Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana (27 page)

“And the point of your traveling from Lancaster County to Adams County unescorted was perhaps to coax your brother to initiate this disengagement from the remnants of the Raber Gang?”

“Quite so.”

Levy scratched the scrap of beard on his chin. “Maybe this will all come together for me if I start with your name.” “I am Lynndae Raber.”

Sheriff Levy stared at her through the shower of snowflakes. “And your brother?” “Seraphim Raber.” “The Angel of Death himself.”

“So the newspapers called him. At the end, if anything, he was an Angel of Life.”

Levy shook his head. “This has to be some story you’re spinning me, Miss Raber, and I’m not exactly sure why, unless it’s meant to cover up the murder of these four men—”

“This is no cover-up, Sheriff, I assure you.”

“Seraphim Raber and his whole crew were hung by the neck until dead in Cheyenne, Wyoming a week ago. You must’ve missed that little bit of news before you concocted this yarn of yours.”

Even through the snowfall Zeph could see Lynndae’s eyes turning to blue ice. “I haven’t missed a thing, Sheriff, and you’ll look the fool when you speak with Sheriff Friesen of Lancaster County or Colonel Austen, a federal marshal out of Cheyenne, or the commander of K Company, Second Cavalry, at Fort Laramie. I think you’d be better off taking my story to heart just as I’ve told it to you.”

Levy nodded. “I’m sure you think so. But the way I look at it, I’d be better off getting you and Mister Parker down to my humble accommodations in town while I send out a few telegrams to the sort of people who can offer me a yea or nay on all this stuff you’ve been selling. If you’re on the money, I’ll know about it in a few hours and, by way of apology and redress, I’ll buy you steak and eggs for dinner. If you’re not on the money, well, you’ll have to settle for whatever’s on the jailhouse menu for Monday night.”

“All of them had guns,” said Flint Mitton, walking back through the snow, “and all of them have been fired recently.”

“Well, that’s something,” grunted Levy.

“Something else. Josh noticed the two guys who had rifles, well, they’re for sniping, Federal Army issue, the sort of guns Raber’s men’d be toting.”

The sheriff wasn’t impressed. “Maybe.”

“They’re Sharps rifles and they fire a big cartridge. We pull a bullet like that out of one of these two, it’ll go a long way to making their case for self-defense.”

“Hm.”

Zeph saw the sheriff look down at him, but it seemed like Levy was at the end of a long hallway with white walls, a hallway that was getting longer all the time. It came off as comical to him when the sheriff’s face took on a sudden look of concern.

“How many times was he hit?” he heard the sheriff ask Lynndae.

“I bandaged three bullet wounds.”

“Three! Flint, you get this man over your saddle and in to Doc Murphy as fast as you possibly can. We’re standing here yapping and the man’s losing blood. Look at him—you can see how much blood he’s lost. Josh!” “Yes, sir.”

“Help Flint get him over the saddle. Then you go in and get a wagon for these others. You understand? Pick up the horses they staked out yonder. And that bedroll and those saddlebags.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“Come on now, get him up, get him up. This ain’t no Presbyterian picnic, get moving.”

Far away Zeph heard Lynndae asking, “Is he going to be all right?”

The last thing he could make out was the sheriff’s response: “I hope so, ma’am, I hope so, but I had no idea he was losing so much blood.”

Chapter 30

T
he feeling came over her that she liked least of almost any feeling she had to deal with, including grief—the feeling of being utterly and unbearably alone.

She was sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair outside one of the rooms in the doctor’s three-story brick home, which also served as his surgery. Across from her was Flint Mitton, an apologetic look on his face, left by Sheriff Buck Levy as her guard. The fingers of her hands kept knotting and unknotting. Behind the closed door, Doctor Clyde Murphy was working feverishly, along with his wife and an assistant, to save Zephaniah Parker’s life.

Lynndae could not stop condemning herself for putting Zephaniah in this situation. She had been so stricken by her brother’s death she had sat crying and rocking him when she knew with every fiber of her being his body was only an empty shell and that his spirit had left to be with God. Yet while she wept over Angel’s body, the man who was to be her husband was bleeding to death in the snow. How could be she be so thoughtless?

To make matters worse, she had then proceeded to argue with Sheriff Levy, too proud to back down, too headstrong to wait for the truth to come out later, stubborn to the point of stupidity. Ten minutes or more lost for no good purpose other than to satisfy her own vanity, wanting the final word, while Z continued to lie cold and bloodless, snow covering his body like a winding sheet.

Oh, Lord, forgive me. Spare his life, oh, please, spare his life. Do not pile sorrow upon sorrow.

She wiped away tears quickly, not wanting the deputy’s sympathy.

The door opened and the doctor came out of the room, his shirt red with blood. His young face was lined with sweat and worry. He was holding a pan in which several small objects rolled back and forth.

“The bullets are out,” he said.

She was not interested in the bullets, instead looking at him with fear and hope for news about Zephaniah, so he handed the pan to the deputy. Flint Mitton fished out the larger of the three bullets and looked at it closely.

“That’s no 44,” he said. “It’s like Josh was talking. One of the men at the gatehouse got him with a Sharps.”

“That came out of his shoulder,” the doctor told him.

Flint eyed the other two bullets. “That woman’s brother was using a 45 and these are both 44 caliber. Had to come from their pistols and not his. The evidence is backing her story more and more.”

“Where is Sheriff Levy?”

“Getting Lance to take care of the bodies. Sending and receiving telegrams.” He flicked open the lid on his watch. “It’s half past five. He’ll be by shortly, I expect.”

The doctor turned to Lynndae. “Miss Raber. We are doing the best we can. His blood loss is acute.” She felt a sting in her heart as Zephaniah’s bleeding was brought up before her yet again. “We may be able to save his arm and leg; it’s too early to tell.”

“Oh, please try, doctor.”

“There’s massive tissue damage to his left shoulder and the back of his right leg. I may have to remove the limbs to avoid gangrene. I’m going to get some coffee, and then I’ll take another look. My wife and Tommy are cleaning his wounds as thoroughly as they can right now. Deputy, we need more ice to keep the fever down.”

Flint Mitton looked confused. “I have to watch Miss Raber here.”

“I need the ice. Either you go or she goes or you both go together.”

“For heaven’s sake,” cried Lynndae, “where do you think I am going to run to when the man I hope to marry is fighting for his life in the next room?”

She saw Mitton glance at her empty ring finger and said, “He only asked for my hand yesterday afternoon. There hasn’t been time for any of the formalities yet. In fact,” she added, her eyes meeting those of Mitton and the doctor, “you are the first people to know. We never told a single soul, everything happened too fast.”

The doctor nodded. “Congratulations. Flint, I’ll be responsible for Miss Raber. Go get that ice. We have a wedding to look forward to.”

The deputy got to his feet and placed his hat on his head. “Sorry, ma’am, I’ll go get the ice.”

Suddenly there was a knocking on the front door. The doctor shook his head. “I need to coffee up and get back into the surgery. Miss Raber, could you see who that is?” He vanished into another room.

Lynndae stood up, and she and Flint Mitton walked down a hall to the front of the house. Before they could get there, the door burst open and Aunt Rosa rushed in, followed by Augustine Yoder. Behind them were Sheriff Rusty Friesen from Lancaster County and Sheriff Buck Levy, who looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach by a horse.

Lynndae and Aunt Rosa flew into each other’s arms.

“Oh, Rosa,” cried Lynndae, a little girl again, allowing the tears to streak down her face, “he’s in the surgery. He covered my body with his. Oh, Rosa, he took the bullets meant for me.” She sobbed in the older woman’s arms.

“Hush, hush,” Aunt Rosa soothed, patting Lynndae on the back, “everything will be all right. That is why the train brought us. We are in this place to pray with you; God will hear.”

“He took the bullets meant for me.”

“Hush, hush.” But tears sprang into Aunt Rosa’s eyes as well.

Augustine Yoder was pale, watching the two women hold one another with large liquid eyes. Snow melted on his hat and overcoat.

Flint Mitton looked at Sheriff Levy. “I was just going out to get some ice. The man has a bad fever.”

Levy nodded. “Go quick and get it.” As Flint stepped around him, Levy took him by the arm. “I got telegrams back from everyone and their horse. Seems I heard from every person in the country but President Grant. Her story checks out. This is Sheriff Friesen from Lancaster. He confirms those were the last of Raber’s gang.”

Lynndae broke away from Aunt Rosa. “What happened? Was anyone hurt?”

Mitton hung back to hear the news, but Levy fixed him with a glare. “We caused enough heartache for these folk,

Mister Mitton, what with doubting their story and leaving a good man to bleed out in the snow.” He looked down at the floor, disgusted with himself, and muttered, “While we argued for points like some Harvard debating society playing to the gallery.” He glanced up at Mitton and growled, “Get.”

Flint rushed out the door into the swirl of snow.

Sheriff Levy removed his hat. “Miss Raber, I apologize for the way I acted early this morning. I confess I was bewildered by the scene we came upon, but it would have been better to have helped you out first and asked for your story later. I hope I will be able to make amends to you and Mister Parker over the course of the next few days. It’s my prayer he will pull through as fine as sunshine.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Lynndae responded. “I admit I had my back up pretty quickly, and I don’t think that helped you any. I appreciate your concern, and I believe both Mister Parker and I will be able to take you up on your offer of assistance before the week is out.”

The doctor came down the hall with a fresh shirt on. “Miss Raber, I am going back in now. Are you folk in some need of medical assistance?”

“We are here for Miss Raber,” explained Augustine Yoder.

“If you need extra chairs, there are plenty in the front room.”

Aunt Rosa spoke up. “We will pray for you, doctor.”

He smiled. “Why, thank you, ma’am, I am grateful. My father is a Presbyterian minister. He would be glad to hear you offering me that sort of divine aid.”

As he strode off, Lynndae turned back to Sheriff Friesen. “What happened at Bird in Hand this morning?”

Friesen removed his hat and knocked snow off with the flat of his hand. “Miss Raber, is there some place we can sit? The doctor mentioned the front room.”

“Right through here,” said Sheriff Levy, making a gesture with his hat.

They went down a short hall into a room that looked out over the street. A fire was in danger of going out in the fireplace. Levy began to stir the ashes with a poker and place on more logs. Aunt Rosa found a coatrack and began to peel a wet, black shawl from her shoulders.

“Come, Father,” she said to Augustine, “don’t drip over the doctor’s nice wood floor.”

The men removed their coats and hung them on the rack while the fire burst into life. When everyone was seated, Lynndae leaned forward anxiously.

“Please tell me what happened,” she asked again.

“Lynndae,” said Aunt Rosa, “you must first tell us how Zephaniah is doing. I am sorry, but we cannot go on and talk about anything else until we know that.”

Sheriff Friesen nodded. “I agree.”

Lynndae passed a hand over her eyes as the tears welled up again. “The doctor doesn’t know. It’s too soon to tell. There was so much blood loss. So much damage from the bullets to his arm and leg. They may have to amputate.”

She broke down. Aunt Rosa left her seat to put her arms around Lynndae. “Yes, yes, that is why God told us to come here. We are going to pray. We do not leave until everything is all right, even if it takes days or weeks. You will not be alone.”

“That is so,” agreed Augustine.

“My brother defended us,” blurted Lynndae.

Surprise crossed Friesen’s face. “What?”

“At first he was going to—going to hang Z. But when I walked down from the station, one of his men took exception to the things I said to Angel—things about his life of crime, his murders, his sins—and this man pulled his gun out to shoot—to shoot me, but Angel tried to stop him. And he shot Angel. Then the man aimed at me again, and Z had his father’s old revolver. He fired and the bullet knocked the man down. Then the other men from the gang, there were two of them, tried to shoot Z and me, but Angel began to fire at them from where he had fallen to the ground when he had been shot. Oh, there was so much gunfire back and forth—it was like a small war. That was when Z covered me with his body to keep the bullets from hitting me. Angel stopped the men of his gang from killing us, but he died from his wounds—not before he confessed his sins and repented and asked God’s forgiveness in the name of, the name of Jesus—”

Lynndae could not continue. Aunt Rosa held her and shook her head at the others. “Hush now, that is enough, your Angel is with God. That is enough, do not speak anymore. We have heard you.” Then she prayed, “Lord, spare young Zephaniah’s life. You know him. He was Your chosen instrument to bring Lynndae and her brother together again and to help save Lynndae from death and her brother from damnation. Restore him to us, dear Lord; give him many more years among those he loves. Guide the doctor’s hands; bless his healing work done in Your holy name. Oh, You who healed in Galilee, will You not heal this night in Pennsylvania as well?”