by Risner, Fay
Of course, he noticed she did change the story here and there as the years went by. Not that it hurt anything. Her story always got better and more exciting with the telling.
It helped back then that Bat's younger sister, Billie, lived with them. Billie was good company for Hannah, and he sure enjoyed having her around.
Right after they moved to the ranch one fall, they lived in the log cabin all winter. In April, Hannah and Billie had to stay alone for the month. Bat took five pack mules to get supplies for the winter from Stillwater. He needed to hire cowhands and drive back a herd of breeding stock for the ranch. That was going to take some time, traveling slow.
Bat twisted around on his saddle and waved at Hannah and Billie. He was branding his memory with a picture of home and the women he loved. From the log cabin porch, they waved at him as they watched him disappear from sight.
The lean to attached to the cabin was stacked full of fire wood for cooking and heating water. Bat made sure of that. The tawny colored milk cow paced in the corral attached to the log barn. She rested her head on the top log rail and gave a plaintive, dolorous moo, wanting to be milk. Bat told Hannah to keep Clara Belle penned up until he got back. He didn't want Hannah wondering around on the prairie looking for that cow. Between copperheads, rattlers and Indians, the prairie was too dangerous.
The best Bat remembered how Hannah's story went after he left was like this. One morning about two weeks later, Hannah poured herself a second cup of coffee from the pot always kept simmering on the back of the wood cookstove.
She sat down at the roughly hewed table across from Bat's sister, Billie, and pushed her dirty breakfast dishes out of the way. Bat had been gone two weeks, and she was mopy from missing the fire out of him.
Practical Billie brought her back to reality. “It took the last of the water to make coffee, Hannah. We can’t do dishes until we fetch more.” Billie put her elbow on the table and stuck her fist under her chin. her focus was on the timber beyond the cabin’s open door. “You think it’s safe to go after the water right now?”
“I cain’t say fer sure.” Hannah blew on the coffee and took a sip.
Billie’s brow wrinkled in worry. “Don’t it seem to you them Indians are more restless of late? I don't remember ever seeing as many batches of them passing back and forth across the ranch as they have recently. Makes me wonder what has happened.”
Hannah kept her eyes on her cup. “We've sighted a might more Indians I know since Bat left which is a might worrisome. I just keep thinking that don't mean much. Indians aren't about to let us see them until they attack if they on the warpath.”
Hannah missed her husband the minute he disappeared from her sight over the knoll, leading the pack mules. Just mentioning him, made her miss him more. Every night, she crawled into their bed and threw her hand over into Bat's hollowed out spot in the straw mattress. The spot was stone cold. It would be until Bat came home, and each day she grew more uneasy. Something was a foot with the Indians which might mean Billie and she was in danger. Hannah wished he was there with her.
She listened to the coyote packs yip as they ran through the hills. At least, she hoped what she heard was coyotes and not Indians. She was so uneasy worrying about the what ifs it took her awhile to fall to sleep, then she always hated to get out of bed the next morning.
As the long days passed, it seemed to the women that Indians lurked behind every hill, tree and bush. With each half naked savage they saw, Hannah wished fervently that Bat was there with her and Billie.
The morning they were out of water Billie was thinking the same thing. Only she spoke her thoughts out loud. “All I can think about is, I wish Bat was back already. I been noticing one tall, tough looking, skinny Indian. I've seen him enough now that I recognize him on sight. He stops to watch me hoe in the garden when he sneaks by.” Billie looked over at Hannah. “Ever think about what we should do if Indians was to catch us and try to carry us off?”
“Plenty of times,” grunted Hannah.”We don't want that to ever happen I reckon. We've heard enough stories about what happens to women captives. Horrible nightmare tortures for the unlucky women that get caught by those savages.” She drummed on her tin cup with her fingers.
“That's why I'm thinking maybe we should talk about some for instances so we're prepared,” stated Billie. “We need to face the fact us getting captured by Indians just might happen some time or other. We’re here by ourselves for quite a spell this time while Bat is gone. This won't be the last time my brother has to leave us alone.”
“Could be if the Indians don't figured out we're here without a man around, they will soon be done with all the spying on us. We're just a passing fancy. They have more worrisome problems that's keeping them on the move.” Hannah blew out a breath.
Billie shook her head. “That's only wishful thinking. You've heard talk just like me. You know what happens when those savages get a hold of a white woman. It's the most brutal way to die or live if one of the braves decide to keep you for a squaw.
I'm being truthful with you when I say you just aren't any white woman, Hannah. You should be worried more than most women about being a trophy for an Indian. That fireball red hair of yours makes you a prize catch for any Indian or Comancheros. I reckon that skinny chief that's been peeking at us from the bushes would like to have your mop of hair on his breech cloth band. That's a fact.”
Hannah stiffened slightly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Sorry to be so blunt, but we need to face facts,” Billie said.
“I best be wearing my bonnet when we're outside to hide my hair. I don't want to tempt one of them savages.” Hannah studied her sister-in-law long and hard. “Maybe ya should consider wearing yer bonnet, too. I think that chief would like yer curly, blond locks just as well as he would my red hair.”
Billie brushed a blond curl away that pasted to her sweaty cheek. “You really think so? Maybe we should stay hold up in the house until the men get back. We can defend ourselves better in here.”
“That's for sure. We've got guns, and we know how to use them. I vowed to myself when I moved this close to Indian territory with yer brother I’d fight to my death if those savages caught me. I mean to do just that. Don’t figure on being trapped in this house or taken alive by savage redskins without giving them a fight.” Hannah stood up. “Except for one small problem. If we're going to hold up in here, we need to fill the water buckets and every kettle we have. We've got to have water to drink, wash dishes in and cook with for the duration.”
Billie gathered all the kettles and pans in the cupboards and put them on the end of the table. “It might take a couple trips to get enough water to fill these kettles.”
“Maybe three trips before we're done.” Hannah grabbed her rifle propped in the corner by the door and picked up the water bucket and the milk bucket in her left hand.
“I agree, and I'm already worrying about how many trips we might make before we make one too many. We just might get caught by Chief Skinny.” Billie’s complexion turned pasty, but she followed her sister-in-law’s lead. She picked up her gun from the corner and another bucket.
“Stay put until I look around,” Hannah said.
Chapter Three
Hannah eased outside and stood with her back against the rough logs on the porch wall. She wanted to stay close to the door opening for a minute in case she had to duck inside quick if she didn't like what she saw or heard.
The spring air smelled fresh and crispy cool. Just the way, she liked it when she needed all her senses awake and alert to danger.
Red and pink sky colored the eastern horizon. The sun was up enough to brighten Hannah's surroundings and carried the promise of a nice day.
Dew sparkled grass blades in the sunlight as far as Hannah could see. Usually, she liked seeing twinkling glitter even though dew soaked up her skirt hem as fast as kerosene did a wick. This morning she had too much to worry about to enjoy her surroundings.
> It did seem way too peaceful outside. Quiet sometimes was a warning, but she might be wrong. Hannah hoped she was making a mountain out of a mole hill. She wanted to be wrong. She hated to have anything spoil a day as nice as this one had started out. If the Indians had to cause trouble, she prayed they waited until Billie and her had plenty of water stored in the cabin.
Cautiously, Hannah scanned the underbrush at the edge of the clearing for any kind of movement. On the back side the garden, she didn't see any Indians darting behind the trees and underbrush. That was usually where the redskins watch the house while Billie hoed.
Now that the first shafts of pale sunlight had broken over the area, the birds woke up and flapped their wings, ready to fly off their tree roosts. A redwing blackbird's thrill stood out among the repetitive cheeps of song sparrows. In the distance, a quail called his bobwhite tune, and another answered. At least, Hannah thought she heard real quails. Indians were experts at bird calls as signals so she knew she couldn't trust her hearing.
A mourning dove cooed in the brush, and one answered down by the creek. Most mornings as they walked toward the creek, they heard mourning doves. That was always a good sign when the birds weren't afraid to sing.
The rooster crowed in the chicken coop back of the cabin. He upset the laying hens, causing them to cackle and caw. The rooster didn't have a reason to be quiet. What did that old cock know about the dangers outside his coop? He was just a domesticated chicken. Not a wild bird loose on the prairie with wild instincts when it came to danger.
With Indians on the prowl, even the short distance from the house down the path through the trees to the creek was a nervous march. Half way down that path, they would lose sight of the cabin. Any distance away from the cabin made it hard to race back to the cabin's safety.
Usually, when Hannah and Billie saw Indians glide by the clearing in recent days, it was just before dusk or just after dawn. So far, Hannah hadn't seen any signs of Indians. With watchful eyes, she tightened her grip on her Winchester and said softly over her shoulder, “Might as well come on out, Billie.”
“No sign of Indians today? That's good, isn't it?” Billie asked hopefully. She took a quick look around as she stood in the doorway. “I don't see old skinny chief out here.” She smiled weakly at Hannah.
“I haven't seen any Indians atall. That old chief is probably long gone by now,” said Hannah. She wanted to sound more confident of her answer for Billie's sake than she felt. She added softly, “I don't see any strange movement, but that doesn't mean Indians aren't nearby right this minute. This may be the day, they didn't move on.”
“I'd rather you hadn't put that idea in my head,” Billie grumbled.
Hannah was trying to prepare herself as much as Billie to face the facts. The savages might be standing as quiet as mice and still as a statue of General Robert E. Lee, watching from behind the trees. Billie was smart enough to understand that and just the same, scared enough to have butterflies in her stomach.
Even if the Indian were around, the women had made up their minds, they couldn’t do without water. As they edged away from the cabin, Hannah's head swiveled on her neck one way and the other, reminding Billie of a hoot owl looking for a mouse. As the distance lengthened between them and the cabin, Hannah's determination weaken. “We can't do without water for a whole two weeks until Bat gets home. We got to chance going to the creek, don't we?”
“We do. Now don't start trying to change your mind. We're out in the open, and on our way to the creek so just keep walking across this yard. There isn't anything else we can do,” Billie chided.
With a little encouragement from each other, their minds were made up. They kept moving.
Hannah planned, “Once we get to the creek, dipped the buckets full fast.”
“I know and head back to the cabin quick,” Billie whispered. “Then what?”
“We'll make the decision about another trip to the creek once we're safe in the cabin,” Hannah answered.
“Good, because I may lose my nerve and not want to try this jaunt again today,” Billie groused.
“I know what ya mean.” Hannah eased to the path, alert for danger and Billie moved softly beside her. Wordlessly, the women started on the shaded, timber lined clay, rocky path to Sidewinder Creek.
A sharp crack of a broken stick sounded like a knife cutting a rabbit bone and sliced through the quiet timber. Hannah and Billie expected the worse as they froze in place. Their eyes on behind and in front of them as they listened intently.
“This time of morning that might have been a deer stirring in the hardwoods,” Billie suggested in a trembling voice.
“They usually do stir right about now for sure. Ya just might be right. It was a deer we heard,” Hannah said in a whisper, trying to convince herself.
Billie summoned the courage to agree. “That's what it was.”
Hannah hated to upset Billie. She could have mentioned the birds quit singing once they started down the path, but she didn't. She still wasn't sure birds is what she heard earlier.
A rabbit ran in front of them across the path. They normally shot rabbits on these walks to use in rabbit track soup. Billie raised her gun instinctively.
Hannah reached over and lowered the barrel, giving Billie a nod of her head. She hissed, “No more noise than we can help today. Not a good idea to announce to the Indians we're out here. Anyway, we need to save our ammo in case we have an emergency.”
A slight breeze ruffled Billie’s curls. Nervous perspiration plastered one stray curl over her left eye. She wiped across her eye and pressed her hand on top her head to hold her hair in place. “Hannah, we forgot our bonnets.”
“Too late now,” grumbled Hannah with her eyes on the surroundings. “Just keep moving.”
She could see the creek bank ahead of them. The soothing rush of running water gave her a calming feeling. They were almost there.
Another twig snapped. That was the only noise in the timber. Someone or some animal was close by. Hannah bit her lower lip as she darted a nervous glance at Billie. Billie's face had paled.
Hannah’s heart pounded as she thought of Indians. She listened intently. Not too far from them, a whippoorwill called. From the other side the path, a whippoorwill answered.
Hannah stopped and shook her head at Billie. “We got to make a run for the cabin. Them whippoorwill calls was wrong.”
Billie dropped her buckets and took off running. “Must be really dumb Indians behind the trees to think they can fool us. Whippoorwills only hollered at the beginning of night. For sure, they don't call this time of day.”
Hannah wasn’t a bit surprised when six Indians stepped from behind the trees. She halted behind Billie when the Indians slowly surrounded them.
Billie gave a low squeal but kept her composure. She raised her rifle, turning so her back was to Hannah's back. That way she faced the Indians blocking the path to the cabin.
The tall, skinny leader confronted Hannah. In a deep passive tone, the narrow faced Indian jabbered gruffly at the women. Waving a finger at their guns, he pointed the finger down toward the ground.
A tall, solid built woman, Hannah planted her feet and glared at the Indian. She raised her head high, wanting him to see the fire in her eyes. “Old Skinny Chief is as ugly as a mud fence,” she cracked.
“This is no time to be making jokes he isn't going to like,” Billie complained.
Back to back with her sister-in-law, Hannah felt Billie tremble. Out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “Stay calm, Sis. That old buzzard can't understand a word we say.” Hannah looked the Indian chief in the eyes and shook her head. “I don’t understand yer language.”
An Indian, with the quickness of a mountain lion, snatched Billie’s rifle out of her hands. Billie squealed as the weapon landed in a gooseberry thicket.
The chief grabbed for Hannah’s rifle barrel and missed. She brought the rifle up and swiped the Indian’s face hard enough to make a resounding smack.
>
That was totally unexpected. With a surprised look, he rubbed the red streak instantly turning purple on his cheek. He glowered at Hannah and shouted angry words to his men. The Indians rushed the women.
The fight was on. Two braves grabbed Hannah’s arms while the leader wrestled Hannah’s rifle out of her grip and threw it into the bushes.
Hannah and Billie shouted, encouraging each other between yelling and screaming. The women kicked, punched, pulled braids and bit hands and arms.
The Indians yowled in pain between grunting and panting hard. They tried their darnedest to hold onto the women. At times, it looked as if the women were getting the best of them.
Finally, Billie gave up and collapsed from exhaustion. Three of the Indians pulled her to the side of the path. They squatted down next to her to watch the show as the other three Indians fought with Hannah. Billie's attackers didn't want any part of the fight with Hannah. They were tuckered from fighting Billie.
Time stood still as the struggle continued with no sign of let up on Hannah’s part. The three braves struggled with her, letting go one at a time when she assaulted them. They backed out of her reach, yelping in pain.
Then for a spell, they strategy was to take turns getting back into the fracas one at a time. They hoped the other two braves would be more rested when it was their turn.
Screaming like a cat a mount threatening to kill, Hannah turned in a slow circle with her hands shaped into claws. She gave each of the Indians a wild eyed look, jabbing her hands at them. As tired and bruised as she was, she dared the braves to continue to take her on.
Finally, while one of the braves had Hannah distracted, the tall, skinny Indian rushed her from behind. His strong arms circled her in a steel vise grip, pinning her arms to her sides.
With renewed determination, he grunted as he picked her up. Hannah kicked his shins as hard as she could. The Indian grunted in pain, but he didn't dare let go of this fighting she devil now that he had her caught. She'd kill him for sure. He endured her thrashing struggles and horrendous screams without losing his grip.