She crawled under the wagon, and now she could hear the yips and calls of the Indians as they moved in closer. A man cried out, and Marybeth saw him fall, an arrow in his chest. She could also see Josh’s boots and buckskin leggings, watched him moving back and forth, heard his gun explode several times. She tried to see the MacKinder wagon, worried about poor Ella.
A few of the Indians suddenly rode hard toward the wagon train. Marybeth could see their painted horses coming from where she lay. She kept her body over Danny to protect him, and as one horse came very close to their wagon she heard Josh’s gun go off again. The man cried out and flew from his horse, sprawling onto his back, his chest bloody. Marybeth looked away, only to see another Indian break through and swing a hatchet at the man whose wife had been shot with the arrow. A horrible bloody gash opened up across the side of the man’s neck, and Marybeth felt ill at the sight. The Indian dismounted and daringly slung the dead woman’s body over his horse. Marybeth recognized her as Anna Mae Billings, who had lost a child to cholera. Her other three children scrambled out from under the now-burning wagon screaming for their mother, but to Marybeth’s surprise, the Indian brought them no harm. He rode off with the body, and someone fired, knocking him from his horse. Another Indian rode in, grabbing the dead Indian’s horse and riding into the trees with Anna Mae.
More Indians tried to come in close, but the almost constant volley of gunfire sent them retreating. Everything became suddenly silent, almost too silent. The only sound was the dreaded crackling and popping of two wagons that were on fire, the Billings wagon, and the other one Bill Stone’s. A frightened woman began sobbing. One of the Billings children whimpered for his father, as the child bent over the man’s body, which had been nearly beheaded.
Josh bent down to look under the wagon. “You and Danny all right?”
“Yes,” Marybeth answered, her eyes moving over him. “What about you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Can you see Ella? Is the MacKinder wagon still all right?”
It took him a moment to look around. He knelt back down.
“Looks okay so far. I can see Ella under it, loading Mac’s rifle.” He rose again. “Stay put, no matter what happens, understand? If I go down, don’t try to crawl out to me.”
“Everybody stay where you are,” Cap called out. “They’ll be back.” Marybeth felt sick at the words. “Somebody tend to the Billings children.”
“Oh, God, why did they take Anna Mae’s body,” a woman wailed.
“Marybeth, are you all right,” Delores called from under her own wagon.
“Yes. What about you and Aaron?”
“We aren’t hurt so far.”
Florence Gentry hurried over to the Billings wagon with Sam, and the two of them scooped up the three Billings children, Ruth, twelve, Fred, Jr., six, and little Nina, only two years old, who was toddling around crying for her Mama.
“Dear God, Josh, why are they doing this?” Marybeth asked with a groan.
“We’ll probably never know.”
“Here they come again,” Cap shouted.
Again the guns roared and children screamed and cried. An Indian moved in boldly, Anna Mae’s body on his horse. She was naked, and from where Marybeth lay she could see the body was covered with deep gashes as though deliberately desecrated. Most of her long, blond hair was gone, with only an ugly, bloody spot remaining where her scalp had been lifted.
A woman screamed in horror at the sight as the Indian flung the body toward the wagon train, then whirled and rode off. Marybeth turned away from the sight, feeling nauseous.
John tied the old mare and took his rifle from the horse, moving in closer at the sound of gunfire. He had to know if his parents were all right. He stayed well above the line where the Indians crouched for their attack. The air roared with booming guns, screams and the yips of Indian war whoops. From his side it appeared as though the Indians were very close to the wagon train and moving toward the other side. He saw no horses, and guessed the Indians on his side had left their horses across the way, since the terrain on this side was very wooded and brushy.
He darted behind a huge boulder, noticing that right beside it was a rock formation that left a hole big enough for a man to duck inside it. He quickly moved into the hole, crouching down and removing his hat, then daringly peeking up. His heart quickened when he realized he had found an excellent vantage point to watch the wagon train. He could see his father’s wagon, which was at the edge of the circle farthest from him; he could see his father standing on the inside of the circle, firing at Indians. He saw his mother handing him a loaded musket, while he threw her an empty one. He breathed a sigh of relief that they were all right.
He scanned the rest of the train, seeing the two wagons that were burning. Then he saw him—Josh Rivers. There was no mistaking the wagon, or the buckskin pants and the blue checkered shirt he recognized. He realized his hated enemy was within shooting range.
Even John was surprised at how quickly the thought came to him. He could kill the man, and everyone would think the Indians had done it. Because of the Indian attack, he could literally get away with murder. He struggled with the idea, realizing that to shoot Josh would mean one less man to help fight the Indians and thus defend his own parents and Danny. Still, there were plenty of other men on that wagon train, and John knew there were not enough Indians to keep up the battle forever. The wagon train was better equipped for both protection and weapons.
He cautiously raised his rifle. He had had plenty of chances to practice with it, and his arm was healed enough to at least be able to hold up a rifle and pull the trigger. He took careful aim, unable to resist this most wonderful temptation. He fired, then realized he had missed when Josh moved to the other end of the wagon and kept firing at Indians. John noticed the Indians on his side were moving downhill. One came daringly close to his hiding place, and John ducked down as he heard the screeched warcry. He heard someone run past him. He stayed low for several seconds, then cautiously looked out again to see Indians running through trees and down the bank toward the other side, where he was sure the horses of those on foot were kept.
The firing slowed somewhat, and again John took aim at Josh. He realized the Indians were preparing to ride off. He had to do this quickly, or he would miss his chance. He took one more look to be sure his parents were still all right, then cocked the rifle.
“They’re retreating again,” Marybeth heard Cap yelling to the others. “Keep firing!”
She watched Josh’s feet, her only link to him, her only way of knowing he was all right. She heard him fire twice more, as the shots began to dwindle. Suddenly his feet jerked strangely. She saw his rifle clatter to the ground, and her heart seemed to freeze as his body tumbled after it. “Stay under the wagon no matter what happens,” he had told her. She stared at him in horror, clinging to Danny as the man she loved more than her own life lay sprawled on his belly, a bloody hole in his back. He looked lifeless.
Shots continued, and for the moment she could only stare in disbelief, sure some Indian was going to come crashing through to grab her and Danny if she came out from under the wagon. In the next few seconds the shots dwindled, and again came the odd silence, made more eerie and horrible by the sight of her beloved Josh lying motionless only a couple of feet away.
“Josh,” she whimpered.
She heard someone running. “Josh!” It was Aaron’s voice. “Dear God!”
“Oh, no! No!” The words came from Delores, who watched from under her own wagon.
Marybeth crawled out from under the wagon, and Aaron took Danny from her as she bent over Josh’s body while Devon and Cap came running. She told herself what she was seeing was only a nightmare, that this could not possibly be real. Hadn’t Josh promised nothing would happen to their love? Hadn’t he promised they were meant to be together, that they would reach Oregon and live happily ever after?
“Josh,” she moaned, bending over the body and moving an
arm under his head and turning it to kiss his face and hair. His eyes were closed, and he made no sound or movement. “Josh! Josh,” she wept. “Oh, God, no. Please no!”
“Let me look at him, Marybeth,” Cap told her, gently pushing her away.
“I will look around,” Devon was saying. “I think they are pulling out. This must have been for vengeance. They have killed enough of us to be satisfied.”
A woman screamed at the sight of Anna Mae’s body, and a man quickly ran toward it with a blanket to cover it up. Children wailed and women cried at the horror of the attack, while several of the men attempted to douse the flames of the two burning wagons to try to save at least some of the belongings and the wagon beds.
Marybeth folded her arms over her belly and rocked in an effort to keep from losing her mind, as she watched Cap rip Josh’s shirt away to examine the wound.
“How bad is it, Cap?” Aaron asked the question cautiously, afraid of the answer.
The man sighed. “Bad enough, but he’s still alive. From the looks of this wound, it was a higher caliber repeating rifle, not a musket.” He looked at Ben, who had also come to Josh’s side. “I didn’t know any Indians had got their hands on those new-fangled rifles yet.”
Ben shook his head. “Must have. No white man could have been up in those hills with so many Indians around.”
Cap ran his hands around the wound, and Ben helped him gently turn the body over while Marybeth watched in agony. Delores knelt behind her and put a hand to her waist.
“No exit wound,” Cap grumbled. “The damn bullet is still inside him. Look at this bruise near his ribs. I expect he’s bleedin’ on the inside.” He turned troubled eyes to Marybeth. “This is about as bad a wound as a man can have and expect to live, honey,” he told her. “You better do some prayin’ over them beads of yours. I’ve seen plenty such things in my time, and I don’t hold out much hope for him.”
She met his eyes, trembling more and shaking her head. “No! You’ve got to help him, Cap!”
“I’m going to try. But I ain’t no great surgeon, Marybeth. And a bullet inside like that—all them vital organs in there. Ain’t nothin’ worse than a bullet in the back, let alone lodgin’ in his belly.”
She looked down at Josh’s face. It looked an ungodly white, his eyes closed. “Josh,” she whispered. “Wake up. Please wake up.” The tears came then as she bent closer to kiss his hair. “Please, please wake up.”
“The pain he’d be in, he’s better off stayin’ unconscious, Marybeth,” she heard Cap saying. “Some of you men help me get him inside the wagon. Put plenty of gauze and towels under the back wound and lay him on his back. I’ll have to cut in from the front. The bullet’s most likely closer to that side, somewhere in the middle of that purple spot.”
“Move back, Marybeth,” Delores told her, “so they can lift the body.”
The body. The words sounded so deathly, as though Josh were already a corpse. This couldn’t be happening! Delores tried to pull her away, but Marybeth would not budge. Sam came over then and grasped her about the waist, pulling her away. She screamed then. Oh, how she needed to scream. She fought Sam, screaming Josh’s name over and over, screaming at him to wake up, cursing God. “Not Josh! Not Josh,” she wailed. She crumpled then, grasping her belly, realizing Josh Rivers might never even see the baby she wanted to give him. Only moments before she had seen him moving around, had heard him ask if she was all right, heard his gunshots. It was just like Bess’s mother, alive and happy and talking one moment, dead the next.
Dead! He looked so dead! Would there be another grave dug, one for her Josh? Only hours ago she had lain beneath him, taking him inside herself, enjoying his virile, strong, eager body, feeling his tender kisses, splashing in the warm spring water with him, letting him gently massage her with his gentle, soapy hands. How could the man she watched carried inside the wagon be that same man, now so lifeless and white and limp…looking so dead.
Sam started to let go of her, but her legs didn’t seem to want to work. Josh! Josh! Sam grabbed hold of her again. “We’d better take her to your wagon while Cap tries to get the bullet out,” he told Delores.
Suddenly new life came into Marybeth’s legs. “No! No, I want to be with him.”
“Marybeth—”
She turned and hit at his chest with hard fists, hardly realizing what she was doing. “No! You let me sit with him! I have to be with him!”
Sam grasped her arms and shook her. “All right! But you’ve got to calm down, Marybeth, or you’ll be no use!”
Her chest heaved in gasped sobs as she stared up at the man. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sam. You…and Florence…have suffered so much…loss. You’re both so—strong…”
“And so are you. I’ll bet Josh himself told you that many a time.”
Tears streamed down her face as Florence came up to her. The two women embraced.
“Help me, Florence,” Marybeth sobbed. “How did you do it? How do you go on?”
“We go on because we know our children are happy and romping in a better place, removed from danger and pain. And if something happens to Josh, you will go on, too, Marybeth. You still have Danny to think about.”
Marybeth pulled away, taking a handkerchief from the waist of her skirt. “I didn’t even tell him yet—that I’m carrying his—baby.”
Florence looked at Delores in surprise. “Marybeth,” Delores exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
She wiped at her eyes. “Pretty sure.” She looked at both of them pleadingly. “Can you watch over Danny for a while?”
“Of course we can.” Florence grasped her hands. “You’re one of the bravest, strongest women on this journey, Marybeth. And right now Josh needs that strength. You’ve drawn on his strength, depended on him up to now. Now he needs you for the same thing. He isn’t dead, Marybeth. And with all our prayers, he won’t die.” She embraced her again. “Be strong, child.”
Sam took her arm and helped her climb into the wagon. From his perch on the hill, John watched Marybeth, his heart elated at the distant sound of her sobbing. He grinned with victory, moving from his hiding place and hurrying away to find his horse. The Indians were riding off in another direction. All he had to do now was lay low for the winter. No one would ever suspect. Come spring, he would find his parents, then pay the lonely, twice-widowed Marybeth a friendly visit.
At last he had visited the final defeat over Joshua Rivers!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Those first few hours after Josh was shot were the most excruciating of Marybeth’s life. Josh came around slightly while Cap was cutting into him, and his horrible moans of pain while Devon held his arms and Aaron held his feet tore at Marybeth’s heart like a double-edged sword. She refused to leave his side in spite of the bloody, painful operation. Cap tried to get laudanum and whiskey down Josh’s throat, but he kept choking on it and spitting most of it back up.
“I ain’t never gonna be able to do this right if we can’t make him lay still,” Cap told them all. The man was obviously shaken himself. Cap was very fond of Josh Rivers. “I sure don’t like bein’ the one to have to do this, but I ain’t got no choice, Marybeth.”
She looked at Cap with a tear-stained face, the horrible grief and terror evident in her eyes. “Just do what you can,” she said, her voice gruff from her screams of agony earlier.
“You’re a brave woman, and he loves you. That’s gonna help.”
Finally, between what laudanum did stay down, and the horrible pain, Josh passed out. Devon and Aaron quickly tied his hands and feet in case he came to again.
Marybeth handed Cap whatever he needed, and Delores brought hot water. More low moans came from Josh when Cap dug for the bullet, and it was evident that somewhere in his semi-conscious mind Josh Rivers was in horrifying pain. Marybeth wished she could take some of it upon herself, anything to relieve his suffering. Blood seemed to be everywhere, and Cap kept packing the wound and sewing organs with the supply of cat gut he always ca
rried for emergencies, dumping whiskey onto the cut in hopes of preventing infection.
“Our first worry is that he don’t bleed to death,” the man grumbled as he kept searching for sources of the bleeding after finally finding the bullet.
Marybeth held Josh’s head in her lap. Outside she could hear hymn-singing. She wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but apparently it had been enough for the others to dig more graves. She shuddered at the horror of putting Josh’s young, handsome body into one of those graves. Such a short time ago he had been so vital, smiling, teasing her, making love to her. How could one small bullet bring down such a big, strong man?
Devon washed off the bullet and studied it. “You were right, Cap. This is from a repeating rifle. I do not understand it. Those Crow must have already attacked some other whites, perhaps mountain men, stole their weapons.”
Suddenly Marybeth thought of John. Was he dead? Josh had mentioned something about Mac giving John a new repeating rifle to take with him. Perhaps that was where the Indians got the weapon. If there were angry Indians out there, it was unlikely John in his inexperience had managed to avoid them. Her emotions were a mixture of sorrow and relief at the thought of it. Yet if John were alive, perhaps this never would have happened. Perhaps no Indian would have got hold of a repeating rifle. Even in death, John MacKinder had come back to haunt her, had inadvertently got his vengeance on Josh.
“You are thinking John MacKinder is dead,” Devon said aloud, seeing the far-away look in Marybeth’s eyes.
“What?” She met his dark eyes, for a moment wanting to hate him because he looked so Indian. But it was just like she and Josh had talked about. She had asked him not to judge all Irishmen by the MacKinders. And she could not judge all Indians by those who had attacked them today, especially when she did not know the reason. “How did you know?”
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