Bearpaw: An Old West Tale - 12. Chapter 12 Calamity

Calamity

Sheriff Barnes didn’t stay for supper, nor for much more conversation—seeming a mite like a colt once it’s been subdued—when he and Lucas returned from their tour of the new cabin. Neither man looked angry, though, and Jubal was thankful for such. That they were friends was plain, so whatever was going on between them needed settling, and he hoped it had. If it be about him, it was up to Lucas to tell him so.

“You did some fine work, Jubal, some really fine work,” Reid said, sounding friendly… genuinely so from what he could tell. “Going to be right cozy come winter when the winds are howling, not like that there stick-built cabin, and the lofting be a smart change to make for sure.”

“Was Lucas’s choice to make.”

“Course it was, and I can tell you he is plenty thankful for you being around… and he should be,” he said as his gaze moved to Lucas before shifting back. “Lots of settlers show up and don’t have an ounce of experience with building a barn, never mind a decent place to live. Not to say they don’t learn, but I’ve seen some shacks for sure, and this ain’t one of them. Look forward to seeing the loft planked and usable.”

“I was one of those what didn’t know nothing from building, as my first cabin proves,” Lucas said, nodding his head towards the one at the crick bend, that earlier tension appearing to have left him.

“Maybe so, but it served you a winter just fine, and now you have this one. I expect there’ll be folks coming to have look-see, especially after Morey gives it a gander. He talks to everyone, and they’ll all be wanting pointers.”

“He planning on coming by?”

“It’s what he said, Luke. Wants to see it. You know he comes to town most every day for his piece of pie from the mercantile, and some jawing while he eats it, and you know how he cares for you… be your pa if he could. Anyways, you boys should get to eating. Smells mighty fine, what’s coming from that there pot.”

“You could join us,” Lucas offered again in a quiet voice.

Reid gave him a long look before he smiled. “Got what I came for, and been gone long enough. Always folks looking for the sheriff for something or other. You boys have yourself a good evening,” he said as he walked to his horse and mounted slick as slick could be. “Don’t forget to visit the office when you come back into town. Bounties should be approved and telegraphed to the bank soon enough.” He tipped his hat and started his horse into a slow jog from the first step, out of sight in no time. Wasn’t a bad mount at all, Jubal noticed.

“He must have spent a lot of years on a horse. And that be a good one he’s riding.”

“Yep, rides like he was born on one, don’t he? He’s owned that gelding for years. Rode him once and it be like sitting on a rocking chair. Got some speed to him too when it comes to chasing cattle. Sure am hungry. See you did more weeding. That’s a big pile you got stacked.”

“Suppose it is… you fellas were gone a long time, and I like to—”

“Keep busy, I know,” Lucas finished for him with a relaxed grin. Whatever had happened to cause the man bother, it was over with.

“Want me to dish out the vittles?”

“Be obliged. Got milk chilling in the crick for later, and there’ll be plenty enough for morning—cow’s producing plenty. I’ll go splash some cold water on my right smooth face… enjoy it while I still can.”

Jubal peered at his jawline, pretending to inspect it. “Not as smooth as it was. See that beard might sprout even faster than mine.”

“Well, I’ll appreciate it for the short time it lasts, and be sure to order a razor next time we ride in to Bearpaw, if there ain’t ones been stocked with new supplies coming in.”

“Can always use mine if’n you want.”

“That mean I can’t count on you to scrape my face again? Was right pleasurable having it done for me, and there ain’t no barber in Bearpaw yet, ‘cept a fancy lady what mostly works on styling women’s hair. Ain’t no place for a man in my opinion.”

Jubal chuckled. “Suppose I could be talked into it again. Go get your washing-up done. There’ll be a full plate waiting for you. Lucas?”

“Yep?”

“Everything fixed… between you and Reid?”

The man sighed as his gaze moved around. When it settled back his way, he appeared to have sorted something. “I reckon there are things you need to know about him and me… and what he’s been pestering me about. Don’t know when that time will be, but I expect it’ll be soon. Not a good thing to keep secrets, but not always easy for a man to tell another what be on his mind, case he don’t understand.”

Jubal stared back, not even trying to hide his confusion, or the concern he felt. “I… yep, I reckon I know that better than most. It’s hard to know who you can trust, but you can trust me, I promise you that. Don’t mean you can’t keep your secrets close, though, if’n that feels best for you.”

Lucas nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but must have changed his mind because he closed it again and strode off to the crick. Jubal didn’t miss the fact his gaze went to his bared neck and the marks it wore before he turned away. Yep, he kept his secrets close too, and there weren’t no missing that.

As always, food was satisfying when a man be hungry. Grouse had been a staple for Jubal over the years, being a plentiful bird most everywhere he’d lived or traveled. Them and prairie chickens, but the grouse came with a flavor he preferred. Oftentimes you could taste the berries and tree needles they were partial to.

He’d expected Lucas to be more talkative while they ate, but the man seemed to have something weighing on him, even though the earlier tension be gone. He regretted sticking his nose into another’s business, but it rankled him when Lucas was bothered. He’s said he was being pestered, and that did not sit well a’tall.

“You want to start axing out that back door when we’re done eating?”

Lucas met his questioning gaze and snorted. “Was waiting for such from you.”

“Try not to disappoint,” Jubal said with an uncertain smile. Maybe Lucas was needing a break from everything for a spell. Not everyone found toil soothing like he did.

“Well, we do got four or more good hours of daylight left. I’m good with the axe so I reckon I can get that top log out clean, though I ain’t keen on swinging it over my head… since my shoulders be sore some.” He stood up, seeming eager, and Jubal felt relief.

“I can hack out them first logs. You’re best with the saw for the rest—can do that from the inside—but we can take turns. Them logs are already scored.”

“They are? When did you do that?”

“Can’t recall. Only took a minute. Made it the same size as the front opening… straight across from it. Be good for breeze to travel through on them hot as hell days.”

“All right then. Guess we’re getting that opening done. I’ll put these dishes to soak and set the rest of this stew in the crick to chill.”

They were walking side by side towards the log cabin when Lucas started talking in a low voice. “Reckon I want to explain this thing between Reid and me.”

“No need for it far as I’m concerned.”

“Yep, that be true, and I understand it be my choice.” He paused his walking, but didn’t face Jubal. “We haven’t known each other long a’tall, though it feels like we have.”

“Got that same feeling. Seems like months more than days.” Jubal tilted his head back to look upwards at the roof.

“Glad to hear you feel such too. This friendship we have ain’t because we’re going to be partners in those wildings, not for me.”

Jubal brought his gaze back to the man. “Ain’t for me, neither. That has nothing to do with us being friends.”

Lucas nodded and smiled. “Was wary of you when I first saw you standing on the side of the road, but soon saw you be a good man… could feel it, that you were.”

“Yep, saw the same in you right off, and I could feel it too.”

“Even though I be a hairy beast?”

Jubal chuckled as he looked sideways. “That sure was a lot of hair, but I could still see your eyes. Can tell a lot about a person from what’s sitting behind their eyes, and in the way he smiles at ya.”

Lucas began walking again. “Been my experience to trust my gut and I’m glad I did, and I’m going to do it again. Don’t want to say something what would injure our friendship, but there’s things about me you have a right to know… if you’re sticking close.”

Jubal hurried to catch up after digesting the man’s words. “Ain’t nothing you can say to—”

The next words caught in Jubal’s throat as a gunshot rang out. A grunt came from Lucas before he dropped to his knees, his left hand clutching at his stomach. Blood was coming fast through his fingers as Jubal dropped to his side. Another shot rang out and he heard the bullet bury itself in the log in front of them, the splinter caused by the impact flying past his head close enough he felt it brush his neck.

“Christ Almighty!” Jubal said as he tried to cover Lucas’s body with his. “Lucas? Lucas, come on, we got to get through the door. Can you move?”

His answer was a choking gasp as Jubal looked into eyes filled with surprise and pain. Moving quick, he lifted Lucas up and over his shoulder, managing it because he had no choice. Another bullet would finish his friend, and he prayed it wouldn’t come. He couldn’t bear the thought, but as he struggled into the cabin, another shot rang out. It came through the door with them, but might be his prayer worked since that bullet missed them both.

He heard it hit the far wall as he collapsed under the heavy weight, being careful Lucas didn’t get jarred too bad. He groaned loud, though, from either the impact or the wound, but Jubal wasn’t finished because the man was far from safe where he lay. Grabbing both arms as he gasped for breath, he drug him over against the windowless north wall, making sure he was not in the path of any more bullets coming through the doorway.

He was scared, confused, and angry as hell, but needed to think clear as he ever had. Seeing Lucas was still conscious, he bolted past the opening they’d just come through and pulled at the heavy door leaning against the wall, sliding it over fast as he could.

He was careful to keep it between him and any new bullets, wondering the whole time if this be a robbery. Propping it was all he could do since the frame weren’t yet put in place, but it did provide good cover on the side Lucas lay. He peeked through one of the new, west-facing, glass windows, but saw no sign they were being advanced on.

Hurrying back to Lucas to see he was losing blood steady, it be dripping through his fingers and down his side to the floor. Fear clawed at him in a way he’d only felt once before. He pushed that memory aside—the man would soon be out of time if he didn’t do something—and he’d be a fool not to see it be the case. Pulling his shirt off, he ripped it in strips, cursing at the stubbornness of it. Terror over losing him was trying to win, but his friend needed him to be strong. “Lucas, can you hear me?”

“Yep,” he answered in a whisper as he opened his eyes. They were clouded with pain, but they stayed on him.

“The bullet went right through you… got two holes in your shirt,” he said, trying to ease both their worry. “Missed your heart by a hand’s width, so you hold on. You’re losing blood and we need to slow that down. Going to make my shirt pieces long enough to tie around you, and we’ll pack yours over them holes you got. You understand?”

“Yep. Hurts like a sumbitch, but I’ll be fine,” he said softly as he stared at Jubal.

“You best be meaning that. You need to stay awake, you hearing me? Keep pressure on that wound even after we wrap you up. It’s ‘neath your ribs, at least.”

“I… I will… who shot me?”

“Got no idea, but I plan on finding out,” he answered, muttering as he worked. He couldn’t help thinking word got out about the gold he had, and he remembered Reid’s warning about putting it in the bank. None of that mattered at the moment, though. He pulled Lucas’s shirt off careful as he could, but there was no avoiding causing him pain. His friend stayed quiet through it, his eyes becoming narrow slits.

Working fast as he could, he had his own shirt pulled tight and tied, and then packed the front wound with Lucas’s balled-up, bloody shirt. The back wound was only seeping, and he had to hope the tight bandage would be enough. He checked everything, and decided it would have to do while he took care of the other business.

Lucas’s eyes opened wide when a voice was heard coming from outside. “I got plenty of time, and I reckon at least one of you don’t,” it said, and Jubal heard the evil in it. It sounded familiar, and he tried hard to think.

“Why would you shoot at us, stranger? What do you want?” Jubal asked in a yell, his mind racing like a chased deer.

“I want that gold you got hid for a start. Know for a fact you don’t have any guns on you.”

Bugger! “What gold you mean? We don’t got no gold.”

“Is that so? What about them coins you took from my poor dead cousins.”

“You!” Ronnie Prescott? He exchanged a stunned look with Lucas. No wonder the voice sounded familiar. How in blazes had that bastard found them, injured as he was? Damn, he’d been such a fool to think he be long gone!

“Yep, it’s me what got you boys trapped like rats in a half-filled trough, and I’m here to settle a few scores, make no mistake. That one you shaved earlier still alive? The dumb farmer who thinks he be smarter than me?” He chortled after, and it set Jubal’s teeth on edge.

He and Lucas shared another look. How long had they been watched? “You were going to rob us on that road!”

“And you shot my shoulder up,” the man yelled back, his anger clear.

“Then how can you shoot?” Jubal was stalling for time as he thought about his options.

The ambusher laughed. “Wasn’t as bad as you thought, I reckon. Got me a big bruise and a little blood from that bullet is all. Not saying it didn’t hurt cause it still does, but I can shoot better than most with either hand. I be right special that way, so don’t be thinking I can’t shoot you dead!”

Jubal peeked out the closest front window and saw movement in the trees on the other side of the front pen. Thinking on the angle the man was at, he saw he had only one choice to make if he wanted to keep them alive.

“If’n you come out from yonder and show me where my gold be, I just might let you live. Just the one of you, though. I know them coins ain’t where you been sleeping, and they ain’t where you are now, and not the barn neither, so don’t be lying to me.”

“He’s been through the buildings,” Lucas said, his pale face full of anger. “He ain’t planning on letting either of us live… can hear it in his voice.”

“Have no doubt you be right. Don’t talk… you need to be saving your strength. I reckon there’s a way out of this, but it won’t be easy.”

“Yep, you need to run. Get yourself away from here fast as you can,” Lucas said, new fire in his eyes despite his situation.

Jubal scoffed. “No, sir. Ain’t leaving you to that bugger,” he whispered as he moved over to the door. “How do I know I can trust you to not kill me?” he called out to Prescott.

“You don’t, and if you don’t come out soon, I’m coming in.”

“Come on then!”

“Pretty brave for an unarmed man.” The man had moved closer, and when Jubal peered through the crack, he could see him leaning on the far side of the corral. He was getting cocky, but still be at the same angle.

He winked at Lucas as he held his finger up to his mouth. “Who says I’m unarmed. Got two knives itching to find your throat.”

The man laughed. “Don’t believe you, farmer.”

“Haven’t always been no farmer, and I got skills aplenty. Come see for yourself and find out how accurate my throwing arm be.”

“Ain’t seen no knives.”

“Then you ain’t looked close at my boots, have you.”

Silence followed. After a minute, the voice carried from the same spot. “What you wanting to happen?”

“I want to live. Don’t care about the gold—you can have it all. I’ll tell you where it is if you let my friend die in peace. It won’t be long, and then you can ride out with four hundred dollars.” He paused for a few seconds and whispered to Lucas that he wasn’t going to be doing any dying. “We got us a deal?”

There was a pause what seemed like forever. “You got ten minutes, no more, and if he’s not dead by then, it ain’t my problem. If you double-cross me over the gold, I won’t quit till I shoot you dead, and I be a man of my word.”

“He’s the dumb one,” Jubal whispered to his friend. “Only say something if you have to, all right?” He glanced at the blood pool on the floor, and it looked a mite bigger.

“What you planning?” Lucas asked, his voice sounding terrible weak.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“No doubt… I do….” His eyes were looking heavier and his words slurred.

“I won’t let you die, but you got to help me by staying awake,” he ordered as he kicked his boots off and leapt up onto the loft support closest to the north wall. With another leap he was able to grab the small window opening and hold on. His plan depended on being able to fit through it, and it took some squirming to do so.

Once his upper body and hips cleared, he figured he should be able to keep going. The drop to the ground on the outside was too far to chance—and he was too smart to try it—but the ladder was for sure propped on the back wall, and that be what he counted on.

Barely balanced in a sitting position, he reached up to grab the cedar roof boards what overhung the building, thankful they’d given the house them eaves. Saying a quick prayer, he cleared his legs from the opening so he was hanging in the air by his fingertips, one hand gripping each side of the roof. He didn’t believe it possible Prescott could see his hand from where he stood, and hoped to God he was right.

He gulped a few breaths and then swung his lower body hard as he could toward the back side. It took two tries before he was able to hook his left leg over onto the steep slope, the bared skin of his feet and calf providing some grip, but his right hand came close to losing its hold before he was safely positioned.

He struggled with everything he had to get the rest of his body up over the edge, and sighed with relief when he finally made it, rolling over till he lay flat on his back. He might not be afraid of heights, but that be a scary thing to do, especially with Lucas needing him to get them out of this. His stomach muscles felt torn from the strain, and his heart be pounding something fierce.

There was no time for catching his breath, though, so he squirmed across the surface on his stomach, keeping low as he could. His arm muscles trembled from the previous effort, but it was all over if that killer caught a glimpse of him. Reaching the spot the ladder should be, he said another prayer and allowed hisself to slide down, the rough boards ripping out chest hair while he tried to control his speed. Soon his feet were hanging over, and just his fingers and front were gripping the cedar.

After a terrifying search as he slid that last bit, his foot found the wide ladder a second after most of his body cleared the roof, leaving only his face and torn fingers in contact with it. For the life of him, he didn’t understand why he didn’t fall. Instinct took over and his feet did the work of holding him in place until his hands got a grip on the ladder he couldn’t see.

He scraped his cheek and chin bad on the edge of the lowest roof board, but paid them no mind. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard he felt sick, but his plan was working. He was on the ground in the next instant.

Listening hard, he heard nothing what caused him immediate worry. Checking his angle, he ran in a low crouch to the crick, keeping the building between him and the gunman, and was soon completely under the surface of the water. Swimming hard, he headed for the bend where the other cabin sat.

With lungs about to burst, he let his head clear the surface and saw he’d misjudged. He needed a few more feet to be completely under cover from where that evil fucker be. He just hoped he hadn’t moved in the time it had taken Jubal to get this far.

Hurrying from the crick bank to the north wall of the cabin, he studied it close and soon found what he was looking for in the warped board he'd noticed the first night he’d been here. Reaching up and working his fingers into the space at the top of it, he pulled with all his might.

There was a loud cracking sound and he stilled. The now split board was half off, but the nails had squealed. At the same time, he heard Prescott yelling again. He couldn’t make out what he said at the beginning, but he did hear him ask a question. “Why ain’t you answering me, farmer?”

Leaving the board be, he peeked round the corner and saw the man moving towards the log house. Dammit! Returning to the board, he wiggled it careful as he could and it let go at the bottom with hardly a sound. He was truly thankful Lucas hadn’t built the cabin better. Could he squeeze through the narrow space? He had to try cause time would soon run out, and ripping off another noisy board might cause gunfire to come his way… and then Lucas’s.

With more damage to his chest, he managed to force hisself into the cabin, barely noticing the blood dripping from his torn nipple or gouged chin. All that mattered was saving Lucas… if he still be alive enough to save. With a lunge, he grabbed his gun from the holster what was hanging on the nail where he left it. He’d done it, but it weren’t over yet, and plenty could go wrong in the next minutes.

Calming his mind with deep breaths like Victor had taught him, he moved to the door and eased it open a crack, just enough to see out. Smoke was coming from the cookfire what had flared up again, and there was a loud crack from the chunk of wood still burning—might have been what covered the noise from the pried board.

The gunman stopped at the sound of it and was looking around like he sensed something. Jubal knew that feeling what would hit your gut, so he stayed where he was, not wanting to give up the advantage any surprise would give him. The man might even be a better shot than him. He’d hit Lucas with his first one, and that was from quite a distance, even for a Colt.

“Time’s up,” the man called out as his focus returned to where Lucas be, laying in that big pool of warm, sticky blood. The fear made Jubal shudder, but he had a job to do.

Walking forward in the open, no longer behind any cover, meant Prescott was feeling desperate or he knew something weren’t right. “You’re a dead man if you don’t tell me where them coins are,” he said as he took a shot at one of the new glass windows. A small pane busted out and the tinkle of falling shards warned of what was to come.

“Show me them knives right now or I’m coming in shooting. He shot again, this time straight up into the air.” Hear that? That’s your death coming, you dumb fucking farmer. Show me them knives you say you got!” The surely crazed man shot again, hitting another pane in the same window.

That answered Jubal’s question. He was both desperate and suspicious, finally smart enough to call his previous bluff. He’d know the truth for sure when no knife was shown. The sound of breaking glass was enough for Jubal. He had to stop the man before he put another bullet into his friend. He slid out the door without making any sound, all of his senses sharp and his will strong.

Prescott was now moving steadily toward the cabin, his gun at the ready, but Jubal had him in his sights. “That other dumb farmer better be dead by now, you hear me?” he shouted loud and angry as he got closer, and Jubal heard the panic in his voice. Did he suspect Jubal had escaped? No, he’d been inside and seen it for hisself, likely when Jubal and Lucas were in town, so knew the only way out was through the front door or the lower windows, all of which he could see.

No way would he think it possible a man of any size could get out those upper ones, so it was more likely it occurred to him someone might soon come check out the sound of so many gunshots. “Ain’t a patient man, and I swear your turn’s coming one way or another, so you got one minute to tell me. If I don’t hear your voice, I’m coming in shooting, and if’n I don’t get my gold back, I’ll at least make you pay for the loss of the only family I had. Got two guns loaded and plenty of bullets.”

“Reckon I got just enough bullets,” Jubal said softly from sixty feet back of the man.

His words caused Prescott to spin and aim, but Jubal’s bullet found its mark, hitting him square in the chest before his gun could fire. He shot him again, taking no more chances, and the man’s mouth twisted open as he dropped and then fell backwards. “How…?” was all he got out before life left him and his gun fell from his hand.

“You shouldn’t mess with us dumb farmers… wished I’d shot you in the back when I had the chance, you evil piece of shit,” he said as he ran past what now be a corpse.

“Lucas?!” There was no answer, and he felt fear claw at his innards. “Please, Lord, please,” he muttered as he pushed past the propped door. “Lucas?”

He was still as death, and the color of it too. Jubal dropped to his side and felt tears burning before they fell. “I’m so sorry, Lucas. I wasn’t fast enough. I never should have let him live, and—”

Jubal had grabbed his hand when he sat, and there be a twitch to his finger. Putting his ear to his friend’s bare chest, he heard a heartbeat. It weren’t strong, but it was there, and joy sputtered from somewhere deep, up into his throat, and he made a choking, sobbing sound at the strength of it.

This was not a time for crying, though. Lifting the balled-up shirt off the wound, he saw blood oozing out, much slower than it was when he’d made the bandage, but still leaving the man’s body. He expected that was not a good sign, so he had to stop it somehow.

Standing up, he ran out the door and bolted to the cooking fire fast as he could move. The pointed end of the iron poker was still buried in the embers, and when he lifted it out, it glowed serious red. It be Lucas’s only chance, that much he knew… yet he was far from certain it would work. He made it back to the man in seconds and knelt at his side.

He could do this. He had to do this. Wiping away as much of the oozing blood as he could, he lay beside Lucas’s right side and laid his weight across his body while draping his legs over the other man’s. He needed him still as could be. Twisting his left arm to the best position for the job, he held his breath. With the best care he could, he pressed the glowing poker against the round wound.

Lucas reacted, but not as strongly as Jubal expected. Another sign things were bad, but Jubal made sure he seared the whole wound. It about made him sick to do so, the smell of Lucas’s burning flesh hitting him something terrible, but he be the only one who could give the man a fighting chance.

The bullet had entered through his back, and Jubal flipped him over to take another look. It hadn’t had much blood coming from it when he bandaged—compared to where it came out—and it still didn’t, but there was blood when he pushed on it so he did what he thought best while the poker was still glowing. Lucas didn’t move at all this time.

Carefully moving him back over, he examined the bigger wound and saw there was no longer any blood seeping from it. The burn looked small, and godawful ugly—like fire-seared but still raw meat—but did he stop the bleeding or just keep it from coming out? He weren’t no doctor, but he’d heard about doing such in stories around campfires. Even if those stories were right and it worked, would it be too late?

There be plenty of blood on the floor of the cabin, but this wasn’t the time to ponder the worst, so he stood up and ran straight to the corral to get Dinah. He had her hitched up quicker than he’d ever done, all while thinking about the drive to town.

Putting Lucas on hard, bare wood seemed wrong, so he ran to the old cabin and grabbed the mattress and both bedrolls, running like the wind and trying not to stumble as he carried the awkward load back to Dinah. Satisfied it would provide some comfort, he returned to Lucas.

Somehow, he found the strength to lift and cradle Lucas in his arms, his body feeling the pain of his earlier efforts. He paid it no mind as he carried him out and set him down on the mattress as careful as was possible, given the man’s size and weight. He wasn’t moving a’tall, but he be still alive near as Jubal could tell.

Climbing up into the wagon, he clucked to the big mare and began the journey to Bearpaw. He said a prayer as they left the laneway, ducking under that damn branch like he had the first night. “Dear Lord, let this fine man live. He’s decent and kind, and has a beautiful soul you should be proud of making. Please, I beg you keep him safe for the sake of all those who love him. Ain’t asked you for much, Lord, but I couldn’t bear it if he don’t get the chance to live his dreams on the land he loves. Amen.”

*