B.W. laid the shotgun and Colt on the ground, stuck his tomahawk in the back of his belt and walked out in front of the door with his hands up.
Tommy whispered to Rance, “He gone loco?”
“That’s far enough. I can see you,” she said. “Now get ‘fore I turn this shotgun on you.”
B.W. glanced to the side of the cabin and Rance was making a circle motioning to indicate he was going to the back of the cabin.
“We just wanted to make sure everyone was okay ‘fore we moved on,” B.W. said.
“We’re fine. Now leave us alone.”
B.W. flashed two, then three fingers to indicate to Rance there was more than one in the cabin. Rance nodded and moved to the back of the cabin and snuck up to a boarded-up window and peeked through a gap at the bottom and saw a handsome woman with long blonde hair pinned back wearing a broad rim black felt hat, black pants and a lacy white shirt. She was holding a double-barrel shotgun with a girl about Tommy’s age clinging to her.
The woman glanced toward the window, saw Rance and turned the shotgun to the window. Rance hit the ground. She pulled both triggers, blowing the window out.
B.W. charged the door and knocked what was left of it down with his foot. The woman was trying to reload the shotgun. He swung his shotgun strap over his shoulder, grabbed her shotgun, twisted it from her, dropped it on the floor and put her in a bear hug. “I got her!” B.W. yelled.
“Run,” the woman said and the girl ran toward the door. Rance and Tommy were coming in the door.
Rance picked her off her feet with his good arm and carried her back in the cabin and sat her down.
“Calm down, please,” Rance said.
The woman was still struggling with B.W. “Okay, I’m going to turn you loose,” B.W. said and released her. “It’s okay.”
“Please don’t hurt my baby.” She began to cry.
“We’re not, I promise,” Rance said.
She drew the girl close to her and continued to sob.
“Ma’am, it’s okay. My name’s Rance, this is B.W. and the boy is Tommy. How come you’re out here alone?”
“My husband went to Bridgeport for supplies and was supposed to be back before dark yesterday but he didn’t come back. We hid in the floor cellar and they stole our livestock and everything else they could carry.”
“Did you shoot at them?” B.W. asked.
“No, we went to the cellar as soon as we saw them.”
“That saved your life.”
“What kind of Indian are you?,” she asked B.W.
“Cherokee, ma’am. They was Creek.”
“How far is Bridgeport?” Rance asked.
“Bout ten miles,” she said.
“We’ll escort you and your daughter to town.”
“I think I better stay here, wait for my husband.”
“Ma’am, they may have bushwhacked your husband and if so, he ain’t coming back,” Rance said. “You have to leave. What’s your name?”
“April Brown,” she said. “And this is my daughter May.”
Rance smiled. “Clever names,” he said. “We better get a move on ‘fore those Creeks come back.”
“I’ll get some riding pants for May and a change of clothes to take with us,” she said and went to get them. Rance ,B.W. and Tommy walked outside to wait and Tommy put the Colt back in his saddle bags.
“How did you know you weren’t going to get shot when you went through that door?” Rance asked.
“I didn’t,” B.W. said. “Figured one shooter with a double-barrel and they had to reload.”
“I knew that but you didn’t.”
“Listenin’ to my gut.”
“Your gut’s goin’ to get you killed one of these days.”
B.W. shrugged. “You know this is going to slow us down and give the marshal time to catch up.”
“We can’t leave them,” Rance said.
“Nope, guess we can’t,” B.W. said. “Lots of open hoof prints and some wagon tracks, they were probably hungry.”
“Hope we don’t run into any,” Rance said.
“This is Creek and Cherokee country,” B.W. said. “Never know what they’re going to do. Her husband may be tied to a tree somewhere with his eyes cut out to keep him from seein’ in the after world.”
“You’re full of good news,” Rance said.
“Way it is.”
April came out of the cabin carrying her shotgun and a small sack, May right behind her wearing pants. Rance forced the shotgun in the saddle boot with the Henry, tied April’s sack to the saddle horn and she climbed on Buck with Rance.
“Tommy, let May ride with you,” B.W. said and helped her on the horse.
“Your name Tommy?” May asked.
“Yes,” Tommy said.
“My name’s May.”
“I heard.”
“I can read.”
“Well I can’t,” Tommy said.
“How come?”
“Cause I don’t know how. I’m not a girl.”
“What’s being a girl got to do with it?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to talk.”
“One of them men your papa?” she asked.
“No. I’m on my own.”
“You’re too little to be on your own.”
“Well, I am anyways, now hang on.” He kicked his horse and they galloped away.
B.W. rode out ahead and disappeared over a rise not too far away.
“Where’s he goin?’” April asked.
“To make sure we don’t get any surprises and to look for your husband along the way,” Rance said. “We have to keep moving to catch up.”
About a mile down the trail, B.W. was waiting for them.
“Haven’t seen any hostiles or white men,” he said. “Let’s keep movin’ till we get to Bridgeport. They might be comin’ back.”
They kept the Henrys lying across their saddles, cocked and ready as they rode along. B.W.’s shotgun still strapped to the side of his saddle.
They were tired and hungry when they got to Bridgeport, B.W. and Rance watching out for Paxton.
Bridgeport, Carolina was like a hundred other little towns. Saloons, livery, jail and a mercantile store, plus various kinds of services. The stores were busy and the saloons were full with drunks coming and going.
Rance rode up to a cowboy on the street. “You got a place to eat around here beside the saloons?”
“Ma’s Café,” the man said. “Down the street on the right.”
“Thanks,” Rance said and they rode on down the street.
A two-horse team pulling
