by Zina Abbott
That day, Otto showed Henry where he kept the rest of his seed and which rows remained to get planted. He wore his hat brim low on his forehead and his cane gripped in his hand to keep him steady during the dizzy spells. However, most of the time, his headaches drove him back into the shadows of the house where Libby kept him supplied with either cool water or lukewarm willow bark tea.
Otto enjoyed their dinner of rabbit stew using some of the early vegetables from the garden. Libby’s biscuits were a welcome break from the hardtack he usually used for bread. Otto yielded to Libby’s prodding and stretched out on the sofa in his front room. Since the idea of lying in bed in the middle of the day galled him, he chose the relatively cooler downstairs room instead.
As his aching head lured him into closing his eyes for a catnap, he reasoned with himself that at least his pistol was still handy. Confident in Libby’s ability with his rifle, he asked her to keep it with her wherever she went. Henry had taken the shotgun out to the barn the previous night, and he assumed it might still be there. He hoped his brother figured out the importance of taking the weapon to the field with him.
Otto resisted the urge to scratch the stitches on the gash made in his shoulders. He knew the itch meant it was healing. If only his aching head with its dizzy spells would heal, so he could carry his own weight taking care of his farm and protecting Libby.
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CHAPTER 22
~o0o~
Three days later, Otto was able to sit up and stand without getting dizzy, and his stomach no longer bothered him. The headache had, for the most part, disappeared even though the hard knot on the back of his head had not. As long as he wore his hat low on his forehead and let the brim flop down instead of turning it up in front like he preferred, he could stand the sunlight, even in the middle of the day.
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at his farm since the attack. He was tempted to declare the crisis was past, and they could ease up on always being on guard. However, the memory of Libby’s warning about Warren Murray, spoken when she first came to his ranch to care for him, niggled at his mind. It would be foolish to believe the man would give up and go away, especially considering he had tracked Libby all the way from Minnesota with the intent of forcing her to return and continue to be subject to him. With that thought in mind, Otto continued to wear his gun belt and pistol.
Otto chose to muck out the stalls in the shade of the barn while Henry saw to the planting. At the sound of horses approaching, he walked towards the large doors to the barn. Automatically, he started to prop the pitchfork up against the wall, but at the sight of strangers, he took it with him. The closer he walked towards them, the more the apprehension grew within him. They were not townspeople or farmers from the area. Their rough appearance and poor grooming, plus the gear attached to their saddles, warned Otto they were drifters—or worse.
The men slowed their horses once they spotted Otto. One smirked as he studied Otto’s limp. He called out as soon as Otto came into talking distance. “You Atwell?”
Otto stopped about ten feet from the closest horse. “I’m Mr. Atwell. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
The man raised his eyebrows and turned to his partner. “Polite one, now, ain’t he?” He twisted back towards Otto. “How you get that limp? You fight in the war?”
Otto recognized the Southern accent of the man and chose his words carefully. “I was wounded while fighting hostile Indians along the Powder River right after the war.”
The man leaned over and spat on the ground before he turned back. “I figured you for a blue-belly. Bet you fought against us before that. Reason enough to kill you.”
“The war’s over.”
“For some people, maybe.” The man jerked his pistol from his holster and pointed it at Otto. “I may let you live, Yankee, but only if you tell me where you got your money hid.”
Otto’s suspicion that he was probably dealing with bushwhackers intensified. He needed to get to his pistol but required a distraction to give him the time. He tightened his grip on the pitchfork, hoping for the opportunity to toss it and throw them off long enough for him to reach for his weapon. “I don’t know what money you think I have hidden.” He jerked his head in the general direction of his land. “What I have is sunk into my farm. I’m buying my supplies on credit until my crop comes in.”
The other man squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Naw, don’t try to feed us that. You got something, and you best give it up if you know what’s good for you.”
Otto hoped Libby in the house was aware of the pair outside and had her rifle ready to defend herself. It might come down to where she would need to defend him. He raised his voice, hoping she heard. “Look, you can’t get blood from a turnip. If you’ve seen my place, you can see I hardly have enough cattle to even consider rustling. I have one horse, and he’s old, at that. You think if I had money I wouldn’t have put it into building a herd?”
“That’s not what we heard. We got it on good authority you got a big stash from the war here on your property. Now, if you don’t want the boy and the woman to get hurt, you best lead us to it.”
Something clicked in Otto’s brain. What good authority? His neighbors and his family knew the status of his farm. They knew he struggled to get by while he slowly worked to build his farm into something more profitable. And how long had they been watching the place if they knew about Henry and Libby?
There was only one answer Otto could come up with.
“If Warren Murray put you up to this, he lied. He has his own reasons, and they have nothing to do with a cache of money that doesn’t exist.”
The man with the pistol raised his arm. Otto responded by swinging the pitchfork and jabbing it into the man’s leg. Two of the tines caught the side of the horse. The horse screamed in pain and reared, causing the man with the drawn pistol to jerk his hand up to keep his balance. As he fought to settle his horse, Otto launched the pitchfork at the other rider, who also reached for his gun.
The act of thrusting the pitchfork with all his might threw Otto off-balance. He gritted his teeth and mumbled a curse as he felt himself falling. He twisted to the left and slowed his fall with his left arm while his right hand grabbed for the pistol. Still propped up on his left arm, Otto trained his pistol on the two outlaws. “Get off my land and take that liar Warren Murray with you.”
The first man moved again to aim his pistol at Otto. Otto squeezed the trigger and shot the gun out of his attacker’s hand. Ignoring the howl of pain and the blood that began to drip from the injury, Otto aimed his pistol at the other outlaw. “You going to chance it? How far you figure you’ll get with a busted-up gun hand like your friend?”
Otto tensed as Henry’s voice rang out from the corner of the barn. “You heard him. Go! I got a shotgun loaded with buckshot, and from here I can’t miss.”
Otto kept his weapon trained on the two as he struggled to his feet and moved off to the side. He hoped Henry possessed enough good sense not to fire while Otto remained close enough to get caught in the spray of buckshot. Also, he hated to see the horses suffer from being shot just because they were being ridden by a pair of low-life bushwhackers. He had already seen his share of horses and mules meet grisly ends due to being caught in the crossfire of battle.
Standing upright once more, Otto called out to him. “You heard him. I went up against many a hostile with a shotgun like that, and I know what it can do. Turn around and ride away. Don’t come back.”
The man with the bleeding gun hand hollered with pain and frustration as he turned his horse while attempting to wrap his bandanna around his wound to stop the bleeding. “I won’t forget this, Atwell.”
Otto hoped once Warren Murray was out of the picture, the man’s threat would prove to be bluster. For now, he dared not let his guard down.
A shot rang out from inside the house.
The uninjured outlaw danced his horse in p
lace as he shouted a warning in the direction of the open window. “You’re on your own, Murray! Get your squaw and get going.”
As both men rode away, Otto jerked his head towards his house.
Libby.
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CHAPTER 23
~o0o~
Libby finished washing dishes and started sweeping the floor when she heard riders approach the farm. A glance out the window convinced her the two men who approached Otto were up to no good. By their appearance, they had been on the trail a long time. That meant they were not locals.
As soon as she saw Otto come out to speak to them, she set the broom aside and grabbed the rifle. She held it on both hands while she watched the scene. Even with the door and window open, she was unable to hear the conversation taking place outside. However, from the body language, she could tell the two men behaved in a hostile manner towards Otto. When Otto tightened his grip on the pitchfork, she lifted the rifle, ready to position the stock against her shoulder.
A sound coming from the other side of the house caught her attention. She knew Henry planned to finish the planting that morning, so he worked in the field. There was no reason for him to have entered the house.
Libby turned her ear in the direction from which the sound had come and stilled her body. She heard it again. The east window in the living room stuck, making it difficult to lift more than five or six inches. Someone tried to force it.
Libby moved silently on the sides of her feet as if she approached game in the woods. She stepped into the dining room, intent on seeing what made the noise in the room on the other side of the stairwell. As she eased towards the front of the house, she heard a sound again, this time a creak of a board on the front porch. Next, something brushed against wood, as if attempting to enter the south-facing window of the living room.
The sensation of hair crawling up her back alerted Libby that whatever entered the house was human. She realized the person must be working with the two men out talking to Otto.
Staying away from the west-facing window so she would not be seen from someone outside, Libby carefully stepped forward, staying close to the wall to lessen the chance a floorboard would creak. Her eye caught the glimpse of movement in the living room near the bottom of the stair.
Libby racked a bullet in the chamber of the rifle and jerked it until the stock rested solidly against her shoulder. “Who’s there?” She fought to quell her tremor when Warren Murray stepped across the entryway by the front door and stood in the doorway to the dining room.
The grin of a man who has conquered his prey spread across his face. “Hello, Ginny. I’ve come for you. You know you’ll never get away from me.”
“Stay back, Warren. Leave this house. I’ve finally escaped you and will never return.”
“Yes, you will, Ginny. You’re mine, and you know it.” Warren’s eyes shifted to the rifle. “Put down the rifle, Ginny. It isn’t the same as the one you know how to use back home. You don’t know how to fire this one.”
“I do know, Warren. And if you don’t leave, I’ll use it on you.”
Warren shook his head and slowly stepped forward. “No, Ginny, you won’t. You may know how to hunt game, but you cannot kill a man. I know you, Ginny. You won’t shoot me.”
Libby stepped back towards the kitchen. The thought of shooting a man, even Warren, sickened her. Yet, she knew if it meant the difference between staying free of him or being forced to be at his mercy once more, she would do what she must. With her tightening throat squeezing her vocal cords, she forced her words out in a whisper. “Leave, Warren, or I will shoot you.”
Shouts followed by a pistol shot out in the yard distracted them both. Warren glanced at the window. Next he lunged for Libby.
Libby pulled the trigger. She immediately worked the lever and racked another bullet in the chamber, the barrel still pointed at Warren.
Warren howled and stumbled back. His hands covering the spot where the bullet entered his hunting shirt and creased the top of his left shoulder. His breath heaved several times as he studied Libby. Once again, his sly smile that had intimidated her for years erupted on her face. “You missed, Libby. Like I said, you won’t shoot me.”
Libby could hear more shouting coming from outside. One voice belonged to Henry. With as enthusiastic as he had been about learning to use weapons, she felt confident he backed Otto up with the shotgun. However, while a small part of her consciousness sensed this, she mostly shut away what took place outdoors. First, she must rid herself of Warren.
“I hit where I intended to hit. If you don’t leave, I’ll shoot off part of your ear. If you run towards me, I will kill you.”
A voice sailed through the open window clear enough Libby heard. “You’re on your own, Murray! Get your squaw and get going.”
Libby knew Warren heard it, too, for he glanced at the window before turning back to her with a scowl.
“They’re leaving, Warren. Otto and his brother will come. Even if I don’t shoot you first, one of them will.”
Warren jabbed his pointer finger at Libby as he backed towards the front door. “This isn’t over, Ginny. They have to sleep sometime. You have to sleep sometime. I’ll be back for you.”
Warren twisted the knob, jerked the door open, and ran outside.
Libby felt her body begin to shake as she heard footsteps enter the back door into the kitchen.
“Libby!”
Libby swallowed and turned her head to answer. “I’m in here.”
Otto ran into the dining room, nearly being knocked off his feet by Henry, shotgun in hand, who ran past him and out the front door.
Otto reached Libby, and took the rifle from her quaking hands. He propped it against the wall. Next he wrapped his arms around her.
Libby melted into Otto’s embrace. She buried her face into his neck as a sob escaped her.
“Libby, are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Libby shook her head no. After several seconds, she pulled away. “He came for me. I thought I would have to kill him, because I cannot go back with him. I…I can’t live like that anymore. As it is, I nicked his left shoulder.”
Otto slid his hands down her arms until he held both her hands in his. “You don’t have to go back with him, Libby. You never have to be with him again. It’s clear he somehow convinced those other two I had something worth stealing in order to create a diversion. I don’t think they’ll be back.”
Henry raced back in through the front door, his breath heaving. “He got away. He had a horse just outside. I think he disappeared into the field with the first corn you planted that’s already several feet high, because that’s where the prints disappeared. I couldn’t see him, and I didn’t like going in after him on foot.”
Otto turned to his brother. “You did the right thing, Henry. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the other two, but we will about him. We’ll go into Abilene to report this. The city constable won’t be able to help because we’re out of his jurisdiction. However, we’ll try to see if the county sheriff is in. He can help us track down Warren Murray and arrest him.”
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CHAPTER 24
~o0o~
Soliciting the sheriff’s help proved to be a frustrating experience. One look at Libby, and he adopted the attitude that if she had been Warren Murray’s common-law wife, the man had a right to reclaim what was his.
Libby struggled to remain calm as she asserted she had some Chippewa ancestors, but she was mostly white and had been raised white. She had been used by her abuser against her will, and he had no claim on her.
Otto grew angry at the sheriff’s reluctance to accept Libby’s status. He sent Henry with Libby to the mercantile to pick up a few supplies. After the pair were out of earshot, he turned on the sheriff and reminded him in plain terms the government had recently passed the amendment prohibi
ting slavery of any kind. Otto finally got through to him that Murray had been molesting Libby since she was ten, and Libby had only stayed with him long enough to see her younger sister married and out of the house.
The sheriff had studied Otto with suspicion. “She’s staying at your place, is she? What’s your interest in all this? You sure you just don’t want to run this man off so you can have her for yourself?”
“Sheriff, I hope to marry her if she will ever accept my offer. She came to help nurse me back to health after this same man attacked me, sliced my shoulder, and left me out cold with a concussion that took days to heal. You can check with the Uptons who found me, and also with my near neighbor to the east who helped me out. The other reason why she’s staying with me—with my brother acting as chaperone, mind you—is because where she was staying with my family, between my parents’ home and my uncle’s just down the lane, there’s still two young girls at home. Warren Murray likes young girls, if you catch my meaning. Once she knew he was in the area, she refused to stay where she’d put them at risk.”
The sheriff scrunched his face in disgust. “Don’t much care for a man like that. But, don’t you go getting no ideas about going after him yourself. Leave it up to the law.”
“That’s why I’m here, Sheriff. But keep in mind—I will do what it takes to protect Libby from this man, just like my pa and my uncle will do what it takes to protect their daughters.”
~o0o~
Four days later, the sheriff rode up into Otto’s yard and dismounted.
A currycomb in his hand, Otto exited the barn to greet him. “Hello, Sheriff. We’re about ready to go in for dinner if you’d like to join us.”
