Chapter 2
Ernest stood by his horse, even as Evelyn rushed off the porch to join him.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“It sounded like an explosion.”
“No one is setting off dynamite at night, Evelyn.”
“What else could it be?”
Ernest wracked his brain. What could have made that sound?
“Dam.”
“Damn what?” she asked.
“I have to go.”
He started to mount his horse, and she grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“If the dam broke, then there’s a ton of water coming right at the ranch. My parents are there.”
“You can’t leave me!”
“I’ll be back. Get to high ground.”
“What?”
Ernest climbed onto his saddle. “That water is coming down Jacob Creek. It’s going to flood the whole town. Get out now and tell everyone you see to join you.”
“Are you running off because you’re scared to ask me?”
“I got no time, Evelyn. I’ll be back. I’ll find you.”
He spurred his horse and started down the muddy street.
“Higher ground!”
He yelled his message to the people standing on their porches or looking out their windows. He felt like Paul Revere shouting to the patriots of the revolutionary war. He hoped the good citizens of Vance Fields would heed his warning.
Half a mile later, the roan balked. At first, he didn’t understand. Then, he realized the horse sensed the flood better than he did. He turned toward the closest ridge and galloped away.
By the time he reached the bottom of the ridge, the roan was splashing through knee high water. In the dark, Ernest had no way to guide his horse around the rocks that were everywhere.
It wasn’t until he was halfway up the ridge that he stopped. The roan was panting, winded from the flight. Ernest slipped off his saddle and watched the wall of water rush past. It was a huge, black mass of death, and it was headed for the town.
He wished he could do something to halt the death, but the good people of the town were in God’s hands now. He silently said a little prayer for Evely n and her parents.
If she had found them in time…
He didn’t complete the thought. His fingers found the ruby ring in his pocket. Why hadn’t he asked for her hand? Why had he hesitated? What had held him back?
Finding a sizable rock, he sat and waited for the death wave to pass. Behind the wave came more water, choked with branches and tree trunks and fence posts, even a dead cow floating past.
Why had the dam failed?
It had survived other deluges. What was different about this series of storms? Had anyone thought to check on the dam?
He knew the answer to that question.
Everyone had taken the dam for granted. It had weathered a number of years, a wrath of storms. As a product of man’s ingenuity and sweat, it was not a permanent act of God. It required upkeep which it had not received. And people were going to pay the price with blood.
The German, Ernest remembered the German who bragged that he had worked on the dam. Why hadn’t the German inspected Lake Jacob? Did the German still live in Vance Fields?
From his perch, he heard the destruction of the town.
The noise was faint, but it was real. The ripping of wood and nails hurt his heart.
He had never known any other town. He had always believed that Vance Fields would serve him as it had served his father.
He was relieved that he didn’t have to witness the demolition of the houses and stores.
Had Evelyn made it to high ground?
Ernest stared and listened and hoped she and her parents had survived. There was nothing he could do now. He would discover the outcome soon. If she hadn’t survived, he would feel guilt for the rest of his life. He could have stayed with her and guaranteed her survival.
He cursed himself for being weak, for running home and abandoning the woman he loved.
Or did he love her?
That was the question. If he really loved her, he would have stayed with her, wouldn’t he? She was his future. His parents were his past. He couldn’t justify his flight.
Or could he?
His mind was traveling down paths he didn’t wish to explore. In the spur of the moment, he had made a decision—for good or ill. He would have to live with that decision.
Standing, Ernest rubbed the roan’s neck.
“It’s all done with. We got to get back to the ranch and see what damage might have been done. We won’t go fast. No need. I’ll make sure you get an extra helping of oats. Don’t you worry.”
Ernest climbed into the saddle and walked the horse down the ridge and onto the muddy, debris strewn trail. Lots of leaves, twigs, and branches littered the path. He was reminded of the tornados that ripped through on occasion. Mother nature wasn’t always tidy.
A sliver of a moon rose over the Sangre de Cristo mountains. After the week of hard rain, the moon looked bright in the clear sky. He told himself that at first daylight, he would ride into town and finish what he had started. Evelyn deserved a ring, and he was going to give it to her.
Looking ahead, Ernest expected to see the outline of the ranch house against the starry sky.
He couldn’t spot i t.
For a moment, he thought that he had made a wrong turn somewhere. The house and barn should have come into view by now. Perhaps, his brain was playing tricks on him. He was sure the house was just over the next rise.
The roan stopped.
Confused, Ernest wondered why the horse didn’t want to bed down in the barn.
“What’s wrong? We aren’t home yet.”
The roan didn’t answer—and didn’t move.
Ernest turned in his saddle and looked all around.
This couldn’t be far enough. There was an apple tree right next to the house. It would be on his left. He looked.
There was no tree.
There was a stump, a jagged stump where the tree had been.
His insides shook. What was he looking at?
He turned to the right. That was where the corral was.
Only, the corral was gone… except for a few fence posts that had survived the water.
Hands quivering, Ernest dismounted. He led the roan through the mud and muck, tying the horse to a lonesome post. He fought the panic rising like bile in his throat.
Another look around convinced him that he was in the right place. He wasn’t wrong, the house and barn were.
Had the wave simply whipped them away?
“Ma?! Pa?!”
His voice vanished in the dark. He shouted louder.
“Ma?!! Pa?!!”
No voice replied.
He found it hard to breathe and think. Fear had a hold on him, and fear denied him his brain. He slapped his thigh.
What had happened to them?
He spun around, looking for some sign that they had survived.
Then, he remembered.
When the tornados rushed through, he and his parents had gone into the root cellar. It was under the house and the safest place to be. That’s where his parents had taken refuge. Sure, that made perfect sense.
He hurried to the side of the house and the double doors in the ground that led to the cellar. Shaking his head and mocking himself, he jerked up one door, ready to greet his folks.
“Ma…”
Only water greeted him.
The cellar was completely filled. A few potatoes floated on the surface.
He stepped back. If his parents had run to the cellar, they had drowned.
Blinking back tears, he stepped away.
Dead in the cellar?
That couldn’t be.
His parents were far too smart to get trapped in the cellar during a flood. A tornado was one thing. A flood was entirely different. No, he wouldn’t find their bodies in the cellar.
He shouted as loud as he could. His cry echoed back at him.
He listened, hoping to hear a voice, any voice.
Nothing.
The awful truth squeezed his heart. His parents hadn’t escaped the water. They had been swept along with the house and barn.
How far had they been pushed?
Were they still alive?
Were they even now struggling to get to town and help?
Or were they… dead?
He shook his head. They couldn’t be dead. His father was too strong, and his mother was too smart. They had survived, although not without injury. That made sense. It was his job to find them and get them to town.
How?
Which direction?
He logically believed that they had gone with the flow. He had to follow Jacob Creek. That was the start. He took two steps before he stopped.
There was little chance of spotting them in the dark. He was apt to just slip past and be forced to backtrack. That made no sense. And in the night, the roan would be walking over all manner of trash and foreign objects. It would be dangerous.
Nope.
He had to start at first light. He would begin at what had been the house and dog the creek. Slow was the word he wanted. He didn’t want to miss them.
A prayer came to his mind as he made his way back to the roan. He leaned against the horse.
“I know I promised you oats and a stall, but all that’s gone. We’re going to bed down over yonder, out of this muck. At dawn, we start hunting. If you come across my parents, you let me know.”
Ernest didn’t expect the horse to understand, and that didn’t matter. He felt better for sharing, for putting his thoughts into words.
Tears filled his eyes as he remounted the roan. They turned away from the creek and walked toward the rise that had escaped the destruction.
He told himself not to cry—not yet. As long as there was a chance that his parents were still alive, he would deny the tears. He had never before faced such events. His life had been simple and straightforward.
He learned from his tutors.
He worked on the ranch.
He courted the prettiest girl in town.
There was always food on the table.
He had even traveled to Denver and San Francisco.
What had gone wrong?
He appreciated the irony of experiencing disaster on what was to be the best night of his young life.
Instead of a betrothed woman, he had a horse and little else.
No clothes except what he wore. No money except what was in his pocket.
No food, little water. He had gone from riches to rags in the time it took for the dam to fail.
A book he had read came to mind.
Ernest had read Robinson Crusoe as a boy. Ernest had been amazed at the inventiveness of the castaway. For some months, Ernest had tried to fashion his own methods for performing small chores.
His versions rarely succeeded, and in time, Ernest ceased trying to invent a new way to bridle a horse or pitch hay. Now, on the roan, Ernest faced what Crusoe had faced. Only, this time, Ernest didn’t have his parents or the ranch to come back to.
What if they were…
No, he wouldn’t entertain that thought. Not yet.
He tied the roan to a rock by a patch of grass. The horse wouldn’t starve. Ernest settled against his saddle, the blanket providing a bit of warmth.
How long till dawn?
Too long.
He pulled his pistol from a saddlebag and laid it by his side. On the other side, he placed the leather sleeve that contained his Winchester rifle. He didn’t expect to be molested by wolves or other creatures. The flood had provided enough carcasses for all the hungry critters.
He wiped away a single tear and reminded himself of his vow.
He wouldn’t cry.
He prayed that both his parents and Evelyn had survived.
At least one of them.
He didn’t have enough tears for all.