The Fiery Ring (8 page)

A wave of sadness washed over Chase Hardin at that thought, for he had gone far away from his father’s God. And then the image of his mother floated in front of him, and he tried to shake it away. It always hurt him to think of her. She had been so proud of him, yet he had gone so far down. More than once he had started to go see her, but he always changed his mind at the last minute. What would she think when she saw the wreck that was left of all of her dreams?

The
clickety-clack
of the wheels passing over the joints of the rails echoed a rhythmic pattern, and he lay still, rolling with the swaying of the car as it traveled south. He tried to put everything out of his mind, but as always, this was impossible. Before he dozed off, his last thought was of Thad Gilbert and how he had given him a Bible and two dollars and a meal. He felt the warmth of the man’s hand on his shoulder, and the sensation comforted him as the freight train rattled over the prairie.

****

For two days Joy had mostly stayed inside the car, and her initial panic had worn away. She was hungry, having eaten only one can of beans each day. She did not want to use up her food supply too quickly. By now she was also very thirsty. She had gotten off the train twice to get water at the station when the train had stopped at night, but now as another day was ending, she desperately needed another drink.

As the train slowed she stood and looked down the length of the car. The man who had gotten on earlier in the day had
slept most of the time. She had watched him cautiously, but he had made no move except to sit up for a while and stare into nothingness. She could not make out his features, for he never moved from the shadows and wore a large shapeless overcoat. Now he appeared to be sleeping again, his face against his small valise.

When the train stopped she moved toward the door but paused when she heard voices. She took a quick breath and glanced outside and saw two men running toward the very car she was in. She retreated quickly into a corner, and there was a rumble as the door opened. She heard curses, and then two men piled inside. They stood up, and the small guy said, “Hey, there’s a guy over here, Earl.”

The big man named Earl answered, “Who is it? What kind of a guy?”

“Just a guy.”

Joy scooted backward silently, hoping the darkness would conceal her. She watched the two men as they approached the one who was sleeping. The bigger man rolled him over. She heard a voice protesting, “What do you want?”

“Everything you got. You got any whiskey?”

“No.”

“You got some money, though.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me.” There was a meaty sound of a slap and a muffled grunt, and then the big man straightened up. He held something up to the light that filtered in through the slats of the car and said, “Well, looky here, Roy. We got a preacher with us. See, he’s got a Bible.”

“I don’t need no preaching,” Roy said.

“He’s got some dough too. We can use that.”

“Give that back to me.”

The big man laughed and said, “Shut up or I’ll kick your head off.”

Joy’s heart froze, for these two men clearly had evil intentions. She made herself as small as possible, and the train
started up again. The sunlight suddenly illuminated the end of the car as the train rounded a curve, and the man called Roy said, “Look, there’s another guy back there.”

“So there is. Maybe
he’s
got somethin’ to drink.”

The two approached, and Joy pulled herself back as far as she could get into the corner.

“Hey, you got any whiskey?”

Making her voice as rough as she could, Joy said, “No, I don’t.”

“You got anything to eat?”

“A couple cans of beans.”

“Let’s have ’em.”

Joy knew it was useless to argue. She reached into her sack and brought out the two cans of beans. The smaller man snatched them up. “Gimme a can opener.” He waited until Joy handed it to him and then proceeded to open one. He handed it to the big man, who tilted the can up and began eating noisily. Roy opened the other can, and the two men ate like starved wolves.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to drink?” the big man said.

“No, and nothing else to eat.”

“You got money though, I bet. A few bucks.”

Joy panicked. What if she lost her egg money? “No, I don’t have any. I’m broke.”

Something about the voice suddenly caught Roy’s attention. His hands shot out, and he snatched the cap from her head. Joy tried to prevent it but was too late. She felt her hair, which had been tucked inside the cap, fall around her shoulders and knew she was in bad trouble.

“Hey, Earl, this here’s a girl!”

Earl had seen the shiny blond hair spill out and laughed. “How about that!” He reached out and grabbed Joy’s arm. “You’re in luck today, sweetie. What’s your name?”

“Joy.”

“Well, Joy, you got a couple of good-lookin’ boyfriends here.” He pulled her close and grabbed her hair, pulling her
head back. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Well, I ain’t had me no lady friends for some time now.” Earl laughed. He brought his face close to hers. Joy yanked her head away but felt his lips slide over her cheek. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

Joy knew there was little hope of being rescued from this situation. Earl was as strong as a gorilla, and his hand held her like a vise. She begged, “Please don’t hurt me. Leave me alone.”

“A little lovin’ never hurt a girl,” Earl said, his voice thickening. “Just relax.”

“Let that girl alone!”

The grip on Joy’s arm did not loosen, but she felt Earl turn around and saw Roy do the same. They were staring at the man who had advanced toward them. He was not an impressive figure. He was no more than average height and seemed quite young. He had black hair, dark eyes, and an olive complexion.

Earl stared at the man and said, “I suppose you want her, huh?”

“I said leave the girl alone.”

“Why, preacher, you can have your turn with her—soon as we get through.”

Joy felt a tiny ray of hope. At least one man had some decency, but suddenly Earl let go of her arm and stepped toward the other man. He shoved him backward and said, “You stay out of this or I’ll break your face.”

“You let her alone, and I’ll stay out.”

Earl laughed harshly. “Listen to this, Roy. He thinks he’s gonna stop us. You couldn’t stop anybody, mister.”

And then Joy saw the smaller man strike a futile blow to Earl’s chest. He ignored it except to laugh. “Why, you couldn’t hurt a fly.” Then his own arm swung, and his huge fist caught Joy’s defender high on the head. She saw him careening backward to fall full length, and then Earl advanced toward him. Before her terrified eyes, Joy saw him viciously kick the prone
figure twice, then a third time. She heard his muffled cries of pain and heard Roy yelling, “Don’t kill him, Earl.”

“I ain’t gonna kill him, but I’m gonna bust every rib he’s got, and then I’ll bust his face.”

Joy suddenly remembered the gun. Moving slowly, she reached into her coat pocket and brought out the thirty-eight. Aiming over Earl’s head, she pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot brought a startled response from Earl. “Hey!” he yelled and whirled around. He found himself facing the muzzle of the revolver and a pair of steady eyes behind it, feminine eyes but full of determination.

“Put that gun down, girl!”

“You two get out now!” Joy demanded, waving the gun at Earl.

Roy was startled. “We can’t jump from this train. We’d break our necks.”

“It’s not moving that fast. Jump, both of you, or I’ll shoot you.”

“She’s bluffin’, Roy,” Earl said. He took a step forward, and then another shot rang out. A blow struck Earl’s left forearm and turned him around. He grabbed his arm and looked down wild-eyed to see the blood seeping between his fingers. “Hey, you shot me!”

“The next one’s right between your eyes. I’ll count to three, and on three you’re a dead man. One—two—”

Earl stared at her wildly and then gave a startled cry. Holding his arm, he ran to the door, threw it open, and jumped from the car.

“Now you!” Joy said.

Roy whimpered but said nothing. He moved to the door, took a deep breath, and then casting a malevolent look at Joy, jumped with a wild yell.

“I hope you both break your necks!” Joy shouted after them. She put the gun down and found she was trembling all over. She moved across the car and knelt beside the still form of the man who had come to her defense. Blood was
running down his face, and he was moaning. “Are you all right?” she said.

“My side . . .”

There in the boxcar Joy Winslow did not know what to do. This man had risked his life for her, taking away the attention of the two attackers. She had a horrifying image of what would have happened if he had not tried to help. Sitting down beside him, she pulled out a handkerchief and held it over his bleeding face to staunch the flow of blood. “We’ll get some help at the next stop,” she promised.

****

As soon as the train pulled to a halt somewhere in central Nebraska, Joy jumped to the ground. She saw a brakeman hanging on to the side of the car, and she cried out, “Help! I need help!” She ran forward, and the brakeman turned warily to face her. “You been on this train?” he demanded.

“There’s a man in that car. He’s hurt real bad.”

The brakeman was a tall man with a deep chest and a pair of wide-spaced gray eyes. “What happened to him?”

“Two men beat him up. He’s hurt bad.”

“I’ll take a look.”

Joy felt a wave of gratitude. “He’s down here,” she said. She led the brakeman to the car, and the two entered. Leaning over, the man studied Chase’s bloody face. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” The voice was barely audible.

“Where are you hurt?”

“In my . . . side.”

“They kicked him. I think his ribs are broken.”

“Well, he can’t stay on the train. I’ll go get some help.” Joy knelt down, saying, “It’s all right, mister. You’re going to be fine.”

“What’s your name?” Chase whispered.

“Joy.”

The man didn’t respond; he simply lay there. His breathing was shallow, and Joy saw that his face was still bleeding.
Then she heard footsteps approaching, and two men heaved themselves up into the car.

“There he is, Kaufman. I think he’s busted up pretty bad.”

“All right. Let’s get him out of here.”

Joy went at once and got her gunnysack. She also picked up the small valise the man had brought on with him. She hopped out and saw that the two men had simply laid the injured man down on the ground.

“You can’t just leave him here,” she cried.

“It ain’t our problem,” Kaufman said brutally. “Come on, Cam.”

“She’s right. We can’t leave him here.”

The older man stared at the one called Cam. “What do you propose to do? It’s time to pull out.”

Cam’s eyes darted around, and he said, “Look, there’s that old caboose. It’s been there for months.” He turned to the girl and said, “We could put him in there. There’s a stove in it. It’s been condemned, but at least you can get a fire going. Maybe you can find a doctor. The station agent’s name is Powell. He’ll help you.”

“Come along, Cam. Leave him there.”

“No, give me a hand, Kaufman.”

Kaufman cursed under his breath but obeyed the younger man. Joy followed them and saw as they struggled to get the injured man inside that he had passed out. She followed them in, and the younger man said, “We’ve got to go. Go see Powell. He’ll help you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Cam. We’re behind schedule.”

Joy looked around. She had never been in a caboose before. There was an ancient potbellied stove in the corner, and she hoped she could find something to burn, either wood or coal. She leaned over the man and saw that his face was as white as chalk and he was still unconscious. They had placed him on the bunk, which was fastened to the wall. She glanced around
and spied some old wooden boxes. Between her pocketknife and some good hard stomps with her foot, she managed to splinter one into pieces. She dug to the bottom of her pack to find the matches, then lit a fire in the stove. She added a few chunks of coal she found, and soon a fire was blazing.

She turned her attention to her patient. “Can you hear me?” she asked, leaning over the still figure. She got no answer and thought,
I’ve got to get help.

Leaving the caboose, she went to the station, which was as small as a station could be, she thought. When she stepped inside she saw an older man with silver hair and bright blue eyes watching her. “Who was that the guys put in the car? Your man?”

“No, just somebody I met, but he’s hurt bad. Are you Mr. Powell?”

“That’s me. Well now, that caboose has been there for three months. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Would it get you in trouble if we stayed there?”

Powell grinned, studying the girl. “I’m sixty-six years old, and nobody wants my job. Stay there as long as you please.”

“I’ve got to take care of him. Could I get some water?”

“Sure. I got a bucket here. Plenty of water. What’s your name?”

“Joy . . . Smith.”

Powell did not miss the hesitation but did not press the issue. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know yet. Two men jumped on the train and beat him and kicked him. He’s hurt real bad, Mr. Powell. He needs a doctor.”

Powell shook his head. “No doctor here. I’ll stop in and take a look at him after I get off.”

He looked at the girl, wondering about her history, then said quietly, “You’ve been in a bit of trouble, I take it.”

Joy stared at the man. “Yes,” she said. “Quite a bit.”

CHAPTER SIX

Sister Hannah

The smell of meat cooking awoke Chase. He blinked his eyes and started to sit up, but an unbelievable stab of pain in his side caused him to lie back and catch his breath. Something on his forehead was shutting out the vision of his right eye, and reaching up, he discovered a damp cloth.

For a moment he was confused, and then the scene in the boxcar started coming back to him. The last thing he remembered clearly was a tremendous blow to his side as he lay on the floor trying to get to his feet. And then other vague memories flitted through his mind—he recalled someone lifting him—but then he must have blacked out.