Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(77)

They worked together as a synchronized unit as flames licked up the side of the bunkhouse, devouring it. Silence prevailed except for the occasional order shouted by either himself or Rachel. Bit by bit, the fire dissipated, but by the time it was extinguished, the bunkhouse was destroyed.

Freedom rubbed her hands together, breaking the silence as they stood and stared at the damage. “I’m gonna go heat up some water. We’ll all need to wash up before bed. C’mon, old man,” she said, taking Foster’s arm. “We’s gonna get you looked over.”

Caleb picked up a shovel that had been leaning against the chicken coop and started tossing dirt on the still-glowing embers.

“I’ll go get some more shovels,” Everett offered, wiping his sooty forehead with an even dirtier sleeve.

Around them, the night had grown quiet now that the roar of the fire had been quenched. As Caleb glanced at Rachel in the distance, he stopped what he was doing. Something had caught her attention. He could tell by the way she stood, her posture rigid. Caleb’s gaze swept the horizon, but all he saw was the gnarled old oak.

Caleb drove the edge of the shovel into the ground and took a step toward her. “Rachel?”

She ignored him and headed for the tree. Before Caleb had taken more than a few steps, Freedom flew out the front door, her white nightdress streaming behind her. “Where’s li’l Ethan? Where’s the boy?”

Rachel’s head swiveled first to Freedom then back to Caleb. Even from this far away he could see the fear in her dark eyes illuminated by the stark moonlight. She gathered her nightdress in both hands and took off at a run. Caleb snatched the lantern next to him and followed.

“Ethan!”

As he ran after her, Caleb’s tired brain put the pieces together. She was heading for the old well. Terror gripped his insides.

“Get a rope,” he called over his shoulder. Stump took off for the barn at a run.

When Caleb reached the boarded-up well, Rachel was already on her stomach shoving pieces of broken wood aside. Had she done that, or Ethan? Caleb dropped down onto the ground next to her.

“Ethan!”

“I’m down here!”

Rachel’s breath caught. “Are you hurt?” Strain edged her voice and Caleb wondered just how much they were to endure this night.

“No,” came the whimpered reply. “But the w-water’s c-cold.”

Relief swept through Caleb. Ethan was still alive. He hadn’t drowned.

“Lord have mercy,” Freedom muttered, her eyes staring up toward the heavens. “Thank you, Jesus.”

Caleb wasn’t about to thank anyone until he had Ethan safe and sound and out of the well.

“Hang on, I’ll get you out,” he called down the dark, narrow shaft. He tried not to think of how. The notion of lowering himself into this tight hole made sweat bead on his forehead and trickle down his back.

Next to him, Rachel’s whole body shook. Freedom had moved next to her and wrapped a comforting arm around her. Caleb reached out a hand and squeezed Rachel’s. It was ice cold. “He’s okay. Don’t worry. We’ll get him out.”

She nodded, her lips pursed tightly together. He could tell she wanted to offer Ethan comfort, but was afraid that if she opened her mouth all that would come out was a wail. She looked at him with desperate, pleading eyes.

Eyes that begged her to save him. “I’ll get him out.”

Stump arrived, out of breath, and tied the long rope around a tree, while Caleb worked the other end into a makeshift noose and pulled it over his head, securing it under his arms. Rachel clawed at the remaining slats, breaking them off and tossing them aside until the hole was large enough for Caleb to fit through.

“I’m coming down to get you Ethan. Hang on.”

“Hurry!” The boy’s plaintive plea cut through Caleb with the sharpness of a razor’s edge.

He turned to Rachel as Stump dug his heels into the ground and held the slack in the rope as Caleb began to lower himself down. “Hold the lantern close to the edge to throw some light in.”

The rope cut into his flesh and made his bruises pulsate with pain, the pressure hitting directly on the sorest part of his ribs. He tried to breathe through it, but even that hurt. He prayed Stump could hold his weight. If not, he would go barreling down on top of Ethan, likely killing or injuring them both.

He tried to take another breath. The tight shaft closed in on him. Had it grown narrower? His breath came in short gasps. Could he do this?

Sweat streamed down his back as he braced his feet against the mud wall, searching in the dark for the wood and stone reinforcements built around it. The mud crumbled beneath his boot as he dug in then searched again.