Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) (5 page)

Ike stepped forward and in one fluid motion buried his right fist in the pastor’s ample belly. He followed it instantly with a left that caught Pastor Long in the short ribs. The pastor doubled over and started to fall, but Ike caught him by the collar and lifted him with his left hand while he continued to pound the pastor’s mid-section with his right fist. It took only a few moments of this punishment before the pastor’s dinner came up. Ike released his grip and his victim slumped to the floor, the contents of his stomach erupting in choking spurts.

Bird was laughing uproariously at the sight. She walked over and, with her foot, pushed the pastor’s face down into the mess and held him there.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Ike looked down at their handiwork. He motioned for Bird to step back. Then he spoke in a clear, deadly, tone. “Preacher, you shouldn’t have screwed with me. You fat pig, you ain’t worth the time I’ve wasted on you. If I ever hear that you’ve even spoken my name again, I’ll find you and beat you to death. Do you understand me?” The pastor was curled in a messy ball on the floor, holding his belly and moaning. He didn’t answer Schumann fast enough and Ike kicked him viciously. “God damn you, I said, did you hear me?” Ike was screaming now. Pastor Long managed to mumble, “Yes, yes, yes”. Then he passed out, the ball that was his body slowly opening and his head slumping back onto the vomit-covered floor. Schumann turned on his heels and left him lying in front of the still-open door.

As they walked down the path to his car, they heard the pastor’s wife starting to scream. Ike smiled. Bird was still laughing aloud.

Late that night, Hilda Moore’s sleep was interrupted by the incessant barking of her old yellow lab, Ginger. “That’s strange,” she thought, “Must be something bothering the chickens again.” She was up, sitting on the edge of her bed, before she realized that she smelled smoke – a lot of smoke! Now she heard the loud crackling noise that told her that her house was on fire. The smoke was pouring under her bedroom door.

She came alive instantly. “Ray! Ray! Fire! Fire!” She grabbed her heavy robe off the chair where she had tossed it and, without a thought, opened the door and ran across the little hallway to Ray’s room. She was still screaming at the top of her lungs. When she stormed through Ray’ door, he was just starting to set up, a befuddled look on his face. She got him moving with another, “Fire! Fire!” Then, still yelling, the widow grabbed a chair and threw it through Ray’s bedroom window. Grabbing a baseball bat from where it lay on the floor, she began knocking the remaining glass out of the window frame.

By now, Ray was up and had his pants on and was struggling with his shoes. He had one shoe on and the other in his hand when his mother grabbed him and jerked him to the open window. “Jump!” When he hesitated, she gave him a gentle push. He stumbled, then righted himself and jumped. It was only about ten feet to the ground and he landed on his feet. He ran forward a few feet and turned just in time to see his mother follow him out the window. She landed a lot harder than he had and tumbled to the ground in a heap. Ray ran to her and helped her to her feet. “Are you all right, Mom?” “Don’t know. My left ankle is hurting.” Putting her arm over his shoulders, he helped her to a safe distance and then they sat on the ground and watched as the flames consumed the home they had cherished. Hilda was crying hysterically.

Ray just looked thoughtful. He had thought that he had heard the sound of an old woman laughing as he jumped. It had sounded familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he had heard that particular sound before.

Someone in town had seen the glow in the sky and the volunteer fire crew were soon there. But it was far too late. The old farmhouse was gone, along with all of their belongings.

CHAPTER FIVE:

Dawn Parker

D
awn watched Sheriff Montgomery leave Jerry’s home and walk to his car. She’d seen the whole encounter through the kitchen window. “
I wonder why he took that shirt and can?
” She waited until the patrol car was out of sight before she ran around to the front door and went inside.

The rumors were all over town about the encounter between Jerry and Ike Schumann the night before. Earlier this afternoon, she had run into Al Koski at his father’s garage and he’d told her what had happened. As soon as she heard the story, she’d run to Jerry’s home, but no one had been there. She was returning to see if Jerry was home yet, walking through the adjoining field, when she saw the sheriff go into the house. Curious, she’d circled around and approached the house from the rear. She arrived at the window just as Jerry was explaining that he was home alone. Then she had stared, transfixed, as the sheriff attacked Jerry.

With the sheriff gone, she entered the home, grabbed a dishrag from the sink and soaked it in the cold water from the only tap. She gently straightened Jerry’s body and then sat on the floor, cradling his head in her lap. “
I’m crying like a damned baby.”
Carefully, she began wiping his bloody face with the dishrag.

Jerry came alive slowly. At first he just lay there with his eyes closed, trying to reconstruct what had happened. Then he realized that his head was resting on something soft and someone was trying to wash his face with a very smelly cloth. Startled, he tried to set up and immediately fell back as the pain lanced through him. He opened his eyes and saw Dawn looking down at him, her pretty face stained with tears. He realized that his head was in Dawn’s lap and the thing he smelled was the old dishcloth that he had casually tossed in the sink days ago. It was obviously very moldy and it smelled horrible.

“Darnmit, Woman. Are you trying to kill me with that nasty old rag?” He tried to smile, but failed. “That thing hasn’t seen a day of clean in at least five years.” His attempt at humor failed as his voice trailed off to a weak whisper. This just caused Dawn to cry harder and soon she was just holding his head between her palms as her whole body shook with emotion. The two of them had been inseparable for years and she simply couldn’t stand seeing him this way.

Gathering herself, Dawn gently laid his head on a rolled up throw rug and went to the sink for a pan of water. Then, still using the smelly rag, she carefully cleaned the blood off Jerry’s face. It was a time-consuming process. The old bandages that Mrs. Moore had applied were now soaked with new blood and it was difficult to see where one wound left off and the next one started. Finally, with most of the new blood wiped off, Dawn could see what needed to be done. She went to the tiny bathroom and got a clean washcloth, some iodine and some Vaseline. Then she started a fire in the old wood cook stove and put a tea kettle on to boil.

Jerry had learned his lesson and he didn’t try to move during this process. His eyes followed her as she moved around the little house. He had absolutely no doubt about the fact that she would know what to do.

While the kettle heated, Dawn came back to where Jerry was lying and began slowly and carefully removing the old bandages so she could clean his entire face. Again she started crying. She had never seen such damage to a human being before, and this was her man. Steeling herself, she wiped the tears away and began work. Some of the old bandages came away readily. Others stuck and she gently soaked them free. Finally she had his face bare and the water was warm, so she began cleaning. Jerry winced repeatedly, but withstood the pain as best he could. He wasn’t about to cry in front of Dawn. He had read enough Max Brand and Zane Gray westerns to know that it just wasn’t acceptable for a man to show weakness in front of a lady. So, in the revered tradition of John Wayne admirers everywhere, he gritted his teeth and tried to be stoic.

While Dawn was working on his face, they heard the fire alarms going off in town and heard the old fire engine chugging off in a direction away from them. He gave voice to their thoughts. “It sounds like we aren’t the only ones with problems.” But Dawn was in no mood for conversation right then. “You shut up. Every time you open your mouth something else starts bleeding.”

Finally she had all of the cuts cleaned and bandaged except for the huge one that the sheriff’s gun barrel had caused. It ran from the hairline above his forehead to the left corner of his right eyebrow and it was deep enough that bone showed clearly through the blood seeping from it. Staring at it, Dawn cautioned him, “OK my friend, this next one is going to be rough. That cut needs stitches, but I can’t do that. So I’m going to pour some iodine into it. Then I’m going to try pulling the edges together with tape. It’s going to hurt, but there is no other way. Get ready.” With that, she carefully poured iodine into the gash. Jerry stiffened and then, mercifully, lost consciousness. Dawn jumped and under her breath whispered, “My God, Please help me do this right. I can’t stand this!” As she prayed, her hands were moving fast, taking advantage of this quiet time to put Vaseline in place, pulling the rough edges of the cut together with tape then covering it with gauze and more tape. Soon the job was done and Jerry began stirring. Dawn sat back, exhausted. This had been tough for both of them.

Dawn went to the cupboard and came back with a can of chicken noodle soup that she opened and poured into a pan. Soon the pleasant smell of the soup filled the little house. Jerry was content to stay where he was, just his eyes moving as he watched Dawn bustling around in the kitchen. Finally she came to where he was lying. “Do you feel strong enough to sit up and eat some soup? It should make you feel a little better.” He struggled to a sitting position with his back to the side of the big easy chair. Dawn sat and started feeding him, much to his chagrin. “Hey, I can do that!” But she kept feeding him until the bowl was empty.

When the soup was gone, Jerry, at Dawn’s urging, decided to try to get to the bedroom. Bashful, he made her wait outside while he struggled out of his Levis and climbed under the covers. She then came in and kissed him softly on an undamaged part of his cheek. “I’m going to run home and let my mother know where I am. I don’t want her to worry about me.”

While Dawn was gone, Jerry sat up, propping himself against the headboard. He went over the events of the past two days, trying to see if he’d done anything wrong that could have caused this.
“No its just fate, just some kind of ridiculous act of fate. There’s nothing I did that I wouldn’t do again.”
With that, his mind drifted a bit. He was more comfortable sitting up than he had been lying down, so he stayed where he was. Looking around his room, he thought, “
Damn! If I had known that Dawn would be here, I would have cleaned this place better”.

His room was outsized for the small home. When building the cottage, Jerry’s father, Wayne, had envisioned dividing the room when the second child arrived. But fate had stepped in and Jerry had been an only child. The home had been something special to Wayne and his wife, Patty. They had worked long and hard to make it a happy place for the three of them. But Patty’s accident had changed Wayne forever. After she died, he just wasn’t comfortable in the little house with all of its memories. His first thought had been to get rid of the house and move to the little shack at his mining claim. But that wasn’t practical with a son still going to school. Jerry couldn’t get through the winter snow to school from the mining claim, so Wayne had finally decided to keep the house until Jerry was grown. But he spent most of his time at the claim, coming down to see Jerry on the weekends.

Jerry heard Dawn coming through the door. She was talking to someone. With a start, he realized that Dawn had brought her mother back with her. “Shit!” He was seriously wishing that he had done more house-cleaning this week.

“Jerry, are you decent?” It was Dawn, hesitating outside his door. He replied, “Yeah” and the two women came in. Dawn’s mother, Ida Parker, looked at Jerry and instantly registered shock. “My God, Dawn. You said it was bad, but I never imagined this. Jerry, how do you feel? I mean, can you focus? I want you to follow my finger with your eyes. Are you hurt anywhere else? Are your ribs OK? Is there pain anywhere that we can’t see? Don’t be bashful now. We need to know exactly what is wrong so we can get you patched up.” All of this came out in a steady stream while Jerry tried to get answers out in response to her questions and she sat on the edge of the bed touching the bandages on his face.

Finally reassured, she sat back and relaxed a bit. “Dawn, you did a really good job here from what I can see. But there could still be problems that aren’t obvious yet. I think that the two of us had better stay here tonight just in case we’re needed.” At that, Jerry began protesting, but Mrs. Parker wasn’t listening to any objections. In her rapid-fire way of speaking, she went on, “Jerry, be quiet. I know what’s needed here and you very simply don’t have any choice in this. Do we have any food here?” With that she was up and off to the kitchen to inspect the cupboards.

When she came back, she was still talking, issuing orders in her rapid-fire, competent manner. “Dawn, we need to get some things over here. Please run home and tell your father what we’re doing. Bring back my house-robe, slippers, and my big pillow. Get anything that you need for the night. We need some breakfast food also. If you think of anything else that we need, grab it.”