“Ahhhh! Goddammit!” another man yelled, grasping his side. “Who the hell is in there?”
“It’s just supposed to be some old woman!” another shouted.
Faith tried to count. To her best figuring there were seven of them, but she’d apparently killed one and badly wounded another. One more had probably made it to the shed by now. That left four shooting at her, and they were taking cover now. One led the wounded man and his horse behind a broken-down stagecoach; another dismounted and ducked behind a watering trough. One ran behind an area where several rain barrels sat abreast of each other, and the fourth man…where was the fourth man? She’d tried to keep track of each one, but the fourth one was gone now.
Everything had happened so fast, she was not even sure what any of them looked like. She did see that they were all well armed and wore long canvas dusters, their hats pulled down near their eyes so that it was difficult to see their faces. One had looked like an Indian, from what she could remember. He rode a spotted Appaloosa and wore buckskins, his long hair hanging wildly about his shoulders. She had caught only a brief glimpse of him, and she remembered Buck’s warning about a half-breed who rode with outlaws.
More bullets ripped into the depot. “Mommy!” Johnny whined, beginning to sound alarmed.
“It’s all right, Johnny. Remember to stay there and hide. Don’t let anybody find you.” She kept her eyes on movements outside as she spoke, finding it difficult to keep from trembling so hard, she couldn’t shoot straight. What kind of men were these to attack a stage depot that had only an old woman to defend it, or so they thought?
The shooting stopped for a moment, and outside the chickens continued to squawk and flutter about, distraught from all the noise. A couple of chickens lay dead from stray bullets.
“Come on out, lady, and you won’t get hurt,” someone yelled. “All we want is the horses and any food and supplies you’ve got inside. Then we’re gonna wait for the next stage. It’s got an army payroll on it. We ain’t here to hurt you. We just want the payroll.”
Fury gripped Faith’s soul, as well as a deep alarm. How could she trust men like this not to violate her in the worst way? She would be defenseless against them. She was not about to let strange men touch her, nor let a terrified Johnny watch men hurt his mother. They might not hesitate to kill Johnny, for that matter. Her reply to their offer was to shoot at the man who raised his head above the barrels. He screamed, grabbing his face.
Good! Another one down. That left only two out front to shoot at her. She figured her practice shooting was paying off better than she thought, or she was just plain lucky to have hit three of them. Maybe God was doing the aiming. She decided to say nothing to them yet. She did not want them to hear a young woman’s voice.
“Harv’s dead! Let’s take the horses and get the hell out of here! We don’t need nothin’ else!”
The shouted words came from near the shed.
“We ain’t leavin’ till the old woman gives up and lets us inside!” someone else yelled. “I ain’t turnin’ my back on the crazy bitch, and I ain’t givin’ in to no old lady who’s got off a couple lucky shots.”
“Lucky! She killed Harv, and it looks like maybe Mick! Pete’s wounded bad. I don’t call that luck!”
There was another moment of silence. “Come on out, old woman!” came the warning again. It was from the same man who had originally told her to give up. He was one of the two behind the stagecoach, and Faith suspected he fancied himself the leader of the bunch of them. “Don’t make us have to come and get you!”
She still did not reply. She fired three warning shots of her own, her bullets spitting into the dirt under the stagecoach. She could see feet and legs, saw them jump out of the way. “There, you bastards!” she growled under her breath.
“There must be a man in there,” the one in the shed yelled. “Ain’t no woman can shoot like that.”
“She’s comin’ out or we’ll burn her out,” the apparent leader answered. “You hear that, lady? You can’t hold out forever. We’ll burn you out, starve you out, whatever we have to do!”
Another moment of silence.
“How’d she know we was comin’?” one of the two behind the coach finally said. “We struck early. We should have surprised her.”
“What difference does it make? She’s in there and we’re out here, and the stage will be coming around noon.”
“We shoulda just attacked the stage like we planned.”
“It’s got soldier escort. If we attacked from the open like this, we’d all have been killed,” the one who seemed to be the leader answered. “Surprising them from inside the station would have been the best plan of attack.”
“Well, this plan ain’t worked so far!” the second man grumbled. “I say we take the horses and light out of here before the stage and them soldiers get here.”
“We’ve got time,” the first man answered. “Maybe Indian has a plan.”
Indian. So there was an Indian. Where was he? Faith kept her rifle aimed steadily at the coach, making sure she saw four legs. From her vantage point she could see the shed. If the man who had made it there came out, he would also be in her line of fire. Her only hope was to keep all of them at bay until the stagecoach and soldiers arrived.
Could she hold out for at least four more hours? That’s how long it would take before the coach arrived, and it was seldom on time. In spite of the cool morning, sweat began to trickle down her forehead, and she could feel perspiration dampening the rest of her body. She closed her eyes for a moment, her neck aching from keeping a steady aim through the shutters. She wished she could see better to the side, worried where the Indian had gone. He couldn’t get in anywhere behind her, so she wasn’t too worried about that, but she remembered how quiet and sneaky Tall Bear could be, remembered hearing Hilda and Buck talk about how an Indian could, as Buck put it, “sneak up behind you even if he was wearin’ boots an’ spurs and walkin’ on broken glass.”
In the next moment she learned how true that was. She heard one of the men behind the coach laugh. Why was he laughing? Suddenly a powerful force grabbed the barrel of her rifle that protruded through the shutters, shoving it backward with such violence that the barrel of the rifle rammed against her chest. She fell backward, momentarily breathless. Before she could recover, the shutters were smashed open with the butt end of the attacker’s own rifle, and the intruder charged inside.
Faith screamed, reaching for her rifle, but the man kicked it out of the way. She headed for Johnny’s cot, crouched in front of it, telling a now crying and frightened Johnny to be still, but to no avail.
“Indian’s got her!” she heard someone shout from outside.
Faith looked up at the one called Indian. Almost instantly her terror was replaced by utter astonishment. “Tall Bear!”
He stood there with painted face, pointing his rifle at her. There was a startled look in his eyes.
“Tall Bear, it’s me—Faith Sommers. Do you remember me?”
“I remember.” He looked past her then at the curtained-off room. “You are alone here?”
“Yes. Except for my little boy.” By then Johnny had crawled out from under the cot and clung, sniffling, to her skirt.
Tall Bear looked down at him, memories coming back of another little boy—two little boys—his son, and the white boy he’d shot.
“Please make them go away, Tall Bear. I don’t want my son to be hurt. And you know what they’ll do to me if they find me alone in here.”
His gaze moved over her in a way that made her shiver. She’d been so sure she could trust him when he’d helped her bury Johnny and led her there. Now she was not so sure. Something had happened to change him.
“What’s happenin’ in there, Indian?” one of the men shouted.
Tall Bear turned, going to the window. He put his back against the wall. “You must all leave!”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“I mean what I said,
” Tall Bear answered. “It is not the old woman. It is someone I know. Go back to our camp. I will meet you there.”
“Without the horses?”
Tall Bear looked at Faith, and she shook her head. “Don’t let them take the horses. Please! I couldn’t go on here without them. I’ve defended this place alone for nearly two years now.”
Tall Bear frowned, trying to remember when he’d seen her last. Two years? Three? He hardly kept track of days and seasons anymore. “They will not give up without the horses.”
Faith slowly rose, setting Johnny on the bed and telling him to stay there and be very quiet. “I won’t let them have them. I’ve killed other men for trying to take them. I’ll kill them, too!” She ducked past the window and grabbed another rifle, holding his eyes squarely. “Are you going to help me?”
“They are my friends.”
“Friends? I don’t call men like that friends. They’ll shoot you in a minute if they think you’ve turned on them.”
He slowly nodded. “I have no doubt of that.”
“Between the two of us we can—”
“What’s goin’ on in there?” someone outside shouted. “What is it, Indian? Can’t be a woman. No woman can shoot like that.”
Tall Bear glanced at Faith. “This one can,” he said quietly. Faith was sure she detected a hint of a grin on his lips. “You take the other window. It is still protected by shutters. I will take this window.”
Faith nodded, moving to the shuttered window.
“I am telling all of you to leave,” he yelled. “It is a woman, and I do not want her hurt.”
“Tell her all we want is to come in and wait for the stage.”
Faith heard someone cry out as though in pain.
“Take Pete and get out of here,” Tall Bear yelled. “He needs a doctor!”
Faith jumped when she heard a gunshot. “Not anymore he don’t!” someone yelled. She looked at Tall Bear, horror in her eyes. Someone had killed the wounded man!
“Sonsofbitches!” Tall Bear swore. He crouched at the window and took careful aim. He fired, and the other man behind the stagecoach cried out and fell. Faith could see well enough under the coach to realize he was holding his leg. He was the only one left behind the coach now. One man was still at the shed, one behind the watering trough. She had shot the man who had hidden behind the barrels, as well as the second man who had gone to the shed. The one Tall Bear had wounded was cussing up a storm, calling the Indian every name he could think of, telling him he’d die someday for his betrayal.
Suddenly the one in the shed burst outside, running eight horses with him and staying on the other side of the animals so that it was impossible for Faith to shoot at him without hitting one of the horses.
“Come on! Come on!” The man who wasn’t wounded made a dash to join the man behind the coach, and Faith could see they were mounting the horse they had managed to hide.
“I’ll get you, you goddamn savage!” screamed the one who’d been shot in the leg.
It was difficult to get a shot at them, since the coach hid them as they rode off at a hard gallop. By the time they came into view, they had caught up with the first man who’d gone off with the horses, now out of rifle range.
“They got my horses,” Faith said dejectedly.
“Not yet.” Tall Bear jumped out the window.
Faith ran to it, calling out to him, “Tall Bear, wait!” Already he was out of sight, but in the next moment he came charging past her on his Appaloosa, long hair flying in the wind. In minutes he was gone. Had he gone to get the horses for her, or would he simply join the others again, or maybe kill them and keep the horses for himself?
She turned away to see Johnny on the cot sucking his thumb, tears on his chubby face. She touched his hair, leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Everything is all right, Johnny. Everything will be all right.”
Would it, really? How easily she could have been raped and killed, little Johnny killed or left alone there to starve to death. If Tall Bear had been as ruthless as he was capable of being…if it hadn’t been for the miracle that he knew her…if he had been anyone else—she and Johnny would be at the mercy of those men right now.
Her eyes teared as she straightened. “What kind of fool am I?” she thought. She’d been so sure she could make it there—had come so close. But it could be another two years before the railroad came through—two more years of all this loneliness and danger.
She told Johnny to stay on the cot. Then she took the board off the door and cautiously opened it. With her rifle she walked out onto the porch, slowly stepping down and walking toward the stagecoach, warily peeking around it to see a man lying there with blood staining his clothes at his side, a bullet hole in his forehead. She realized he was the one she had wounded and his “friend” had killed. She glanced over at the shed, where another man lay dead, the one she’d shot. She walked around the dead body near the coach and looked over at the barrels, where a third man lay dead, also killed by her. Three had got away…one of them wounded in the leg by Tall Bear.
It suddenly seemed too quiet. She began to tremble, realizing how close she had come to losing her life today. If not for Tall Bear…How strange that he had saved her life again, and yet to think he’d been among those who had attacked the station. Why? What had caused him to ride with such men? She let the tears come then, needing the release. After a few minutes she composed herself, not wanting to appear a helpless, fainting woman to the soldiers and Buck when they arrived. Poor Buck would have more bodies to bury now, but at least the outlaws’ plan to attack the stage when it arrived had been foiled. She would warn them to be extra cautious heading into Idaho—but there were no fresh horses now for the stage, except for the four horses left behind by the outlaws. They weren’t trained for harness, though, and were probably not big enough, anyway; besides that, they had already been ridden hard that morning.
Practicality again began to take hold of her thoughts. She had four more saddles now that she could sell for money to add to her savings. Two of the outlaws’ horses still had rifles attached to their gear. She would go through their saddlebags and see what else she could find. Hardly able to believe what she was doing, she bent down and began rummaging through the pockets of the dead men, finding two wallets with paper money, a few coins, an expensive-looking chain watch, most likely stolen.
She felt guilt over what she was doing, but in this land the only rule was survival. “Forgive me, Lord, but I have no choice,” she prayed. “And they have no more use for these things.”
She took the items inside, hid the smaller things inside the wall.
“Mommy,” Johnny sniffled forlornly. She set everything aside and walked over to pick him up, holding him close, unsure what to do next, who would show up first—Buck and the stagecoach…the remaining angry outlaws…or Tall Bear.
Chapter Eighteen
Faith washed Johnny’s face and hands. His little body shivered in lingering sobs, and her heart ached at the sight. Perhaps her stubborn determination to stay there was taking too much of a toll on her little boy. Could she put him through at least two more years of this? She didn’t mind so much risking her own life, but the thought of losing her precious baby, the guilt she would feel if something happened to him—that was different.
She stroked his hair again, put her arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. “It’s all right, Johnny,” she assured him for the hundredth time. He was so sweet and receptive to people. To see him also frightened by cruel men tore at her heart. She patted his cheek and went to a cupboard, taking out some bread and slicing off a piece for him. She put a little butter on it and set it in front of him. “Mommy will cook you an egg.” She realized then that she had not milked the cow that morning at the usual time. “You sit right there, and Mommy will go get some milk and gather some eggs. Promise Mommy you will stay right there in your chair.”
The boy stuck a chubby finger into the buttered bread and swirled it around in
the butter, nodding as he did so.
“And eat your bread, Johnny. Don’t play with it.” She smiled as the boy stuck his finger into his mouth to suck off the butter. She put all the guns up out of reach, not wanting Johnny to go near them while she went outside. She kept one rifle with her, taking it outside, not even bothering to put on a shawl first. She was too upset to notice the lingering coolness of the morning, although it was obvious the day was going to warm to a very pleasant temperature.
It was so quiet now. She had to stay busy or go crazy with the waiting. She decided she should move the dead bodies somewhere out of sight of the passengers who would soon arrive.
First she had to get some milk and eggs for Johnny and make him some breakfast. She headed for the smaller shed where the cow, called Betty, was kept, relieved to find the animal unhurt and munching away on hay, apparently unaffected by all the gunfire earlier. She set a bucket under the cow’s udder, talking softly to her as she massaged the udder gently before beginning the milking, thinking how this was at least one thing she had learned back in Pennsylvania that was useful here. She had bought the cow from passing homesteaders who were headed back east and were worried the journey would be too much for the then-pregnant Betty. To Faith’s disappointment the calf had died shortly after it was born, but she continued to milk Betty to keep the cow producing.
She filled half a bucket, then left the shed door open so Betty could wander at will. She went into the henhouse behind the cow shed and gathered what eggs she could find, scolding the hens for being stingy this morning. Still, it was not their fault. They were simply too nervous over all the shooting that had taken place only a couple of hours ago.
She picked up the skirt of her dress and placed the eggs in it, holding it up with one hand and picking up the bucket of milk with the other. The entire morning seemed so unreal now. She had killed two men that morning, and according to the mantel clock inside, which she could hear chiming, it was only nine o’clock. Now she was milking a cow and gathering eggs, preparing breakfast as though the morning were like any other. She worried sometimes that her heart was becoming too hard, that she had no emotions left except for her little boy.
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