A Wolf in the Fold

God, how I hankered to blow out her wick. In my fury I clenched my fists and realized my strength was returning. Pain was setting in, as well. My temples pounded and my mouth became as dry as Death Valley. I did not have the warm, wet feeling deep inside, that warned of internal bleeding, which was a good sign. Nor was blood leaking out of my mouth and nose.

Daisy had slid over by her mother, but now she returned and wanted to know, “How are you holding up?”

I had to lick my lips and swallow a few times before saying, “It’s no worse than being stomped by a bull. How is your brother?”

Bending so close her warm breath fluttered my cheek, Daisy said, “The bullet nicked his shoulder bone, but Ma thinks Sam will live.”

“We can’t stay cooped up in here,” I said.

“What else can we do? Ma says it would be suicide to make a break for the woods. They would drop us one by one as we go out the door.”

That they would. “Give me a revolver or a rifle and I will cover you,” I offered. My thinking was that the cowboys would chase after them, giving me the chance to crawl into the woods and hide.

Daisy misunderstood. “You are the noblest man I’ve ever met. But we’re not about to run off and leave you.”

At that juncture something struck the front of the cabin with a loud thump, and seconds later a flickering glow lit the window.

“Dear Lord!” Hannah cried. “They’re trying to set the cabin on fire!”

That was the fourth choice.

Chapter 14

A bucket of water was on the counter. Jordy grabbed it and ran to the window, where fingers of flame were licking at the sill. To douse them, he had to lean out and upend the bucket. The moment he did, a rifle cracked off in the trees. Jordy dropped the bucket and tottered back, his right arm suddenly limp.

Hannah and Daisy rushed to render aid. They brought Jordy over near me and had him sit. Kip joined them and handed his mother his belt knife, which Hannah used to cut open Jordy’s sleeve. She gingerly examined the wound. The slug had drilled Jordy above the elbow, shattering the bone and leaving an exit hole the size of a walnut. Blood pumped in a torrent.

“We have to stop the bleeding,” Hannah said. “Daughter, rip a sheet into strips. Kip, find me something to use as a splint.”

I was feeling weak again. I stared at my own wound, wondering if I would live. Internal bleeding was not always apparent. If I was bleeding inside, there was nothing Hannah could do for me. I thought of Gertrude’s treachery and yearned to slip a garrote around her throat or, better yet, strangle her with my hands.

I had only myself to blame for being shot. When I started in the regulating business, I would never turn my back on someone like Gertrude. I had become too sure of myself, too careless. I had taken to assuming my reputation would protect me.

As I watched the glow at the front of the cabin grow, I did something I had not done since I was knee high to a foal. I prayed. I asked God Almighty to let me live so I could have my revenge on the woman who had done this to me. With every iota of my being, I prayed. When it hit me what I was doing, I grinned at my silliness.

Long ago I learned that God never answered my prayers. As a boy, night after night, I prayed that my father would stop beating my mother. Night after night, I prayed he would stop drowning himself in drink and treat us as a father was supposed to treat us. But my prayers did no good. My father did not stop drinking. He did not stop beating her. He did not treat us as a caring father should.

I had heard that God answered the prayers of others: Folks have told me that the Almighty answered theirs. Why God never answered mine, I couldn’t rightly say. Maybe I made God mad at me somehow. Maybe I prayed wrong. Whatever it was, as I sat there with that bullet hole in me and realized I was praying, I not only grinned, I had a lump in my throat.

Then the moment passed, and the cowboys were whooping and hollering and peppering the cabin with lead. The flames outside were now visibly licking at the sill, and spreading rapidly.

The Butchers were huddled together and Hannah was talking in urgent but hushed tones. I could not hear what she was saying. Jordy had been bandaged, but he was as pale as paper. Sam looked even worse.

I tried to crawl to them, but my arms would not support me. I was able to sit back, but the effort left me exhausted. I must have passed out because the next thing I knew, hands had hold of me and I was being dragged across the floor. I sucked in a deep breath and the pain made me cough and sputter.

Hannah’s kindly features floated above me. “Be still, Parson, and listen. We don’t have much time. Our cabin is filling with smoke. We can’t stay or we’ll be burned alive. We have to try for the woods. But we can’t take you with us.”

“What—?” I began, but she hushed me with a finger to my mouth.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t. Jordy and Carson are too weak to help carry you, and it will be all the rest of us can do not to get ourselves shot.”