California Romance (38 page)

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

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

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

“ You could be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait and see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, too,” Slim growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I
only hope we can.”

The concern in Seth’s voice about Stancel riding the flume haunted Dori and robbed her of sleep. What if they couldn’t stop him? Dori took a long, quivering breath. What had she done? She knew from past experience that once Stancel set his mind, his stubbornness made the most uncooperative mule on the ranch look tractable as a lamb.

Dori planned to approach Stancel first thing in the morning, but she couldn’t get him alone. Sugar Pine Camp buzzed with activity, and for the first time since Stancel arrived at the ranch, he appeared to be avoiding her.

“If I say anything in front of the others, he will ride the flume just to save face,” Dori reasoned. “He didn’t actually say he was going to do it. Surely when he sees the hog troughs, he will back down.”

That’s what you think
, her conscience
jeered. What if Matt has to tell Miss Brookings her nephew drowned while trying to show he has more courage than the experienced loggers and mill hands who are smart enough not to jeopardize their lives?

The thought sickened Dori but steeled her determination. She must stop Stancel at all costs, even if it meant groveling. She hated doing so but had no choice. If that didn’t work, she would ask Matt to start them back to the ranch immediately. Muleheaded as Stancel was, he wouldn’t defy his host.

Dori caught up with Stancel at the  top of the flume a few minutes before the rest of the Diamond S party arrived. He stood with a group of loggers who were obviously dumbstruck with his garish outfit. Gaze fixed on a hog boat tied at the head of the flume, Stancel’s expression made Dori’s flesh creep. She forced a laugh through a throat dried with fear.

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” She pitched her voice so only he could hear and pointed to the rushing water encased in a V-shaped trough that zigzagged down the hillside “You can see why it takes a fool to attempt riding the flume. I apologize for what I said last night. I don’t really admire men who do stupid things. I was just spouting off.”

“Reah-ly.” Stancel turned from staring at the flume and looked down his long nose at her. “Nevertheless, I intend to go. It will be the thrill of a lifetime.”

Dori froze. “Your lifetime may be mighty short if you insist on riding the flume.”

He ignored her.

She raced back to her brother who, along with the rest of the party, had caught up with them. “Stancel is determined to ride the flume,” she cried. “Stop him, Matt.”

 Matt leaped from Chase’s back and strode toward the Englishman. “Get this and get it straight, Worthington. No one in his right mind, especially a foolhardy easterner, is going to ride the flume while I’m around.”

A rumble of agreement rose from the loggers.

“Rubbish. You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

Cold chills rushed up and down Dori’s spine at the sneer in Stancel’s voice.

Matt’s eyes flashed in the way that warned of trouble ahead for anyone who crossed him.
“You are not riding the flume
. Seth, Curly, bring your lassoes. We’ll hog-tie this fool until he gets some sense in his head.”

Worthington shrugged but only said, “That won’t be necessary.”

A sigh of relief went through the crowd. It changed to disbelief then cursing when before anyone could stop him, Stancel freed the boat and leaped into it. “Worthingtons always get what they want,” he called.

To Dori’s horror, Stancel’s legs tangled. His face changed from triumph to terror. He pitched forward in the hog trough and sprawled on his belly, head facing downstream. No sound came from his tightly clamped lips, but the appeal for help in his fear-filled eyes threatened to tear Dori’s heart up by the roots.