Stiller's Creek: Western

By Robert F. Reynolds

Prairie life in the late 1800s is wrought with hardship.  Near Stiller's Creek, the staid lives of many go awry when tragedy strikes.  Join the rugged folks who inhabit the sparsely populated area as they encounter nature's wrath and witness human cruelty.

Backbreaking labor, heartrending misfortunes, and routine suffering are expected if one is to endure. Who will persist the catastrophic events and what will be the outcome of their lives?  Who deserves compassion?  Who deserves blame? 

Saddle up and take a reader's rousing journey to Stiller's Creek!

 

Robert Reynolds has penned several books, including El Paso Run, Panama Nights, Ernesto Juarez, Mackinac Drift, Gray Wolf Pass, A Dark and Curious Place, Orchids and Sand, Outlast the Rain, Dragon Fire, A Perilous Place, Thunder Bay, Showers in the Rain, The Rabbit's Tale, Along the Quay, Chase the Devil, and a music series: The Music of the Bee Gees, ... of Johnny Rivers ... of Del Shannon ... of the 4 Seasons featuring Frankie Valli, ... of Bobby Vee, ... Vanilla Doo-wop, and several others in this series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Reynolds
• Release date: Oct 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387562022

Robert F. Reynolds

Robert F. Reynolds has penned several books, including: A Perilous Place; Thunder Bay; El Paso Run; The Rabbit's Tale; Along the Quay; Gray Wolf Pass; Mackinac Drift; Orchids and Sand; Molasses Men; Ernesto Juarez; Stiller's Creek; A Dark and Curious Place; A Fine Gray Rain; and others.  He's also written several music related books in his The Music of.... series. 

Book preview

This is entirely a work of fiction.  All characters, places, situations, and events are purely the creation of the author.  Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2022

ISBN:   978-1-387-56202-2

STILLER'S CREEK

Chapter 1

Angus Quinn heard hoof beats thundering off the mesa before he saw the riders.  From the sound of the hooves, there must have been a passel of riders and they were moving fast.  When the dust cleared he saw it was a dozen of his neighbors, out of breath from the hard ride.

Grab your spade and join up with us, Gus! Howard Wells shouted.

There’s fire burnin’ across the plains and we need every able-bodied soul we can get!

Angus was pitching hay into a fenced area behind his barn where he kept calves.  When he stepped into the open, he saw smoke billowing up beyond the parched, yellow hills. 

Hearing the commotion, Mary Quinn hurried to the door in time to see the neighbor men, all dusty and excited. Most wore soiled, tattered work clothes, having rushed from their fields.  They carried pitchforks, shovels, and wet burlap.  It was the best these scrub farmers had to battle unforeseen disasters.

Range fire beyond Doyle Barton's place! Angus yelled to his Mary, tossing a deeply scuffed, worn old saddle on his mare, Maddie Blue. 

Mary had clothes hanging on the line—sheets flapping in the wind.  From the look of things, if the fire made it past the Barton homestead, it was a clear blow right in this direction and then on toward town.  They smelled smoke now and saw it rising gray and ominous over the mesa. 

Barton's in a world of hurt if we can't get that fire put out!

It's a doozy all right, Ira Smith muttered. His horse was anxious, prancing nervously wanting to be off somewhere.

Take this! Mary had run back inside to grab a heavy old army blanket off the cot.  She dunked it in the trough until it was drenched like summer rain. You foolish boys be careful and don't let that wind fool you!  I've seen wildfire turn in no time and come rushin' like the devil is chasin' you.

The men rode off back up the rise and disappeared over the mesa leaving Mary to wring her hands in worry.  She glanced about taking notice of where the livestock was, in case she had to round them up in a hurry and get them to safety.  There was a pond down near the creek, but it was ringed with cedars that might only provide fuel to the blaze.  For now, she herded the animals into the corral so they would be in one location.

By the time the group got to where the fire raged, the entire Jacobs clan was three hundred yards out beating away flames.  That is, all except the oldest boy Isaac, who had a plow hitched to an old mule.  He was slicing furrows through tall prairie grasses, cutting fire breaks to slow the blaze.  Even Maudie, Mose's common law missus, had discarded her apron and was flailing at flames with wet burlap.

You boys get on over there! Howard Wells shouted as he jumped from his wagon, Me and my boys'll get across here!

Sparks flew in the hot wind setting small patches of grass ablaze.  The reinforcements jumped down from their rides and took to tamping at the spreading flames.  Not all were close friends with Mose Jacobs, but they knew they must contain the fire if they wished to save their own farms.

The inferno roared like a locomotive as it raced along, drowning out their calls.  Orange flames as tall as houses rolled skyward with sparks flying every which way and black smoke billowing over the prairie.  A few more farmers showed up and joined in the fight.  Now that smoke was towering over the plains, folks were racing out on horseback and in wagons, rushing to fight a common cause.

Look out, she's comin' your way! Willie John Jacobs, second youngest of Mose's sons, yelled.  Someone was trapped when a spark set fire behind him.  The smoke was so thick, no one knew for sure who was caught back there.  Two of the Wells boys began beating the grass like crazy until the fellow broke free, eyes a yard wide and scared out of his wits.  It was one of the Franklin boys, Johnny the tall Franklin twin.

You blame near got yourself kilt! The boy's daddy pulled him close and hugged him tightly before turning back to the fire. Families were big on the prairie, but offspring often died young. The child's father did not want to lose another one. Stick close to me, son.

The fire line advanced another fifty yards and Isaac Jacobs kept moving back running that mule fast as he could, plowing furrows.  The dirt rows weren't stopping the advancing flames, but they were slowing the fire. The men tamped it out and rushed to where it had flared.  Slowly the wind began to turn and the fighters turned with it.

A pair of hounds darted back and forth unsure what to think of the fire.  One of them stepped on a hot spot, let out a wild yelp, and whimpered off to lick its wounded paw.  The other animal reconsidered its curiosity and came to lie beside the other and give comfort.

Suddenly a dust devil arose off the parched land, snaking skyward carrying ash, debris, flame, and smoke, whipping and twisting like a devilish fiery serpentine monster.

Many of the younger ones had never seen such a frightening sight and were scared, stopped in their tracks to gawk.  Little Lucas Wells ran to cower behind his father lest he be snatched up and carried off by the howling, whirling orange wind.

Stay close, boy!  Pay attention now and if that ol' fire swings this way, you best be ready to run for your life! Howard Wells gasped.  He realized he should never have brought the kid along.

The violent wind column whipped off toward the creek ripping away clusters of cedar boughs. With snappy cracks like gunshots, the boughs burst into flame in midair like cannon volleys. The howling wind skipped along the burning plain, rising, settling back to the scarred earth, and then rising for good to disappear into the smoky sky.  Few had realized how quickly evening was coming on.

By dusk, fire topped the mesa where silhouettes of farmers could be made out frantically battling the blaze as if the shadows performed a silent tribal dance.  From the edge of town, men and women watched, unsure what actions to take.  As the sky's orange glow grew brighter, they felt the hot wind come their way. The bitter odor of smoke drifted in.

Mayor Kites, Merle Dunkel, and Harvey Freeman stood to the side anxiously watching. The fiery blazes skipped along the fields like children playing hopscotch, flaring and dying, flaring and dying.

Then, miraculously it seemed, the fire turned and fled from sight further down the creek becoming the farmers' problem. The fire was suppressed and the town was safe, but it left many uneasy. 

A change of wind and the natural obstacle of the meandering creek finally made the blaze manageable and it began to die out.  A three-hundred-acre patch of black, scorched earth scarred the prairie, but the fire was mostly out now.

The farmers and their boys were plumb worn out from all the beating of damp burlap, tamping of shovels, and rushing buckets of water from the stream.  Some of the boys were still busy running down ashes and beating them out.  The wind pushed the flames further down toward Stiller's Creek where the fire burnt itself out, but the men stayed on to extinguish any leftover embers and smoldering debris.  At least near the creek, they could keep the burlap damp. 

If you folks hadn't come along I might near lost everything the good Lord's seen fit to bestow upon me. Mose wearily wiped smoke grime off his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. 

Isaac Jacobs leaned against the wearied nag that had done so much to save the land. Behind him, the youngest Jacobs boy clung close to his older sibling.  Now that Angus Quinn thought about it, he had never once heard that boy utter a sound.  It was like the boy, black as he was, was no more than a shadowy apparition.

I think she’s pretty much out, Mose, Owen Franklin said of the fire.  He and his two boys were among the first to show up and they were beat, stone tired.  If you think you and your kin can handle it, I b’lieve I’ll be on my way.  Folks’ll be worried sick, us bein’ away from the homestead for so long.

Isaac ambled off leading the exhausted nag down to the creek for a well-deserved drink of cool water.  The ghostly boy followed.

The fire had started during the morning when the train passed through flicking ashes off the rails like fireflies in the night.  It didn't take much to get the fire started, seeing as the area had suffered a long dry spell.  Prairie grasses were belly tall and bone dry; skinny stalks of savanna tinder. The men had valiantly fought the fire throughout the day and into the evening.  Now that it was out, they were wilting like garden lettuce in the hottest part of dusk.  Some of the exhausted boys flopped down in the prairie ashes, spitting up little clouds of soot when they sank to the ground.

The older men lolled idly visually surveying and chatting about the damage, as boys continued to search out hotspots.  The young ones still had pent-up energy and turned it into a game, seeking out and stomping ashes like ant piles. Clumps of fiery cinders glowed brightly in the dark shadows and boys were tracking them down and stomping out the embers. 

Maudie Jacobs went back to the ramshackle wood shack the family called home and rustled together something for the tired crew to eat.  It wasn't much of a meal, some biscuits, a little jerky, and some cool water from the well, but the fight had taken a lot out of the men.  They were thankful to Maudie for it. 

I swear, Maudie, you could make a spread out of ragweed and dirt and have folks coming back for more, Angus said. Her smile stretched ear to ear.

By the time everyone finished eating the purple haze of dusk had settled in.  The sight of fireflies blinking down along Stiller's Creek brought chills to some of the weary men, reminding them of embers.  Boys continued to patrol the burned area looking for glowing ashes, but the fire was long out.  Evening stars moved slowly across the sky, pinpricks of light working their way toward morning's horizon.

A series of rough-hewn logs, mismatched clapboards, and whatnot were fashioned into a serviceable dwelling, but it wouldn't have mattered much to anyone other than the Jacobs' if the fire had taken it down.  Now, here was everyone sitting around the hovel praising one another for saving it from certain destruction.  The funny thing about it, many of the folks that rushed to fight the prairie fire barely knew the Jacobs family; they came from different circumstances.

Isaac and his tagalong came ambling back in the dark from the pens. 

The hogs is alright, Pa.

Isaac was a good boy, a strong boy with many of his father's traits.  He handled that old mule and plow as good as anyone his age.  Had it not been for him turning rows of earth to break the fire, who knew what might have become of Primrose. Between plowing fire break furrows and stomping out startup of new blazes, he'd kept his eye on their livestock in case he'd had to set them free. He had not wanted to do that because once those animals got loose, hard telling if he'd ever find them again. The mule gently nuzzled him as Isaac listened to the men talk.

A night wind had come up and was blowing at a pretty good clip.  The men welcomed it, as it was cool after their determined workout amidst the flames.  Earlier, the wind had come as a Godsend turning the flames like a herd of stampeding cattle and running the fire straight to the creek.  The wind had turned again and now swept across the rolling hills bringing a fresh scent of evening.

Men and boys milled about discussing the heart-quickening event. The stout women who'd come out to help gather any belongings they had brought along. 

Nils Lundgren took an old corncob pipe from his britches and lit up, the flame flared in the night reflecting off the smoky flesh of those around him.  For a moment