Chapter 31
The Most Unusual Breakfast in the World
They must have known they’d gotten one of us when only two guns were firing at them instead of three. Then when Juan stopped to reload, the Indian had jumped through the silent window, and the next second Pa was staring down the barrel of a Paiute gun.
Pa could have tried to shoot him, of course. But then they’d both have been dead, and there would have been a dozen more Indians following right after the first. Not only would it have been pointless, Pa didn’t want to shoot anyone anyway. I saw him glance over at me, all blood-stained like I was, as he set his rifle down. I knew he would have killed to save me if he needed to. But now it looked as if we were all going to die together! And the look of futility on his face said there wasn’t much he could do about it.
By now one of them had opened the door, and more Indians were pouring into the cabin, some holding bows, others rifles, talking in a strange language, making gestures and signs, looking around, taking stock of the inside of the station. They didn’t seem to pay any attention to my being a woman, which I know was the main thing on Pa’s mind. I don’t suppose I looked all that attractive to them in the condition I was in!
A few of them started taking things—some tools and supplies, what food they could carry—while two of the others talked among themselves. Then one of them gave what sounded like an order, and another ran outside and returned a minute later with several strands of buffalo rope. He threw one of them to his companion, and the two of them grabbed Juan and Pa and started to tie them up. Then one of them approached me, grabbed at my arm, and pulled me over against one of the two support timbers in the middle of the cabin. He yanked my hands behind my back and tied me up too. He was none too gentle, and he smelled horrible. I tried not to cry out, but he hurt my wrists as he twisted the rope around them and yanked it tight.
I don’t know what danger they thought Mr. Tavish was going to be in his condition, but one of them dragged him by the feet over next to me, then pulled him viciously to his feet and tied him up behind me. We could feel each other’s hands but couldn’t see each other.
“I’m sorry about this, little lady,” Mr. Tavish groaned softly. “These blamed Pai—”
A blow across the side of his head and face put an end to whatever he had been going to say.
Meanwhile, the Indians who were taking things seemed to have gotten all they wanted out of the cabin and had left. Outside we could hear movement and rustling. The door was still open and I could see them dragging brush and bales of straw from the stables over toward the station. Out one of the windows I could see the same thing going on.
“What are they doing?” I whispered when the one who had been tying us up went over to check on the knots around Pa and Juan.
“Fixing to burn down the place,” Mr. Tavish whispered back. “It’s their favorite way—surround the place with kindling and firewood and set it ablaze.”
“What about us?” I said in horror.
“It’s the Paiute way of burning the white man at the stake. The good-for-nothin’ savages!”
“They’re going to leave us inside?” I gasped.
“Leave us inside to burn, take us outside and put arrows through our hearts—their kind ain’t too particular how the white man dies.”
“Pa!” I wailed.
“Be brave, Corrie,” I heard Pa answer, even though I couldn’t see him from the direction I was facing. “Just remember—this ain’t the end of it. Our Father will take care of us, even if—”
He never finished. I heard a big whack, and I squirmed at my ropes, straining around to try to see Pa. I managed just to see him out of the corner of my eye. His head was hanging limp, a red gash from the butt of the Indian’s rifle already swelling up from above his ear down into the upper part of his cheek. The blow had knocked him unconscious.
I found myself wishing they’d do the same to me. If I was going to get burned up, I’d rather be asleep!
There was still a lot of activity outside, but it looked as if they had just about got the cabin all surrounded with dry material that would ignite in just a few seconds. Then it got very quiet. The Indian who had seemed to be in charge walked out the door and was gone for two or three minutes. When he finally came back in, the look on his face was one of taking a last look around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. A handful of others followed him in, then stood back waiting. He walked slowly about, indicating now one thing, now another, with a grunt and a few words. The others picked up whatever he’d pointed to and took it outside. They grabbed up several blankets on a shelf that had been missed before, a shovel, an axe, an unopened bag of beans.
The leader walked slowly around the table, eyeing it carefully, then over to the stove, where he first noticed the flapjacks and bacon still frying away. By now the two large pancakes on the griddle were black on the bottom, and the thin strips of bacon burned to cinders. But the smell seemed to attract his attention. He glanced back at the table, then again eyed the stove, this time lifting the lid off the pot of coffee, which still sat there steaming hot. The smell seemed to appeal to him. He smiled, replaced the lid, took a tin cup from the shelf behind the stove, and poured out a cup of the black brew.
As he sipped at it, he must have thought more of it than I had the previous evening, because he smiled again, then called to his companions, apparently asking them if they wanted some. They all set down the things they’d been carrying outside and approached him, grabbing cups wherever they could find them, and pouring coffee for themselves.
The five or six Indians left in the cabin talked and laughed as they sipped at Mr. Tavish’s strong coffee. Then before I even realized what was happening, they all sat down around the table, using our plates and eating up the flapjacks that we had cooked!
There they were, getting ready to burn the place down, and us along with it, and they were celebrating by eating our breakfast!
After some discussion, they finally figured out that the syrup was sweet and tasted good on top of the pancakes. They poured it on, then tore the pancakes in half with their fingers, picked them up, and ate them. It was the messiest breakfast I had ever seen in my life, and if I hadn’t been about to die, I probably would have laughed myself silly. As it was, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or look the other way and try to ignore their uncivilized antics.
But they were impossible to ignore. By now they were making quite a racket. The pancakes and bacon were gone in a few minutes, and they had syrup and grease all over their faces and hands. Then they got up and started rummaging all through the cabin to see if there was anything else they could find to eat! One of them grabbed up the bottle of syrup and drank down the rest of it, then set it back down on the table with a crash and a loud laugh. The rest were helping themselves to more coffee, spilling half of it in their haste. One had discovered a tin of dried venison, which all the rest now came and started to fight over.
Then suddenly, in the distance, a bugle sounded, followed by the pounding gallop of approaching horses.
All activity inside the cabin stopped immediately, and they looked around at one another. Immediately, I realized that the Paiutes had heard the sound, too, and were scared by it. They dropped everything and ran for the door. Within fifteen seconds, amid shouts and unintelligible cries, we heard their ponies galloping away in the opposite direction, followed by pursuing gunfire.