When Rosemary and me made our way back to the wagons, we found the menfolk still working on the sprung wheel, for it seemed there were more problems than they thought at first and things weren't going well for them. How Rosemary blushed at some of the words of frustration the menfolk spake!

Dunlap took a moment's break to give me a kiss, and to tell me that there weren't any hope that we'd be leaving at all that day. So me and Rosemary sat with Little Crow a bit, holding and cooing over baby Flower, while we watched with some amusement as Jebediah and the boy Noah ran about together, with most of the other little children and the two dogs both chasing along behind.

After a bit, Jebediah come over to us ladies and says to me, "Marilyn, I seen some deer tracks in the woods." For there was woods thick next to where we'd stopped that morning. "Maybe we ought to see if we can follow them tracks, and shoot us some venison for dinner!"

Venison sounded like a good idea to me, I figured that'd be just what the men would need after a disappointing day working on the wagon wheel. So me and Jebediah got our rifles, and Rosemary asked if she might come along.

"Only you gotta be quiet," Jebediah says, and she agreed, and then the boy Noah said he wanted to go as well. I figured at that point we wouldn't likely be having any venison for dinner after all, not if all these peoples were going on the hunt with us. But seeing as how there wasn't much else for us to do anyway, I figured a bit of exploration in the woods would be as good a thing as anything else we might do, since there'd be no more traveling that day. Besides, we could gather some old wood for a fire I supposed.

The tracks proved to be fresh and easy enough to follow, and Rosemary and the boy were quiet, such that in a few minutes we were deep into the thick of the trees, and thereupon we found a little stream and spied two little doe getting themselves a cool drink.

Quiet and careful, both Jebediah and me raised our rifles. But at that very moment the still of the air was interrupted by the sudden sound of gunfire, Crack! Crack-crack-crack! At first I was afraid that someone else from our wagon train was shooting at our little does, and putting us in danger as a result, so I raise my rifle to give it a warning shot in the air. But that was when Jebediah put his hand on the gun and looked at me with big wide eyes.

For he realized before me that the shots were from pistols, not rifles, and that they were accompanied by hooting and hollering from off in the direction of the wagons. Something very bad were up, for certain. At first I assumed that the wagons were getting another visit from some hostile Indians, as done happened from time to time, and between me--Friend of the Ojibwe!--and Little Crow, we'd be able to talk the native men down from their pistol shooting as we have always done in the past, and suggest instead of violence some nice trading for us to complete with them, which they always appreciated well.

"You stay here, Jebediah," says I, "keep Rosemary and the boy safe."

Probably figuring the same as me about the likelihood of it being Indian folk, he gave me a nod and I hurried back out of the woods.

But when I got to the edge of the trees, I stop dead in my tracks and sunk down to my belly, for there in the clearing were our wagons, surrounded not by natives but by highwaymen on horseback, bandannas pulled up over their faces, three of them riding around the wagons in a circle with their pistols in the air, and two others sitting atop their horses with their guns aimed right at Dunlap and Flannery and the other men of our encampment.

"Smitty," one of the bandits with his gun aimed at our men, who I took to be the leader of the gang of outlaws, "Smitty!" he hollers out. I sees one of them brothers whose been on the trail with us, Smith or Jones or whatever their names is, standing there armed himself, and I knew all the sudden that those two brothers were turncoats, in on this bandit raid as well! So he hollers out, "Smitty, is this all the men?" For they'd corralled the menfolk, Dunlap and Flannery and the others, and had them all standing together off to the side, with the menfolk's holsters and weapons laying on the ground in front of them.

"Nope," the man he's calling Smitty said, "the bishop ain't here."

"The bishop?" says the bandit leader. "Where the f___ is the bishop? Bishop, get yerself out here!" he hollers.

When there ain't no response, he says, "Smitty, which wagon is the bishop's?"

The traitor pointed at the Admundson's wagon, and the bandit leader raised his pistols, for he were carrying one in each hand, and let off a couple shots, right at the wagon, tearing two holes in the cloth canopy.

"There's women and children in there!" Dunlap shouted in response to the gunfire.

The bandit boss spat at Dunlap. "Shut your goddamn mouth or I will shoot you dead!" Then he turns to his fellow bandits and says in a full-on sneer, "Boys, I think there's women enough for all of us in this camp, whether I shoot a couple of 'em or not! Wouldn't ya say?"

The bandits all laughed and cheered and shouted things like, "That's right, Perry! Women enough for all of us!"

Had I been focused on something other than the aim of my rifle at the time, I might well have understood why these outlaws were attacking us. For we had very little for them to steal but for a few scrawny and overworked steers and Dunlap's pretty horses; but there were lots of women and I suppose these men ain't had much women in their lives of late. But this thought was not in my mind at the time, laying as I was at the edge of and bringing the bead of my rifle onto the back of the outlaw leader's head. I would have but one shot; there's little chance after my first shot that I could find the time to reload. Even if Jebediah were to join me, or I could get ahold of his rifle, that's but two shots. Two shots against seven, counting them traitor Smith brothers. That wasn't good enough and I'd need to be careful about what I do. If only I could let Dunlap know I was here! It would at least be good for him to know that he had another gun in the fight, and that it were behind the bandit leader and hidden from him. But I daren't, so I just took my aim, calmed my nerves, and awaited the right opportunity.

The bishop's voice came from inside the wagon. "Hold on, I'm coming, don't shoot anymore!"

"Hurry your goddamned ass up you old fool!" the bandit shouted.

Suddenly the bishop leapt from the back of the wagon with a pistol in each of his hands, and not waiting one second, he commenced to firing. At that moment both Flannery and Dunlap dove for their pistols, and alls the bandits started firing as well and it was ten or twenty seconds of crazy confusion. I myself let fly a bullet at the head of the bandit leader but I'm sore sad to say it went wide, for his horse was crazy with fear from all the gunfire, and was rearing up and prancing back and forth.

The bishop brung down the man called Smitty, and someone hit the bandit leader good in his left arm, but the bandits had the better go of the gun fight, for sure. The good bishop were shot through, another man from our train named Johnson shot as well, and before I had my rifle loaded for a second shot I seen the bandit leader, with only the one pistol now because of his wounded arm, shoot Flannery square in the forehead and turn his gun to Dunlap. Dunlap dropped his pistols and lifted his hands in the air.

At this moment, just before the bandit leader squeezed his trigger to take my husband's life, me frantic to get my rifle reloaded and helpless to save my man, we hears a sound. The loud cawing of a crow.

Although I didn't smile at the sight of the big black bird, I must admit by heart surged. I weren't able to say a word, not even a whisper, but my heart was singing out "Andeg! Andeg!" The crow came swooping down out of the sky, flying straight into the face of that there bandit leader, who had to take his pistol off of Dunlap and wave his good arm frantically about to fend her off. The bird then alighted on the ground not but twenty feet away from the leader of the bandits, and stood upon the dusty dirt cawing so loud as to give a man a headache.

In a moment, the bandit regained his composure from this strange and unexpected attack. "You's the man named Dunlap," the bandit says to my husband over the obnoxious cawing of the bird.

"I is," Dunlap says. "We needs to attend to our wounded, put that gun down."

"F___ the wounded," the man says. "You's the goddamn Indian lover we hears so much about, ain't you?"

"Why don't you put your gun on down there now," Dunlap says, "there's no need for further violence. We'll give you whatever it is you want."

"Oh don't you worry about that, we'll take what we want, once you's dead. Perry, shut that f___ing bird up, would you?!?"

His sidekick fired his pistol in the direction of the crow, who alighted in the air and settled back down a few feet further on, still cawing away at a loud volume.

"Goddamn you Perry, can't you even hit a goddamn crow when it's just sitting there waiting to be shot?" The leader of bandits and alls the other outlaws laughed heartily.

"F___ the goddamn bird," the one called Perry said. "How about I shoot this here Indian woman instead? I hears the bird's cause a' her black magic, that's what they say."

"Black magic my ass, it's just a goddamn bird. But yeah, go ahead and kill the Indian, ain't none of us gonna want an Indian for a wife. Kill that bastard baby o' hers, too."

The one named Perry brung both his pistols up and aimed them right at Little Crow.

At just this moment I had my rifle loaded and ready again, and I had but a moment to react to this latest thing, for there ain't no way this man'll be killing Little Crow and Flower, not at least without me dispatching him to his final judgment as he does so. My gun were aimed true in a heartbeat and my finger squeezing...

But before I completed my shot, another thing happened.

There was a roar, like the great Jehovah might give whenst smiting the enemies of the Israelites, and a mighty shaking of the trees above me, and a flash of yellow through the sky. One huge leap from the tree to the ground, and another huge bound back into the air, and the mountain cat--Bizhiw!--were on the back of the sidekick bandit, her great and horrible claws sunk deep into his flesh, the man's screams replacing her roar, but she stopped his screaming forever by clenching her powerful jaws around his neck. In one magnificent shake of her head, the bandit's neck were broke and the man were dead.

The bandit leader, his wits about him to a surprising degree, then brung his pistol in his good hand up to aim at the lioness. But he never had a chance to get a bullet off, for my gun were aimed once again at his head, a split second was all I needed now to aim and fire, and true as could be with my shot I blew a hole in his head. The cat sprung off her now-dead prey and charged straight at me, giving me a moment of pure fright as I stared straight into her advancing dark yellow eyes, what seemed full of pure hate at the moment, but then she leapt high into the tree above me and were gone.

The remaining bandits, seeing what devilry had befell their comrades, turned their horses and ran, together with the remaining Smith brother, who mounted quick and was off with them. At this moment I sees Jebediah step from the woods beside me, standing, aiming his rifle, and in one good clean shot helped another of the bandits to meet their final judgment day.

There was much wailing amongst the people of our wagon train, for Flannery were dead, as were many others. I myself had seen Bishop Admundson take at least two bullets, maybe three, and likely more. Dunlap, however, wasted no time yet for grieving.

"Jameson," he says to him who appeared to be the only man from our train left unharmed, "quick to the horses, we must follow them and hunt them down."

"I's a'comin' too Pa," says Jebediah.

Dunlap nodded. "Get us guns and bullets, boy."

Jebediah ran to do as his pa had said.

"Dunlap," I says to my man, "I don't wish for you to go. You'll get kilt!"

"Go I must, Blossom, but I'll do my best to come back to you, that I promise."

"If you must go," says I, "then I'm coming with you."

"You need to stay here, Blossom, to protect the womenfolk in case them outlaws turn back to here while we's gone. Get yourself some pistols and load that rifle of yours again."

And with that, the men were gone upon their horses to hunt the bandits down.

Eliza and Little Crow, who was clutching tight to Baby Flower, were kneeling next to Jane. O poor Jane! O poor Eliza! The first without her beloved husband no more, and the second now parentless at only the age of ten! They both was holding to the bleeding lifeless body of their husband, lover, and father, and looking up at me with pleading eyes like I might yet be able to save him. But at this moment I was grim determination; I saw Flannery's holster on the ground and picked it up and strapped it best I could to myself, then took his pistol from his dead hand and his other from the ground nearby. As I were loading them full again, I hear Elizabeth Admundson call out to me from by their wagon.

"He asks for you, Marilyn," says she. "The bishop asks for you."

Mrs. Admundson and Lucy knelt by the bishop, Rosemary and Noah there as well. "Angel," he says to me when I arrived, "I don't got much time left here on this horrid Earth, I'll be with my maker soon."

I stood above him as I loaded my rifle again. "We'll dress your wounds, Bishop," says I. "You'll be alright."

"Ain't no use, Angel. You take good care of my family, and tell Dunlap I says goodbye."

Mrs. Admundson were already setting about tearing her and Lucy's dresses and making tourniquets to stop his bleeding, but I could see it in his eyes, lacking now the pure vision the man once had, clouding over. And I could see he had a wound to his chest that no tourniquet could stop.

"Goodbye, Bishop," says I.

"Goodbye Angel," says he. Then he said goodbye to his wives and children and these were the last words the bishop spoke, though he held on to life for another hour or two.

Rosemary and I set about the grim task of collecting the bodies of the dead and laying them out apart from the wagons and covering them with sheets, all the while keeping a wary eye out for any further trouble. Here is the accounting of the dead: First among the bandits, there was the dead one of the turncoat brothers, the one the bandit leader called Smitty, gunned down by brave Bishop Admundson; there were the bandit sidekick with his head torn clean off by the lioness, and the bandit leader what I shot. Further on was the last of the dead bandits, kilt by Jebediah as he fled. Then there were both the Hersteins, husband and wife both dead. I don't knows when they was killed. Along with them was their son-in-law, Johnson, and another of the men in the train, the one named Young. Last of all were Flannery, whom Jane herself helped to carry and laid him out and covered him in their own marriage bedsheet, then she and Eliza sat by him unmoving.

And thus there was nine dead bodies laid out in a row, five of them from our party and four of the bandits.

We gathered up the bandits' horses as well, and fed and watered them, and then I sat down, attentive to our surroundings but so weary, and so sad.

All were quiet now, save for the occasional wailing of the ladyfolk over their dead husbands. A light wind blew through the tops of the trees and I wondered where the lioness was now, but I knews that she were there, up in then trees and watching over us. Some time later I hears the retort of gunfire off in the distance, three quick shots, and I wondered if our men had done justice or if the bandits had laid in wait for them and we women were now alone. I resolved then to lead the rest of the train myself on to Corde d'Alene and to make my claim as Dunlap's wife to his land. But an hour on past the gunfire I spies three men on horseback riding slow up the road to us, and as they approached I sees that they were our menfolk and my heavy heart felt something of a surge at the sight of them. Behind them they were leading three riderless horses, although soon it became clear that each of the horses had the body of a man laid over it.

When they arrived, Dunlap dismounted and gave me a wordless kiss upon my brow and led the horses off to the line of sheeted bodies, where he heaved the bodies off the horses and laid them out next to the other dead. Jebediah spoke in his father's place, telling me the story of what befell.

"We followed the outlaws' tracks back to their camp. It weren't hard, they made no effort to hide where they was going. Pa had us hobble the horses as ways off and we sneaked up on them. They weren't paying any attention much at all, they were packing up their bags and setting to run off, I guess. And so once we's close enough for a good pistol shot, Pa just stood up, neither me nor Jameson was expecting this of him but he just stood up and with three quick pistol shots killed all three of them. Shot each of them right through the head!"

I looks over at Dunlap, who by now along with Jameson was started to dig graves for the dead. I knew he wasn't happy at all about having to kill those men and my heart ached for him right then.

"Marilyn," Jeb says. "there's one other thing."

"Yes?" says I.

"Look in this here saddle bag," he says, and as he spoke he opened up one of the bags. Curious as to what it could be, I looked in the bag and my eyes went wide, for I saw that it was filled with money--mostly gold and silver coins, and a few stacks of bills.

Jebediah have a weary smile. "Pa thinks they must'a robbed a stagecoach somewheres, maybe even one bound for a California bank. He says it ain't rightly ours, but also that there ain't no law here in these part to turn this over to. And that makes it ours anyhow."

"It looks like a lot of gold," I says.

The boy nodded. "All the saddle bags are full," he says.

He and I took the bags off the horses and with a good deal of difficulty heaved them up into our wagon and covered them with a blanket, just to be safe.

After that we went to help the men dig the graves. But there was so many bodies to bury, twelve of them now counting the latest of the bandits that Dunlap had killed, and I was certain we'd be digging holes in the rough hard ground for the next week straight. Little Crow knew this too, as she did her part to help, and she says to Dunlap,

"Sometimes Indians burn their dead. I know it ain't the white folks' way, but..." She looks down at the meager holes we'd yet dug and doesn't finish what she were saying.

Dunlap nodded, looking very grave, then looked about him at the grieving ladies. Elizabeth Admundson and Rosemary nodded their agreement with Little Crow, as did Mrs. Johnson and Eliza, and last of all Jane.

And so we built two bonfires that night, one for the members of our train and one for the bandits, and as Dunlap lit the first of them afire he spoke the funeral words, "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, what the Lord giveth the Lord taketh away, this is the way of our fallen world." Then he lit the bonfire for the bandits bodies and said the same words, adding also we all must remembers that you reap what you sow, and also that we must forgive these men their trespasses against us, no matter what they'd done to us.

Jane and Eliza knelt together before the pyre, crying and holding each other, and Little Crow sat down next to Jane and me next to Eliza, me holding Baby Flower as well, and the all of us women were together as we grieved to watch the bodies of our loved ones and particular the kind and wonderful man and father, Flannery, being committed to the Lord's mercy.

"Jane," Little Crow says quiet and sweet to my sister while the fire of mercy burned before us, "Flannery ain't entirely gone."

Jane looked at her through red and weeping eyes.

And Little Crow put her hand on Jane's belly. She spoke words in her native tongue, with I recognized enough now to know that she was saying something along the order of, "O Great Spirit, see that the baby in this woman's womb is safe."

I smiled as best I could and hugged my dear lovely sister Jane, who knew not what Little Crow had been saying.

"Jane," I explains, "Little Crow says you're carrying Flannery's child."

Now I don't think that news made Jane's grieving any less, and it might well have made it even more, but I do believe it gave her a new purpose, a new sense for why she must endure from this day to the next, and I think that was something she sorely needed at this time.

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The next part of this story is at Wildflowers (part 14). Enjoy!