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Justin woke up to the hollow rumble of Francis still snoring, the dry wooden walls and roof echoing and magnifying the sound. The big man lay in the middle of the goat shed shelf where all three of them were supposed to sleep. But he’d used the excuse of an injured left arm to sprawl out and take almost all the space. Just this once the boys had let him. Scamp was on his bedroll out in the open and Justin had at least snagged the blanket away from Francis. It had been a pleasant night to sleep under the stars, which were fading now as the gray of dawn crept upward from the horizon and across the sky.
He pushed the edge of the blanket off and stood. He reached for his boots, shook them upside down first to check for scorpions, then pulled them on.
Though the sky was barely light, he saw Aunt Sara out in front of the house pumping water into a bucket. He rose and headed toward her. As he went, he glanced out to the goat pasture and saw Button pouring a bucket of water into the trough there. She had to put up with Boxo nudging her playfully and the goats crowding around close, bleating and wanting a touch from her as well.
“I trust Scamp isn’t going to sleep the day away. He’s supposed to put out some feed for the goats.” Sara kept pumping as she spoke.
“He was just stirring when I started this way.” Justin glanced toward the goat pen again, watched Button rubbing the thick fur of Boxo’s head.
“Don’t let your tomorrows get in the way of your todays.”
He looked back to Aunt Sara. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re pining and thinking ahead to what might be. Don’t forget to breathe, to savor the clean air, to enjoy a bit of tasty food, or the comfort to be had from a loyal soft-headed animal.”
“You think me and Button . . .”
“I don’t think any such thing. I think you’re a young boy, so it’s normal you go soft in the head from time to time. But I’m telling you not to miss the fun of growing up. Now you’d best get to your chores. You’re weeding in the garden today.”
“You’re the only one I know who can talk about having fun and doing chores in the same breath.”
“That’ll give you something to mull over while you’re getting after them chores.”
Justin glanced back toward the goat shed, saw that Scamp was up and heading this way. He heard Button’s voice. She was almost to them, carrying the empty bucket.
“You did a right good job of scaring off those Comanches, Justin. But I doubt you could have done them any harm with Francis’s little gun.” She held up a hand to hide a giggle.
“Well, not on purpose.” Justin grinned. “But it has a heck of a kick and makes noise. That’s all I could hope for until you all showed up with the long guns.”
“Hey, kids. You’d best get to your posts. We’ve got company a coming.”
“This early?” Justin looked the direction Aunt Sara was staring, saw the dust cloud of horsemen coming toward them.
Scamp broke into a run. Justin went inside the house right after Button. She grabbed the Winchester, so Justin took up the shotgun. He’d only practiced loading the muzzleloader a time or two so it wasn’t his first choice. The muzzleloader was loaded for now, but they might need more than one shot. He grabbed a couple of extra shotgun shells and hoped it didn’t come to him needing the two already in the gun. Button was out the door and heading around to the back of the house to climb up the ladder onto the roof. Scamp joined Justin inside. Scamp had grabbed the muzzleloader and the two of them opened the front shutters and took up positions at the two gun port windows. Good thing the house had been a fort once, which made it easy to defend, as long as they weren’t vastly outnumbered.
Justin watched the horsemen approach, could make out three of them now. When he could make out their faces, he pulled both hammers back on the shotgun.
Scamp heard the loud clicks and grinned over at him. This was all a heap of fun to him, even though his mother stood out there alone, exposed.
The horses pulled up with just a few feet of Aunt Sara. The small clouds of dirt and dust stirred up by their hooves hung in the air for a moment, then were snapped away by a gust of breeze.
The fellow in the middle did the speaking for them. He wore a flat green felt hat with a round flat brim, and might have been good-sized himself but the two on either side of him made him seem smaller.
“Ma’am. Good day. My name is Beadimus Grintly. These men with me are Royce Stanley and Buster O’Shannon.” The other two men might be cowhands, but Justin thought they sure wore their holsters low in the way of slingers. They squinted in the shadows of their hat brims, though the sun was nowhere near harsh and bright as it could get yet.
“What do you want?”
“It’s kind of you to get right to it. Quite proper. The thing is, I’m here to make you an offer on your land.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“To the contrary, everything is for sale if the price is right.”
“You’d best turn around and head back where you came from.”
“I’ll give you a figure first, and you see if I’m not being quite reasonable.”
“I said it’s not for sale.” Aunt Sara’s lips had tightened and the words came out with a crisp edge to them.”
“Well, you see . . .”
“You heard the lady!” The voice boomed across the dusty open yard. Francis stomped across toward the men. He’d put on his vest, so he must have his little derringer reloaded and back in place. Perhaps it made him brave. Justin thought it made him silly. Those two men there with Grintly looked as dangerous as they come.
Francis kept walking right at them until he was a foot or two away from the one called Royce Stanley. He stopped there and glared across at Grintly. “You heard the lady. Go on and get out of here.”
Grintly seemed to be thinking that over. Royce made the decision for him. His hand moved down in a flash toward his gun.
He might be fast, but Francis was faster. His right arm shot out, grabbed Royce by the wrist, and yanked him clean off his horse to thud down onto the hard ground. His revolver fell out of its holster, and when he scrambled for it he found Francis was standing on it with one foot.
Royce started to rise, but Francis’s closed fist came down on his head like a hammer, flattening the man’s cowboy hat. The blow dropped him to the ground and left him lying still as a slab of beef.
Both Butch and Grintly had drawn their guns by the time Francis looked up toward them.
“I’d think twice about that, if I were you,” Aunt Sara said. “If anything happens to him you won’t be around to brag about it.”
Grintly turned his gun toward her. “What do you . . . ?”
Crack! The shot rang out from the rooftop, and Grintly’s nice green hat flew off his head and tumbled upside down some fifteen yards behind him.
“Please don’t think for a moment that she missed. That was a demonstration. The next one will be permanent.” Aunt Sara stood with her hands on her hips, unarmed, but with the upper hand.
Grintly was clearly not a man used to being spoken to this way, especially by a woman. But his sweeping glance took in the gun on the roof and two more in the front windows, all pointed at him. His own life was a chip he didn’t wish to bargain with, so he holstered his pistol. “Butch, see to Royce there.”
Butch put his gun away and climbed off his horse. He had a time lifting Royce up onto his horse until he lay belly down across the saddle. Francis didn’t offer to help, though Justin knew he could lift a man that size like a small sack of flour. When Butch turned back to get Royce’s gun, Francis held it in one hand, its barrel pointed at Butch. The pistol looked small in Francis’s big hand.
From where he watched, neither Butch nor Grintly seemed to like the idea of leaving Royce’s gun behind, but they didn’t even pause to discuss it. Butch swung himself up onto his horse, took the reins of Royce’s horse, and they turned and started off back the way they had come.
“Well, I don’t think you made any friends there,” Francis said.
“I didn’t want any friendship from the likes of those excuses for men, and didn’t expect to get it.”
Francis held the pistol out to Sara, butt first. She smiled and took it. They could always use another gun. No bouquet of flowers he might have given her could have pleased her more.
Justin watched Francis beam like someone who’d just won a first prize at the county fair. He wanted to caution Francis that he probably hadn’t made as much ground as he thought, then decided to let the man have his moment. Scamp was putting his gun back where it would be easy to grab. Justin lowered the hammers and did the same with the shotgun. He could hear Button climbing off the edge of the roof and starting down the ladder. They all had chores to do and they’d best get with it or they’d be catching the dickens from Aunt Sara.