by AH Trimble
← Part #1
Part Two — When the Rain Stopped
The trouble began with a dry winter, no snow to speak of. And that led into a dry spring, no rain except one day in March.
At first, nobody worried much. The western territories had seen dry weather before. A few late rains could still make a decent growing season. But the rains didn’t come. By June, the grass was turning brown. By July, the creek that gave Clear Creek its name was little more than a string of muddy pools.
And by August, men were riding farther and farther from home looking for decent grazing or work.
The crops suffered badly. Corn stalks stood thin and yellow in the fields of those who took a chance and planted. Vegetable gardens produced little. Most of the hand dug wells that had always supplied plenty of water began to run low. But the Whitakers were fortunate. Their well was deep, and although the water level had dropped, it continued to produce.
Their harvest was poor, but not a complete failure. Samuel and Jacob worked long hours hauling water to the garden. Martha and the girls preserved everything they could. Even little Benjamin helped, although his contributions sometimes involved eating more beans than he picked.
When the harvest was finished, Samuel looked over what they’d managed to save. It wasn’t much compared with previous years. But with what they already had in the cellar, they would get through.
They’d have to be careful enough, and there wouldn’t be much left over for trading.
• • •
By September, things in Clear Creek were getting ugly. The general store had run short of flour and salt. Prices were climbing…families who had always paid cash were asking for credit.
A few families packed their belongings and headed east. Others stayed, hoping the winter would be mild.
Samuel went into town one afternoon to pick up a few supplies. Inside the general store, he found a half dozen men arguing with the owner. “You can’t expect a man to pay three times what flour cost last year!” one shouted.
The storekeeper spread his hands, “I can’t sell what I don’t have, and I can’t replace what I sell without paying the freight.”
Samuel waited until the argument settled down, bought what he needed, and started for the door. That’s when a man named Harlan Price spoke up. Price had a wife and three children. He’d worked hard on his place, but the drought had hit him especially hard. He’d lost several cattle, and his corn crop had failed.
“Whitaker.”
Samuel stopped, “Afternoon, Harlan.”
“I hear you’re still hauling food out to those Indians.”
Samuel looked at him for a moment, “Been doing some trading, yes.”
“Trading?” Price said the word as though he didn’t believe it.
“Seems to me if you’ve got food to spare, there are folks right here in Clear Creek who could use it.”
Samuel nodded slowly, “That’s true enough.”
“Then why are you giving it to them?”
“I’m not giving it away, Harlan. We’re trading.”
Price shook his head, “Doesn’t make much difference to a hungry man.”
Samuel looked at the other men, “Maybe not. But there’s a difference just the same.”
He picked up his supplies, “If somebody needs help, they can come ask me. Same as always.” Then he walked out.
What Samuel didn’t know was that Harlan Price had already heard something else. Somebody claimed to have seen two Native men leaving the Whitaker place with a couple sacks of flour. And somebody else claimed Samuel had a cellar full of food.
By the time the story made its way around Clear Creek, the cellar had become a warehouse, the sacks had become wagonloads, and Samuel Whitaker was supposedly sitting on enough provisions to feed half the settlement for the rest of the year.
Funny how that happens…especially when people are hungry.
• • •
October brought cold nights and little relief. Samuel began noticing riders passing along the road more frequently. Some slowed as they approached the cabin. Others stopped at the fence and looked toward the barn.
One afternoon Jacob came in from the woodpile. “Pa, there were two men down by the lower pasture. They rode off when they saw me.”
Samuel looked up from the harness he was repairing, “Know who they were?”
“No, sir.”
“Did they cross the fence?”
“No.”
Samuel nodded, “All right.”
Jacob waited, “Pa, you think somebody’s looking to steal cattle?”
Samuel put down the harness, “Could be. Or they might be looking for something else.”
That evening, after supper, Samuel spoke with Martha. They had discussed the possibility of trouble before. Not because they expected it, but because they knew what desperation could do to otherwise decent people.
There were three shotguns in the cabin. Samuel kept his twelve-gauge near the front door. Jacob had a smaller shotgun he’d used for hunting. Martha knew how to handle the third.
They’d practiced what to do if strangers came with bad intentions…not shooting…positioning. Staying calm. Keeping the younger children away from danger. Knowing who was responsible for what. Shooting was a last resort, not the first choice.
Samuel had made one thing clear. His four years of war and leaving the Army after the war as a First Sergeant taught him well. Nobody was to fire a weapon unless there was no other way to protect the family. He wasn’t interested in killing anybody any more…he had his fill as a younger man.
But he wasn’t going to stand by while somebody hurt his wife or children, either. That was never going to happen. That night he checked the door latches, made sure the shutters were secure, and went to bed.