Until Tomorrow

by Rosanne Bittner

  Orum and George came back inside, leaving the door open for air, deciding there was no sense closing it until absolutely necessary. He told them to be careful not to drink their water supply too fast, as Orum had checked the well and found it almost dry.

  “There’s a river about a mile from here,” he told them, “but it’s too dangerous to try to make it there now. Them Indians could come back any time. Maybe after dark I can sneak down there and get us extra water. That barrel over there has some beef in it, stored in lard to keep it from spoilin’.” He walked over to a wooden bread box on a shelf. “Ole Jed, he was pretty good at bakin’ bread, if you can believe it. He baked it in little pans right on top of the pot-belly stove over there. Maybe—” He opened the box. “Here’s part of a loaf. We’ll eat on this for now, just to get somethin’ in our stomachs.”

  “I can’t eat,” Jeanette said. She had stopped crying, and she sat in a dark corner, just looking at her lap.

  Orum set the bread on the table, looking at the others. “Everybody take a little.”

  They reluctantly gathered around the table, all with dejected faces. “Your stage line got us into this,” Rebecca grumbled, her thin face looking more shriveled with worry. “Surely you knew this could happen.”

  Old Orum ran a hand over his eyes, getting nervous for another chew of tobacco, but George Bean had asked him not to chew inside in front of the women. “Of course this could happen,” he answered. “But there hasn’t been trouble for a while. The Cheyenne have been causin’ more trouble up in Nebraska, not around here. We thought it was safe. This time of year they’re usually farther north. Now that the Army is buildin’ back up out here, I reckon’ somethin’ happened to get them lathered again.”

  “We’re all going to die,” Jeanette lamented, “and I don’t care now. At least I’ll be with Buster.”

  “You must not talk that way, Jeanette,” Rebecca told her. “And you’re welcome to come stay with me and my husband in Denver if we do get out of this, at least until you know what you want to do; unless, of course, you choose to go back home.”

  Jeanette sniffed and shook her head. “I’ve got nothing to go back to. Family’s gone. Farm’s gone. We were going to be so happy, going to a place like Denver, maybe finding gold or at least a decent job.” She wiped at her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “I don’t care now. I’m just tired of fighting. First there was the Civil War, now the Indians. Why can’t people just leave each other alone?”

  Addy broke off a small piece of bread. “I’m sure the Indians feel the same way when you think about it.” She sighed, thinking about all her own calamities. “This country does seem to be in a mess, doesn’t it?” She looked at Jeanette. “I’ve lost a father and mother, as well as a husband, Jeanette, and Mrs. Bean has lost a son. We understand your grief, and all I can say is that time will take care of it.”

  Jeanette shook with a sob. “But it hurts so now! I can’t believe time will make it any better.”

  Addy could not find the right words to help her for the moment, well remembering there was nothing anyone could say to make the hurt any better when she lost her family and her husband. She held her bread in her hand and walked outside, breathing deeply to shake away the ache of her own losses. She wondered if her auburn hair was now gray from dust. She looked down at her dress, a lightweight cotton calico that was once a bright green and was now dull and soiled. She sighed, realizing it didn’t much matter. She was probably going to die soon anyway, and there was absolutely no one left who cared, certainly no family, and not even Cole. She decided she would get her pistol back from Mr. Bean so that she could shoot herself when the time came, rather than hope there was someone left alive to do it for her.

  She felt her hair falling out of place, and she removed the combs to shake it out, brushing dust from it with her hands. She pulled back each side and replaced the combs, leaving it hanging long in the back. She took a handkerchief from where she had tucked it into the bodice of her dress and walked over to a bucket of water that sat on the sagging porch of the little sod station. She tipped the bucket and poured a little water on the handkerchief, then used it to again wash over her face and neck. She poured more water on it and then laid it across the back of her neck under her dress, breathing deeply at the cooling relief.

  It was then she heard them, the thundering sound of several horses approaching. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. She watched the horizon, half hoping that by some miracle perhaps a troop of Army men was approaching. But even before she could see clearly who the riders were, she heard their war whoops. She turned and ran back inside. “They’re coming back!” She quickly closed and bolted the door.

  “Get Ned’s rifle down from the wall there,” Orum told George Bean. “And grab some boxes of ammunition off them shelves just below it! Can you shoot?”

  “Pretty decent. I was in the war.”

  Addy noticed he seemed very proud every time he made the remark about being in the war. She was glad no one had asked which side her husband and father had chosen in that war, but right now was no time to worry about such things.

  Orum opened the window shutters. “There’s only room for one man to shoot from here,” he told George. “You just keep the rifles loaded for me.”

  “I want my pistol, Mr. Bean,” Addy told him. “I’ll use it for Rebecca, Jeanette and me if necessary.”

  George hesitated, looking lovingly at his wife. “We had to come out here, Rebecca, to see our only remaining son. We did the right thing.”

  Rebecca nodded, and George handed the pistol to Addy. She turned to the other two women. “We’ll make it through this. I’m making it to Colorado somehow, and these Indians aren’t going to stop me.” She said the words not just to give them hope, but to give hope to herself, but it didn’t work. The Indians bore down on the little station, hooves pounding, voices yipping, guns shooting, arrows thudding into the door. The earth all around and above them shook from thundering horses, and dirt began to sift into their hair. The women put their heads down and covered them with their arms, while Orum Brown began firing.

  “Got one!” he shouted once. “Got another one!” came another excited yell, but Addy knew that his hits were too few to make a dent in the number of Indians that were now bent on killing all of them.

  “How many do you think there are?” George asked him.

  “Not sure. Times like this, it seems like there’s a lot more than there really is. It’s a small party. They’ve probably split up to spread themselves around and cause trouble for others—ranchers and the like.” The words were shouted above the hollering and rumbling. More dirt sifted down, then began to fall in bigger chunks.

  “My God, they’re bent on pounding in the top of this station and smothering us under the dirt. They’re riding over the top of us!” George said.

  “They just want us to think that,” Orum answered, “so’s we’ll run out. Then they’ll kill us and grab the women.” He fired a few more shots. “There’s another, and another—” He drew back from the window and looked at George. “Wait a minute! A couple went down that I didn’t even shoot at!”

  Both men squeezed together to look out. “Look at that!” George exclaimed. “Three more!”

  Addy noticed that the thundering above them had stopped.

  “They’re gatherin’ in the distance,” Orum commented. “They seem confused. Hell, they’ve stopped whoopin’ and shootin’, but … listen!”

  All three women gathered behind the men, straining to hear. Gunshots came from another direction! With every shot, another Indian went down. Two. Three. Four. A couple seconds pause between shots. Five. Six.

  “Ain’t that the damnedest thing!” Orum almost whispered.

  “Must be the Army,” George added. “But the way the shots are coming, it seems like just one man doing the shooting.”

  Seven. Eight. One Indian after another cried out and fell from his horse. The others began turning
their horses in confusion, looking in the direction of the gunshots, fear beginning to show in the way they rode back and forth in disarray. Nine. Ten.

  “Jesus! Over half of them is down,” Orum said. “Whoever that is, he’s a crack shot with a rifle, but he’s takin’ a chance. Them Indians could take after him.”

  “Not when he’s that good of a shot.”

  Addy wondered … no, it couldn’t be. The shots continued to echo through the hills until what was left of the war party turned and rode off in what seemed sheer terror.

  “I don’t believe it,” Orum commented.

  “They’re gone!” George exclaimed.

  Orum jumped up and went to the door, unbolting it and stepping outside. Dead Indians lay strewn everywhere, from the few close by whom Orum had shot, to the many in the distance shot by their mysterious savior. The stage driver walked farther out, followed by the others. The women stepped cautiously around the bodies. A few seemed to still be alive, and they groaned. Addy started to kneel down to one.

  “Leave them be!” Orum warned. “We’ll get the hell away from here and the rest of them will come for the bodies, dead or alive. They’ll want to give the dead ones an Indian burial, and they’ll do what they can for the ones still alive. It’s their custom. Besides, I don’t think more than a couple of them is alive anyway.”

  Addy forced herself to look away, again struck by what a wild, violent land this was, with sets of rules that would never be tolerated in the East. She stepped farther away, again realizing that the air hung strangely silent for all the noise and gunfire that had penetrated it only moments before. Now they all spoke in near whispers as they watched the hills, waiting. Finally a lone rider made himself known riding down a hill to their right, a big man on a powerful-looking gray horse. He wore a duster, and he wielded a rifle in his right hand. Addy stepped away from the rest of them, astonished when she realized who it was.

  “Cole!” she said softly.

  Ten

  Addy could not help feeling a great sense of relief at the sight of Cole Parker approaching, in spite of knowing she’d be better off if she never saw him again. She felt her cheeks growing hotter, not from the weather, but from the realization of what she had shared with this man a few nights ago, a sinful secret she must keep buried forever. How had he come to be here at such a crucial time? Had he been following them all along? Watching over her after all?

  “You know that man?” Orum Brown asked her.

  “Yes. I met him on the train through Kansas. He stayed behind in Abilene. I had no idea—”

  Cole rode closer. “You people all right?”

  “We lost our shotgun and this woman’s husband,” Orum answered, indicating Jeanette. “He’s buried, but I’m afraid we had to leave poor Ken to the buzzards, and there wasn’t time to bury Jed Corey, the station master. He’s strung up on the fence out there. We ought to get him buried, too.”

  Cole looked around, then shoved his rifle into its boot that was attached to his saddle. “I found your shotgun, dragged his body to some rocks and covered him with more rocks to keep the buzzards away,” he answered as he dismounted. “That’s all I had time to do. I figured I’d better ride hard to catch up. From the tracks I saw and all the shooting I heard, I knew you people were in trouble.” He glanced at Addy.

  What was that she saw in his eyes? Worry? Relief? Was he concerned about only her, and so had followed just for that? Did he love her? No, they must not talk about love. Neither of them was ready for that. Maybe he had only decided to come because he thought he could get her into bed again … and maybe he could. There he stood in all his handsome stature, a hero to the rest of these people who didn’t know about his past.

  “Mister, we don’t know who you are, but thank God you came when you did. I’ve never seen anybody shoot like that!” George Bean put in. His shirt was soaked with perspiration, and he wiped at the glistening sweat on his balding head.

  Cole finally moved his gaze from Addy. “Name’s Cole Parker. I had planned on taking this stage in the first place, then changed my mind. A little later I changed it again.”

  “Well, you must have rode awful damn hard to catch up like that,” Orum put in. He held out his hand. “Orum Brown. I’m the stage driver.”

  Cole took his hand, but he looked at Addy again. “Yeah, I rode pretty hard to catch up.” He looked back at Orum. “Damn near killed my horse getting here.” He looked around again. “Looks like it didn’t do me much good. Apparently there are no horses to take us on from here.”

  “George Bean,” George said, stepping up and putting out his hand also. “That there is my wife, Rebecca, and the young lady who lost her husband is Jeanette Booth. The other lady—”

  “He knows Mrs. Kane,” Orum interrupted him. “Remember?”

  “Oh! Yes,” George answered, letting go of Cole’s hand. He looked from Cole to Addy, then arched his eyebrows as though he’d gained sudden knowledge. “I see.”

  Addy bristled at what the man was probably thinking, that Cole Parker had ridden a mad dash out here because he was chasing the woman he loved. How little they all knew about the true situation between her and Cole, how they met, that Cole was much too dangerous a man for a proper lady to become involved with.

  “The Indians took our horses,” Orum told Cole. “All we can do is wait for another stage to come by.”

  Cole pushed back his hat, scanning all of them. “Well, you all look pretty hot and tired and hungry. Why don’t I ride on ahead to the next station and see about bringing back some horses so you can get started sooner.” He looked around at the dead Indians. “Trouble is, the Cheyenne, or whoever did this, will be back for these bodies.” He looked at Orum. “Maybe I should stay here and you could ride ahead instead, use my horse. That way I’ll be here to use my rifle on any Indians who try to make trouble. It’s probably no more than a day’s ride to the next station, is it?”

  “Yes, sir, just about that,” Orum answered. “I can make it back here by early mornin’, day after tomorrow, maybe even by tomorrow night, and we can all be on our way.”

  Cole nodded “Just don’t ride Shadow here too hard. He’s pretty worn out.”

  “I’ll leave him at the next station and let him rest and eat till we get there. I can come back on one of the stage line horses. Then yours will be fresh for goin’ on with us when we get up to that point. We’ll tie him to the back of the coach.”

  “I just hope you make it,” George put in. “What if you’re attacked by Indians on the way?”

  Orum removed his hat and ran a hand through his stringy, gray hair. “Well, then, I guess you folks will have to wait for the next coach.”

  “It’s a brave thing you’re doing, Mr. Brown,” Rebecca told him.

  Orum shook his head. “Well, now, I’d say it’s a toss up over who’s braver—me, or you folk for stayin’ behind here. Them Indians could come back with an even bigger force. And our sharpshooter here,” he nodded to Cole, “he’s pretty brave, too. There could have been more of them out there in the hills to come after him. Let’s just hope they don’t come back here with so many braves that he can’t keep up with ’em.”

  Cole grinned. “I’ll risk the challenge.” He looked around at all the dead bodies. “It’s too bad things like this have to happen. The farther west I go, the more problems I see with settling this land out here. I’m sure these poor Indians think they’re in the right.”

  “Poor Indians!” Jeanette sneered. “They’re savages! They scalped my husband!”

  Cole looked at her. “Most of the time, ma’am, men have a reason for killing.” He glanced at Addy, then back to Jeanette. “When a man thinks he’s defending something that belongs to him, he does what he has to do, just like I did what I had to do when I saw all of you being attacked. No matter what they did, it doesn’t feel real good having to kill so many of them, and a few of them are still alive, so we’d all better get inside. You can bet the
ir friends will be back for them. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow to bury the station keeper.”

  Orum climbed up on Cole’s horse, and the stirrups had to be shortened for the man. He bade them all farewell and headed west, and Addy said a silent prayer for his safety. Cole herded the rest of them inside, but they left the door open. Cole sat in a wood chair on the little porch and watched the surrounding hills for signs of returning Indians. Addy stood at the doorway, watching him open his rifle and blow out the barrel. “This thing still needs cleaning, but there isn’t time,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned and looked up at her. “You all right?”

  Addy nodded. “Except for being so hot that I feel like I can’t breathe, and I feel dirty as a pig.”

  His eyes moved over her, and she felt a tingle inside she would rather not feel. Again she was consumed with shame and embarrassment, still confused over what he truly thought of her now. An easy woman? No different from someone like Darla? Back at the hotel he said he had not lost his respect for her, but could she believe that? It irked her to realize this man knew every inch of her. He had touched, tasted and invaded every private place, and that gave him a strange power over her she would rather he did not have. “Why did you come, Cole?”

  He turned back around, taking a cloth from a pocket of his duster and using it to wipe off his rifle. “Seemed like the right thing to do, not just to watch out for you, but because the farther I get from Illinois and Missouri—” He hesitated, looking past her inside the cabin as though afraid someone had heard him. “You know what I mean. The farther I go, the easier it will be to maybe start over.”

  She folded her arms, stepping closer and talking softly. “And which life will you start over? I am sure the west is full of outlaws.”