A Wolf in the Fold

I felt a hand in mine, squeezing gently. A small, slender hand. Daisy’s hand. I heard a scraping sound and saw Ty sliding the table aside.

“We’re going to put you in the root cellar,” Hannah went on. “It’s the best we can do. If we live, we will come back and fetch you as soon as we can.” Hannah held the short-barreled Remington where I could see it, then slid it into my shoulder holster. “Here. The Lord only knows what you are doing with this, but it might come in handy.” She regarded me intently. “I wish we had time to talk. I have a feeling things aren’t as I thought they were, but that’s neither here nor there now. We’re all in the same boat, and it’s sinking.”

“They’ll be expecting you to make a break for it,” I was able to wheeze.

Hannah’s features became etched with sadness. “I know. We all know. But we have to do it. There are enough of us that maybe we can shoot our way out.” She smiled and said in earnest, “Good luck to you.”

Partial darkness enfolded me. I was being lowered into their root cellar. I smelled dank earth. Near me hung a slab of jerked venison. To my left lay a sack of potatoes. A blanket was placed under me.

Hannah and Tyrel and Carson and Kip filed up the steps, but not Daisy. She sank down beside me and tenderly touched my cheek. “I don’t want to leave you, but Ma says it’s best. At least this way you have a slim chance of living.”

“Don’t go.” I was sincere, much to my amazement.

“I have to. They’re my family.” Daisy’s eyes were the loveliest eyes I ever gazed into. “Before I do, I’d like an answer out of you. An honest answer.”

“About what?”

“Are you a preacher or aren’t you?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Of course I am.”

A smile lit Daisy’s face. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t lie to us. And your hideout gun?”

“I told you. I brought it to help protect you if I had to. It belonged to my pa.”

Daisy kissed my cheek. Not a peck, but a lingering kiss that was the best kiss of my life. Then she straightened and said hoarsely, “This ain’t fair. But don’t you worry. I’ll be back for you. No matter what. You believe me, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I said.

Hannah appeared in the opening. “Daisy! Come on! There’s so much smoke we can barely see. We have to leave. We have to do it now.”

“Coming, Ma.” Daisy smiled and caressed my chin. Turning, she bounded up the steps.

I opened my mouth to call out to her to be careful, but the trap door closed. Now all I could do was lie there as helpless as a newborn while the cabin burned down around me.

Presently I noticed gray wisps worming between the boards above me. The floor had enough chinks and cracks that a lot more smoke was bound to get in. Thin slivers of light penetrated too. I looked about but could not see much.

I was straining my ears, and I heard it. I heard the front door slam open and the shooting began. In my mind’s eye I saw the Butchers race out into the night, firing as they went. How many made it to the trees depended on whether Gerty had thought to bring cowboys from the sides and rear of the cabin to support those in front. Judging by the din, she had.

The shooting went on and on.

I drew my Remington. I wanted to rush out and help the Butchers. I rose on my elbows, but that was as far as I got. The root cellar turned topsyturvy and I passed out again.

When I came to the shooting was over. Smoke half filled the root cellar. I heard loud crackling and hissing and snapping. After a bit I thought I heard something else—laughter. Female laughter.

The cabin was in flames. Soon the floor would burn, right down on top of me. Hannah had meant well, but I would be roasted alive.

To my left, past the sack of potatoes, was an earth wall. Girding myself, I rolled onto my side. My head swam and I thought I would pass out again, but I didn’t. Levering my forearms, I inched toward the sack. A simple potato sack, yet crawling over it was like crawling over a mountain. It hurt. It hurt like nothing ever hurt my whole life long. I broke out in a sweat. My chest felt as if iron bands were wrapped tight, squeezing the life from me. But I made it. I crawled over the potatoes and lay spent and limp between the sack and the wall.

The crackling and hissing grew louder. A tremendous crash signaled the roof was collapsing.

Marshaling my energy, I gouged at the dirt with both hands. It was not as hard-packed as I feared. I dug as fast as I could, aware that the root cellar was now nearly full of smoke. I clawed and scooped and scooped and clawed and made steady headway.

Another crash spurred me to greater speed. Smoke seeped into my nose and mouth. I started to cough, but quickly smothered my mouth with my sleeve. If Gertrude and her cowboys were still out there, they might hear me

Taking short, shallow breaths, I continued to dig. My fingers ached and my chest was a welter of agony, but I did not stop. I could not stop. I scraped and gouged, scraped and gouged. Soon I had a niche almost as long as my body and a foot wide. It was not much, but it had to do.