Nineteen

When Stancel spouted off about God at the supper table, Seth longed to shake the Englishman until he rattled. A quick look at Dori showed that for once they agreed. It also showed she was up to no good. Mutiny darkened her eyes and warned she’d hatched a plan designed to penetrate even Worthington’s thick hide. Seth silently cheered. Stancel the Third needed straightening out.

Dori’s voice yanked Seth from his musings. “I have something in mind that may interest you, Mr. Worthington. Do stay for a while after supper.”

Seth noticed she avoided looking at the others around the table. No wonder. The sudden change from her frigid treatment of their self-invited guest to warm and friendly had caught even Seth off guard. Dori’s barely concealed excitement verified his suspicions. He’d bet his bottom dollar it had to do with the upcoming cattle drive. Seth inwardly groaned. Stancel’s purple and white satin shirt and fancy green pants were enough to stampede the herd.

When supper was over and everyone gathered in front of the sitting room fireplace, Dori fired her opening gun. Seth noted she directed her remarks to their guest.

“In a few days, we’re going to drive a great many of our cattle to the high country,” she said. Anticipation sparkled in her eyes. “Can you imagine the joy of sleeping out under the stars, breathing mountain air, and eating food prepared in a chuck wagon, Mr. Worthington?”

Seth grinned. Dori had scrupulously omitted mention of dust, ornery cows, possible storms, rattlesnakes, and the like. He stifled a laugh when she tossed out what was undoubtedly the clincher.

“Sarah and Katie and I are all going, but if you think it’s too much for you, we’ll understand. You’re welcome to remain at the ranch.”

The animation in Stancel’s face told Seth all the wild horses in California wouldn’t keep Worthington from the high-country trip.

He confirmed this by saying with more spirit than Seth had seen him show, except after he’d been shot at by rustlers, “How ripping. When do we go?”

The conversation turned to planning but Seth scarcely heard it. For better or for worse, Stancel Worthington III would be on the cattle drive. And if Dori carried out whatever outrageous plan she obviously had in mind, it would be for the worse.

❧

That night, Dori lay in bed, looking out her window at the stars. Her conscience jabbed. How fair was it to expose a greenhorn to the hardships of the trail?

“With so many real men along, nothing much can go wrong, God,” she whispered. “The trip might even change Stancel’s life. He made it plain at supper that he doesn’t know You or Your Son. How can he not respond to the wonders of Your creation: the elk and pronghorn antelope, the rushing streams and pine-scented air? If they don’t convince him there is Someone behind it all, Stancel will surely be affected by the deep faith Matt, Sarah, Seth, and even Katie display in everyday life.”

She squirmed and sighed. “I have to admit, Lord, it won’t be from watching me. I’m not much of a witness for You.”

“You could be.”

But Dori was too involved thinking of what tomorrow might bring to heed the quietly spoken message to her heart.

❧

In spite of Stancel buzzing around Dori like a persistent mosquito, plus annoying the outfit with ridiculous suggestions, the cattle drive went well. Perfect weather prevailed, with mornings as crisp as Cookie’s bacon and stentorian call, “Come an’ git it before I throw it out.” Sunny afternoons and glorious star-studded nights followed.

“I’m more alive than I ever was in Boston,” Dori told Seth the afternoon they reached the high country and turned the cattle loose. “I haven’t forgiven Miss Brookings, but I’m so glad to be home that her accusations don’t bother me as much.” Dori’s laughter trilled. “Still, revenge is sweet. If only Genevieve could see ‘dear Stancel’ now.” She pointed to the disheveled man, unkempt from life on the trail. “She would clasp her hands in horror and pray for her nephew to be delivered from the savage West. . .and from me.”

“He sure is a sorry sight,” Seth observed.

Dori smirked. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Suspicion flickered in Seth’s eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wait and see.”

That night around the campfire Matt announced, “We’ll head back to the Diamond S tomorrow.”

In spite of Stancel’s presence, Dori didn’t want the trip to end. “Matt, can we go home by way of the logging camp? I haven’t been there since I was a little girl, but I remember how lumber from the sawmill boomed down that sixty-mile flume to Madera.” She added, “It’s sure to interest Sarah and Katie and Mr. Worthington. Seth, too, if he hasn’t been there.”

“I’ve seen it,” Seth agreed. “It’s a sight to behold.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see it, Stancel?” Dori held her breath waiting for his answer.

Obviously saddlesore and weary of the woods, Stancel hesitated, then said, “Perhaps I should, since this is my only chance. Once we’re married and living in Boston we won’t return to California.”

Any chance of Dori abandoning her latest and most diabolical plan vanished. She felt hot and cold by turns but finally broke the stunned silence. “It is your only chance to see the flume, Mr. Worthington.”

A murmur rippled through the circle around the fire, but Matt quickly said, “I doubt the hands want to visit a lumber camp. They’ll want to get back to the ranch.”

A chorus of approval confirmed Matt’s statement, but Curly looked at Katie and drawled, “I don’t mind stayin’. Without the bawlin’ critters, we can make good time on the way home. Say, Boss, why don’t you send Cookie and the chuck wagon back? I’m a pretty fair camp cook. Besides, Mr. Worthington can help me.”

Dori’s hand flew to her mouth. Leave it to Curly to come up with such an idea.

Stancel only tucked his chin into his neck and declined. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much good at such demeaning chores.”

Curly put his hands on his hips and glared, but Katie piped up.

“I’ve never cooked out in the open, Curly, but if you’ll be for teaching me, I’ll be glad to help.” Her offer raised an outcry from the cowboys.

“Aw, Boss, if I’d know Miss Katie was gonna be assistant cook an’ bottle washer, I’da volunteered to stay,” Bud protested.

“Me, too,” Slim growled.

Curly smirked. “Too late, pards. See you back at the ranch.”

His disgruntled friends marched off, leaving Dori filled with glee.

It didn’t last. The departure of the outfit left her vulnerable to Stancel’s unwelcome wooing. When not busy with the cattle, Curly, Bud, and Slim had foiled the easterner’s attempts to get Dori away from the crowd. Now it took all Dori’s cunning to avoid being alone with him. Matt and Sarah were still in the honeymoon stage and often wandered off together. Curly appeared unwilling to let Katie out of his sight. That left Seth to protect Dori. Instead, he infuriated her by standing aside and acting amused at her predicament.

One afternoon, Stancel followed Dori to a shady glade where she’d gone to hide from him. Taking her by surprise, he pinned her arms and attempted to kiss her. Dori jerked free and slapped his face with a resounding crack. Tears of rage stung her eyes.

Stancel shrugged. “Why fight the inevitable? Remember, Worthingtons always get what they want.”

Dori raced back to camp, vowing to show him up so badly he’d tuck his tail between his legs and slink back to Boston.

A full moon and a crackling campfire on the night the travelers reached Sugar Pine Logging Camp and the flume gave Dori the perfect opportunity. She encouraged Matt to relate some of the local legends. She then added, “Of all the escapades concerning the Sierra Nevada area, the most thrilling is ‘riding the flume.’ Daring men jump into crude, sixteen-foot boats called ‘hog troughs’ or ‘hog boats.’ They are lowered into the gushing water as it cascades from the mountains down to the valley.”

“Yes, and it’s both dangerous and foolhardy,” Matt snapped.

Dori didn’t give an inch. “I admire anyone brave enough to ride the flume.” The growing interest in Stancel’s face showed how well her scheme was working. “I’d ride a hog boat myself except that Matt would skin me alive.”

“You’ve got that right, little sister. Remember what happened to H. J. Ramsdell?” Matt didn’t wait for her answer. “The New York Tribune reporter, two millionaires, and a drunken carpenter rode a flume back in 1875. Ramsdell climbed to the top of the trestlework to see the huge logs roar down the flume. He later wrote, ‘It was like the rushing of a herd of buffalo.’ ”

“What happened?” a wide-eyed Sarah asked.

Dori said nothing. She’d heard the story since childhood. Now she secretly gloated. Stancel’s enthralled attention showed that tomorrow would repay everything she’d suffered at his hands.

 “The two-hundred-pound Ramsdell thought if the millionaires could afford to risk their lives, so could he. Only one of the fifty mill hands and loggers standing around agreed to go with them. An experienced flume shooter warned, ‘You can’t stop, or lessen your speed. Sit still, shut your eyes, say your prayers, take all the water that comes. . .and wait for eternity.’

 “The hog trough was lowered into the flume. The carpenter jumped into the front and Ramsdell into the stern, with a millionaire in the middle. The second millionaire leaped into a boat behind them. When the terrified reporter finally opened his eyes, they were streaking down the mountainside. The trestle was seventy feet high in some places. Lying down, Ramsdell could see only the flume stretching for miles ahead. He thought he would suffocate from the wind. The hog trough hit an obstruction. The drunk carpenter was thrown into the flume and had to be dragged back inside.

“The second boat crashed into the first. Another man was hurled into the water. Splintered boats and bodies slid the rest of the way to the bottom of the flume.”

“I say, old chap, it sounds like jolly good fun,” Stancel exclaimed, eyes gleaming.

“Are you a raving lunatic? Those men fell fifteen miles in thirty-five minutes. They were more dead than alive when they reached a place where they could get off.” He stood. “Enough of such stories, folks. Time to hit the sack. Tomorrow comes early.”

Dori stayed to stare into the fire after the others left, then started to get up. A firm grip on her shoulder pressed her back down. How dare Stancel touch me. She whirled and froze. “You.”

“Yes, me,” Seth spit out. “I’d like to wring your pretty neck. Pranks like putting a wet rope under Worthington’s tarp and making him think it was a snake is one thing. Goading someone into a situation where he can be injured or killed is a different story. Wasn’t slapping Stancel when he tried to kiss you enough punishment?”

Dori scrambled to her feet. Embarrassment surged through her. “You saw?”

“I did.” Seth crossed his arms and his face looked like a thundercloud in the dim light. “I despise Worthington’s attitude, but he’s still a human being, created in the image of the God he doesn’t believe exists. What if Stancel dies while showing off for you, trying to prove he can do everything westerners do? Is ‘getting even’ worth knowing someone may be hurled into eternity without God?”

Dori saw in Seth’s clear eyes what her conscience had been trying to tell her. Sickness rose from the pit of her stomach. Sickness and the knowledge she had demeaned herself in Seth’s eyes. How could she have allowed the desire for revenge to carry her to such unspeakable lengths? She grabbed Seth’s arm, fear washing away everything but the need to undo what she had wrought. “You don’t think Stancel really means to ride the flume, do you?”

“I believe he will do anything to impress you.”

Horrified, Dori cried, “We have to stop him.”

Seth’s strong hand covered hers, but he sounded defeated. “I only hope we can.”