half a dozen, unless somebody else took an arrow while I was making my way over here. Nothing serious. I think your deputy got the worst of it, but that was only because he was plenty sore already and he tensed up. Around the arrow, I mean. Took it in the back.”
Jason’s brow furrowed. “How’s he doing?”
“Fine now. Had to dope him up to keep him down, though. You know how he is.”
Jason allowed himself a little smile. It sounded like Ward. He said, “He’s a tough old pelican.”
“Not so old, Jason,” the doctor replied as he backed off the plank and began to make his way down to the ground. “I take it you don’t need me distracting you.”
Jason glanced out over the stockade. The wounded brave and his escort had ridden out of sight, and the bodies on the ground lay still. He said, “Hold up, I’ll go with you,” and followed Morelli down to the ground.
The sounds of battle had faded away to potshots. Jason imagined the rest of the attacking force was pulling out until first light.
As he and Morelli started back toward the center of the square, he said, “Help me pick some boys to stand night watch, will you?”
Morelli nodded.
“And I don’t think everybody older than I am is ready for a rocking chair.”
Morelli, himself Jason’s senior by several years, nodded again. “Good thing.”
Against his own better judgment, Jason added, “Well, I don’t.” And even as the words left his lips, he knew it was a lie.
So did Morelli, who nodded again. And smiled.
“Aw, crud,” Jason muttered, his head shaking.
Morelli and Jason assigned the least fatigued men to lookout posts around the stockade. The arrows had long since ceased to fly by the time they finished assigning duty for the first and second shifts, and Olympia Morelli and several other women were busy preparing a communal supper over a fire someone had built in the town square. Megan MacDonald was among them, and in spite of the scene she’d put on this morning, Jason was mightily relieved to see her there.
And to see that she was unharmed.
He had no chance to speak to her, however, because Morelli dragged him over to the sheriff’s office. Ward Wanamaker was inside, in a cell, his back and shoulder swathed in bandages. He was snoring loud enough to wake the dead.
“Hope you don’t mind, Jason,” Morelli said, “but I put him here. The cot in the other cell’s for you.”
“What’s wrong with my house?”
“It’s full of Milchers.”
Jason hiked a quizzical brow.
Morelli didn’t hesitate. “I know you put the fire out, but the second floor didn’t look safe to me. Actually, the steeple bell had already fallen through the ceiling, along with half the steeple. Or what was left of it. And directly onto somebody’s bed. Lucky that he or she wasn’t in it. And really, the first floor didn’t seem any too stable either.”
“And here I thought we did such a good job…”
“Oh, you did, you did!” Morelli declared. “But I just didn’t want to take any chances. And I didn’t think you’d mind….”
Jason snorted softly, and shot another glance toward his snoring deputy. “No, Doc, that’s fine. What about him? You give him enough dope to carry him through the night?”
Morelli nodded thoughtfully. “I think so. If he wakes, you can always whack him over the skull with the butt of your gun.”
Jason laughed softly, if briefly.
The wagon train, east of Fury
“I wish to heck you’d stop yellin’ ‘Circle the wagons’ when you wanna stop,” groused Olin Whaler, who drove the second wagon, which was pulled by four massive mules, each one just as stubborn as Olin. Olin had dreams of California gold. Or silver. It didn’t much matter to him.
“Why?” asked Blake.
“A body can’t circle four wagons, that’s why,” Olin replied testily. “Maybe five, for sure six, but not four.”
Blake took a deep breath. Olin had been a thorn in his side since he joined the group back in Santa Fe. “We can sort of circle them, Olin. Basically, I want everybody in a tight group. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Stop it, Rev.”
Olin thought that because he was Catholic, he didn’t owe Richard Blake a doggone thing, let alone the respect that Blake was fairly sure he deserved as a man of God. And which he got from everybody else.
Frankly, Blake thought he’d like to give Olin a good swat with that Bible Olin was always accusing him of thumping.
Firmly, he said, “Olin, as long as I’m in charge of this little train, we’ll do things my way. And when I yell ‘Circle the wagons,’ I mean for you to circle them as tightly as you can. Or square them up. Whichever configuration you care to convert it to. Understand?”
Beside him, he heard Laura whisper, “Don’t press your luck, darling.”
He knew she meant that Olin was at least six feet three, had no respect for him, and had a bad temper, to boot. But he stood his ground. And said a silent prayer.
Dear Father in heaven, he prayed as he stared at Olin, please get this big lummox to listen without hitting….
God must have been paying attention, because Olin angrily stared at him a moment longer, then turned on his heel and stalked off toward his wagon and his family.
“Shall Becky and I start gathering firewood?” Laura asked.
He turned away from Olin’s retreating form and toward her. “Yes, that would be a good idea,” he said, reaching for baby Seth as he sighed with relief. “Watch out for snakes.”
“Don’t forget the spiders,” she added, walking off.
“And spiders,” he said, chuckling a bit. He waved at Randy Mankiller, the only one of the men looking his way, to come along. Laura and Becky couldn’t get enough wood by themselves. In fact, he’d be surprised if they could find any at all out here. The view to the horizon was clear in all directions. No trees, living or dead.
Randy, a lanky, part-Cherokee who originally came from northern Texas, joined him at a trot. “Whatcha need, Reverend?”
Blake grinned. “Want to help me fetch some wood, Randy?”
“Not really, but I reckon I’m game.”
Blake clapped him on the back. “Just what I like to hear. The game part anyhow.”
“I hear you, Reverend,” Randy answered. “You think we’re actually gonna find any downed
