by Stephen Bly
Retta glanced at Lerryn.
Lerryn shrugged.
Retta pulled herself up into the wagon.
“Now,” Mrs. Barre instructed, “I’d like one of you under this arm.”
Retta moved over, and Mrs. Barre put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. Lerryn moved under her mother’s other arm.
“Okay, girls, lift me up.”
With all their mother’s weight draped on their shoulders, Retta and Lerryn tugged the woman to her feet.
“Now, see? That’s not so bad. Now step back and let me stand on my own.”
“Mama, this isn’t a good idea,” Lerryn insisted.
“What could possibly happen? Step back and let me stand on my own.”
Retta watched Lerryn as they stepped backwards at the same time and let their mother go.
“You see...” Mrs. Barre began. Suddenly her knees buckled, and she collapsed on the bedrolls.
“Mama,” Lerryn hollered.
Mrs. Barre rolled over on her back and began to laugh.
“Are you hurt, Mama?” Retta called.
“No, baby, I’m fine,” she snickered.
“Why are you laughing?”
“My demonstration of competence didn’t turn out as expected. I believe the Lord healed my mind before He healed my legs. I’m quite embarrassed, but I’m glad that only my daughters had to witness such foolishness. I suppose you will need to help me up to the comforter.”
Retta and Lerryn lifted their mother back up to the quilt and pillows.
“Eh, Mama,” Lerryn said, “I think you’re bleeding again.”
Retta plucked up the shotgun.
“The same thing happened just about twelve and a half years ago. Lerryn, would you get me those rags?
Coretta, can you fetch me a basin of water? What are you doing with that gun?”
Retta pulled back the hammer of the shotgun. “Papa and the boys said to fire the gun if we need them.”
Mrs. Barre brushed at the skirt of her dress. “I hardly think it’s necessary.”
“It would make me feel better, Mama, if Papa were here,” Lerryn added.
“Well, all right, but I hope it doesn’t scare poor Eugene to death. That sweet man has had to put up with a lot lately. You go on out in front of the wagon, li’l sis, and please be careful with that gun.”
Retta scooted to the front of the wagon, but when she swung her leg up on the wagon seat, it tangled in a rope. She lost her balance and tumbled from the wagon, landing facedown in the dirt. The shotgun blasted when the butt stock hit the wagon tongue, her finger still on the trigger.
There was a distant scream and a curse. A bearded man staggered away from the rope corrals toward a waiting paneled wagon.
“That squaw done shot my backside, Elmo,” the man screamed. “Shoot her!”
“Serves you right, Davy. I told you not to take an Indian’s cow. They is testy that way.”
“Wait up for me, Elmo,” he screamed.
The wagon and the man disappeared over the rise. Lerryn lunged out the front of the wagon.
“Is Retta all right?” Mrs. Barre called out.
“Yes, just a little mussed up,” Lerryn replied.
“What was all that noise?” Mrs. Barre queried.
“I think it was one of those prairie pests, Mama,” Retta hollered. “But don’t worry—I chased him off.”
She looked up to see two horses galloping from the river.
Chapter Five
By the time the sun sank below Laramie Peak far to the west, all four Barre children huddled around the small chip fire next to the covered wagon. The breeze neither warmed nor cooled, but it did blow away most of the gnats and flies. Because of the bitter smoke, all four sat on the same side of the campfire.
Retta and Lerryn occupied the big green trunk, their feet barely touching the prairie dirt. When William looked back over his shoulder, the other three glanced back as well.
Mr. Barre climbed down out of the wagon and strolled over to them. His nearly white cotton shirt was unbuttoned, and his braces left shadowy vertical stripes on his chest. He carried a small oil lamp, shielding it with his other hand.
William stood, his own suspenders hanging off his shoulders and draping down his ducking trousers. “How’s Mama?”
Mr. Barre set the lamp on a crate. “She’s better. It’s a blessin’ from the Lord ’cause I surely wasn’t expectin’ it.”
Andrew whittled on a short stick. The shavings tumbled into the fire. “Will we be able to leave in the morning?” he asked.
Mr. Barre paced through the drifting campfire smoke. “Perhaps so, or perhaps the next day.” A soft smile broke across his face. “She does seem to be on the mend.”
“What about those prairie raiders that Retta chased off?” Andrew asked. “Will they cause us any more trouble?”
Mr. Barre held his finger to his lips and squatted down between his children and the small, smoldering fire. “Shhh, not too loud. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mama about them yet.”
“She still thinks I was just signaling you?” Retta whispered.
Mr. Barre reached over and patted her knee. “I reckon she does, darlin’.”
“But what about the raiders, Papa?” Lerryn pressed.
“I surmise they’ll either try to slip back here after dark,” he said, rubbing his chin, “or push on to catch up with the wagon train. Thanks to liT sis, they think there are Indians at this wagon. If they were smart, they wouldn’t come back. But I haven’t heard any indication of much intelligence.”
Andrew tossed the whittled stick into the fire and slipped his knife back into the sheath. “Do you really think they’ll attack the wagon train?”
Mr. Barre stared into the fire. “Nope. If Retta heard right and they only have three men and a couple bullets, they can’t roll right up and start shootin’. But they might try to weasel in and steal as much as they can. You know our folks will always give them a meal and an overnight stay.”
William pulled his suspenders back up over his shoulders. “We need to warn them.”
Mr. Barre fanned the coals of the fire with his hat. “We’ll try to catch up as quick as we can, but it would be too risky to send one of you ahead. It’s too dangerous out here alone. Besides, we need you all here so that we can keep Mama safe. If Retta dispatched the scoundrels, I reckon the colonel, Bobcat, and the others can do the same.”
Retta reached over and held her sister’s hand. “Lerryn helped me.”
Lerryn flipped her blonde bangs out of her eyes. “You should have seen li’l sis clobber that man with her coup stick. She raised that rock hammer above her head and slammed it into his boot. I bet she broke a few toes.”
“He shouldn’t have touched me,” she mumbled. “But I didn’t mean to do it so hard. I just got mad.”
“He was lucky I wasn’t around with my rifle,” William declared.
“Sounds like li’l sis took care of the shootin’, too.” Andrew grinned.
“Now that really was an accident. I didn’t mean to shoot him in the rear end,” Retta explained.
William pushed his spectacles high on his nose. “Just exactly where did you mean to shoot him, Coretta Emily?”
“I didn’t even know he was out there.”
Mr. Barre shoved his hat back on his head. “I don’t surmise they’ll attack us, but they might be angry enough to sneak back and try to steal a cow or an ox.”
“Me and Andrew will sleep out by the cattle,” William offered.
Mr. Barre shook his head. “Thanks, boys. I know you mean it, but I’ll do the night guardin’ if it’s necessary,” he insisted.
“Papa, you need to be close to Mama. When she takes a spell, she doesn’t want anyone around but her Eugene,” Lerryn cautioned.
“She’s right, Papa,” Retta said.
“But I can’t...” Mr. Barre protested.
“We’ll tie the horses to the wagon wheels,” Andrew
said.<
br />
“And me and li’l sis will sleep under the wagon with the shotgun and coup stick,” Lerryn announced.
Mr. Barre stood up and towered above his seated children. “Absolutely not.”
“Papa, you need to be in the wagon with Mama,” Lerryn maintained. “If she takes a bad turn, you’re the only one who can do anything about it.”
“And if she’s having a good night, you’re still the one she wants with her,” Retta said.
“That’s absurd. I can’t sleep in the wagon while my children are exposed to harm.”
“We’re all exposed to harm, Papa,” William pointed out. “That canvas-covered wagon would not stop a bullet or an arrow. What makes you safe in there?”
“Well ... well...”
“Come on, Papa,” Andrew urged. “It’ll make us feel like we’re takin’ care of you and Mama.”
“But—but you are just children.”
“You got to let us grow up sometime. William’s twenty, and I’m seventeen,” Andrew insisted.
“That’s what you keep telling me,” Mr. Barre said. “But li’l sis is only twelve, and there’s no way—”
“Papa,” Lerryn interrupted, “Coretta Emily has proved she can stand against Indians and prairie bandits. She has more experience than 90 percent of the men in the wagon train. I feel safer with her alongside me than I would having the likes of Mr. Landers or some of the rest of them.”
Mr. Barre pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “What am I goin’ to do with you four? You argue like your Mama. You aren’t goin’ to let up until I relent, are you?”
“Nope.” Lerryn grinned.
“Well, just this one night.”
“Good. You go to bed. I’ll get things organized out here,” William announced.
Mr. Barre stared at his eldest son. “I need to help.”
“Go to bed, Papa,” Retta insisted.
“Don’t I need to put up camp?”
William shook his head. “Nope.”
“I’ll bring in the horses.”
“Nope,” Andrew put in.
“Well, I have to do something.”
“Go up there and scrunch up next to Mama. That will make her the happiest woman on earth,” Lerryn suggested.
Even in the dim light, Retta could see her father blush. “I reckon you’re right,” he muttered.
His shoulders were slumped, but there was a slight smile on his face as he picked up the oil lamp and hiked back to the wagon. Within moments all light inside the wagon was extinguished.
For the next hour the four Barre children loaded up the gear, brought in the horses, spread the canvas, and laid out quilt pallets for beds. Retta and Lerryn were lying on top of the quilts when the boys hiked back in from taking care of the cattle. William carried a ball of string. They huddled to make plans.
“Are you goin’ to sleep fully dressed?” he asked his sisters.
“I was going to pull off my shoes and stockings,” Lerryn replied. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. I figure on doing the same,” Andrew said.
“I think I’ll leave my moccasins on,” Retta announced. “Retta has her coup stick, and I’ll have the shotgun,” Lerryn added. “We should be protected.”
Retta pointed at the string in her brother’s hand. “What’s Papa’s survey twine for?”
William tugged his spectacles to the end of his nose and peered over the rims. “Figured I’d tie one end on my wrist and the other on one of you. We could use it for signals.”
“Tie it on who?” Retta asked.
William, Andrew, and Lerryn answered in unison, “You.”
“Oh, okay,” Retta grinned. “Eh, what will the signals be?”
“One tug means nothing. I reckon we may do that just turnin’ over,” William explained. “Two tugs means to listen. Three tugs means to come here quietly. Four tugs means to make noise when you come.”
Retta’s eyes widened as she nodded. “Okay.”
“And five tugs means wake up, sleepyhead, and fix breakfast,” Andrew laughed.
Lerryn looked up at her blue-eyed, strong-shouldered oldest brother. “Are you worried?”
“No,” William replied. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose and stared out into the black prairie night. “Actually just a little scared. It’s one thing to brag about doin’ somethin’, but it’s another to actually do it. I know we can do it with the Lord’s help.”
The boys went back out to the cattle. Their shadowy silhouettes soon disappeared in the darkness. Retta stretched out lengthwise under the wagon box on the cattle side. Lerryn lay alongside her on the river side. The ground felt hard as the night air cooled some. The pillow felt gritty on Retta’s face, and her neck felt grimy.
“Night, Lerryn,” she whispered.
“Night, sis.”
“No li’l sis?”
“Not anymore.” Lerryn reached over and touched Retta’s arm.
Retta scrunched around so she could hold her sister’s hand.
Sometime after midnight, with the quarter moon casting a glow on the prairie, Retta reached up to brush a fly off her face, but she couldn’t touch her ear.
Her hand was held back.
And someone tugged on it.
Or something.
“Two tugs.” Retta raised up on her elbows and listened.
She thought she heard the wind rustle in the tall grass to the south of the wagon, but she couldn’t feel any wind at all under it.
No voices.
No hoofbeats.
No coyotes.
No night birds.
No cows lowing.
No Papa snoring.
Nothing.
What does William hear? Or did he just turn over twice? Should I go out there? Should I wake up Lerryn? Or Papa?
Retta grabbed her coup stick and waited.
And waited.
Lying on her stomach, she propped up on her elbows and then dozed off.
A violent tug on the string yanked her hand from under her head. She crashed to the pillow.
“One tug?” she muttered.
She yanked two times on the cord. The line slacked like a fishing line when the lead breaks off on a submerged stump. She tugged again and wound up with a handful of twine.
Now what was she supposed to do?
Lord, William didn’t tell me what to do when the line broke. I reckon I should go out there, but am I supposed to sneak up?
If she snuck up when they didn’t expect her, they might shoot her. But if she made noise when she was not supposed to...
Lord, I wish Papa was awake. He’d know what to do. He’d barge right out there. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll do what Papa would do.
She reached over to wake up her sister.
Of course, he wouldn’t wake up Lerryn.
Lord, this is Retta. I’m really sleepy and not too sure what to do. So ... You might want to send an extra angel to help out here, you know, just in case I do it wrong.
When she picked up her coup stick, she felt her fingers run across the beaded headband. She slipped it over her hair. The feather tickled her ear.
The quarter moon stalled above her in the black, starlit sky. Retta could see outlines of the cattle and silhouettes of horses as she quietly approached.
There weren’t supposed to be any horses out here. What was going on?
“Retta, Watch—” William was suddenly cut off.
Goosebumps sprang up on her neck and arms. “William? Andrew? What is it? Where are you? I can’t see.”
A light flickered behind her. She whipped around. A barefoot Lerryn plodded across the prairie, shotgun over her arm, a fat white candle in her hand. “What is it, Retta?” As Lerryn approached, her eyes widened, and she gasped, “Oh, no.”
Retta spun back around. In the candlelight she spied Andrew and William held at knifepoint by half a dozen Indians with painted faces. William’s leather suspenders were off his shoulders and hanging from his ducking trousers. His spe
ctacles were missing. Both boys were barefoot.
Retta raised her coup stick as if to strike.
The one holding his hand over William’s mouth and a knife to his throat dropped his hands and stepped closer.
“Careful, Retta,” William croaked.
The Indian growled, “Red Bear?”
Retta nodded her head and squatted down in the middle of the group of Indians.
Lerryn held the candle over her shoulder. “What’re you doing, Coretta?”
“Just hold the light,” Retta ordered. Lord, this is me, Retta, and I’m sort of in over my head again. I think I need that extra angel now.
The main Indian squatted down beside her.
She pointed to her chest and then at the coup stick. “Red Bear.” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat and repeated it louder. “I’m Red Bear.” It came out as a shout, and the Indian flinched back.
Then he nodded. “Red Bear.”
Retta pointed to William, Andrew, the cattle and oxen, and then pointed to her chest.
“Belong to Red Bear?” the Indian mumbled.
She nodded her head. “Yes.”
“And me—I belong to Red Bear,” Lerryn called out from behind her.
Retta pointed to her sister and then back to herself. “Belong to Red Bear.”
The Indian nodded. A smile crept across his face. He pointed back toward the covered wagon a hundred feet away.
Retta nodded. “Belong to Red Bear.”
The Indian said several words to his companions, ending with the words, “Red Bear.”
They released Andrew and handed the boys back their rifles. Then the Indian waved to one of the others and said something. The man retrieved something from a belt pouch and handed it to the squatting Indian.
Retta studied the item in the man’s hands. “Oh no,” she whispered over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter? What is it? I can’t see.” Lerryn stepped closer.
“It’s a beautiful bone choker. He’s going to give it to me.”
The Indian leaned forward and held the three-strand necklace to her neck. Then he reached around and tied it behind her neck.
