by West, Everly
Tildie screamed, which jolted Clint into action. Jay half lifted, half dragged her as if trying to get her onto the back of his horse. Clint lunged after them, grabbing hold of any part of Tildie that he could. For her part, Tildie kicked and screamed and flailed, doing everything she could to keep from letting Jay pull her onto his horse.
By some miracle, between Tildie’s fighting and Clint catching her around the waist as Jay’s horse reared and wheeled around, out of his control, Jay let go of Tildie. Tildie fell into Clint’s arms, and the two of them crashed to the ground in a heap.
Jay let out a furious, wordless cry and spurred his horse forward. But once again, he didn’t take straight off the way Clint expected him to. He crossed back behind Clint and Tildie, grabbing the reins of Simon’s horse as he did. He made a grab for the reins of Clint’s mare as well, but the clever mare whinnied and danced away from him. With one final, frustrated growl, Jay tore off across the prairie in the direction Joe had gone.
A dozen dire thoughts zipped through Clint’s brain at once. Jay and Joe had run off and stolen three of Mason’s five horses. Simon had been shot and could be in serious trouble. But most of all, Tildie might be injured.
“Are you all right?” he asked, rolling her to her back and half covering her body with his.
Under other circumstances, it might have been a moment for teasing and innuendo. But Tildie’s wince and hesitant nod turned the situation deadly serious. “I’m okay,” she hissed, clearly in pain.
She favored her right shoulder. It was the arm Jay had grabbed, so Clint tested the joint, feeling from her upper arm to her neck to make sure it wasn’t dislocated. It wasn’t. They’d gotten lucky.
“I’m just bruised,” she said, pushing at him. As soon as he scooted to the side, she gingerly sat up. “How’s Simon?”
Clint didn’t answer. Now that he was reasonably sure Tildie was okay, he skittered across the road to where Simon lay a few yards away.
“How bad is it?” he asked Simon, tearing at his already shredded trouser leg.
“Bad,” Simon panted. At least he had enough strength to prop himself on his elbows and look down at his bloody leg. “Hit the side,” he gasped. “Missed the bone.”
“I’ll get water,” Tildie said, standing unsteadily.
“You need to rest,” Clint told her, clearing away the blood from Simon’s leg so he could see if any veins were severed. Then again, if they had been, Simon would have bled to death already.
“I’ll help,” Tildie gasped, making it to her feet and stumbling toward the wagon.
“I think I’ll be okay,” Simon panted, laying fully back again. “I just need a couple minutes to gather myself.”
He promptly passed out.
“Simon?” Clint asked, then cursed under his breath. As long as his friend’s chest continued to rise and fall, things couldn’t be that bad.
“He needs a doctor,” Tildie said when she came back with one of their canteens of water.
Clint laughed grimly. “All he’s got is us.”
He unscrewed the top of the canteen then poured some of the water over Simon’s let to clean the wound. The road was all dirt and the wind whipped dust all around them. Neither were good for keeping a gunshot wound clean.
“Looks like it’s just a graze,” Tildie said as she peered over Clint’s shoulder. “A deep one, true, but the bullet went right through.”
“And tore a hole in his leg,” Clint said through gritted teeth.
He was surprised when Tildie handed him a clean roll of bandages. She’d brought their meager first aid kit along with the water. There was nothing Clint could do but set to work cleaning Simon’s wound as best he could and bandaging it to stop the man from losing more blood. He really did need a doctor, but they were thoroughly out in the middle of nowhere. The Yates ranch was days behind them now and Laramie was still days ahead. Jay and Joe had made off with half the horses, but at least they hadn’t taken the wagon. Or Tildie. Clint thanked God for small blessings. All they had to do now was keep Simon alive long enough to find help.
Chapter 7
Tildie’s heart didn’t stop pounding even after the wind died down to a low moan brushing across the prairie. Her mind kept reliving the moment Jay had grabbed her and tried to drag her off with him. She’d used all her strength to pull and tug away, but it would have been for naught if Clint hadn’t caught her in the nick of time. Knowing that made her feel as helpless as a newborn lamb. She had a horrible suspicion she knew exactly what would have happened to her if Jay had succeeded in carrying her off.
“Are you all right?” Clint asked her yet again as she walked back to the wagon, intent on clearing a space in the wagon bed for Simon.
“Yeah,” she answered uncertainly, not able to look Clint in the eyes.
She heard Clint stand from Simon’s side and walk over to her as she shifted crates of supplies and carpetbags of clothes to make space. When Clint gently touched her shoulder, she jumped and gasped.
A hot flush came to her cheeks as she gingerly turned to face Clint. “Okay, maybe not entirely all right,” she said, resting a hand on his chest. Right or wrong, it felt good to touch him that way, to feel his heat and solidity.
He must have felt the same way. He drew her fully into his arms and hugged her tight, resting his cheek against the side of her head. It was the most wonderful, comforting feeling, though Tildie felt awkward enjoying it when they were in the middle of such a dangerous situation. Still, it dawned on her that the biddies of the Ladies Club might find the gesture inappropriate and tell her off for it, which was completely ridiculous.
“There,” Clint said at last, taking a half step back but keeping his arms around her. “Maybe that will help.”
“It sure will,” Tildie said with a weak smile. She let out a breath then turned to the wagon bed. “We need to sort this stuff out to make space for Simon to lie down as we continue on. I don’t think he’ll be able to walk or ride in his condition.”
Clint turned to where Simon lay in the road, still passed out. He shoved a hand through his hair and let out a tense breath. “I’m not a doctor,” he said. “I don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that he passed out and hasn’t come around yet.”
“Is he still bleeding?” Tildie asked, channeling her anxious energy by climbing into the wagon to move crates.
Clint walked back to Simon and crouched by his side, studying the bandage he’d tied around Simon’s leg. “I don’t think so,” he said, scratching his head. “I sure do wish he’d wake up.”
Tildie wished the same thing, but there didn’t seem to be any point in saying as much. She studied the supplies in the wagon, then bent to lift one of the crates filled with food. Except that when she hefted it into her arms, she was nearly knocked over. She’d expected the crate to be heavy, but it was as light as a feather, as if it were empty.
A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. She set the crate down to one side then opened it. Sure enough, it was empty.
Frowning, she checked the next crate, moving it to the side as she did. That one wasn’t empty, but almost all of the canned beans that it had once contained were gone. The same was true for a pair of sacks that should have been filled with cornmeal. They were filled with dirt instead. In fact, almost all of their food supplies were completely gone.
“Clint,” Tildie called over her shoulder. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Another one?” Clint asked, standing.
He marched to the back of the wagon as Tildie finished clearing space for Simon. Her stomach felt like it was full of rocks as she opened the lid of their water barrel only to find it all but empty.
“What’s wrong?” Clint asked with a frown.
Tildie glanced anxiously to him, biting her lip. “We’re out of food and water.”
Clint flinched. “What? We can’t be. We stocked up before leaving the Yates ranch.”
He hopped up into the wagon bed beside
Tildie. It only took him seconds to confirm what Tildie had discovered. When he did, he pushed his hands through his hair again and muttered a curse under his breath.
“Jay,” he said at last. “And Joe. Those rats must have planned this whole thing.”
“No wonder their saddlebags looked so full,” Tildie said with a groan. She had barely noticed earlier and had dismissed the fat saddlebags without questioning them.
“They’ve probably been planning this for days,” Clint went on, sounding as frustrated as Tildie felt. “And they probably waited until we were halfway between the Yates ranch and Laramie to make their move.”
“So that it would take just as long to go back as it would to keep going,” Tildie finished the thought, as impressed with their evil logic as she was furious with them. “So what do we do now?”
Clint glanced around, looking from the empty crates and sacks of supplies to the exhausted horses—the two he already owned and the two mares that were left of the ones belonging to Mason—to Simon. The one bright spot was that Simon was moving again. It looked like he was trying to muscle himself to a sitting position, but the effort it took worried Tildie to no end.
At last, Clint blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “We have to go on,” he said. “There’s no telling where Jay and Joe went or if we’ll ever see them again. We have to take what horses we have left to Mason.”
“What do we do when we get there?” Tildie asked quietly, not really wanting to think about it. “What will Mason say when he sees we’ve lost three of his horses?”
Clint’s face contorted into a look of pure misery. He shrugged. “I’ll pay him the difference.”
“You don’t have that kind of money,” Tildie said in an even smaller voice, dreading what she guessed he would do about that.
“I’ll sell the livery,” he said, confirming her worst fears. “I’ll offer to work for him for free until the price of the horses is made up.” He paused before saying, “Those stallions were meant for breeding. They were probably worth a fortune.”
The two of them remained silent, staring at the bleak landscape around them. Clouds filled the sky, blocking the sun and giving the whole area a desolate feeling. Tildie’s heart broke inside of her. If Clint sold the livery and went to work for Mason he wouldn’t have enough money to even think of marrying her. It would be ages before he was able to provide for her, especially since selling the livery and going to work for Mason wouldn’t pay off the remaining balance on the loan he’d taken out to start the livery in the first place.
As sad as the whole thing made her, Tildie drew in a strengthening breath and reached for Clint’s hand. “Let’s deal with what we can first,” she said. “We still have two horses and your wagon. Let’s get Simon into the wagon and head home.”
Clint nodded silently, the lines of his face making him seem older than he was. Tildie couldn’t stop herself from leaning into him and closing her arms around him. This time, he was the one who needed the hug.
There was too much to do to indulge in hugging for long, though. Clint climbed down from the wagon and helped Simon to sit and then stand as Tildie cleared a space for him. She had half a mind to throw all the empty crates and sacks to the side of the road, since they were just useless reminders of how they’d been tricked and cheated, but a grim part of her thought Clint might need them to sell as well once they got home.
By the time they had Simon secure in the back of the wagon, looking pale and sweaty from the pain of his injury, and Mason’s two remaining horses tied to the wagon so they wouldn’t lose them, Tildie was ready to move on. She and Clint settled on the wagon seat, and they drove forward once more. Tildie was so exhausted she could have curled into a ball and slept for days.
She didn’t get a chance, though. By the time the sun began to set behind increasingly stormy clouds, Simon’s condition worsened.
“I’m okay,” he told Tildie and Clint in a thin, panting voice as they checked on him before starting to set up their camp for the night. “A little woozy, but okay.”
“I don’t think you’re okay,” Tildie said.
She’d climbed into the wagon bed to sort through what supplies they had left, but knelt by Simon’s side to inspect his leg instead. She wasn’t any more of a doctor than Clint was, but she set to work unwinding the bandage to take a look at Simon’s wound all the same.
She winced at what she saw when she exposed the wound to the air. It was nasty and jagged and still seeping blood. Even worse, the edges of the wound had taken on more of a reddish hue than Tildie wanted to see. The little experience she had said that could mean the wound was becoming infected. To her untrained eyes, it looked as though there was still a fair amount of dirt trapped against Simon’s skin from the dusty road too. She just didn’t know enough to be certain.
“We should probably clean this again,” she mumbled, standing and glancing around.
Clint had chosen a site near a small, clear stream for their camp. There was a bit of vegetation around the spot, but nothing that would shield them if the clouds above broke into rain. It was impossible to tell if the stream’s water was clean enough to drink or if they could use it to clean Simon’s wound. The water in their barrel was clean, but they might need it to drink.
“You look perplexed,” Simon panted, trying to smile as he glanced up at her.
Tildie broke into a wry grin. “I came on this trip because I wanted one big adventure before settling into married life. I had no idea that I’d have this much of an adventure or that there would be so many decisions to make.” And she’d had no idea that the whole thing might kill her chances of marrying any time soon.
“Don’t worry about me,” Simon said with a weak laugh. “I’m just a lowly cobbler who hasn’t made a name for himself yet. Do what you need to do for yourself and for Clint first. You two are the future.”
Tildie’s brow flew up and she planted her hands on her hips. “What kind of talk is that? You’ve got as much of a right to…to live as Clint and I do.” She shuddered to think that Simon was telling her to sacrifice him for her own happiness. It had the effect of making the decision about the water for her. She crossed to the water barrel and opened the lid. “You’re going to make something of yourself someday, I just know it,” she said, reaching for a tin cup to scoop up water. She brought it back to Simon’s side and sat. “And once you’ve established your shoe store, I fully expect you to give me and Clint a steep discount on shoes and boots whenever we need them.”
Simon laughed, but his head lolled back against the sacks he was using as pillows. “I’ll give you and your children free shoes for life if we get through this.”
Tildie’s smile faltered as she reached for the carpetbag that had belonged to Jay and searched through it for something clean. It was funny that he hadn’t taken his clothes with him, but clothes likely weren’t his priority. She found a passably clean shirt and doused it with water before setting to work cleaning Simon’s wound.
“This looks like a good enough spot to set up for the night,” Clint said when he returned to the wagon after a quick circuit of the area. “The water in the stream appears to be good enough. How are you doing, Simon?” He climbed into the back of the wagon and sat on Simon’s other side as Tildie worked.
“Don’t worry about me,” Simon said in an even weaker voice as Tildie dabbed at his wound. She was alarmed by his answer, just as she was alarmed by the amount of dirt that came away as she washed him.
“It’s my job to worry about you,” Clint said with what Tildie was certain was an attempt to stay cheery. “As long as we’re on the trail, you’re my responsibility, and I’m not going to—”
He stopped short, sitting up with a jolt and glancing past the back of the wagon. Tildie whipped around to see what he had spotted. Her heart launched to her throat and her panic came back a hundredfold at the sight of an Indian brave galloping toward them like the devil was at his back.
Chapter 8
/> Clint fumbled for his belt as he stood, hoping to find a gun ready and waiting, but he wasn’t wearing one. He’d packed Jay’s revolvers away after their fight. Now he wished he hadn’t. The brave was riding toward the wagon as fast as the wind.
“Get down,” he ordered Tildie, terrified that they would end up in another scenario where a man would try to physically yank her away from him.
Tildie hunkered down over Simon—who attempted to muscle himself to sit but was too weak to manage it. There was nothing Clint could do but assume a defensive stance, hands balling into fists to fight the Indian hand-to-hand if he had to.
But at the last minute, when the brave was only yards away from the wagon, he pulled his horse to a stop and studied Clint. The horse danced as if it wanted to run more, but the brave kept it in line. The brave was unarmed, and stranger still, he wore a look of concern rather than a bitter scowl of aggression.
“Is the injured man in danger?” the brave asked in surprisingly smooth English.
Clint blinked and straightened. Too much had happened in the last several hours for him to drop his guard entirely, but he knew in an instant he had to reevaluate everything. “How do you know he’s injured?” he asked with a frown.
The brave turned his horse to the side and nodded back down the road they’d traveled. “Fast Wolf watched the man who ran off with your horses shoot this one.” He pointed to Simon in the wagon.
Clint’s scowl deepened. “He saw Jay and Joe steal our horses?”
The brave nodded.
“Then why didn’t he do anything to stop them?”
The brave’s expression pinched into something that almost looked like humor. “Fast Wolf is eight years old.”
Clint’s shoulders relaxed further, though he was still mystified by the whole thing. Tildie stood slowly behind him. Clint could feel her anxiety, but she stepped bravely up to his side all the same.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The brave’s gaze shifted to her and Clint tensed. He reached back, touching Tildie’s side, needing to feel that she was there, that no one was about to take her.