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Francis pulled the buggy up in front of Sara’s home, put on the brake and tied the reins. Scamp and Button came hurrying toward it, eager to help unload supplies from town. They both went for the ammo first, while Sara stood in the doorway smiling toward the foodstuffs that would help them get through a month or so.
“Some blasted fool tried to put a fence right across the road to town.” Francis’s voice boomed as he climbed down.
“How’d you get through then?” Sara started toward the buggy too.
“Hadn’t been put up in a sound way. Practically fell to the side of the road.” He winked at Justin.
“You made right good time all the same,” Button said to Justin.
Justin looked away. “Yep.” He picked up a bag of flour and started toward the house. He peeked back. Button’s mouth hung open for a second before it snapped shut like a steel trap.
Aunt Sara tilted her head at him too. But Justin went on unloading the buggy with the cool aloofness and indifference Francis had encouraged him to use to get Button to notice him. And it seemed to be working. She glared at him as they walked side-by-side carrying in boxes of ammo for the rifles and pistols.
“I hope you didn’t get any sweets for the kids or frills,” Sara told Francis as he went by carrying a slab of bacon.
“Nope. Not even wine for me.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Though she knew he still had that barrel out in the shed.
Francis winked again at Justin, as if he was making progress with Sara. Justin wasn’t so sure about that. He was even less sure about Button, who had been almost friendly upon their return, but now no longer looked at him and acted as if icicles might form off her at any moment.
“What’s up with her?” Justin whispered to Scamp.
“What’s up with you?” Scamp whispered back.
Justin busied himself with chores, catching up on his turns after being away. The afternoon rushed past.
Button sulked in silence as she did her chores, hoeing in the garden, milking the goats, while occasionally casting a questioning glare Justin’s way. It seemed to him she’d been on the verge of warming back up to him before he’d employed Francis’s advice to act hard-to-get. When her chores were done she headed off on her own, walking with a brisk, determined stride.
“Where’s she going?” Justin asked Scamp.
“I think she’s stomping off to be alone . . . away from you.”
“She’ll be back.” Justin glanced the direction she’d gone. He wasn’t as sure as he sounded.
“What was that all about?” Scamp asked.
“Francis told me to ignore Button so she would like me more.”
“Really? How’s that working for him?”
“I think Aunt Sara’s just glad he’s leaving her alone.”
Grintly watched the men scoop out four shallow graves, then start to round up loose rocks to cover the bodies, Buster among them. He looked peaceful now, though he’d sure looked surprised for a moment of two when he’d drawn down on the Vinegar Kid. One of the wounded had died, the other had his wounds wrapped and looked perkier, perhaps in hopes they wouldn’t just bury him with the others.
Grintly looked over the sorry lot of men who followed him. Of the twenty men he’d started with he now had sixteen. At least they could all ride horses now without doubling up. Feldon had also been one of those they’d buried. Grintly had tried to feel bad about that, but couldn’t. Still, the situation was nothing to smile about. They hadn’t accomplished a thing, neither against the Comanches nor in rounding up Gabe Bentley.
When the men had finished with the burying, Grintly waved to Royce and Hank to come gather around. They stood close together. Grintly looked them over. Both had been through much worse than this in their days and looked calm enough for all that. “Do we still have all that Injun stuff we picked up at the Comanche camp?”
Hank nodded.
“Good. We might as well use it. I feel the Indians are about to attack the Bolger place.”
“If you mean the Comanche, they’re way and gone from here,” Hank said.
“I mean we do the attack, you dolt, and lay the blame on those pesky redskins. That would remove one little burr from under my saddle and would add that small piece of land for now.”
“What do you have in mind?” Royce suppressed any eagerness. “I have a bone to pick with the residents there.” He opened his revolver, spun the cylinder, and slipped it back into its holster.
Hank looked less enthusiastic. He had lost one man from his fence crew and another was the wounded man. “That house is a former fort. It can withstand a lot.”
“Let’s just ride and see what comes together as we get there. We outnumber them by quite a bit, even with our reduced force. There’s a chink in everyone’s armor, if you just look for it. Something will occur.”
Justin picked his steps with care as he wove his way down the pitched bank where a bend in the creek had caused a pool to form into as close to a swimming spot and fishing hole as they had. Here was also where Button often went to sit and be away from everyone now and again. He’d saved the spot for last in his search because if she wasn’t here he didn’t know what he’d do since he’d been looking for her through the afternoon. No one had seen her since she had left in a huff, all his own stupid fault for listening to the likes of Francis.
At the bottom of the hill a rocky shoal spread along the shore of the creek on this side, with a steeper dirt bank on the far side where the pool was deepest. He and Scamp had dived off that small cliff on hot days when they had a brief break from chores.
He was so intent in looking up and down the creek, hoping to catch a glimpse of Button, that he failed to hear the rustle, then the rattle.
The hint of danger penetrated his thick head just in time for him to jump suddenly sideways. A blur of patterned brown and tan lunged out from beneath a small shelf of rock, the body of the rattlesnake bumping hard into his leg as it just missed sinking its fangs into his leg.
The next thing he knew he was back up the hill, bent over and taking deep gasping breaths of air. He didn’t know he could move so fast. His heart beat so fast he could barely believe it.
He stayed bent that way for longer than he liked, thinking about how close he’d come. Such was the nature life out here. Something was always poised at take a life at every opportunity. If not a critter on the ground it could be a two-legged one that wanted to kill you. You had to be brave. He’d known his father was a coward from the time he’d stood by when Justin’s mother was killed. Justin had vowed never to be like that. But being brave was an easier thing to say than to do. Maybe he was born yellow and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew his insides quivered right now and he was close to losing his dinner if he’d had any.
The heat of late afternoon slammed into him as he stepped out from the shade of the cottonwoods that ran along the creek. For the mile or so hike back to the house he looked everywhere, but still no Button. At the front of the house he hesitated. The family would be at dinner. He took a deep breath, let himself fill with hope for a second, then swung the door open.
Justin stuck his head in the door. “Is she back?”
“No. Come in and eat something.” Aunt Sara waved to an empty chair. “She’ll be back. Probably just having a stroll to cool off.”
“It’s his fault she’s upset.” Scamp nodded toward Justin.
Justin already felt lower than a bucket of buffalo dung. Scamp’s scowl in his direction just sent his spirits lower.
“I mean it. Get in here. Sit down, and eat,” Sara said, and turned to frown at Scamp.
Justin shook his head. Francis sat at the table and had a full glass of red wine in front of him that he had probably been refilling from a pocket flask. That wasn’t putting Aunt Sara in the best of moods.
“I’m almost certain,” Francis’s voice boomed in the small room, “that even if it’s not used as a mail, stagecoach, or cattle route that you can’t just fence across an established road like that.” He drank from his glass and waved it half empty above his head for emphasis.
From the look on Aunt Sara’s face, Francis had been loudly spouting off for some time. She seemed to agree with what Justin was thinking that Francis ought to take his own advice and practice cool indifference by closing his pie hole.
“I’ll just take another quick look around.” Justin backed out of the front door and closed it behind him.
He had taken only a few steps when he heard the sound of shod hooves in the distance coming his way, enough for a small group. Justin rushed back inside, yelled, “Riders are coming. Several of them.”
The family sprang to action, except Francis who sat at the table with a befuddled look. Scamp grabbed a rifle and, since Button wasn’t around, he shot out the door to head around back and scamper up the ladder to take the spot on the roof.
Sara handed the muzzleloader to Justin. He knew to take a position at one of the windows. She held a rifle and peered out the other long narrow window that had been designed as a gun port when the house had been a fort. Little Missy could do little but move over to a corner and stay out of the way.
Francis finally seemed to grasp the urgency. He put down his wine glass, after emptying it first, and went over to strap on his new gun belt and pistol, then get the shotgun off the rack.
Sara pointed for him to take her spot at the window. “You know not to use that until they get close, don’t you?”
Francis nodded.
She strapped on the other pistol before going to the door with rifle in hand, ready for whoever was coming this way. Sara glanced toward Missy, who sat hunched on the floor.
Justin’s heart beat as hard inside his chest as when the rattlesnake had almost sunk its fangs in him. Dern if it didn’t seem hard to live this way, on the edge of fear, never knowing whether those riding up might be friendly or of the worst sort that could be. More often than not it had been the latter.
“Friend or foe?” Sara called up to Scamp on the roof.
Before he could answer, a line of horseback riders stopped far enough away to be out of easy shooting range. A voice called out. “Yo, inside. We’d like to talk. We have a girl here. Says her name is Button.”
“Let her come this way,” Sara yelled.
“No.” After a moment, another more-refined voice with a British accent added, “She’s what you’d call a bargaining chip.”
“You let her go!” Sara screamed.