by Joyce Armor
The deep regret that he would take to his grave would be his inability to protect Bridget and their unborn child. Thinking about what those men would do to the women if they were caught alive churned his stomach. And then the thought he had been avoiding came unbidden into his head. Should he and Gus end their wives’ lives if the situation became hopeless? And what about little Henry? He felt sick. Just then another shot rang out, hitting the front door. Karl responded with a shot, just to let the attackers know someone was still on watch.
A few hours later, Karl was struggling to stay awake when Gus laid a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard his brother approach. He stood wearily and nodded.
“It’s been pretty quiet.”
“We still have a few hours until dawn. I suspect that’s when all hell will break loose.”
And that’s when they would be able to see the ashes of their barn. Karl gave his brother a sad smile and started toward the bedroom. Then he saw Bridget replacing Jeff at the back door, and he veered toward her. Nodding as he passed the trusted ranch hand, he caught up to his wife as she checked Marty, who was still unconscious. After a moment she rose and sunk into Karl’s arms. He held her tightly, trying to convey all the love he felt for this remarkable woman. After a few moments, she sniffed.
He stepped back, holding her shoulders. “Are you smelling me?”
“I’m just taking in your essence. It’s piney and leathery and manly.”
He grinned. “I am manly, aren’t I?”
She chuckled. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go lie down?”
He thought about that. “Yeah, I’ll go lie down with Per.”
“Do that and die.”
He laughed. “I’ll take the loft bed. Wake me before dawn if I’m not up.”
He hugged her again. “I know things look bad,” she said, her voice muffled into his chest. “But I have a feeling that everything will turn out all right. It wouldn’t hurt to pray, though.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
He gave her one long, wet, passionate kiss and headed on up to the loft, fighting the urge to drag her with him. If his arms hadn’t supported him on the climb, his legs never would have made it; he was that tired. While he didn’t want to sleep through what might be his last few hours on this earth, he couldn’t function if he didn’t get at least a little rest.
A couple of hours before dawn, Marty began groaning and finally opened his eyes. Bridget knelt down and felt his forehead. It was cool.
“You’re awake. How do you feel?”
He turned his head toward her and grimaced. “Like I got kicked by a mule.”
She smiled. “You took a bullet that carved a path along the side of your hard head. I need to check the wound.”
He didn’t nod, figuring that would hurt, but tried to smile. She gently unwrapped the bandaging and studied her handiwork. The wound was still nice and moist, if she did say so herself, and there was no redness around it. She reached over to her medical bag and pulled out the jar of salve, reapplying it gently. Then she wrapped a fresh bandage around his head.
“It looks good, Marty. I can give you a tincture for the headache if you’d like.”
“I think I could use it, ma’am.”
“Don’t you go ma’amin’ me. It’s Bridget.”
He chuckled and then moved a shaky hand to his head. “Oh, don’t make me laugh.”
She got him treated and fed. Now that he was squared away, she felt relief that he was on the mend. The fact that Marty was laid low because of something she and Gus had done weighed on her as it was. She didn’t need a permanent injury to add to her guilt. Logically, of course, she knew the guilt lay with Hobie Pike and his gang. But guilt knew no logic. Getting a grip on her emotions, Bridget handed Marty his gun while she went off to check on Per.
As she unwrapped the bandaging on Per’s arm, her cousin stirred and then opened her eyes.
“I was dreaming of a pristine mountain lake with the greenest pine trees you ever saw. Gus and I were naked on the shore.”
“Really, I don’t need to hear about it.”
“You woke me up before we had time to do anything.” She winced as her sister gently pulled the gauze where it was sticking.
“You look fine, too. I’m really good.”
“What?”
“Oh, Marty’s awake and recovering.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.”
“You don’t have any swelling or infection so far.”
“It hurts, but not as bad as it did last night.” Then she looked around. “Is it morning?”
“The sun should rise in about an hour.”
Per struggled to sit up. Bridget helped her. “And then they’ll come.”
“I fear so.”
“Bridget, if…we don’t make it.”
“We’ll make it.”
Per placed a hand on Bridget’s arm. “If we don’t, I just want you to know how much it’s meant to me to be your cousin. I’m so glad you came here.”
“Likewise on both points.”
They hugged, with Bridget mindful of Per’s injured arm, laughing when Buddy tried to worm his way in with them. And then Per got up to tend to Henry. When it came right down to it, God, family and friends, including furry friends, were all that truly mattered in this world. With their situation so dire, Bridget didn’t care about the barn or the cabin or anything in it. She cared about the people in this house, and this little dog, and she would defend them to the death. With that determined thought, she marched off toward the kitchen to resume her post.
* * *
The scraping noise almost didn’t wake Karl, who felt as if he was in a fog. And then it suddenly registered. Someone was opening the trap door in the ceiling. That realization instantly woke him. He was so exhausted when he went to the bed, he never got under the covers or even took his boots off. He yanked his gun out of the holster and waited, as alert as he had ever been. As a wiry, dirty, smelly outlaw dropped down into the loft clutching a pistol, his eyes widened when he saw Karl. It was the last thing he saw. Not particularly aiming at any body part, just defending himself, Karl shot him through the heart. How had the man gotten on the roof? The ladder had burned in the barn. He must have shinnied up like a monkey.
Moments later Gus bolted up the ladder to the loft, gun drawn.
Karl sighed. “Let’s get him back on the roof and throw him off. I don’t want him bleeding out or deteriorating in here.”
“Well, that’s another one down.” Gus’s smile was grim.
Even though the man was thin, it was a struggle getting him back through the trap door and onto the roof. The brothers expected shots to ring out, but all was quiet as they crouched and rolled the dead man off the roof onto the side of the house. He landed with a thump that made Karl cringe. This was a bloody business. He followed his brother back through the trap door and had just gotten his head through when a shot rang out. That was a close one. He could almost feel the breeze at the top of his hair as the bullet whizzed by.
One by one, the group inside the house fortified themselves with coffee and a surprisingly wonderful breakfast of ham, eggs, biscuits and blueberries prepared by Bridget. Even Buddy gobbled up a bowl of ham and eggs. A last meal? Most of them thought it, but no one mentioned it. Still, there were loving caresses between the two couples and heartfelt statements about what Jeff and Marty meant to the family and how honored they were to work for the Burgens. Perhaps it should have been sappy. Instead, it was heartwarming and brought a depth to the relationships that led to smiles on everyone’s faces. For better or worse, they were a team and would live or die together. And as if to demonstrate all they had to lose, little Henry played on with his toys, oblivious to the danger.
The sun was now peeking over the horizon, and they all assumed their posts. Twice in the past 24 hours one of them had shot or otherwise disabled a person trying to torch the house, once from the front and once from the side. It was Bridget’s biggest fear. There
would be no defense if a fire took hold. Still, it was only a house. She knew their situation was dire, yet her innate optimism would not let her believe all hope was lost. She thought about all she and Karl had been through up to this point, his injuries, the cattle rustling, her gunshot wound, the Indian boy, their growing closeness. She wished they could guard the same post. Just holding his hand would calm her soul.
And then shots rang out and the day’s siege began. The outlaws first tried all attacking from the side, forcing everyone inside to rush to the bedrooms to ward the attackers off. Pike and his men seemed to have an endless supply of bullets, while the Burgens and their ranch hands were forced to conserve ammunition. Even doing that, they were running low. At one point, Gus picked up the slingshot and bag of pebbles and placed it within reach. Karl looked at him and just shook his head. It had almost come to that. Abruptly, he left his post and strode to the kitchen. He looked out the back window and then pulled Bridget into his arms and hugged her with all the love he could muster.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said tenderly. “I love you with all my heart, you and our babe.”
“You’re not a bad husband either,” she grinned.
Did nothing ever get this woman down? Nothing except you verbally abusing her early on.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you first arrived.”
“Water under the bridge, my love. You were just cranky because you were hurting.”
“Cranky is a nice way to put it.”
At that point Marty, who had been sleeping on the kitchen floor, awoke and sat up. He put a hand to his head and blinked.
Bridget stepped back from her husband. “How’s your head?”
“Not so bad, just a dull ache. I can get back to defending a window.”
“Good,” Karl smiled. “We can use you. Go light on the firing, though. We’re low on bullets.”
Marty got that look that let Karl know he understood they were in a bad situation. He got to his hands and knees and then stood, overcoming momentary dizziness before walking to the front room to take over Karl’s post.
Karl put his hand on Bridget’s soft, soft cheek. He had to fight back unmanly tears that were trying to form. He couldn’t think of anything he had left unsaid. The look in her eyes told him she loved him as much as he loved her. It was more than he could have asked for in this life and more than he deserved.
The shooting began again, and he hurried to the front room. Bridget smiled as she watched him go. No limp. Supreme confidence. And nice arse. Was she a lucky woman or what? She fired at a shadowy figure out back and then checked her ammo. She had four bullets left. Glancing at the dining table, she noted all the ammo was gone. So be it. If she used the remaining bullets wisely, four more outlaws could be dead or at least incapacitated. The ever optimistic Bridget.
Chapter 9
An hour passed with sporadic firing. Gus made the rounds then, asking his friends and family how many bullets they had left. Karl and Gus were down to one each. Marty had three, Jeff and Per two, and Bridget had one. She had kept the back door clear but didn’t know if she had hit anyone. Marty gave one of his bullets to Bridget. Karl knew then he could never shoot her, no matter how dire their situation. He just couldn’t do it. He was certain Gus felt the same way about Per. While there was life, there was always hope. With so little ammunition left, the group decided to all congregate in the front room, back to back, so someone would see if anyone came into the house from any direction. They determined to save their ammo for that eventuality.
This was not a time for small talk. The tension grew as they waited for the inevitable final attack. Karl put a hand on Bridget’s belly and pulled her close. They hadn’t even told Gus and Per yet that she was pregnant. Somehow this didn’t seem like the right time either; it would only increase their regret if the worse happened. Bridget found herself wondering how many other people had landed themselves in similar circumstances in the settling of the western frontier. Or for that matter in the highlands of Scotland or the deserts of Egypt. Simply put, there were things worth dying for. She wasn’t dying for the house or the barn. If she died this day, it would be protecting the people—Buddy jumped in her lap at that point—and yes, the dog, who had become so dear in her life.
“One of us should write a quick letter of what happened here, um, just in case.”
It was Bridget’s idea and a good one. They should have thought of it sooner. At the very least, Hobie Pike shouldn’t get away with this. The baby began gurgling and Per jumped up and left the room. When she returned with Henry a few minutes later, she handed Bridget a piece of paper and a pencil. As fast as she could, Bridget recorded the events of the cattle rustling, the shoot-out, the ambush attempts and the final attack. When she finished, she looked up.
“Where should we put it? We don’t want them to find it.”
“In the room under the trap door?” Gus suggested.
“It might never be found there.”
‘I know,” Bridget smiled.
They all looked at her.
“Inside the soup tureen.”
Per grinned. “Men would never look there.”
“Won’t the soup ruin it?” Jeff was confused.
“It’s empty, and it has a lid. This paper might not be found for weeks or months, but it will be found.”
The thought of someone else using their dishes didn’t disturb the women at all. It made no sense for any useful items to go to waste. Bridget had just had that thought when a thunderous crash jolted them all. Before they even had a chance to stand, the front door crashed open. The outlaws had used a large log to devastating effect and several barreled through the door.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Hobie Pike sneered, pointing his gun directly at Bridget.
The tightknit group looked at one another and lowered their firearms. They knew if they started firing, some outlaws would die, but so would several of them. Karl was more than surprised that the attackers hadn’t come in guns blazing, and then he realized Pike would want them to suffer, now that he had the upper hand. Seeing the man up close, the rancher almost wanted to laugh. Pike was on the small side, the kind of scrapper that made big noise so everyone would pay attention to him. His eyes were bloodshot and kind of sunken in. His clothes, denim trousers and a blue shirt, looked well worn and slept in. Of course, the Burgens didn’t look much better, he supposed.
“Let’s see, who will I kill first?” Why don’t they look scared? They should be shaking in their boots.
Bridget held onto Karl’s hand and felt a peace within her. Per and Gus also held hands, and Gus had an arm wrapped around his wife and the baby. Henry babbled on at the little duck toy he held, still oblivious to the danger. Jeff and Marty both looked defiant. Two of Pike’s men stood near the door with him, and another two, guns drawn, watched from the other side of the group.
“You, girlie, come here.” Pike pointed to Bridget.
This was it. Decision time. Bridget squeezed Karl’s hand and tried to rise, but he squeezed back, holding her in place.
“How ‘bout if I just put a bullet through your man’s brain?”
Bridget had no doubt in her mind Pike would do it. Bridget wrenched her hand from Karl’s and stood. She had taken one step toward Pike, trying not to show her revulsion at his leer, when he grunted loudly. She watched, almost as if it was happening to someone else, as he fell forward, the gun falling from his hand. She heard the terrifying Indian “whooping” sound at the same time she saw the arrow sticking from his back.
Then Karl grabbed her wrist and dragged her down as Gus and the other men snatched up and began firing their guns, dropping the other outlaws in the room. Suddenly there was silence, one of those deafening silences that fray the nerves. The women were afraid to look outside and afraid not to. The men may also have felt afraid, but that didn’t stop them from cautiously walking through the front-door opening. Five or six more outlaws looked dead, several arrows st
icking out of most of them.
Only two Indians stood near the corral. Gus recognized one as the father—or was it the uncle—of White Eagle. Their eyes locked for a moment. The Indian warrior nodded and the two men disappeared into the woods. Lord, it was over.
The first thing the men did was check all the outlaws’ pulses. They only found one still alive, one of the men in the house. It was possible one or more had slunk away in the night, but they didn’t think so. If Bridget’s original count was accurate, all 15 men were accounted for. She patched up the injured man as best she could—he was gut shot and, although she removed the bullet and repaired the damage as best she could, it didn’t look good for the man.
As they didn’t want to get the Indians in trouble, Karl persuaded Bridget to carefully remove the arrows from the dead outlaws, a grisly task at best. Then the men loaded the 11 smallest bodies into the wagon, and then the injured man on top, not feeling too much guilt at what a horrific ride that would make for him. They rolled the other three in blankets and secured them to the backs of three horses. Gus, Jeff and Marty took the bodies to Vale, while Karl, Bridget and Per stayed to set the property to rights as best they could.
As Per tended to Henry’s needs, Karl concentrated on repairing the front door and Bridget chinked the bullet holes throughout the house. As she did so, she wondered how the sheriff and townspeople would react when the men brought in 14 bodies. Gus had assured them he had a good relationship with the sheriff, which put her mind at ease.
And then she realized her mind truly was at ease. The danger had passed. Yes, they would need to rebuild the barn, and quickly, before the snow came, and repair any other damages to the house and property. She knew there would always be challenges. She glanced at her husband, diligently repairing the door, and at her sister, cooing at Henry as she changed his diaper, and thought, I am so lucky.