"This
is not good," said Emilio Molinero. He and Wilson lowered the
half-conscious Allyn to the ground and together they surveyed the
scene along the narrow trail. Bodies of people they had known all
their lives lay at uncomfortable angles among the blooded sword-ferns
beneath the deep shade of the firs. At least four dead could be seen;
and also there were people alive, but for how much longer, none could
tell. Arrows and bolts had flown, and they had found marks. It had
been a rout; no dead and wounded were found from the invading force.
Every able-bodied person was already helping someone hurt in the
Saddle fight; what could be done for these others? And where were the
bandits? Could this be a trap?
"Karen, keep an arrow at
the ready, please, and go and find Vernie. He will have come through
here and seen the edge of the woods; we need to know what is ahead."
Emilio turned to Wilson. "Let us find all the wounded; and if
they can be brought to the trail, we shall do what we can for them
here; and see if we can get a runner to Hall for help and perhaps
some people from Chaney's."
As Karen set down the
things she had been carrying, except for her bow and quiver, she
could hear Wilson's reply. "Yes; we would either need oxcarts
for all these, or stretcher relays."
Karen, who, like
most of the others, had slept little in the last two days and nights,
was beginning to get tunnel vision from exhaustion, but she
maintained her scan of her surroundings as she ran down the trail.
She passed a Creeker with a bolt in his back, whose breath made
bubbles as he crawled. Was this Vernie? No. She knelt down and said,
"Rest. Rest, now; you're only hurting yourself, and help is
coming." And ran on.
The edge of the woods was not far
away; sunlight was brighter ahead already. The Ellers, Reymers, and
Peachers, who would have been ten or eleven in number, had only just
begun their hike when the bandits came down upon them in the fog.
Ahead, kneeling by the trunk of a mid-sized maple tree, she could see
Vernie. Without turning his head, he extended his left hand, palm
down, and signaled her to slow down and approach with stealth. She
did so. After what seemed an eternity, she came up on his right. The
heavy rifle lay ready to hand, leaning against the mossy tree trunk
between them.
In the distance a cow, clearly in great
distress, was bellowing.
"We got trouble," Vernie
said softly.
"Are they at Wilsons'?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"And that's Florence, yelling,
over at Ames."
"Yes, she hasn't been milked this
morning. Mrs. Ames hears about this, she's likely t'kill the bandits
herself. All the animals in upper Creek are hurting or hungry;
this cruelty touches us all in so many ways."
Karen
knew he was also worrying about Tomma; no one could be certain to
recover from deep wounds these days.
The farm buildings
could be seen from here; a two-story white house, with the two big
redwoods behind it, and several small outbuildings. These did not
look like log buildings, such as those at Ames; but they had been
reinforced with very thick layers of planking. Even a ball from the
Hawken was not guaranteed to go through that. Near the main house was
a watch-tower of the same kind as the one at Ames; it had been a
creosoted light pole at one time; the useless mercury vapor lamp had
been hauled down and salvaged, and in its place was a tiny structure
like a tree house. Access would be via rope ladder and trap-door; and
the ladder was missing.
Karen produced her monocular and
handed it to Vernie. He'd seen it before, two months ago when they'd
had to examine her belongings; but he was unfamiliar with the
workings of such a thing except by hearsay. Karen understood; she
took it back, looked through it for a second to demonstrate which end
was which, and handed it to him again, uncapped.
"Ah!"
he said. "Very nice. Mm-hmm, someone's on the second floor. In
the crow's nest, too."
"How do we get the wounded
up to the road?"
"The only way would be to go up
the right-hand side of the hedge, ford the Creek, and go to Ames
Farm, if the bandits are not already there. Then over to Jones along
the back fences. If someone goes to get help, the help should come to
Jones'. Carefully, of course, in case these bandits go there as well.
But I think they are stopping at Wilsons' and thinking. 'What do we
do now?'" Vernie grinned mirthlessly. "They have bitten off
a very large mouthful to chew."
"I could do all
that."
"Yes, you may be our swiftest. But you are
not rested. No more am I, or most of us. But the Ridge crew is fresh.
Go back and tell the others what you've seen here; they'll do what
seems best to them."
'K; keep the glass on them."
"I will do that; thanks."
Karen returned up the
trail to the first switchback; the two crew leaders were standing
there with Errol and a couple of Ridge crew, over the body of the man
she'd spoken to. He had apparently already died. She gave her report;
Wilson turned to Emilio and put his hand on his shoulder. "How
about you all try to lie down and take a bite and a nap; Minnie here
knows her way to the Hall trail from this one without coming out of
the woods. She can get us help for the wounded over to Jones', and
some kind of army up to there to see about these effers at Wilsons'.
"We will do so. There is very little strength in most of us
now. Will you be forming a line?"
"Yes, as usual,
it's the best we can do. There's cover here, but not between here and
the house. If they make up their mind they're screwed and try to come
back through here, we'll whistle you up; and then we'll want to get
as many of them as we can." He patted the Ruger Old Army on his
hip for emphasis.
Emilio looked round. "Thirteen of us
dead already; here and above. Soon may be we will not have so many
wounded to carry to Jones'."
Wilson turned and spoke
with Minnie, who, as she listened, nodding, shrugged out of her
blanket roll and added it to the supply depot that had been made,
just off the trail among the ferns. She ran off to the west
presently, dodging through the thick hazels and underbrush. Errol
handed the Lyman rifle and its pouch to one of the Ridge crew, and
bent down to pick up his and Karen's blanket rolls and his bow and
axe. Karen collected her blanket roll from Errol, and, with him,
walked a short way from the trail and lay down to rest, with the
intention of sitting up presently for some cold potatoes and bean
cake.
From across the valley, Florence's frightened and
urgent calls echoed against the hills. So sorry, baby. Nothing we
can do for you right now, thought Karen, with her eyes closed. In
almost no time she was asleep. Errol unrolled her blanket and covered
her.
:::
Ellen's
little army had grown to some twenty-two. There was not much
experience among them, and, except for the newly appointed grenadiers
– one of whom had already dropped and cracked his bomb and was in
disgrace with his friends – severely underequipped. Fortunately
every able-bodied Creeker had trained in selfbows from earliest
childhood; these would have to do.
They were arriving at
Beemans. Up the hill, sheep were bunched against a fence, stricken
with fear; two coyotes stood in the middle of the pasture, tearing at
a ewe they had downed. One lad, a Beeman, turned, distressed, to
Ellen on her tall horse.
"Permission to go shoot at the
'yotes, ma'am?"
Ellen looked up at the house. Her point
man had already checked it out and was waving the "all clear."
"Are you sure of recovering your arrows?"
"Yes'm,
I'll have a full set for the bandits!"
"I like
your style; sure, have a go, but take one of your friends with you to
watch all round; salvage the ewe, too, then both of you back to the
house pronto."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Ellen
turned into the yard and was, at first, bemused as to how to get her
sore body down from the Percheron-mix farm horse. At last she simply
urged him up against the porch and slid off. She sat down heavily on
the top step, wheezing, with the bagged Navy revolver by her side.
"Who here is all about horses?"
"Me!"
called several simultaneously, waving hands.
Like a
class of school kids in days long gone, she thought wistfully.
"All right, you and you, give our friend here some rest from
his bit, find him some grain and water and something to curry him.
He's been very sweet. Whoa, don't go yet. You, and you, investigate
the kitchen and do something for the rest of us, but no fires just
yet. You, you look like a climber with sharp eyes. Yes? 'K, go up to
the crow's nest and check out the farms east of us. Anything you see,
tell it to – you, go with him and wait at the bottom of the pole,
anything he tells you, come tell me. Don't shout it out. You two –"
she pointed – "stay by the road, same deal, but with arrows
nocked. Rest of you, find cover in a circle around the house, fifty
paces or so out, ten to twenty apart. Mr. Deela, take the whistle,
please. Any part of the perimeter gets into an altercation, run
towards the action, blowing as your go. Rest of you hear the whistle,
put some of your attention thataways, 'case they break into your
rear, but don't move unless we come get you. They could fake us out.
'K, all? I'm going to have to lie down a bit."
"You
look flushed, ma'am," remarked Deela. "May we look for
something to bring down fever?"
"Bless you,"
she replied, lying down on the porch and rolling herself in the red
wool blanket on which she'd ridden the horse. "Put the kitchen
kids on it, please, but then be thinking about that periphery."
She closed her eyes.
:::
"Hello,
Carey. You're looking like shit."
"I'm feeling
like compost." Murchison, telephone handset in hand, looked up
at Tom Chaney in the dim light from the alcohol lamp.
"Apropriate. Have you seen a runaway patient of mine?"
"Yep, she's stolen a horse, pulled together a ragtag children's
crusade, and headed after the bandits out toward Ames'."
"My god, Carey, she doesn't plan to outlive you, does she?"
It was more a statement than a question.
"It's her
call. I think she's right, too. If I didn't have to keep tabs on
Ridge, I'd be there with her."
"What's happening
up top?"
"Well, the Bledsoes and company have gone
after a rear guard that's camping in Lawson's house. Scorched earth.
Avery says he sees the smoke already. From there, they'll try to hook
up with Wilson and the little Saddle army over to the Ames end."
"That was always our weak spot."
"Mm.
Should have done more about it. Permanent dugout with phone should
have been farther down the south slope. Hindsight. Never would have
had 'nough diggers anyway, though."
Elsa Chaney, in
high dudgeon, strode through the doorway. "Where's Ellen
got off to?"
"Well out of reach for now, dear,"
replied Tom.
Captain Murchison set down the handset.
"Haven't you got enough patients without her?"
"They're all as settled as they're going to be. Mrs. Lazar,
Velma, and some others are on it now. I want to find Ellen and get
her back in care, or she's not going to last the week!"
Murchison slammed his hand, palm down, on the table. "Nobody
around here is going to last the week if we don't contain the
incursion up the Creek! And furthermore," he said, turning and
pointing to the handset, "as I was about to tell your man here,
there's maybe worse brewing."
"Worse?" asked
Tom.
"The kids have rigged a radio up at Ridge. Using
the doorbell circuit. It's patched in to the phone, and I've been
listening. Magee's back. Probably less than two hundred miles
from here. These skinheads may be acting on their own, but I have a
feeling he's looking for them."
"Oh-Jeeah-help,"
said Elsa quietly.
"Yeah," answered Murchison.
"And anybody else up there that wants to lend a hand."
(To be continued)