Chapter 22
Ben awoke with a start into pitch black. Why?
Ruff-ruff. Jack barked in the yard. The dog was supposed to be in the house.
Ben swung his legs over the side of the bunk. He grabbed his trousers and stumbled to the window, banging his knee on a chair.
Ruff-Ruff.
Charlie’s voice drifted upward. “C’mon, Jack.”
What was the boy doing outside? Worried about raiders, Cora forbade Charlie to leave the house in the middle of the night. She had him use the chamber pot instead.
Ben shoved the window up. Cool air whisked inward. Moonlight lit the yard.
Dressed in trousers but no shirt, Charlie grabbed Jack’s collar and dragged him toward the porch. The pup stiffened his legs and clawed the dirt like some mule destined for a bath, forcing the boy to pick him up.
A dead stillness pervaded the night. The air hung heavy.
Ben glanced toward the palisade walls. The gate…it almost looked as if it were ajar. Not wide open, but not closed either. Couldn’t be. He’d checked it tonight as he always did when he was home. Home. But it looked… A chill shivered through him.
Ruff-ruff. Jack squirmed out of Charlie’s arms and ran in a circle around his feet.
Ben bolted for his holster at the bedside. Had the Colt in his hands by the time he made it back to the window.
A shadow by the pecan tree moved.
“Get in the house,” Ben yelled to Charlie down below. “Now.”
The boy stooped to scoop up the dog.
The shadow became a man, bow raised and arrow nocked.
Ben squeezed the Colt’s trigger. The man dropped.
A war whoop rang out. A man jumped from behind the oak. An arrow zinged by Ben’s cheek and plunked behind him. Ben fired. The front cabin door slammed open, and Cora bolted onto the porch, dressed in nothing but her chemise.
Ben unloaded his gun in the direction of the oak, providing cover.
An Indian on horseback charged from the other side of the house. Cora lunged and hauled Charlie onto the porch.
Ben lifted his Colt, one bullet left, and set the sight on the Indian’s bare, painted chest.
“Kee! Kee!” The Indian yelled and held his hand toward the oak. Two eagle feathers dangled from a scalp lock affixed to the crown of his head. A rifle lay across his lap. “No fight.” He lifted his chin toward Ben’s window.
Ben’s finger twitched on the trigger. One bullet. Not enough. His rifle stood in the corner on the other side of the bed, loaded. But what could happen in the time it took him to retrieve it? The front door hadn’t slammed shut yet.
A scuffle on the porch. More words from the rider.
Another Indian yanked Cora and Charlie into the yard, his grip locked onto one of their arms each. Stumbling beside her captor, Cora shook her head at Ben. Don’t provoke them?
Trailing behind, Jack growled and nipped at the intruder’s foot. The Indian kicked the pup. Jack yelped.
“Don’t.” Charlie tried to jerk free.
“Good puppy. We’re all right.” Cora crooned a soothing note toward the pet.
The Indian on horseback, dressed in nothing but a breechclout and buckskin leggings, glanced from them to Ben. Two more Indians emerged from the shadows of the outbuildings, knives drawn. From behind the oak, the shooter stepped out, arrow nocked and bow drawn.
The leader rested his hand on his rifle. “Come down.”
Ben lowered his Colt. “Take me. Leave them.”
“Down.” The man pointed at the ground.
Heart pounding, Ben backed away from the window.
Dear God, protect them. Please. He snatched his gun belt from the peg on the bunk post. Hands shaking, he spun out the chamber on his Colt and fished out five cartridges from his cartridge box.
He shoved them in one at a time before grabbing his cap box and affixing a cap to each nipple on the gun.
Load secured, he spun the chamber back. Half a minute at most. On the battlefield, speed could make a difference between life and death.
Colt in one hand and his rifle in the other, he clamored down the steps to the ground floor of the stables.
His eyes clawed at the darkness, lest the enemy already be inside.
But no, the door was secure, the bolt still in place.
The horses stirred in their stalls. Voices sounded in the yard, in a language he didn’t understand.
Praying he wasn’t making a mistake that would cost all of their lives, he set his rifle to the side of the door behind a pitchfork and stuck his revolver beneath a clump of straw.
Going out there unarmed might be the most foolish thing he’d ever done.
But all they’d have to do is hold a knife to Cora or Charlie, and he’d drop his gun in a matter of seconds.
Best leave it here where he might have a chance to grab it if needed and where they wouldn’t readily find it.
Tossing the bolt on the ground, he stepped into the yard.
An Indian with two long braids and a face smeared with red paint latched onto him from behind and shoved him toward the mounted leader.
Pale in the moonlight, Cora met his gaze. The wind whipped her hair and the hem of her thin cotton chemise. Her eyes flared with warning. If only he could read their full message.
He ground his molars. If these men touched her… His hands clenched.
The leader dismounted. “I Wolf Heart. Comanche. You”—he jutted his finger at Ben—“killed my warrior.”
The man behind jerked Ben against him and slid a knife blade a hair’s breadth from Ben’s Adam’s apple.
“Your man”—Ben’s swallow stuck in his throat—“was about to kill a defenseless boy.”
“Not boy.” Wolf Heart waved his rifle toward Ben. “You. Had orders not to shoot boy.”
“I saw him ready to shoot.” Sweat dampened Ben’s back and underarms. “So I shot.”
Wolf Heart uttered Comanche words.
The knife came away from Ben’s throat as a fist struck him upside the head. Ben staggered.
Cora gasped. “Don’t hurt him.”
A second warrior grabbed Charlie while the other tightened his hold on Cora.
Ben threw back his shoulders. “I shot your man. Do what you want with me. Let them go. Warriors don’t stoop to bullying women and children.” Arms bent at his elbows, he held his clenched hands close to his body, ready to defend or strike.
Wolf Heart’s eyes narrowed. “You protect Little Wolf?”
“Little Wolf?” Ben glanced at Charlie. Did this Indian know the boy? “If that’s what you call him, yes. I am his protector.”
Wolf Heart nodded to the Indian beside Ben.
The brute cast his knife away and slammed a fist into Ben’s jaw. Pain seared upward to his ear. Ben stumbled back but dodged a left hook. Would fighting back save their lives or endanger them? Red-face’s foot struck Ben’s side, and another fist followed.
A flash of memory. Andersonville. The robber gang trying to steal Jeb’s boots.
Ben spun out and whammed his shoulder into the Indian’s chest. The man’s fists slammed into Ben’s gut.
Ben drove his knuckles into the man’s throat.
Red-face gasped. The blows ceased. Ben kneed the man’s gut and dodged a foot.
They fell on the ground in a mess of fists and blows.
Not Red-face anymore, but Duggar, the leader of the robber gang.
Grimy, scarred, a killer, willing to take man’s life for a thimble full of peas.
Ben head-butted the man and rolled on top of him.
Pinning him to the ground, he rammed his hand against the enemy’s throat and halted.
The man’s eyes bugged, and his free hand slammed into Ben’s arm.
Chest-heaving, blood dripping from his mouth, Ben held firm, blinking as blood or sweat marred his vision.
Red-face. Not Dugger. Cora and Charlie would pay if he harmed this man further.
Ben’s grip loosened a fraction. Red-face jabbed deep into Ben’s armpit, throwing him off. Both men scrambled to their feet.
“Kee. No more.” Wolf Heart stepped forward. He waved his hand at the warrior, and Red-face limped off to the porch muttering under his breath.
Limbs shaking, Ben swiped his mouth. “Now you let the girl and the boy go?”
“Never planned to take. Wanted see you fight. See if you able protect Little Wolf. See if you good enough to show him how to be a man. ”
“A man? So you attacked us? What if the boy had been killed?” Ben scowled and wrapped an arm around his aching gut.
“My men might have shot you. Not him.”
An acid taste soured his mouth. “He’s like a son to me.”
“Hmmph.” Wolf Heart folded his arms. “And how long you stay? One moon, two moons, summer and a winter? Making man takes many seasons.”
Ben spit. What kind of a commitment was this man looking for?
“Boy needs to learn. Needs father. Or I take him to his people. I his uncle. I watch. You not do good enough, I take him.”
Cora sputtered behind them where a warrior held her fast. “You…can’t take him. His mother, your sister, brought him here for us to raise. For me to raise.”
“Woman not enough for boy. Need father.”
“He’ll have a father. Sooner or later. When I marry.”
Wolf Heart shrugged. “Marry this man.”
Ben’s stomach dropped.
“He…” Cora pulled free of the warrior holding her and stepped forward, hands clasped. “This man came here as a friend of my brother to help us. His home is far away toward the rising sun. He has—”
“His home here with Little Wolf. Or I take the boy. Here and now.” The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened. A scar cut across his cheek. The man stood tall, feet planted firm, and rifle in hand. He meant what he said.
“I recognize you.” Cora pleaded. “You spared my life once. The day your men—”
“I remember. If your heart were not good, I take the boy now. I give you chance keep him for a few more winters.”
Ben’s tongue scratched his mouth like sandpaper. He shuddered a glance at Cora and then Wolf Heart. “I will be the boy’s father.”
“You take woman as wife. Make family.”
Ben’s knees wobbled down to his toes. “In my own time. A man decides for himself when to take the woman. Wins her affection first.” They had to at least make a show of complying.
“You don’t have to do this.” Cora’s voice scraped his heart.