They didn’t have long to wait. About 10 minutes later, they heard horses approaching and then equine screams. Not one of them felt good about injuring a horse, but this was war. They shared a look, though no one spoke. Gus and Karl had already taken the pots and the big rocks up to the roof. Gus grabbed his slingshot and the bag of pebbles, as well as his rifle, and climbed up to the loft on his way to his position. He couldn’t have been on the roof more than a minute or two before the shots began.
A barrage of fire hit the house, and Buddy began barking. As the attackers approached, some on horseback and others spreading out around the house, Karl and Marty began firing. Two men went down initially before the outlaws began to dodge and seek cover. As one got closer to the house, Gus poured boiling water on him and he screamed and collapsed, writhing on the ground. That caused all the men to back up and dive for cover. As they were retreating, Gus took the opportunity to throw rocks at them as if he were pitching a baseball. One hit a man in the head, knocking him down. He didn’t get up. The other rocks definitely caused pain, hitting outlaws in the back, shoulders or legs.
That’s when the gunfire started pelting the roof, and Gus threw himself behind the brick chimney. In the house, a window shattered and Marty grunted and fell. As Karl quickly swooped him up and carried him to the kitchen, laying him down on the floor, he grabbed some ammunition from the dining table and headed back to the front. Bridget, keeping her eye on the back door, checked on the fallen ranch hand. He had a red crease on the side of his head where a bullet had torn a path and a couple of cuts on his face caused by the breaking glass. The cuts were bleeding but did not look lethal. The bullet wound was another matter. She knew head injuries were unpredictable.
Still watching the back door as best she could, she quickly washed the wounds, placed her healing salve on each and wrapped a bandage around his head to cover the injury caused by the bullet. The other cuts were minor and didn’t need stitches. The gouge in the side of the head was too wide for stitches. It would need to heal from the inside out, which meant it would need to be kept moist. That would require frequent applications of salve. Dashing into the living area for a pillow and blanket, she made Marty as comfortable as she could before returning to her post. He would have a massive headache when he awoke. If he awoke. She knew there were no guarantees.
Bridget had just settled back into position when she saw a dark figure behind the house. Moving the little panel near the door, she poked her gun out and fired, feeling satisfied when she heard a grunt. Hmmph. Nobody was getting past her, and they better not try to go back to the cabin and do damage there.
The firing kept up sporadically for hours, it seemed. The Burgens and their allies were operating on adrenaline, fortified by coffee and biscuits, which Bridget kept in ample supply. A man who carried a burning torch to set fire to the house was cut down with scalding water, which doused the flame. Sometime later the barn began burning. That was frustrating. The Burgens and Jeff knew they couldn’t do anything about it. They just had to watch helplessly. Gus had come down from the roof when that position became too perilous, but not before dumping Bridget’s kettle of smelly goo on one unlucky attacker, who spewed out swear words even Gus hadn’t heard before. As the barn continued burning, the brothers exchanged a look. All their hard work was going up in flames. Well, not all their hard work.
As dusk approached, they took an inventory. As near as they could tell, they had killed three men and injured several more. At least a couple of them shouldn’t be able to continue the fight. That still left 9 or 10 outlaws. Next they checked their ammunition. It was running low but might last another day if they had the luxury to fire conservatively. Another shot rang out as glass shattered and Per cried out.
Gus sprinted to the bedroom, his heart thumping out of his chest. His wife was on the floor, struggling to sit up.
“Lie back,” he said, gently pushing her down.
Blood was spreading across her upper right arm. When he pulled out his handkerchief and tied it around the wound, she grimaced but did not call out. My fierce warrior.
Bridget entered then with her medical bag. “You cover the window. Let me take care of this. He nodded and kissed Per before approaching his new post.
“Let’s see what we have here.” Bridget carefully untied the handkerchief, which was soaked in blood, and ripped Per’s sleeve so she could study the wound. “This is good.”
“Not from my viewpoint,” Per grunted.
“The bullet went through the fleshy part of your arm. It didn’t hit the bone and passed all the way through, so I won’t have to extract it. I know it hurts like anything, but you’ll recover fast. I’m going to have to clean it, which will hurt, and stitch it up on both sides, which you won’t like either.”
“Well, be about it then, so I can get back to my post.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Per was a trooper, but she would not be making it back to her post any time soon. She passed out as Bridget began stitching up the wound. After she washed the front and back of her cousin’s arm with carbolic acid and completed stitching both sides of her arm, she applied her healing salve and gauze pads, then wrapped the wound with clean bandaging. Then Gus picked up his beloved wife and gently laid her in the bed, covering her up so tenderly it brought tears to Bridget’s eyes.
Although there hadn’t been a shot for more than an hour, the defenders could not let down their guard, and they were weary. Karl convinced Bridget to take a little nap, arguing the men outside would have to sleep sometime, too. She checked on Marty, who was still unconscious, added more salve to his wound before re-bandaging his head and then trudged to the second bedroom, where she lay down and fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow.
Out in the main room, Karl looked at his brother and Jeff and sighed. “It doesn’t look good, boys.”
Gus ran a hand down his face. “I know.”
“Do you think we could find a way to get the women out?”
Gus shook his head. “They’ve got someone posted out back and out beyond the bedroom windows. We should have finished the tunnel. Actually, we should have started it, and then finished it.”
“If worse comes to worse?” Karl almost whispered what they were all thinking.
“We could try to force the ladies into the trap-door hideout. Maybe they wouldn’t be found.”
Gus chuckled. “We’d have to knock them out.”
“I can’t bear to think what those men would do…” Karl couldn’t even finish the sentence, the thought was so torturous.
“Until it’s light, I think we can post one person out front and one in the back. The ladies will hear if anyone tries to come in the bedrooms.”
“Why don’t you go lie down with your wife? I’ll take the front and Jeff can take the back.”
Gus nodded. “I’ll relieve you in a couple of hours. If I don’t wake up, come get me.”
Karl nodded.
“I mean it.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
Gus laughed. “Yeah. What’s to worry about?”
Karl grinned. It was either that or cry. They all had worked so hard to carve out a life that by all accounts was happy and fulfilling. And then this piece of crap outlaw came along to try and ruin everything.
In that moment, looking into the black inkiness, knowing everything was on the line, Karl realized he was happy. Bridget had brought him back from the brink of despair. He was a whole man, fulfilled beyond belief by his beautiful, caring, supportive, gutsy wife and able to use his mind and body to work and build the ranch. He felt privileged to labor alongside his brother and a closeness to the land he had never experienced in Baltimore. If this was to be his last day on earth, he could die knowing he had felt a bone-deep contentment most men never experienced.
The deep regret that he would take to his grave would be his inability to protect Bridget and their unborn child. Thinking about what those men would do to the women if they were caught alive churned his stomach. And then the thought he had been avoiding came unbidden into his head. Should he and Gus end their wives’ lives if the situation became hopeless? And what about little Henry? He felt sick. Just then another shot rang out, hitting the front door. Karl responded with a shot, just to let the attackers know someone was still on watch.
A few hours later, Karl was struggling to stay awake when Gus laid a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard his brother approach. He stood wearily and nodded.
“It’s been pretty quiet.”
“We still have a few hours until dawn. I suspect that’s when all hell will break loose.”
And that’s when they would be able to see the ashes of their barn. Karl gave his brother a sad smile and started toward the bedroom. Then he saw Bridget replacing Jeff at the back door, and he veered toward her. Nodding as he passed the trusted ranch hand, he caught up to his wife as she checked Marty, who was still unconscious. After a moment she rose and sunk into Karl’s arms. He held her tightly, trying to convey all the love he felt for this remarkable woman. After a few moments, she sniffed.
He stepped back, holding her shoulders. “Are you smelling me?”
“I’m just taking in your essence. It’s piney and leathery and manly.”
He grinned. “I am manly, aren’t I?”
She chuckled. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go lie down?”
He thought about that. “Yeah, I’ll go lie down with Per.”
“Do that and die.”
He laughed. “I’ll take the loft bed. Wake me before dawn if I’m not up.”
He hugged her again. “I know things look bad,” she said, her voice muffled into his chest. “But I have a feeling that everything will turn out all right. It wouldn’t hurt to pray, though.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
He gave her one long, wet, passionate kiss and headed on up to the loft, fighting the urge to drag her with him. If his arms hadn’t supported him on the climb, his legs never would have made it; he was that tired. While he didn’t want to sleep through what might be his last few hours on this earth, he couldn’t function if he didn’t get at least a little rest.
A couple of hours before dawn, Marty began groaning and finally opened his eyes. Bridget knelt down and felt his forehead. It was cool.
“You’re awake. How do you feel?”
He turned his head toward her and grimaced. “Like I got kicked by a mule.”
She smiled. “You took a bullet that carved a path along the side of your hard head. I need to check the wound.”
He didn’t nod, figuring that would hurt, but tried to smile. She gently unwrapped the bandaging and studied her handiwork. The wound was still nice and moist, if she did say so herself, and there was no redness around it. She reached over to her medical bag and pulled out the jar of salve, reapplying it gently. Then she wrapped a fresh bandage around his head.
“It looks good, Marty. I can give you a tincture for the headache if you’d like.”
“I think I could use it, ma’am.”
“Don’t you go ma’amin’ me. It’s Bridget.”
He chuckled and then moved a shaky hand to his head. “Oh, don’t make me laugh.”
She got him treated and fed. Now that he was squared away, she felt relief that he was on the mend. The fact that Marty was laid low because of something she and Gus had done weighed on her as it was. She didn’t need a permanent injury to add to her guilt. Logically, of course, she knew the guilt lay with Hobie Pike and his gang. But guilt knew no logic. Getting a grip on her emotions, Bridget handed Marty his gun while she went off to check on Per.
As she unwrapped the bandaging on Per’s arm, her cousin stirred and then opened her eyes.
“I was dreaming of a pristine mountain lake with the greenest pine trees you ever saw. Gus and I were naked on the shore.”
“Really, I don’t need to hear about it.”
“You woke me up before we had time to do anything.” She winced as her sister gently pulled the gauze where it was sticking.
“You look fine, too. I’m really good.”
“What?”
“Oh, Marty’s awake and recovering.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.”
“You don’t have any swelling or infection so far.”
“It hurts, but not as bad as it did last night.” Then she looked around. “Is it morning?”
“The sun should rise in about an hour.”
Per struggled to sit up. Bridget helped her. “And then they’ll come.”
“I fear so.”
“Bridget, if…we don’t make it.”
“We’ll make it.”
Per placed a hand on Bridget’s arm. “If we don’t, I just want you to know how much it’s meant to me to be your cousin. I’m so glad you came here.”
“Likewise on both points.”
They hugged, with Bridget mindful of Per’s injured arm, laughing when Buddy tried to worm his way in with them. And then Per got up to tend to Henry. When it came right down to it, God, family and friends, including furry friends, were all that truly mattered in this world. With their situation so dire, Bridget didn’t care about the barn or the cabin or anything in it. She cared about the people in this house, and this little dog, and she would defend them to the death. With that determined thought, she marched off toward the kitchen to resume her post.
* * *
The scraping noise almost didn’t wake Karl, who felt as if he was in a fog. And then it suddenly registered. Someone was opening the trap door in the ceiling. That realization instantly woke him. He was so exhausted when he went to the bed, he never got under the covers or even took his boots off. He yanked his gun out of the holster and waited, as alert as he had ever been. As a wiry, dirty, smelly outlaw dropped down into the loft clutching a pistol, his eyes widened when he saw Karl. It was the last thing he saw. Not particularly aiming at any body part, just defending himself, Karl shot him through the heart. How had the man gotten on the roof? The ladder had burned in the barn. He must have shinnied up like a monkey.
Moments later Gus bolted up the ladder to the loft, gun drawn.
Karl sighed. “Let’s get him back on the roof and throw him off. I don’t want him bleeding out or deteriorating in here.”
“Well, that’s another one down.” Gus’s smile was grim.
Even though the man was thin, it was a struggle getting him back through the trap door and onto the roof. The brothers expected shots to ring out, but all was quiet as they crouched and rolled the dead man off the roof onto the side of the house. He landed with a thump that made Karl cringe. This was a bloody business. He followed his brother back through the trap door and had just gotten his head through when a shot rang out. That was a close one. He could almost feel the breeze at the top of his hair as the bullet whizzed by.
One by one, the group inside the house fortified themselves with coffee and a surprisingly wonderful breakfast of ham, eggs, biscuits and blueberries prepared by Bridget. Even Buddy gobbled up a bowl of ham and eggs. A last meal? Most of them thought it, but no one mentioned it. Still, there were loving caresses between the two couples and heartfelt statements about what Jeff and Marty meant to the family and how honored they were to work for the Burgens. Perhaps it should have been sappy. Instead, it was heartwarming and brought a depth to the relationships that led to smiles on everyone’s faces. For better or worse, they were a team and would live or die together. And as if to demonstrate all they had to lose, little Henry played on with his toys, oblivious to the danger.
The sun was now peeking over the horizon, and they all assumed their posts. Twice in the past 24 hours one of them had shot or otherwise disabled a person trying to torch the house, once from the front and once from the side. It was Bridget’s biggest fear. There would be no defense if a fire took hold. Still, it was only a house. She knew their situation was dire, yet her innate optimism would not let her believe all hope was lost. She thought about all she and Karl had been through up to this point, his injuries, the cattle rustling, her gunshot wound, the Indian boy, their growing closeness. She wished they could guard the same post. Just holding his hand would calm her soul.
And then shots rang out and the day’s siege began. The outlaws first tried all attacking from the side, forcing everyone inside to rush to the bedrooms to ward the attackers off. Pike and his men seemed to have an endless supply of bullets, while the Burgens and their ranch hands were forced to conserve ammunition. Even doing that, they were running low. At one point, Gus picked up the slingshot and bag of pebbles and placed it within reach. Karl looked at him and just shook his head. It had almost come to that. Abruptly, he left his post and strode to the kitchen. He looked out the back window and then pulled Bridget into his arms and hugged her with all the love he could muster.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said tenderly. “I love you with all my heart, you and our babe.”
“You’re not a bad husband either,” she grinned.
Did nothing ever get this woman down? Nothing except you verbally abusing her early on.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you when you first arrived.”
“Water under the bridge, my love. You were just cranky because you were hurting.”
“Cranky is a nice way to put it.”
At that point Marty, who had been sleeping on the kitchen floor, awoke and sat up. He put a hand to his head and blinked.
Bridget stepped back from her husband. “How’s your head?”
“Not so bad, just a dull ache. I can get back to defending a window.”
“Good,” Karl smiled. “We can use you. Go light on the firing, though. We’re low on bullets.”
Marty got that look that let Karl know he understood they were in a bad situation. He got to his hands and knees and then stood, overcoming momentary dizziness before walking to the front room to take over Karl’s post.
Karl put his hand on Bridget’s soft, soft cheek. He had to fight back unmanly tears that were trying to form. He couldn’t think of anything he had left unsaid. The look in her eyes told him she loved him as much as he loved her. It was more than he could have asked for in this life and more than he deserved.
The shooting began again, and he hurried to the front room. Bridget smiled as she watched him go. No limp. Supreme confidence. And nice arse. Was she a lucky woman or what? She fired at a shadowy figure out back and then checked her ammo. She had four bullets left. Glancing at the dining table, she noted all the ammo was gone. So be it. If she used the remaining bullets wisely, four more outlaws could be dead or at least incapacitated. The ever optimistic Bridget.