Oregon National Historic Trail -- Fiction; Pioneers -- United States -- Fiction
He wheeled his big horse and let him thunder back the way they had come.
Barbara's fear ebbed. Ellis, she told herself, would know what to do. He
always knew. They came in sight of the wagon and Joe stopped the mules.
Ellis reined alongside.
"Indians," he said quickly. "We'd better be ready."
Tad, who had wanted an Indian fight but who was now shaken at the
prospect of one, leaned against the wagon wheel with his rifle in his
hands. He stopped shaking and looked to the priming of his rifle while
his jaw set grimly. Joe sat on the seat, his rifle ready. Ellis and
Barbara remained on King. Just before the Indians came, Ellis spoke
sharply and with authority. "We're outnumbered, Joe. We don't want a
fight. We won't raise a gun unless they do--and then we'll shoot to
kill. But remember, and you too, Tad! Don't raise your gun unless I say
so."
The Indians came.
They stopped about twenty feet away, twelve grim men whose garb and
coloration revealed that they were Indians and whose faces revealed
nothing. Two had rifles, the rest bows and arrows. They were looking at
the mules, the horse, the wagon and Barbara. As though he never had
thought that he could be stopped, as though nothing could stop him, a
brave on a black pony rode up to Ellis. But he ignored Ellis and
examined Barbara gravely. Joe's hand clenched over his rifle stock,
waiting for a signal from Ellis. Ellis made no sound.
The Indian lifted his hand as though to touch Barbara's hair. Tad froze
and nearly cried out. Joe leaned tensely forward, the lining of his
throat dry.
Still there was no sound or movement from Ellis.
The Indian's hand touched Barbara's hair. She did not flinch. With his
hand still on her hair, the Indian now turned to look full into Ellis's
eyes. It was a long look, silent, mysterious and compelling, and Ellis
returned it without moving, without blinking. The silence was intense,
and through it the only sound was the quick, harsh breathing of Emma
inside the wagon, clutching baby Carlyle to her breast. Barbara gritted
her teeth and thought that in one more instant she would scream.
The Indian's hand stroked her hair gently, as though the feel of it was
something strange and wonderful. Then his hand fell away. He reined his
horse around and, without a sound and without a change of expression,
the twelve men turned and galloped back the way they had come.
Still encircling Ellis, Barbara's arms went limp. Joe sat silently on
the wagon seat, not yet fully comprehending what had happened because it
had happened too fast to permit full comprehension. But this much he
knew. Ellis, the hot-tempered one, the impulsive one, had showed the
greatest nerve and steadiness of them all. Ellis had saved them from a
bloody and losing battle. Tad, too, recognized this. His eyes, fixed on
Ellis, were adoring and would forever adore.
Tad looked at his sister, the luckiest of all girls.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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