A Hazardous Honeymoon: A Mitch Carter Story

by Hannah Jo (ages 14-17)

September, 1887

           I woke up to the smell of bacon, but before I open my eyes, a pillow hit me on the head.

           “Hey!” I threw the pillow back at Mitch, who was now sitting at the table in the middle of the one-room cabin, drenching his pancakes with maple syrup.   

           He caught it just before it hit the plate and launched it back at me, saying with a twinkle in his eye, “Time for you to get up, wife, I made breakfast.”

           I smiled at him, as his casual mention of ‘wife’ sent shivers down my spine like it has been for the last four days, ever since I married Mitch.   

***

           After I got dressed and ate breakfast, we went for a ride in the Sierra Mountains to find a clearing to have a picnic lunch. Mitch took his rifle to shoot something for supper. As we came back to the cabin in late afternoon, we could tell something was wrong. Five other horses had been put in the corral with Pepper, our pack horse. As Mitch reached for his rifle, a gunshot sounded, startling my horse.

           “Hands up, both of you!” The speaker of the voice walked out of the woods, the rifle in his hands pointed at us. When he saw me struggling to control Spirit, he smirked and said “Get down off your horse when you get the chance”.

           When I finally got Spirit under control, I slipped off. Mitch wrapped his arm around me as we walked into the cabin. When we got inside, I quickly glanced around the cabin, noticing that there was four men in the room. One was on the bed, clearly wounded, while an equally dirty and unshaven man was sitting on a chair near the bed. The other two men were at the table, playing some type of card game.

I gasped when I recognize one of them. Miles Lassiter III, called ‘the gentleman outlaw’ by his associates, was calmly sitting at the table, smoking a cigar. Memories rushed in so fast I stumbled into Mitch, almost falling.

           “Darling, are you ok?” Before I could answer my husband, the outlaw started talking.

           “If it isn’t Alexandrea Winslow. You’ve grown even prettier than last time. And smarter too, putting your father’s revolver in your medical bag. Come on in, don’t be scared.”

           The man with the gun poked Mitch in the back, forcing us forward. As we face the table, I could feel Mitch suck in his breath, piecing together what I had told him in the past with what Lassiter was saying now.

           “This is the man that killed your father.” Mitch’s voice grew harder, and his arm around my waist got tighter, as his words hung in the air. But only for a moment.

           “I don’t believe I am acquainted with your friend, Alexandrea,” the well-spoken outlaw laughed. “Where did you catch someone like him?”

           I could imagine the dirty look Mitch gave him. If looks could kill, Lassiter would be dead. And how I wish he was. I took a deep breath and started talking, my mind racing to find a way to get this outlaw’s mind off of me.  

           “Mister Lassiter, I’d like you to meet my husband, Mitchell Carter. How did one of your men get shot? If you’d like, I can look at him. After all, I am a registered nurse, and you already know what I have in my medical bag.” I looked pointedly at my father’s .38 revolver on the table.

           At Lasseter’s nod, I grabbed my bag and walked over to the bed. As I cleaned the wound, Lassiter was introducing the rest of his gang members.          

“The injured man is Colt Whitworth, the man sitting next to him is his brother, Henry. The man that brought you in here and is taking care of your horses is Jack Murdoch, and the half-breed is Bob.”

           As I nod at Bob and Henry, I reached into my bag to take out the needle and thread. While in the bag, my fingers brush the bottle of laudanum. I look up worriedly at the unconscious man on the bed. Even after I had taken the bullet out and sewn up his wound, he did not awake, and although I hadn’t put a hand to his forehead, I could tell he had a fever.

           “How long has he been unconscious?” I asked Henry.

           “I...I don’t know. He passed out right after we got here.”

           I sigh. “Alright, do you know how much blood he lost, how long it took to get here? Those things might help.”

           Before Lassiter could yell at me, Bob hurt himself with the knife he was using to whittle a stick and, started to spew profanity in his language, which I unfortunately knew. As my face grew red, I walked over to the Indian, who had put his other hand to the bleeding wound, in the hopes of stopping the flow of blood.

           “Let me take a look at your hand and I’ll fix it.” I told him in his language.

           Bob looked shocked, as did the rest of the outlaws. Bob gave me his hand, and I tied a bandage around the wound after putting an antiseptic on it.  While doing that, I told Henry to get water from the stream outside.

           “Make sure it’s cold. And Mitch, could you rip one of your shirts up into rags, to wet and put on Colt’s forehead to reduce the fever.”

           I rummaged around in our bags to find a shirt, then threw it at Mitch. It fell on his face, and he glared at me and started tearing the shirt into strips, all the while complaining,

           “Why one of my shirts? Why can’t you tell one of these nice men to rip up one of their shirts?”

           “I believe, Mr. Carter that I can assume that you packed more than one shirt. But we,” Lassiter waved his hand to include the rest of the men in the room, “only have the clothes we have on our backs.” Then he smiled, a sinister smile I had learned to hate.

           Finally, Henry came in, and I dunked a piece of the ripped shirt into the cold water, then placed it on Colt’s head, praying that the fever would go down. It was then that I realized I hadn’t really prayed since that morning, before the outlaws had come.

           Dear God, I started, I’m sorry for not putting you first. Help us now to trust in You to get out of here safely. And heal Colt Whitworth, if it is Your will. Amen.

           As I started to stand, Colt awoke, and groaned. In his haste to get to his brother, Henry pushed me out of the way. Just before I hit the ground, Mitch grabbed me from behind.

           “It’s me,” he whispered to keep me from struggling.  As he helped me get up, he whispered, “I love you.”

           I smiled up at him, then walked over to the bed to check on Colt. “How are you feeling?”

           “Like I’ve been kicked by a horse. Do I know you?”

           I smiled at him, and apologized. “I guess I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Alexandrea Carter, and I was the one that stitched you up. You were hurt pretty bad, one inch to your left and you would be dead.”

           I could hear Henry suck in his breath. I started to check the wound, still worried. The bullet was very close to Colt’s spine, and in the past I had seen people paralyzed from that.

           As I finished examining the wound, I heard Colt’s stomach growl. I looked up at him, and started to laugh when I saw how red his face was. “You must be hungry.”

           At his nod, I got up and moved toward the stove, saying on the way, “I think I’ll make supper now.”  

           Mitch jumped up from his place on the floor so quickly that Jack pulled his revolver on him. Raising his hands well above his head, Mitch volunteered to help me with supper. At Lassiter’s nod, he walked over to me, asking, “What are we supposed to make?”

           I already had a plan for supper, but now I would have to make the stew bigger. “Jack, where did you put the rabbit that Mitch had on his horse? If it’s not too much trouble, could you go get it and skin it please? Thank you. Mitch, why don’t you go out with him and pick some vegetables from the garden out back to add to the stew.”

           Henry was instructed to watch Mitch in the garden that was behind the cabin, near the corral. As they walked outside, I called after them, “Make sure you give a carrot to Spirit and Chase.”

           The look Mitch gave me made me laugh as I turned to mix up the dough for the dumplings. However, now that Mitch was gone, I felt more scared, though I didn’t want to show it. Being almost alone with Lassiter made my skin crawl, especially after what he did to me when I was thirteen. Could it only be seven years since the last time I was captured by that villain? I shuddered to think about it, knowing that I would have nightmares for a long time yet.

           “Bob, go out and check on the horses, I don’t want that man escaping and telling someone we’re here.” I jump at the sound of Lasseter’s words, then stood helpless as Bob leaves. I didn’t turn from the table as Lassiter moved closer to me. When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I elbowed Lassiter in the stomach, then went back to mixing the dumplings, amused at Colt’s shocked face. “Don’t touch me again, Lassiter.”

           Lassiter spun me around and slapped me. Hard. “Don’t do that again, or you’ll suffer as your father did.” Those words hurt me more than the slap. I could feel tears come as I agreed to leave him alone. For now.

           When Jack got back with the rabbit meat, I put it in the pot with some water and some of the rabbit bones to give it more flavor. After Mitch came back I put him to work, washing and cutting the vegetables for the stew, hoping that he didn’t notice the mark on my cheek or my red eyes. When the liquid came to a boil, I put the dumplings and veggies in.  Soon supper was ready, I put out plates, and the outlaws came to eat. I filled a plate for Colt, and took it to him.

           “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, keeping a watchful eye on Lassiter. “I wish I could have done something.”

           “Thank you, but its ok.” I whispered.

After supper, there was the matter of beds. Since there was only one real bed in the cabin and Colt couldn’t move, the rest of us would have to sleep on the floor. Finally it was decided. Bob and Jack would sleep in the barn, while Henry made himself a pallet on the floor next to the bed. Mitch and I would sleep at one end of the cabin while, thankfully, Lassiter’s bedroll was laid out on the other end.

           As we laid on our blankets, Mitch whispered, “It’s going to be ok, Alex. They’re going to find us.”

           “Who? Even if a posse finds Lassiter and his bunch, they’re not going to think we’re with them.” I stop suddenly as Mitch kissed me, then rolled over to rummage through his saddlebags. He pulled out a book, flipped through some pages, then rolled back over and handed the book to me.

           “Your Bible?”

           “Read some of the verses that are underlined. I think they’ll help you. And remember, God and I love you.” We kiss again, and Mitch fell asleep. I stayed up late, reading God’s Word. It felt good, as though I just got something I needed a long time ago. Thank you, Jesus.

***

           I awoke to someone groaning. I quickly got up to check on Colt.

           “Are you ok?”

           “Does it look like it?” Colt gasped.

           I gave him something for the pain, then decided it was time to get breakfast ready, as I heard Lassiter stir.  

           “Henry, go get the others and take care of the horses.”

           I stiffened when I heard Lasseter’s voice, then tried to focus on starting a fire in the stove. I heard Henry get up and go out the door, then someone walk over to me.

           “Want some help?”

           I look up at Mitch, almost giggling at his rumpled clothes and hair.

           “Want to make some eggs? The ones you made yesterday were good.” I finally got the fire started, then got up and hugged Mitch. “Thank you,” I whispered.

           As we started to make breakfast, Lassiter began to pace around the room. “Where are they? They should be back by now.” After a few more minutes of pacing around the cabin, he turned to Colt. “Take this gun and shoot them if they try to escape. I’m going to see what’s taking the others so long.” With that, he went to the door, opened it, and stepped out. But only for a moment. A shot rang out, and Lassiter ran back inside the cabin and slammed the door shut. “They found us!” he growled, glaring at me.

           “Throw out your guns, Lassiter! We have all your men, and we have you surrounded! At least let your prisoners go.” A voice outside yelled. No, not just a voice, the voice of Russell Tate, my uncle and Sheriff of Fresno. I looked over at Mitch, noticing that he was very close to Colt, but also got a glimpse of Lassiter. His face looked the same as when he killed my father. Dark, angry, and defiant. He’s not going to let you go, a little voice in my heart told me. You’ve got to do something. “Oh God, please help me,” I whispered under my breath.

A plan began to formulate in my head. I glance over at the frying pan that had bacon in it at the moment. A professor’s voice that I had in nursing school came to mind. Any head trauma large enough to cause a person to lose consciousness means the person has been concussed. I hid a smile and turned to the stove to monitor the bacon.

           Lassiter walked to the only window in the cabin, near the stove. As he looked out, I grabbed the frying pan, look sadly at the crispy bacon that would soon be on the floor, and used all my strength to hit the outlaw over the head with the pan.

The bacon flew every which way and the pan made a satisfying CLANG as the outlaw collapsed at my feet, his head bleeding. I turned quickly to see Mitch grab the revolver from a shocked Colt. Flashing a smile my way, he ran to the door, yelling “Don’t shoot, it’s Mitch Carter!”  I bent over the unconscious Lassiter and grabbed my gun, then returned it to my medical bag, where it belonged. Knowing Colt couldn’t get up out of the bed, I walked out of the cabin, only to be hugged to death by my brothers. I laughed and answered all of their questions, just glad to be out of that cabin and with my family.

           I turned as Mitch called my name. “We’ll never forget this place, will we?” I nodded.

           “Let’s go home.”

           On the way home, Mitch smiled at me mischievously, with a twinkle in his eye. “Remind me to never get on your bad side when there’s a frying pan nearby.”