By DENNIS BERRY

It was hot and dusty as the covered wagon sluggishly pulled into the little prairie town on the Republican River in what was then called the Nebraska Territory. It really wasn’t much of a town as we call towns now: a church, which also served as the school; livery stable; blacksmith shop; two saloons; general store and a hotel that was also the town restaurant. 

When they arrived, the wagon pulled aside the hotel, like we all have seen on the western TV shows like Gunsmoke or Little House on the Prairie. Two stories high, with a hitching post and covered porch, the lodging was a welcome sight for a family of three who had set off by themselves from St. Louis. 

The team of horses were lean and worn out. The family was the same. 

They were looking forward to a bath, a good meal and a real bed as well as resting the horses a couple nights before heading off across the mountains to California. But rest isn’t what they got.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             That very night a fire broke out in the hotel. Most likely from the kitchen stove that sat directly below their second story room. 

By the time people recognized the fire, it had already consumed the stairway and most of the ground floor. A water-bucket brigade formed from the horse trough. 

The fire had also jumped to the family’s wagon that was parked next to the hotel, with bright red and yellow flames lighting up the darkness. And smoke, so much smoke. 

The boy, about three or four years old, appeared in the window of the rented room about 30 feet from the ground. Neither parent was seen. 

The fire raged, the water splashed and people yelled for the boy to jump but he was frozen in fear. 

Then out of the darkness, a man appeared. He rushed toward the blaze and grabbed the metal stove pipe that ran from the kitchen up the side of the hotel just a foot or so from the window and up past the roof. His hands and arms sizzled from the hot stove pipe as he climbed but climbed he did.   

Reaching through the window, he grabbed the boy, pulled him out and slid down about halfway and dropped the boy to the outstretched arms of another brave soul that defied the heat, flames and smoke to come and help.

Days later with the hotel still smoldering, the town’s folk gathered at the church with the little boy. The parents had died in the fire. The wagon belonging to the family had burnt up. For this small child, everything and everyone he knew was gone.

The preacher called the meeting together saying, “what shall happen with this young lad now with no family and no possessions?”     

A rancher said his family would raise him and teach him about life on the prairie. The school teacher said she could care for him and give him a good education. The preacher's family would welcome him with the knowledge of God’s saving grace. A few others also offered.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        The boy stood at the front of the church wide eyed and confused listening to the words and promises as the people spoke. But then, his eyes saw a man standing in the shadows in the back of the church. The man had white bandages on his hands and arms covering the still bleeding burns. 

The boy stepped down from the altar and walked down the aisle to the man. Their eyes met.  Then the boy reached out and gently took the man by one of his bandaged hands and they walked out of the church and into the night to be together forever.                     

The moral of the story is simple: Even a traumatized young boy knew that actions speak louder than words and promises. 

Today here on the Republican River banks we still hear words and promises.  We need to ask ourselves, are we listening to words and promises instead of basing our beliefs on actions? Or are we the ones espousing words and promises and not taking actions? What kind of person are we? 

Action speaks louder than words and promises. Would the little boy take our hand?

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Dennis Berry is a member of the McCook Community Foundation Fund, as well as numerous boards and committees that serve McCook and Southwest Nebraska.