When the indians raid the ranch ten year old Albert saves the day.
Lizzie had just given the ‘little boys’ jelly biscuits and sent them out to play when the commotion started down by the barn. The dogs were in a panic.
“Now what?” she muttered looking out the kitchen window. “Those boys are full of mischief today. She had too much to do to put up with their shenanigans. “That Albert, he is always instigating something.” The boys were no where in sight. Stepping to the door prepared to call out she caught her breath when she spied two dark-skinned figures slither around the edge of the barn and duck behind the hay stack. “Indians!”
Grabbing Ben’s rife from its place over the door she stepped out and called in a low voice, “Albert-Howard, where are you?”
“Here Mama, under the porch.”
“Stay there, I saw Indians down by the barn.”
“I saw ‘um to Mama, so we hid here.”
Raising the rifle Lizzie aimed toward the barn and pulled the trigger hoping to scare the varmints off. It did nothing but stir them up. They began whooping and hollering. “How many are out there? More than two for sure they must know the men-folk are gone.”
“Albert, take Howard and go to the cellar.”
“I can shoot Mama. Give me a gun.”
Lizzie hesitated, Albert was only ten but he was stout and she knew Ben had taught him to use the gun, but he was still a little boy, her little boy. She turned as he stepped onto the porch dragging little Howard behind him.
“Get the other rifle and go to the root cellar, Hurry!”
Grabbing up Howard and rushing through the kitchen she glanced toward the big cook stove and the stew pot bubbling there, “My beans.” She worried knowing they would soon need water. “They will burn to a crisp,” she fretted.
Seeing Albert she noted he had picked up the old buffalo rifle. A heap of good that will do us, she thought but it was too late to go back for the repeater. Going out the front door they circled back to the safety of the cellar, unseen by the intruders.
Pulling the wooden door securely over the opening shut out the light in the earthen sanctuary. Feeling in her apron pocket for matches she ran her hand along the wooden shelf until she touched the base of the kerosene lantern. The first match sputtered and flickered out. “Drat” She struck another against the wood. It flashed and burned bright. With trembling hands she placed the flame to the wick; it produced a soft glow as it caught fire and burned steady. Replacing the glass globe she quickly examined the contents of the small enclosure. Pulling wooden crates of apples and garden vegetables from the wall made a place for the boys to crawl to for safety should the red devils find them there. Placing her fingers to her lips she motioned for them to remain quiet. Turning the wick as low as possible without turning it out they waited.
The crash of furniture and glass breaking sounded as the natives ransacked the house. Anger outweighed the fear she felt as she imagined her precious things being destroyed. What would be left when they were finished? The urge to face them and demand they stop was powerful but foolish she knew. Their safety was more important than the dishes she brought from Ohio. She clenched her fists and held back the hot tears.
Albert clamored past her and made his way up the dirt path to the cellar door. “Albert. Get back here. What are you doing?”
Turning to her his brown eyes big and his mouth set in determination, “I’m going after Pa.”
“No! You can’t go out there, they’ll see you. Come back here this instant.”
He hesitated a minute as he looked her in the eye then pushed the door ajar and rolled out closing it behind him. Lizzie lunged for the opening looking out to see him disappear into the orchard behind the house. She prayed the Indians were so involved with their destruction of her home they would not see him. Tears streamed down her face as she pulled the door shut. Taking the frightened Howard into her arms she turned the wick out. Darkness filled the room as she cradled her youngest son in her arms and hopelessly rocked back and forth weeping silently. All was lost.
Albert wormed his way across the yard than got to his knees and crawled into the trees. His heart was pounding as he made his way toward the creek behind the barn. Hearing a snort and the stamp of a horses hoof he froze and ducked down. Peeking around the brush he spied a dozen or more of Indian ponies, their leather reins hanging loose. No-one was around that he could see. If he could get to one of the horses he could ride like the wind after his Pa. He had to get help in a hurry. He pictured his Mothers face, frightened but strong, Howard had been right behind her his eyes big as saucers, to scared to speak. He had to save them; it was up to him to get help. Pa told him he was the man of the house while he was away. He couldn’t let him down.
He took a deep breath and walked calmly and quickly to the first mount. The horse shied away from him raring up his head. The other horses moved uneasily, the unfamiliar smell of him sending up an alarm. Albert moved back into the trees unsure of what to do. Again he approached the horses talking all the while in a soft voice. He discovered there were no stirrups or saddles only a blanket and a braided rope. Leading one of the ponies to a nearby tree he climbed up and jumped astride the frisky mount. Leaning over reaching for the reins, he raised his head and looked into the face of a returning brave his arms loaded with some of his mother’s clothes. The Brave was as surprised as Albert was.
The brave dropped the clothes as Albert kicked the paint pony and shot forward knocking the Indian aside. The other horses in a panic ran after him.
Hearing the melee as the fallen warrior sent out the alarm the Indians inside the house ran out to see their horses tearing through the pasture, a small boy in the lead hanging on to the horse’s mane for dear life. The Indians were soon in pursuit.
Albert dug in his heels clamping his legs tightly to the pony’s sides and lay over his neck, a handful of brown mane in each hand. The pony was fast and surefooted; he was far ahead of the others. Glancing over his shoulder he found a big sorrel and his dark rider closing the gap fast. Gradually changing his direction Albert headed for the river.
Once into the cover of the massive cottonwoods and thick grapevines Albert evaded his pursuers. Coming to the waters edge he pulled back on the mane coming to a halt and slipped off into the brush. Sliding into the water he hid hugging the bank. He could hear the Indians beating the brush as they searched for him. When they came near he sank beneath the surface till he felt his lungs would burst.
Remembering a trick Ben had taught him he searched for cattails along the embankment and broke off a reed. Blowing it out he took a deep breath and submerged. Choking he shot from the water his mouth full of the muddy river. It took a little practice breathing through the reed and staying under the water. Kicking his feet and steering with his arms he was able to move with the current downstream unseen by the searchers and continue on his way.
Coming up for air when he felt it was safe he pulled himself out onto the rivers bank. Wiping the water from his eyes he lay there. His body felt heavy and waterlogged. Emptying the water from his boots he looked around to get his bearings. How far had he traveled downriver? Climbing the embankment he looked across the empty prairie. Nothing looked familiar. He knew he was lost. Striking out for the highest point in the landscape he hoped he could see a familiar marker to tell him where he was. As he approached the knoll he aimed for, he could hear the lowing of cattle, topping the small rise he looked down on a valley filled with cattle herding slowly back the way he came from. Scanning the outriders he spotted a familiar horse and rider, a big buckskin with a tall man in the saddle, Pa. Looking further he spotted his big brother Ben on the red roan. He waved his arms and yelled but no one saw or heard him. He began to run toward them. The trail dogs spotted him first and came on the run. That caught the attention of the outriders who followed the dogs. Albert saw his Pa stop and shade his eyes, recognizing him he came in a long gallop across the valley. The dogs reached him first, excited, and jumping all over him knocked him to the ground. He felt strong arms lift him and looked into the face of his brother Ben.
Griping him by the shoulders, “Al, what are you doing out here. What happened to you?” he asked looking at his torn wet clothes and bloody knees.
Albert jumped up hiding tears of relief, “We gotta hurry Ben. The Indians have Ma trapped in the cellar with Howard.”
He felt the security of his father’s arms as he grabbed him in a bear hug holding him close then away. Piercing blue eyes studied his face and clothes,”What is this about Indians?”
“They tore up our house. Ma shot at them and we hid in the cellar.” As he spoke the men were climbing on their horses and heading for the ranch. “Bring the boy,” Pa ordered as he climbed aboard the huge buckskin and spurred him into a loping run. Ben was three lengths ahead but Pa soon caught up and passed him.
One of the men who stayed with the cattle put him on a horse asking, “Can you ride son?” as he handed him the reins Albert nodded and followed the dust left by the ranch hands trailing behind his father.
The Indians were gone by the time Pa and the men got to the house. Ma and Howard were no place to be seen. “The cellar.” Ben yelled. He and Pa raced for it. A hole the size of a saucer was in the door.
“Lizzie...” Pa called out as he lifted the wooden cover and hurried into the gloom of the shelter.
“Carl,” she sobbed, “Thank God.”
He gathered her in his arms. Ben picked up Howard and carried him out into the light. “Hey cowboy, you okay?”
“Albert...” she cried,
“He’s fine, he’s with us.”
She looked up to see Albert standing there. “You are in trouble young man!” she smiled through tears and held out her arms. All he could do was grin even if he was in trouble. He was really too big to be hugged by his Mama but he let her hug him anyhow.
“What happened to the cellar door?” Ben asked.
“Albert brought the buffalo gun from the house. When they came to the door I shot the gun. I thought the world had exploded down here the boom was so loud. I guess they thought so too. They didn’t come back.”
“Where did you go Albert?” Howard asked tugging at his sleeve and looking up at his brother.
Placing his arm around his shoulders Albert explained, “Well...I crawled to the trees... I found a pony and had to ride bareback...The Indians chased me to the river, the arrows were flying through the air ... I crawled into a hollow log and hid...they were beatin’ the bushes...then slipping into the water I breathed through a hollow reed like Ben showed us and drifted down the river. The Indians were yelling and shooting arrows at me all the time...”
“Were ya scared?”
“Nah...” They walked away Howard hanging onto every word as Al spun his tall tale. Lizzie and Carl laughed watching them.
“That Albert and his stories are going to get him in trouble some day.”
Carl smiled. “Yep, that’s my ‘jelly’ boy, our little hero. How much of that tale is true I wonder?” He said softly and turned his attention to the remains of the house. “Looks like we got a mess to clean up.”
Entering the house Carl heard Lizzie gasp,”Drat, those savages ate my beans.”
Great story featuring a child as the protagonist! You had me on the edge of my seat the whole time, and I laughed out loud at the ending. Looking forward to reading more of your stories!
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