Read Online Foxfire Bride by Maggie Osborne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie Osborne
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on each side of the enclosure."
Before she'd finished speaking, she had her rifle and ammunition and was running toward the front of the enclosure. Tanner was on her heels as she scaled the ladder and kneeled next to the wall. The sun was sinking but the adobe was still warm to the touch.
Below them, Fox heard shouts and laughter and whoops and thudding hooves as the Indians charged the wooden gate and fired arrows into the rough-cut logs.
"You know what that sounds like?" She let her voice trail and listened. "Kids. Just fooling around." She flashed Tanner a glance of irritation. "Cover me, but don't shoot anyone unless you have to."
He was in midprotest when she stood and stared over the wall. Sure enough, six young Paiutes painted like warriors were having a grand time. The oldest couldn't have been more than maybe fifteen.
"Hey," she shouted, feeling the ever-present anger rise in her chest and tighten her throat.
Tanner rose alongside her, leveling his rifle. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You go on home before you get yourself killed," Fox shouted in Paiute. Smiles wiped clean, the boys looked up at her dumbstruck, as if a tree had spoken in their language. "Arrows don't stand a chance beside rifles. Watch this." Raising her rifle, she put a bullet into a post out on the desert about thirty yards from the gate. The next shot went into the ground twelve inches from the oldest boy's feet. They got the point of the demonstration. The oldest boy fired one last defiant arrow into the gate, then hopped on his pony and they all rode toward the hills.
"You could have gotten yourself killed, standing up like that." Tanner's craggy face pulled into an expression of anger and exasperation.
"They were kids."
"Kids with weapons. What did you say to them?"
Fox dropped down the ladder. "I told them they looked real cute in their paint."
"Well, hell. Looks like we missed all the excitement," Hanratty said, coming across the compound. "I wouldn't have minded taking me an Indian scalp."
Fox rounded on him and poked him hard in the chest with her finger. "Listen and hear me good, Hanratty. You, too, Brown. You don't fire at anyone until or unless I tell you to. That means Indians, whites, soldiers, or each other. It's clear that you don't know squat about the situation out here, so walk softly." Furious with the anger that seemed to erupt whenever an excuse arose, she glared up into Hanratty's tight expression. "White men don't take scalps, Hanratty."
"Some do."
"You're right," she said, curling her lip in disgust. "Let me rephrase this. Decent white men don't take scalps. Now let's set up camp."
After supper, no one went immediately to his bedroll. It had been a long tedious day, but the incident with the Indians left everyone too charged up and restless to sleep.
For a time Peaches played soft plaintive songs on his harmonica, then Jubal Brown told a tall tale about camping in the Georgia woods with an uncle when it started to rain frogs.
"Little pale frogs about this long," he finished, holding his fingers apart about two inches.
"I'll bet you believe in fairies, too," Hanratty said, hunching closer to the fire pit. "Cold tonight."
For several minutes Fox had been aware of Tanner regarding her across the fire with an intent expression. When he turned his full attention on something or someone, it was like nothing else existed. A tiny shiver ran up Fox's spine and she wet her lips.
"Where did you learn to speak Paiute?" he asked softly.
The question caused her gaze to sharpen. More often than not, she was asked where she had learned to speak Indian. But Tanner either knew or guessed that while the Indian nations shared some words in common, they each had their own language.
"The first time I crossed country to Denver, it took me a year. I spent some time with the Paiutes, the Shoshone, and the Utes, and learned to speak to them." Modesty wasn't one of her virtues so she didn't shrug off her accomplishment. "I'm
Before she'd finished speaking, she had her rifle and ammunition and was running toward the front of the enclosure. Tanner was on her heels as she scaled the ladder and kneeled next to the wall. The sun was sinking but the adobe was still warm to the touch.
Below them, Fox heard shouts and laughter and whoops and thudding hooves as the Indians charged the wooden gate and fired arrows into the rough-cut logs.
"You know what that sounds like?" She let her voice trail and listened. "Kids. Just fooling around." She flashed Tanner a glance of irritation. "Cover me, but don't shoot anyone unless you have to."
He was in midprotest when she stood and stared over the wall. Sure enough, six young Paiutes painted like warriors were having a grand time. The oldest couldn't have been more than maybe fifteen.
"Hey," she shouted, feeling the ever-present anger rise in her chest and tighten her throat.
Tanner rose alongside her, leveling his rifle. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You go on home before you get yourself killed," Fox shouted in Paiute. Smiles wiped clean, the boys looked up at her dumbstruck, as if a tree had spoken in their language. "Arrows don't stand a chance beside rifles. Watch this." Raising her rifle, she put a bullet into a post out on the desert about thirty yards from the gate. The next shot went into the ground twelve inches from the oldest boy's feet. They got the point of the demonstration. The oldest boy fired one last defiant arrow into the gate, then hopped on his pony and they all rode toward the hills.
"You could have gotten yourself killed, standing up like that." Tanner's craggy face pulled into an expression of anger and exasperation.
"They were kids."
"Kids with weapons. What did you say to them?"
Fox dropped down the ladder. "I told them they looked real cute in their paint."
"Well, hell. Looks like we missed all the excitement," Hanratty said, coming across the compound. "I wouldn't have minded taking me an Indian scalp."
Fox rounded on him and poked him hard in the chest with her finger. "Listen and hear me good, Hanratty. You, too, Brown. You don't fire at anyone until or unless I tell you to. That means Indians, whites, soldiers, or each other. It's clear that you don't know squat about the situation out here, so walk softly." Furious with the anger that seemed to erupt whenever an excuse arose, she glared up into Hanratty's tight expression. "White men don't take scalps, Hanratty."
"Some do."
"You're right," she said, curling her lip in disgust. "Let me rephrase this. Decent white men don't take scalps. Now let's set up camp."
After supper, no one went immediately to his bedroll. It had been a long tedious day, but the incident with the Indians left everyone too charged up and restless to sleep.
For a time Peaches played soft plaintive songs on his harmonica, then Jubal Brown told a tall tale about camping in the Georgia woods with an uncle when it started to rain frogs.
"Little pale frogs about this long," he finished, holding his fingers apart about two inches.
"I'll bet you believe in fairies, too," Hanratty said, hunching closer to the fire pit. "Cold tonight."
For several minutes Fox had been aware of Tanner regarding her across the fire with an intent expression. When he turned his full attention on something or someone, it was like nothing else existed. A tiny shiver ran up Fox's spine and she wet her lips.
"Where did you learn to speak Paiute?" he asked softly.
The question caused her gaze to sharpen. More often than not, she was asked where she had learned to speak Indian. But Tanner either knew or guessed that while the Indian nations shared some words in common, they each had their own language.
"The first time I crossed country to Denver, it took me a year. I spent some time with the Paiutes, the Shoshone, and the Utes, and learned to speak to them." Modesty wasn't one of her virtues so she didn't shrug off her accomplishment. "I'm
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