Chapter 7: The Battle Of The Bathhouse

Jessica and Sabrina rode along, smiling back at “Long Tom”, their self appointed minder while their father was gone. He got his nickname because of his buffalo rifle, and his ability to hit targets at incredible distances. He had coached Jessica a lot, helping her with her rifle. He called her Sunshine because of her blond hair, and he called Sabrina Shadow because of her raven curls. “Besides,” he’d grin, “If you saw Sunshine, you know she always has a Shadow.”

They had bonded, girls raised by siblings who suddenly found themselves with loving parents. They loved their mother Claire, but they adored their father Zeke.

Jessica knew well how cruel the world could be, but Sabrina had led a pretty sheltered life, so Jess looked out for her. She was afraid of guns, but Jessica had gently taught her until she was a pretty decent shot with her pistol and deadly with her shotgun. It was nothing to see her make two shots, at birds flying in different directions, and drop them both.

Jessica was good with her pistol, but natural talent and patient instruction from her father and Tom made her deadly with her little rifle. Since they were both chambered in the same round, 32-20, she didn’t have to carry separate ammunition.

They had once come upon a pack of wolves ringing a cow trying to defend her calf. They pulled their long guns and fired without hesitation, killing three and making the rest of the pack flee. Though they rode their ranch at will, there was always someone close by. Tom rode over to investigate the shooting, saw the carnage, and grinned. He skinned two, Sabrina’s shotgun hade torn the other up too much, carefully tanned them, and gave them to the girls as a momento. They adorned the floor of their room.

After that, if they had a chance to bag some game for the dinner table, they did. Many a partridge ended up roasted at the Split Trails, and once they came upon some wild pigs, little animals weighing about thirty pounds. Sabrina got one and Jess nailed two. They gutted them on the spot, built a travois, and pulled them back to the ranch. Bill was from the South, and he showed them how to build a pit and roast them. The hands talked about that meal for months.

Even though they knew their father was concerned with their safety, they were only going a short ways, to bathe. They teased Tom as they rode, calling him Uncle Tommy. He’d grin indulgently while his eyes never stopped scanning the horizon. He saw the riders first, a large group leaving a clear dust trail. As they got closer, they split, the smaller part heading in thier direction.

“Girls!,” he called out, galloping uo to them. “We got riders comin’. There isn’t enough time to get back to the house. I don’t know what their intent is, so you ride for the bath house and fort up. I’m gonna go up on the ridge and look them over. If you hear shootin’, especially my rifle, YOU STAY PUT!” Understand? Keep that door locked and don’t open it for anyone but me or someone else from the ranch.”

These were frontier girls, and they were galloping as soon as he stopped speaking. He charged up the ridge by the falls, and picked a good position, getting out his glasses.

Jess and Sabrina slid their mounts to a stop, grabbing their saddle bags and weapons, and swatting them with their hats, knowing they wouldn’t go far away.

Inside, they took stock. Jessica’s rifle was fully loaded, fifteen rounds, her pistol was full, and she had twenty rounds in her belt loops. Sabrina had eight slugs and six birdshot shells for her little .410, her pistol, a .38, was fully loaded, and she also had twenty reloads.

They had a bag of jerky they were going to share with the hands, along with three pieces of cake and a flask of tea. They wouldn’t go hungry. Both were scared to death, but Jessica tried to keep her spirits up.

“Don’t you worry, Sis. We got Uncle Tommy watching out for us. If they mean us harm, you have to not hesitate. You have to shoot, and shoot to kill. Can you do it?”

Sabrina, her hands shaking and her voice unusually high, promised she would.

The riders came up, stopping thirty feet from the door. A voice called out. “Girls! We know you’re in there. Your minder took one look at us and run off, so you’re on your own. Come on out now, we ain’t gonna hurt you none. We just want you to stay with us until your Daddy sees things our way.”

Jessica called out with more confidence than she had. “Go away! We ain’t goin’ nowhere with the likes of you. Just the fact that you’re talking to us will make our Daddy come after you. You really want to die over a couple of little girls?”

Another voice boomed out. “Little sinners! Come out. Your father must have spoiled you if you’d talk like that to your elders. Spare the rod and spoil the child, I always say. Maybe I’ll give you a lesson or two. It will be a lot more if you don’t git out here right this minute.”

Jessica fainted. The voice was one she knew, her biological father, the man who beat her and her brothers constantly, the one who refused to let her address any man in the community, and told her once she came of age she would assume the position her mother held. He was running his hands over her at the time, to see if she was developing. She told her two closest brothers, and they waited until their father was passed out from the homemade wine he favored, took horses and anything they thought they might need, and fled. They rode all night, then turned their horses loose and mounted the spares they had brought.

They had managed to escape, and spent the next year in the Arizona wild country, rounding up wild cattle to raise the money for a spread of their own. Then they were cheated and abandoned, and what she considered her real father found her. She knew what would happen to her if he man outside the door knew it was her.

“Go Away!,” she screamed when she woke, fear almost paralyzing her. The men looked at each other. “Shoot it up, boys, but aim high. We need them alive. Put a good scare into them.”

“Yessir, Preacher,” said one of the younger men, pulling his pistol and shooting into the roof.

Long Tom had been watching them through his glass, close enough to hear part of the shouting. When the young man pulled out his piece, he had already selected his target, one of the two leaders. When the man fired, Tom put the big ball through the chest of the leader, the force blowing him out of his saddle. He fired twice more, scoring a kill on one and blowing the arm off another.

Jessica and Sabrina took that as a signal to open fire. Sabrina, despite her nerves, emptied both barrels, headshots that found targets. One of the riders watched in amazement as the head of the man beside him disappeared, only to look down and see two stains starting to seep blood. He slid out of his saddle, dead before he hit the ground. Jessica kept firring while Sabrina reloaded, hitting a rider in the back as he turned to flee. His horse ran about fifty yards before he slid off, dangling by a stirrup as the horse galloped on. Sabrina brought her gun up and hit a horse in the hindquarters, dropping it. The man tumbled, then got up, obviously dazed. He never got a chance to clear his head as a ball from the buffalo rifle blew out the right side of his chest.

Jessica fired at the fleeing riders, sure she had scored at least one more hit. They stopped because they were no longer sure of their targets, and they had been taught not to waste ammunition. Sabrina had used three shells, rapidly breaking her gun down and replacing the spent round. Jessica had fired nine times, and was sure at least six were hits. She quickly fed fresh shells into the magazine. She knew if it got bad she wouldn’t have time to reload, so she needed to keep it full for when the time came.

The riders regrouped under shelter of the trees. “Goddamnit, Preacher! That can’t be little girls in there. You shore your eyes are as good as they used to be?”

The man got a quirt across the face that knocked him from the saddle. Preacher was sitting over him, his own shotgun pointed at him. “Never ever take the Lord’s name in vain boy. Do it agin and I’ll kill you. You hear me?”

The man nodded and mumbled, trying to stop the blood seeping through his bandana. Another rider spoke up. “If they are little girls, they’re mighty tough little girls. We got seven dead, and Bob will prob’ly bleed out with his arm missin’ like that. What kind of gun was that?

“Buffler, more’n’likely. Nasty things. That has to be a 45/70, maybe stronger. We cain’t let him catch us out in the open again or they’ll be more empty saddles.”

Preacher looked at the man speaking. “You’re right, Hawkins. Why don’t you take your own big rifle and see if you can’t beat him at his own game. If that don’t work, take Jones and Herman and go get him.”

Hawkins nodded, walking over and pulling his own buffalo rifle from the scabboard. His companions grabbed their Winchesters and disapeared into the woods.

Sabrina and jessica huddled in the bathhouse, grateful their father had decided to make the concrete sides high to keep water from sloshing out. It was only eighteen inches high, but it was perfect to shelter small girls. The walls were made of hand hewn oak boards, two and three inches thick and still a little green. It would take a shot at almost point blank range to get through. They ate a piece of cake and drank half the tea to keep their strength up. Jess kept reassuring her. “We got to hold out for a little while yet, Sis. Daddy will come.”

The hours passed until it was late afternoon. The girls had decided to take naps, one sleeping, one watching, three hours each. Sabrina went to sleep instantly, but when Jess took a turn she couldn’t turn her mind off and got little rest. Sabrina shook her gently. “I think they’re coming.”

She had sharp eyes, and had seen the figures flit through the shadows at the tree line. “Don’t shoot until you’re sure of your target. We don’t have the ammo to last long. I’ll take the East side, you take the West. Look to the other walls, make sure they don’t creep up on us.”

So they lay in wait, and watched. A man rose up twenty feet from the wall in front of Sabrina, lighting a torch. Her blast hit him high on the right, and he fell on the torch he’d dropped, screaming as his clothes caught on fire. The girls had agreed to not kill anybody they wounded unless they had to, hoping to tie a fighter up tending his wounded comrades.