South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

     
M
ark looked out the window of his room watching an odd glow through the trees. His heart began to race in recognition and he ran towards the stairs.

      “There’s a fire at the mill!” he shouted.

      “Stay here.” Timothy swept past Rebecca in the foyer and ran from the house. Timothy sprinted up the path in long strides and Mark looked back as Roland quickly fell behind the other two.

      “Go on,” he yelled to the boy. “I’ll catch up.”

      As Roland reached the clearing surrounding the mill he could hear Timothy shouting for the night watchman. He and Mark were throwing buckets over a fire in the far corner that was just beginning to leap up the back wall.

      Roland shouted to Mark and Timothy, “Start the pump!”

       Timothy started the pump and cut the hose free with his pocket knife. Roland reached the mill just as Timothy was hosing down the wall and Mark pulled open the heavy doors. Several cinders had fallen onto an adjoining wall and Roland grabbed a bucket and stumbled down the stairs to the river. From there he tossed several buckets of water on the flames while Timothy sprayed from the other side of the wide doorway and Mark raked back piles of sawdust feverishly.

     They quickly extinguished the fire and Tim began to scout the area for the night watchman. He found him crumpled and lifeless in a corner of the office.

      “Damn,” he cursed. “We need guns and horses.”

       He turned to Mark and shouted, “Let’s get back up to the house. We need to find whoever did this.”

      Mark responded, but Roland did not.

      “Roland! We’re headed back up to the house.” Mark looked up and listened.

     “Roland?” Tim yelled.

      The two stumbled down the stairs toward the river and found nothing but a long muddy slur into the water and several footprints.

      “Roland!” Tim yelled again. They ran along the banks for several minutes calling the man’s name, Timothy cursing loudly under his breath.

      “I don’t think he fell in, Pa,” Mark panted. “There are two sets of prints here. I think they both went into the water.”

      “We need the horses.” Tim ran up the path back to Stavewood with Mark close behind him.

      “I don’t know what happened,” Timothy tried to explain hurriedly, as he loaded his rifle.

      “Mark’s getting the horses and I’ve sent one of the hands out for Ben. Rebecca, I need you to stay here.”

      “I’m coming with you,” Emma announced. She stood on the stairs in a plain dress with her hair pulled back.

      “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Emma.” He kissed Rebecca’s cheek and headed for the door.

      Emma followed him into the yard. “Mark, I’m riding with you.” She leapt up behind the boy lightly.

      Mark looked at his father, puzzled.

      “I can ride and I can yell. You’ll have to do any shooting however.”

      The frantic trio rode up the mill to begin their search, Rebecca wringing her hands on the porch.

      Timothy urged his huge black Arabian across the water aggressively, the stallion swimming briefly before finding footing on the opposite bank.

      Mark and Emma searched the shore, calling Roland and checking every dark shape of driftwood and tangle that had lodged on its way down the waterway. Emma called out often, sick with worry. She left the horse several times, her and Mark checking tall grass and reeds and shouting the man’s name frantically.

      They searched for hours before Tim returned to the south side of the banks and shook his head.

      “They never came up on that side. I saw no evidence of them.”

      Mark fought back tears, knowing his father was an accomplished tracker. “Maybe you need to search this side, Pa. I could have missed something. We’ll go ahead, the current is moving fast, maybe he’s down a ways yet.”

      Timothy turned the stallion and began working his way back along the riverbank while the other two continued on downriver.

      Roland hit the water with a chilling splash as he struggled to shake off the man clutching his back. He fought for the surface, kicking hard and gasped for air before being pulled under again. He felt the burn of a cut across his bicep and the sting spurred him as he kicked hard against a rock, freeing himself from the assailant. The aggressor sputtered and lunged towards him again. Roland swam towards the bank, lost his footing and was swept into the current.

      He felt a tug on his boot and kicked hard, but lacked the strength and coordination in his injured leg to free himself and sunk under the icy water. He grabbed the attacker by the hair under the water and pulled him to the surface. Both men fought for air. Roland’s chest heaved hard and his fist came out of the water and landed hard against the other man’s face.

      His enemy shook his head, splashing water into his face. He grabbed Roland’s arms and chest in a gripping hug and pulled them both under the surface.

      When Roland had again wrenched himself free, he tried once more to reach the shore. He grabbed a log frantically and the piece broke free, pulling him along with the rush. The driftwood eventually hung on a tangle of roots and he pulled himself from the water and lay gasping on the bank. He heard a splash a few feet away and as he looked up he felt a dull thud and his world went black.

      “Wait. Here, look.” Emma found a churned area in the mud, slick and wet.

      Mark jumped down from the horse and found prints. “They’re going over here. It looks like there are marks from dragging something and here,” he pointed to a clear print leading into the woods.

      “This isn’t a boot print,” Emma remarked. “Roland had his boots on.” She looked up into the boys eyes with worry.

      Mark tied off his mare, slid his rifle from its sheath, and they followed the prints cautiously.

      He grabbed her arm suddenly. “Wait, look there,” he pointed through the trees and Emma could see a soft yellow light.

      They walked silently towards what began to look like a window and Mark gestured her to crouch down. They approached the building silently, the boy indicating more slick marks in the soft loamy soil. As they came up behind a squat cabin, Mark indicated that he wanted Emma to look into the window. He crouched down beneath the opening and gestured to her to step up onto his back.

      She planted her foot carefully onto his shoulder and balanced her hands against the rough wood wall, gripping the logs as best possible. Mark stood up slightly and she pulled herself up stealthily and peered inside.

Chapter Eighteen

    
 
I
nside the hut the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern. Seated on a chair was a slender man. Emma did not recognize him. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging down, panting heavily. At his feet she saw Roland, bound and unconscious in a large puddle on the floor. She climbed down from Mark’s shoulders and stumbled a few feet from the house, shaking with fear. She grabbed Mark’s arm and pulled him into the trees several feet from the building.

      “There’s a man,” she gasped. “I don’t know who he is. He’s out of breath. Roland is there and he looks like he’s alive. That man has him tied up, but he looks wet and pale and…” she stumbled around amid the trees, trying to calm her fears.

      “We can go get Pa,” The boy thought aloud. “But, he’d be way upstream by now. Let me think. Is he a big man? And it’s just him right, no one else?”

      “No, he’s not big. Average, I guess. I didn’t see if he had a gun or anything.” She exhaled heavily.

      “Maybe I could take him if we could surprise him.”

      “How would we do that?”

      “Well, I could hide next to the door and maybe you could distract him and get him to come outside.”

      They scrambled back to the cabin again and Emma surveyed the room from just above the sill, watching long enough to make sure Roland was breathing.

      “He’s kneeling in front of the hearth right now. I think he’s trying to start a fire.”

      Mark looked up to see a wisp of sparks ascending from the tiny chimney.

      “Are you ready?” he asked.

      Emma took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

      Mark crept up beside the door and took his position. He nodded to Emma and she began whooping and hollering at the top of her lungs.

      The cabin door flung open and the man charged through it just in time for Mark’s rifle butt to meet the side of his head.

       He fell to the ground hard.

      “We got him!” she exclaimed excitedly. She ran into the cabin with Mark close behind.

      The attacker was moaning softly and Mark pulled a knife and quickly cut Roland’s bonds. He was completely unconscious and Emma struggled to help the boy get him to his feet.

      “Get under his arm,” Mark instructed. Emma stood up to help support the man and was surprised by how heavy he was. They stumbled out into the darkness, dragging the man between them towards the tethered horse.     

      “We’ve got to get him on the horse’s back Emma. I’ll lift him and you pull his arms.” The two struggled to get the unresponsive man onto the mare frantically when the tree beside them splintered from a gunshot blast. The horse reared in terror and all three fell to the ground hard. Another shot shattered a nearby branch as Emma dragged Roland into the trees. Mark gave the horse a sharp slap on the rump, sending her into the cover of the forest.

      “I know you’re out there, Vancouver. You’re as good as dead,” a deep voice shouted through the trees.

      Mark looked at Emma and shook his head, puzzled. Whoever this was obviously knew Roland, but Mark could not place his voice.

      Timothy heard the crack of gunfire far in the distance and listened. He turned the Arabian in a tight semi-circle and set out along the river bank, listening for the sounds of further shots above the stomping of the horse. Timothy urged his stallion, Cannonball, on at the sound of the shots and dismounted mid-stride as he neared the area. He heard the voice echoing through the woodland and knew immediately it was Jude Thomas. He pulled his rifle free and stepped through the forest cautiously. He could make out the silhouettes of two people hiding in the woods and quickly recognized his son. He hissed quietly and heard Mark’s hissing response. Timothy stole up silently and placed his fingers against Roland’s neck and nodded to Emma, gesturing for her to back away.

      She moved away slightly, and laid flat beside the unconscious man and held her breath.

      “Thomas!” Timothy bellowed, causing to Emma to cower closer to the ground.

      “This doesn’t concern you, Elgerson!” Jude shouted back. “This is between me and Vancouver.”

      “Your beef isn’t with Roland, Thomas. He fired you under my instruction. I’ve got my own dispute with you and I’m here to settle that straight away. Drop the gun.”

      “And let you beat me senseless again? I don’t think so, Elgerson. I say we finish this here tonight.” Jude thought he saw a sliver of light reflect off Elgerson’s gun and lifted his pistol to fire.”

      Mark’s bullet met its target, piercing the man’s thigh at high velocity and Jude Thomas fell, writhing in the mud.

      Timothy Elgerson ran, squatted beside the fallen man and kicked the pistol away.

       “Rot in hell,” Thomas spat.

      “That seems to be a common wish of your family. That leg ought to keep you out of trouble for a while. Nice shot, boy,” Timothy called back to his son as Mark approached. “I might have enjoyed beating him senseless once again though.”

      Mark chuckled and shook his head.

      Emma began patting Roland’s face frantically, but got no response. She ripped the hem from her dress and tied it firmly around the wound on his arm.

      Timothy whistled sharply and the stallion emerged from the woodland.

      “Get Roland back to your place, Tim.” Sheriff Ben Carson pulled Thomas up by his shoulder as two deputies emerged from the forest. “We’ll take this one in.”

      Tim looked up and smiled. “I’m glad to see you, Ben.”

      “We saw the fire and then we heard the shots and figured somebody needed help.”

      “I’m grateful. Thanks, Ben.”

      Timothy Elgerson lifted Roland Vancouver over his shoulder and slid the limp man over Cannonball’s saddle. Returning with the mare, Mark pulled Emma up behind him, her face pale and streaked with mud. Tim mounted his horse behind the sagging man and urged the stallion to a steady trot.

      The Arabian’s stomping on the pathway alerted Rebecca and she ran out to meet the riders. The hours had been torture and she had hoped all of the tragedy at Stavewood had ended. Memories of the day in the woods with Dianna Weintraub flooded back to her. Recollections of the mill accident flashed into her mind, no matter how hard she fought to put them away. Louisa had asked for her father and brother all evening, until late, when she had finally fallen asleep, exhausted.

      She gathered clean cloths and fresh linens as Timothy slid Roland from the horse’s back and carried him into the house.

      “Put him in my room, Tim.” Emma climbed the stairs behind the big man as he hauled his foreman up the stairway. She watched the way his muscles moved on his back, astounded by his strength. Roland seemed immensely weighty to her, yet this man carried him carefully and with ease. If he had beat Jude Thomas senseless once before, she thought, it must have been a very impressive scene to witness.

      Timothy lowered the man onto the bed as Emma pulled back the blankets.

      “I don’t know what to do,” she sighed as she stroked his pale cheek.

      “Mark’s gone for the doctor.” Rebecca stood in the doorway.

      “Let’s get him out of these wet clothes and warm him up,” Tim suggested.

      Rebecca went to gather wool blankets and Emma and Timothy began to strip the man completely.
      “I can finish this,” Timothy volunteered, after Emma had removed his boots and Timothy his shirt.

      “No need,” Emma blushed. “I’ll finish. You’re probably wet through yourself.”

      The big man nodded, understanding, and went for a change of clothing for himself.

      Emma finished undressing the man, covered him and began rubbing his icy limbs. He stirred slightly and Rebecca returned, leaving her with soft wool blankets which Emma packed around him closely and she began to rub his feet.

      “He’s very pale.” Rebecca helped Timothy pull off his clammy shirt and took a dry one from the wardrobe.

      “He’s got a good bump on his head. He moved on the horse a couple of times on the ride in.”

      Rebecca touched her forehead. She recalled her own head injury and sighed. Timothy pulled her to him and held her closely.

      “Mark shot Jude Thomas in the woods,” he spoke softly.”

      “What?” Rebecca looked up in shock.

      “Got him in the leg. He’s alive.”

      Rebecca sighed.

      “Looks like he tried to burn down the mill, then knocked out Roland somehow. They were in some cabin a good ways downriver.”

      “What’s the damage like at the mill?” She watched his face with worry.

      “Not too bad. I’ll have to replace that cooling hose first thing in the morning, and appoint a temporary foreman. The watchman is dead.” He looked towards the hall.

      “He’s got a head injury,” the doctor informed the family. “I’m not too concerned over his arm. Only time will tell. He’s breathing easy enough. Gather up any hot water bottles you have and try to bring up his body temperature. I’ll come by in the morning.” The doctor shook his head slowly.

      “You get some rest, Ma’am,” he looked over his glasses at Rebecca.

      “I’m putting her to bed right now,” Timothy assured the physician and showed him to the door.

      “How’s that old shoulder wound, Tim?” The doctor walked out to his carriage.

      “Better some days than others,” the big man replied. He found himself trying not to dwell on the past as his wife had done earlier.

      Emma filled the water bottles with warmed water in the big kitchen.

      “You sure you don’t need me to sit with him or anything?” Mark asked as he sipped a cup of hot milk at the counter.

      “I’m going to try to warm him up. I’ll wake you if I need you. Thank you. You’re pretty amazing.” Emma kissed the young man on the cheek affectionately and he smiled shyly.

      “We got him out of there. Come get me when he’s awake.”

      Emma climbed the back stairs to her room and placed the bottles around the man’s torso. She stripped off her dress and ran a warm bath as quickly as she could and stepped into the deep tub. Rubbing her arms vigorously she soon felt the chill leave her body. She dried herself quickly and then stood beside the bed. Lifting the blankets carefully, she climbed in close to the man. She rubbed his face softly and then his limbs, pulling herself as close to him as she could, the chill of his body soaking into her.

      “I love you, Roland,” she whispered as she ran her fingers through his damp hair and kissed his icy cheek. “Don’t you dare drift away this way,” she began to sob quietly. “As soon as you wake up I’m going to marry you. I’ll go for the magistrate myself if I have to. I was a fool to hesitate. I won’t again.” She watched his motionless face closely and as dawn began to break she drifted off to sleep.

      Timothy lifted Rebecca’s slender thigh from across his waist and slid from the bed. She stirred softly and curled into a tiny ball on the massive bed. He covered her gently, slipped into his pants and then tiptoed from the room.

      He tapped on the guestroom door lightly, but there was no response. Tim walked into the room quietly.

      He found them both sleeping and noticed the girl’s tattered dress lying across the back of a nearby chair and smiled to himself. “Best thing,” he muttered quietly. He noticed that Roland’s color had improved and he left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

      “How’s he doing?” Mark emerged from his room buttoning his shirt.

      “They’re both asleep. I don’t think we need to bother them. Roland’s color looks better.”

      “Did Emma fall asleep in the chair?” Mark tucked in his shirt.

      “Not exactly,” Timothy cleared his throat.

      “Oh,” Mark looked surprised. “I guess she’s trying to warm him up,” he commented thoughtfully.

      “That’s it,” Timothy smiled and rubbed the young man’s head.

      “I remember Rebecca kept doing that before you two got married,” he smiled up to his father.

      “Worked every time,” Timothy smirked at the boy and the two descended the stairs to the kitchen.