Buying her dishes and probably not threatening Hopkins. Absently, Betsy patted Mrs. Sanders’s hand, but her mind was reeling. If Mr. Sanders was a penitent husband, would he be the type to harass Doctor Hopkins?
A gong sounded, paused, then resumed its clanging. Betsy hopped to her feet. “The fire bell.” She and Joel bolted out the door and into the street about the same time Uncle Fred burst through the cabin side.
“Fire!” Riding bareback, Scott sped through town, spreading the alarm while Isaac Ballentine beat on the bell. “Fire up on the mountain, at Doctor Hopkins’s!”
Laurel screamed. Her face contorted with agony as Uncle Fred tried to keep her from falling when her knees gave way. Betsy helped half carry her to the cabin. She’d barely got Laurel to the door when Joel came blazing around the cabin on his full-sized horse.
“Wait for me,” Betsy hollered.
But he looked as stricken as Laurel. Without a word he spurred his horse toward the glow over the horizon and tore up the mountain like the flames were licking his hide.
Chapter 22
Another mistake.
Keeping so low that his chin brushed the horse’s mane with each long stride, Joel raced along the narrow path, trying to catch up with Scott before he took a turnout and Joel lost the way. At this speed, the path turned and dropped, rose and twisted without any warning, but the horse was surefooted and Joel knew how to stick to a saddle. Good thing, because he was having a hard time seeing in the dark. A hard time seeing anything besides the anguished face of Laurel Hopkins.
His stomach twisted. What had happened? How could he face Fowler? And what about Mrs. Hopkins and her daughters? He’d let everyone down. But a man’s life was at stake—much more than Joel’s reputation.
The ride seemed to last forever. Joel knew that Hopkins’s cabin wasn’t near town, but never had he ridden so fast and felt so slow. Turn after turn, and no matter how he wished it, the next clearing never held their destination. Was Scott leading him in circles? But he remembered the young man’s earnestness and set that thought aside. Scott wanted to help as much as he did.
Finally, they turned off the road. Scott lunged through thick branches, looking like he was throwing himself smack-dab into an evergreen tree, but miraculously the limbs parted and revealed a yet narrower way, no more than a rabbit trail. They scrambled up a rocky bank, sparks flying from beneath their horses’ hooves lighting up the dark night.
But the dark night could hide much. What were they riding into? What evil had befallen Doctor Hopkins while Joel busied himself in persecuting an innocent man?
A cool breeze floated down the mountain and on it the scent of smoke. Through the trees shone a glow that steadily grew brighter until ringing shouts could be heard. Just to their left, the forest exploded in sound as two more men thundered over a ridge. Joel shied away before realizing that they too were set on reaching Hopkins. He didn’t fail to notice a burlap sack with an oddly-shaped cone sticking out of an unlatched saddlebag. Scott only threw a look over his shoulder at the riders before continuing into the opening that marked the Hopkins homestead.
Flames engulfed the log cabin. Already men gathered, holding heavy poles and shoving against the walls. The walls needed to collapse inward lest they fall to the outside and roll down the mountain and into the men working to save the barn.
Following Scott, Joel jumped off his horse and tied the reins tightly to a tree well out of the way.
“Looks like the barn’s still standing.” What was Scott waiting on? For him to take charge?
Joel gulped down the self-doubt he’d been entertaining. Plenty of time for that later. There was work to be done.
The largest group of men had formed a bucket brigade to the barn, where the doors had ignited. The high stone walls wouldn’t be hurt, but if the roof or the hay inside caught, they’d have no chance of saving anything. Two ladders leaned against the wall with brave men atop them. They reached down for full buckets, then dashed the water as high as they could to keep the fire from spreading. Others were trying to drench the burning doors to rescue the stock inside before the smoke overcame them.
“Where’s Hopkins?” Joel shouted to the nearest bucketeer.
The man turned, sweat running in rivulets through the soot on his face. “Fine time to be worried about him,” he spat. “Maybe if you’d let us do our job this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You can’t make me feel any worse,” Joel said. “But now isn’t the time for laying blame. Did Hopkins get out?”
Water sloshed as the man thrust the bucket into the arms of the next man with extra force. “He’s on that ladder, trying to save his animals from the foolishness of a stubborn Texas deputy.”
Thank the Lord he wasn’t injured. As long as Doctor Hopkins was alive, talking could wait. What Joel had to do now was save as much of his property as possible.