Rapture's Tempest

by Bobbi Smith

  Wrestling himself into a sitting position, he examined his leg. The blood was flowing freely from the wound, and he was disturbed to find that the bullet had not passed completely through. Cursing under his breath, he used his belt as a makeshift tourniquet and tied it around his upper leg in hopes of controlling the bleeding. When it slowed, Jim stripped off his coat and shirt and used his shirt as a bandage. Applying it to the wound, he tightened it in place with his belt.

  With the bleeding under control, Jim pulled his coat back on and looked around for Mark. He spotted him lying in the underbrush and crawled painfully through the mud to his friend’s side.

  “Mark…” Jim rolled him over and shook him, his voice a hoarse croak as he saw all the blood on his face. “Mark, for God’s sake…”

  “Jim?” Mark groaned as his hand went to his head as he came to. He sat up and immediately regretted his action as the world spun crazily before his eyes. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his forearms on them while cradling his head. “What happened?”

  “I think we were closer than we thought.” Jim knew it was the only explanation. And, as he felt his strength fading, he leaned back shakily against a nearby tree trunk.

  “Damn…” It was hard for Mark to think coherently, but he forced himself to try. “Are you all right?”

  “No…I think I’ve lost too much blood. My leg…” Jim tried to talk, but a light-headed weakness assailed him.

  With all the strength he could muster, Mark went to Jim’s aid, cursing all the while the desperate situation they found themselves in.

  “We have to get to some shelter…” Mark was thinking out loud as he remembered the farm house; but how could he get Jim there? The wound looked nasty even to his untrained eye, and he knew there was no way Jim could walk on. Standing up, he cursed his own dizziness and leaned against the tree for a moment until the world had righted itself. Then, he bent to help Jim up.

  “We’ll head for that old farm house,” Mark told him, slipping an arm about his waist to support him.

  “That’s pretty far, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.” Mark tried to sound confident, but he knew his own strength was fading. “Don’t put any pressure on your leg. It looks pretty bad. I don’t want you using it,” he told him as they started off.

  Jim was silent and deathly pale as he leaned heavily against Mark. And Mark tried to take it as easy as possible, but he was staggering under Jim’s weight and struggling to keep his own balance. With faltering steps, Mark headed back in the direction they’d come, hoping that he could hold out until they reached the farm house.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Marshall reined in as they came upon the farm house situated in the small clearing. “What do you think?”

  “It looks empty, but be careful,” George warned. “If there’s been any guerrilla activities around here, folks might be inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “I will.” He glanced quickly at Delight, who sat stoically on her horse. He’d been amazed at her tolerance during the last long, wet hours, for not once had she uttered a complaint. “Wait here.”

  Too chilled to speak, Delight could only nod. The ride had been long and miserable, but she had every intention of stiffing it out. She would do what ever they told her to do, and she would do it without argument.

  Marshall rode away from them and slowly skirted the overgrown yard of the deserted cabin. When he found no sign of anyone nearby, he approached the front of the house. As he neared the old structure, he could see that it had been deserted for some time. Dismounting, he tied his horse and climbed the steps to the dilapidated front porch.

  When the front door stuck, Marshall put his shoulder to it and shoved it open. One look inside convinced him that no one had lived here for years. The windows were broken, the roof was leaking, and, except for a single bed, the other few pieces of furniture that had been left behind were useless. Turning back to where Delight and George waited for his signal, he waved for them to come forward.

  “Deserted?” George asked as he reined in at the hitching rail.

  Marshall nodded. “It has been for quite a while. Do you want to rest?”

  “Delight?” George looked expectantly at her.

  “No. The longer we delay, the longer it’s going to take us to find them,” she managed, her chin tilted with determination.

  Marshall’s respect for her grew, but he wondered if she might not be pushing herself too hard. “All right. If you’re sure you can make it.”

  “I’m sure,” she told him, gritting her teeth against the biting cold of the wind and rain. “Let’s go.”

  When Marshall mounted, they headed out slowly again, trying to follow the washed-out trail. They hadn’t ridden far when George spotted someone in the woods.

  “Marsh—” His tone was soft as he pulled back on his reins, halting their progress. “I thought I saw something.”

  “Where?” Marshall asked anxiously as his father pointed toward the figure in a distance. Fear clutched at Marshall as he recognized Mark and realized that he was carrying someone. Putting his heels to his mount, he quickly covered the distance between them, with George and Delight racing along behind.

  “Mark!” he shouted. Jumping from his horse, he ran to Mark’s aid.

  “Marshall?” Mark, who’d been struggling just to keep moving, was shocked out of his lethargy when he saw him. “Jim’s leg…”

  “Delight, get back to the house and fix up a place for them…use my bedroll,” Marshall ordered, and she rushed to follow his directions as he lifted his unconscious brother in his arms. Careful of Jim’s injured leg, he carried him toward the farm house.

  “It was the guerrillas,” Mark tried to explain, as George helped him to get on Marshall’s horse.

  “Don’t try to talk now. Let’s get you back to the cabin where it’s dry so we can take a look at your head.”

  Delight reached the house first and quickly spread the blanket on the one filthy bed. By the time Marshall kicked the door fully open and came in carrying Jim, Delight had already begun gathering up odd pieces of wood for a fire. Piling the wood on the hearth, she waited nervously as he laid Jim down on the hastily made bed. Kneeling beside him, she took his hand.

  “Jim—” She breathed his name in desperation, as she realized for the first time how pale he was. His coloring was almost gray, and Delight looked up at Marshall, her eyes wide with worry.

  “It’s his leg.”

  It was then that Delight saw the bloody makeshift bandage tied around his thigh. “He was shot? Oh, God…”

  “Get him out of those wet clothes while I get a fire going. Have you ever tended a bullet wound before?” Marshall asked as he started a small blaze.

  “No, but teach me,” she said firmly.

  “All right. The first thing we have to do is find out if the bullet’s still in there or not.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “For right now, make him as comfortable as you can, while I’ll bring in some water.”

  Marshall started back outside as Mark and George were coming through the door. “Mark…how’s your head?”

  “I’ll make it. Don’t worry about me. Take care of Jim,” Mark told him as George helped him over to the hearth.

  As Delight began to strip Jim’s wet, clinging clothes from him, he groaned and slowly regained consciousness.

  “Jim!” She stopped what she was doing and grasped his hand. “Thank heaven!”

  George rushed to the bed, “Jimmy…” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

  Jim frowned as he looked up at them. “Delight…Father…where am I?” With his free hand, he covered his eyes, trying to remember all that had happened.

  “You’re in an old, abandoned farm house right now,” His father told him. “Mark carried you…”

  “Mark!” Jim looked up at them quickly, his eyes clouded with concern. “How’s Mark?”

 
“I’m all right, Jim.” Mark’s voice came to him and he visibly relaxed.

  “Your head?”

  “The bullet just grazed me…”

  “Good…Good…” The effort to talk cost him much, and all his strength seemed to drain out of him. His eyes closed in exhaustion, and Delight, thinking the worst, looked up at George, her expression one of panic.

  “He’ll be all right, once we get that leg taken care of,” George reassured her, and she managed a weak smile.

  “I’d better get another blanket to keep him warm.” She started to rise, but Jim’s hold on her hand stopped her.

  “Don’t go,” he muttered, and she quickly gave up the idea.

  “I’ll get it,” George offered.

  “Thanks.” She gave him an appreciative look.

  “How’s he doing?” Marshall asked solemnly as he came back in with a bucket of water.

  “He’s conscious, but weak.”

  “Marsh?” Jim looked up to see his brother. Smiling faintly, he managed to quip, “What is this, a family reunion?”

  “We thought it was going to be a wake.” Marshall couldn’t stop the grin that threatened. “But from the sound of you, I don’t think you’re dying…”

  Jim moaned as he tried to shift positions. “You may not think so, but…”

  “Lie still, darling,” Delight entreated, and he rested quietly.

  George returned and handed her another blanket. “Let’s get the rest of those wet clothes off of him,” he said as he pulled off Jim’s boots, and with Marshall’s help they cut away his pants.

  Jim lay motionless throughout the ordeal, the only sign of his distress the tightening of his jaw as they lifted his hips to pull the remains of his pants from him. After covering him with the other blanket, Marshall hurried to heat the water.

  Delight never left Jim’s side as George carefully folded back the cover from his leg and removed the makeshift bandage.

  “Marshall?” he called softly to his older son.

  Marshall looked up from where he’d been heating water on the fire. “What?”

  “In my saddlebags there’s an extra shirt. Tear it up, we’re going to need it for bandages…”

  He looked down at Jim’s thigh. The flesh was torn and raw, and a quick examination revealed, to George’s disgust, that the bullet had not passed through his leg. As gently as possible, he probed the wound, drawing a guttural growl from Jim.

  “The bullet’s still in there, Jimmy.” George was serious.

  Jim met his father’s concerned gaze. “Do what you have to do.”

  “Do you want a drink first?”

  He nodded, and George went quickly to get the whiskey from his saddlebag. Handing it to Delight, he waited patiently while she held the flask to Jim’s lips. He drank deeply of the potent liquor, and its burning warmth brought some of the color back to his face. When he finished, he glanced up at his father.

  “All right. I’m ready.” He brought Delight’s hand to his lips, kissing it softly as he prepared himself for the trauma to come. Though the pain in his leg was bad now, Jim knew what had to be done to probe for a bullet. Girding himself, he glanced up at Delight. “Don’t look so worried. It’ll all be over soon.”

  She smiled tremulously at him and leaned forward to kiss him.

  George moved to the fire and held the blade of his knife directly in the flames while Marshall carried the hot water to the bedside, and in minutes they were set.

  “Jimmy. Marsh’s going to hold your leg for me.”

  “Do you need my help?” Mark offered, knowing that although he was injured and weak he could still help hold Jim immobile.

  “It’s all right, Mark.” Jim nodded, “I’ll hold still for them.” His eyes met Delight’s, and she recognized for the first time the power of his inner strength. As she held tightly to his hand, they began.

  As quickly and efficiently as he could, George delved into the damaged flesh, trying to locate and remove the bullet. Jim’s grip on Delight’s hand was bruising, and the muscles in his neck stood out as he strained in silent agony. Turning away, his jaw clenched, he refused to give in to the scream that threatened as the hot blade cut into his leg.

  Delight could almost feel his torment and her tears fell freely as Jim lay motionless, controlling himself even as the wracking pain tore at his body.

  George exchanged a worried look with Marshall. The bullet was in deeper that he’d thought. In one final, desperate attempt, he probed again, and this time Jim could not stop the groan of anguish that escaped him as he lapsed into unconsciousness. Working quickly, George at last located the elusive piece of metal and pried it loose from his son’s leg.

  “Oh, thank God,” Delight cried, when he extracted the bullet. Watching Jim suffer had been almost more than she could bear, and she felt faint from the horror of it.

  The wound was bleeding freely again, and, concerned about a further blood loss, George quickly prepared to cauterize it. Delight remained steadfastly by Jim’s side as George finished doctoring Jim’s leg, even though the smell of the burned flesh was nauseating. She was glad that Jim had been unconscious during the last part, for the pain surely would have been more than he could have borne. When George was satisfied that the bleeding was stopped and that he’d done everything he could for Jim, he bound his leg with the clean, soft cloths.

  “Will he be all right now?” Delight asked, her face pale from the strain she’d been under.

  “He should be, as long as no infection sets in,” Marshall started to explain, and then, realizing that she wasn’t looking well, he handed her the whiskey. “Take a drink. You look like you could use one.”

  “Thanks.” Without any hesitation, she took it from him, and, remembering Ollie’s drinking lesson, she took a deep swallow. At George’s amazed expression, she grinned. “Ollie taught me.”

  “Ollie—” George paused. “I hope he’s all right…he didn’t look too good when they took him on board Henry’s boat.”

  “If Rose has anything to do with it, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Delight reassured him.

  George smiled at her answer and then realized that he hadn’t taken care of Mark’s wound yet. “Mark…let me take a look at your head…”

  Marshall handed him the liquor as George gently examined his head.

  “How’s it look?” Mark asked, cringing as he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

  “Not bad,” George told him as he cleaned the scalp wound. “It’s just a graze, but I’m sure you’ll have a headache for the next few days.”

  “I already do.” Mark tried to grin, but the throbbing in his head stifled his good humor.

  As Jim stirred, all attention turned back to him. Groaning softly, he opened his eyes to see Delight hovering over him, her face reflecting her love and concern for him.

  “Hello.” His tone was gruff.

  “Hello.” Her voice was a caress, and she reached out to touch his cheek with gentle fingers.

  “Did he get it out?” Jim asked.

  “Yes. You’ll be fine.”

  Trusting her completely, he relaxed, the tension flowing from him. “How long was I out?”

  “Just a few minutes.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes. His entire body ached, but the center of the pain was the throbbing in his thigh. “Got any more of that whiskey left?”

  “Sure do.” Mark handed her the now half-empty bottle. Slipping her arm under his shoulders, she helped Jim up a little so he could drink more easily.

  “Thanks.” He lay back, exhausted.

  “How do you feel?” Marshall asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” Jim answered flatly, resting his forearm across his brow.

  “That bad?”

  “That bad,” he confirmed.

  “Try to rest, then. Sleep is probably the best thing for you.”

  Jim nodded wearily and turned to look at Delight. “Stay with me?”

  “As long as you want me to,” s
he answered softly, taking his hand.

  He squeezed hers gently and closed his eyes.

  Mark, relieved that Jim was doing better, stood up and moved around the room, testing himself. The dizziness had passed, and, physically, he was feeling much improved.

  “I’ll head out again in the morning. Now that you’re here to take care of Jim…” Mark began, and Marshall and George gave him a disbelieving look.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Absolutely.” His expression was grave. “It’s my duty.”

  George snorted in disbelief. “It’s not your duty to get killed!”

  “What choice do I have? I have to go after them!”

  “By yourself? Injured? That’s suicide, Mark.” Marshall told him angrily.

  “But the gold…”

  “Is it worth your life?” The unexpected question from Jim stopped the entire conversation. “Better we should go back and find out who’s behind it all.” His breathing was ragged as he closed his eyes again.

  Mark fell silent as he realized that Jim was right. He had been so obsessed with getting the gold back that he hadn’t realized the danger that the spies still represented. “You’re right.”

  “I’m glad to hear you talk sense,” George told him gruffly as he put a comforting arm about his shoulders.

  Mark’s expression was grim, and the look in his eyes cold and hard. “I’ll find them, and when I do…they’re going to pay for what they did.”

  It was much later that night when the rain finally stopped. The cabin was dark, save for the glow of the small fire they’d managed to keep going all afternoon. Sitting before its warmth, they relaxed in silent companionship. The worst was over.

  Jim had been sleeping off and on all the afternoon. The rest and the liberal doses of the whiskey seemed to have taken the edge off his pain. And he lay now, awake, comfortable and content.

  “You two have never really told us what happened,” George said, wanting to know the whole story.

  “Did Delight tell you about the attack?” Mark asked.