My legs burned as I ran, lungs straining for air. Forcing myself faster, pushing on, the wind rushing in my ears, my skirt flapping loudly around my legs. They were coming! The pounding beat of horses thundered on the ground as they reached the valley floor. The colt rifle was clutched in my hands, but I had very little ammunition left.

Lars Gable had supplied us with a good amount of grub and left one horse for each of us. He had also left six boxes of rifle shells, but the Indians had been relentless. It felt like they’d determined to drive me out of the valley for good. Often Whip and I were forced to make a stand at the rim, unable to leave, the Crow or Blackfoot unable to get past us.

I had been out collecting the wild herbs that grew in Blue Water when a loud shot had frightened my bay gelding. He’d shied then bucked, sending me tumbling to the ground. Looking up had saved my life. More than a dozen Blackfoot warriors come streaming over the rim trail, dead set on taking the valley. Firing two shots at them to warn Whip, I took to my heels.

Lungs aching, heaving desperation for air, I dared not slow down. Taking to the trees for cover, I kept to the dense growth and shadows. So far, the Indians had not taken any shots at me, but I knew once I was spotted, they’d run me to the ground. Unafraid of our resistance, loud whooping began as they increased their pace. My time was up. In a full gallop, I could not hope to outrun their horses.

Cutting sharply to my right I raced through the heavy branches and shrubbery framing the valley walls, careful to keep a tight grip on my rifle. Leaping over a fallen redwood I dropped down into a long gully that ran alongside it. How long had it been since I’d been here? I tried to think, tried to remember where the shallow gully opened up.

I heard the warriors’ race by not a hundred feet from where I lay. Holding my breath, I slowed my heart. How long until they realized I had stopped? A few would turn back, scouring the area for me. I did not think about Whip. He’d been at the cabin, and I had my own pressing problems.

Gently taking off the same men’s shoes I’d been wearing for nearly five years, I set them aside. They’d only lasted this long because I generally went around barefooted in the warm weather. Creeping quietly to the tangle of branches and ground shrubs I risked lifting my head, only enough to let my eyes peer over the top of the fallen tree. The heavy sharp scent of bark was in my nostrils. It was an aroma that made my skin tingle, these the moments one felt truly alive.

The braves more than halfway to the cabin, but I scanned the area immediately around me. I wanted to make sure none had dropped into hiding while I’d had my head down. Satisfied I slowly got up, keeping low to hurry as silently as I could along the gully, toward the far side of the cabin.

It was cold in the shade, autumn a mere formality before winter storms locked us in for the next seven months. Shivering a little I took a deep breath, running from the edge of the fallen tree trunk to a clump of alpine ferns and tall grasses. I dropped out of sight just as five of them turned back, beginning to scout around for me. They realized at some point I’d gone into hiding and meant to find me. Cold sweat trickled down my back. This would be it, I told myself. I had maybe ten shells left, four in the cylinder, with six in my skirt pocket. That gave me two chances to hit each brave.

I recalled what Jinx had once said about my aim; ‘When your backs against a wall, and you’re fightin’ for life, yours or someone that you love, you’ll hit right what you aim at’.

I’d made my share of kills since coming to Blue Water five years ago, and the count on The Hill was now over twenty, but I was afraid after today no one would be alive to bury any more bodies. A feeling in the air told me they’d come to settle with me once and for all. Sliding along on my belly, careful to make no noise, I paused often to look around. The Blackfoot had separated and spread out, but I could not watch where I was going and them too.

I had to choose.

Looking briefly around I saw a little pocket of boulders, not very big, but a jumble amongst the growth. It backed up to an overhanging ledge that protruded from the valley wall itself. Small, protected from all sides, it was a chance. The problem was the ten feet of clear space between where I was, and the small cave. I had to risk it.

Moving carefully, I crept along, almost making it within fifteen feet when the Indian nearest me suddenly turned. He began working his way toward me, slowly, but keeping to his present course he’d step right on me. A quick look at the others sent a jolt of alarm through me. Without me realizing it, they’d managed to trap me inside a loose half-circle.

The only thing keeping me alive was that they didn’t know for sure where I was. Staying low, breathing quiet, I edge forward as the noose tightened. My heart began to jackhammer within me as I realized that my time just expired. Still not seeing me, but it was obvious they knew I was about nearby somewhere and meant to flush me out.

No one moved or looked away as the distant echo of gunfire echoed through the trees. Whip was waging a war of his own. I could tell by the deliberate, solitary shots of the Colt rifle he was being wary with his ammunition. Rechecking the distance to the rocks, I looked again at each warrior’s position. Two of them had rifles but they were the farthest from my current location.

Slipping my finger over the trigger I shifted ever so slightly, getting ready to jump up and run. If I sprinted, I could cover fifteen feet in seven steps, maybe eight, then I’d be behind the rocks. For those seven or eight strides though, there’d be no cover. No protection. I had no choice, it was go now or die right here in the dirt.

With a sudden rush, I leapt to my feet, bolting toward the rocks. The six seconds it took to reach cover were the longest of my life, and I felt each one pass me by. The heated breeze of a bullet whipped past my ear then I was safe, dropping into the cul-de-sac. Swinging my rifle up, I fired off a shot as the Blackfoot vanished from sight. I hadn’t hit anything.

Settling in behind the rocks, I had a good field of vision. At first an obstacle, the clearing before me was now a boon. They’d have to come into the open to reach me. As long as I stayed out of sight, they had nothing to shoot at.

The air in my little den was cool, but I was sweating from fear and anxiety. Soon I began to shiver. The packed earth was firm, offering no grass or leaves to pull over me as insolation. Keeping my eyes sharp, I listened to the occasional bark of gunfire from the cabin, counting the shots. Whip was making a fight of it, though they had started the attack less than an hour ago. Here in my small dugout, surrounded by Indians, it seemed like eternity.

Shifting a little to ease a cramp in my leg, bit of rock next to my head spattered abruptly, showering me with fragments. Jerking back, I peered toward the source of the shot, but saw nothing. Loading two cartridges into the empty chambers made five in the rife, four in my pocket. Nine left. I tried not to think of how slim a thing it was.

Long minutes ticked by into an hour, then two, and still nothing moved. I had not fired, nor been fired upon, but I could feel them out there, waiting. Occasional bursts of gunfire came from the cabin, and I counted off the shots from the distinctive Colt revolving rifle. Six. Whip could not possibly have more than nine shells left himself, for there was a handful we kept in the box just in case of emergency. We were facing our deaths, and we knew it.

Scanning the trees, each leave, every branch, then down to the shrubs and grass, I took to counting them. Another hour went by as I recounted them. Abruptly stopping, I frowned. Five shrubs? That wasn’t right, there had only been four before. I carefully studied each one, trying to remember where they had sat, but as I watched, one began to move. So slow that at first I wasn’t sure I was seeing it, but there-! It ever so slowly eased past a broken branch lying on the ground.

Edging the barrel of my rifle over, taking care to keep it out of sight, I waited until the lost possible moment. Putting my sights just past the living shrub I took up the slack on the trigger, waiting. In slow motion the Indian in the brush moved into my line of fire. Letting out the breath I’d been holding, I gently squeezed the trigger. Thunder roared as the brush shuddered, the Blackfoot trying to retreat into full cover. Firing twice, I saw both bullets hit their mark.

Satisfaction vanished as return fire kicked dust and splintered rocks into my face. Twisting aside, I risked a peek between two larger boulders. One Indian was in the open, making a try for his fallen tribesman. Taking quick aim I let loose with two shots, that Blackfoot jumping like he’d been stung. I saw the blood, but he got himself out of sight, and I figured they’d not stop him, just hurt plenty.

Slipping the last four shells into the Colt rifle, I snapped the cylinder closed, pulling back the hammer. Ready. I smiled grimly. In this war for my life, I meant to take as many with me as possible.

In no way did I find the situation humorous. I had four cartridges left, and four Indians still out there. My odds were less than bad. Nothing moved for a long while, and I got thirsty. Looking around, I reached for a small pebble and rolled it across my dress before popping it in my mouth. It provided a little relief, but not nearly enough. Blast my gelding for panicking! I’d had a full canteen on the saddle horn.

My muscles cramped, eyes burning from constantly searching the ground, but I dared not rest. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t walking away from this, I had to fight until it was over.

The sun was well into afternoon before another chance came. It was so unexpected that I almost lost out. Looking toward the cabin, my eyes swept everything in that direction when a soft rush of feet jerked me around. The brave was almost atop me before I could react. Leaping over the boulders as the rifle swung up, the blast in the small space was deafening.

From three feet away it was impossible to miss. His body spasmed in midair as he slammed backwards, toppling over the boulders to lie out in the open. Immediately two more rushed me. Moving to fire, the Blackfoot still in hiding opened fire. Coming off the ground, firing as I went, my first bullet took the lead brave in the leg.

The second was gut shot and he crumpled, his hand hanging over the boulders nearest me. Another came crashing down on top of me, his swarthy hands gripping the barrel as we fought for control of the rifle. His scent was heavy in my nostrils, the only sounds our labored breathing as we struggled.

A white-hot stab of pain punched into me before I heard the sharp bark of gunfire. Back arching, mouth gaping wide, I fought to breathe. Triumph glinted in the Blackfoot’s eyes. Knees giving way, my fingers tightened around the rifle, refusing to let go. Jerking me roughly, he tried to shake me free, but I clung to the weapon as though it would save me. Then it did.

For a brief instant, the barrel tip lined up with the brave’s chin. I slipped my finger around the trigger and pulled. My ears rang as he abruptly collapsed, spattering me in gore. Dropping to my knees, shaking violently, I knew this was it. Another warrior was out there, and I had no more bullets. Hurt, bleeding, I’d played my last card and come up short.

A rush of feet came from behind me, followed by the loud bark of a revolver. Three quick shots echoed as one, but I was struggling to concentrate. Hot blood oozed from me, soaking into my clothing, spreading pain with every heartbeat. Dizzy, I collapsed, my head bouncing on the hard earth as everything went fuzzy. Someone grabbed me, rolling me over.

Bright light blinded me as the afternoon sun met my eyes and I squeezed them closed against the glare. A burning fire was in my side, and each breath only rippling the flames through me. I’d been shot. It was hard to breathe now, hard to think. What was happening? Had the Blackfoot come for me?

I had to move, I had to get up! Whip would be alone, killed if I continued to do nothing! Yet I couldn’t move. Fear of dying crept into my mind. I wasn’t ready…I didn’t want to go yet!

A flicker of shadow crossed the sunlight behind my eyelids, a gentle touch of hands on my body. Panic set in. He’d found me! I knew what he’d do if he knew I was alive. Screaming at my body to obey, to fight, I was left motionless and mute as nothing responded.

At the mercy of my enemy, these last few moments, I would be brave. Dying anyhow, I could hide my fear for a few minutes more. Something tugged open the buttons of my dress as I passed into unconsciousness.
~~~

I came around to a damp cloth against my brow, deliciously cool. Flushed with heat, I could feel the uncomfortable sticky slickness of sweat. My eyes wouldn’t open, and I moaned in slight frustration. A soothing voice murmured to me, a gentle hand caressing my cheek. I was so hot, and hungry, yet so weak that I could do nothing but lie there, blind and helpless.

Surrounded by darkness, I cried out softly for help. In my sickness, it came out a mumbled whimper, a hushed, plaintive sound. The gentle hands returned, bringing another wonderfully cool cloth and I sighed in relief. I was unconscious before I finished the sigh.