Drip… Absentmindedly I flip the wetness from my cheek, trying to persuade myself that it’s merely the gritty soil that always finds its way to my face causing this emotional reaction. Drip… Maybe it’s the unrelenting Wyoming wind getting to me. Drip… Who am I kidding? Frustration at my inability to harness my sorrow flows through my hand as I harshly wipe the moisture away. Standing on this hill, I’m overwhelmed with flashbacks of the wildfire. The smoke burning my eyes and invading my nostrils, the heat from the wall of flames, the panicked bellowing of the cattle… And the screams… The memory of it attacks me all at once, sending chills down my spine. Has it really been two months? On one hand it feels like it was years ago, another far away time, and on the other, well it feels like the fire is still happening. A nudge from my horse snaps me out of my preoccupation, bringing me back to my responsibilities. Automatically my eyes scan the dusk for Matt’s flaming red hair. I feel myself relax as I see his little head bobbing up and down in time to his horse’s trot. He just loves doing herd check with his sister.
“Everything’s okay in the south herd!” he hollers with all of the enthusiasm of a ten year old. I smile slightly at his zeal for life. The panoramic mountain view and Matt’s grin that’s already evident from 50 yards away contrasts with the horrifying flashbacks that consume my thoughts. I quickly send a prayer of thanks up that He didn’t take my little optimist as well. Despite being Matt’s senior by eight years, he is the one that, unbeknownst to him, has been holding the remainder of the family’s sanity together. Well, holding our sanity together. My sanity.
I paint a smile on my face as Matt rides up closer. “Any new calves on the ground?” I ask, swinging myself up into the saddle.
“Nope, not that I saw…” he replies.
“Okay, let’s get back to the home front then. Worked up an appetite yet?” I tease. His big blue eyes and gurgling stomach answer my question.
The familiar murmur of the creek reaches my ears before the homestead is in sight. It isn’t but a few moments before the logs of our family cabin become visible. The darkness in the windows shoots an ache through my chest, reminding me that it’s just Matt and I now, all that’s left of our big happy family. Yet, there is really so much I should be thankful for. I take a moment to soak in the evening’s sunset, hoping that the rays of light will somehow lighten my mood.
The lantern casts peculiar shadows around the small kitchen as I begin my hunt for something edible to accompany the prairie chickens I just cleaned and started roasting. I’m not very hungry, but Matt needs the nourishment. He’s going through another growth spurt… If he continues at this rate, he’ll be as tall as me in a year. Of course, that isn’t too much of a feat. Frustration grips me as I realize how low on supplies we are. I really need to repair that wagon wheel and make a trip to town. The raiding of the Cheyenne earlier this year is starting to hit hard. “I’m going out to the root cellar” I call, shrugging my coat on. There’s an icy breeze blowing off of the creek, reminding me that winter is just around the corner. After rummaging around the cellar, I surface triumphantly with my hands full of small sweet potatoes.
I marvel at how much the mere discovery of some stunted vegetables lightens my mood. Creeeeaaaaak! My outstretched hand pauses on the handle of the door as my head jerks toward the origin of the offending noise. Quick moving shadows near one of the outbuildings confirm my automatic fears. Not again… I swiftly duck into the house, almost dropping my load of potatoes, and blow out the lantern. I meet Matt’s startled face and mutter “The Cheyenne are back.”
Panic flits across his face, and then surprisingly anger takes its place. “I’ll show them, Jo. They can’t keep doing this!” his eyes already making their way toward Pa’s repeating Henry rifle above the door.
“No,” I reprimand sharply, “You. Will. Stay. Here.”
“Bu-,” the daggers my eyes shoot cut him off.
“Stay here,” I reiterate, strapping my revolver around my waist and reaching up for the Henry.
I hand him an extra revolver and the Sharps, hoping fervently that the small boy won’t need them. His eyes are filled with worry again. I slip out the door as quietly as possible.
My thoughts are in a whirlwind as I creep up to the side of the barn. I know very well that I can’t overpower a large group of men, but something has to be done! The nervous lowing of the newly purchased breeding heifers alerts me that the looters are in the corral in front of the barn. I ease up closer to evaluate the situation, trying to ignore the sudden adrenaline rush that’s urging me to bolt. I freeze in momentary surprise at the sound of English words.
“C’mon, Spoon! Ain’t got all night.”
“Relax, Shorty. You heard the townfolks. It’s just the little gal here… she ain’t gunna give us no problems.”
I slip a little closer and spy around the corner, searching for the faces that go with the voices. Two shadowy figures lean up against the split log fence deep in conversation. Their horses are tied in the darkness of the barn, but the light from the full moon reveals the gleam of rifles in their saddle scabbards. I strain to hear to hear their muted conversation.
“… well Spoon, let’s get on with it. Ain’t seen heifers this purty north of Texas. They’re sure to fetch a
handsome price in Denver,” the voice of Shorty continues.
I begin seeing red. Those heifers are a large investment for the future of my ranch. After taking a deep breath to calm myself, I quietly move between the cowboys and their horses. Uncertainty freezes me in place for a moment. I cock the Henry.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I say. The two men whirl at the metallic sound of the rifle, their hands reaching for their pistols. “Easy!” I command, bringing the rifle up into my shoulder. Shock crosses their faces as they hear my voice. The taller cowboy is the first to break the silence.
“You must be the Mohr girl,” he smirks, taking a step forward.
“I’m Josephine Mohr… and I’m the last person you’ll see on this earth if you don’t back off,” I respond coldly. His
rough features crinkle in surprise, and then assume a placating smile.
“Don’t be like that, Darlin’,” he drawls.
“I ain’t your darlin’,” is my flat response. “Consider thi-,” my thought and sentence are cut short by a yelp. I instinctively twist toward the noise, trying to keep the rustlers still in sight. To my horror, massive hands are twisting Matt’s scrawny arms behind his back. A chuckle jerks my attention back to the cowboys by the corral. The shorter cowboy nods toward the big man restraining Matt.
“I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Boots… and he’s the one that’ll make sure that this is the last time you’ll see your brother alive if you don’t give me that rifle.” Even though I’m in the open, I can feel that my back is against the wall. Grudgingly, but unequivocally, I lower the rifle and place it at my feet, pushing it forward with my worn boot. “That sidearm too, Miss,” he nods toward my waist.
I can feel Matt’s eyes boring into the side of my head as I glare back at the rustler. Without breaking my glower I reach down and unbuckle my holster. After wrapping the straps around it, I lightly toss the gun toward his feet.
“Now let the boy go,” I say, trying to make my voice sound even. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this”
“Oh, on the contrary, Darlin’…” the taller man interjects, “Your brother here is gunna take a lil’ joyride with us to
make sure that we make it a safe distance from here. We’ll drop him off when we reach the territory line if you cooperate with us here. We like to call it a business agreement,” he chuckles. Dismay causes my heart to skip a beat. They can’t do this to him… I begin seeing red again.
“It takes real men to hide behind a child for protection” I snap hotly. Amusement is the only reaction that I can read in the man’s face.
“Yep,” is his short, jibing response. His tone becomes hard, “Now, if you would be so kind to step away from those horses, we’ll be on our way.”
I feel my head jerk back and forth. Indignation flashes in the cowboy’s eyes. A small cry escapes Matt’s lips as the big man tightens his hold, tearing at my determination.
“It would be in the boy’s best interest to cooperate,” he says heartlessly.
My body goes cold as the undeniably true words sink in. I look at Matt and ease back away from the animals, giving the rustlers their escape. “Down on your knees!” he barks, giving me no choice but to follow his command.
I turn my head back to scowl at the cruel cowboy, but find myself gaping in complete awe at the sight behind him. I can see him questioning my sanity out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t tear myself away from the spectacle. He slowly peers behind him and then staggers back in surprise, triggering his companions to jerk their heads toward the sight. My nerves are past the point of comprehending for a moment. The snort of a horse breaks my reverie. Another horse shakes, rustling the fringe of his rider’s leggings. The full moon is blocked by the silhouettes of a band of riders, at least eighteen being my quick calculation. By an unseen command, the riders form a circle around us in unison. One of the riders takes a step forward. I quickly take in the wrinkles in darkened skin around sharp eyes, the fine detailing of the beading on the rider’s buckskins, and the unmistakable authority that the man projects. Although I’ve never seen him, I know instantly that this is no ordinary Cheyenne. This is none other than Walking with Arrow, the most influential leader of the Cheyenne nation.
His dark eyes take in the situation and then make their way back to me. I hold my breath, my head spinning while trying to figure out the meaning of this. Walking with Arrow inclines his head lightly toward me. Although I’m not sure why, this small gesture floods relief and hope through me, bringing me to my feet. Those sharps eyes then make their way to Matt’s bewildered face and the man called Boots drops the boy’s arms like they’re suddenly Diamondback Rattlers. I can feel the rustlers’ tension build with each passing second. The Cheyenne finally meets the stunned stare of the tall cowboy and breaks the swollen silence.
“Go,” he commands, his voice deep, richly accented and full of power.
The sound of the chief’s words seems to snap the cowboys out of their trance, hastening them toward their mounts and a getaway. The circle opens slightly to allow the men to exit. As they begin to ride away, half of the Cheyenne party breaks away in a storm of thunderous whoops and ride after the three men, intensifying their flight until they’re out of sight.
Matt is suddenly in my arms. Awestruck and at a loss for words, I look up at the Cheyenne leader.
“Thank you…” are the only words I can find.
“You, Beats the Fire,” he inclines his head again and searching for the words he wants, “Strong… courage... fight,” he continues in response to my quizzical expression. With a slight smile he says, “Friend.”
Before I can respond, he effortlessly pivots is horse around and lopes off in a cloud of dust, his band instantly falling behind him. As swiftly as he came, he disappears again, making me wonder if I just dreamed it all. I look down at ginger head that’s buried in my chest and hold him a little closer, sending up silent praises to the Lord. No, it really happened. And it seems I have a new ally… and a name. Beats the Fire. I smile. It does have a nice ring to it.
“Jo,” Matt’s voice hesitantly breaks the silence.
“Yes?” I worriedly look down at him.
“I think we probably overcooked the prairie chicken…”
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