A hushed silence fell over the group of men as they came to a halt before the remains of the destroyed house. Rendered temporarily immobile by what they were seeing, they sat on their horses and stared in shocked disbelief at what was left of the once impressive home.
Most of the men had settled in Bordertown only within the last few years, and therefore had been previously unaware of its presence or the family that had once resided so near their community many years earlier. Others, like Dom, who had met many travelers and prospectors during his employment at the saloon, had heard tale of it, but over the years, as frequently happens with remote, insignificant matters, it had slipped from their minds. It lay before them, now, a glaring reminder of the destructive capabilities that lay within the vengeance of the human heart and mind.
Debris from the explosion had been scattered over a large radius, with many pieces even cradled in nearby tree branches, having been lifted high into the air and deposited there by the force of the blast. Several of the closest trees showed evidence of damage in the chunks of bark that had been ripped from the trunks by flying debris, and the smaller limbs that had been completely torn away. The ground all around the house was littered with shattered glass from the windows and chunks of wood and twisted nails.
The main portion of the house had collapsed in on itself in a huge heap of mangled wood and shingles. A few sections of the walls and ceiling stubbornly remained intact, lying in the midst of the rubble, but only the tall stone chimneys still stood in their original positions, stark monuments to the house whose occupants they had once warmed with heat from their hearths.
Clive felt his heart sink with the knowledge that his two friends were probably lying somewhere in the midst of all that wreckage. Even the horses were quiet, gazing at the house with pricked ears, as if sensing that a catastrophic event had occurred there. Several of the men removed their hats out of respect. Some exchanged somber glances, certain that the outcome would not be good.
Liam crossed himself, reverently. "Lord Almighty," he said, barely above a whisper. "If they're in there . . . ."
He did not complete the sentence. He didn't need to. The others understood, gazing at him in silence agreement.
Clive sat quietly on his horse for several moments, his mind and emotions coming to terms with what his eyes were seeing, and dreading what they would find underneath all that rubble. Brought up in a religious environment, he hated the killing that often accompanied his job as a lawman. He pulled the trigger only to save his life or the lives of others. He had often lectured Jack Craddock over the marshal's quick use of the gun, but had Oliver Knapp been standing before him at that moment, the Mounted Policeman believed he could easily have committed murder in retaliation for what had been done to his friends.
Finally, dismissing those troubling thoughts from his mind, grateful that Knapp was not there to tempt him, he said, "Men, we have work to do." He gestured toward a suitable spot to tether their mounts. "Let's tie the horses over there. Be careful, though. There is a lot of nails and shards of glass."
He dismounted. Turning his back to the house, he led his horse into the area that had once been a small pasture, many years earlier, before nature had reclaimed it. The original owners had cleared away many of the trees and had erected a split rail fence in which to contain their livestock, but the years of neglect had resulted in the regrowth of the trees. Most of the rails had fallen and were in varying stages of decay, hastened to that end by burrowing insects. He kicked aside one such rail, and the fragile wood shattered under the impact.
He selected a suitable tree, and tethered his horse to it. Oblivious of its owner's heavy heart, it nibbled contentedly at leaves and twigs, and swished its black tail back and forth, lazily.
Dom tied his horse to the next tree, and as he turned to face the corporal, he asked, "How are we going to handle this? If they should still be alive, we're going to have to be very careful how we remove all that debris, or we could cause it all to cave in on them."
Clive nodded slowly. His mind seemed strangely blank, but he had already considered that problem. Even if his friends were no longer alive, he did not like the thought of the rubble falling in on them. "I know. I figure we're going to have to remove the largest sections first, and then lift the rest of the debris one board at a time."
"That'll take awhile," Dom commented.
"I know, but I can't think of another solution. Can you?"
Dom shook his head, negatively.
The other men tied their horses nearby, with the packhorse and the draft team tied nearer to the house for easy access. The ones who had brought gloves began pulling them on in preparation for the task that lay ahead.
Unaccustomed to being involved in a rescue operation, Wendell nervously rubbed his sweating hands on his pants and marveled at the fact that he could work up a sweat in the cool weather. He did not want to see the dead bodies of his friends pulled from the debris, yet he could not suppress the desire to help. "So, where do we start?" he asked.
Clive withdrew a pair of work gloves from the packhorse's load, and handed them to the banker. "First, put these on. It'll keep you from getting splinters," he explained. "Anyone else need gloves?"
Zack Denny approached, as nervous as Wendell, and accepted the goves that were offered. The two businessmen pulled them on and flexed their hands. The gloves felt bulky and uncomfortable, but they would accomplish the task ahead.
The group of men walked to the edge of the rubble, and stood for several moments, looking at the remains of the house, and trying to determine where to begin. Most of the men who were present had built their own homes and were familiar with carpentry. All of them knew that they were undertaking a huge task, one that would last possibly days, but all were willing to remain until the job was completed.
Finally, Clive said, "Archie, bring up the team. We'll get these large sections off of there first."
"Right, Corporal," Archie said, then went to get the team of horses. While they waited, several of the men spread out to search the perimeter for the best spot to begin work. One of the men came back carrying a hat, which he offered to the Mountie.
"Corporal Bennet, I found this on the ground on the back side of the house."
Clive took the well-worn hat from the man's hands to look at it. It was a plain brown American style slouch hat with a decorated band and a familiar bullet hole in the crown. "That's the marshal's hat," he said, his heart constricting painfully. "I guess that confirms it, then. They're somewhere in the middle of all this," he added, his gaze sweeping the pile of broken, useless boards and planks that made up the bulk of the rubble.
The others fell silent, understanding the surge of emotion experienced by the corporal.
Finally, Archie said, his gruff voice uncharacteristically quiet, "We'd best get busy, Boy-o."
Clive nodded. "I'll be back in a minute." Turning abruptly, the corporal strode back to his horse, and placed Jack's hat over the saddle horn for safekeeping.
Archie watched him walk away, then turned to the others. "Let's get that rope anchored over that three limb, there," he suggested, indicating the largest and sturdiest of the limbs that overhung the remains of the house.
Working in silence, the men began the task of removing the debris.
Still trapped in the cellar, unaware that half the town was above them, beginning the task of removing the mountain of shattered wood that covered their underground prison, Jack and Marie continued to wait for rescue, but each one wondered privately if it would come in time.
Forty-eight hours without food or water was beginning to take a toll on them, both physically and mentally. Having read and studied Jacques's medical journals, Marie understood that the simple process of the human body trying to maintain its warmth in cool conditions was expending valuable energy, energy they needed to conserve in order to sustain life. That, combined with inadequate rest, had left both of them feeling exhausted, even though they had done very little in the way of physical activity since the previous morning, when they had shored up their low ceiling. With the physical exhaustion also came the mental exhaustion and the inevitable depression experienced by those waiting for life to end in a slow and agonizing fashion.
It was mid-morning, and the air temperature was once again beginning to warm. There had been no more cave-ins, and the shoring job they had conducted appeared to be holding, offering both at least a mild degree of confidence that the load of debris over their heads would not fall in on them.
Marie's optimism that they would be rescued was fading, and she was beginning to entertain the notion that they might actually die in that awful place. She felt tired and discouraged, and the need for water was so great that she wondered if she could tolerate it any longer. Her reflexes attempted to swallow, even though there was not enough moisture in her mouth to justify the impulse.
She heard Jack sigh, heavily, beside her. "I gotta tell ya, Marie. I thought they'da fingured it out by now." His normally gravelly voice seemed even more gravelly now. He was seated against the cold wall behind him, his head tipped back against it, as if the effort to lift it was too great. He chuckled, softly, without any real humor. "Looks like I'll be trippin' on my beard before they find us."
"Do you suppose they're even looking yet?" she asked, surprised by the hoarseness in her own voice. Like him, she was leaning back against the wall, too weary to move.
"They're lookin'," he told her with confidence. He turned his head to look at her through the dim light. Even disheveled and covered with grime, he still thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "You know they're lookin', Marie. They've probably been lookin' since they first realized we was missin'. You're the town's doctor, remember. You'd be missed pretty quick."
She nodded. "I suppose." She paused to clear her throat, but her voice still did not sound like her own. "I left a note for Lucy that I was going to tend a patient. I should have told her where." She shrugged, her eyes sweeping the dark cellar. "I didn't know where it was," she added.
"This is my fault, Marie. I shoulda told Clive about it, like you suggested."
"You had no idea that this could happen," she reminded him.
"No, but I knew we was possibly gonna encounter Knapp. I was so determined to take care o' him myself that I put you in danger. It was wrong o' me to do that, especially since I figured he was probably holed up in this house."
She heard something in his voice, something that seemed to indicate that he was considering a comment or concern that had remained unspoken. She turned her head without lifting it. "But, what, Jack?"
Again, he hesitated, preferring to leave the thought unspoken.
"Jack?" she prompted. "What is it?"
"Well, I've been thinkin' that they might not be aware that this house exists. Maybe that's what's takin' so long. I figure they're lookin' in these hills, somewheres, but they'll probably have to stumble on this place before they realize we're here."
Marie felt a stab of fear. If unaware of the existence of the house, it could be weeks before the search party found it. "Surely, somebody in town must know about this house," she said.
He heard the fear in her voice, but he could not bring himself to lie to her, even to offer brief comfort. She would realize, sooner or later, that he was being untruthful. "Possibly some of the people that've been living in this area for a long time might know about it," he conceded, but she knew he was choosing his words cautiously. "But they're still gonna have to put it together. Remember, that ol' prospector uses dynamite to look for silver or gold or whatever it is he's lookin' for."
Marie was silent for several moments, her heart sinking with hopelessness. "So, we're probably going to die here."
This time he raised his head to look at her. "No, we ain't gonna die, Marie. Not here, not like this. We're gonna get outta here, I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Jack," she told him, sharply, then felt ashamed by her quick temper. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to be harsh. I know you're just trying to make me feel better."
"You're tired and hungry and thirsty," he told her. "You have every reason to feel upset."
"So do you," she reminded him. "You're just as uncomfortable as I am."
"Yeah, but I'm more used to physical discomforts than you are. I've known 'em all my life."
She knew that was probably true. Growing up in the wild, unforgiving prairies of Texas, raised by his mother and abandoned by his father, life could not have been easy for his small family. What kind of life had his mother lead, trying to keep her family fed and clothed without the help of her husband?
"I' bet you've never been imprisoned in the cellar of an old house before," she said. She did not mean the comment to be humorous, but she heard him chuckle softly, again.
"No. That's a fact."
They fell silent again, and he knew that Marie was growing discouraged, fearful that Clive and the others would not find them in time. He was beginning to experience the same concerns, but the hard, sometimes violent life he had led had instilled within him a strong sense of self-preservation, and he was determined he would not allow either of them to expire in that cellar if there was anything humanly possible that could be done to alter the outcome.
Tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, even though he could see very few details of their prison in the darkness, he said, "We may have to make another stab at clearin' away some of that rubble."
Even in the dim light, he could feel her startled eyes on him. "We tried that, and it caused a cave-in," she reminded him, skeptically. "A severe one could kill us."
He nodded his head, affirmatively. "I know, I know, but even that might be better'n sittin' here waitin' ---" He glanced at her apologetically, but did not complete the sentence.
She understood that he believed a quick death would be preferable to slowly dying of thirst. "Sitting here waiting to die," she said, completing his sentence.
He made no comment, but his silence confirmed her thoughts.
"Jack, we can't do something that might get us killed. We must give them more time to find us."
"I don't think we can assume they're gonna find us in time, Marie," he told her, candidly. "I know you've been thinkin' the same thing. You've had medical training. You know better'n me what this is doin' to us."
She averted her eyes, confirming his statement. "We've been here for two days. We're showing signs of dehydration and exhaustion. A few more cold nights like we've been having, and I don't think we'll last much longer."
"We have to do somethin' to get outselves outta this cellar. I don't know about you, but I don't really wanna spend another night in this place."
She was quiet for several moments, then responded, "No, I don't either." After several moments of indecision, she finally nodded her head, slowly. "All right, but we must be careful, Jack."
"That goes without sayin', Marie."
He rose up on his knees and ran his hands along the boards and beams overhead, searching for a suitable spot to begin the task. Finally, between two of the support beams they had erected, he began slowly and carefully pushing aside some of the broken boards, clearing a small air pocket just above his head. Several times, he heard the ominous groaning of stressed boards, but for the time being, it continued to hold.
Like the area on the floor of the cellar in which they had resided the past two days and nights, the areas above them had not caved in to form a solid pile of debris. It contained small pockets, and in one of them, he was soon able to stand up unsteadily on legs that had not supported his weight in two days. He reached higher, his upper torso concealed from the woman below as he worked to remove more debris from over his head.
It was then that he heard it; the sounds coming from above, of wood beams being dragged across other wooden beams, and he understood instantly what it meant.
He withdrew himself from the hold he had made, and looked anxiously at the woman. "Someone's up there," he told her.
Her face brightened. "Do you think it's Clive and the others?"
"I don't know, but that would be my guess. It sounds like they're removing the debris."
"They've found us!" she cried, excitedly, throwing her arms around his neck. Then, her jubilation faltered, slightly, and she drew back to look into his face with concern. "What if it's Oliver?"
"Bein' kin to nobility and naturally lazy, I don't think he'd go to the trouble of doin' such menial labor, even to make sure he made the kill," he told her. "No, I think that woodpecker finally figured it out."
He stood up again, inserting his upper body into the hole again, and he listened carefully. Although he could still hear the muffled voices, he was unable to make out the words. He was able to determine that there was more than one person up there, which supported the notion of a rescue group.
He drew a deep breath, and shouted into the rubble overhead, "Clive!"
At ground level, Wendell heard the muffled shout, and felt his heart skip a beat. He and Archie exchanged glances.
"That sounded like the marshal," Wendell said.
Archie looked for Clive, who was nearby preparing the pulley to be used for the purpose of removing the larger, heavier pieces of debris. "Corporal, over here," he called. "We heard something."
Quickly, Clive rushed to the spot where they had heard the voice. "What is it?" he asked.
"Sounded like the marshal," Wendell repeated, excitedly.
The worry lines on Clive's forehead smoothed out, and he waved his hand impatiently for those who had not heard to be silent. "Everyone, be quiet for a moment!" he commanded. When they turned to look at him, he added, "Archie and Wendell may have heard something."
Instantly, the men ceased what they were doing, and crowded close.
When there was total silence among them, Clive leaned over the edge of the pile of rubble, and shouted, "Jack? Jack, can you hear me?"
"Yes! We're trapped in the cellar!" came the muffled response, part of which was drowned out by the chorus of cheers that rose among the townsmen with the realization that this was not going to be the recovery of bodies -- this was now officially a rescue.
As Clive waited for the cheers to die down, he glanced at Archie, who had obviously heard the same unnaturally hoarse quality in the marshal's voice that the mountie had heard.
"He doesn't sound too good," Archie comment, quietly, his voice and expression solemn.
"No, he doesn't," Clive agreed. 'He's been a long time without water, and he may be hurt." Raising his voice again, he said, "It's good to hear your voice. Are you all right?"
"Not really."
"Jack, where is Marie? Is she with you?"
"She's here."
Utter relief swept across his handsome face, and he briefly closed his eyes as he said a silent prayer of thanks. Then he called, "How badly are you hurt?"
"We're both hurt, but not badly. Mostly, we're just dehy-- dehyd --" He couldn't seem to get his tongue around the unfamiliar word, and he hesitated, trying to remember how Marie had pronounced it.
"Dehydrated," Marie told him from below. She was crouched against his legs, trying to see up into the opening he had made, but it was too dark and the opening was too small. His body almost completed filled it.
"We're dehydrated," Jack called, successfully completing the word. "Look, can we have this discussion after you get us outta here?"
"Of course." Clive's eyes swept the sheer size of the pile of rubble, but, unfamiliar with the sort of work he was undertaking, he was unable to calculate just how long it might take to free his friends from the cellar. One thing was apparently, though; it was not going to be quick. Plus, there was the danger factor to consider. A wrong move on the part of any of the rescuers could end up causing the pile to collapse into the cellar. "Jack, this is going to take some time. We have to be careful not to send this debris crashing in on you."
"That would be greatly appreciated," the marshal replied, a humorous tone to his voice in spite of the predicament they were in.
Clive smiled at the humor in the comment. "All right. We need to clear off some large sections, which will lighten this load considerably. Then we'll try to make a hole large enough that we can lower a rope to pull you out. All right?"
"All right," he called back, then added, "We'll just wait here."
Clive smiled again, thinking that the humor was a good sign. "All right. Men, let's get started!"
Immediately, the men went to work, but this time there was a new enthusiasm that they had not felt before.
Jack slipped back out of the opening, and met Marie's anxious face.
"Well?" she asked, breathlessly. "What did he say?"
"They'e gonna try to clear out a space so's they can lower a rope down to us. It'll take some time, though. There's a lot of rubble up there." He paused to smile at her. "We're goin' home, Marie."
She wrapped her arms around him again, and wept tears of joy and relief against his shoulder.
He held her close, but he could not help but wonder if the closeness they had shared during the past few days would evaporate once they were freed. He pressed his face against her thick mane of hair, savoring the contact, while above them they could hear the sounds of the men dragging the boards and beams from the broken, twisted remains of the house in which they were trapped.
Clive stood back and looked at the large section of the house that had remained intact atop the pile of rubble. It was part of the house's peak, with shingles still in place.
Working with great caution, the men had managed to secure ropes around it and under the corners of it for the purpose of lifting it off the heap. The primary rope had been threaded through the pulley, which was suspended from a sturdy tree branch, and the other end of it was secured to the harness of the draft team, which waited patiently under Wendell MacWherter's control.
Now that they were ready to move the bundle of debris, all of them observed it with concern. It was impossible to determine precisely how badly damaged it had been in the explosion, and they realized that it might break up once they had it in the air and if parts of it fell back on top of the pile, it might cause a major cave-in that could seriously injure or kill the two people trapped in the cellar.
Standing beside the Mounted Policeman, Archie scratched at his grizzled stubble of beard and stared at the configuration of ropes, as critical of the operation as his younger friend. "I dunno, Boy-o," he said, skeptically. "There are too many variables to make this a safe endeavor. The tree branch could break, the ropes holding that bundle together could come apart, the section of debris itself could break up." He shook his head, regretfully. "Too many variables. If that section should go crashing down on that pile of debris . . . ." He did not complete the sentence; there was no need to. The result would be devastating.
"I know, Archie, but we have to move it," Clive replied. "You know that."
"I know, but I wish there was another way."
"So do I, but nothing else comes to mind. If we try to drag it across that pile of boards without lifting it up, it might cause even more stress on the boards below, the ones that are holding everything up. That could cause a cave-in, too."
Archie sighed, heavily, and nodded his agreement. "All right, Mr. MacWherter. Lead the team forward, slowly, and listen for my commands."
Wendell took the reins of the draft horses, and led them forward. "Come on, boys," he coaxed. "Easy does it."
Trusting the man who cared for them and fed them each day, the draft team put their weight into their harnesses and began to pull. The load was heavy, and the strong, sturdy horses dug their huge hooves into the ground in an effort to do the bidding of the human, who continued to coax them forward.
Slowly, the bundle of debris rose off the top of the pile of rubble, but several pieces fell back, alarming the men who were watching.
"Hold it! Hold it!" Archie shouted, urgently, his voice rising above the equally urgent voices of the other men who also called to him to stop the horses' progression.
Wendell immediately halted the team, and the men leaned forward to examine the carefully bound chunk of debris. It hovered several feet from the top of the pile, but nothing more seemed to be separating itself from the section. The pieces that had fallen back were apparently just loose boards that had been dislodged when the bundle had been lifted.
"It looks all right," Archie said with more optimism than before. "It's holding. All right, Mr. MacWherter. A few more feet'll do it."
Wendell coaxed the team forward again. The horses blew great bursts of steam from their dilated nostrils in the chill air as they strained and pulled.
When he determined that the section of the house was high enough to be maneuvered, Archie called, "That'll do! Hold it right there."
Wendell stopped the team again, and held them steady. Because of the weight of the load, the two geldings were leaning forward to keep from being pulled off balance. One of them shifted nervously, unaccustomed to maintaining such a heavy load. "Easy, boys," Wendell said soothingly to them, patting the arched neck of the restless one. The animal calmed under his kind hand.
Another length of rope had been tied to the large bundle of debris, which would allow them to pull it away from the rest of the pile. Archie secured the end of it to the pack rig on the packhorse, then took the lead rope. "All right, Mr. MacWherter. As I pull this load away from the pile, start backing the team up, slowly."
"Right," Wendell acknowledged.
Archie led the packhorse forward. Inch by inch, the heavy load was maneuvered away from the pile of debris.
Wendell shifted position, moving to a point in front of and between the two draft horses, and stood facing them. With the reins of one horse in his left hand and the reins of the other horse in his right hand, he pushed the reins toward the animals' necks, which pressed the bits against the horses' tongues and the bars of their lower jaws.
"Back up, boys," he coaxed. "Back."
The team began to back away from the pressure, and the bundle of debris slowly was lowered toward the ground as the packhorse pulled it away from the house. The large, heavy section of the house slowly settled onto the ground.
"Good work, men," Clive praised as the ropes went slack.
Smiling, Wendell patted the necks of the draft team. "The horses did all the work," he reminded him.
Wendell and Archie returned the horses to their tethers, while the men returned to the edge of the debris to view the progress they had made.
With the huge section gone from the pile, most of what remained was simple broken boards and beams, most of which would have to be removed by hand.
"All right," Clive said. "Let's see about removing these boards -- carefully -- so that we can work out way down to where they are."
With great caution, the men began removing the debris, board-by-board, beam-by-beam.
Far below the workers, Jack listened to the sounds of the rescue as it progressed, and understood that the men would eventually reach a point where they could not safely lean over any farther to remove the debris. They would have to seek other options, options that might include having to step down onto the unstable pile of debris to continue the work. Their weight could create addition problems.
Deciding that he could help by working his way up to them, he stood up and once again inserted his body into the cavity he had made in their low ceiling.
Marie looked up, surprised. "What are you doing?"
"I cain't just sit here doin' nuthin'," he replied, his voice slightly muffled. "It'll go faster if I remove as much as I can from this end."
Very carefully, he began working once again to remove the debris that separated him and Marie from the open air. The smaller pieces of debris were tossed aside, but the larger ones were used to help support the ceiling. When he had worked as high as he could reach, he hesitated, not satisfied to stop there, and wondering if he dared go farther. To do so, he would have to climb into the void and literally stand on the debris to gain height. He knew that was an act that could result in causing portions of the debris to fall in on them.
Finally, he made the decision to take the risk, believing that if he felt any indication that it might give way, he could jump back down, and hopefully avert a cave-in.
Looking directly above him, he saw a solid plank, just out of arms reach. Crouching slightly to propel himself, he jumped up and grasped the board with both hands, one on either side of it.
Pain instantly ripped through his injured side, but he refused to let go of the board. The pain of his cracked rib had lessened over the last twenty four hours to a deree that he had almost forgotten about it. The effort reminded him in no uncertain terms that he had an injury, and he suppressed the urge to cry out as he found semi-solid footing for his feet, and struggled into a crouched position on the boards directly above one of the support beams he had erected the day before. There, he paused, his hand pressed against his throbbing side as he waited for the pain to ease.
Alarmed by what he had just done, fearful that he would do more harm than good, Marie rose up and peered into the cavity. She saw immediately by his posture that he had hurt himself again. "Jack, be careful!"
"I will," he promised when he had recovered his voice again. Trying to ignore the pain, he reached for the first piece of debris. "Stay away from the opening. I'll be dropping some of these boards down."
She scooted back out of the way, and watched as he tossed down some of the smaller objects that blocked their path to freedom.
There was no warning, no indication that the board he was standing on was going to buckle under his weight. The first hint that anything was wrong was the loud crack as the support beam and the plank beneath him gave way, and he fell back to the floor with a cry of pain as he slammed down to the hard surface. A shower of debris followed him to the floor, and something hard whacked him over the head.
Jack balled himself up, raising his arms to protect his head from further abuse until the rain of debris ceased. Dust sifted down, covering them both.
When it was safe, Marie rushed to his side, tossing aside the boards that had fallen on him. "Jack, are you all right?" she asked, anxiously.
"Yeah, I think so," he replied with uncertainly, unfolding his frame. He was aware of Marie's gentle but urgent hands, checking him for other injuries. His side was throbbing incessantly, but there appeared to no additional damage to his already battered body except for the minor bruise that was certain to pop out on his temple where he had been struck.
Satisfied that he was all right, Marie scolded, "Jack Craddock! That was a foolish thing to do! You could have been seriously hurt!"
"Don't be mean to me," he pleaded with humor in his voice. "I'm wounded. My rib is killin' me, and somethin' walloped me over the head."
Marie's eyes instinctively sought out the dark object she had seen fall through the opening, and she uttered a cry of delight as she snatched it up and hugged it to herself. "Jacques's medical bag! I thought it was gone for good, this time!"
Rubbing his head, he rose up on his elbow and observed the black bag, then chuckled softly. "What are the chances of somethin' like that happenin'?" he asked. "It thought them things was supposed to treat injuries, not cause 'em!"
She smiled, happily, a ray of sunlight in their subterranean world. Then he realized with surprise that the brightness was not generated by her smile. It was daylight, penetrating the darkness through the large ragged hole to the outside that had been created during his fall back to the floor.
He was sprawled on his back, and, looking up, he squinted into the brightness, unaccustomed to the daylight that he had not seen in two days. Through the fine particles of dust that lingered in the air, he saw faces peering over the edge looking down at him, and beyond the faces, he could see the green of leaves and bits of blue from the sky above the trees. On those anxious faces, he could see concern for his and Marie's well being.
"Are you all right?" Clive asked.
"I've been better," he admitted with a smile.
Marie leaned forward to squint into the daylight overhead. "You gentlemen are a wonderful sight to behold," she told them.
"You look pretty good yourself," Clive responded. To Jack, he added, "We thought we had caused a cave-in, but it looks like you were getting impatient to get that hole opened up."
"Well, it looked like you boys were gonna take all day, so I thought I could get the job done faster if I done it myself." His joking comment was met by laughter from the workers.
"We'll send a rope down to you," Clive told him, smiling broadly with amusement and relief. His face disappeared from the opening.
Wendell asked, excitedly, "How do we want to do this? Should we use one of the horses?"
"No," Clive replied as he sprinted past him to fetch one of the ropes. He returned with it, saying, "The marshal says they are both hurt, so I think we can control the rate of ascent better if we just use our own manpower to pull them up." He created a loop in one end of the rope, stabilizing it with a secure knot, then he coiled the length in his hand and leaned over the edge. "Jack? Heads up! I'm sending the rope down."
Jack and Marie both stepped back out of the way, crouching down under the low ceiling under which they had been trapped, and the looped end of the rope was tossed down. It struck the floor of the cellar with a slapping sound, and a small puff of dust rose from the impact. Jack stepped forward again, and picked it up. Clive took in the slack, and the other men formed a line behind him, all of them taking a firm grasp on the rope. "Wendell will moderate," the Mountie said. "Let us know when you're ready."
Jack turned to Marie. "All right. Ladies first."
Still clutching the medical bag, she stepped forward, and Jack passed the loop over her head and worked it downward, but he stopped at her waist, reluctant to procede any farther.
"Maybe you'd better move it the rest of the way," he suggested.
She pushed the rope down over her hips until she could sit on the loop.
"All right, boys," Jack called. "Pull her up."
The rope immediately grew taut, and Marie gasped and tightened her grip on the rope when she was abruptly hoisted off the floor.
"Take it easy with her!" Jack shouted.
Wendell, the only man not pulling on the rope, leaned over to apologize. "We're sorry for the abruptness of that, Mrs. Dumont. I guess the men don't know their own strength!"
"Apology accepted, Mr. MacWherter," she called up to him.
Watching Marie's progress carefully, Wendell instructed, "Slow and easy, gentlemen. She's coming up just fine. She's nearly halfway up."
"Watch those jagged edges and broken boards," Jack instructed from below. "Marie, use your feet to push away from them."
A few moments later, Marie was being hoisted over the edge of the hole. Half a dozen hands reached out to assist her onto the solid ground and to help her remove the rope. The rope was cast down into the depths of the cellar once again as Marie was escorted away from the destroyed house.
Clive noticed that she was limping, and he grasped her arm to steady her. "Your leg?"
"Sprained ankle," she replied.
With grave concern on his face, he examined her with critical eyes. She had bruises and scrapes on her face and hands, and her dress was soiled and torn, revealing her petticoats. "You have some pretty bad bruises, too. Mr. Denny, will you help her over to that tree over there?"
"Why, certainly," he replied in his smooth southern drawl. He took her by the arm. "This way, Mrs. Dumont. Just take it easy. We have plenty of time."
Greatly relieved that Marie was safely out of the cellar, Jack draped his gunbelt over his shoulder, then placed the loop around his body, initially contemplating the notion of putting it under his arms, then quickly rejected the idea because of the injured rib. He pushed the loop down below his hips, as Marie had done, and at his command, was hoisted up the gaping hole he had made and pulled onto the solid ground.
Clive knelt beside him, smiling broadly. "Welcome back, compadre," he said, using Jack's familiar Spanish lingo.
With a smile, Jack gave him a friendly slap on the arm. "It's good to be back, amigo." He struggled to his feet, accepting the help from those gathered around him. "Easy, easy," he requested, quickly. "Marie says I have a broken rib. It's all right," he added, waving them away once he was standing. "I'm obliged for the help, but I can walk."
Accepting their handshakes and pats on the back, Jack moved slowly toward the tree where Marie waited, favoring his left side.
As he sank down on the grass beside her with a low groan, he said, "I feel like I been drug behind a horse from one end o' town to the other at a hard gallop." He looked up at the men who had followed, and were gathered around. "Any o' you boys got any water with ya?"
"Coming right up," Dom said. Turning quickly, he jogged to the horses, and found two canteens, which he snatched from the saddles. He stopped at the packhorse and found the two blankets on the pack rig, and carried them back to the rescued couple.
Marie accepted the blanket and the canteen gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Bertino." To Jack, she said, "Only drink a little at a time. You'll be sick if you drink too much at once."
Her fingers were shaking with need and anticipation as she and Jack uncapped the canteens and tipped them up, taking several long gulps, savoring the wetness that christened their parched throats. Jack lowered his after several swallows, and noticed that Marie was not following her own advice. He grasped her hand and pulled the canteen away from her face.
"Marie, easy."
She wiped the wetness from her lips with the back of her hand, and smiled, sheepishly. "I couldn't stop," she admitted. She felt the cold water collide with her empty stomach, which seemed to cringe in reaction to it, and she knew that she had almost overdone it.
She capped the canteen and set it aside, then unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around her. "I wish we had had this while we were down there," she said. Her mouth still felt like it was full of cotton, but she resisted the urge to reach for the canteen again.
Clive squatted down before them, looking at each in turn. "Well, aside from some cuts and bruises, you two don't look too much the worse for wear. You know, you had everyone in town worried about you."
"How did you figure out where we were?" Jack asked, unfolding his blanket. Like Marie, he wrapped it around his shoulders and held it together in front, grateful for the warmth that they had been denied during the past few days.
"Old Harvey Graham came down from the hills this morning --"
Jack's surprise was vividly etched on his face. "Harvey came into town? I didn't think that ol' geezer ever left the hills!"
"He said he wanted to report a theft and a murder. He told us that some of dynamite had been stolen by a British thief, and that he used that dynamite to blow up the house he usually winters in. He saw the Englishman here, yesterday, calling out to you."
"We heard 'im," Jack said. "We didn't respond, though, 'cause we knew he was just tryin' to see if he'd done the job o' killin' us."
"Yes, well, when Harvey told us about all this, we assumed you were both probably dead. When he said it was a British man, I figured it was probably Knapp or his accomplice."
"It was," Jack confirmed. "He lured us here, and we was inside, he used the dynamite to blow up the buildin'. He meant to kill us."
Clive nodded in agreement, his face solemn.
"It must have been his servant who came to the house," Marie said. "Jack recognized the horse that Mr. MacWherter sold to Oliver."
As if on cue, Jack and Marie both uncapped the canteens again, and took several more swallows of water. Clive watched, silently.
"So, this is where old Harvey's been winterin'," Jack mused, glancing at what remained of the house as he recapped the canteen. "I reckon he'll have to find someplace else, now."
"Yes," Clive agreed. "He was none too happy about that, either." He paused, shifting his eyes to Marie. "I was talking to Grace this morning, and she told me that when she was on the stage coach with Knapp, he told her that he was coming to Bordertown to get his fiancee."
Marie looked up, startled. "Fiancee?"
"That's what he told her. Apparently, he had planned to convince you to go to Vancouver with him. When you indicated that you weren't interested, he decided that if he couldn't haveyou, no one else could, either." He turned to the Marshal again. "Jack, when you're rested up, we're going to have to go after him again."
Jack nodded in agreement. "Yup, I reckon we will. It don't seem like he's willin' to give up, does it?"
"No. I figure he'll try again. We need to get to him before he does."
"Jack has a fractured rib," Marie objected. "He isn't going anywhere until that injury has a chance to heal."
"It'll be all right, Marie," Jack assured her. "You said it's probably just cracked. I'll be careful."
"You could make it worse!" she insisted. "Another blow could complete the fracture. I've seen people whose lungs were punctured by broken ribs. I want you to take it easy for a while!"
Jack exchanged a knowing glance with Clive. Both had been treated by her enough times to know that she expected compliance when it came to matters of medical advise.
. She saw the looks that passed betweent them, and knew they would ignore her advice once they took a notion to go after Knapp. "I mean it, Jack."
"Doctor's orders," Jack said to Clive, lifting his eyebrows.
Clive smiled. "All right. We'll talk about it later. In the meantime, we'll start getting things ready to go. You two just rest here for a spell." He stood up, and he and the other men began the task of collecting all the gear they had used, and stowing them on the pack rig.
Left alone with Marie for a few minutes, Jack asked, "So, what're ya gonna do when we get back to town?"
"First, I'm going to have a long hot bath. Then, I want a nice bowl of hot soup. Then, I think I'll just sleep for about three days. What about you?"
"A hot bath sounds good," he agreed. "After that, I'll head on over to Zack's and see what he has on the menu for today."
Marie stared at him, horrified that he would even consider Zack's rich food to break a two day fast. "No, you will not, Jack Craddock! You haven't eaten in two days! Do you want to make yourself sick? No! You must consume something easier on the stomach than that spicy food Zack serves."
"What do you suggest, then?"
"I'll make enough soup for both of us. After you get cleaned up, you'll come to my house and join me for lunch. As you said, Doctor's orders!"
This was a pleasant surprise. "All right, Marie. I'll be there," he said, softly.
They tipped the canteens again, but when they lowered them again, they still did not feel quenched. They both knew it would be some time yet before their thirst was satisfied.
Clive returned a few minutes later. "We're ready to go. Marie, you'll ride my horse. I'll ride one of the draft horses. Jack, can you ride the other one?"
"Yes," he replied.
Clive assisted Marie to her feet again, and escorted her to his bay gelding, then helped her to mount. The stirrups were too long, allowing her feet to dangle, but she was too tired to care. Noticing that Jack's hat was still on the saddle horsen, Clive picked it up and carried it to the marshal. "Jack? I think this belongs to you."
Surprised and pleased, Jack took the hat. "I thought I'd lost it! Where'd ya find it?"
"It was on the ground near the house."
"Must'a blowed off my head in the explosion." He slapped it back on his head. "Thanks, Clive."
"You're welcome."
Jack untied one of the draft horses and placed his left hand on its withers as he stepped back to vault onto the animal's bare back, then the throbbing in his left side reminded him of the broken rib, and he thought better of it. Looking to see who was closest, he called, "Hey, Zack, would you mind giving me a leg-up?"
"Sure, marshal," the saloon-keeper replied. Stooping beside the marshal, he laced his fingers together and braced himself as Jack stepped into his hands, and was hoisted onto the horse's back.
Jack looked down at him and gave a nod of appreciation. "Much obliged."
The others mounted up as well, and with Clive in the lead, they rode back toward Bordertown.
None of them noticed the man who watched from the densest part of the surrounding forest, cursing silently that he had once again failed.
GO TO CHAPTER TWENTY