“Oh, Alvar!” She kissed him, weeping in spite of her resolve not to cry. “What will I do without you?”
He eased her away from him. “Walk with me,” he said.
She took his hand, and he led her back through the trees to an open space where they could look up to the starry sky and out over the plain below. “As long as we are under the same stars, I’ll be with you,” he said. “What you see, you’ll be seeing for me. And what you do—” He broke off, suddenly alert. “I smell smoke.”
Inhaling, she went rigid. “So do I! From down below!”
A few steps more and they could look down to the lumber mill, which was tucked against the bottom of the hill, in the mouth of a canyon. Leaping flames glowed against the darkness. The lumber mill was on fire.
“No!” Alvar sprinted for his mare and sprang into the saddle. “Run to the house, Kristin! Get help!” He kicked the mare to a gallop, heading downhill, toward the fire.
“Alvar! No! Come back here!” she screamed. But he was already out of earshot.
Kristin wheeled and raced back up the road. By the time she reached the porch steps, her lungs aching, she could see a red glow beyond the hilltop, where the flames rose skyward. She could smell the fire, even hear it.
As she plunged across the porch and into the house, the sound of a single gunshot was lost amid the roar of the flames.
* * *
“Fire! Wake up!” Blake woke to Kristin’s frantic shout. He shot out of bed, grabbed his clothes, and raced into the parlor. The first thing he saw was a faint crimson glow through the front window, then his sister, wild-eyed with terror. “It’s the mill! Alvar went down there!”
Blake threw on his clothes, yanked on his boots, and strapped on his pistol. His parents were coming down the stairs. Hanna emerged from the hallway, the faint sounds of the crying baby coming from the bedroom behind her.
“Kristin, run back and wake the boys in the bunkhouse,” Blake said. “Tell them to bring all the buckets they can find. Then come back here and wait. You’re not to go down there. I’ll be heading out now.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” his father said as Kristin darted away.
Blake saw the look of alarm that flashed across his mother’s face, but she didn’t speak. She knew that no words would hold her husband back.
“Be careful, Blake.” Worry was written on Hanna’s face. “Look for Alvar.”
“I’ll find him.” Blake left the house, bridled his horse and, without taking time for the saddle, sprang onto its back and flew down the road at a gallop.
The gate had been pulled down, probably with ropes and horses. Inside the fence, the burning sawdust had gone up fast, igniting the logs and the cut boards under the roof. The metal saw, boiler, and tracks wouldn’t burn, but the timbers supporting the open shed that covered them were ablaze, pieces of the metal roof glowing red as they fell to earth.
Blake knew he needn’t have bothered telling the men to bring buckets. The whole operation was going up like a torch. Buckets of creek water would be useless to save it.
Leaving his horse safely outside the fence and drawing his pistol, he rushed into the mill yard. The raiders were gone. Blake could see the fresh hoof prints of their mounts in the dirt. But so far, there was no sign of Alvar.
Garrity’s cabin and the stable for the two draft horses were on the creek. Hopefully, they’d been spared. Blake splashed through the shallow water. The stable was untouched, the horses safe, though frightened. But where was Garrity?
Blake’s ears caught the faint sound of barking. He followed it and found the old man lying between his cabin and the creek. The dog standing over him growled at Blake’s approach.
“It’s all right, Custer. Good boy.” Blake moved in cautiously. The big yellow mutt was protective and could be dangerous. But the dog seemed to recognize a friend and backed away.
Garrity was wounded but alive. “Bastards got me in my good leg,” he said as Blake leaned over him. “At least they could’ve shot the bad one. After I got hit, I played dead so’s they wouldn’t finish me off. And Custer guarded me. I was scared they’d shoot him, too.”
Blake stripped off his shirt and bound the old man’s bleeding leg. “Stay quiet and you’ll be all right,” he said. “I’ll send somebody to help you. Have you seen Alvar?”
“No. But I heard some shootin’ awhile back.”
“Hang on. I’ve got to look for him.”
Blake walked back the way he’d come. He could hear riders coming down the road, but they’d be arriving too late. The place had gone up like a torch. By now most of the sawdust and much of the dry wood had burned, leaving the metal skeleton of the saw blades, tracks, and boiler. The stacked logs, delivered days ago, had fared better. Left damp by the recent rainstorm, they might be salvaged. But the lumber that was cut and ready for delivery would be a total loss. Doyle’s lumber business in town would be booming.
But right now none of that mattered. He had to find Alvar. The young man would almost certainly have come on horseback. But there was no sign of his mare. What if the raiders had taken him? What if it was Alvar’s body that would be found hanging from the ancient tree at the crossroads? At the thought, Blake felt a nauseating chill.
But that wasn’t to be. Minutes later he found Alvar next to the fence, not far from where the gate had stood. He was lying facedown, a crimson circle staining the back of his shirt, with a bullet hole in the center. He was dead. If he’d had a horse, it had bolted or been taken.
Damn! Blake’s eyes stung with smoke and tears. He gulped back the raw lump in his throat as he stood over the young man. Why Alvar? And for nothing?
The riders, with Joe among them, rounded the last bend in the road and pulled up outside the fence where Blake had left his horse. Kristin was with them—he should have known she would be, even though he’d ordered her to stay behind.
Seeing him, she dropped from her horse, ran to where he stood, and flung herself down alongside Alvar’s body, cradling his head and sobbing.
Joe dismounted. Favoring his lame hip, he walked over to join them. “I’m so sorry, girl,” he said, laying a hand on Kristin’s head. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
The fire was slowly burning itself out. Two wagons had been spared from the flames. After ordering two men to stay and watch the fire, he helped hitch the team to one of the wagons to carry the injured Garrity and Alvar’s body back to the house. Kirstin sat beside Alvar on the wagon bed, with his head in her lap. The dog, refusing to be parted from his master, jumped up beside Garrity for the ride.
Blake drove the team, knowing that more heartache waited at the end of the ride. Hanna would be shattered by her beloved brother’s death—and the Anderson family had yet to be told. Alvar had been their golden promise of the future. Now he was gone, and with him his someday wife, his descendants, and all that he might have become in this world.
* * *
The next day, Joe and Sarah drove Kristin to the train in Miles City. She was still distraught about Alvar’s death and would grieve for a long time to come. But her parents had persuaded her that there was no point in her staying for the burial. She had already said goodbye to the man she loved.