At this point in the story Tom and Frank have returned to
the Cyprus Hills and located a defensible place with water close at hand. They
know the two whiskey traders who killed the two Blackfoot at their first
meeting are close behind but they have given up trying to evade them and are
taking a stand. Following a wait of several hours Frank, on one of his scouting
trips, sees the killers their numbers swelled to four, move into the hills. He
returns to his own camp, tells Tom what he has seen and they settle down to
wait for the attack.
"Maybe make them killers nervous,"
Frank suggested. "They can't watch the country fer Injuns an’ keep an eye
on us too. Blackfoot ain't noted as bein' real friendly folks. They won't treat
us any better 'n they'll treat them whiskey traders, but it might give them two
killers somethin' else t' think about."
Following several moments of
silence, Tom said, "I don't really believe Hank and Seth are capable of
enough thought that it could be interrupted, but I suppose every little bit
helps." Privately he thought that Frank was looking for any glimmerings of
hope in the face of hopeless odds.
Frank rolled up on one elbow and
yelled across the hills, "Hey, Seth, yuh see them Blackfoot yet?"
There was no answering call and Tom
could detect no movement. He kept his eye on the ground below and to his right,
the barrel of the Colt revolving rifle behind the logs, but ready to be thrust
through a convenient hole.
"Better keep an eye peeled,
boys," Frank called, his attention trained on the ground below and left.
"Them Blackfoot don't give much warnin'."
"Traded with them Injuns,"
a voice called back. "Spent more 'n one night with 'em."
"All night?" Frank asked.
"And was it a village 'r just a camp o' young bucks gettin' drunk on yer
rot gut?"
There was a few moments of silence
broken by Tom's call. "I don't think any of you have the guts to face a village of Indian families."
"Listen t' the pilgrim talkin'
'bout guts," the voice from bellow responded. "Feller that hides
behind a hill back t' the Old Woman Lake."
"Now that is an interesting
story," Tom conceded. "Did you tell your new partners how you backed
down from a fifteen year old boy and a greenhorn?"
Rock fragments flew from the
breastworks in front of Tom. Smoke and sound came from the trees blow. Tom
thrust his rifle forward, fired, then again to left and right. As he pulled the
center pin and shook out the half empty cylinder he could hear shots from
Frank's side. He forced himself not to look to his partner, but alternated his
attention between changing cylinders and the source of the first shot. He had
the fully loaded cylinder mounted and was priming the three fired chambers of
the other when the firing stopped.
"How are you doing?" Tom
asked, just loud enough to be heard over the ringing in his ears. He could hear
Frank slide the magazine tube from the butt-stock of his Spencer just before he
answered.
"Doin' better 'n them boys, I
reckon. An' I ain't no fifteen, neither."
Tom heard the magazine tube being
pushed back in place as the boy finished talking. He had just finished loading,
and tamping, three chambers that still required priming in the time it took the
boy to replace four rim fire cartridges. That did not take into account the time
it took to change cylinders. He knew his Colt would have some advantage over
the Springfield muzzle loader, but the
enemy also had a Spencer similar to Frank's. What other weapons did they face?
"I thought you might be a few
years older than that, but it was my intention to make them fire. Apparently,
something I said was effective."
Tom saw movement in the trees below
him. Slightly to the right another shadow flitted from tree to tree.
"They're getting ready,"
Tom said. Just as he spoke the man on the left broke from cover. Tom swung his
rifle muzzle but the man dropped. The man on the right broke from cover. Tom
kept his muzzle trained on his last sight of the first man. When the second man
hit the ground, the first man rose. Tom fired.
The man had risen from his face down
position to lunge forward. The .44 caliber ball drove him over backward where
he disappeared in the grass.
Tom swung his muzzle to the right.
He had only seen the second man move out of the corner of his eye. He was not
sure where his target lay.
Frank fired, levered the Spencer and
fired again. At least three shots were fired in return. Frank fired again.
Below his own position, Tom saw the
grass move. The second man was working his way over to his wounded partner. Tom
followed the grass movement but held his fire.
"Still here?" Frank asked.
The man crawling through the grass
stopped near where the first man had gone down.
"Yes, I'm still here," Tom
responded. He moved several feet to the right, bringing the shotgun and extra rifle
cylinder. He heard Frank replacing fired rounds, but made no move to reload his
own weapon. He still had five shots. "I had given serious consideration to
perhaps stepping over to the neighbors for tea, but decided against it."
As he answered, Frank also moved.
"Had enough tea, have yuh?"
“Actually, I could use a spot. I just thought
the weather was a bit warm for a long walk."
The grass in front of Tom was moving
again, but this time to the left of where he had shot the first attacker. He
had expected them to move back to the trees, but perhaps the man had not been
hit very hard.
"Watch it! They're going to try
again."
Tom's warning was hardly out of his
mouth when Frank began to take fire and return it. The wounded man began to
fire at the spot Tom had just left. The second man made a rush. Tom saw his
shot hit the center of the lunging man's chest. He swung his rifle back to the
first man and fired twice.
The wounded man began to crawl back
toward the trees. Tom watched for several moments, and then quickly changed
cylinders in his rifle.
"They appear to be pulling
back," Tom observed. "One wounded and one dead over here. I expect
they have found it somewhat expensive."
When there was no reply,
Tom swung his gaze to the left. Frank lay near the fire, his head bloody.
By the way, the weapon on the cover is a Henry .44 rim-fire which does not appear in any part of this story. I told the publisher's designer that was the case but he wasn't prepared to change the image, and (since I liked the look of the cover anyway) I agreed to it. I then included a Henry in the story I was working on at the time which became "Homesteader: Finding Sharon" a follow-up to "The Great Liquor War."
