"I will, and don't you fret about me. Likely I'll bring the Wintersons
back."
"I will, and I want to tell you again not to worry. King can outrun any
Indian pony. Now remember, stay in the house, keep your eyes open, and
fight if you must. I won't be gone long."
Rifle in his hands, hatchet at his belt, Joe left the house and closed
the massive door behind him. He listened for the wooden bar to fall in
place, and after he heard it drop he started toward the stable. They'd
built it down the slope, far enough from the house so that stable odors
would not be offensive but near enough to defend. Anyone who tried to
get into the stable would be within rifle range. Joe swerved to lock
Emma's chickens in their coop and he scooped the piglet up under one
arm. The pig had only a rail fence enclosure; there had been no time to
build a house for him.
The mules looked questioningly around and Ellis's horse nickered a
welcome. The placid cow chewed calmly on hay, and Joe put the piglet
down. It scooted into the cow's stall and hid beneath the manger. Joe
bridled Ellis's horse but did not saddle it. He was used to riding
bareback and he preferred to ride that way. Joe led the horse from the
stable and bolted the door.
For a moment he stood still and a faint smile curled the corners of his
mouth as the incongruity of the situation occurred to him. He, Joe
Tower, was riding forth to help repel Indians. For some reason he
remembered Bibbers Townley and his fancied fight with the eight Apaches
in Arizona, and he wondered what Bibbers would be doing if he were here
right now. Probably, Joe guessed, he would be riding as fast as possible
toward Camp Axton.
Joe would have been happy if Jim Snedeker was here for Jim would have
known exactly what to do. That, Joe had to admit, was more than he knew.
He had come to Oregon to farm, not to fight Indians. But if they were
attacking he'd have to fight them, and Joe was an experienced hunter who
knew how to skulk through brush. If necessary, he would abandon the
horse and take to the woods, and he wasn't sure that Ellis would do that
if he had ridden to help the Wintersons. Joe pondered the best method of
reaching their place.
He'd never been to their house, but now he wished mightily that he had
visited it because there might be a short cut. He was riding a horse,
and horses do not have to stay on trails. But all Joe knew was what
Winterson had told him; he'd built where his wagon broke down the sixth
time. It stood to reason, therefore, that he had built beside the Oregon
Trail and the surest way to find his house was by riding down that. Joe
urged Ellis's horse into a gallop.
The trees on both sides were deceptively peaceful, as though nothing
violent could possibly occur here. But not too far away a man and woman
who had traveled three thousand miles in order to find new hopes and new
dreams were seeing them go up in smoke. The horse slowed a bit and Joe
urged him again.
He rounded a bend and saw the approaching team. They were Winterson's
big white and the smaller horse, and they were being driven at full
gallop by Martha Winterson, who, somehow, still managed to hold her
precious hen. Winterson crouched on the wagon seat, rifle in hand and
looking backward. Trailing the wagon by a few yards ran an unhampered
black horse. Without breaking astride, Joe swung his own mount around
the onrushing team and fell in behind.
"Keep them moving!" he shouted. "We're all ready for you!"
He said no more because this was not the time to talk, but now he knew.
Major Dismuke had known what he was talking about when he spoke of
hostiles. The plume of smoke, the racing team, the fury on Winterson's
face, and the blood on his arm, were ample proof that the Wintersons had
been attacked. Joe glanced backward down the Trail, as though he
expected to see warriors pounding in pursuit, but he saw nothing.
Expertly, Martha Winterson turned her racing team from the Trail and
into the meadows. She brought them to a plunging halt. The black horse,
rolling frightened eyes, edged very close to Joe as though it sought his
protection. Ellis, Barbara and Emma came from the house, and Emma took
charge of Martha Winterson.
"Are you all right?"
"Of course I'm all right!" Martha's eyes were blazing too. "I'm not
going to faint on you or anything like that! Oh, I'm so glad I could
bring my hen along!"
"Well, you just come right in the house! We have everything we need
there and the men will be along!"
Winterson, Joe and Ellis unhitched the team and led them to the stable.
The black horse followed and crowded in as soon as the door was open.
They put the mules in one stall and two horses in each of the others.
Ellis filled the mangers with hay and Joe turned to Winterson.
"What happened?"
"They came at dawn!" Winterson said savagely. "The hen started cackling
and woke me up! I saw this one looking in the window and threw the first
thing I could lay my hands on at him! Happened to be the chamber pot!
Time I got my hands on my rifle, he was gone! I took Martha with me, and
time we got harnessed there were more of the skunks in the woods! They
nicked me in the arm and we were gone!"
"Did they have horses?"
"Probably they had some somewhere! I suppose they left them back in the
woods when they came to get us! Yes, there must have been horses! These
Indians are too blasted lazy to walk anywhere! I got off one shot, but
think I missed!"
"How many are there?"
"I saw anyhow six, but there are more than that! Blasted mongrels
probably wouldn't fight at all unless they were anyhow fifteen to one!
Wish I'd had another rifle! I--There's three of us now! Let's go back
and tear into them!"