Even though Liz had been in bed for over an hour, she was still awake when she heard hoof-falls crossing the bridge. Instantly, she hurried to open the barn door for Bart, but to her surprise, Maude was standing there alone with blood in her mane. Bart was nowhere to be seen.
“Papa, come quickly, Maude’s here but Bart’s missing.” The whole clan rushed to the door in answer to her call. “Thomas, get a lantern while I saddle Black and Star,” ordered Douglas. “We’ve got to find Bart. Looks like he’s been hurt and taken a fall.”
The men were mounting the horses to start the search when Liz called. “Here he is, Papa.” She had run ahead and found Bart across the creek lying by the bridge. His face was bloody and bruised. His eyes were swollen shut. He was barefoot, and his hat was missing. Liz tried to turn him, but Bart clenched up and gave a low moan.
“Better not move him, Liz. Your mother needs to examine him first. If there are no broken bones, we’ll carry him to the barn.” Mrs. Douglas came running.
“Lower the lantern. I need light to check for lacerations and broken bones.” There were several cuts on Bart’s face, and his bleeding nose looked broken. However, his greatest problem was being able to breathe, due to the cuts from the attackers’ bare knuckles and the deep bruising on his ribs and back from the kicks he had taken. Herb watched his wife give medical help as if she were a trained physician. The lamplight cast a deep red sheen to her hair, which was now hanging loose out of its normal bun. She wore a blue robe over her nightgown. “Jake, hurry and get the sitting board,” ordered Mrs. Douglas. “He’s got to lie flat while we carry him to the barn or we might puncture his lungs. He’s been kicked several times and could have broken ribs.”
Three days later, Bart sat hatless in the morning sun wearing his moccasins. Most of his facial swelling had gone down, and his cuts had scabbed over; he was feeling much better. Fortunately, none of his ribs were fractured, only bruised. Mrs. Douglas had promised Bart he could do some light work in a day or two if his eyes cleared up and his breathing became normal.
Douglas was on Star and leading Black when he rode into camp at midmorning. He arrived several minutes ahead of Thomas, who was astride a draft horse pulling a log. “We saw two riders coming over the ridge heading our way,” Douglas said. “I thought we should come in before they arrived. They should be here any minute.” Eli and the Sheriff rode up minutes later.
After some small talk, the Sheriff held up a hat and a pair of boots. “Do these belong to you, Bart?”
“Yes, sir, they’re mine. Where did you find them?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, as he handed Bart the hat and boots plus several gold coins.
As it turned out, Eli had been in the saloon having a nightcap when the Abernathy brothers walked in. Eli immediately recognized Bart’s hat on one of the troublemakers, and the other brother was wearing Bart’s boots. Eli nonchalantly left the saloon and returned with the Sheriff. Both brothers were cuffed and taken to the jail where they confessed to beating Bart and stealing his money, boots, and hat. They also confessed to other thievery that had taken place in town.
“What’s going to happen to them, Sheriff?” Bart asked.
“I’ll hold them until the judge comes in two weeks. It’ll be up to him, but I imagine he’ll sentence them both to sometime in the territorial prison, especially if you testify about what they did to you.”
“You will testify against them, won’t you, Bart?” Eli asked. “Those men shouldn’t go unpunished.”
“I have to give it some thought,” Bart said.
The Double D Ranch had accomplished a lot during their first three weeks at the ranch. Things had been organized fairly well, and the cabin was well under way; it was being built twenty-five yards north of where the main house would eventually stand. Hopefully, the cabin would be finished in time for the Douglases to move into before winter, leaving the barn to Thomas and the boys. The walls were nearly half raised, and the rest of the remaining logs were trimmed, notched, and ready to be put into place. The anticipated move in time was in about two weeks.
The construction moved at a fast pace for three days, but then it got more difficult to lift the logs as the walls got higher. “It’s time we’re building a hoist to raise the logs,” Thomas suggested. “Let’s use the horses to lift them.” The men cut three extra-long trees, placed them by the cabin wall in a teepee fashion, and tied their tops together. A rope tied to the center of the log being raised was looped over the tripod of trees and tied to a draft horse. Bart or Jake would lead the horse forward, raising the log high enough for Thomas and Douglas to guide it into place.
The men were taking a late morning coffee break when Thomas noticed dark clouds hanging over the mountains. “I believe we’re in for some weather, Herb. There’s rain in those western clouds.”
“I’ve been watching the sky myself. Looks like we could be in for a bad storm. We only have one more row of logs to be placed before we start on the roof, Thomas. Do you think we have time to finish the wall before the storm hits?”
“I believe we should quit now and put our tools away. The storm will hit within the hour.”
Douglas gave a nod of approval and said, “You put the tools away, and I’ll tend to the horses.” The boys moved the family’s personal items and their bedding from the stalls into the equipment room before the animals were stabled.
The wind came first, and sheets of rain followed. It stormed most of the afternoon. When night came, the rain subsided a little, and the temperature fell ten to fifteen degrees below the normal nighttime temperature. It remained warm inside the barn, however, because of the animal heat and the insulation of hay in the loft. Douglas surveyed the roof for leaks. Vincent had built well. There were none; the barn stayed dry.
As the wind howled and rain pounded against the barn, Douglas said to himself, “I wonder what tomorrow will bring.” Then he pulled the warm blankets over his shoulders and turned to a more comfortable sleeping position.
When Douglas opened his eyes the next morning, streaks of sunlight streamed through cracks in the door. It was well past time to rise, but everyone was still sleeping under warm blankets. He did not wake them. After all, they had worked extra hard for the last four weeks and deserved the rest. He pushed the covers back and started to roll quietly from bed when a soft hand found his shoulder and pulled him back.
His lips found Alice’s, and after a short embrace, she turned over for more sleep.
Douglas dressed and opened the barn door wide enough to squeeze through, finding the ground covered with three inches of snow—it was lovely. The nearby tree limbs were iced with snow, the meadows were white, and the stream moved through snow-filled banks. The sky was cloudless and the morning sun was sending beams of warmth, causing trickles of water to flow. By noon the ground would show its normal color.
Douglas shook snow from the firewood and kindled a fire while Thomas walked to the stream, holding the coffee pot. Words weren’t necessary because each knew the morning routine. Soon, the men sat close to the fire, holding cups of steaming coffee while they discussed the day’s work schedule. “We won’t have many warm days left to finish the cabin,” offered Thomas. “Pretty soon, we’ll wake up to snow that won’t leave until spring.”
“How many more days do we need to finish the work?” asked Douglas.
“I’d say we need three days for the roof and two days for the fireplace. It would normally take longer to build a fireplace, but we’ll use the stones from the Vincent house. They’ll need to be washed, but they’ve already been sorted and sized, which eliminates a lot of work time.”
The weather cooperated. Five days later, the Douglases moved in. Everyone continued to busy themselves, preparing for the cold weather that would be coming. Douglas fashioned a table with benches to accommodate six people. Liz and her mother made curtains and did other homey jobs. Jake split and stacked wood. Thomas, with Bart’s help, gathered stones from the creek to construct a fireplace on the north wall of the barn to heat the men’s quarters.
One afternoon during this period, Mr. Douglas asked Bart to fetch two feed bags and a shovel from the barn and then follow him. They went to where a large pile of sawdust had accumulated. Douglas inserted one feed sack inside the other and held the top open. “Fill this bag with sawdust, Bart.”
Bart followed orders and then asked, “What’s this for, Mr. Douglas?”
“You’ll see,” he responded. “Let’s go back to the barn. I’ll carry the shovel, and you carry the bag of sawdust.” After Bart set the bag down in the equipment room, Douglas tied the sack opening closed with one end of a rope and then attached the other end around a ceiling beam. The bottom of the bag hung at Bart’s waist.
“What is it, Mr. Douglas, a punching bag?”
“That’s right, Bart. I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself. I don’t want to encourage fighting, but it’s time you knew how to protect yourself and defend those who need help. Liz told me she filled you in on my past. Years ago, my father was a great bare-knuckle fighter in Ireland. In his day, men didn’t box. They fought until their opponent was unconscious or, in some cases, dead. I was about two years younger than you when my father started teaching me the art of fighting, and if you’re willing, I’ll pass his lessons down to you.”
Bart did not give a fast answer. He could not remember winning a fight; he could remember the beatings. He always thought his size was a handicap, but maybe there was more to it.
“I’d like to learn, Mr. Douglas.” Bart finally said. “I’ll give it my best, but don’t get your hopes up. I’ve a long way to go.” They both laughed.
“We might as well get started, Bart. I’m going to race you around the barn. The first one to the barn door will be the winner. We’ll start from here.”
Bart took off, knowing he could beat Mr. Douglas in any kind of a foot race, but when he circled the barn and arrived at the door, Mr. Douglas was already there.
“That’s not fair, Mr. Douglas. You ran straight across the barn, not around it.”
“You’re right, Bart. It’s a law of physics. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”
“What’s that got to do with fighting, Mr. Douglas?”
“A lot,” he said. “Those roundhouse punches you throw are like running around the barn. The law of physics reward a punch going straight to its target. It’s much faster and harder to defend.” Bart nodded to show he understood the reasoning behind Mr. Douglas’s comments.
“Punch me in the face, Bart.”
“I won’t do that, Mr. Douglas. I don’t want to hurt you.” Douglas laughed. “Don’t worry, Bart, I can handle myself.”
Bart swung as hard as he could, only to be lightly slapped three times before his fist landed in Mr. Douglas’ left hand. He was amazed.
“How did you do that?”
“I took the direct route to your face while you went around the barn.”
For the next hour, Douglas gave instructions while Bart punched the sawdust-filled bag. It was the first of many lessons to follow.
During supper, Liz noticed Bart’s skinned knuckles and asked about them. “I’ve been fighting sawdust, Liz.” A puzzled frown came to her face. Bart was smiling as he turned to his new fighting instructor.