This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [17]
Time dragged. The shooting was unpredictable. Once, Summer heard a muffled curse; shortly after, the whine of a bullet hit the end of the wagon. There was silence, then someone began shooting up on the right of them. This was the hardest part, not knowing what was going on. She opened her eyes and stared into Sadie’s green ones. They were large with fright and the freckles stood out on her white face.
“Shhh, baby. Shhh . . . Mama’s here,” Sadie crooned to the frightened child in her arms.
“You’re heavy, Summer. Can’t you get off now?” John Austin’s voice was tired, bored. It made Summer angry.
“You hush up! We’re not getting up till they tell us we can.”
The wagon creaked as someone climbed up into the bed. Hands beneath her armpits lifted her to her feet.
“You done good. You done real good.” Jack helped Sadie to sit up. She cuddled the frightened little girl to her.
“Was anyone hurt?” Summer held on to the wagon seat, her legs suddenly weak.
“Only a couple little nicks. Ain’t nothin’ that needs to be messed with. You all sit tight.” He jumped down from the wagon. “Slater’ll be glad when you get home tonight!” He turned to Summer gravely.
Slater. Later, Summer was to remember it was the second time she had heard that name. It had a familiar ring.
“We’ll take the guns and that’s all,” Bulldog instructed the men. “They ’spect it. The rest of their plunder we leave. It’s sacred to ‘em. N’other thing. We don’t go a killin’ any wounded, if’n there is any. Killin’ in a fights one thing, bashin’ in heads of wounded is another. We ain’t out to kill no ’Paches if’n they ain’t out to kill us.”
Now Bulldog rushed up the slope to where Slater sat on the ground. The wound in his thigh was throbbing painfully, and he took the handkerchief from around his neck and tied it tightly around his leg.
“Did they get ya, boy?” Bulldog knelt down, but Slater held out his hand to ward him off.
“Only a scratch. Anybody else?”
“Luther got a little nick and Jay got caught with a flying splinter.”
“Why the hell didn’t Jack have somebody out there riding point?” Slater got to his feet.
“Thought you was doin’ that, sonny,” Bulldog said impudently, but his eyes were full of concern.
Slater grinned. “Don’t be givin’ me any of that ‘sonny’ sass, old man. I can still whip your ass.”
“Wal, now . . . I don’t know nothin’ of the kind. Ya ain’t tried it fer a spell.”
“Ain’t had to, you old buzzard.” Slater reloaded his weapons and Bulldog brought his horse over to him. “Better get back down there to the women. Tell Jack I’ll ride point from here on.” He looked at Bulldog, then away. “How did she do?”
“Cool as buttermilk. Threw herself down on top of the kid. Never heard a whimper. Sadie did good, too. Both of ’em got grit. Ain’t ya comin’ down? She’s gonna be askin’. ’Sides, you ain’t ort to be a ridin’ with that gunshot.”
“No, I ain’t coming down. I’m going to ride. Tend to your own business.”
“Ya are my business, ya . . . stubborn jackass.” Grumbling, Bulldog went back to the wagon.
Four
Sundown came, and with it the happy anticipation of homecoming. Summer was tired, but strangely stimulated. Youth is wonderfully resilient. Not even Bulldog’s irritability could dampen her spirits.
The wagon rolled up and over a rise. The house came into view. It was impossible for Summer to tell what her feelings were at that moment, or even if she had feelings at all. The house, set close to the ground, blended into its surroundings as if it had been born there. Built of heavy logs, it looked solid and permanent. A lean-to porch roof had been added recently, the heavy support posts showed the bark had just been peeled. Two doors led into the house from beneath the porch roof, and two stone chimneys rose from each side of the house; one emitting a thin plume of smoke. Summer’s eyes took in everything, from the pole corrals behind the cabin to the plowed garden spot to the side, out from under the shade