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**A Tale from the Journals of Abe Wheeler**

July 25, 1900

            The turn of the century has come and gone, and many changes have taken place not only around our country and the world but within my family as well; yet I never seem to feel compelled to write in this journal unless I have some exciting tale to tell. (I suppose it’s because I imagine that whoever might read my journals in the future will find the mundane details of our lives unworthy of their time, and the storyteller in me never wants to put a reader to sleep!) Although the primary reason for this new passage is to relay a frightening story involving my older daughter, Betsy (Wachiwi), I’ll take a brief moment to catch up on what’s happened with everyone else fairly recently.

            I’m pleased to report that my son, Brett (Takoda) and his wife, Frankie, became the proud parents of twin sons a little over a year ago. Along with my older grandson, David Jacob or “D.J.” (offspring of Betsy and David), little Nicholas and Joshua are the absolute highlights of my life, and I love them all more than words can express. In addition, I couldn’t be more proud of Takoda, who not only is thriving in his role as a deputy for Carson City, but he is the best husband and father I’ve ever seen. He is kind and infinitely more patient with his boys than I have ever been with my own children, and his love for Frankie seems to grow daily just as my love for Emily has steadily increased these past thirty-one years.

            Our younger daughter, Ginny Rose (Ojinjintka), has been traveling the country for the past four years or so and, although we miss her dearly, we admire her courage and gumption in following her dreams. We were constantly worried when she first set out on her journey alone but, fortunately, she was joined not long after by her now husband, Isaac Stone, so we don’t worry quite so much these days. Ojinjintka and Isaac were married in 1898, and they have been quite busy researching events which took place during the last century along with interviewing subjects, photographing historic sites, and writing about several interesting topics. They’ve had much success in selling their articles and photographs to magazines, newspapers, and other such publications, and I have no doubt that their work will be lauded even centuries from now.

            My lovely wife, Emily, and I have settled into a new routine since I turned in my deputy’s badge a couple of years ago when Allen Gentry decided to retire as sheriff. Although that wasn’t an easy decision for me, it seemed like the right time; however, I do still occasionally consult on a case whenever the current sheriff, Bill Kinney, asks for my help. In addition, not long after I gave up my position, Emily and I also decided to sell our store, Walker’s Mercantile. We had been discussing the possibility for quite awhile, and since none of our children had expressed an interest in eventually inheriting the store, we thought it best to sell it. Of course, the only person we even considered selling it to was our good friend and the man who has been operating it for us for years, Max Langston. He was able to give us a sizable down payment and is making monthly payments to us as agreed upon, which affords us the luxury of spending time together instead of having to work.

            Since we now have more free time, we’ve been able to do more traveling so that we can visit my mother, Thunder Heart Woman, as well as other friends around the country. I’m very grateful to be able to finally spend more time with my mother, who is still hale and hearty but getting on in years. Although Cornflower and I plead with her often to move out west with us, she remains stubbornly steadfast in staying with Robert and Clara Wheeler so that she can also be close to our sister, Margaret Light Shines, and the children of the Pine Ridge Reservation. In the end, Cornflower and I agreed that as long as she is happy, then we will have to be content with that knowledge and respect her decision.

            While I’m extremely proud of Takoda and Ojinjintka, I think I’m most proud of Wachiwi, who not long ago earned her doctor’s certificate. This achievement is rare for a woman, and I’m pleased that Dr. Thomas Abernathy (known to most of us as Dr. Tom) saw her potential back when she was a mere adolescent. He wholeheartedly supported her endeavors, and now she continues to work with him in his practice. Recently Cornflower joined them to assist with midwifing duties as well as surgeries, since she has experience from her days as a Civil War nurse. From what they tell me, most days are fairly routine, but occasionally an interesting case breaks up the monotony, or they’re called upon to help out in another territory.

            Such was the case a few weeks ago when the town doctor of Dayton, Herbert Crumb, sent an urgent telegram announcing that he had three ladies due to give birth within only a few days of one another and, since his nurse had taken ill and was unable to assist, he was hoping Dr. Abernathy could help. Given that Dr. Tom’s wife, Sophie, had recently given birth herself, Wachiwi insisted on traveling to Dayton – which is only a twenty-minute train ride these days – to help Dr. Crumb, and Cornflower volunteered to go with her. Unfortunately, their time in Dayton proved to be more harrowing than my daughter bargained for and it still gives me chills whenever I hear her part of the tale. Here’s the beginning of her story in Wachiwi’s own words which she dictated to me:

            As I think you know, Papa, it has been extremely gratifying to receive my doctor’s certificate, and I greatly enjoy working with Dr. Abernathy. There’s nothing more satisfying than helping someone overcome an illness, or performing a successful surgery, and especially bringing a new life into the world. However, sometimes the days are long with nothing much to do, and I admit in those moments I’m jealous of Brett and Ginny Rose whose lives seem to be much more exciting than my own life.

            Therefore, when Dr. Crumb of Dayton sent his missive imploring us to help him if we could, I jumped at the chance to go. You know I don’t often get to travel outside of Carson City, so it seemed like a perfect opportunity to do something different and perhaps see a little more of our lovely state. Dr. Tom agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly, mostly because he and his wife, Sophie, have a newborn son at home; but he felt better about my going when Aunt Cornflower insisted on coming with me, too.

            After sending a return telegram to Dr. Crumb indicating that Cornflower and I would be on the train the next morning, I went home to pack and waited for David. You know how busy he is with his new restaurant having recently opened, so he didn’t get home until late, and I rather dreaded telling him I would be gone for a few days. I knew you and Mama would let D.J. stay with you in my absence so David needn’t worry about him, but I was certain he would be worried about me and might fuss about me leaving and, of course, I was right.

            “Betsy, why on earth do you have to go?” David groused as I tried easing his tension by massaging his shoulders. “Doesn’t Dr. Tom usually travel to the other towns?”

            “Yes, he usually does, but you know Sophie recently gave birth to their son, Travis,” I replied with a sigh. “It wouldn’t be fair for him to leave them alone. Besides, you know I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, and I won’t be alone since Aunt Cornflower is going with me.”

            “Well, I still don’t like it,” David moaned as he grabbed my hand and pulled me around to sit beside him on the sofa. “I’ve got so much on my mind with the restaurant, and there’s D.J. to consider, too. So far, it’s worked out with you rotating your schedule with Dr. Tom so that you’re home when D.J. isn’t in school, but it’s harder for me since I need to be at the restaurant every day.”

            “You know Mama and Papa will be thrilled to have D.J. stay at their house for however many days I’m gone,” I gently reminded him as I leaned over to kiss his cheek. “With both of us out of your hair, you can concentrate on the restaurant for a little while. I know it’s going well because I hear nothing but good things from anyone I speak to, yet I know it isn’t easy.”

            “No, it’s not,” David murmured as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “You’re right, it has been very busy since we opened and I’m elated, but customers can be so demanding! Some days it’s all I can do to keep a civil tongue in my head. What helps me most is being able to come home to you where I can relax and gripe all I need to. If you aren’t here, who will I talk with?”

            “Why don’t you go stay at your dad’s while I’m gone?” I suggested. “Since Aunt Cornflower will be gone, too, he would probably welcome the chance to spend time with you in the evenings. I know Ellie will be there, but I’m guessing she spends most of her time in her room like most young women do.”

            “I don’t know… but I’ll think about it,” David responded as he wrapped his arms around me in a loving embrace. “I’m going to miss you, though.”

            “I’ll miss you more, and D.J., too,” I whispered before giving him a passionate kiss. (And I’m going to leave it there, Papa, since I’m sure you don’t wish to hear about your daughter’s love life!)*

            *She was right…

            Anyway, the next morning, I brought D.J. over to your house and explained the situation, and you and Mama said you were happy to help. Subsequently, after hearing a lecture from you both about staying safe, you gave me a ride in the buckboard to the train station where I met Aunt Cornflower. (Don’t get me wrong, Papa, I know you and Mama always have my best interests at heart, and your lecture came from love, but I think sometimes you forget I’m a grown woman with a husband and a child of my own and am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!)

            Fortunately, the short train ride was uneventful if a little uncomfortable in this sweltering summer heat, and we disembarked in Dayton right on time at ten thirty in the morning. We immediately sought out Dr. Crumb in his tiny office at his home on the main street, and he was beyond grateful to see us.

            “Oh, thank you so much for coming, dear ladies!” he exclaimed as he ran his hand over his sweaty, balding pate, then wiped his hand on his trousers. “I was hoping you’d arrive before I began making the rounds to see how our expectant mothers are doing. Mrs. Stevens was experiencing some contractions late last night, so her situation is probably the most pressing. However, both Mrs. Corbin and Mrs. Hall are also due to deliver any day now, and with Nurse Bennett taking ill and no mid-wives available in town, I became concerned that I wouldn’t be able to provide adequate care.”

            “We are happy to help, Dr. Crumb,” I stated. “I know we haven’t met in person, so let me properly introduce myself: I’m Dr. Elizabeth Gentry, known as Betsy to my friends, and this is our nurse and my aunt on my father’s side, Cornflower Gentry. Several years ago, she married my husband’s widowed father, which is why we have the same last name.”

            “That sounds like an interesting story!” Dr. Crumb acknowledged as he lightly shook each of our hands. “I’d like to hear it some time, but I think it best that we head over to Mrs. Stevens’ house forthwith. I have a buggy which will accommodate all three of us, and you can put your luggage under the seat. If the families are agreeable, perhaps each of you could stay with one until the babies come, or I’m sure the Dayton Hotel has rooms available if that isn’t feasible.”

            “Well, let’s see how each situation looks before making that decision,” I suggested, and Aunt Cornflower nodded her agreement.

            So, after stowing our luggage in the small space beneath the seat, Dr. Crumb helped us into the buggy and we took off at a trot east down the dusty main street of the small town of Dayton, Nevada. It didn’t take us long to reach Mrs. Stevens’ house, and as we climbed down from the buggy, we could hear loud screams and moaning coming from inside the small dwelling.

            “Oh, dear lord, it sounds like I shouldn’t have waited,” Dr. Crumb grumbled as he grabbed his black leather bag and we hurriedly moved toward the door. Without bothering to knock, the doctor entered the house with Aunt Cornflower and me close behind, and we were anxiously greeted by a young, frightened-looking fellow with bright red hair.

            “Dr. Crumb! I’m so glad you came!” the man exclaimed as he wrung his hands and paced back and forth. Sweat ran down his face and soaked the armpits and chest of his shirt, and I imagined David must’ve looked much the same when I was giving birth to D.J. “I was just about to fetch you. Althea is having a terrible time! She’s in so much pain!”

            “There, there, Toby, it’s going to be all right,” Dr. Crumb soothed as he took a stethoscope from his bag and threw it around his neck, then indicated the two of us. “This is Dr. Gentry and Nurse Gentry from Carson City, and they’re here to help.”

            Toby Stevens looked startled as he glanced over at me, probably wondering how a woman could possibly be a doctor, but he said nothing as he led us into their tiny bedroom. Althea Stevens lay on the bed, her dark brunette hair plastered to her face, and she writhed back and forth as wave after wave of pain overcame her, shrieking until I thought my ears might start bleeding.

            I’ll spare you further details, Papa, because I know no man is comfortable with the realities of childbirth, and this isn’t really what this story is about anyway. Suffice it to say that, after a few grueling hours, we were able to coax a stubborn baby girl into the world and she was the picture of health. Toby and Althea Stevens named her Persephone, apparently after Althea’s grandmother. After Aunt Cornflower provided instructions on how to properly nurse the infant, we soon left the happy family to get to know one another. Dr. Crumb assured them he’d stop in again in a day or so to make sure everyone was all right, and I had no doubt the man would be true to his word.

            Hoping nothing had since transpired with the other two mothers while we were otherwise occupied, we left the Stevens’ home tired and hungry. After taking a little time to stop for a bite to eat at a local eatery, we then headed to the Hall house which sat on the outskirts of town. Dr. Crumb explained that the Corbin home was to the northwest and farther up the trail, partway to Silver City, so it would be our last stop.

            After presenting ourselves at her door, Mrs. Hall – who insisted we call her Sheila as she ushered us into her home – looked harried as four boys, ranging in ages from two to five, ran throughout the house pointing their fingers at one another and shouting “Bang, bang!”

            “I’m so sorry,” Sheila Hall apologized as she unsuccessfully tried to quiet the boys down. “Once they get to playing Cowboys and Indians, it’s almost impossible to stop them. Eventually they’ll get tired, or one of them will kill off all the Indians.”

            Being part Indian myself, I probably should’ve been offended by the game, but I knew boys would be boys, so I just shrugged it off and tried not to judge. Once more proper introductions were made, Sheila explained that her husband, Cyrus, worked as a wrangler at a local ranch and wasn’t home during the day, which left her alone to take care of the boys.

            “I really don’t mind most of the time,” Sheila stated as she swiped a strand of blonde hair off of her brow and sat awkwardly on a wooden chair. “I’ll admit, though, when I’m with child, it becomes a bit of a chore. I’m hoping this one will be a girl, but by the way I’m carrying it, it feels like another boy.”

            With Dr. Crumb looking on, nodding his approval, Sheila allowed us to examine her by listening to her heart as well as that of the baby, which sounded quite strong. Although it’s sometimes impossible to tell when a baby will be ready to deliver, both Aunt Cornflower and I agreed that this one was likely due within the next couple of days.

            “Mrs. Hall – Sheila – if you’d like me to, and if you have the room, I’d be happy to stay with you until the baby comes,” Cornflower offered with a smile. “It looks like you could use a little help wrangling those rowdy boys as well!”

            “Oh, I would be grateful… Cornflower, was it?” Sheila replied with a wistful smile. “Usually I can keep up with them, but like I said, when I get this big I can’t move as fast. We have a cot stored in the barn that I can have Cyrus set up in the corner of the drawing room, if that suits you.”

            After agreeing to the proposed arrangements, we chatted a bit more with Sheila Hall, then Dr. Crumb retrieved Aunt Cornflower’s luggage from the buggy and we said our goodbyes. I rather hated leaving her alone to tend to Mrs. Hall and her rambunctious brood, but Aunt Cornflower later told me she looked forward to the challenge. She had successfully raised Ellie, sister of my brother’s wife, Frankie, from the time she was twelve, but now that Ellie was an independent young woman, Cornflower said she felt there isn’t much more to teach her. Apparently, even though her time with the Halls was short, it helped fulfill her mothering instincts in another way, and I’m glad of that.

            The late afternoon buggy ride to the Corbin home was hot and even dustier than I thought possible, but I was eager to meet the last family and offer my services to them as Aunt Cornflower had done with Mrs. Hall. Although Dr. Crumb appeared competent, it was clear to me he felt a little lost without his nurse to assist with childbirth since he had primarily stood back and let us handle the delivery of the Stevens child on our own.

            As we arrived at the Corbin house, I noted several horses tied up outside the nearby barn as if they had a houseful of company. Not knowing what Mr. Corbin did for a living, though, I thought there could be any number of explanations for it, so I quickly shrugged it off as I allowed Dr. Crumb to help me down from the wagon. After retrieving his doctor’s satchel once more, we walked to the door together and he knocked.

            Soon the door was jerked open abruptly by a man who appeared to be in his late thirties. Dark curly hair surrounded a handsome yet weather-worn face, and sweat beaded his forehead as well as his unshaven upper lip.

            “What?” He growled as he glanced nervously behind him, then back at us. “Oh, it’s you, Dr. Crumb. Are you here to see to Hilda?”

            “Yes, Michael,” Dr. Corbin confirmed as he shook the man’s hand. “This is Dr. Elizabeth Gentry from Carson City. She’s here to assist since my nurse took ill.”

            “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Corbin,” I said as I presented my hand which he shook limply. “And please feel free to call me Betsy.”

            “Okay, well… I…” Michael Corbin stammered as he stole another quick glance over his shoulder.

            “It’s fine, Michael,” a man’s voice stated as he moved into view. He was tall and imposing with a ragged scar which ran from one corner of his mouth to just under his left eye, and I’ll admit he gave me the willies right away. “Let the doctor and the woman see to your wife, and I’ll meet you out by the barn to finish discussing our business when you have a free moment. But don’t take too long.” His steely eyes narrowed as he stared down Mr. Corbin, who visibly shrunk under the man’s ornery gaze.

            Without introducing himself, the man strode briskly past us and I turned to watch him, wondering just what sort of business he had with Mr. Corbin. (You know my intuition about certain things is fairly strong, Papa, and it was setting off alarm bells with this man; yet I couldn’t possibly see what it had to do with me or my purpose here, so I attempted to dismiss my apprehension. Of course, in retrospect, I probably should have insisted on leaving at that moment, but since it isn’t in my nature to shirk my responsibilities, it didn’t even cross my mind at the time.)

            Finally, Michael Corbin held the door open wide and ushered us inside. Mrs. Corbin was sitting on the divan in the small drawing room, her pretty face taut with anxiety and her arms hugging her swollen belly protectively. Rushing to her side, I sat down next to her and took one of her hands in mine.

            “Mrs. Corbin, I’m Dr. Betsy Gentry,” I explained. “Dr. Crumb tells me your baby is due any day now, and I’m here to help.”

            “I…I’m fine,” Hilda Corbin whispered as she tucked some stray strands of auburn hair around her ears. “Just a little tired is all. You and Dr. Crumb don’t need to stay.” Glancing nervously up at her husband, I noticed him nod ever so slightly. I didn’t know what was going on with them and the mysterious stranger, but I couldn’t let that stop me from providing proper care for this woman and her unborn child.

            “Nonsense, Mrs. Corbin,” I quickly responded. “Dr. Crumb brought me here to help deliver your baby, and that’s what I shall do. If you don’t wish both of us to stay, then I can send Dr. Crumb on his way. I know it can be overwhelming to have too many people in the house at a time like this.”

            “Dr. Gentry is right, Hilda,” Dr. Crumb acknowledged. “Although since we know one another better, perhaps I should stay instead.”

            I could tell Dr. Crumb was just being kind and that he really didn’t want to stay, so I rose to my feet and approached him. Drawing him aside out of earshot of the Corbins, I proposed, “I think it’s really better for a woman to stay with her. She’s nervous about something that doesn’t have anything to do with the baby, although I can’t say exactly what it is. I think it has something to do with their visitor, though. It might be a good idea if you left and perhaps alerted the sheriff that something untoward could be going on out here. It may well be nothing, but I have pretty good instincts about such things, especially since my father, Abe Wheeler, was a deputy for Carson City for many years, and my brother, Brett, is one now.”

            “I’ve heard many good things about your father,” Dr. Crumb praised as he ran his hand nervously over his face. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone, though.”

            “I’ll be fine, Dr. Crumb,” I firmly stated. “We Wheeler women are strong and resourceful.”

            “Look,” Michael Corbin interrupted as he strode purposefully towards us, “I don’t know what you two are discussing, but you both really need to go. I can take care of Hilda.”

            Just then, Hilda Corbin let out a wretched cry as she clutched at her stomach, her face contorted in pain. Rushing to her side, I placed my hand on her belly, and I could feel the baby kicking as if it were a kitten trying to break free of a burlap bag. Her water hadn’t yet broken, but it seemed best to have her lie down, so I asked Dr. Crumb and her husband to help her to her feet and carefully walk her to the bedroom where she all but collapsed in a heap on the bed.

            The room was hot and stuffy, so I asked Mr. Corbin to open a window, and when he did, I could hear vague conversation drifting in from the area of the barn. It was then I knew the stranger wasn’t alone, but I had other things to tend to so didn’t give it much thought in that moment. While Dr. Crumb fetched from the kitchen faucet cool water in a bowl, along with an old cloth, I made Hilda Corbin as comfortable as possible in the bed. Upon the doctor’s return, I took the bowl from him before dipping the cloth into the water and then laid it upon Mrs. Corbin’s brow. She seemed slightly feverish but it was hard to tell for certain because of the ambient temperature outside and within the small room, but the cool cloth appeared to help calm her a bit and she slipped quickly into a restless slumber.

            Suddenly I heard the man with the scar shout, “Corbin, get out here now! We got business to attend to!”

            At the sound of that gruff and irritated voice, Michael Corbin blanched and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. You really don’t mind staying here with Hilda?”

            “Of course not,” I replied. “She’ll be in excellent hands, Mr. Corbin. Is there a message I can give her when she awakens?”

            “Just… tell her… I love her,” Michael whispered. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that, he leaned over and kissed his wife on the forehead, then swiftly left the room.

            When I heard the front door close, I turned toward the window and strained to hear the conversation outside, but a breeze had kicked up and the words were lost on the wind. However, I could now see that there were two other men with the scarred stranger, and they looked every bit as intimidating as he did. Michael Corbin now appeared nothing less than terrified, and he glanced back at the house a few times as if he wished he hadn’t left. Shortly the four of them mounted their horses and took off at a fast gallop northwest towards Silver City.

            “I just have a really strange feeling about all of this,” I said to Dr. Crumb, who had stood silently by with an uneasy expression on his own face. “I think it might be a good idea for you to go find the sheriff like we discussed earlier. It’s hard to know what that gang is up to or how long they’ll be gone, but it’s already early evening, so I’m guessing they won’t be back before morning.”

            “Are you really sure you’ll be all right here by yourself?” Dr. Crumb asked with some trepidation, and I appreciated his concern.

            “As I told you before, I’ll be just fine,” I assured him as I placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t think Mrs. Corbin is quite ready to deliver yet, but I don’t want to take any chances by leaving her here alone. Now go on before it gets too late. Hopefully I’ll see you, as well as the sheriff, in the morning.”

            After walking Dr. Crumb to the door, he retrieved my luggage from the buggy before we bid each other goodbye, then he climbed into the vehicle and urged his horse into a slow cantor. Glancing about at the surrounding hills, I wondered where Mr. Corbin and the other men had gone, but I hoped they wouldn’t return too soon because I wanted to keep Hilda as calm as possible.

            For the rest of the evening, I busied myself by exploring the kitchen cupboards and icebox and preparing a pot of chicken vegetable soup with the ingredients I found. Mrs. Corbin slept on until it was almost dark, and when she finally awakened, I served her a bowl of soup with saltine crackers on a tray.

            “Oh, thank you Dr…” she began, but stopped in puzzlement when she couldn’t remember my name.

            “It’s Gentry, but please call me Betsy,” I advised with a smile as I took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “I hope you’re feeling a bit better, Mrs. Corbin. This summer heat is brutal!”

            “Yes, it is, and please call me Hilda,” she murmured as she took a tentative sip of her soup. “Mmmm… this is good! Much better than mine. But you really didn’t have to do this, or even stay with me for that matter. I could’ve managed on my own.”

            “Well, that may be, but Dr. Crumb wanted to be sure you were properly taken care of anyway,” I demurred. “I imagine your husband works and isn’t usually home during the day?”

            “Uh, yes,” Hilda softly replied, as her eyes darted away from mine. Her hand began to visibly shake causing her to slosh some soup onto the bodice of her dress, and I could see tears begin to pool in the corners of her eyes. “Today he came home a little early to make sure I was all right. Is he still here?”

            “No, he said he had to leave but would be back as soon as he can,” I advised. “He told me to tell you he loves you.”

            The tears Hilda had been struggling to hold back began to slide down her cheeks, and she murmured something under her breath I couldn’t quite catch.

            “Hilda, please tell me what’s going on,” I pleaded as I took the bowl from her and set it on the bedside table. Handing her a cloth napkin, she dabbed at the spot on her dress while she choked back a sob.

            “I…I… can’t,” Hilda stammered as she wiped her tears with the napkin. “I… don’t want M…Michael to get into trouble!”

            “Get in trouble for what, Hilda?” I probed while my empathic sense tingled.

            “Please, don’t ask me any more questions!” Hilda suddenly shouted as she shoved the tray which still held the crackers from her lap and struggled to rise from the bed.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I apologized. “You really should stay resting, Hilda. Is this your first child?” Hoping the change of subject might calm her down, it unfortunately served to only agitate her further.

            “No! Three years ago, I had a baby boy who was stillborn,” Hilda spat as she perched on the edge of the bed. “And last year I had a beautiful little girl who… who… died from diphtheria when she was only six months old. There! Are you satisfied? Have I answered enough of your damn questions?”

            Completely mortified, I could only stare at the woman as she shakily rose to her feet and wobbled from the room into the adjacent washroom. (Even though indoor plumbing is becoming more common these days, still I was surprised that this home had been equipped with it since it was very modest otherwise.) Placing my head in my hands, I fought back tears of my own since my heart went out to the woman who had already lost two children and was probably terrified of having a third. Not to mention being frightened by whatever her husband had been roped into by the man with the scar.

            Sighing heavily, I rose from the chair and, after picking up the tray, I placed upon it the loose crackers which had spilled, along with the partially eaten bowl of soup, and returned everything to the kitchen. Ladling some soup into a bowl for myself, I sat at the kitchen table and half-heartedly began eating. I wasn’t really hungry, but I knew I needed to keep up my strength for whenever the baby decided to come. I felt terrible for upsetting Mrs. Corbin with my incessant curiosity, but I was still hopeful she might be forthcoming regarding her husband so I could ascertain if I could help in some way.

            Eventually Hilda Corbin joined me in the kitchen where she retrieved the bowl and crackers I had left on the sideboard and sat in the chair across from me at the table.

            “I… I’m sorry,” she muttered as she took another spoonful of the cooling soup. “I shouldn’t be taking everything out on you.”

            “There’s no need for an apology since I am the one who should be apologizing to you,” I insisted. “I didn’t mean to ask questions that would upset you. I’m also very sorry about your babies. My mama had a stillborn boy many years ago and I understand how difficult that can be.”

            “Do you have any children, Dr… Betsy?” Hilda asked while nibbling on a cracker.

            “I have one son, David Jacob,” I advised with a small smile. “We call him D.J., and he’s eight years old now. I’ve been unable to have more children after contracting a terrible fever when D.J. was about two.”

            “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Hilda whispered as she tentatively reached out to pat my hand. “All I’ve ever wanted was a big family, but for some reason God hasn’t seen fit to give me that, either. I’m so worried something will happen to this baby, too.”

            “That’s quite understandable, Hilda,” I commiserated. “From what I can tell he or she seems very active, though, which usually means a healthy baby. And I can give you some pointers about hygiene, as well as bacteria and germ eradication, that will help prevent some illnesses and infections. Not every illness is preventable, but great strides have been made in lessening the impact of some illnesses by using proper cleaning and hygiene.”

            “That would be very helpful, Betsy,” Hilda stated. “I don’t want to be terrified to even take my baby to the mercantile for supplies.”

            Once we finished supper and had cleaned up the kitchen, we sat together in the drawing room and spoke of our families and many other things. Although I was still highly curious about what was going on with her husband and the stranger, Hilda wasn’t forthcoming, so I let the subject lie. I knew I would just have to do my best to remain vigilant and hope that my intuition was wrong.

            The next morning - after spending a mostly restless night on the drawing room divan with a hard driving rain pounding the roof which didn’t help my already sleepless state - I was preparing a breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee when Hilda entered the room, her face pale and drawn.

            “My water hasn’t broken, but I think I may be starting contractions,” she quietly announced as she sat down carefully on a nearby chair. “I didn’t get much sleep because the pain was so great.”

            “You should have called out to me, Hilda,” I mildly admonished as I placed a plate of food before her. “I could’ve at least sat with you. I didn’t get much sleep myself anyway.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry!” Hilda exclaimed as she picked up her fork and half-heartedly poked at the scrambled eggs.

            “No need to worry, my dear,” I stated as I shook my head and patted her hand. “I just don’t often sleep away from home, and I’m not used to it. Please eat to keep up your strength, though, because you’re going to need it.”

            We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while we ate, and I was gratified to see Hilda clean her plate. Just as we were finished and had risen to clean up the table, the front door banged open with a resounding crash. Startled, Hilda squealed and dropped the plate she was holding, causing it to shatter on the floor.

            “Hilda!” Michael Corbin called out with an edge of terror in his voice. “Hilda! Run! You have to get out of here!”

            Puzzled as to why the man would even think that was possible, I hurried to the front room, Hilda trailing behind me.

            “Mr. Corbin! What’s going on?” I asked as I tentatively approached him. His eyes were practically bulging from their sockets, and he was out of breath and sweating profusely while tremors shook his whole body.

            Glancing out the door behind him, he turned back to me and pleaded, “Take my horse and get Hilda to safety, now! They’re only about a mile behind me, and will be here any minute!”

            “M… Michael, what happened?” Hilda tremulously inquired. “You said… you said n…not to worry!”

            “Don’t ask me, Hilda, and do what I’m telling you, please!” Michael begged again, as he turned to the door and withdrew his revolver from its holster. A cloud of dust was visible in the distance, along with the faint sound of hooves carried on the breeze, and it seemed as though the very hounds of Hell might be rushing towards us.

            “Mr. Corbin, Hilda is in no condition to ride a horse!” I firmly stated. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but she can’t go anywhere!”

            As if to punctuate my statement, Hilda’s water suddenly broke and she cried out in agony as a strong contraction seized her in its grip. I barely caught her as she began collapsing towards the floor, and her husband rushed to her side, propping her up with one strong arm around her waist. Being concerned about the gun he still held in his hand, I eased it from his grasp and ordered him to carry Hilda into their bedroom. He did so without question as I moved to the door with the gun in my own hand.

            Watching from the doorway, I observed the cloud of dust moving closer as I gripped the gun more firmly and brought it to bear. (Although you know I’m a good shot, Papa, you also know I’ve never shot at a person or an animal, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I could. I’m a healer, not an inflictor of wounds, but I was determined to defend Hilda Corbin and her unborn child if I needed to.) Shortly, however, Michael Corbin appeared at my side, and I handed the gun back over to him.

            “Please go take care of my wife,” Michael implored as he squinted at the men on horseback which were now coming into view. “Close and lock the bedroom door, and put the window down. I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can, but if I can’t, there’s a rifle in the bedroom closet. If they try to enter, be prepared to use it, and shoot to kill.” Nodding grimly, I turned to hurry toward the bedroom, hoping against hope that Dr. Crumb had located the sheriff and that they were on the way.

            I’ll stop Wachiwi’s narrative here for the moment so I can relay my own involvement with this tale, which starts the night before she took the train to Dayton with my sister. After supper with D.J. and not long after we sent him to bed, Emily and I retired ourselves and, while she brushed my hair, we discussed our daughter’s decision to travel to Dayton.

            “You know I never like it when our girls are away from home,” Emily lamented as she worked the brush through my thick tangles. “Even though they’re grown women now and no longer live with us, I still worry constantly when they aren’t nearby.”

            “I know, my love,” I agreed as I closed my eyes and attempted to relax. “I, too, worry about Ginny Rose, although I know she’s in good hands with Isaac. I also know Betsy is strong and capable, but she isn’t used to traveling anywhere on her own, so it does concern me as well. I’m glad Cornflower decided to go with her, because at least she isn’t by herself.”

            I don’t think my words were any consolation to either of us, though, and once we finally settled in to sleep, I began to have strange dreams. Many years ago, when Chaska’s soul still resided in the Great Beyond, with a part of him living inside of our wolf-dog, Sunka, several times I was fraught with dreams of impending disaster. It was Chaska’s way of trying to warn me of trouble and, although I didn’t understand at first, he was eventually able to guide me in the only way he was able. Since Chaska’s soul now resides in our grandson, D.J., I haven’t had dreams quite so intense and, fortunately, nothing I have dreamt has come to pass. Therefore, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream which I felt was portentous, but these definitely seemed as if they were, even though they were somewhat indistinct and not easily interpreted. Nevertheless, once I awoke in the morning, the dreams left me feeling as if someone I loved was in danger, yet I didn’t know who, or what I could possibly do about it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until early evening that I finally understood what those amorphous visions were trying to tell me, and by then it was almost too late.

            Just after supper, there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to find my good friend and brother-in-law, Allen Gentry, waiting anxiously on the stoop with his hat in his hand.

            “Allen! It’s good to see you! Come on in,” I insisted, but he shook his head and gestured for me to join him on the porch.

            “Abe, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think Betsy’s in trouble in Dayton,” Allen hesitantly began. “I was at the Sheriff’s Office, talking with Bill Kinney, when he received an urgent telegram from Dr. Crumb.”

            My heart had leaped into my throat as my mind stuck on his words “Betsy’s in trouble,” and my hands began to tremble and I could barely speak. “W…what’s happened, Allen?”

            “Well, you know how vague telegrams can be,” Allen responded with a shake of his head. “Basically, it said there might  be trouble at the home of one of the women Betsy is helping, and the Dayton sheriff and his only deputy are somewhere in Mound House dealing with another matter and can’t investigate right away. I guess Dr. Crumb thought he’d reach out to Bill in case he’s able to help. I don’t even know if Cornflower is with her, because the telegram didn’t mention her.”

            “Shit…” I muttered as I ran a hand over my suddenly sweating face. “It seems unwise for both the sheriff and the deputy to leave their post, but I know it sometimes happens in small towns. Is Bill sending anyone?”

            “He was thinking of sending Brett as soon as he returned from patrol, but I told him I’d go instead,” Allen stated. “Although I know Brett would insist upon going once he was made aware of the situation, what with Frankie having small children at home, I didn’t think it was a good idea. I knew I couldn’t go without telling you, though, Abe.”

            “Thank you, Allen, but you do know you’re not going without me, right?” I firmly proclaimed. Before I could head inside to retrieve my gun and hat, I became aware of the sound of horse’s hooves rapidly approaching, and I glanced beyond Allen to see my son riding up as if fire were licking at his horse’s hooves.

            “Papa! Uncle Allen!” Takoda shouted as he vaulted from Zephyr and ran toward us. “Sheriff Kinney said he told you about Betsy and that you’re heading to Dayton to find out what’s happening. I’m going, too!”

            “No, Takoda, you need to stay here with Frankie and the twins, and we’ll need you to tell David,” I asserted. “Allen and I are going.”

            “But she’s my sister, Papa!” my son shouted. “I can feel something is wrong, although I didn’t know what it was for sure at first. She’s… okay… for now, but I think she’s very worried about something. We don’t have quite the spiritual connection that we had when we were younger, but I still feel her here… in my heart, especially when she is greatly troubled.” Placing his hand on his chest, a saw tears in the corners of my son’s blue eyes which matched my own.

            “Listen, my brave Takoda,” I began as I pulled him into a brief embrace. “I know you would do anything for your sister, but you have your own family to think of now. In addition, I’m sure David is at the restaurant and has no idea about any of this, but I’m willing to bet he’ll insist upon coming, too, once he finds out, and you’re the only one who can talk him out of it. By the time you tell him, Allen and I will be long gone, but I don’t want him trying to follow.”

            “Also, Ellie will be at home alone and will wonder where I am, so if you could tell her, I’d be grateful,” Allen interjected.

            “Dammit, Papa!” Takoda groused as he vigorously shook his head. “I don’t like the thought of the two of you going on your own, because…. well…”

            “Because you think we’re too old?” I finished with my left eyebrow raised. “I may be older than I’d like, but I can still shoot a gun and throw a buck knife better than most men. And your Uncle Allen here is still a crack shot as well.”

            “But your leg, Papa…” Takoda moaned and rolled his eyes.

            “My leg feels no different than it has these past fifteen years,” I responded with a scowl. Although that wasn’t exactly true since arthritis has set in pretty heavily of late, I wasn’t about to admit any weakness to my son. “We’ll be fine, Takoda. Now please do what we asked and notify David and Ellie, but try not to worry them any more than necessary. Time’s a wasting and I need to go tell your mother which is probably going to take longer than I’d like.”

            Grumbling under his breath, Takoda gave both Allen and me a brief hug, then turned and walked away to mount Zephyr once again. As I momentarily watched him ride away, I glanced at Allen and shrugged. “You know my son is right, don’t you? We’re pretty damned old to be doing this, but nothing is going to stop me. I wouldn’t blame you if you’ve changed your mind, though.”

            “Not on your life, Abe!” Allen exclaimed. “I love Betsy as if she were my own daughter, and I’m worried about Cornflower, too. There’s no telling what’s happened or might happen, but there’s no way in hell I’m staying behind to just sit around and fret.”

            “All right, then,” I said as I opened the door. “I dread telling Emily, but I certainly can’t keep it from her.”

            Allen followed me into the house and waited in the drawing room as I sought out my wife who had just finished washing the last of the supper dishes. Her response was exactly as I expected once I briefly explained the situation, and I hated causing her such anguish.

            “What?! Oh, Abe!” she cried as her hand flew to her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. “What did Bill Kinney say? Didn’t Dr. Crumb provide more information?” My wife has never been satisfied with sketchy details about anything, and I struggled to help her make sense of something I didn’t fully understand myself.

            “I’ve told you what I know, Butterfly,” I finally replied with a sigh as I reached for her and drew her into my arms. “It could be nothing, but since the Dayton sheriff is indisposed, someone has to go check it out and it might as well be me. Brett wanted to go, of course, but I don’t want him in any danger since he has two small children at home.”

            “No, of course not, but I don’t want you in danger either!” Emily sobbed against my chest. “It feels just like the time you went after Ginny Rose, but you were much younger then!”

            “What is it with everyone thinking I’m too old to protect my family?” I grumbled as I stroked her hair. “Brett said pretty much the same thing. This time will be different, though, because Allen is going with me. We might not work for the Sheriff’s Office in an official capacity anymore, but apparently Bill didn’t have a problem with us investigating. Remember, I still consult on cases once in a while, and Allen does sometimes as well, and we’re both perfectly capable of handling ourselves, my love.”

            Knowing that no matter what else I said was going to convince my wife that everything would work out fine, I simply kissed her softly and headed to the bedroom to retrieve my hat and gun belt. When I returned to the kitchen, I discovered she was hurriedly placing some food into a burlap sack and filling two canteens with water, and she handed them to me with a stoic expression on her lovely face.

            “All I can say, Abe, is that you better bring our daughter and Cornflower home safely, and not get yourself killed in the process,” she vehemently stated through gritted teeth. I hated how this situation was making her feel, but I had no more words of comfort, so I kissed her cheek, thanked her for the food and water, and returned to Allen who was still waiting impatiently in the drawing room.

            “Emily made sure we have some provisions,” I informed him as we headed outside into the quickly growing dusk. “It’s going to be full dark pretty soon, but I’m prepared to ride through the night if you are.”

            “I don’t think we have a choice, Abe,” Allen agreed. “It’ll be slower going, but I don’t think waiting until morning is an option, given how little we know. We’re too old to ride hell bent for leather like we used to anyway.”

            Nodding to my friend, I handed him one of the canteens which he slung over his shoulder, then we made our way around the house to the corral where both Zonta and Wicahpi greeted me with soft whinnies. After hanging the sack of food and the other canteen on a pole out of their reach, I began stroking both of their noses. Whispering to Zonta in Lakota, I let him know that I wished it were he I could take on this journey because he would always be my most trusted friend, but I wouldn’t risk his life in that way. Turning to Wicahpi, I whispered that I trusted him as well, though, and that we had a long ride ahead of us, then I retrieved his saddle from the barn and began securing it to his back with Allen’s help.

            Once that was finished, I hung the burlap sack of food and my canteen over the saddle horn, then walked Wicahpi out of the corral and around to where Allen’s horse waited. After stiffly mounting our horses, we took off eastward at a mild trot, the sun slowly sinking at our backs. The sky was cloudless, and I hoped it would remain so and that the light of the moon would be out in force to guide us safely to our destination.

            As you can well imagine, Papa, I was pretty terrified about the impending confrontation between Michael Corbin and the scarred man and his friends, but the more urgent matter of Hilda’s intense contractions is what captured my immediate attention. Upon inspection, and though it wasn’t typical, I could see that the baby was already crowning and the birth was imminent, so I rushed to the washroom for clean towels and water. After also thoroughly washing my hands, I donned a clean apron which I retrieved from my bag along with a string of catgut with which to tie off the umbilical cord.

            Returning with a basin of water and the towels, as well as the catgut and a pair of sharp scissors, I placed the items on the bedside table. Outside I could hear shouting and then shots began to ring out, so I ran to the closet and grabbed the rifle, making sure it was loaded before I leaned it against the wall near the head of the bed and began attending to Hilda.

            Trying to shut out of my mind whatever might be happening while praying that Hilda’s husband wouldn’t be hurt in the process, I placed a clean towel under Hilda and told her to push with all her might. Surprisingly, Hilda wasn’t screaming like I expected, although her face was bright red and she was sweating profusely. Much of her hair had come loose from the bun she wore, and strands were plastered to her face, so I wet a towel and placed it on her forehead.

            “It’s all right to scream if you need to,” I advised as I moved back to check the baby’s progress.

            “I’m afraid to,” she whispered as she bore down again, pushing the baby further from her womb. “I don’t want them to hear me!”

            I thought it was extremely brave of her to want to protect her child in that way, because I’m certain nothing would’ve stopped me from screaming while giving birth to D.J.! However, this situation was completely different, and I was glad the baby was coming quickly so as not to prolong her agony.

            Just as Hilda was giving a final push and the baby’s arms were free of the birth canal, there was a loud bang at the door behind me and some incomprehensible shouting. Startled, I practically yanked the infant from Hilda’s womb and hurriedly placed the wailing baby boy on her stomach before lurching around the bed to where I had left the rifle. Suddenly, the door was kicked in, and as it crashed against the wall, I turned to see the man with the scar standing in the doorway, bleeding heavily from a wound in his shoulder.

            Even wounded, the man moved faster than I expected, and he swiftly crossed the threshold into the small room before I could obtain a substantial grip on the rifle. Grabbing it from my hand, he backhanded me across the cheek, knocking me to the floor, and I stared up at him in horror, rage, and disbelief.

            As I watched the man glance over at Hilda and her baby, who she was trying to protectively hold with the umbilical cord still attached, I was terrified that he meant to do them harm, so I kicked him in the knee as hard as I could. Howling in surprise and pain, he fell over, striking the edge of the bed before hitting the floor. I took that opportunity to scramble to my feet, running around him to the other side of the bed while shouting at the top of my lungs. I didn’t know if Michael was still in the house, or if he was even able to help, but I prayed that he or someone would.

            The scarred man had dropped the rifle and was clutching alternately at his wounded shoulder and his dislocated knee while shouting curses at me. By then, Hilda was also screaming along with her infant son, and instead of trying to retrieve the rifle, I reached for the scissors with the intention of severing the umbilical cord so she could pull her baby up to her breast. Before I fully realized what was happening, the man had managed to pull himself up partway by clutching at the bedcovers, and without thinking I leaned over and stabbed him in the hand with the scissors. Howling in pain once again, he yanked his hand away, and his cursing escalated to a new high when he used words I’d never even heard before.

            Wiping his blood from the scissors with my apron, I quickly tied off the umbilical cord in two places, then cut it in between. Afterwards, I wrapped the infant in a fresh towel and placed him in his mother’s arms. Fortunately, they had both stopped wailing, but my ears still echoed with the scarred man’s shouts and curses as he writhed around on the floor, and I moved to the foot of the bed, searching for the rifle. As I bent to retrieve it from where it had partially slid under the bed, I heard the sound of a revolver being cocked, and I glanced over my shoulder to see one of the wounded man’s cohorts standing in the doorway with his gun trained on me.

            “Don’t you move another inch, missy,” the new stranger ordered as he slowly limped into the room. He, too, had been wounded, but in the upper thigh, and I knew by the rate at which his leg was losing blood that the bullet had hit his femoral artery. How he was even standing upright I couldn’t fathom, although I knew sometimes men can operate on sheer adrenaline, defying physics as well as medicine.

            “You should let me put a tourniquet on your leg or you’re going to bleed out,” I advised as calmly as I could while ignoring his directive and slowly straightening from my stooped position.

            “Shut the hell up!” the man shouted as he reached for his friend’s unharmed hand and attempted to pull him to his feet. I must’ve broken the scarred man’s knee, though, because he was unable to stand and instead tumbled back to the floor and lay there moaning.

            “What did you do to him?” the scoundrel demanded. Limping closer, he thrust the gun into my face, but I refused to be cowed, and stood up as tall as I was able and stared him down. However, before I could speak, I heard a familiar voice through the open window which I had forgotten to close in all the commotion.

            “Put the gun down, mister,” Uncle Allen ordered. My heart soared to hear him and I knew then that you were there, too, Papa; but I prayed you hadn’t been hurt or killed in the shootout.

            Back when I was younger, the twelve-or-so mile trip to Dayton would’ve taken me no more than an hour on horseback, and probably less than that when I’d been riding for the Pony Express. Now that I am sixty-four years old, and Allen is around the same age, the journey seemed to take forever, and even at a slower, steady pace every bone in my body ached the entire distance. Regardless of how young I still felt in my head, physically I felt as if we were nothing more than two old codgers playing at law enforcement again, and I began to wonder about the wisdom of my decision. However, no matter how I felt physically, I knew my heart and mind would never let me rest if I had neglected to do everything I could to ensure the safety of my daughter and sister, so we pressed on into the night.

            Regretfully, my hope that the sky would remain cloudless and that the moon would guide our way proved to be fruitless not quite halfway into our journey. It was nearing midnight when the wind whipped up and the moon and stars were blotted out by heavy clouds, and when the rain came pelting down in hard torrents, Allen and I knew we had to find shelter. At least the Great Spirit was watching over us, for when we reached the outskirts of Mound House, we discovered an old dilapidated barn which was missing its door where we, as well as our horses, were able to take cover from the rain.

            Rainstorms of that nature usually don’t last long in the high desert, but as luck would have it, this deluge wouldn’t let up. It went on for so long that I began to worry that the old barn might collapse under the pressure and wash away, but I knew that was probably just my already anxious state of mind creating flights of fancy. Even though we were eager to continue, we knew there was nothing to be done about the weather, so we took the opportunity to partake of the food which Emily provided, and I was grateful for her thoughtfulness. Soft buttered bread and chunks of cheese satiated our meager hunger as we sipped from our canteens, and I gave the apples to the horses before they drank from a pool of water which had gathered in the open doorway of the building.

            Somewhere around four in the morning, the rain finally dissipated to a mild drizzle and, unwilling to wait any longer for completely dry weather, we mounted our horses and left the barn. As we made our way through the mud in the weak dawn light, passing the few buildings which made up the tiny village of Mound House, we inexplicably encountered the Dayton sheriff, Sal Worth, and his deputy, Felix Underhill, as they were leaving the town’s only tavern with two shackled prisoners in hand.

            After exchanging brief introductions, the sheriff explained they had been dealing with a stand-off situation involving hostages since early last evening, but they had eventually been able to successfully resolve it without bloodshed. When I told him about Dr. Crumb’s telegram regarding a possible problem at the home of one of Dayton’s citizens, Sheriff Worth shook his head and apologized that there hadn’t been anyone in town to investigate. As former lawmen ourselves, Allen and I conceded that they couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the tense situation in Mound House obviously had demanded their immediate attention.

            Since the telegram contained such limited information, neither the sheriff nor his deputy was certain which home Dr. Crumb might be referring to, but they gave us directions to his office as well as all three homes where they knew the women were ready to deliver a child. Sheriff Worth then indicated that, once they had taken care of their prisoners, one of them would be along to assist, and he thanked us for our willingness to step in to help.

            Finally, we went on our way and, although I was thankful to have more information than we had previously, my sixth sense kept telling me to hurry. The sun had fully risen and the clouds had parted and were slowly drifting away, so I urged Wicahpi into a gallop as Allen and his horse kept pace, and we arrived shortly at Dr. Crumb’s office. Unfortunately, the doctor didn’t answer the door either in the front or at the back where I assumed his residence to be, and I was quickly growing frustrated at the prospect of having to check all three homes in order to discover what the trouble may be.

            However, having no other choice, we stopped at the first house the sheriff had mentioned, and the door was answered by a harried-looking, red-haired young man who introduced himself as Toby Stevens. After a brief inquiry, he explained that Wachiwi and Cornflower had, indeed, been at their house yesterday with Dr. Crumb, and they had helped his wife, Althea, deliver their child. He then said he could only assume that the doctor and my family had gone to the Hall house next which was a little way up the road, because Sheila Hall was one of the other two women who were due to deliver any day now.

            With my anxiety continuing to grow, Allen and I brusquely thanked the young fellow before remounting our horses and urging them into a gallop to the next home. As we rode up, we spotted a horse and buggy parked out front, and I briefly pondered whether it belonged to Dr. Crumb as I swung down from Wicahpi and limped as quickly as I was able to the door. As Allen strode up next to me, my brisk, hard knock was answered by a balding man with four small boys who peered wide-eyed from behind him.

            “Would you happen to be Dr. Crumb?” I asked. “I’m Abe Wheeler, and this is Allen Gentry. We’re looking for my daughter, Betsy, and my sister, Cornflower, who came to assist with the birthing of three babies.”

            “Yes, I am Herbert Crumb,” the man confirmed as he held out his hand. “Your sister is here now helping Mrs. Hall, and Betsy is up at the Corbin house. I’m guessing you’re here because of my telegram to Sheriff Kinney?”

            “We are. What’s happening at the Corbins?” I anxiously inquired.

            “Well, it could be nothing, but your daughter was pretty insistent that I notify Sheriff Worth anyway,” Dr. Corbin shrugged. “I couldn’t locate him, so I decided to contact Sheriff Kinney, even though I thought I might be wasting his time.”

            Now having no more patience left, I growled, “Just tell me what you know, and what she said, doctor, and do it quickly!”

            The look on my face must’ve scared the boys, because they all gasped as one and ran away screaming that an Injun was there to scalp them. It might’ve been humorous if I hadn’t been so agitated, but my sense of humor had long been washed away with last night’s rain, so my scowl deepened as I stared down the doctor. Finally, he haltingly began to describe the situation as he saw it at the Corbins, and though he tried to make light of it, when he described the man with the scar my alarm grew exponentially.

            “Dammit!” I cursed as I turned to Allen. “That sounds like Roscoe Morris.”

            Morris was a notorious thief whose sketch had been hanging on the wall of the Sheriff’s Office in Carson City for probably close to ten years. He was wanted in both Northern Nevada and Northern California for every type of armed robbery imaginable, including stagecoaches, banks, and anything else he felt was worth stealing. He was a wily bastard like Bart Jenkins before him and always somehow managed to elude capture, even though every lawman in the territories knew his face from the wanted poster and had been constantly on the lookout for him for years. Not only was he wily, he was known to be ruthless as well, and he was rumored to have left bodies in his wake; although I don’t think anyone knew that for certain, nor was I aware of any murders that had been pinned on him.

            For me, just the possibility of Morris having killed people was enough to cause my heart to leap into my throat as I turned and ran for Wicahpi, not caring that my leg was screaming loudly in protest.  While I would like to have seen my sister and made sure she was all right, I had to assume she was because now my only thought was on getting to Wachiwi as soon as possible. Understanding my intentions, Allen ran after me, and we leaped astride our horses as though we were young men in our thirties again; yet I was sure we’d both pay for that sudden burst of prowess later on. Spurring Wicahpi as fast as he could go and my body could withstand, we headed up the trail towards Silver City, praying that we wouldn’t be too late.

            The ride was a little longer than I cared for, and by the time the modest house and barn came into view over the crest of a hill, I was out of breath and sweating heavily. Hauling up on the reins, I brought Wicahpi to an abrupt stop, and Allen pulled up alongside me. We were approaching from the back of the house, so at first we couldn’t see anything other than a cloud of dust lazily drifting over the roof, but when gunfire erupted I imagined my worst fears were becoming reality. However, before I could spur my horse into action and jump into the melee without any thought, Allen grabbed my arm.

            “Wait, Abe!” Allen hissed through clenched teeth. “We don’t know what’s happening or how many men there are for certain, and we don’t need to ride into the middle of it without a plan!”

            “But, Allen, my daughter is in there!” I protested as I fought back a sudden urge to cry.

            “I know, and that’s why we need to be smart about it!” Allen calmly advised. “As a former deputy, you know I’m right. I think we should leave our horses here and approach the house from behind. You go right, around the barn, and I’ll go left. That should give us both a good vantage point from which to see the gunfight and to determine a course of action.”

            “All right, all right,” I impatiently conceded as I slid down from Wicahpi to the drying mud. Tying my horse to a nearby pinion pine tree, Allen did the same, then we scurried as quickly as our old limbs would allow toward the house, keeping out of sight of any windows the best we could.

            As Allen had suggested, I ran towards the house, then veered to the right as I got closer, slipping behind then around the side of the barn. Slowing my pace, I pulled my revolver from its cross-draw holster on my right hip, then switched the gun to my right hand. As I crept towards the front of the barn, gunfire continued to ring out, echoing off of the surrounding hills, and I fervently prayed that Wachiwi stayed out of the path of any bullets. When I reached the front, I carefully peered around the corner and witnessed one man lying prone on the ground next to three horses who stood passively by, a pool of blood spreading quickly around him. Another man lay half in the house and half on the porch and, although he was bleeding profusely from a head wound, he appeared to be alive for the moment. There was no sign of the other two men who must belong to the horses, so I could only assume they were inside the house, and my fear for my daughter intensified.

            Rushing hurriedly to the man on the porch, I quietly pulled him out of the doorway and propped him against the house. I had no way of knowing whether he was one of the robbers or the owner of the house, but my instincts told me he was the latter, so I pulled the bandana from around my neck and wrapped it around his bleeding head. At a quick glance, it appeared a bullet had grazed his temple but hadn’t penetrated his skull, and I hoped my ministrations would be effective until Wachiwi could look at him later.

            My ears were still ringing from the sound of the gunfire, so it took me a minute to realize I could hear a man’s voice shouting from somewhere within the house. Lurching to my feet, I cautiously peered around the threshold of the door, trying to pinpoint from where the sound was coming. Moving silently into the drawing room, I glanced to my left down a short hallway to observe a man standing in the doorway of what I thought must be a bedroom, and then he hobbled inside of the room, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

            Tiptoeing down the hall, I heard Wachiwi say something before a man shouted, “Shut the hell up,” then a moment later, “What did you do to him?”

            Frightened for my daughter, and worried about shooting at anyone in close quarters, I holstered my gun before releasing the catch on my buck knife sheath. Withdrawing the knife, I glanced through the doorway and witnessed the man with the bleeding leg pointing a gun directly into Wachiwi’s face, and I saw red. However, before I could react, I heard Allen’s voice telling him to put the gun down, and noticed my friend’s gun poking through the open window, just as the man turned and fired wildly at him. Subsequently, I let fly with the buck knife, striking the man directly in the back of the neck, and he toppled over face first onto the floor. The force of my throw had driven the knife clean through his neck into his throat, causing blood to gush from the wound, and I could hear him choking as he weakly attempted to pull the knife out.

            “Papa!” my daughter cried as she hurled herself at me and I embraced her fiercely. Over her shoulder, I saw a woman on the bed holding a tiny newborn baby, terror shining from her dark eyes. On the floor next to the bed, there was another man writhing around on the floor groaning as he clutched at a bleeding wound in his shoulder with one hand which was also bleeding, and one of his knees with the other. The man’s face bore a prominent scar and I was certain it could only be the bandit, Roscoe Morris, and I thanked the Great Spirit that Wachiwi seemed to be unharmed.

            Shortly, Allen appeared beside me and, wishing to give my daughter some privacy to attend to final clean-up from the baby’s birth as well as to calm down the woman I later learned was Hilda Corbin, together we dragged from the room Morris and his cohort, who had drowned in his own blood before Wachiwi was able to help him. Although I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again in defense of anyone I loved, I still regret taking a life, even when my daughter later told me she was certain the femoral artery had been severed in the fellow’s leg and he would have bled out and died from that wound regardless of the knife injury. I have killed a man only once before, and though that incident was primarily accidental, it has still been a burden to bear on my soul, and this was one more. As I sent a silent prayer to the Great Spirit for the man, Allen found some rope with which to bind Morris, and after trussing him up while he cursed my daughter and us, I went to check on the man on the porch.

            Squatting down next to him, I put my fingers to the side of his neck to make sure his heart was still beating and was gratified to find his pulse was still strong. As I was attempting to rouse him, I heard hoofbeats approaching and looked up to see Sheriff Worth riding up on his steed. Stiffly rising to me feet, I carefully descended the porch steps while I watched as he glanced down at the man on the ground, then dismounted his horse and felt for a pulse like I had done with the other man moments before. Shaking his head, he walked toward me with a scowl on his face.

            “What happened here, Mr. Wheeler?” the sheriff gruffly inquired, eyeing me with some suspicion.

            “He was already on the ground when we arrived,” I replied with a shrug. “I’m guessing that man over there shot him.” Pointing to the man on the porch, I continued, “There’s another dead man in the house, and it was I who killed him in defense of my daughter. We have Roscoe Morris tied up inside, but he is wounded also.”

            “Roscoe Morris? You don’t say!” Sheriff Worth exclaimed. “We’ve been trying to catch that scoundrel for years! I wonder what he was doing here at the Corbin house? That’s Michael Corbin on the porch; has he said anything to you about it?”

            “No, he’s been out cold,” I advised. “He has a fairly superficial head wound from a bullet graze, but you know they bleed a lot. It’s possible he hit his head on something which knocked him out, but I haven’t had time to examine him further. When my daughter is done tending to his wife, I’ll have her check him over.”

            Finally, we were able to rouse Michael Corbin and walked him into the house to lie down on the divan. Wachiwi came in shortly after, and set about properly cleaning and dressing the bullet wound, and she also discovered a large lump on the back of his head. I deduced that the force of the bullet strike likely caused his head to snap back against the doorframe, knocking him out, and my daughter agreed. Once his wounds were tended to and he was able to speak coherently, Sheriff Worth began questioning him about the shootout with Roscoe Morris and the reason behind it. When Morris started to loudly protest, Allen shut him up with a hard right hook to the jaw which knocked him out, and I think we all silently applauded.

            While Wachiwi attended to the unconscious Morris’s shoulder wound, Michael haltingly told us that the bandit had approached him several days ago where he worked at the mine in Silver City, and tried roping him into helping them rob the mine operator of the silver deposits gathered throughout the week. Although they offered him one fourth of what they stole, Michael had a family to consider and preferred not to lose his job, so he at first refused. However, when Morris and his associates showed up yesterday afternoon, Michael said he grudgingly went with them because the bastard had started threatening Hilda and their unborn baby with harm, and he felt he had no choice.

            Apparently, the plan was for them to camp out in a cave in the hills for the night, so they could rob the mine operator as soon as he arrived the next morning when there would be fewer workers wandering about. Because Michael worked there and the mine operator was familiar with him, it was his job to talk his way into the office where the safe was kept. Once he was inside, he pulled a gun on the man and let the others in so they could rob the safe. The plan seemed simple enough until the stubborn mine operator refused to open the safe, and Morris ended up clubbing the man on the head so hard Michael was certain the man was dead, so he panicked and ran.

            Thus, his flight back to his home where he hoped to grab Hilda and run or hide somewhere, but he hadn’t counted on Morris giving up on the safe so easily and following him almost immediately. Once Michael realized there was no way Hilda could travel, and he told Wachiwi to lock the door to the bedroom, he drew his gun and waited at the threshold of the doorway to their home. To the best of Michael’s recollection, Morris and his bandits started firing at him as they rode up, but apparently he was able to get off several shots before he himself was shot and subsequently knocked out, although he remembered nothing about that.

            Once we had finished listening to Michael’s story, upon further examination, Sheriff Worth and I determined that one of his shots had met their mark with a bullet to the heart of one of Morris’s men, while another bullet winged Morris in the shoulder, and yet another penetrated the other man’s leg. Having been in a few gunfights myself, I know how difficult it is to keep a level head, and I was secretly impressed with Michael’s ability to do so along with his obvious competence with a gun. Even though I didn’t know the man, I was still proud of him for doing everything he could to protect his family, just as I would have done.

            Although technically Allen and I were no longer deputies, Sal Worth sought our advice on what, if anything, Michael Corbin should be charged with. Michael kept saying how sorry he was, and that he knew he had done wrong and deserved whatever punishment the sheriff chose to mete out, but he insisted Hilda didn’t know what they were planning to do, and he begged Worth not to hold her responsible for any of it. In the end, I felt sorry for the man, and Allen indicated the same, both of us believing he was coerced into helping Morris and his gang. Fortunately, the sheriff agreed, ultimately absolving them of any wrongdoing and allowing the Corbins to go on living their lives with their newborn baby boy. (Yesterday I found out that Sheriff Worth took full credit for the capture of Roscoe Morris, even though it was really Michael Corbin and Wachiwi who took him down, but no one protested his assertion and we were all just glad to have another dangerous criminal behind bars.)

            After retrieving our horses, we assisted the sheriff in taking the dead bandits to the undertaker as well as Roscoe Morris to the town jail. Once we were done, Allen stopped off at the Hall house while I sent a quick telegram to Sheriff Kinney briefly informing him that the matter had been resolved and that we anticipated being home by this evening. Hoping he would immediately pass on my missive to Takoda so my family would know we were safe, I returned to the Corbins to retrieve Wachiwi. While she was somewhat reluctant to leave because the physician in her wanted to make sure Hilda and the baby were doing well, she eventually admitted to me that she’d had enough excitement and was ready to go home and see her own family. Finally bidding the Corbins goodbye with the promise that we’d make sure Dr. Crumb checked on them as soon as he was able, we made our way back to the Hall house.

            Once we arrived, we were gratified to learn that Sheila Hall had also delivered her baby, another bouncing boy to add to her already high-spirited brood and, although it was a joyous occasion, Wachiwi said she couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her, too. Dr. Crumb assured us that he would check in with the Corbins once he had secured additional help for Mrs. Hall whose delivery had left her drained of energy and unable to care for her other four boys. When Cornflower offered to stay on for a few more days, Allen quickly objected and insisted she come home with us immediately, and Dr. Crumb said not to worry because he had received word that his nurse was on the mend and would soon be able to assist. I’m sure Allen’s order didn’t sit well with my sister, especially since I knew it would’ve caused any of the other Wheeler women to bristle, but she didn’t protest too much and I was glad not to leave her behind.

            While Wachiwi rode with me, and Cornflower with Allen, we told my sister our tale, and she was horrified but also seemed more than a little chagrined to have missed the excitement. I think part of her would’ve liked to have helped thwart the bandits, since she had been unable to protect her own family many years ago, and I understood that sentiment. I, too, was feeling rather ineffective because the whole incident might’ve been avoided had age not slowed me down, although I tried to tell myself that the stormy weather played a part in preventing us from arriving sooner.

            When we finally arrived home just before dark, everyone was at my house anxiously waiting for us, so I knew my telegram had been received. Although it was wonderful seeing my son, his wife, Frankie, and their twins, as well as David, D.J., and Ellie, I was physically and emotionally exhausted and just wanted to pass out in bed with my beautiful wife by my side. However, I toughed it out for a little while in order for us to relay the tale once again, which was received with enthusiasm and delight by my grandchildren, but sour looks from Emily.

            Happy that no one in our family had been seriously harmed but now had an exciting story to tell their friends, eventually everyone left. I was just glad it was all over and I could rest my weary bones, but I knew I had to face my wife first. Bracing myself for an argument, I was pleasantly surprised at her reaction.

            “Thank you for bringing our daughter home safely, High Wolf,” Emily murmured as I washed up at the sink, too tired for a bath.

            “You knew I would do nothing less, Butterfly,” I replied as I dried off, then drew her into my arms. “While my body is getting older, my heart and soul will be forever young and nothing will ever stop me from trying to protect the ones I love. Unfortunately, we can’t control when or where danger might present itself, and we can only deal with it as it comes.”

            “I know you’re right, dear husband,” Emily quietly responded as she pressed her cheek against my bare chest. “It won’t stop me from worrying, though, because I love you, our children, and our grandchildren so much.”

             “And I love you with every fiber of my being,” I whispered before giving her a long, passionate kiss and sweeping her off her feet to carry her into our bedroom. I may be old, but I’m still strong when I need to be, and I’m never too old or tired for love.

                                                                                                               A. Wheeler