He had no wish to see the horrors that had been left behind and it was certainly something that was not for Nelda’s eyes.
He took her by the hand and set off in the direction that they had been travelling in before, keeping out of sight of what was left of the wagons, where the men who had escorted them would be lying.
He thought with sadness how he would miss Portman and yet he knew that, as he had been a soldier, he would, if he had the choice, rather die fighting than be pensioned off to live in some alms-house.
He had often talked of his time in the Army.
“There’s an excitement about fightin’, my Lord,” he had said. “It gives you a thrill you don’t get no other way.”
Thinking of Portman’s grin as he spoke, Lord Harleston could only hope that his death had been a quick one, while he still knew the thrill of battle.
Nelda was now no longer crying and had regained her self-control.
Lord Harleston could not help thinking that, if he had had any other woman of his acquaintance with him, she would have been wailing and fainting with the horror of what had happened.
She would also be making sure that he would think of nothing else but comforting and placating her.
He tightened his grip on Nelda’s fingers and felt without her saying so that it comforted her to know that he was there and that she could rely on him.
They walked for a long way, in fact well over a mile before Lord Harleston guessed that they would be out of sight of the wreckage and moved in the direction of the track that they had been following across the Plains, which would eventually lead them to the Ranch.
He knew that when they did not arrive Waldo would be worried and doubtless send people to search for them.
He had the feeling, however, that might not happen until after dark and he was becoming apprehensive about spending the night in the open with Nelda.
He had his pistol in his pocket, which was some consolation and he had known when he was listening to the Indians’ war cries that, if they were discovered, he would have to shoot Nelda rather than allow her to be captured.
What his own fate would be was obvious.
But sometimes the Indians took white women away with them and to allow that to happen to any woman he was with was unthinkable.
They walked on and now it was dusk. The last vestige of light from the sun had vanished and the stars were beginning to glitter overhead.
Just as Lord Harleston was wondering desperately what he could do, he saw in the distance an enclosure and thought that they must be in the vicinity of a farm.
A short time later set back amongst some trees, he could discern a roof.
As they went through an open five-bar gate, Lord Harleston could see in front of him a small farmhouse that was exactly like those he had seen illustrated in the books he had read.
There was a sloping roof, a wooden verandah with steps up to it and on both sides enclosures for animals and a few sheds.
Nelda spoke after a long silence.
“A house!” she exclaimed. “At least we can have a roof over our heads until morning.”
“That is just what I was thinking,” Lord Harleston replied. “Again we have been very fortunate, Nelda, I think the Gods are looking after us.”
“I-I was – praying,” she said softly.
They walked on and, as they neared the house, Lord Harleston thought it strange that there were no animals to be seen or heard.
There surely should have been cows, calves and perhaps pigs in some of the enclosures and certainly chickens.
They might, of course, have been shut up for the night, but still he felt uneasy and, releasing Nelda’s hand, he drew his pistol from his pocket.
“What – is the – matter?” she asked in a frightened voice. “What do you – suspect?”
“I am just taking sensible precautions,” Lord Harleston replied.
He approached the house cautiously and then saw, when he had almost reached the verandah, that the front door was open.
It struck him that perhaps the owners had run away to hide because they had heard the Indians coming, but it was unlikely that they would have taken their animals with them and he suspected that the Indians had raided this farm and taken away the livestock.
If they had, everything was now very quiet and there appeared to be nobody about, neither white man nor Indian.
Stepping ahead of Nelda, pistol in hand, Lord Harleston walked up the first step of the verandah and as he did so he called out,
“Is there anyone at home?”
There was no answer and his voice seemed to echo back at him almost eerily.
“I think it’s all right,” he said to Nelda, “but keep behind me.”
He crossed the verandah and walked in through the open door.
There was one large room sparsely furnished with a stove at one end and there was a glow from a wood fire, which made it obvious that the house had been recently occupied.
It was, however, difficult to see very clearly as it was darker inside the house than it was outside.
Lord Harleston looked around, saw that there was a door leading to what he supposed was a bedroom on the other side of the house and realised that he must investigate what was there.
He was just about to walk towards it when Nelda gave a shrill scream.
It was so loud and so unexpected that Lord Harleston started, half-turned towards her, and by doing so, saved his life!
Dropping down from a beam in the ceiling came an Indian with a knife in his hand that he intended to drive into Lord Harleston.
Fortunately his movement made the Indian’s spring slightly off target and, as he fell against him, Lord Harleston knocked the knife out of his hand, which clattered to the floor.
At the same time the Indian’s grip on him prevented him from firing his own pistol and with his other hand he went for Lord Harleston’s throat.
Fighting violently, Lord Harleston fell to the ground with the Indian on top of him.
Although he was strong and a good pugilist in ordinary circumstances he was somewhat encumbered by the tightness of his riding coat and the Indian now astride him was attempting to throttle him.
Lord Harleston struggled desperately, but his riding boots slipped on the floor while the Indian fought with his feet as well as his hands.
It flashed through Lord Harleston’s mind that this was a fight that he was not going to win.
Then suddenly and completely unexpectedly, as the Indian tightened his hold on his throat, he suddenly slumped forward with a guttural cry that broke the silence that they had been struggling in.
For a moment Lord Harleston could hardly believe that it had happened until he saw the knife embedded in the base of the Indian’s neck and the blood already beginning to ooze over his brown skin.
He knew then that it was Nelda who had saved him.
He pushed the man off him, climbed to his feet and without speaking dragged him by the arm out through the open door, across the verandah and onto the dusty ground outside.
He hesitated for a moment and then thought that to leave the body in the open where he could be seen by any of his tribe prowling around in search of him would be a mistake.
Still dragging him by the arm, he moved to where a clump of shrubs and trees afforded shelter for the buildings.
It was nearly dark by now, but, as he pulled the Indian in amongst the thick bushes and undergrowth, Lord Harleston caught sight of something white and as he moved nearer he saw what it was.
A very perfunctory inspection told him that he had been right in thinking that the Indians had visited this homestead and taken away the livestock.
Lying in the bushes were the farmer and his wife and they had both been scalped!
He left the Indian beside them and went back into the house.
Nelda was standing where he had left her and, although he could not see the expression on her face, he knew that there would be a stricken look in her eyes
and that she was scared into immobility by the shock of what had just occurred.
“You saved my life, Nelda,” he said gently, “and I am very grateful. I think, if we intend to stay here tonight, we must take precautions so that we have no unwelcome visitors.”
She did not answer, but he saw that she was listening and he said,
“Let’s see if we can find some candles or perhaps an oil lamp. Then we will close the shutters and barricade ourselves in.”
The way he spoke made it sound almost like a game and, as if she was a child obeying him, she moved a little helplessly towards the dresser that stood against one wall.
Lord Harleston looked in the other direction and gave an exclamation,
“A lamp! That is what I was hoping for and, if we make a spill, we can light it from the fire.”
Nelda, as he had intended, began to look for some paper and then in a strained, hesitating little voice, she said,
“Perhaps it w-would be wise to – close the shutters f-first.”
“Of course,” Lord Harleston agreed. “It would be very sensible. We don’t want anybody to know we are here and, as we also don’t wish to be in the dark, perhaps you can poke the fire and make it give enough light for me to see how this lamp works.”
He closed the door and, by feeling rather than by seeing, shot the bolt across it and then groped his way to the windows. There were two of them facing onto the verandah and one at the side.
They all had heavy wooden shutters, also with strong bolts attached to hold them in place.
By the time Lord Harleston had closed the third one there was a considerable amount of light coming from the fire.
He saw that Nelda was burning logs that were in a big pile beside the stove and she had also found some old newspapers.
He walked back towards her and she said still in a very small voice that seemed to be forced from her lips,
“I-I have made a – spill for you.”
She put it into his hand and he carried the oil lamp near enough to the fire so that he could see how to light it.
It took a little time because it was something that he had never done before.
When finally he had lit it and the whole room seemed to come to life, he felt as pleased with himself as if he had won an arduous race.
“It – it makes everything – seem better,” Nelda remarked looking at the lamp.
“Of course and, in case you are still worried, I am going to explore the rest of the house, although I am sure that there is nobody here but us.”
He thought that there was no point in him telling her that he knew where the previous occupants were, but just as a precaution, carrying his pistol in his hand, he opened the bedroom door.
As he expected, it was empty and there were only a few pieces of simple furniture and a large iron bedstead covered with a patchwork quilt and above it a religious text, framed and embroidered in wool.
“At least you will be able to sleep comfortably until Waldo sends a search party to find us,” Lord Harleston commented.
“Do you think he will?” Nelda enquired eagerly.
“Naturally, but I don’t think we can expect them until morning.”
“No – I suppose not.”
She looked around the room and asked,
“Are you – hungry? Shall I – try to find you – something to – eat?”
“I think that would be a very good idea. I always believe that things seem better and certainly less frightening than they do on an empty stomach.”
Nelda went to the end of the room where there was a rough sink. Lord Harleston suspected that the water for it would have to be brought in from a well outside.
But Nelda found a large ewer on the floor full of water and there was also a kettle and a frying pan.
Then she opened a cupboard and exclaimed,
“There are some eggs and there is no reason why – they should not be fresh.”
“I should certainly enjoy eating them,” Lord Harleston said. “I presume you can cook?”
“Of course I can and I will make you an omelette unless you would prefer a fried egg.”
“I would enjoy an omelette, if it is well made,” Lord Harleston replied teasingly.
“I shall be very ashamed if you are disappointed,” she answered firmly.
She busied herself preparing the eggs and Lord Harleston took off his coat, which he found had been torn on the shoulder when he was fighting with the Indian.
As he did so, he saw that the sleeve of his white shirt was stained with blood.
He was looking at it in surprise when Nelda glanceded round from her cooking and gave a cry of dismay.
“You are injured! Why did you not tell me?”
“It’s only a scratch,” he answered, “and I don’t even remember it happening.”
“The Indian must have struck you with his knife before you knocked it out of his hand.”
“And enabled you to save my life,” Lord Harleston said quietly.
“I-I thought he was going to – kill you.”
“I hate to admit it, but he might have done so, if you had not killed him first.”
“I am glad I saved you – but it is – wrong to kill another human being – even an Indian!”
She spoke in a manner that told Lord Harleston that it was really perturbing her and he said quickly,
“While I will admit that to murder anybody is wrong, to kill in order to save a person’s life cannot be wrong and that is what you did, Nelda.”
“I had to – save you,” she said almost as if she justified her action to herself.
“I am very very glad to be alive.”
As if she was still seeking reassurance from him, Nelda looked up into his eyes and for a moment she felt as if she could not move.
Then she suggested swiftly as if she was embarrassed,
“I-I must wash your – wound.”
“As I have said, it can only be a scratch,” Lord Harleston replied.
He undid his cufflink as he spoke and rolled up his sleeve.
During the fight and afterwards when he had been only conscious of the bruising that the Indian had inflicted on his neck, he had not known that there had been any damage done to his arm.
Now, as he saw the long cut that the point of the knife had made as he struck it upwards and out of the Indian’s hand, he felt it begin to smart and it was still bleeding.
“Come to the sink and I will wash it,” Nelda said insistently. “You never know, but the knife might have been poisoned.”
She tipped some water into a small basin.
There was a clean towel by the side of the sink and she dipped this into the water and very gently wiped away the blood.
Then she said,
“I wonder if they have any spirits here. Most farmers drink bourbon.”
“Are you suggesting that I need it to stop me from fainting at the sight of my own blood?” Lord Harleston asked.
Nelda smiled and he saw both her dimples.
“It’s not for you, but for your arm to be used as a disinfectant. Mama always said it was better than anything we could buy at a pharmacy.”
She did not wait for Lord Harleston to comment but went back to the dresser and opened the lower cupboard.
“I have found some!” she cried almost as if it was buried treasure and came back with a bottle of whisky that was half-full.
“I imagine it is what the Indian was looking for,” Lord Harleston remarked.
He had read that the white man’s spirit was greatly prized amongst the Indian warriors and even a little of it went straight to their heads.
Nelda was not listening. She was soaking a clean piece of cloth with the whisky.
Then she turned and warned him,
“I am afraid this is going to hurt you.”
“I will try to be brave,” Lord Harleston replied mockingly.
The spirit did indeed sting abominably, but he knew that Nelda was wise in thinking that a
wound, however small, inflicted with an Indian’s knife should be prevented from festering.
“I must now bandage it,” she said, “and while I am looking to see if there is anything in the bedroom I can use, please don’t touch it or let it get dirty in any way.”
Lord Harleston smiled at the authoritative way she spoke and waited while she hurried to the bedroom.
She came back after some minutes with a long strip of thin white lawn, too fine and too expensive to be the sort of material used by a farmer’s wife.
She also had made a pad of the same lawn and he asked,
“Where did you find that? ”
Nelda looked a little uncomfortable as she replied,
“I am afraid it comes from the petticoat that I borrowed from Miss Altman, but perhaps she will forgive me in the circumstances.”
“You are certainly an expert at coping with accidents,” Lord Harleston said as she put the pad on his arm and started to bandage it.
“Mama treated many accidents in the mining camps and she allowed me sometimes to help her.”
“I am sure that is something you should not have been doing,” Lord Harleston remarked.
He spoke without thinking and wondered once again whether Nelda would be angry with him, but she replied simply,
“They came to our house because they knew that Mama was such an expert and they would sit on the steps outside patiently for hours with blood dripping from cut fingers or with bruised and battered faces. We could hardly let them suffer without doing what we could to help them.”
“I should imagine they were grateful.”
“Very very grateful. Papa always said it was a disgrace that they did not have proper medical care and doctors in places like Leadville for a great number of people died because there was nobody skilled available to treat them.”
“So you and your mother acted as physicians,” Lord Harleston observed as if he spoke to himself.
“We could only help people with minor injuries, of course, and Papa made us promise that they would never come inside the house. So they sat on the verandah and when that was full on the ground outside. When Mama grew tired, Papa used to send them away and – it was pathetic when they begged him to allow them to come back the next day.”
Lord Harleston did not say anything and once again, as if she read his thoughts, Nelda went on,
Lucky in Love Page 9
