Rope

Josiah did his best not to laugh out loud as he watched the women bend over the creation they had erected in front of the pulpit in the old church. Trust a bunch of women to fancy up just about anything. Young Sarah McCallum, Vin Tanner's sister, had been set on having a Christmas tree for the town to enjoy. Trouble was fetching a real pine or a spruce meant a mighty long trek into the mountains, and, Christmas or not, most fellows had more important things to do.

It was Gloria Potter, the owner of the general store, who had finally said they ought to just use what the good Lord had put at hand. Well, thought Josiah, once they put their mind to it some folks sure could get creative. So now the day before Christmas Eve found Gloria and Sarah and Mary Travis proudly surveying a handsomely decorated saguaro cactus that they had wrangled Vin and him into setting in half an old whiskey barrel and wrestling into the church.

Sarah had tatted dozens of white and silver lace snowflakes out of her precious store of thread and they hung suspended from various needles. Gloria's children had strung enough cranberries to feed the whole town and bright red loops now festooned the mighty arms. Mary had carved out any number of little niches which she and Sarah were busy filling with little candles. Already some of the townsfolk had brought by small gifts to be distributed on Christmas Eve. It was, to say the least, a sight to behold.

Josiah turned to find Chris standing in the doorway assessing the situation.

"I figured it might be best if I asked a question," Chris said. "Think anybody's gonna take offense if I were to deposit six bottles of whiskey under that thing?'

"I think you men need a little more imagination, considering," Mary snorted.

"Considering Ezra, Buck, and J.D. done already asked the same question," explained Josiah.

"'Pears to me like there's gonna be an awful lot of whiskey under this tree come Christmas Eve," Sarah commented archly.

"It's not a tree, Sarah ," Chris observed with a smile. "It's a cactus."

Sarah looked him square in the eye. "It's a tree," she said firmly.

'Yes, ma'am," Chris said touching the brim of his hat. He figured it might be best to accept defeat. After all, he had to pick his battles carefully these days.

(At about the same time - several miles away)

Vin Tanner and Micah McCallum weren't more than a couple of hours from home when the axle went. The road had been abysmal, and the last rut the rear wheel had dropped into had been too sharp and too deep. Micah hopped down to see just how bad the damage was.

Taking advantage of people's charity at this season, Micah had loaded up a wagon with donations and set out early the day before, heading for some of the most isolated and destitute homesteads in the area. Folks in the territory weren't much on taking charity, but a woman wasn't going to turn down flour for biscuits or lye for making soap or a descent bolt of gingham when it came disguised as a Christmas gift. Hadn't any of the men turned down a keg of nails or a descent ax handle either. To top it off, a few chickens for Christmas dinner had come along for the ride.

Micah had been set to head out alone when Vin cornered him and matter-of-factly announced that he intended to ride along. Vin granted that his recently acquired brother-in-law had all the 'love of man' and all the 'faith in God' that a young parson needed and then some, but in his personal opinion Micah came up a little short in the 'chances of staying alive' department. Micah might think nothing about piling a wagon high with serviceable goods and heading off for the backside of nowhere alone, but Vin thought it was taking a damn fool chance. So, while Micah had cheerfully insisted that he trusted in the Lord's provision, Vin had stubbornly insisted that he was riding shotgun anyhow.

At that point, Micah had grinned charitably. "Guess that makes you the good Lord's provision," he allowed.

Vin snorted. "Ain't never been called that to my face before." It occurred to him about that time that even when he won, he just couldn't win.

Thank God, the wagon was empty and they were on their way back when the axle went.

Vin wheeled his horse back around. "Way this wind keeps blowing, it'd be best if we can get ourselves and these horses into some kind of shelter," he called to Micah. "We can figure out then what it's gonna take to get her moving again."

Micah nodded his agreement. The cold wind was cutting them both to the bone.

Vin nodded to a narrow break in the rock wall up ahead. "Think there's a slot canyon up yonder oughta do the trick," he said.

As Micah set about unhitching the team from the immobilized wagon, Vin rode ahead to get a better look at their chosen refuge. The land dropped slightly leading down to the entrance. A few feet in, Vin gave up riding and ground tied his horse. Scrambling through an entrance no more than ten feet wide, Vin paused to drink in the awesome sight. Here was one of those works of God that made a man stop and realize how pitifully small a creature he really was. The canyon was no more than fifteen or twenty feet across at its widest. On either side, curving red sandstone walls rose towering above him, leaving him dizzy when he tilted back his head to view the canyon rim above. It didn't seem to Vin that any castle or cathedral, not that he had ever seen either, could possibly have had a grander entryway than this. Once inside, the canyon floor continued to drop leaving him with the forbidding feeling that he was descending into the bowels of the earth.

He had just looked back to see Micah leading the weary horses into the shelter of the canyon mouth when he was thrown off his feet. He came down hard on sharp and unforgiving stones which cut into his knees and the palms of his hands. As he shook his head in bewilderment and struggled to regain his feet, the ground beneath him heaved once more. A terrifying roar filled his ears and rising clouds of dust filled his nostrils and throat, threatening to choke him. It was as though the canyon had become a wild animal, writhing in its attempts to spew him out.

Earthquake! his numb brain screamed, even as the corners of his subconscious twisted in panic. He had heard quakes described. He'd seen the scars they left on the land, but never in all his born days had he experienced the reality. Nothing could have prepared him for the sickening disorientation that came when the solid ground beneath his feet turned on him like some giant, angry bronc intent on throwing him off..

The blinding dust enveloped him, obscuring the canyon walls mere feet away. He couldn't even have said where the canyon's entrance lay. Giving up the struggle to stand, he pulled his bandanna up to cover his mouth and nose and clung to the ground, half convinced it was going to vanish beneath him. Terrified animal screams mingled with the hideous cacophony that echoed off the canyon walls. It went on forever, or at least that was how it seemed to Vin. When the tremors finally stopped, he was too shaky, at first, to make it back onto his feet.

"Micah!" he screamed, when he was finally able to suck in a decent lungful of air. Just the effort doubled him over in a fit of coughing. If there was any answer, he couldn't hear it over his own hacking. As if nature was seeking a way to further taunt him, every few seconds the air was spilt by unnerving rattling as the detritus continued to shift and establish new angles of repose.

Pulling himself to his feet, he waited for the dust to settle and allow him to orient himself. He was appalled by the unmanageable trembling in his legs. It felt as though they had acquired a heart and mind of their own and would never again be foolish enough to trust either the solid ground or his judgment.

He was shaken still further by the altered landscape that surrounded him when the air cleared at last. Towering walls no longer crisply defined the canyon's mouth. The narrow opening had crumbled. My god, he thought, that's where Micah was standing!

"Micah!" he screamed again, stumbling forward over the uneven ground. Relief washed over him when he heard a faint reply.

It seemed to take an eternity of shouting, listening, scrambling, and searching before he finally caught a flash of dust muted color that was Micah's vest. The young minister was half buried, and it was no quick job to dig him free. Scooping away the loose stone with his bare hands, Vin carefully shifted the larger rocks that held Micah pinned. His right leg was wedged beneath a good-sized stone which held it immobile. It was a delicate task, carried out in constant fear of triggering subsidiary slides that would bury them both. Micah could not suppress a hoarse cry when Vin was finally able to haul him clear.

Vin was infinitely gentle as he rolled the younger man onto his back and began to examine him. Blood ran down the side of his head, but the cut he found appeared to be superficial. Pulling the bandanna from around his own neck, he folded it and pressed the cleanest bit he could find against the wound.

"Hold this thing in place while I see what else is wrong," he said as he guided Micah's hand up to the makeshift compress.

Before he could even begin his examination, the ground trembled once more. It only lasted a few seconds but was enough to send another section of the unstable entrance sliding. Cursing under his breath Vin did his best to shelter Micah from the rain of falling stones.

He didn't like what he had to do next, but he had no real choice. They couldn't stay where they were. The next aftershock might bury them.

He lay one hand on Micah's shoulder. "This next bit ain't gonna be much fun."

Without giving Micah a chance to dread the inevitable pain, Vin grabbed him beneath the arms and dragged , keeping it up until they were well clear of the collapse at the canyon mouth. Long before he was done, Micah had mercifully lost consciousness.

Carefully he began to check Micah over for other damage. The ribs were either broken or badly bruised he decided, and something was obviously wrong with the right leg. He slit the pants leg to the knee to get a good look. The lower leg had already begun to swell, and it didn't look quite straight. Broken, Vin decided, and not a damned thing nearby that he could use as a splint.

As the light began to fail, Vin looked around to assess their situation. The entrance to the canyon was blocked and no one in their right mind would try climbing that precariously balanced mound. It was at least a sixty feet to the canyon rim and the walls were practically sheer. Worse, there were dozens of spots where they overhung. Here and there, pitiful bits of brush sunk their roots into the unforgiving stone and straggled up toward the light. A couple of hundred feet further in, the canyon floor abruptly dropped away another twenty feet leading into an even deeper and more inaccessible section. It would be dark in an hour, and virtually all their supplies were either in the wagon or with Vin's horse.

Vin bit his lip. He realized there was a good chance that his sturdy black gelding lay crushed beneath the stones that blocked their escape. He told himself it was best not to dwell on that. He'd never owned a better mount.

He had his canteen, which was nearly full, and he'd kept a small packet of jerky stashed in his pocket, in case he got hungry on the road. Enough for tonight, but no more.

Micah moaned, and Vin returned his attention to his brother-in-law's condition. He had no doubt Micah would fare all right if he were in town under Nathan's care, but could he survive out here in the open. Thank God, he wore a heavy coat because there was no blanket that Vin could offer against the cold. The traces of brush he had found might feed a small fire, but he would have to scrounge to find enough fuel to last through one night.

"What happened?" asked Micah softly.

Vin took off his slouch hat and slid it beneath Micah's head as a meager cushion. "Reckon we just found out what an earthquake's like," Vin explained.

"You okay?"

"I ain't the one laid out on the ground," Vin pointed out.

"I see your point," Micah said. His color was gone, but his voice, at least, was still steady. "Am I okay?" he asked after a moment's pause.

"I seen you look better. You got some ribs busted up, 'less I miss my guess. Leg, too."

"Help?"

"Ain't comin' anytime soon. Nobody's like to be lookin' before tomorrow." Vin sighed, wondering if he really ought to tell Micah how the rest of the hand looked. "Canyon mouth is plumb gone, an' we're on the wrong side," he said at last. " I ain't so sure how we're gonna get out."

"There'll be a way," Micah told him matter-of-factly.

Vin pulled out his canteen and helped Micah to drink.

In the fading light he did his best to make Micah comfortable. As the sun disappeared and the chill grew, he gathered brush and made a small fire.

Damn, he thought, why didn't I keep us out in the open.

After a time, Micah's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"There any more water?"

Vin nodded and helped him to sip from the canteen. Breaking out their thin rations, he offered Micah half, but the effort of chewing seeming to use up all his strength.

"You figure we can find our way out of this mess and back home for Christmas?"

"I'll find us a way out," Vin murmured. He saw no other choice. Nothing in his being would have allowed him to sit back and acknowledge that he was helpless.

"You're not one to celebrate Christmas much, are you, Vin?" Micah asked.

"Ain't been one to have much cause," Vin shot back and then immediately regretted his tone.

"You remember celebrating Christmas when you were a child?"

Vin smiled sadly. "My ma made a big todo about celebrating Christmas Day. I can just barely remember what it was like. Pa took it right hard when she died an' there wasn't any more celebratin'. After a while Sarah's ma came along, and she made a big fuss about Christmas, too. Last real Christmas I can remember was the year before she died. Next Christmas after she was took, I reckon Pa wasn't much on speaking terms with the Almighty." Vin chewed thoughtfully on the jerky before he continued. "I didn't hardly count as full grown when Pa died, and Sarah went back east to live with her ma's sister. It was just me on my own after that."

Micah hesitated before confiding something. "You know, Vin, when word came that your pa had died, Sarah's aunt didn't think beyond making sure that Sarah was safe and had a decent upbringing."

Vin nodded. "Yeah, she did a fine job. Whole lot finer than I coulda done."

"Thing is, later on after you dropped out of sight, she always felt real bad that she hadn't thought to offer you a home, too."

The revelation took Vin by surprise. "She didn't owe me nothing," he said gruffly. "I wasn't any kin of hers." He turned his face away, vainly attempting to quell a sudden pang of regret and longing and willing himself not to dwell on the lonely past. "Been alone a lotta years now. Mostly, Christmas has just been a good day to ignore."

"No family, no Christmas?" Micah continued to probe.

Vin shrugged. "No point to celebratin'."

"Isn't the advent of a savior worth celebrating, even if you're all alone?"

"Can't say as I've been saved from a hell of a lot, Micah. Meaning no offense. Wasn't saved from losing my folks, wasn't saved from losing my home. Wasn't saved from making my share of mistakes either, even when I tried damned hard not to." Vin waited for the inevitable interruption . "An' now I reckon you're gonna tell me why I'm wrong," he said when it didn't come.

Micah raised an eyebrow at Vin's last comment.

"I'm gettin' a feel fer how you think," Vin explained with a wry smile. He knelt beside Micah and insisted that he take another swallow from the canteen before settling back into place. "Look, I ain't kiddin' myself 'bout the sorta life I've led. Ain't likely to carry much weight with God. But life ain't exactly been easy, and I been doing the best I can on my own."

"An' if that ain't good enough to get me into heaven, I guess I just ain't goin'," said Micah in a perfect imitation of Vin's Texas drawl. The response made Vin drop his jaw in astonishment. "I'm gettin' a feel fer how you think," Micah informed him the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile.

Vin chuckled softly. "Yeah, I reckon."

"So how good a life do you figure you gotta live to carry much weight with God?" Micah asked.

Vin only shrugged and continued to chew.

"Okay, let me ask you this," Micah continued. "Who's the best person you can think of? Someone you figure has earned God's approval."

Vin thought carefully for several minutes before answering. "Probably Miss Clara Barton," he said at last, referring to the angel of the Civil War battlefields. "She's done a heap of good for a lotta folks, an' she's had to fight to get it done. Doesn't go lookin' for any glory neither. I admire that."

Micah nodded agreement, then he pondered the unscalable canyon wall that hemmed them in. "If working hard and being really good could get you up that wall, how high up do you figure Miss Barton could go?"

Vin glanced at Micah suspiciously, trying to figure where the young preacher was going with his questions. Examining the wall before him, he finally nodded to a spot about 30 feet off the ground that was as high as he imagined anyone could possibly climb.

"All right, now think about the worst lowlife you've ever known. Eli Joe might be a good choice, or maybe that fellow Fowler that killed Chris Larabee's family. How far up would you say they could climb?"

"They ain't even gonna make it outta the dust pile at the bottom," Vin spat without hesitation. "I've known plenty of men that ain't gonna make it farther than that."

"And how far up to you figure Vin Tanner's apt to get?"

Damn, thought Vin, I should have seen it coming. He sighed "Bout halfway in between, I guess," he said at last. "Maybe a little higher."

Micah nodded and looked far upward, examining the black demarcation where the distant canyon rim cut across a cold background of glittering stars. "All the way up at the top there - that's heaven, that's where God is. Who's going to make it up there?" Micah asked.

Vin let his eyes travel up the stretch of sheer rock wall. He been worrying at just that question for hours now and he wasn't one bit closer to figuring out the answer. For Micah's sake, he sure hoped he had it by morning.

"Let me tell you something," he sighed in aggravation. "Way I see it, ain't nobody gonna make it that high, less'n God sees fit to throw 'em a rope."

Micah smiled at the answer. "And that's what Christmas is about, Vin. It's God Almighty leaning over the lip of heaven and tossing down a rope to all mankind, a living, breathing rope they called Jesus." He let his eyes drift shut as he called the passage up.

'For behold a virgin shall conceive, and shall bear a son, and they shall call His name Emmanuel,' which being translated means 'God with us.' (1)

Vin shook his head in wonder. He'd have thought with a busted leg and busted ribs that boy would have the grace to just lie there and groan.

"Don't you never stop preachin', Micah," he asked good naturedly.

Micah paused to contemplate the question. "No, I guess I don't," he finally replied, somewhat abashed

Vin had to smile. "Well, you might as well keep it up," he said. "You're gettin' right good at it."

Micah laughed wholeheartedly and immediately caught his breath as broken ribs grated against one another. He struggled vainly to hide the pain, but there was nothing he could do to hide the fine sheen of perspiration that had broken out on his brow at even that little movement.

Vin pulled off his coat of buffalo hide and wrapped it around the younger man. For all his good cheer, he didn't like the way Micah looked. He needed to get him back to town where he would have food and a warm bed. "I gotta get you seen to proper," he muttered. He'd have done near anything in the world for his sister Sarah. No way he was going to see her a widow because he'd gone and picked the wrong place to shelter. He didn't mean to sit by and watch Micah die. Come morning he was going to do something; he just wasn't sure what.

"Reckon it hurts pretty bad," he continued, "but you'd best try and sleep if you can. We'll worry about who can climb up where come mornin'."

Micah nodded weakly and closed his eyes, his face pinched with pain. Vin leaned back against the red rock wall and prayed.

Four Corners (about the same time)

Forscythe's Grand Theater and Opera House had been forcibly usurped. The primary reason for this was the fact that the only other piano in the entire town was located in the saloon and the barkeep wasn't letting Sarah McCallum anywhere near it. So the ladies of Four Corners, or rather Sarah, Mary Travis, and Gloria Potter, had seized the Opera House for the evening, and as luck would have it, the owner was the sort more likely to chuckle and join in than to raise a fuss. The truth was that the ladies were attracting quite a crowd, and old Forscythe was charging ten cents a head to let folks through the door.

"I'm sorry your brother and Micah didn't make it back tonight," Mary said as Sarah ran her fingers lightly up and down the ivory keys.

"I figured for sure they'd be here," Sarah sighed. "I reckon that jolt we felt coulda brought trees and rocks down across the road. I just hope they got a safe place to hold up."

"I've known quakes out in California to spilt a road right in two, leave one half sitting ten feet away from the other," Josiah put in.

An assortment of pies and cobblers and coffee had been set out, courtesy of several local matrons, and there seemed to be an unofficial competition going on as to who was acknowledged the best cook. Sarah sat at the piano taking requests for carols from the crowd and enjoying the luxury of feeling a piano's key beneath her slender fingers. During a lull in the singing, thirteen year old Ned Potter pushed his way through the crowd. Rather shyly, he approached Sarah and let her see what he held in his hands. She squealed and clapped her hands like a child at the sight of a scarred fiddle.

"Can you play it?" she gasped.

"Sorta," he said softly staring down at his shoes, but when he raised his head she could see the light in his eyes. "It belonged to my pa," he explained, "but sometimes at night, he'd teach me." Tears of remembrance glistened in Gloria Potter's eyes as she smiled at her son in pride.

"What do you know?" she asked. Delight made her deep blue eyes shine.

"Can you play 'O Little Town of Bethlehem'?" the boy asked shyly.

What a wonderful choice. More violin than fiddle style music. And new enough not to be that well known.

As if reading her thoughts, Gloria Potter leaned forward to speak quietly in her ear. "Mr. Potter fancied learning new songs."

"O Little Town of Bethlehem it is," Sarah said. "You start off and I'll follow."

The gentle melody filtered through the room and hushed the crowd. She rummaged through her mind for the lyrics, the poem Phillips Brooks of Philadelphia had penned to sum up his own heart's memories of riding down on the holy village one Christmas Eve. At first she simply couldn't call them up, but when she relaxed and let the music lead her, all at once there they were.

'Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie;

Above they deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by;

Yet in thy dark street shineth the everlasting light;

The hopes and fears of all Man's years are met in thee tonight.

But there, she had lost the train againÉ.

'How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given!

She smiled as Gloria Potter filled in the stanzas she did not know. At last they ended in harmonyÉ

'We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell:

Oh come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel.' (2)

She would have played on, but she had caught sight of something that unsettled her. Chris Larabee, drawn off to the sidelines as ever, had quietly summoned the other men outside where they were huddled together soberly. Slipping off the piano stool, she yielded her place to Gloria and threaded her way outside.

"What's happened?" she asked without preamble. Bracing the six gunmen, her frank question left no room for them to lie.

They exchanged silent glances.

"Vin's horse came in about an hour ago," Chris quietly explained. "No rider, pretty badly skinned up."

Anguish filled her deep blue eyes. "No sign of Vin or Micah either one?"

"Horse was pretty spooked," J.D. said. "Vin could've been thrown."

"Not many horses ever threw Vin Tanner," Sarah said with a wisp of a smile. "Sides, Micah's there with the wagon." She bit her lip. "There's something bad wrong."

"We had that tremor. No telling what it did to the road," Buck said. "Might not be able to get the wagon through."

Her eyes silently pleaded with each one of them for comfort.

"We can't do anything tonight," Chris said reluctantly. "First light, we'll start looking."

Sarah nodded silently, her slender fingers knotting up the stiff material of her skirt. "I'm goin' along," she told Chris matter-of-factly.

"I wish you wouldn't," he answered grimly.

"I'm goin'," she cut in. "You gonna fetch me at dawn or do I set out on my own right now?"

The Tanner line sure breeds 'em stubborn, Chris thought. "I'll fetch you," he promised.

Josiah remained behind as the others melted away, gone to their beds or to see to preparations. Hot tears stung Sarah's eyes as she stood beneath his penetrating gaze.

"Reckon I know I'm setting a poor example," she said defensively.

"The good Lord knows," the former preacher rumbled softly, " I'd be the last man alive to claim that holding on to your faith is an easy thing to do." He took her tiny arm with one massive, gentle hand.

She swiped the heel of her hand across her eyes to brush away the tears and forced a little smile. "S'pose if it was easy, it wouldn't be worth a hill of beans anyhow."

"You want me to see you home, ma'am?"

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

(Christmas Eve morning)

Vin's mind was set long before the first fingers of light crept down the canyon walls. Somehow, someway he was climbing out of the trap into which he'd led them. He had searched out every inch of canyon wall forward and back of their meager camp, and it had told him one thing. He was going to have to work his way over that unsteady pile of stone at the canyon mouth. He knew full well it would take a miracle to get over the obstruction without setting the whole thing in motion again, but he saw no other route. Torrents of water, the spawn of sudden mighty storms, had littered the canyon floor with stone, but worn the walls smooth.

He checked on Micah one last time before starting his climb. The younger man shifted and muttered fretfully but did not wake. Far from pale now, his face was flushed and his breathing raspy. It was just as well that he slept, because Vin wouldn't have enjoyed explaining what it was he had in mind. All in all, winding up with a broken neck seemed preferably to the agony of sitting around helplessly while Micah's condition went downhill by the hour. He set what was left of their water within Micah's reach and turned silently away.

Without a word, he assayed the choas of shattered stones. He finally chose his path up the far left side. At that point several massive slabs of sandstone had sheared off and lay braced against the canyon wall. It meant he'd have further to climb than he would going up the center, but he felt sure the footing would be more solid.

It was painstaking work to pick his way over the loose scree and up the lower slope. Each hand and foot had to be placed with infinite care. All too often the silence was broken by rattling as loose stones broke away and cascaded down the slope to finally rest at its base. Each time he felt himself go rigid and held his breath as he waited for the whole pile to start sliding out from under him. By the time he was high enough to grab ahold of one of the larger slabs he was drenched in sweat despite the dawn chill in the air.

He wasn't sure when it was that he first caught sight of the thing beside him. Part of the way up, he realized what it was, a worn length of hemp rope hanging against the canyon wall. He had no idea who could have left it, and he didn't dare trust his weight to it despite the temptation. Black fingers of mildew had worked their way deep into its fibers, attesting to the time it must have hung there exposed to the elements. Frayed beyond belief, it was too frail and unimpressive a thing to trust with something as precious as a man's life.

Then his ankle twisted as he stepped afoul and a small stone rolled out from under him. He leaned into the slab and his left hand instinctively wrapped around the rope as he struggled to keep his balance on only one foot. His body froze as below him the single stone became a cascade and then a small avalanche. By the time he steeled himself to glance down, the slope he had just so painstakingly traversed had acquired a whole new angle of repose. He was stranded now with no retreat short of a long plunge and a broken neck.

To his surprise, the frayed rope took as much of his weight as he was willing to trust to it. While still unwilling to rely on it heavily, he found it an indispensable aid as he edged his way up another ten or so feet. A massive sense of victory overtook him when he finally pulled himself atop a giant block. He inhaled great gulps of air as he let his muscles go slack. The handy rope remained wrapped loosely around one hand just in case. He needed to rest before even daring to try the next stage of the climb.

He had just gotten back enough wind to resume climbing when he felt the block of stone beneath him tremble. The movement was miniscule at first but escalated exponentially as the aftershock intensified. He searched frantically for a secure handhold, but even as his fingers clawed at a thin ledge, it was pulled from his grip. A low pitched rumble rose from below, becoming a deafening roar. Once again he found himself wrapped in a blanket of choking, blinding dust as the world beneath him dropped out from under his feet. In one heartwrenching second he fell. He grabbed at the rope with both hands now, only to find it burning through his fingers as it slid through his grasp. The twisted hemp abraded the skin on his hands until bolts of pain shot clear to his elbows. In sharp despair he felt the moment when his grip finally failed. No longer breathing, he waited for the bone shattering end.

What came was a sharp jerk that threatened to wrench his left arm from its socket. In a world of settling dust and sudden incredible silence, he found himself dangling free, his left hand inextricably tangled in the rope, for all the world as if the thing were determined to hold him even when he no longer had the strength to make his fingers close around it.

He hung, brushing against the sheer canyon wall. His whole existence suddenly narrowed down to one hand and one rope, the agonizing strain on his arm, and the utter quiet. All his hopes and all his fears were now uncompromisingly held by one thin strand. How silent the world had become. How still it lay. How frail the rope seemed, such a tenuous thing, as fragile É as fragile as the breath of a new-born child. In what court would a man fight for his life with nothing of greater substance to depend upon?

He grabbed the wisp of rope that hung below him. Mere inches from the canyon wall, he was able to brace his feet and wrap that last bit of rope between his legs and over his shoulder, forming a cradle to take part of his weight. Amazingly, he found the sheer wall was not so completely bereft of toe holds after all. Small irregularities afforded him purchase. At last he abandoned any idea of scrambling over the mound of debris that plugged the canyon entrance. Now, he could only go where the rope took him, straight up the wall to the canyon rim above.

It became an arduous rhythm, walking slowly up the wall, a few feet gained and then a rest. At times he was sure he could climb no higher, and it came as a sudden surprise when he hauled himself bodily over the ledge to collapse at the top. He rolled onto his back on the stone, hugging his pitifully scored hands to him and stared aloft at the pale winter sky.

Eons later he finally summoned the strength to struggle to his feet. When he did, he cut loose with a joyous whoop at the sight that met his eyes - a line of riders making their way down the rutted road that led back to town. He stripped off the red plaid shirt that he wore and used it as a signal flag. And when they met up, he lost no time explaining the how things stood and what they needed to do.

Buck and J.D. wheeled their horses and headed straight back to town to round up extra horses and equipment.

He could have guessed that Sarah wouldn't be one to stay behind fretting. She rode just a few steps behind Chris, stray curls of soft brown hair escaping their combs to hang disheveled round her face. She hugged him with the fierceness of some small, possessive mother animal reclaiming her young. But when she saw he was alone, sharp dismay filled her eyes. A small whimper escaped her, and he turned to follow her glance. Mostly buried under stones, the hapless wagon team lay dead mere yards away.

Breaking free, she would thrown herself on the stones, physically hauling them away with her bare hands, if Vin hadn't stopped her. Catching her by the waist, he bodily swung her around, pressing her head tightly into his shoulder.

"He ain't there," he crooned softly. "He ain't there. Jest stuck on the other side an' a mite busted up'." He gave her a little shake. "Don't fret none, girl. Your man's gonna be okay."

+ + + + + + +

Rivers of sweat and hard labor from both man and beast cleared a safe passage into the narrow canyon proper. Nathan had already fetched what was needed to splint Micah's leg and bind up his ribs. Another wagon had been found for the journey back to town, which still promised to be filled with painful jolts.

Vin and Buck were the last to leave the canyon. As they turned to go, Buck stopped and scratched his head while he examined the magnificent, towering walls.

"Vin," he asked, "how in tarnation did you get yourself out of here?"

"Can't rightly say I got myself out," Vin answered. "A good sturdy rope got me out. An' I owe a heap of thanks to whoever saw fit to leave it behind. Weren't for that, I wouldn't be no more 'an a bag of broken bones down here on the floor." He turned to walk away, but a puzzled Buck called him back.

"What d'ya mean, rope. I don't see a rope."

Impatiently, Vin turned to point out the frayed rope that hung from the rim above. He could have sworn he remembered exactly where it was. Slowly he searched the naked face of the rock. He carefully reviewed every crack and crevice near the point where he had struggled up that wall. His bruised body, his bandaged hands, and the fact that he still lived and breathed were living testimony to the rope that had provided him a way to the top. Why should it be so hard to see from down here?

At last he thought he understood . "There's a rope," told his puzzled companion cheerfully.

As he walked away, Buck continued to protest loudly. All the way out of the canyon, his friend's plaintive complaints floated after him, bouncing off the narrow walls.

"VinÉthere ain't no rope!"

Slowly a smile spread across his face, not the thin hint of humor that was all the face he generally gave to his inner thoughts, but a full, generous smile imbued with his heart's full warmth. "Yeah there is, pard," he called back. "There's a rope. Remember, it's Christmastime, Buck."

The End