animal’s shod hooves struck the stones of the road. The sharp sound awakened one of the soldiers who guarded the camp.

The man jumped up and screamed a warning to the rest of the guards as he grabbed for his weapons. “We’re attacked. Prepare to defend the camp.”

All surprise was lost. Lucius spurred his horse over the rocks and into the camp shouting for his men to attack.

“Kill them, kill them all.”

His men, lacking confidence from the start, followed him to the edge of the camp, but once there, most of them turned aside, urging their horses into the rocks and trees away from the road, desperate to escape what appeared to be certain death. A tall Syrian slammed the side of his spear against Lucius’ head, unhorsing him.

Much later, Lucius stirred and tried to move. His head hurt as if it would split. His arms were bound behind his back. The shaft of a broken spear passed though the bend of his elbows. Groaning, he opened his eyes. Three of his men lay dead. Their bodies still sprawling where they fell. He could see no other prisoners.

Bitterly, he swore to himself. “The rest of the cowards ran away.”

The tall Syrian, evidently the leader of the guards, was shouting at the merchant. “Let us kill the vicious scum and have done with it. That will surely be his fate if we take him to Jerusalem.”

“No,” the white bearded Samaritan ordered in a soft but stern voice. “That is the way of the ungodly. We will turn him over to Pilate’s jailers when we reach Jerusalem. If there will be blood shed let it be on their hands.”

“It would be better to kill him now.”

The old man still shook his head. “No. I’ll hear no more of it.”

Much to the disgust of the guards he ordered, “Get shovels, you men. We’ll bury these souls here.”

The merchant stood by until the three dead highwaymen were well covered in a common grave. He added greatly to the chagrin of the guards by bowing his head to say some sort of prayer to his strange god.

The Syrians muttered among themselves about the strangeness of Jews. The tall guard said to the others, “They’re always praying to some god men cannot see—a spirit they call their Lord. I’m convinced they are fools—they’re all fools.”

That night, the caravan camped near another that traveled north, in a smooth flat area hard by the sweet wells of Jericho. Still bound, Lucius leaned against the rough trunk of a palm tree, unable to sleep for the torture of the tight ropes and the hard spear shaft pulling against his back.

“Shh–.” A voice whispered close behind him.

Lucius felt a hand on his bare forearm. Almost immediately, he heard the whisper of a sharp knife against the rope and his bonds fell away. His savior touched his arm again and motioned for him to follow. After crawling some distance away from the sleeping guards, his liberator rose and ran ahead of him. Lucius ran at the man’s heels.

Soon the man stopped beside two saddled horses waiting in the dense blackness of a vineyard. Once mounted, he and Lucius whipped their horses so that they ran wildly between the rows of vines. Soon they emerged onto a deserted roadway and turned south to race through hidden paths. Finally, they reached the safety of the hideout, in the rocks west of Guarantania.

Obed, one of the newest and youngest of Lucius’ followers, sat beside a small fire. The rest of the band sat in a group behind him, their heads hanging dolefully, refusing to meet Lucius’ eyes.

Lucius said nothing, but his eyes and expression clearly expressed the disgust he felt for men who would desert him. Wordlessly, he leaned from the saddle to grab a sword and spear from the nearest man. Strapping the sword around his waist he looked over the men’s heads and barked an order in a voice that dared anyone to disobey him, “Get ready to ride.”

Turning his horse, he spurred away, leading the band west. After a series of long night marches they finally reached a remote hideout in the desolate hills west of Gennesaret in Galilee. Lucius was afraid of returning to Jerusalem. He knew the guards and the Samaritan they attacked could give the Romans a good description of him and probably of several of his men.

He was even more afraid when he thought of the anger of Barabbas. He dreaded their next meeting. He knew Barabbas would rage over the abortive robbery attempt. He would be furious over the loss of men, and more than furious at Lucius’ failure to gain control of the rich train. Lucius brooded; knowing his failure would do nothing but increase Barabbas’ confidence in Josias.

He is Barabbas pet—the perfect Josias of Bethany—he will be even more the pet now. It is Barabbas fault. He should not have given me such cowards as followers. This was not my fault. We would have won the train if the fools had not run away. But I will be blamed—I know I will be blamed. Then he will think Josias is even more perfect.

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Riding Fence by A. H. Holt

Riding Fence
By A. H. Holt

Genre – Western
Time Period – 1880’s
Location – Kansas and Missouri
Description – Rustlers pushed a herd of Triangle Eight cows and horses through the broken fence. Dan Smithson tracked them til almost dark.

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#Adventure #War #Cattle #Cowboy #Frontier #Historical #Horses #Novel #Ranch #Romance #Thriller #Western #Wild West #Cattle Thief #Horse Thief #Rustler #Tracker #Crime #Suspense #Kansas #Missouri

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First Chapter

Dan Smithson lay back on the blankets to prop his head on his saddle, glad to stretch out. He twisted and turned, trying to get comfortable. Suddenly he lunged to his feet, lifted his blanket and ground sheet, and brushed several rocks and twigs from the ground. When he finished brushing the area clean, he turned to check that his pony was still in sight and lay back down.

The dying fire painted his tanned cheekbones a deep red. His eyes were as black as his hair. Thoroughly tired and sleepy, he pulled one of the blankets around his shoulders and watched the moon come up through the canopy of leaves as he waited for sleep.

The sound of his horse munching on the tall grass down by the creek was comforting. He closed his eyes and listened to the night sounds. The water in the little creek made a soft murmuring as it flowed over rocks.

After a few minutes Dan realized he heard something else as well-some sound that didn’t to belong in the woods. At first he dismissed it as a tree branch or leaves moving in the wind, but when he opened his eyes and glanced up, the leaves on the tree above his head were still. No wind stirred.

Turning his head from side to side, he sat up and held his breath to listen. He heard the strange noise again-it was a soft whining and a sigh.

It almost sounds like someone crying.

He had started out from the Triangle Eight ranch house a little after dawn that morning. His regular job required him to inspect the boundary fence from the northwest corner of the property all the way to the south line shack, then back to the ranch house along the center line fence. He watched for weak or broken places in the wire or leaning posts that cattle sometimes pushed over. He expected to spend this night in the line shack and then ride as far as Ma Hainey’s place before suppertime the following day.

Like most riders, he always carried a few supplies for emergencies, times when he had to camp out, but he hadn’t counted on having to use them on this trip. There were always plenty of rations stored in the line shack in case any rider had to stay out overnight and needed them. Dan counted on reaching the shack where he would have a stove to cook his supper on. At the cabin he would have a coffeepot with plenty of coffee and all the firewood he needed, already cut and dry. More than that, he had counted on being in time for supper at Ma Hainey’s place the following night. In his estimation, that woman’s cooking beat any other he’d ever eaten.

The sections of fence he passed by the first half of the day looked fine and he thought he would have little trouble keep ing to his schedule. A little after noon-to his consternation he found posts pulled out of the ground and a long section of the wire knocked flat. When he dismounted and examined the fence closely he could see that none of the wire in the downed section was broken or cut.

Strangely, someone had taken the time to work eight fence posts loose from the dirt, pull them up out of their holes and lay them down on the ground. That pulled the wire down flat at the same time. It didn’t make sense to Dan. Cowhands always carried a pair of wire cutters. Rustlers especially always carried wire cutters. They were one of the basic tools of their business.

It cost Dan several hours of backbreaking work to repair the fence so it would hold cattle if they took it in their heads to push against it. He knew he didn’t have to worry about horses trying to get through the wire. They were smart enough to know the stuff would cut them up if they pushed against it, so they left it alone. It was getting near sundown when he finished resetting the posts and tightening the wire enough so no stock could wander through.

Even though it was late when he finished fixing the fence, Dan naturally set out to discover why it got pulled down like that and who was responsible for doing such a thing. The tracks on either side of the opening made it plain that a big bunch of cattle and as many as a dozen horses had passed through the gap in the fence, and they couldn’t have done it without human help. The tracks were still fresh. He was sure they had been driven through the gap only a few hours before he got there.

The rustled stock left a trail heading west, over toward Elk River. After examining the tracks closely, Dan decided that the animals were being driven by at least three men. All of them rode newly shod horses.

He studied the situation a few minutes and decided he had best follow the trail of the cattle and horses instead of continuing on to complete his routine check on the fence. The rustlers hadn’t been gone but a few hours, and even if they were pushing the herd along at its best pace, he knew he would likely catch up with them in no more than a day.

At first, the tracks led him on a direct route west. Later, they turned north on a path to intersect the main road to Wichita. He felt sure he would lose the tracks when they reached the road. It made sense that the men driving the stock would turn onto the main road going one way or the other. He expected to see their tracks mingle in with everybody else’s and virtually disappear, but to his amazement they didn’t turn either east or west, but continued on in the same direction-straight across the road and on toward the north.

Dan pushed his horse to a long trot and rode until almost dark. Finally he turned off the trail into a little clump of sycamore trees and elderberry bushes.

Me and this horse have worked enough for one day.

He had left the Triangle Eight’s corral that morning before sun up, and he felt whipped. He knew he couldn’t take a chance on overworking his only horse when he was this far away from home, either. The men driving the herd would have to stop and rest. He figured they had probably already stopped for the night. Horses and cattle needed rest as well as men. He planned to grab a meal and a few hours sleep then get right back on the trail at dawn.

Ducking his head to the side to avoid a low limb, he guided his horse into the coolness of a grove of oaks. His chest and shoulders still felt warm from the late evening sun, but deep shadow already covered most of the ground under the trees. The trees nestled around a small pool fed by a lazy creek. Golden leaves floated on the glassy surface of the water. There was plenty of grass for one horse and enough thick elderberry bushes growing under the trees to hide his fire if he kept it small.

Throwing his right leg over the horn, Dan slid from the saddle. Once on the ground he stretched his long arms and rubbed his back with both hands before turning to remove his mouse-colored mustang’s saddle. He took a pair of soft hobbles from his jacket pocket and leaned down to tie them around the pony’s slim front legs. Straightening, he unbuckled the neck strap to slide the headstall over the pony’s ears and remove the bridle.

He stopped a few minutes to rub the horse’s soft nose and ears and scratch some of the damp places on its head where it sweated under the straps of the bridle. Finally, he let the mustang loose to graze on the rank growth of bluestem and gramma that covered the ground in the tiny meadow near the pond.

Gathering up a pile of dry twigs and leaves, Dan built a small fire. When the wood burned down to a bed of red coals, he cooked his supper, and went to bed.

He turned his head toward the sound, straining to hear better. Carefully checking the loads in his pistol, he pulled on his boots and eased out of his blanket. He stood still to listen, holding the weapon ready. He meant to find out what was crying so he could get some sleep. The noise stopped.

Maybe I just imagined it.

Stepping carefully to avoid making noise, Dan moved in the direction he thought the sound came from. He stopped still for a moment, listening. The sound came again.

Someone’s crying or I’ve gone to imagining things.

It was easy for him to follow the sound now. He dropped his pistol back in his holster and walked over to a thick stand of bushes close under a big tree. As he approached the covert the crying sound suddenly became much louder. At the same moment he heard someone speaking softly.

“Please stop crying like that Bryce. Please-please-stop it. You’ll just make yourself sick. I know you’re hungry, but there’s nothing left for you to eat. Go on to sleep now. I’ll find us some more food in the morning, I promise I will. Hush your crying now and go on to sleep.”

Dan stretched out a long arm to grab a handful of the elderberry bush and shove it to one side. Light from the rising moon revealed the white face of a young boy staring up at him. He looked to be maybe twelve or thirteen years old. The boy held another smaller child cuddled in his arms. Shocked speechless, Dan stared down at the children.

The older child drew back away from Dan, appearing to be more angry than afraid. “You go away and leave us alone, Mister. We ain’t hurting anything.” The boy’s face screwed up in anger or fear. His dark eyes were slits and he almost hissed the words.

Swallowing his astonishment, Dan squatted on his heels to be on a level with the boy’s eyes. Striving to keep his voice quiet and calm, he asked, “Who are you, boy? Where’re your people? Where’s your mother and father?”

“We ain’t got no ma, Mister, and our pa ain’t here right now.” The child’s voice trembled a little but still sounded an gry. “He told us to wait right here in these bushes until he came back to fetch us. He had to go somewhere on some important business. He said he’d be back before night the same day he left, but it’s been three whole days and he ain’t come back yet”

Dan shook his head to clear his thoughts. He could hardly believe his eyes or his ears. How in the world could anybody leave two little children out in the woods alone like this?

“What’s your name, kid?”

The oldest child drew back away from the opening a little, looking to the side as though he was considering running away. His voice got louder, but it continued to tremble. “We ain’t got to tell you anything, Mister. You go on now and leave us alone.”

“I heard your little brother crying for something to eat. I’ve got some leftover biscuits and a big can of peaches in my pack. I’d be willing to share with you. Why don’t you come on over to my campsite? You’re welcome to the food.”

“We ain’t supposed to move away from this place. Pa told us we had to stay put-right here-exactly where he left us.”

“Okay then, stay here. I’ll go back over to my camp and bring the food here to you. That way you can stay right where you are. It won’t take me a minute.”

Thoroughly puzzled, Dan rushed back to his camp and gathered up all the food left in his saddlebags. As he approached the clump of bushes again he felt an instant flash of hope that he’d been dreaming.

Did I really just find two abandoned children? What on earth am I supposed to do with two kids this far away from the Eight?

When he pulled the branches aside again the children were still there. The older one sat on a blanket and held the little one close. Both stared up at him with wary expressions. Dan reached out and placed his last two biscuits in the older child’s hands. He pulled his knife out of his boot, and turned away to cut open the can of peaches. Taking extra care, he cut the top edge of the can smooth enough for the children to drink the peach juice without danger of cutting their lips.

When Dan turned back to hand the older child the can of peaches both biscuits had disappeared. A white crumb glittered in one corner of the littlest child’s mouth. The biggest child took the can in both hands to help the little one drink. The fruit and juice disappeared as fast as the biscuits had.

The biggest child kept his dark eyes on Dan’s face the whole time. He continued to hold the little one in one arm. They ate so fast that Dan wished he had more food. He couldn’t help but think they still looked hungry.

“Have you youngsters got bedrolls or blankets or something to keep you warm? It gets cold as-ah-it gets almighty cold out here at night.”

“We’ve got our blankets and Pa’s basket. It’s right here beside us.”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“I’m Anne Marie Gillis, and this here’s my brother Bryce”

“Anne Marie? Your name is Anne Marie?” Dan stood up and almost shouted his astonishment. “I-I took you for a boy. I thought you were both boys”

“I ain’t a boy.” The girl sounded insulted. She held her head up and moved back into the shadows, a little farther away from Dan.

“Well, excuse me all to the dickens, ma’am. You’ve got on that cap and jeans and that big old coat. It makes you look like a boy to me. It’s kinda dark back in those bushes, too”

“I can’t help it if you’ve got poor eyes”

“Look here, Missy. I don’t need your smart mouth”

“I ain’t no smart mouth”

“By golly, you sure are a smart mouth.”

Dan suddenly realized he was almost shouting at the child. He turned away for a moment, telling himself to calm down.

I can’t be standing here arguing with this poor little girl no matter how much of a smart mouthed brat she is.

He carefully lowered his voice and turned back to question the girl again. “Where’d you youngsters and your pa come from?”

“We used to live down to Wichita, but the dirty old scudder that owned the rooming house we lived in threw us out of our room. We’re on our way to New Orleans to live. Pa’s got a bunch of kinfolk living there. We’re gonna live with them. Least ways, that’s where we’ll be going as soon as Pa gets back here. He said we’re gonna have a big steak and a pair of fine horses to ride after he finishes that important job he agreed to do”

“That sure sounds interesting-is your pa a cattleman?”

“No. Our pa ain’t no cattleman. Tending cows is sorry, dirty work and he’d never do it, never in a million years. Cowboys ain’t nothing but trash anyway-least that’s what Pa says. Our pa worked in the Red Dog Saloon in Wichita. He’s the best twenty-one dealer in the state of Kansas. The lowdown sucker of a bartender at the Red Dog fired him off his job, that’s why we had to move on.

“One of Pa’s friends came by our rooming house right when we were packing up to leave town. He paid Pa some money to do a job for him. That’s when Pa brought us out here and said he had to hide us in this place.”

“What are you supposed to do if he never comes back after you?”

“He is too coming back for us. You can’t say that. You’re a stupid cowboy.” The girl clutched the little boy against her and shrieked the words at Dan. The moon glinted on a tear sliding down her left cheek.

“It’s all right, girl. Hush now. Forget I said that. Sure your pa’ll come back for you. Don’t you start crying now.” Her violent reaction to his words made Dan feel miserable.

“I ain’t crying.”

“Well I can see that plain enough. Look here, girl. I’ve got to get me some sleep. Can you two manage where you are for the rest of the night?”

The girl’s tone changed. Her voice softened and sounded dull, as if she was tired or completely discouraged. Turning her head away from Dan she looked at the ground and asked, “Are you going to go away and leave us here too, Mister?”

Dan almost felt like crying himself. “No-no I’m not going to leave you here. I swear. I’m only going to walk back over yonder where I was trying to sleep before I heard that baby crying. I’m gonna fetch my things over here so I can sleep near you two. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep a wink otherwise.”

Hurrying back to his campsite, Dan gathered up his possessions. On the second trip he stopped to kick dirt over the remains of his fire. He dropped his saddle and other belongings on a grassy place close to the clump of bushes where the abandoned children lay hidden. Remaking his bed, he stretched out and pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. His head seemed to be spinning.

Exhausted, he finally dropped off to sleep, asking himself, What should I do with two abandoned children? What on earth should I do with two abandoned kids and one of them a smartmouthed girl?

When he looked inside the clump of bushes the next morning the two children were sound asleep. The girl still had one arm around the little boy.

“Wake up you two. I’ve got some hot water ready and a pinch of tea to flavor it for you. I even found a couple of lumps of sugar you might want. We need to get moving-it’s a long ride to where we’ll get us the best breakfast in this country.”

Anne Marie sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with both hands. She scowled and gave Dan a disgusted look. “We can’t leave here with you, Mister. I told you that last night. Pa said that me and Bryce had to stay put, right where we are, no matter what happened. He’ll tan my hide for sure when he comes back and sees we’ve disobeyed him.”

“Look girl, you can’t stay here any longer, so just forget it. We’ll leave your father a message tied to that low limb right over there. I’ve got some paper and a pencil. I’ll tell him exactly where we’re going and how he can find you. You youngsters have got to go somewhere where you can get some food and where there’ll be somebody to see to your needs.”

“I don’t need you or anybody else to be seeing to my needs, Mister.” The girl yelled, sounding desperate. She stood up and placed her hands on her hips. Dan was sur prised to see how tall she was. She wasn’t quite as little as he at first thought.

“I can take care of me and Bryce all by myself. You ain’t got no call to be messing with us anyway. We ain’t bothering you none. You ain’t nothing but a stinking, lowdown cattle drover, anyway. I can tell that by the way you’re dressed and that saddle of yours. Why don’t you just ride on away and leave us alone?”

“Look girl, you shut that smart mouth of yours and get your stuff together. We’re leaving here right now.”

“I ain’t leaving.”

“I’ll paddle your rear end,” Dan shouted, glaring at her.

Anne Marie stared defiantly back at Dan, a fierce expression on her face. She stood with her elbows out and hands on her hips until the little boy woke up. As soon as he sat up and looked around, he started crying for something to eat. She immediately forgot about Dan and reached down to try to shush the child.

When she couldn’t convince the boy to stop howling for food, the girl’s shoulders drooped as though she had given up. Without another word she knelt to pack up their blankets. She kept her head turned away from Dan the whole time, refusing to look at him.

He tied the girl’s basket behind his saddle along with his bedroll and saddlebags. Carefully arranging the children’s blankets as a pad around and over the horn of his saddle, he made a place for the girl to ride. When he got the blankets settled to his satisfaction he turned to Anne Marie. “Hold tight to your little brother and let me lift you two up here on the front of my saddle.”

“I can walk.”

“You can’t walk as far as we have to go girl, now come here and stop arguing with me about everything.”

Dan caught Anne Marie around the waist with both hands and lifted her up in front his saddle. She still held Bryce in her arms. Looking around the little grove, he made sure the note he wrote for Gillis was placed so it could easily be seen. Satisfied he had done all he could to notify the man how to find his children if and when he returned, he climbed into the saddle behind them, wrapping one arm around the girl’s middle so she couldn’t fall off.

The girl rode without speaking until Dan stopped to open a gate in the Triangle Eight’s boundary fence, then she suddenly woke up. Raising her head she began to ask questions as rapidly as she could speak. “Where’re you taking us, anyway, Mister? Are you taking us to your own house? Do you have a ma at your house?”

“Why don’t you let me answer one of your silly questions before you ask me a couple more?

“Are you kidnapping us?”

“You and your little brother have been abandoned. I’m rescuing you”

“We are not abandoned. I told you that. Pa’s going to track you down and shoot you dead for stealing us”

“Hush girl. You’re old enough to know that your pa woulda been back after you two kids long before now if he was coming back at all. You couldn’t keep staying where you were and you know it. You didn’t even have any food left or anything. Anyway, children have got to live with somebody.”

The girl ducked her head and stayed quiet for more than five minutes before she spoke again. “Where are you taking us then?”

“To the Triangle Eight. It’s a ranch. It’s where I work and live. It’s been in my family since this whole area belonged to the Indians.”

“I never heard of no ranch called the Triangle Eight before. It can’t be much”

“You don’t know everything, Miss Smarty Pants. The Triangle Eight might not be so much to some people, but it’s enough for my family, I’ll tell you that. It’s where I’m taking you, so why don’t you just keep quiet?”

Dan cursed his luck at having to abandon the trail of the stolen cattle and horses, but he knew he had to put the care of two children before chasing a bunch of stolen stock. It didn’t matter how he felt about it. The idea that the stock thieves would get away purely riled him, but he knew it couldn’t be helped-not at the moment.

It didn’t help his mood much when he thought how the ranch foreman, Jack Burton, would fairly split his sides laughing when he saw Dan ride into the ranch yard with two children up on his saddle.

For some reason, Jack always loved to get any kind of joke on me, like he did when I was still about ten years old. Once he got one, he’d ride it into the ground. This one would probably last him a good year.

Henry’ll more’n likely throw an out-and-out fit when he sees me. He’ll probably stomp around yelling that I shoulda left these two youngsters sit where I found them and kept on trailing the stolen stock.

Dan headed his pony on a beeline for the ranch house. The route he took would get them there before noon, barring unforeseen problems. He’d be good and hungry by then himself.

His mustang’s long trot fairly ate up the miles. By the time the sun got up and had good and warmed them, Anne Marie’s head began to droop. The girl gradually relaxed and leaned back against Dan’s chest, fast asleep. She still held tight to her brother.

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Kendrick by A. H. Holt

First Book in The Kendrick Family Story

Kendrick
By A. H. Holt

Genre – Western
Time Period – 1907’s
Location – Colorado
Description – Wayne Kendrick is suspicious. His best friend, Jim Carson, has suddenly disappeared, and Jim’s claim has been taken over by The Blake Mining Company, which claims the land was abandoned. Fantastic Western Adventure Story.

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#western #classic #cowboy #twins #frontier #loyalty #thriller #gunfighter #African American #kidnapping #slavery #romance #crime #mystery #suspence #adventure #historic #family friendly #horses #mining #Colorado #1900’s #Orphans #Gold #Gold Mine #Mountains #Family

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First Chapter

The cup sailed over my head and crashed against the wall. Coffee and pieces of china flew over half the kitchen floor. I could feel drops of hot coffee hitting the back of my left shoulder.

Me and Millie started arguing while I was trying to eat my breakfast. I got so angry with her I went and said something really stupid. Something I should never even think, much less actually come right out and say to somebody. When I said it, she didn’t even answer me. I happened to look up in time to catch a glimpse of her arm moving. That cup would have caught me right alongside my head if I hadn’t ducked.

I couldn’t believe she did it. I stood up to stare at Millie in astonishment. She slapped one hand over her mouth and stared right back at me. I think she was every bit as surprised I was. After a second or two of staring her eyes began to fill up with tears. She put both hands up to her face and dashed out of the room. I could hear her sobbing out loud as she ran up the steps and down the hall to her room.

First thing I thought of was to clean up the mess. There was coffee and pieces of that cup everywhere. On second thought, it come to me that the best thing I could do for Millie was to grab my hat and coat and get myself out of the house for a few hours.

Shutting the door carefully so’s not to let it slam, I stepped out on the porch. I needed to go to Belden anyway-been putting it off for days. The trip would take me most of the day. That ought to give Millie time enough to calm herself down.

The sun was just edging itself up over top of the mountains when I led my pony out beside the corral and threw my saddle up on his back. All the lights were out in the bunkhouse. The only sign of activity I could see was in the cook shack where Billy Dunn would be cleaning up after cooking breakfast for the crew. The riders would all be out on the range by now.

I poked my knee into Rollo’s fat belly and yanked the cinch strap tight before he could get his breath good. That fool pony’s got a slick trick of blowing his belly up so’s he can get the saddle loose. He tossed his head around when he knew I’d caught him in his meanness and jangled his bit at me, the devious little skunk. He knows every dirty trick a horse can think of and is always trying to toss me in the dirt. Anybody would think he was part mule.

After tying my saddlebags and canteen securely behind the saddle I mounted, pulling hard on the reins at the same time. You couldn’t let Rollo get his fool head down. He danced around kind of sideways for a few steps and then pretended to give in. I held him tight though. He’d caught me sleeping before and thrown me on my butt. I wasn’t about to give the blasted jughead another chance to put me on the ground.

It galls me to have to take a day away from the ranch, but I’ve got some important business in town. I’ve been laying off to take a day and go to Belden to get some cash money to pay the regular hands. It’s about time for me to hire six or seven extra riders to help us out with spring roundup too. I always put the trip off as long as I can. The doggoned town is just far enough away from the ranch to be aggravating. It takes long enough to get there as it is. I don’t have time to be fooling around with this maverick pony.

Me and my sister-Millie that is-have been running the ranch together for two years now. Ever since our Dad died. She’s the foreman in the house and barns and I run the show with the cattle and horses mostly, then we work on the infernal bookkeeping together.

We don’t fight over things often, but Millie’s got her way of thinking and I’ve got mine. That’s the way most folks are, I reckon. But we both got up on the wrong side of our beds this morning.

That woman’s got her a wild notion lately that she wants us to buy some highfalutin kind of bull to improve our herd. She read about the thing in some newspaper or other. I think the critter’s from Scotland or maybe it’s another foreign place. I’m not sure. Well as it happens, I like the bulls we’ve got.

Besides, it appears to me that Millie’s real problem is she knows we’ve got a bit of money laid by and she’s itching to spend it on something or other. We started out just talking about buying that bull, but now we’ve been arguing over it for more than a week.

That woman’s about as stubborn as this clabber-headed yahoo I’m trying to ride when she gets something stuck in her head. This morning, I got brave and said a nasty thing about women folks sticking their noses in men’s business. Then Millie got so fretted over me making that crack that I’ll be doggoned if she didn’t haul off and throw that coffee cup at me. Maybe I deserved it. I don’t know. But it looks like Millie and me are both gonna have to say “I’m sorry” more than once before we get over this fracas.

There’s a lot of work to running a ranch the size of ours. To be fair, Millie’s about as good a partner as a man could find. We’ve got a good foreman, too. Rich Thomas started working for us maybe four or five years before our Dad died. It would be hard to think of running the place without him now.

He was the first one to get to the house the morning Dad passed away. At first Dad looked like he was sleeping real peaceful like. The Doc told us later that it was a heart attack that killed him. He seemed to think Dad had died in his sleep and never knew what hit him.

Rich was a right smart help to us then. He still is. He could probably run the ranch a whole lot better and at a bigger profit if me and Millie would just keep our noses out of things.

As soon as Rollo calmed down a little bit I eased up on his reins enough so he could trot out between the barns. I took the dirt lane that connects to the road to town. By the time I cleared the ranch buildings that ornery sucker had decided to quit his foolishness. He commenced to jog along easy, eating up the miles.

I complain about Rollo a lot, but I actually enjoy riding him. Even being sore at Millie can’t take anything away from that. He’s a fine looking horse: compact and shortcoupled with a slick-looking black hide. And he’ll work, I tell you. He’s probably the best cow horse I’ve ever seen. It’s just a darn shame he has to act so ornery every single morning.

By the time I got off ranch property and started down the main road the sun was full up. It looked as if the day would build up to a real scorcher. We get desert weather here oftentimes, even this early in the spring. The sun tries to cook you in the daytime, and you have to wrap yourself up in a heavy quilt to keep from freezing at night. Soon I got so warm I took my jacket off and stuffed it down in one of my saddlebags. Then I settled down to get myself to Belden.

My head was still full of that crazy argument with Millie. As I kept thinking over what was said before we both blew up, it come to me that she had been acting a little different the last couple of weeks anyway. Millie’s ten years younger than I am. She’s always been “baby sister,” to me, but she’s no baby, especially when she loses her temper.

Come to think of it, Millie’s gonna have her twenty-first birthday the fifth of next month. Maybe she’s just generally upset because we’ve had the care of the ranch these last two years, and she’s getting older and ain’t had a chance to get out and kick up her heels none.

I don’t know if that could be it or not. I don’t rightly understand the way women folks think about things like that. I know she’s been sort of moody lately, like she had something on her mind.

Rollo kind of sunfished as we passed by the big stone posts that sit on either side of the entrance to Major Cason’s place. He does that every single time I ride him past here. It’s hard to blame him. I can’t help but shake my head when I see those crazy piles of stone sticking up. You’d think royalty lived there or something.

In a way I guess it does. The only woman I ever thought to marry does, anyway. Meg Cason was a pest following her brother and me around for years, but all of a sudden she was a grown up lady and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. That was when the Major sent her off to Boston to go to school.

Meg stayed East for more than four long years. I was sort of courting Sue Lane, the banker’s daughter, when Meg came home. The first time I went over to Cason’s place and saw her again I knew I was just wasting my time with Sue. Meg was what I wanted. I guess she always was.

But when I went over there again the next week and asked her to go to a dance in town that Saturday night, Meg yelled at me that she didn’t go to dances with men who were promised to other girls. Before I could say a word she turned around, marched out of the room, and slammed the door.

Now Sue Lane’s been married to some storekeeper from Denver for more than two years. I heard somebody say she had twin girls and was in a family way again. But from that day to this if I ask for Meg, either the Major or his son Jim tell me she’s too busy to see me.

It’s sort of puzzling to me. I’ve run into her out on the range two different times lately. Each of those times she’s ridden alongside me for a few minutes and pointedly asked me why I’ve been such a stranger. Now that’s sort of a puzzle too, because up until early last fall, I was making myself a regular pest by going over there so often. At least that’s the way I had gotten to feeling about it. I wonder sometimes if maybe it ain’t Jim and Major Cason that don’t want me to see Meg.

All those things kept jumping around in my head all the way to town. It made the trip seem like it would take forever. When I finally got to town, and made the turn past the livery stable, I was out and out flabbergasted to see that the street was jammed full of wagons, buggies, and people.

Everywhere I looked, all I could see was people, people and more people. Most of the folks I saw were men, but here and there I spotted women and some kids. They were sitting up on wagon seats, walking along the street, and going in and out of the mercantile. People were crowding in the saloon and every one of the stores and shops along the street.

I’ll tell you what. The sight plumb dumbfounded me. I ain’t never seen so many people in the same place anywhere. I certainly never dreamed I would see such a crowd on the main street of Belden. Why, I’d bet a dollar there’s not that many people living in all of Custer County.

Pulling my hat down to shade my eyes, I stood up in my stirrups so I could look over the multitude and try to see anybody recognizable. It gave me an actual feeling of relief when I finally spotted Tom Dillard, our town sheriff. I could see his white head sticking up over the crowd. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of his office. His deputy, Ollie Foster, was standing right alongside him.

Them two stood there, leaning back against the front of the building, just watching the folks in the street. I figure they were as amazed at the sight as I was. That crowd of strangers milling around seemed like some sort of a show.

I walked Rollo around the wagons and buggies and through groups of people until I worked myself over to the hitch rail in front of the store porch. There was so many people it looked hopeless to try and get a horse across the street. I stepped down and made my way across to the other side on foot. When I got near enough so Tom could hear me over the crazy ruckus, I yelled.

“What the Sam Hill’s happening around here, Tom? I’ve never seen so many people in all my life ‘less it was up in Denver. Did the whole blasted world decide to come to visit?”

Tom Dillard always takes the time to screw his mouth up and spit tobacco sideways before he can say a word. I propped the toe of my left boot up on the edge of the board sidewalk and leaned my elbow on my knee to wait him out.

Tom finally got started talking and said, “How you doing today, Kendrick? Ain’t this something? All them folks you see wandering around here is headed up to Shell Mountain to dig for gold. Some fancy dude come in town around the middle of last month claiming he had found some color up there. I don’t know how the word spread so fast, but by now you’d think he’d found another Comstock Lode.”

It was a big surprise to me to hear him say that. You can bank on that. I had a special interest in Shell Mountain. I stepped up on the boardwalk so me and the Sheriff could talk better. I needed to know more about this.

“Would it happen that I know this fella you’re talking about?”

My head was going a mile a minute. What in the world was going on here, I was wondering. The more Tom Dillard talked the harder I had to work to keep a straight face. I didn’t want to give myself away to the sheriff, but my belly felt all hollow-like and I was beginning to be some kinda worried.

Jim Cason, Meg’s brother and my best friend, started himself a homestead up at the top of the valley, right there on Shell Mountain. He had been working on it over the last couple of years. His place sits over on the eastern-most side of the lake, and his claim covers almost the whole top of the mountain.

Sheriff Dillard hitched up his pants a time or two and shrugged, then he finally answered me. “I don’t think so, Ken. Nobody around here knowed the man. Least ways, I ain’t talked to nobody that’ll own up to knowing him. I seen him out a my office window when he first rode in town. He was up on a fine looking roan gelding. He come down the street past my office to go to the assayer’s place. Me and Ollie was sitting here passing the time of day, like we do most days, but I kind of like to pay attention to strangers when they come in town. I reckon he stayed in the assay office for about as long as I ever seen anybody stay there, ‘ceptin maybe the assayer himself. He was down there for a particular long spell, anyway.”

“Tom, what exactly do you mean by a long spell?” I asked, beginning to feel impatient and a little irritated with Tom’s roundabout way of talking. I was wondering what in the world the man staying at the assay office a long time could have to do with anything.

“Well, I reckon he maybe stayed in there a good hour and a half. Or, I don’t rightly know for sure, it mighta even been nearer to two hours.” Dillard continued talking at his own pace, ignoring my show of impatience.

He turned to his deputy for confirmation, “Don’t you reckon it was the best part of two hours that fella was down there, Ollie?”

After Ollie nodded his agreement to Tom’s estimate of how long the man had stayed at the assay office, the Sheriff started up telling the story again, taking his time with it, as he usually did.

I knew there was no need for me to try to rush him any. Me and plenty of other people around this town have tried to do it, more times than once, but Tom just goes along talking at his own pace.

“When that fella finally come out of the assay office, I watched him walk down past here. He was leading that roan horse then. The next thing he did was to go over yonder to Judge Stern’s place. The Judge told me later that the man come in his office to file a homestead claim on most of the whole top of Shell Mountain. I hear tell he’s living up there now. He’s got himself a mine office in a little cabin. Calls it the Blake Mining Company. I reckon he’s making most of his money offa selling the right to mine gold to folks like these here pilgrims cluttering up our town.”

“Have you been up there?” I asked.

“I took me a ride up there early last week. I didn’t have no particular law reason to go up there, but I did it anyhow. I thought I’d just sort of check around some. A miner stopped by here one day and told Ollie here a long kinda mixed-up story about some of them miners going missing from the diggings.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“He said some of the men that were working claims up there were going missing. I don’t rightly know exactly what he did mean Ken, besides meaning exactly what he said. Well of course you know, it ain’t rightly my lookout what goes on up there anyway. Any lawbreaking on the mountain would be for the county sheriff to be worrying about, not me. Shell Mountain’s right close by here though, and the county seat is a pretty far piece away. Come to think of it, I ain’t never yet seen that County Sheriff or even one of his deputies over in these here parts. Anyhow, I decided I would go on up there and poke around some. I figured those miners were more than like just going on home cause they weren’t finding no gold, not really disappearing. But I was getting downright curious to have me a look at the place. That man’s story about miners disappearing made me all the excuse I needed to stick my nose in a little. When I got up there that Blake was standing behind a counter in his office looking downright important. I asked him if he knew anything about men going missing and he got all puffed up and said it was all a lie that had been made up on purpose to try to cause him trouble. He allowed that the men that were supposed to be gone missing had only just given up looking for gold and left the diggings, or either they had found what they come for and gone on back home.”

“Where’s this man’s office?” I asked.

“It’s in a snug little cabin, right at the end of the old road. I don’t think Blake built it his own self. Somebody took some time building that cabin. It even had a puncheon floor in it. Most of the new shacks up there are just thrown together out of bits and pieces. That one’s a real cabin.”

I couldn’t say anything. I just stood there feeling cold all over and looked at Tom until he started talking again.

“I sort of hinted to Blake that I’d be available to help if he had any trouble keeping order up there, but I already knowed he had a gang of toughs working for him. Three of them were standing out on the porch when I went in the mine office. I thought I recognized one of them from a poster, but I can’t be sure. I ain’t found the poster yet, but I will. Blake said them rannys were there to keep the peace in the diggings, then he as good as said he didn’t want or need no help from me.”

My heart sank even more, and it was a struggle for me not to start yelling for Tom to hurry up with his story. I was getting spooked. The more I heard about this mining business the worse it sounded.

When I finally calmed down enough to talk again, I asked Tom outright, “Have you seen Jim Cason around town lately, Sheriff?”

I knew the words came out of my mouth, but my voice sure didn’t sound right in my ears. I almost held my breath as I waited for Tom to answer.

“Now you know something, Ken. It’s passing strange you should ask me that. I mentioned to Ollie here just the other day, that I ain’t seen Jim Cason in town for a long spell. I think it was sometime last fall I seen him.”

Dillard turned to his deputy, “Didn’t I say that Ollie?”

Ollie straightened up from where he was leaning against the front of the building and nodded his head in agreement. Heck, Ollie always agrees with Tom.

Tom turned back to me and said, “By rights, Jim ought to ‘ave been down here early this month buying his spring supplies, don’t you reckon?”

Tom didn’t wait for me to answer, but kept right on talking.

“I remember Jim was in town in the fall. I think it musta been late September that he was here. At least I know it was some time before the snow started.

“You come into town with him that day, didn’t you Ken?”

I nodded my head. I couldn’t get a word out to answer him. My throat was stopped up with the awful feeling of dread I got from thinking about what might have happened to Jim.

“Why, that boy’s bound to be out of supplies by now.” Dillard rambled on. He knotted up his forehead like he almost had a thought then, but if he had one he decided not to share it with me.

This was getting to be too much for me to deal with. I turned away from the two men and jumped down off the boardwalk. As I walked away, I finally remembered my manners enough to turn back and wave my hand to Sheriff Dillard and Ollie as I rushed across the street.

Rollo seemed content, so I left him standing where he was in front of the mercantile store and hurried along to the land office. This situation was getting scarier by the minute. I’d been going along happy as a fat cow in tall clover, picturing Jim living up there on the mountain. I imagined him snug in his little cabin, just waiting for spring to open up before he came to town. The crazy story Tom Dillard was telling convinced me that this situation needed some serious looking into.

I noticed again that the sidewalk was full of strange faces. Crowds of people were in the mercantile store and the gun shop. Glancing through the doors as I passed, I could see that the clerks in both stores seemed to be frantically busy. One ran right past me to load a big sack on a wagon.

None of the people I passed on the way to the land office were people I knew. That coulda been because I was so busy worrying about what might have happened to Jim Cason that I couldn’t hardly see.

The boundaries of Jim Cason’s homestead claim are as familiar to me as the beginnings and endings of my own ranch. I helped him drive the stakes in the ground to mark his corners early one spring. That was two years ago.

Jim picked himself out about the prettiest spot in this country to start his place. He’s situated almost up to the tree line on the mountain and his claim runs right down to the edge of Shell Lake.

Me and Jim spent more than a month up there last summer, building him a good tight cabin and some furniture to go in it. We even dug us a sawpit so we could ripsaw enough boards to put a puncheon floor in the place. I don’t know who hated standing in that pit more, me or Jim.

We didn’t stop when we finished off the cabin, either. We set to and built a stout corral for his horses and two good tight sheds to hold his sheep.

Yep, that’s right, Jim’s planning to run sheep on his place.

Now believe me, I ain’t no sheep man. I raise red cows like any sensible man. But that Jim Cason, he’s got a bee in his bonnet that he can make himself a fortune up there raising some kind of special breed of sheep. He probably got that notion out of a dratted newspaper. He’s almost as bad as Millie Kendrick for reading everything he can get his hands on.

I think Jim mighta said it was some sheep that come over from Spain that he’s so het up about raising on his ranch. The last time I talked to him he was all excited. He told me that the kinds of grasses that grow naturally up in those mountain clearings are exactly the sort of grazing that breed of sheep need to eat so they can thrive.

It about broke Jim’s daddy’s heart to think his only son would turn into a sheep herder, but Jim’s so iron-headed that he’s got to have his way once an idea takes ahold on him. His daddy’s right-smart stuck up to my way of thinking, and the idea that his son would even want to leave his place and start up his own ranch was bad enough, but add the sheep and Major Cason was plumb mortified, I reckon. I know the Major and Jim got into an awful argument, and Jim was so bent out of shape that he swore to me he’d never set foot on his daddy’s place again.

When I got in front of the land office I could see Judge Stern through the window. He was sitting there behind his desk with his feet up on a chair, reading a newspaper. The useless old fool. Now, Stern ain’t really no judge, he’s only the federal land agent, but it sets him up some when folks name him judge.

“How-do Judge,” I said as I walked through the door. “How you getting along these days?”

Stern looked up from the paper and eyed me. I watched his expression, but I couldn’t read anything, except I thought he was looking a little bit more unfriendly than normal. But that ain’t even a little bit of a surprise. He likes to think he’s better’n most folks around here.

“Hello there, Kendrick, I’m just fine, thank you.”

He stood up as he asked. “What can I do for you today?”

It was possible Stern’s voice sounded a little bit odd when he said that, but then it may be that I was looking for something so hard I was just imagining things.

Stepping across the public part of the floor to lean my elbows on the counter I said, “First, I’d like to take a look at the plat book that covers the upper reaches of Shell Mountain, Judge. Then I’ll want to see what claims have been filed up there recently.”

Stern got a queer look on his face then, and sort of hesitated for just a second. It was clear enough that he didn’t want to show me that book. But there was no way he could rightly refuse. He knew I understood the law. That plat book and the survey maps are public property.

Even if Stern came up with enough nerve to actually refuse to let me see the records all I had to do was go get the sheriff and he’d be forced to hand ’em over. He knows that. It took him some time, way longer than it should have, but he finally reached underneath the counter and lifted the big leather book up on top. He even opened it to the right pages.

“If you’re planning to go hunting gold up there you’re some late, boy.” Stern said. I thought he sounded sort of sarcastic like. “You’ve got to go up on the mountain to the Blake Mining Company office and buy a mining rights claim from them now. That is if Captain Blake has any claims left. All the federal land up there has already been filed on.”

Stern was trying to look sort of I-don’t-care-like as he continued talking, so I just stood there and kept staring at him. It was plain enough that something was making him feel uncomfortable.

“I just want to check out the maps and pages that cover Jim Cason’s claims.” I said. “He filed on his place in the middle of September, I think it was.” I kept watching Stern’s face as I talked. “Seems like it was around two years ago now. I came in the office with him that day.”

“That’s right, I remember that you did that.” Stern said. I thought his voice was beginning to sound a mite unsteady.

“Kendrick, I know young Cason filed on two pieces of property up there, but he never stayed on the land long enough to prove up on it, so another settler’s got the claim on that spot now.”

I held on to my temper, but I felt like going across that counter and kicking that lowdown, miserable, doubletalking varmint right into the middle of next week.

“What the devil do you mean Cason didn’t prove up?” I demanded. My voice kept getting louder with every word. “Jim staked his claim, come down here and registered it proper, and built himself a cabin. I know he did all that, Judge, cause I helped him do it. He’s been living up there on the property year-round for near-about two years now. That’s what the government requires a body to do to prove up on a claim, ain’t it?”

“You’re wrong about that, Kendrick. You’re just wrong. Cason wasn’t living up there at all this winter. His cabin and corrals are standing empty and he’s long gone. Captain Blake told me it looked to him like Cason had been gone from there since sometime early last fall.”

Stern’s voice was getting louder too and his eyes began to look sort of blank. It seemed to me like I could feel his lies filling up the little office.

All of a sudden I knew I couldn’t stand still for Stern’s weaseling another minute. I reached over the counter to grab hold of his arm and yanked him over close to me. I jerked him as hard as I could too. I wanted to make darn sure he felt it.

“Exactly what is it you’re trying to tell me.” I was so mad by then that my words almost sounded like a snarl.

Stern tried to pull his arm out of my grip, but he wasn’t strong enough. His face turned about as white as butcher’s paper and he almost screamed, “Take your hands off me, you crazy hoodlum. I’ll call the sheriff.”

“You know I ain’t worried none about Tom Dillard. Go ahead and call him if you want to. He needs to know about this, same as me. If I remember rightly, he’s one of Jim Cason’s good friends, just like I am. He’d be more like to side with me than to pay any mind to anything you’ve got to say Stern, and you know it.”

I yanked on his arm again and almost pulled his sorry behind all the way across the counter.

“You talk to me.”

My temper was so fired up it felt like I was almost spitting the words out through my teeth when I said that.

Giving Stern another stiff shake, I thought how much he reminded me of a sneaking coward of a coyote. What I really wanted to do was punch his lying face in for him. A terrible, sick feeling was telling me that Jim Cason was almost sure to be dead-that maybe he’d been dead for a month or more by now. That feeling about filled me up with rage.

There was no way Jim would simply walk off and leave his place, not after all the work we had put in on it. Building that ranch was Jim’s dream. He just wouldn’t leave it. Not for no more time than it would take for him to make a trip to town for supplies or maybe to go visit his sister.

I stuck my face right down in front of Stern’s ugly, lying mug and said. “You tell me what you know about that Blake Mining Company.”

He sort of shriveled up then, like he might faint or some thing, and started in to whining. “All I know about it is a stranger that called himself Captain Malcolm Blake came in here about six weeks ago and showed me a hand-drawn map of the land up at the top of the mountain. He said he wanted to file a claim on the land that runs all the way around Shell Lake. I told him another claim was recorded right in the middle of what he wanted. That’s when he explained that he had found the mountain deserted. Then he filled out the paperwork to file on the land.”

“And you accepted his filing right over-top of Jim Cason’s, just like that? You didn’t think you needed some sort of proof besides that man’s word?”

My temper seemed to be getting worse every time I spoke a word.

“You’d take the word of some stranger you never seen before against a hometown boy you’ve known since he was a youngster? Without even checking it out or anything? Didn’t you think the man could be lying?” Every time I asked a question I gave Stern a hard shake.

“I can’t be running ten miles up on top of a mountain to check on every homestead somebody comes in here and says they find deserted. I’ve got this office to run.” Stern was almost crying.

His whining aggravated me so I shoved him back across the counter. I pushed him so hard he fell on the floor with his back leaning up against his desk.

“You’ll find out what you can and can’t do after I ride out and tell Major Cason what you done with his son’s claim.”

Staring down at the whimpering coward, I felt so spiteful I couldn’t keep from adding, “I hope that stranger paid you enough money to get your no-account behind out of town before the Major gets his hands on you. I’m on my way out to his place right now to tell him what you’ve done.”

I turned around and stomped out into the street. It may be I was mad enough right that minute to kill somebody with my bare hands. I sure felt like I was. If that blasted skunk Stern woulda been worth it I’d a liked to start out on him. On top of that I was feeling almost crazy with fear over what might have happened to Jim.

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