by Nathan Jones
Of course, if he'd been leading the attack he'd hope his people were all as good at shooting from the saddle as he was, and would've been able to take out defenders as soon as they revealed themselves with their muzzle flashes.
And it went without saying he wouldn't have been attacking a ranch full of innocent people anyway.
Skyler's fallback position was still ten feet away, but he paused to prop his rifle's muzzle on the fence and take aim at the nearest rider, who was galloping headlong to circle around the ranch and approach from the north.
The man must've been practically falling out of his saddle for his muzzle flashes to be so low, and no doubt scaring the blazes out of his mount by firing practically in its ear. Those were reasons, not excuses, for the fact that Skyler's shot hit the horse high on the neck instead of in the ruffian's chest like he'd intended.
But whatever his intentions, the muzzle flashes of the man's wild firing vanished as the silhouettes of man and horse separated, tumbling in different directions as the beast went down with a scream of pain.
Skyler regretted the miss; he'd shoot a man's horse out from under him if there was no other option, but he hated targeting innocent animals. They couldn't help it that their owners were dirtbags.
It looked as if most of the attackers were circling south instead of north, which meant he would've been better off staying in his original position. Skyler bit back a curse and bolted the final distance to the fallback position, resolving to deal with the enemies who'd come this way as quick as he could before he relocated again.
Hopefully the ones who'd gone south wouldn't cause too much mischief before he got back.
Which might be sooner than Skyler had thought; he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when he realized that shooting the horse out from under one attacker, combined with the determined defense Simon's gang had encountered during what should've been a surprise attack, had caused the few men attacking from this side to lose heart.
Almost as one, in that odd coordination that came from men breaking on the battlefield, the other riders turned and galloped away. They also stopped firing, so their silhouettes faded to black on black, hard for even his experienced eyes to pick out.
It would've been tempting to stick around and take potshots at the fleeing figures, make sure they didn't find their courage again, but that would've been a mistake. They were out of the fight, while the larger part of Randall's men, and probably the man himself, were still here threatening his friends.
So with a curse he sprinted back the way he'd come, spending the time picturing in his mind what he'd seen of the riders circling south and trying to guess where they'd be now.
It turned out they were in the yard, making for the barn. Bob was blazing away at them from his position, and one man shrieked and dropped from his saddle. Skyler ducked behind the stone fence again, snapping off a shot at a ruffian reining in to take aim at the rancher.
The man screamed and reeled on his horse, which sped up to a gallop to carry him out of the yard. Hard to tell how wounded he was.
Then Randall's voice rang out over the confusion, harsh with frustration. “Back, boys! We'll crack this nut another day.” He paused, then continued in a tone filled with hatred. “You should've just let us take what we wanted! We would've let you live, then!”
Skyler searched for another target, but the ruffians had circled around behind the cover of the barn and were fleeing southwest. He wasn't in the right position to take aim at any of them, although once again if he'd stuck to his original position he would've had a clear shot for hundreds of yards.
He dashed for the barn, hoping to send at least a few shots after the fleeing gang; after the threats the old man had just hurled at him and his friends, he wasn't in a mood to let them get away without a warning not to come back.
But before he'd crossed half the distance an earsplitting scream tore through the night, drowning out the drum of retreating hooves. The sound made the hairs raise on the back of his neck in pure horror, because he recognized the voice making it.
Lisa!
Skyler forgot everything and spun, bolting south towards the sound of his friend's continued cries. Among them, so broken the words were almost incomprehensible, he heard her calling for help.
No! NO! His body armor should've protected her! He should've protected her!
He hadn't failed her, not after just finding her again. He'd spent half his life learning every skill he could so he could defend his loved ones. It wasn't a waste!
It wasn't!
It didn't take long to figure out that her voice was coming from the southern position, where Jared had been stationed. As he got closer he spotted her silhouette crouched awkwardly in the cramped space. He also realized that the pain in her voice seemed to be emotional, not physical.
Was it Jared who was hurt, then? He hated himself for the rush of relief that swept through him at that realization, which just fed the guilt.
Skyler scrambled over to her, feeling like he was going to be sick as he saw the way her hands, pressed high up on the right side of her fiancé’s chest, glistened darkly in the faint moonlight, as well as the man's shirt.
“Help me!” Lisa screamed when she noticed him. “He-he's been shot!”
He crouched to reach beneath Jared's limp form, carefully feeling around his back; the man gave a gurgling scream of pain as his fingers brushed a large exit wound. One crusted with dirt from lying on the ground.
That was bad, but a wound like this could kill the ranch hand long before he had to worry about infection. They needed to work fast.
“Keep up the pressure on his chest,” Skyler snapped as he gently pulled Jared up enough to press a wadded handkerchief against the exit wound. It was none too clean, but better than the alternative he hoped. “Bob?” he called.
“Here!” Lisa's dad panted, skidding to a halt beside them in a way that made Skyler wince; he could imagine a cloud of dust flying up to settle on the wounded man, although thankfully his wounds were covered now.
“We need to get him inside,” Skyler said. “Moving him is dangerous, but leaving him out here is worse.”
Scrawny as Jared was, it took surprising effort for even three people to carry him inside. Mostly because they also had to keep pressure on his wounds. Jared cursed and bellowed in pain through gritted teeth the entire time, at least until Skyler gave the man his gun belt to bite on.
Lisa murmured soothingly to her fiancé the entire time, whatever comfort her words offered offset by the barely concealed panic in her shaking voice. Tears glimmered on her cheeks in the dim light of the waning quarter moon just peeking over the horizon, and Skyler's heart broke for her obvious pain.
They got the ranch hand inside, stumbling to bring him to his bed in a small room off the living room. Almost as soon as they'd finished setting him down Lisa whirled on Skyler and her dad. “Someone ride down to the Ruiz homestead and get Adalia!” she snapped.
Skyler blinked. “Adalia?”
His friend nodded frantically. “She's the only one I know of who's got any practice stitching wounds. She stitched up Bryant a year or so ago when he got a nasty cut on his arm.”
Skyler gave Jared a doubtful look; a shot to the chest was something entirely different from a cut, and he wasn't sure anything short of a Northern League hospital, or at least a field medic with proper equipment, would really be able to help. But he didn't have the heart to voice that doubt under the circumstances.
“I'll go,” Bob said quickly. “Someone needs to stay and keep watch in case Randall comes back, and you're better equipped to handle trouble than I am, Skyler.”
The words were barely out of her dad's mouth before Lisa was shoving him towards the door with one hand, while she kept pressure on Jared's chest with the other. “Hurry, please!”
Bob disappeared outside, slamming the door behind him. Once he was gone Skyler focused on keeping pressure on the entry and exit wounds, while Lisa rushed to begin he
ating water and find clean cloths. Then they got to work flushing out the wounds with clean water from the well, then carefully cleaned the skin around the wounds with soap.
Then, while he held Jared facedown and kept pressure applied to the entry wound, Lisa gently used tweezers sterilized with rubbing alcohol to begin picking bits of dirt and debris out of the larger exit wound. Her face was ashen at the sight of the blood constantly seeping out across the ugly, torn flesh, but her hands were steady as she worked as quickly and carefully as she could.
The entire time Skyler kept half an eye on the front door, visible through the door to Jared's room. It wasn't lost on him that they were very vulnerable at the moment, and if Randall and his ruffians burst through that door they were going to be in trouble. At that point all he and Lisa would be able to do was shoot the enemies down as they came through the bottleneck, and hope the gang didn't use any other doors or windows.
Or even worse, just set fire to the place and set up camp on the doors to gun them down if they tried to escape.
But his friend couldn't tend her fiance alone, and if Skyler left to guard against an attack that might not come it could mean Jared's death. He just had to cling to the reassurance that, in his experience, people who'd just fled from an attack rarely turned around and immediately charged back in. They'd want to regroup, make new plans, and build themselves up to face potential death again.
Unless of course they'd heard Lisa's screams as they were riding off, and had concluded that their attack had been as bad for Skyler and his friends as it was for them. Then they might decide that a quick strike when their enemy was weakened could finish them off.
And very likely would, under the circumstances.
Which was why Skyler immediately whirled for the door, bloody hand dropping to rest on his Glock, when it flew open. His alarm lasted just long enough to see Adalia, carrying a small leather bag, rush across the main room and brush past him to stand by Lisa at the bedside.
The homesteader immediately got to work, reaching into her bag for things. “Not enough room for three to work in here, we've got this,” she told Skyler curtly. “Bob wants you to start patrolling around the perimeter.”
He backed towards the door, a bit ashamed at the relief he felt at being able to escape this grim scene to go do something he was better suited for. “Okay, if-”
“We'll let you know if we need help with anything,” Adalia snapped, then ignored him and began giving Lisa rapid fire instructions.
Skyler unslung his rifle and quickly checked it, preparing to go outside, then paused as an idea occurred to him. One he'd prefer to have his flak jacket for, especially since Lisa was in here out of the fighting anyway.
He cleared his throat gently. “Lis, I need the jacket back.”
She stared at him blankly. “What?”
He motioned to the body armor she wore over her coat, now smeared with Jared's blood; it would probably have more blood on it before the night was through if he went through with his plan, although hopefully not his. But he wasn't about to tell her what he intended; she already had enough to worry about.
“Oh.” His friend reluctantly fumbled at the various buckles and zippers, and Skyler hurried to help her. He knew she needed to get back to helping Jared, and every second he took her from that put the man's life in danger.
As soon as he pulled the body armor off her shoulders he ducked out into the living area to put it on; he was no stranger to blood, but that didn't make it any more pleasant to work with bloody gear. He'd have to clean it when he had a chance, if for no reason other than to avoid distressing Lisa with the sight of it when he came back.
Once he had the jacket on he hurried outside into the darkness, by memory finding and crouching behind a large planter Aunt Vicky kept full of flowers beside the door. Just in case.
From that dubious cover he stared out into the darkness, focusing on widening his eyes and willing his pupils to dilate faster to restore his night vision. He didn't know if it helped, but he knew for sure it didn't not help. As he waited for his eyes to adjust he shrugged aside his shock at Jared's severe wound, and his own self-recriminations about how the fight had gone, and focused on their situation and what he intended to do about it.
With Jared down and Lisa needed to care for him that left them with half the defense they'd had before. And that had only been enough because they'd been able to scare away thieves relying on stealth in the night, who hadn't been expecting resistance.
Which meant, going on just Skyler's own numbers and the man he'd observed Bob bring down, Randall still had maybe twelve people, one wounded and another possibly wounded from falling off his horse at a gallop and without a mount. Unless one of the other ruffians had managed to snag the dead man's horse.
Two against twelve was much worse than four against thirteen. It was almost as hopeless as when Sangue had been coming after Camptown with overwhelming numbers. Only they couldn't flee now, because Jared was in no condition to move and the Hendricksons would lose everything. They just might have to, but Skyler wouldn't let that happen to his friends unless there was no other choice.
During the Mountain War, Camptown's main defense had been its location being hidden. That wouldn't help them here, obviously, and Skyler wasn't sure he could defend the place with just Bob helping him. In fact, it was almost the opposite problem from what they'd faced back then: Sangue had been everywhere, but hadn't known where Camptown was and if they ever found out it was over. Meanwhile here Randall knew where they were and they couldn't defend themselves or run.
But the ruffians were also in only one place, and Skyler knew where that was.
Trapper and Gray had won one of their greatest victories, the assault on occupied Emery, because they'd known where an enemy base was and hit it. Defending the ranch was a dubious prospect, but Skyler had always been better at attacking, anyway. He knew how to hit an enemy with superior numbers, especially at night, then fade away.
In fact he vastly preferred meeting the enemy on his terms, rather than having loved ones and their homes he had to stay in one place to defend. Because he wasn't always sure doing the second would work, while he was very confident he could do the first.
It was possible he could chase Randall and his gang off, or at least bring down enough of them to even the odds. And if his attack spurred the enemy into coming after the ranch again, he could make sure he was in a position to fire at their backs until they were too far away, then mount up and ride hard to keep hitting them from behind.
He was confident he could shoot from the saddle better than any of them, even at night.
Decided, and able to see in the dim light of the newly risen moon well enough to make his way, Skyler rose from behind the planter and started for the man Bob had brought down. If he'd been thinking clearly he would've checked the ruffian first thing to make sure he was dead, but thankfully no harm had come of it this time.
As he crossed the yard he spotted two silhouettes moving together in a crouch, roughly near where the enemy had fallen. He also heard the quiet grunting and cursing of men doing a difficult and unpleasant task. There was no hint of stealth in their actions, but it still raised alarm bells since he'd only been expecting to find one person out here.
“Bob?” he hissed warily, rifle at the ready.
“Here!” his friend called back. His silhouette straightened and gestured towards the other one. “This is Fernando Lopez, Adalia's cousin. He came along to protect her.”
“Hola, Graham,” Fernando said in a low voice.
“Que tal,” Skyler replied. He recognized the name, and the voice, from his brief time at the Ruiz homestead; the man was in his mid-20s, if he remembered, and had briefly teased his cousin about bringing a gentleman caller home. “You guys dealing with the body?”
Bob made a disgusted sound. “Yeah. I checked him before heading out to bring back Adalia, made sure he was dead. But I figure we should at least drag him someplace and wrap him in a tarp
until we have time to bury him.”
That seemed a lower priority than patrolling the perimeter in case Randall came back. But then again, this was the man's front yard.
Skyler didn't volunteer to help out with the task, instead checking his gear by feel as he made his way over to stand beside Bob, gripping his shoulder for a moment as he leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. “Hold down the fort here. I'll be back soon.”
The older man turned to him in confusion. “What? You seriously running off right after we've been attacked?”
It hurt that the man he'd spent most of his life thinking of as practically family would even suggest that. He did his best not to take offense. “No, I'm going to go solve our problem.” The words came out more clipped than he'd meant them to.
Bob's confusion turned to alarm. “Now hold on! There might be a dozen men still in that camp . . . you honestly think you can take them all on?”
Skyler glanced at Fernando, who stared back inscrutably in the darkness. “I haven't had a chance to tell you much about the fighting I did in the Mountain War, after your family left. To make a long story short, I spent the last part of it out skirmishing against Sangue. I held my own for weeks, outnumbered and against seasoned soldiers.” He smiled grimly. “Randall's ragged vagabonds don't worry me.”
“Well they worry me!” his friend snapped. “If you go out and take potshots at those bandits, they're going to head straight for this ranch and try to kill us all!”
“They'll probably come after us again no matter what I do, and I'm not sure we can defend this place when that happens. Even with Fernando's help.”
The homesteader raised his hands, speaking hastily in Spanish. “Hey, I'm just here protecting my cousin. If there's trouble we're either going to bolt for safety or try to hide. Sorry.”
Well, that was disappointing, if not a complete surprise. Skyler turned back to Bob. “If I hit them first I might chase them off entirely, and even if they do come there'll be less of them to threaten us, and I'll be shooting at their backs the whole way here. You know how I shoot.”
