Ch7-Sam’s Farm

CHAPTER SEVEN Sam's Farm "I don't know," said Jack. This was one of the worst things that had ever happened. He pressed his finger against Sam's wrist to feel for his pulse, like he'd seen on TV and in movies. Sam's eyes opened. "Giddyup," he said weakly. Jack laughed with relief. "Whew, we were afraid you were dead!" he said.

"Ain't dead yet," Sam whispered, blinking, "but I am seeing stars and my ears are ringing." "Does your head hurt?" asked Annie. "Yes, bad," Sam said quietly, his eyes squinting with pain. "You might have a concussion," Jack said. "Is there a doctor nearby?" "Thirty-five…," said Sam. "Minutes?" asked Jack. "Miles," Sam whispered. "Whoa, that's really far," said Annie. "I have to go home… to our farm," said Sam. He struggled to sit up. "Careful," said Jack. He couldn't remember what to do if someone had a concussion. With Jack and Annie's help, Sam managed to get on his feet. "Thanks," the boy said. He staggered toward his horse, then swayed and collapsed onto the ground again. "Sam!" said Annie. She and Jack gently helped him back up to a standing position. "Dizzy… just dizzy," whispered Sam. "We'll help you get home," said Annie. "You can't do it by yourself. Right, Jack?"

"Right," said Jack. He knew it was the right thing to do. But as soon as we get him home to his parents, we have to find Abraham Lincoln, he thought. "Sam can sit in front of me and I'll hold on to him," Annie said to Jack. "You can take the reins and walk alongside us." "Okay." Jack kept holding Sam, while Annie unhitched the straps, freeing the horse. The wind had died down. The horse was calm as Annie coaxed her to a tree stump. She climbed onto the stump and then onto the horse's back. "Your turn, Sam," said Jack. Jack held Sam's elbow as the gangly boy climbed onto the stump. Then Sam hauled himself onto the horse in front of Annie. He started to slump forward. Before he could slide off, Annie grabbed him and held him up. "Got him?" said Jack. "My cornmeal," Sam whispered. "I'll get it," said Jack. He found a panel in the bottom of the grinder and opened it. Then he grabbed the empty sack and scooped the ground corn inside.

Jack slung the sack over his shoulder. Then he picked up the reins and turned the horse around. Annie held Sam as Jack led the horse along the lonely road back the way they had come. This isn't the way things are supposed to happen, Jack thought. He knew they were supposed to trust the magic. But now they were helping the person who was supposed to help them. "Where is your farm, Sam?" Jack asked after a while. The boy didn't answer. "Sam!" said Annie, giving him a little shake. "Your farm? Where is it?" Sam opened his eyes. "Here," he said. Jack didn't see any sign of a farm. The only things up ahead were a small, windowless log cabin and a shed. A curl of smoke rose into the white sky. "Here where?" asked Jack. Sam pointed to the cabin and shed. That's it? Jack thought. Sam's family must be really poor.

The cabin and shed were in a scrubby clearing. The clearing was dotted with piles of stones and stumps where trees had been chopped down. Not much of a farm, Jack thought. But at least they hadn't wasted a lot of time getting Sam home.

Jack led the horse toward Sam's farm. The cabin not only had no windows—it didn't even have a door! A black bearskin hung over the entrance. The horse stopped near the lean-to shed. The sound of a cow mooing came from inside. "I'll help you, Sam," Jack said, dropping the sack of cornmeal to the ground. "Careful, careful." Sam lowered himself down from the horse. When his feet touched the ground, Jack grabbed him. "Lean on me," he said. He put Sam's arm around his shoulders. "Got him?" said Annie. "Yep," said Jack. As Jack and Sam stumbled toward the cabin, Annie slid off the horse and tied her to a fence post beside the shed. Then Annie grabbed the sack of cornmeal. She ran to the cabin and pushed aside the bearskin, so Jack could help Sam inside. No one was home. The only light in the oneroom cabin came from daylight streaming through big cracks between the logs of the walls. A low fire burned in a fireplace, but the air was cold and damp. The floor was made of dirt, and the crude