3. How the situation came to pass.

[xiphias]

3. How the situation came to pass

Tomas couldn't sleep. There was too much on his mind. All his life, he'd lived more-or-less secluded on his family's farm, for what he believed was good reason. His grandfather, Beshkno, had been through great hardship caused by white men, and had taught them all that the best way to keep away from trouble was to keep away from other people.

But was that the right thing to do? Clayton believed in justice – he didn't deny the injustice of what was done to Beshkno's tribe, but he believed that people must fight injustice rather than hide from it. Yet Beshkno had a point, too. He had a duty to keep his own family safe, and to fight would certainly have harmed them. Would Tomas's parents even have survived without Beshkno's care and caution in hiding?

There was almost a full moon that night, and the sky was clear and the stars shone. Scout, Tomas's horse, was as sure-footed as a mountain goat, and, even after the moon set, there would be enough light to see by. So Tomas woke Scout and saddled him, and they set out to give Tomas a chance to think. They rode in the rocks above the ravine which led from the farm to the town. And Tomas saw a group of men carrying rifles and pistols, leading their horses toward his home.

Even riding among the rocks, Scout and Tomas were much faster than Cavendish and his men, and, after he silently crept out of their hearing, he was almost able to manage a gallop for some of the way. He woke the rest of his family.

"There is a band of armed men approaching along the ravine. I can't imagine that, at two in the morning, they have any benevolent intentions." As Tomas spoke, Nikan quietly translated for his father, who spoke no English. Beshkno replied, and Nikan now translated for Clayton, who spoke no Potawatomi.

"I feared this day. Even if the white man's government didn't take this land, we have always been vulnerable to white bandits. We have no place to flee to, so we will have to fight. We have been able to trade for rifles and ammunition enough from Ramona's Wichita family, which we have used for hunting until now. So, now we will use them to defend our home.

"Clayton, you will ride for town to attempt to find reinforcements. Perhaps we may hold out for enough hours for that to make a difference."

"No, sir," Clayton replied. "It must have been carelessness on my part which attracted these bandits and led them here. I have to stay and defend this place with you. Besides, I can't find my way back to town without following the ravine which the bandits are using. Tomas and Scout are the only ones who have a chance to get there and lead a party back. A slim chance at best – but none of the rest of us have any chance at all."

"I'll try, Mr. Reid, but they'll be here in just a few minutes. It's unlikely I'll even be able to pass their lines."

Nonetheless, he re-mounted Scout, and rode carefully along the ridge. But he wasn't able to get far before the situation came to a head.

Beshkno, Ramona, Nikan, and Clayton took up positions with good cover and clear fields of fire.
Cavendish's men rode into an ambush, and, for a few minutes, Clayton let himself hope that they might hold out, or even drive off their attackers. A half-dozen of Cavendish's gang fell.

But four normally peaceful people couldn't hold long against the crowd of merciless professional killers. Far from breaking at the unexpected resistance, Cavendish's men were infuriated by it. The four friends fought hard and valiantly. Beshkno was the first to fall.

A screaming giant of a man charged forward, brandishing a torch in one hand and a pistol in the other. Clayton pumped two bullets into him, but he didn't slow down. He threw the torch into the shed where Clayton and Nikan were fortified, and the shed burst into flames. The giant emptied his pistol at Clayton and Nikan, then fell back. Nikan was hit, and fell.

Clayton grabbed his friend and dragged him out of the flames – and felt a sudden needle of pain in his back. He'd exposed himself, and one of Cavendish's men had shot him in the back. The man approached, and shot Nikan twice. Then he grinned and leveled his pistol at Clayton. Clayton tried to crawl away, and discovered that his legs wouldn't move.

A horse whinnied, and the man fell to the ground with a crushed skull. A horse had kicked him. Clayton looked up. Ramona had managed to get to the stables and was riding a mean-looking stallion bareback. She reached down; Clayton reached up. They barely managed to clasp hands, Ramona kicked her horse's sides, and dragged him out of the line of fire. She dismounted, draped him over her horse, and rode off into the broken ground away from their attackers.

A volley of fire made her wheel her horse around, and take cover behind the barn. Clayton couldn't even clearly see where the shots were coming from, and they were pinned in place.

Suddenly, he heard hoof-beats, and Tomas's voice shouting, "Hi-ya, Scout! Come on!" A flurry of shots from Tomas's Winchester rifle followed, and a grunt as one of the shots found one of Cavendish's men. "Hurry, Mother – I'd draw their fire. You get yourself and Clayton away, and I'll follow."

Tomas began firing again, and Ramona kicked her horse into a gallop. They broke away over the rough ground, and behind a ridge, and rode hard for Reid's farm.

Tomas made it to the Reid place only a few minutes after Ramona and Clayton. Ramona was bleeding from several superficial wounds from splinters of rock and wood kicked up by bullets, as well as from a few more serious wounds from ricocheting rounds. One round had gone right through the fleshy part of her thigh, and into her horse. None of her wounds were life-threatening, or, apparently, even incapacitating – when Tomas slid off of Scout, she was busy treating Clayton's wounds.

Tomas staggered in, and collapsed into a chair. He'd lost his rifle on the ride, after his left arm was broken by a bullet. It seemed to be a clean break, and none of his other wounds seemed as serious, but he wasn't paying much attention.

There were two other men there, in Texas Ranger uniforms – Dan and John Reid, on leave from their unit, who had arrived earlier that day to visit their father, and had now found themselves treating him in a makeshift field hospital on their own kitchen table.