Dixon flew to the fire bell by the Richard’s boardinghouse. He grasped the heavy rope and pulled with all his weight. No time for delay. Prairie fires wait for no one. Everyone needed to move—now.
While he puffed, the bell rang crisp and clear through the early morning air.
Doors flung open and the residents of Surbank gushed from their homes, some still pulling on their boots as they hurried to him. Except one.
Rounding the corner of the boardinghouse in a lazy gait, Abbadon wore not only a smirk, but his white overcoat.
A glance at the hem of Abbadon’s coat revealed mud that clung to the cloth, and dark clay that stuck to the man’s fancy boots. Evidence of Abbadon’s recent whereabouts? But there was no time to investigate further. Still …
Dixon stuck his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the leather pouch that held the piece of cloth he’d found on the Blacks’ barn. The material was the same brilliant white of Abbadon’s overcoat.
“Where’s the fire?” called Nathaniel as he bustled up the walk.
“At the Blacks’.” Dixon pointed in the direction of their farm where billows of smoke rose to meet the sky.
Barty ran down Main Street leading a string of horses. “Let’s go!”
Some men mounted, and others ran.
Dixon looked behind him as he swung his leg over his gelding. “You coming, Abbadon?”
But the man had disappeared.
Dixon grunted. No time to hunt for him. Time enough for that later. He spurred his horse, reined it around women scrambling for shovels from the General Store’s clerk, and galloped across the prairie where the smell of smoke grew strong.
The fire raced eastward, driven by the wind, and Dixon’s pulse sprinted in pursuit. The inferno could consume the town in a matter of minutes.
Neighbors fanned out in battle array, with sacks and shovels. Horses reared as men jumped off, swinging their sacks. The animals galloped away. Like the others, Dixon pulled his horse to a sliding stop and hurled himself from the saddle. He swung his own sack against the enemy flame and the heat it spewed at him.
A wild beast, the fire had jumped the plow line behind the barn and, while it gnawed at the wheat stubble, Sarah’s heart sank to her bowels. God have mercy.
Joab, like a madman, ran through the burning stubble, swatting at the flames that licked at his legs and brandishing the plank he had grabbed from the barn, wielding it like a sword. As though his actions flicked a switch in her, Sarah snapped up her sack and bolted after him.
“We’ll make a ring around us.” Joab set the stubble on fire with the burning plank he held in his hand. “And roll the dirt over it to keep it back.”
Sarah beat at the flames he started, then kicked the muddy loam over the embers tasting the straw.
“We’ll fight fire with fire,” he shouted over the roaring wind and flames.
The straw crackled and snapped and whistled as moisture escaped. Smoke flooded Sarah’s nose. She dragged tainted air into her lungs. Sparks landed on her skirts. She smothered them before she returned to do battle. A sharp pain shot across her lower back, but she had no time to rest and focused on the burning tinder before her. Please Lord, I cannot bear to lose—a flame bit at her foot, and she screamed at it.
The flames, which still fed on their buildings, roared on the other side of the plow line, while the wind drove the heat of the conflagration over her. Blisters formed on her hands, but still she continued the frantic rhythm. Beat, kick, beat, kick. She’d melt soon. So hot.
The counterfire now encircled them. Joab continued to roll the wet dirt on top of the burnt stubble, working his way methodically around them until the flames stopped their assault and died at the line of defense.
Sarah stood in the middle. Her mind carried her a hundred miles and several years away. If only they had not moved to this harsh land.
The wind continued to blow, stronger now, but the fire was beat.
She surveyed the field and scuffed her boot against the ground. Two inches below the wet dirt, powder and hard ground lay unaffected by last night’s storm. The rain had come too hard and fast to soak in, choosing instead to cut rivulet channels in the hard ground. Amazing.
The crop, what was left unburned, lay flat against the hard prairie floor, no longer harvestable. The hailstorm had ensured that.
Sarah lifted the corner of her mouth in a wry smile. Ironic how the hailstorm that destroyed them probably saved the lives and livelihood of their neighbors. Had the fire started yesterday, the plow line would certainly not have been enough. Instead, it had slowed the fire in some places and stopped it completely in others. They’d have to make the line wider next year.
The wind whipped her skirts around her legs, causing her to stumble. She took a ragged breath. This gale could have driven the fire across acres.
Joab hobbled over to her. He smelled of smoke and burnt flesh.
Sarah gulped at the sight of the burn blisters on his face and the singed hair. Did God have no mercy?
Her husband’s eyes held hers, speaking of sorrow and great pain. He put his arm around her, and together they watched the fiery monster that still burned around the last of their buildings, consuming everything they owned. Had he not burned a circle against it, likely that monster would have fed on them as well. Sarah’s stomach lurched.
Joab’s arm trembled against Sarah’s shoulder. It slid from her as he sunk to his knees.
“God, why have You forsaken us?” She dropped down beside him.
He quaked as he whispered in a hoarse voice, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Dropping his head, he bowed low to the ground.
Sarah threw herself forward and wept. Her lungs ached for lack of good air. No one should have to endure such misery as this.