Captive Trail (30 page)

“Peca have rifle,” Billie said. “Maybe a few more. But they shoot arrows in window.”

More missiles thudded against the oak door in the hall and the adobe wall close to them. One shaft zipped through
the window slit and plunked into the opposite wall.

“Now they’re getting close,” Ned said.

Tree raised his head and eyed the windows. “That wall out back keeps them from making a tight circle around the house.”

“You’re right,” Ned said, “and they know the front entrance is the most vulnerable. If we’re ready when they come around again, we might be able to pick off one or two of them.”

“All right,” Tree said. He inched up the wall beside the farther window. “Can’t see anyone now, but we’ll go for the chief.”

“Peca,” Billie said. “His horse have red stripes on … on the front legs. Black and white horse. Peca have two feathers. He carry …” She paused in frustration.

“He had a lance,” Ned said.

“Yes. With feathers,” Billie said.

“Right, I saw it. A bunch of feathers near the point. But, Tree, there’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

Ned looked at his friend. “Trainer’s with them. The man I brought down from Phantom Hill.”

Tree gazed at him in silence. The yelling and pounding of hooves increased in volume. “You take Peca. I’ll go for Trainer.”

“Got it.” Ned stuck the barrel of his rifle into the window slit and maneuvered for the best view.

Billie ran down the hallway and burst into the dining room. Jud Morgan’s large form blocked one window, but light streamed in the other, and she circled the dining table to where he stood.

“Ned Bright say everyone come to front room. Need to talk.”

Jud turned slowly. “All right. I don’t seem to be doing
much good here.” He picked up his saddlebag and followed her into the hallway. “Billie, I hope we have a chance to sit down later and get reacquainted.”

“I hope too.” She led him into the sitting room. Ned and Tree still stood at the windows. The noise outside was much louder here than at the back of the house. The Comanche shrieks penetrated the sturdy walls, and the horsemen took turns riding in and letting off an arrow or a gunshot toward the door or one of the windows.

Sister Adele and Sister Riva stood against the far wall, and the other two nuns came in behind Billie and Jud.

“We’re all here now, Ned,” Sister Adele said.

“Hold on.” He fired his rifle. Sister Marie clapped her hands to her ears too late. “Sister Adele?” Ned turned and held out the rifle.

Sister Adele hurried toward him, ducking low. She took the rifle and sat down near his feet to reload. Ned drew his Colt and looked out the window again. Meanwhile, Tree sighted along his rifle barrel and fired. The yelling stopped, and the hoofbeats retreated.

“All right.” Ned turned and stood with his back against the wall beside his window. “They’ll be back soon. This seems to be their pattern—swoop in, everyone shoot off a volley, ride out, circle the buildings, ride back in. Did anyone see anything from the other windows?”

“Only the Indians riding past,” Jud said, “but the angle was bad from the dining room and I couldn’t get a clear shot. If they’d held still maybe I could have.”

Sister Natalie said, “I could see riders once in a while, and once they shot arrows toward my window. That was all.”

“Pretty much the same from the kitchen,” Tree said. “It’s not a good vantage point, and no one approached the back door while I was in there.”

“I think we need to keep somebody out there for three reasons,” Ned said. “The roof there is shingled, so it’s more vulnerable. They could rush the back door, especially since we don’t have a good view of it, and the girls are under the kitchen.”

“I’ll go back there,” Tree said. “Those are all good reasons to defend it well.”

“Make sure you’ve got containers of water,” Ned said.

“We have plenty in the kitchen,” Sister Marie said. “We also put a wash boiler of water just outside the chapel door and buckets in the dining room and two of the bedchambers. We can bring a tub in here and fill it.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ned said. “Morgan, anything else you can think of?”

“Some blankets, maybe. Put them close to hand, and we can soak them if the need arises. And ladies—” He looked at the nuns. “Other liquids can help if fire does break out.”

“We have a large can of milk,” Sister Marie said, “and a keg of vinegar.”

“Good,” Jud said. “In a pinch, we can use those.”

“I will get the blankets,” Sister Riva said.

“I’ll help with the water when I go back to the kitchen,” Tree said. “Anything else?”

“Jud, stay here with me,” Ned said. “Sister Adele is a proficient reloader, and Billie can run to the different stations to keep us all up to date on what’s happening in other parts of the house. Agreed?”

They all assured him they would follow his instructions.

“The girls need to stay in the cellar,” Tree said.

“I think—” Sister Marie stopped and looked at the floor. “They may need to get out to …”

“Bring them one at a time to my room,” Sister Natalie said. “They can use the chamber pot.”

The nuns and Tree hurried to carry out their tasks. Sister Adele and Billie stayed with Jud and Ned in the sitting room. Already the Comanche were back, whooping and shooting at the house.

“What took ’em so long?” Jud yelled.

Ned poked his rifle into the window slot, then removed it and leaned in for a better look. “I see two with torches. Sister Adele, make sure the girls are in the cellar. Keep them there until we have another lull.”

“Billie, can you check the horses?” Jud said.

“Yes.” She ran toward the chapel.

Someone had tied a rope across the doorway at waist height. The horses snuffled when she pushed the curtain aside, and Señor Garza’s horse whinnied. Billie ducked under the rope and stepped in. She rubbed the big black’s neck, crooning softly to him. The noise of the battle barely reached them, but the horses seemed restless. She wondered if Sister Marie had any carrots or dried apples she could spare. Circling carefully in the near darkness, Billie patted each horse and spoke to them in turn. Then she edged her way among them to the doorway and slipped out. She lowered the curtain, checked the rope barrier, and dashed to the kitchen.

Tree Garza glanced over his shoulder from his post by the one window. “You should be with the girls.”

“No. I can’t hide.”

“Why not?”

She went to stand close beside him so the girls would have no chance of hearing. “It is because of me that this happens. If I hide with them, Peca will search until he finds me. Then he find them too. Is better if he find me but not girls.”

Tree eyed her keenly. “We will protect you, Taabe.”

“Please. I am not Taabe any longer. I am Billie Morgan. I want to live and be Billie Morgan.”

Tree frowned. “That’s what we all want.”

She nodded. “Señor Garza, you love Quinta.”

“Of course.”

“I love her too.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

“I would do anything to save her. And the others, all of you. I would go with Peca.”

“But …” His dark eyes bored into her. “But then you’d be Taabe Waipu again, not Billie Morgan.”

She nodded. “Is better than all being killed. The sisters … the little girls. Even you and Ned Bright and my brother.”

“No,” Tree said. “That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s certainly not.” They swung toward the doorway. Sister Marie had come in as they talked, bringing Minnie, the newest of the pupils, back from her trip to Sister Natalie’s room. She stood just inside the doorway with her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

Minnie’s gaze was riveted on Billie and her expression was filled with awe. Billie glanced at Tree.

“Let’s get her back in the hole,” he said. “Come on,
chica.”
He lifted the trapdoor.

“Papa!” Quinta cried. “When can we come out?”

“Not yet.”

“I have to go.”

“You can wait,” Tree said. Minnie crawled under the table and down the ladder. Tree lowered the trapdoor and slid the rug over it.

He stood and looked at Billie. “If you won’t get in the cellar, take this.” He pulled a hunting knife with a five-inch blade from his belt and held the hilt toward her. “If the worst happens, you can use it.”

Billie put it in the deep pocket of her skirt.

Sister Marie strode to the shelves near the washstand and
picked up a butcher knife. “We don’t want to fight, Mr. Garza, but we would rather fight than give up the girls—and that includes Billie.”

A loud neigh came from the hallway, followed by the squeal of another horse. Billie’s skin prickled. She lifted her skirt and ran for the chapel.

Ned reached the doorway before she did and thrust the curtain aside.

“The roof’s on fire,” he said. “The horses are going crazy.” He dodged aside, and a hoof thudded against the wall.

B
illie seized the bucket of water near the doorway and stepped cautiously into the dark room. In one corner, an orange glow illuminated the ceiling, and she could hear crackling over the horses’ shifting and snorting. A horse brushed against her. Lurching back, she sloshed water over her skirt and moccasins. She spoke firmly in Comanche and reached out to touch the horse’s flank and push him aside.

“Ned! Water here.”

She could see him now, standing beneath the burning rafters, gazing up at the place where the blaze had eaten through the roofing. The stench of smoke was strong now.

“Bring it here and fetch me a blanket.”

She advanced cautiously toward him, speaking to the horses. When she reached him, she looked up. She could see daylight beyond the burning ceiling.

“Quick,” Ned said. “More water and blankets. Maybe get
a pole or something that I can knock stuff down with, and something I can stand on.”

Billie moved back toward the doorway as fast as she could without further agitating the horses.

Sister Marie met her in the hallway, carrying a large stew-pot full of water. Tree was hefting the copper wash boiler.

“Can I get in there?” Tree asked.

“I will go first and move horses,” Billie said. She grabbed the folded blanket they’d left on the hall floor and went back inside. Fighting the urge to yell and slap the horses out of the way, she spoke calmly and pushed them away with gentle hands.

They reached Ned, and Tree set the boiler down. Billie shook out the blanket and dropped it into the water.

“I will get a stick,” she said and turned away.

Sister Marie stood just inside the doorway with her bucket. “Can you …?”

Billie took it from her. “Get more blankets and a long stick for Ned.”

Sister Marie dashed into the hall, and Billie turned back toward the fire. She heard gunfire outside, amid fiendish yells, and one shot fired from within the house. Her brother, in the sitting room, must have gotten a clear shot at one of the Comanche.

By the time she got back to the corner, the hole in the ceiling gaped as big as a washtub. Ned stood on an upturned bucket. He and Tree swatted at the smoldering rafters with wet blankets.

“Pour that right into the tub,” Tree said.

She dumped the water into the wash boiler and went back to the door. Sister Marie waited with another blanket and a broom.

“It’s the longest stick I could find.”

“It is good,” Billie said. “Do not let horses out. Stand in door.”

She made her way back to the corner. The horses milled about, whinnying, nipping at each other, and occasionally kicking or squealing. The smoke stung her eyes.

Ned and Tree both stood on buckets. She handed Ned the broom and soaked the second blanket for Tree. The men worked feverishly, dropping the blankets occasionally for her to wet again. Ned used the broom handle to hit at the burned shingles and knock them off the edge of the roof outside.

“Look out!”

A flaming clump of wood tumbled onto the chapel floor. Billy scooped water from the wash boiler onto it with her hands. “Move away,” Tree said.

She stepped back, jostling one of the horses. It leaped away, and the others shuffled and whinnied. Tree threw his damp blanket down on the burning debris. Billie lifted the edge of the blanket and beat the bright embers until they no longer glowed.