Yggsdrasil
Chapter 3: Midgard - A Very Difficult Birth
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Sophie Gunderson groaned almost to the point of screaming. Giving birth in a bouncing wagon hurt. Another arrow hissed into the rear of the wagon and stuck into the wagon seat. If the arrow had been another few inches higher it would have stuck into the back of her husband who was driving the wagon. As it happened it almost parted the hair of the midwife.
Isabel Holder was the midwife. She was a self admitted “tough old broad”. After almost being hit by an arrow...again, she felt she’d trade a little bit of “tough” for more “secure”.
Then again, going from California to Salt Lake Utah wasn’t easy. If it was easy anyone could do it. About that time she heard a voice.
“Ma'am...that’s the second arrow I seen go in the wagon. Are ya’ll gonna be alright? Should I close the opening?” said the outrider.
“No thank you Willie” she shouted over the noise of the rapidly moving wagon “you're a good lad to be asking, but I need the light to deliver this baby. My old eyes can’t manage in the dark. You might see to the driver though. He almost got an arrow in the back”.
“I certainly will Ma’am” shouted the outrider..
“Hold on dear...push...take a deep breath and push”
Isabel chanted. She was exhausted. She couldn’t imagine how exhausted the girl was. This was Sophie’s first baby and likely to be her last. It wasn’t going well and it hadn’t been going well for almost two days now.
Sophie’s screams had brought the Indians down on them. They were curious as to why a women should be screaming. One of the men had panicked and shot an Indian. It hadn’t been lethal but that one shot turned curiosity into hostility. The Indians responded instantly with arrows. They got him. Luckily the idiot dropped his rifle onto the wagon bed and fell outside the wagon. The rifle fell inside the wagon. They had that much in their favor...the indians didn’t get the rifle.
Perhaps Sophie’s husband had thought that his friend was dead, or perhaps he wasn’t much of a friend. Regardless, he whipped up the oxen and they ran away, for certain, very low, values of “run” leaving him lying, bleeding, in the dust.
Oxen don’t move very fast. They got away though, for a while, the Indians attention was on the fallen rifleman.
Unfortunately for him the impetuous former rifleman wasn’t dead, ...yet. It took him almost a day to die. He screamed a lot while he was dying. The Indians were vastly amused. It’s amazing what can be done to a human body with knives and fire. This band of young bucks was clumsy. Squaws or older warriors could have made the rifleman last MUCH longer. The Indians were disappointed that he died so soon. They recalled from watching their elders torture their captives that strong men usually last much longer.
Either that guy wasn’t very strong or they just needed more practice. Hoping for more entertainment, and perhaps booty, the Indians followed the wagon. It’s trail was clear as day to them. Oxen weren’t very fast pulling a wagon and hadn’t gone very far. It was easy for the Indians to catch them, and get shot at again. This time one was killed. Isabel was a dead shot with the dead man’s rifle and she was afraid of Indians.
Approaching the wagon while it wasn’t moving was a bad idea, but these weren’t very smart Indians. One dead Indian wasn’t enough so they tried again. The surviving white men weren’t very smart either, nor were they very good shots. In this instance they didn’t need to be. They were shooting at a clear target from a stationary wagon from a gun rest. It would be hard to miss. Isabel was a good shot. Three Indians went down this time, two injured and one dead. That made two for Isabel.
It had been all fun and game until now. No more mister nice guy. Now it was war.
The Indians, however, had just learned respect for the white man’s weapon. They wanted no part of being shot at by three rifles from a prepared stationary location. They’d hang back, harass a bit, and wait their chances. They’d shoot arrows from a distance and from behind cover. The lone wagon was trying to make a run for it but that wasn’t going to happen. There was a river just ahead. The wagon wouldn’t be able to cross.
After dark they could close in unseen and shoot from cover, no need to risk being shot again. The party of young bucks were finally wising up. The survivors were that is. With luck they could make this last for days. They’d never had a white woman. This could be very entertaining.
To be Continued
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