Jason, having gone to sleep at three in the morning, was up by five. But when there was no sign of an Apache attack by seven, he had the north gate opened and two wagons driven out beyond the stockade. Moving slowly, he oversaw the unloading of barrel after barrel of whale oil until they had gone around the entire town and come around to the south gate.
While the men poured out the whale oil sparingly into the ditch, Jason and a few more men took the kerosene around the same way, but they didn’t empty those smaller kegs. Instead, they put them down in the ditch, a sealing board cracked and broken in the top of each—not wide enough to allow too much evaporation, but enough that a flame could reach the contents and set them afire. He affixed a long wick to each—long enough to reach from the keg to the top of the wall.
“There’s probably a better way to do this,” he muttered to Saul, “but I can’t think of what it is.”
Saul, obviously far more confused than Jason, just blinked and nodded.
Jason reined the team back through the gate to rejoin the wagon that had gone before them and distributed the casks of whale oil. The wagon rattled and bumped along, and Jason said, “Lighter load.”
“By far,” replied Saul. The wagon was empty.
Jason was too relieved to have dug his ditch and put the oil and kerosene in place to pay much attention to Saul’s unease. He chalked it up to an understandable nervousness over what was to come. He just hoped that Saul wouldn’t go out of his head again and chase him around the square with a loaded gun.
He hadn’t much cared for that.
“What time you got?” he asked.
Saul dipped fingers into his pocket, pulled out his watch, then flipped the case open. “Nine. Seven after, if you’re wanting I should be precise.”
Jason nodded. After nine, and still no Apache. Not a single, solitary brave. Maybe they had run them off for good. Or maybe they were still out there, lurking or plotting. Or something.
He pulled the wagon back into the circle around the well and said, “That’s that.”
Saul didn’t say anything, he just climbed down. Jason followed suit. A couple of the men from the sales train ran to unhitch the horses, and Jason started for the front gate, which a carriage had just come through. Jenny and Matt stepped out of the carriage.
Jason’s initial glee turned to annoyance at the sight of Matt. But he walked toward them anyway. He could put up with Matt for a second or two for a chance to see his sister here in town, and away from that damn ranch of Matt’s.
Jenny saw him coming, and broke away from Matt to run to Jason. She fairly leapt into his arms and began to sob into his chest.
It wasn’t like Jenny, not at all, and at first Jason thought she was hurt. But then he glanced up at Matt and saw the look of annoyance on his face, and realized she’d either had a good scare or a good fight with Matt. Both possibilities left him angry.
He didn’t say anything, though. He just tucked Jenny’s shoulders beneath his arm and slowly led her back to the office. He would have taken her home, but their house was likely still chock full of Milchers. He hadn’t seen any of them yet this morning, and he didn’t imagine it would do Jenny any good to spend a morning with them. At any time, let alone today.
Saul watched Jason lead his sister to the jail, and suddenly remembered that he had folks to check on, too. He made his way over to the hardware store and let himself in. Rachael and the boys were still where he’d left them—in the back room on the first floor. Nobody was going upstairs until this Apache trouble was over for certain, and if Jason expected more trouble, Saul was the first to agree with him.
He had known Jason long enough and seen him in action enough times to trust him with his life, and those of his family.
Even if he wasn’t Jewish.
But then, Jason couldn’t help that, could he? A man was what he was born to be.
“Rachael, my love,” he said softly. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Lonely. Lost.” She patted the quilt next to her on the little bed. “Sit, Saul. I’m better.”
When he sat next to her, she took his arm and asked more quietly, “How goes it out there?” She nodded toward the street.
“It goes well,” he said. “Jason is on the job.”
“And what of the Indians? The boys told me some of it.”
When? She had been unconscious or sleeping every time he had been with her. At first he didn’t know whether he should be cross with the boys, but he decided not. Indians were a great excitement to them still, and who better to share their excitement with than their beloved mother? Especially since their father was busy outside.
“Yes,” he said, “I suppose they could not keep it to themselves. Although,” he added, turning to them, “we need to discuss what they were doing out front, by the windows.”
The youngest ducked behind the old, broken rocking chair and covered his backside, locking his hands behind him.
“Later,” Saul added, and tried to keep the laughter from his voice.
He felt a tug at his sleeve and turned back to Rachael. “What is Jason doing?” she asked.
Saul shrugged. “He had us up half the night, digging a shallow moat—that’s what he called it, a moat—around the town. And first thing this morning, he had us drizzle whale oil and put kerosene kegs in it. I think he plans to set it afire when the Apache attack again, but I can’t see how it will do any good. The soil—if one can call it that—soaked up the oil the moment we poured it in, and the kerosene he had us leave in the kegs.”
Rachael’s face screwed up, and he knew she was deep in thought. Not so deep, he hoped, that she would misunderstand the foolishness of Jason’s ploy.
But quite suddenly, her face lit up. “Yes, Saul, yes, I see. We are lucky to have such a wise sheriff!”
Wise?
Was this his Rachael speaking, she who saw through him every time, she who always knew what was best?
He stared at her curiously, and she said, “Oh, Saul, don’t you see? Don’t you remember the time you burnt down my father’s storage shed?”
He nodded. One match! One match dropped ten feet from the building, only smoking, and whoosh! “Why do you bring this up now, woman?” It must have happened ten years ago!
She rolled her eyes. “Because, my poor, dear Saul, the place where you dropped your match was the place where my mother used to pour out her old cooking oil!”
Still, he didn’t understand, and she continued. “The oil stays in the ground for many years. It is like…a wick. A dirt wick, if there is such a thing. That is why they had such a hard time putting it out.”
Suddenly, realization—as well as relief—washed over Saul. “Aha!” he said. “Once again, our boy sheriff is three steps ahead of me. But not you, Rachael,” he added with a self-effacing grin. “No, not ahead of my Rachael.”
“I hate him, Jason,” Jenny said, hunched over with her hands to her eyes. “I wanted the Apache to come and kill him, even if they killed me, too!” And then she burst back into uncontrollable tears.
Jason held a cup of water to her trembling lips. “Here, Jenny. Drink this.”
But she pushed the cup away, splashing water over her lap and his, and she couldn’t stop crying.
So he just held her. He hadn’t wanted it to happen like this, but he had wanted her to leave Matt and to come home. She needed to grow up. And she needed somebody besides Matt MacDonald to do it with. Someone besides her husband.
But she’d thrown Jason out of the mix when she married Matt. It was against everything he’d ever been taught, breaking up a marriage. Especially his own sister’s. He tried to think like his father. What would Jedediah Fury have done?
Jedediah wouldn’t have allowed Jenny to run off with Matt in the first place, that’s what, Jason thought with a frown. Never, not in a million years would he have allowed his only daughter to wed such a cowardly little pissant as Matthew MacDonald. Well, Jason hadn’t exactly allowed it either, but the Reverend Milcher had wed them just the same. And now Matt was his brother-in-law.
Jenny spoke. “Jason, I want to come home. And not just to visit. To stay.”
“Are you absolutely sure, Jenny?” he asked, holding his sudden joy from his voice. He didn’t want her to go through this a second time. He didn’t think he could stand it, and he knew that she couldn’t.
“Yes,” she said through her tears. “I’m positive.”
Not unkindly, Jason said, “You were positive you wanted to marry him, too, Jen.”
She lifted her head to face him, and her expression was hard and determined. “I know. I was wrong. I should have listened to you.”
Jason blinked. He hadn’t expected that—her saying that she should have listened to him, that is. He knew how hard that must have been for Jenny, and he soft ened.
“Of course you can come back, honey,” he said, and gave her a brotherly hug. “Of course you can. But you’ll have to stay with me here for a while. Our house is full of Milchers.”
She blinked. “Why on earth?”
“Didn’t you see the church when you came through the gate?”
Jenny blew her nose. “Wasn’t paying attention.”
“They got burnt out, from the steeple down to the ground.”
“Oh,” Jenny sniffed. “All right. I’d like to stay here with you. Is…is Megan here in town still?”
Jason nodded. “She’s around. Or she was, last time I checked. You can go look for her, but if you hear anybody shout ‘Apache,’you head back here in a hurry, you understand me?”
She bobbed her head like a dutiful sister, and he smiled before he said, “We’re not out of this thing yet, baby sister. Keep close.”
He stood up and started toward the door, but she said, “Jason? Why didn’t you stay to talk to me when you came by the house yesterday?”
He couldn’t answer her, couldn’t tell her that he would just as soon slug her husband in the face as speak to him. And so he simply walked out the door without answering.
Once outside, he walked right into Megan. She fell back into the hitching rail, and only fast thinking on Jason’s part kept her from going over it backward.
“Sorry,” he said as he brought her back to her feet with as little show as possible.
Her feathers were ruffled, though, and while she smoothed her skirts, she started to scold him.
He waved his hands, saying, “Megan? Megan!”
She stopped her rant and stared at him curiously.
“What?”
“Jenny’s inside. She wants to talk to you.”
“And I want to talk to her, too,” Megan said, and pushed past him to the office door.
“Take it easy on her, Megan. Please? And tell her I’ve been taking good care of her filly.”
She looked at him, her face relaxing as she did. “All right, Jason. She’ll be happy to hear about Nugget. Did she have a rough time of it? Jenny, not Nugget, I mean.”
“I’m guessing she did, but it didn’t have anything to do with the Apache.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said cryptically, and disappeared into the office, closing the door softly behind her.
“There was nothing more?” Lone Wolf asked. It was nearing noon at the Apache camp, and he had spent the morning questioning Strangles Coyotes about what he’d seen at the whites’ town. So far, he wasn’t getting any information, at least none that did him any good.
“Nothing,” said Strangles Coyotes. He was so tired that his head was wobbling on his neck and his eyelids fluttered. He had started back before dawn, long before light, long before Jason had begun to implement the second part of his plan.
“They dug a ditch,” said Lone Wolf. “They are crazy, these whites.”
Strangles Coyotes gave a halfhearted nod. “Crazy,” he repeated.
Lone Wolf had had enough of him. “Go. Sleep. And when you wake, make arrows. Many arrows. We will need them tomorrow.”
“We attack again in the morning?”
Lone Wolf nodded curtly. “Go and sleep. We need each man at his best.”
At last, Strangles Coyotes left and Lone Wolf fell once again into thought. What could the whites be planning to dig this ditch? The Apache ponies would not stumble in it. They were all surer of foot, more nimble, than the mountain goats.
Perhaps the whites intended to divert the stream into it. But again, what good would that do them? It would only be a waste of water, and according to Strangles Coyotes, it was now shallow enough to be easily forded. Even when it was at its raging height, the river still did not meet the tops of the bank, let alone the height of the ditch. He did not think even the craftiest white could make water run uphill.
Slowly, he shook his head. Whatever they were planning, his braves would overcome. Tomorrow they would spread themselves around the whole of the wall’s perimeter.
Tomorrow, they would be victorious, and two days later, they would celebrate their victory with the rest of the tribe. There would be much feasting on the white men’s cattle and drinking of tiswin and dancing.
He was sure of it.
The whites were many in number and had firesticks with which to shoot them, but they were as stupid as women when it came to planning. They would fail, and his men would sack and strip the town.
Of this, he was certain.