Chapter 3 - The Raid at Willow Creek
The storm broke on the fifteenth day, leaving behind a sky as clear and cold as blue glass.
It was just after dawn when Caleb ran into the kitchen, his face pale and breathing hard from the cold air.
"Elias!" Caleb gasped, grabbing his coat. "Riders coming up the north trail! Five of them!"
Elias immediately stood up, walking to the wall peg where his heavy Marlin lever-action rifle hung beside his duster. He checked the magazine, worked the lever to chamber a round, and looked at Caleb.
"Get the kids into the cellar beneath the fruit pantry," Elias ordered sharply. "Drop the trapdoor and slide the flour barrel over the ring. Don't come out until I open it myself."
"Elias, I can shoot—" Caleb started, reaching for his knife.
"Hide them, Caleb," Elias commanded, his voice leave no room for argument. "That's your job today. Protect your brothers and sisters."
Caleb bit his lip, nodded, and sprinted upstairs to gather the children.
Elias stepped out onto the wide front porch, pulling his hat low against the blinding white glare of the sun on the snow. He racked the lever of his Marlin, resting the barrel casually across his arm, and waited.
Five horses broke through the treeline at the edge of the pasture.
At the lead was Deputy Miller, accompanied by three armed deputy marshals and a cold-eyed man in an Indian Bureau coat named Mr. Sterling.
They pulled their horses to a halt twenty yards from the porch, their mounts breathing long plumes of steam into the freezing air.
"Morning, Granger," Miller sneered, reaching down to unbutton his holster strap. "Roads cleared up just enough for us to make our delivery."
"You're on private property, Miller," Elias said flatly, his broad frame blocking the front door. "State your business and turn around."
Sterling, the Bureau official, pushed his horse forward. "We have reason to believe you are harboring twelve wards of the United States Government, Granger. These children are federal property under the Indian Assimilation Act. Step aside and let us search the premises."
"They aren't property," Elias said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, vibrating bass. "They're children. And you won't find any wards here."
"Search the barn!" Miller ordered his two men.
"Touch that barn door," Elias warned, bringing the rifle barrel up two inches, "and you'll be crawling back to town with lead in your boots."
The two deputies hesitated, their hands hovering near their sidearms. They knew Elias Granger’s reputation—he was a man who had felled hundred-foot pines with a single axe and fought in the bloodiest timber skirmishes of the war.
"You're committing high treason against a federal mandate, Granger!" Sterling yelled, pulling a rolled parchment from his coat. "This warrant is signed by Federal Judge Harrison Vance!"
"Vance can take his parchment and burn it for heat," Elias replied.
While Miller argued with Elias on the porch, one of the marshals slipped around the back of the house toward the kitchen entrance.
Inside the house, the marshal pushed open the rear door, his revolver drawn. He began kicking open pantry doors, searching for hiding spots. He reached the fruit cellar, saw the heavy flour barrel resting on the wooden floorboards, and noticed fresh scuff marks in the sawdust around it.
"Found 'em!" the marshal yelled toward the front window.
Elias’s heart dropped.
Before he could react, Miller drew his Colt revolver and fired a shot into the porch roof above Elias’s head. "Don't move, Granger! Throw down that rifle or my man puts a bullet through the cellar door!"
Elias froze. His jaw clutched so tightly his teeth threatened to shatter. He looked at the four guns pointed at his chest, then at the rear door where the deputy was pulling back the trapdoor.
"Don't hurt them!" Elias growled, his voice raw with fury.
One by one, the twelve children were brought out onto the snow-covered yard. Little Dove was crying, clutching her corn-husk doll to her chest. Caleb fought wildly, taking three men to pin his arms behind his back before they bound his wrists with rawhide thongs.
Sterling laughed triumphantly, hauling out heavy iron chain-links from his saddlebags.
"Lock 'em together," Sterling instructed the deputies. "We’ll drive 'em back to Fort Shaw in the supply wagon."
Elias dropped his Marlin rifle into the snow. His face was gray, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Judge Vance rode out from the treeline on a black stallion, a satisfied smile on his sharp face.
"Elias Granger," Vance announced, pulling a set of federal wrist-irons from his saddlebag. "You are under arrest for federal interference, harboring fugitives, and armed resistance against the United States Government. Your livestock is impounded, and your land is forfeit to the territorial court."
As Miller slapped the cold iron cuffs onto Elias’s wrists, Little Dove broke free from a deputy, throwing her small body against Elias’s leg.
"Papa!" she sobbed into the snow. "Don't let them take us, Papa!"
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Judge Vance froze, his eyes widening in shock as he looked down at the little girl calling the giant white rancher her father.
"Take the child," Vance snapped, his voice tight with sudden, cold anger. "And bring them all to the court house in Black Ridge. We will hold the trial before sundown."
