Despite trying
to keep his balance, Quint lost his footing then pitched forward,
twisting at the last moment, to land on his good shoulder and
making a dust cloud with the impact. He was briefly stunned but not
out. Kelly O’Brian rushed from the doorway of the house to Quint’s
side. He grabbed Quint under his good arm and half dragged him
inside the building. Someone kicked the door shut as rifles boomed
from the windows.
Quint’s horse, his sides heaving, still had
the sense to shy away from the thundering rifle fire and headed out
of the line of fire toward the corral.
Despite what many whites believed, Indians
were not stupid. They would not just throw their lives away by
riding into the barrage of lead coming from the house.
They would assess the situation, then use
the best strategy available to them to get at those in the
building. With numbers, along with time and possible stealth on
their side, they could take their time.
At a distance, the Indians drew their horses
into a group while one, their leader, began giving out
instructions…
Chapter Four
Kelly O’Brian unlocked his office with a
skeleton key. The door was located on the side of the adobe and
stone house. He sat down and began going over the ranch ledgers,
following the request of his partner, Claude Barber. The atmosphere
in the tiny office was stifling. After a half hour of concentrating
on the account books, he had all he could take. Fresh air was what
Kelly needed, and he needed it now. Standing up from his desk, the
big man opened the heavy wooden door and stepped outside. One could
not say that the view was breathtaking, but it was certainly
interesting. The stone and adobe ranch house was built on a rise
overlooking a wide sweep of flat ranch land that extended out for
miles and miles. The land was virtually treeless, as most of Kansas
was. Below was a small lake, and around it cattle gathered. Some
lay upon the rich green grass, others stood with their backs
against a gentle wind, and several were knee high in water,
quenching their thirty gallon a day thirst.
Kelly looked up at the large wide open sky,
and then back at the distant horizon. What he saw before him filled
him with great pride. In fact, it brought a smile to his face that
made the worry lines fade. The miles of grassland belonged to him
and his two partners. All his life he had wanted a ranch to call
his own and this place was it. It made all that he had gone
through: escaping Ireland, the coffin ship, the Great War, the
railroad, hide hunting, escape from slavers—all he had struggled
and fought against, worthwhile. Now that he had procured this
ranch, he would never allow anyone to take it away. Here he would
live out his life, building up the spread as best he could.
As important as the ledger books were,
O’Brian was sick of going over financial figures even though every
count of livestock meant value and future income. Sales were not
increasing fast enough, yet the monthly bills were piling up and
had to be paid. They needed to find a way to earn more money. He
would discuss it again with his partners, Claude Barber and his
brother Shane. Perhaps some hide hunting was a possibility, but
Charley Blackfeather had advised against it. It would turn Indians
against him, the friendlies as well as the hostile Kiowas. There
was mustanging—the capture and taming of wild mounts. One large
herd often crossed the five thousand acre ranch. Maybe that
was…
Gun shots echoed far off in the distance.
Kelly listened intently. Then came another fusillade, somewhat
closer. There were far too many explosions to be anything other
than trouble. A great number of men with rifles were shooting, and
someone must be fleeing before their attack. Without hesitation,
Kelly went to the ranch triangle used to call for dinner, and for
emergencies. Picking up the dangling iron bar hanging by a leather
strap, the big man vigorously banged against the triangle and the
sound of clanging iron rang
to keep his balance, Quint lost his footing then pitched forward,
twisting at the last moment, to land on his good shoulder and
making a dust cloud with the impact. He was briefly stunned but not
out. Kelly O’Brian rushed from the doorway of the house to Quint’s
side. He grabbed Quint under his good arm and half dragged him
inside the building. Someone kicked the door shut as rifles boomed
from the windows.
Quint’s horse, his sides heaving, still had
the sense to shy away from the thundering rifle fire and headed out
of the line of fire toward the corral.
Despite what many whites believed, Indians
were not stupid. They would not just throw their lives away by
riding into the barrage of lead coming from the house.
They would assess the situation, then use
the best strategy available to them to get at those in the
building. With numbers, along with time and possible stealth on
their side, they could take their time.
At a distance, the Indians drew their horses
into a group while one, their leader, began giving out
instructions…
Chapter Four
Kelly O’Brian unlocked his office with a
skeleton key. The door was located on the side of the adobe and
stone house. He sat down and began going over the ranch ledgers,
following the request of his partner, Claude Barber. The atmosphere
in the tiny office was stifling. After a half hour of concentrating
on the account books, he had all he could take. Fresh air was what
Kelly needed, and he needed it now. Standing up from his desk, the
big man opened the heavy wooden door and stepped outside. One could
not say that the view was breathtaking, but it was certainly
interesting. The stone and adobe ranch house was built on a rise
overlooking a wide sweep of flat ranch land that extended out for
miles and miles. The land was virtually treeless, as most of Kansas
was. Below was a small lake, and around it cattle gathered. Some
lay upon the rich green grass, others stood with their backs
against a gentle wind, and several were knee high in water,
quenching their thirty gallon a day thirst.
Kelly looked up at the large wide open sky,
and then back at the distant horizon. What he saw before him filled
him with great pride. In fact, it brought a smile to his face that
made the worry lines fade. The miles of grassland belonged to him
and his two partners. All his life he had wanted a ranch to call
his own and this place was it. It made all that he had gone
through: escaping Ireland, the coffin ship, the Great War, the
railroad, hide hunting, escape from slavers—all he had struggled
and fought against, worthwhile. Now that he had procured this
ranch, he would never allow anyone to take it away. Here he would
live out his life, building up the spread as best he could.
As important as the ledger books were,
O’Brian was sick of going over financial figures even though every
count of livestock meant value and future income. Sales were not
increasing fast enough, yet the monthly bills were piling up and
had to be paid. They needed to find a way to earn more money. He
would discuss it again with his partners, Claude Barber and his
brother Shane. Perhaps some hide hunting was a possibility, but
Charley Blackfeather had advised against it. It would turn Indians
against him, the friendlies as well as the hostile Kiowas. There
was mustanging—the capture and taming of wild mounts. One large
herd often crossed the five thousand acre ranch. Maybe that
was…
Gun shots echoed far off in the distance.
Kelly listened intently. Then came another fusillade, somewhat
closer. There were far too many explosions to be anything other
than trouble. A great number of men with rifles were shooting, and
someone must be fleeing before their attack. Without hesitation,
Kelly went to the ranch triangle used to call for dinner, and for
emergencies. Picking up the dangling iron bar hanging by a leather
strap, the big man vigorously banged against the triangle and the
sound of clanging iron rang
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