Red River Rifles (Wilderness Dawning—the Texas Wyllie Brothers Series Book 1)

by Dorothy Wiley

  “Are you sure?” his father asked. “Their home range is a little further west.”

  “Yes, Sir. My sister said they were Comanche because they had long braids and feathers in their hair.”

  Samuel exchanged looks with his father. Lately, small parties of Comanches made their presence felt by the Red River settlers in an unwelcomed way—by stealing their most valuable possessions—horses. However, so far at least, there had been no significant attacks on homes or people by their mighty warriors. He feared this raid on Louisa’s and Adam’s home might be the prelude to more hostile coming aggression. But since settlers had yet to move further west and penetrate the tribe’s buffalo ranges, so far the Comanches had not posed a direct threat. He hoped it would stay that way because no other tribe came close to their reputation for deadly fighting prowess.

  “Want me to take over carrying her?” his father asked.

  Samuel shook his head. “I’m fine and we’re almost there.” Truth be told, he was enjoying the feel of a woman against his chest.

  They soon stepped onto the porch and then went inside. Samuel gently laid the young woman down on his bed. He unfolded a blanket and lightly spread it over her.

  “It was bad enough having the Osage raid. Now the Comanche are raiding as well,” Samuel said.

  “You were lucky you weren’t killed,” his father told the boy.

  “Luck had nothin’ to do with it,” Adam said, raising his chin. “My sister was brave. She had me jump out the window and we ran to the corn patch and hid in the rows. I fell asleep, but she stayed awake all night guarding us.”

  “That explains why she’s asleep,” Samuel said. “She’s exhausted.”

  “That and shock,” his father said. “She’s been through a lot in the last few hours. More than any young lady should have to endure.”

  “The Indians killed her mare and my dog. Then they took all our things. Even our food and clothes,” Adam said, his voice wavering.

  “Where were your parents?” Samuel asked.

  Adam glanced down. “Louisa’s Ma died a long time ago and my Ma died soon after I was born. Our Pa went to Jonesboro to rent a slave. Louisa doesn’t like slaves.”

  Samuel frowned at the mention of slavery. “I’m sure you mean that Louisa doesn’t like slavery. There’s a big difference.”

  “Yup, that’s what I meant.”

  “What was the fool thinking leaving you two alone at night in a country this wild?” his father asked heatedly. “You might have been captured and your sister…and you both might have been swallowed alive in that riverbed.”

  Adam’s defiant attitude disappeared, and tears welled in eyes the same blue color as his sister’s. “I thought I was gonna die. And I ain’t even started really living yet.”

  “Easy, Father,” Samuel said. “The boy’s been through a lot. You’re safe now, Adam,” he soothed, with a pat to the top of the child’s head. “And you’re right, you have a lot of living yet to do.”

  His father pulled one of Steve’s shirts out of a drawer. “It’s just that I hate what might have happened to these two.” Stephen turned toward Adam. “Take off that nightshirt and come over here where we can wash you up.” He put the washbowl on their dining table’s bench where Adam could easily reach it.

  The boy tugged the muddied nightshirt off and dropped it on the floor. His small naked body looked dreadfully thin.

  Samuel’s father handed the child a wet cloth. “Wash your face and hands first. Then your legs and body.”

  Adam did a reasonable job of getting the mud off. When he finished, he said, “Wasn’t my sister brave? I think she was.”

  His father dropped the clean shirt over the boy’s head before he answered. The shirt came to Adam’s knees but at least it was clean. They would have to get pants for him later. “For certain, your sister’s courage saved you from a horrible fate. But why did you cross the river after the Indians left?”

  “Louisa wanted to warn the other settlers. And we didn’t have any food at all. We took the buffalo path down. Some of it looked soggy, so she went upstream a bit. She got a stick and she checked for quicksand with it. Then a swarm of mosquitos attacked us, and she dropped it.”

  Now that the mud was off of the boy, Samuel did notice a large number of red bites swelling on him. Perhaps Baldy would have something that would stop the itching.

  Adam continued, “When I tried to pick the stick up, I sank. Then our rifle sank. Then she sank when she tried to help me. It felt like the devil his self was tryin’ to pull us down to hell,” the boy concluded, breathless.

  “You’re safe now,” his father said, kneeling to face Adam eye to eye. “You can feel safe here. We are all well used to fighting when needed. And so are the other men on this side of the river.”

  On the south side of the Red, the settlers were left to their own defenses—their rifles, each other, and an abundance of courage. Being on the frontier required certain essential skills—marksmanship, horsemanship, a mastery of surviving outdoors, and knowledge of one’s foes. This need for understanding their enemies was one reason they were all avid newspaper readers and gulped up news carried by travelers.

  Greener settlers tended to settle on the north side of the Red because it was more certain that it was part of the Arkansas Territory and part of the United States. Sometimes they even received protection from the Army.

  Understandably, for all settlers in the West, apprehension became a daily part of their lives. For they knew that no new land could be gained without facing danger. That fact made some of them uneasy, and some of them afraid at times, but for the most part, they were also courageous and resilient.

  “Did you leave a note for your father?” Samuel asked.

  Adam nodded. “Louisa drew an arrow that pointed here.”

  His father stood. “Then the man will be coming here.”

  “Would you like some food, Adam?” Samuel asked.

  “Yes, Sir, I surely would. And some water would be real good.”

  Samuel handed a cup of water to the boy and he gulped it down.

  “I’ll go to Baldy and Melly’s and bring the two of them here and some food,” his father volunteered.

  “I’m sure the rope burned her hands when I pulled her out. Have Baldy bring some salve for her hands and for their mosquito bites,” Samuel told him.

  Adam scratched his arms. “Those ‘squitos had some of me for breakfast.”

  Situated well out of the Red’s floodplain, their homeplace was relatively free of mosquitos. The abundance of birds—including Mockingbirds, Scissor Tailed, Meadowlarks, and Blue Jays among others—kept the pesky insect at bay and filled the surrounding forests with song.

  Father put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Want to come with me, Adam? Melly makes a respectable biscuit.”

  “Sure!” the boy said and dashed to the door.

  “Grab your dirty nightshirt and bring it with you. Maybe Melly knows a trick that will get it clean again,” Samuel told him.

  After they left, Samuel remembered too late that Baldy might be dissecting the brave.

  Samuel hauled a stool next to his bed and gazed down at Louisa. She seemed so small and fragile but based on what her brother had said she possessed a good deal of courage and grit. He wondered how old she was. What she liked to do. How long she had lived across the river. Most of all, he wondered when she would wake up.

  When she did wake up, Louisa would need to wash the mud off and don some fresh clothes. That was for sure. Perhaps Melly could help with that.

  Samuel knew that Baldy’s wife, every inch a lady, would welcome Louisa with as much cordiality as if she were mistress of a mansion in Louisville, not a cabin in the remote wilderness of Texas. The woman had managed, with the few things she’d been able to bring with her in their wagon, to create a comfortable home for her husband and a kitchen that produced some of the best food Samuel had ever eaten. In fact, they ate most of their evening meals with Baldy and Melly.
And sometimes, she would bring their food here.

  For their journey to Texas, they’d loaded the wagon with a good assortment of building tools, chickens and coops, barrels of spring water, flour and sugar stored in watertight barrels, ammunition, extra weapons, seed and seedlings for planting, and a keg of whiskey to use in case of illness or a special occasion. They’d also hidden money in $5 and $50 dollar amounts in the bottom of the barrels and they each wore a money belt that carried $500. His father even made Melly wear such a belt.

  In the six months that they’d lived at Pecan Point, having enough to eat had never been a problem for them. The wilderness was swarming with food—deer, turkey, small game of every kind, coveys of game birds, even black bears for fat. The river held all the fish they could ever want, and wild berries and nuts were plentiful. Most of the settlers had corn patches and gardens and a few grew cotton. Baldy had helped Melly start a garden soon after they all got here, and she’d managed to grow some fresh vegetables. The fertile soil here produced abundantly—wheat about eighty bushels to the acre and the cornfield looked like it would yield even more. Samuel hoped their newly planted orchard would prove just as productive.

  Louisa was so thin he doubted that she’d eaten well on her family’s journey here. Perhaps he could do some hunting for them and Melly could spare some fresh vegetables.

  The door flew open and Adam was the first to enter. “Did she wake up?”

  “She’s still asleep,” Samuel said as his father, Baldy, and Melly joined them.

  “Let me have a look,” Baldy said.

  Samuel stood and gave the doctor, and sometimes preacher, the stool.

  Baldy checked her pulse and forehead. “Was she injured at all?” he asked Adam.

  “No, Dr. Grant.”

  “That’s good. You said she was up all night guarding you?” Baldy asked.

  “Yes, she held the rifle toward the house all night while we hid in the corn patch. Will she be all right, Dr. Grant?”

  “Yes. Yes. She’s just exhausted. Let me see if I can wake her. She needs to get out of that wet shift and into some dry, warm clothes before she takes a chill. And she needs to eat something. She obviously needs nourishment,” Baldy said. He reached into the bag he’d brought.

  “I’ll help her bathe and dress,” Melly offered.

  Baldy withdrew a leather-covered flask with his smelling salts, made from a solution from shavings of deer horns and hooves. Samuel had seen the doctor use it once before to revive a patient. After he held it to her nose for a moment, Louisa coughed and her eyes flew open.

  She coughed again and then asked in a frightened voice, “Where’s Adam? Is he all right?”

  Adam went to her bedside. “I’m here, Louisa. I’m fine. These people took care of us.” He leaned against the bed and patted her shoulder.

  “Oh Adam,” she said, raising on her elbows. “I’m sorry I got us stuck in the river. I’m sorry for not protecting you. It was all my fault. I should have protected you.”

  “You tried,” Adam said.

  Louisa’s expression was one of self-loathing. “But I failed. It’s my job to keep you safe. You could have died!”

  “But I ain’t dead. And you didn’t die. Nothin’ else matters,” Adam said, surprising them all with his child’s wisdom.

  “It does matter. I failed. I nearly got you killed,” she cried heatedly. “I let you down. I let myself down.”

  Samuel knew her anger was directed at herself. “Louisa, don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said.

  She sighed heavily. “My father will be even harder,” she said, her expression grim and she laid her head back.

  Adam frowned and nodded as he stared down. “She’s right. He will be.”

  Samuel and his father exchanged puzzled looks.

  Baldy gave her a cup of water and then stood at the foot of the bed. “She’ll be fine. Just needs some rest, food, and warm clothes.”

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “Louisa, you’re in our home. This is Dr. Grant and his wife Melly, our good friends. And this is my father Stephen Wyllie.”

  “You’re Samuel,” she said, pointing a finger at him. She glanced briefly at the others and then back up at him admiringly. “You’re the one who saved us!”

  “My other three sons are watching over our cattle herd,” Stephen told her. “You’ll meet them later.”

  “I’m pleased to meet all of you.” She winced when she rubbed her hand against her forehead. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

  Samuel nearly gasped when he saw the raw skin on her hands. Then he explained what happened after he took her out of the riverbed.

  “Your hands have rope burns,” Baldy said. “Let me see them. I have a salve that will make them heal fast.”

  Keeping the blanket across her body, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and extended a hand toward Baldy.

  The doctor examined the palm a minute and then looked at her other hand, equally burned by the rope. “I’ll need to wash your burns, put some salve on them, and wrap your hands.”

  “I’ll get a bowl and water,” Melly said and soon returned with a wooden bowl and clean water. “At Stephen’s suggestion, I brought you a clean shift and a gown. It might be a little big on you, but it will do until you can change into your own clothes,” Melly told her. “And if you’d like, I’ll help you bathe and put a salve on those mosquito bites before you dress. Afterward, you can eat before you rest.”

  Louisa nodded at Melly and gave her a small smile which was followed at once by a grimace as Baldy dunked her hands in the warm water.

  While Baldy doctored Louisa’s rope burns, Melly spread food out on their pine board table. Obviously remembering that Samuel hadn’t yet eaten breakfast, she set out three plates.

  Adam took a seat at once and gazed with wide-eyes as Melly stacked several buttered biscuits on his platter, piled up eggs, and poured sweet milk. The child devoured the food with the enthusiasm of a growing boy.

  “You should eat,” his father told Samuel. “You never had breakfast.”

  “I’ll wait for Louisa.”

  She glanced over at him and gave him a smile that made a different kind of hunger well up inside of him.

  Chapter 5

  Louisa could hear their muffled voices on the front porch. The men and Adam waited outside. For some reason, it comforted her to hear Samuel’s voice, with its strong, yet compassionate tone. Mr. Wyllie’s voice held depth and authority while there was a trace of humor and kindheartedness in Baldy’s voice.

  Since her hands were bandaged, she had bathed and dressed with the assistance of a very considerate Mrs. Grant. When Louisa was done, she felt much better.

  Soothed by Dr. Grant’s ointment, a mixture that smelled of healing herbs, her bandaged hands didn’t burn nearly as much. The Wyllies and Melly all called the middle-aged doctor Baldy, and for good reason. He didn’t have a single strand of hair on his head. His eyes were dark, and she’d noticed that his sun-weathered face carried the imprint of a man who had overcome adversity in his life. Louisa also sensed he was a man equally comfortable with shooting lead as he was with removing it from a wounded man.

  While Louisa drank a restoring cup of whiskey-fortified tea in front of the hearth, Melly got the tangles out of Louisa’s freshly washed hair. Melly’s hair was a rich, glowing auburn with a few strands of white at her temples that revealed that she was in her middle years. The green-eyed woman seemed serenely wise and, if Louisa wasn’t wrong, both heartbreak and strength etched her still lovely face.

  As Melly combed, Louisa took in the remarkably neat and large cabin. It seemed more like a small fort. The sturdy walls were made of unusually large logs interlocked on the ends with notches. On the north wall, four portholes were cut into the logs and covered with doeskin that could be peeled back. On the south wall, there were only two portals.

  On both sides of the front door hung a large assortment of weapons—several rifles, pistol
s, knives of various sizes, hatchets, and two swords. Even some weapons that must have once belonged to Indians hung on the wall. Winter coats, woolen scarves, and hats, that they would soon need, hung from antler wall racks.

  On this end of the home, next to the stone hearth, a table held several cast-iron frying pans, a Dutch oven, and dishes that sat on a shelf. On another shelf, she could see coffee, tea, flour, and spices. On the other side of the home, five made-up beds stood next to each other, and above them, rough boards across the beams made a loft that held a desk, chair, and bookcase. And in the middle of the cabin, was a huge pine table that could seat ten or more. The thick door had a heavy bar that could be dropped into place and locked with two substantial bolts.

  This well-constructed home made her own cabin look like a flimsy hut. Which it was.

  Her thoughts turned to what had happened. What a night of horror! And the morning that followed wasn’t much better. But the horrible night and trying morning were over with and it was time to eat and then get back to their home—or what was left of it—if she could figure out a way to get back safely. Perhaps Samuel could help them again.

  She couldn’t wait to see Samuel’s handsome, tanned face again and she pictured him in her mind. The man was downright close to male perfection. When he’d carried her, it was the first time a man other than her father had touched her body. The heart-jolting feel of his strong arms and muscled chest had caused her to swoon. Dr. Grant had blamed it on exhaustion. That was perhaps true, but she thought it might have been more than that.

  Samuel’s deep voice and kindness had soothed the raw places inside of her. An inside made raw by her father’s unpredictable anger and by intense loneliness.

  His strong arms had made her feel safe and protected. His dark and slightly wavy hair framed kind, deep blue eyes that sparkled with keen intelligence. He stood well over six feet and his broad shoulders strained the fabric of his coffee-colored cotton hunting shirt. He also wore buckskin breeches and tall brown leather boots. At his waist, free of fat, hung two long-barreled pistols and an exceedingly long knife. The mere sight of the blade would give someone with a weak stomach the colic. She’d also noticed that his hands felt hardened.