The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

  Chapter 2

  Trish reined Yedi back to the gulley. If the valley had changed, odds were, so had the gulley. It wouldn't wash out at the same place. She either had to climb down where she could see the hat or hope to find a better way. She dismounted, daring to get closer to the edge on foot than on horseback.

  She easily located her hat again. She would most definitely need it to keep the sun off, and what if the weather turned nasty? It could be said that Idaho's weather was the most unpredictable in the world, or at least in the states. Besides, that hat was given to her by Grammy Patricia. Now she needed to find a way to get to it. She scanned the gulley, trying to determine the best route. She shook her head. There would be no easy way down and only the way out would most likely prove even more difficult.

  Vance would tease her about having to chase her hat. Cousins, especially Trish's younger cousins, like Vance, could be a pain in her backside. Setting her teeth against formidable odds, she started down the steep wall of the gulley. Whenever possible, she kicked at the soil in an effort to leave footholds for climbing out again. Things went well until the walls narrowed and the ground grew muddy. One wrong step could mean a broken leg or worse. With nothing to grasp hold of, nothing to break her fall, she lost her footing and slipped, her momentum no longer under control. She tumbled and bounced from one wall to the other.

  She screamed. Her shoulder smashed against a jutting rock and sent her into an awkward somersault. Her body came to an abrupt stop, knocking the wind out of her.

  She carefully rolled one shoulder and then the other, fearing something might be broken. She seemed fine so far. Her hat lay three feet away. She reached for it. A sharp, stabbing pain warned her to drop her arm.

  You've got to be kidding! No hat is worth this.

  "Okay, right arm hurts," she said aloud. "Stand?"

  Putting her weight under her was far more difficult than she expected. The soil was more mud than solid. She stood, slipped and tried again only to find her feet pinched into the narrow V where the mud sucked at her boots.

  "At least I'm closer to my hat."

  She snatched it with her left hand and stuffed it firmly on her head. "Now, one, two, three. Go." Her scrambling slips and slides netted an inglorious turnaround. She looked up at the edge of the gulley in disgust. It proved more narrow and deep than she had thought. She sagged against the wall, letting the cool mud stick to her lime green shirt. She took a deep breath and, with renewed determination, scrambled in the direction from which she had come. She clenched the fingers of her right hand. Her arm didn't appear bruised but it definitely hurt. With clamoring hands and feet, she only managed to make the gulley closest to her slicker. She slid further from her goal.

  "I'm going to get out of here," she muttered through clenched teeth. The breeze overhead seemed to laugh at her determination. She made a fist and squeezed the mud through her fingers. Tightening every muscle in her body, she screamed. "Damn it!"

  Anger at her own stupidity cinched her realization; she was trapped like a lone maverick. She should have known better. Stupid. Would she spend her whole adventure stuck in the bottom of this gulley?

  She only had to survive seven days without food and water, but what if the sunlight never reached the bottom of the gulley? Without sunlight, the talisman wouldn't dance; and if it didn't dance, it wouldn't transport her back to her own time. What about a flash flood? That would make her situation decay a lot faster. Her stomach churned with dread, but she couldn't afford to be sick. She needed this morning's breakfast to carry her for as long as possible.

  "Well, I'll be." A masculine voice tickled her ears, making her jump. She struggled to keep her feet under her. "I thought I was hearing things, but sure enough… You in need of help, mister?"

  Trish looked up, the man's form shielded by the edge of the gulley. She could only see his head as he swept off his hat.

  "Of course I need help," she snapped before reminding herself that she wasn't in the twenty-first century but the late 1800's and shifted her attitude to more of a country hick, hoping to sound like she fit in. She couldn't afford for this man to leave her. "Can you get me outta here?"

  "Ya think if I throw you a rope, you can climb out?"

  "I--" Trish stopped. Could she with a sore arm? She'd never been overly strong in her upper body. "I think I can."

  She didn't need to worry about making a false claim to her abilities. He'd disappeared from her view. Moments later, something hit her hat. She brushed at it and caught a rope in her hand.

  "Yourn 'orse don't seem too friendly so I hope ol' Clementine can pull ya out. Now you start a walkin' that-a-way." He turned his back to her. Was he pointing? She wasn't sure. She'd just follow the rope. "An' we'll 'ave ya outta there right quick."

  The rope dragged on the gulley wall, knocking mud, loose dirt and rocks on her until it became taut at an angle to her right. She grasped the rope and started to climb. She paused when she had enough to wrap around her backside to climb more like the rock climbers. The added leverage took the strain off her arms, enabling her to climb steadily up out of the slippery gulley. Her feet reached drier ground, making it easier to keep her footing but the foot and hand holds she had worked so diligently to make remained out of reach. The rescuer had not decided on the same trail as she had, forcing her to break new ground as she climbed. She didn't care. At least she was getting out of the gulley.

  Reaching level ground, she kept hold of the rope for several steps. It would do no good to slip back into the gulley. She let go of the rope and bent over, catching her breath. "Thank you."

  "Mister, if I was you, I'd steer clear of that there gulley." He approached her, winding the rope around his hand and elbow as he came. He stopped, finishing the task. Trish stood. "Hey, you ain't a feller. What's a woman doin’ in these parts alone?"

  "I--" Trish stared at the dirty old codger that had rescued her. Layers of dirt obscured his features. He must have taken a sharp knife to his straggly beard and hair. She grimaced, realizing his hat was nothing more than a dead raccoon with its eyes rotted out. How should she answer his question? What was she doing? Vacationing? She clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

  Leering, he leaned toward her. "You runnin' away from someone, girlie? I'll take ya with me an' you'll be safe."

  "Thanks, but I don't think we're headed the same direction." She turned to get Yedi and ride away. The rope settled over her and yanked tight at her chest. She stopped. He'd offered to help but now it appeared he had other intentions. A nagging sense of dismay eked at her. What could she do now? She needed to think.

  "Missy, these parts ain't safe for the likes of you." The rope tightened, forcing her to stumble in his direction. "You need a feller to protect you an' I be thinkin' that feller should be me. Why not? I saved ya from a nasty death of starvation 'til you be too tired to fight off the varmints. As I see it, you owe me."

  Had he never heard of chivalry? Was such nonexistent here?

  "As I see it, you've done your good turn for the day."

  "Ya come along with me an' I'll let ya keep yer 'orse."

  Was he actually ignoring her? Did he really intend for her to be able to keep her horse? Or did he plan a subterfuge of some kind? She tried a different tactic. "Horse stealing is a hanging offense, you know."

  "Ya cook my meals and I'll feed you. I be thinkin' I might even share my blanket with you to keep ya warm."

  Ah, gee thanks, you old buzzard. His leer turned uglier, stripping her with his cold blue eyes. Her skin crawled. He rubbed his rough beard.

  "Been dreamin' of a warm bed. Even been prayin' fer one. Guess the good Lord answers prayers. Whatda ya say? Come with me and 'ave the nice things?"

  "Never." Trish struggled against the rough bands about her arms and chest, trying to break free. It was a mistake. He pulled the rope tighter, cutting into her skin.

  "I done fought meaner heifers than you, girl."

  He tramped towa
rd her, closing the distance between them until he was so close she smelled the layers of dirt and sweat. She threw her knee at his groin, intending to drive him to his knees long enough to escape. Instead she found her knee caught in layers of filthy cloth, sending a more putrid whiff of his stench to her senses. He chuckled, his stale breath of decayed teeth and food engulfing her, turning her stomach. Her gag reflex forced its way to the surface and she held her breath, swallowing the bile down. He dragged his filthy hand across her face, pinching her mouth between his fingers.

  His eyes tightened on her. "Ya come along nice an' sweet like, an' I won't 'ave to get mean. Maybe ya like the feel of spurs to yar skin. I gave up cowboy'n in favor of huntin' for gold. But don't think Old Curly's lost his touch. I's can still rodeo with the best of 'em. Ya give me trouble an' I just might think of goin' back." He continued making his vile plans while he tied her hands. "That 'orse of yourn don't 'ave much for hind quarters on 'em, but Old Curly could do some right sharp 'orse tradin' an' get me one that do."

  She tuned his sordid verbiage out for the moment. She had to watch for the chance to escape.

  When he indicated she mount Yedi, her hopes soared. Yedi would respond to her leg cues. She didn't have the chance to settle herself before Old Curly climbed up behind her, wrapping his filthy arms around her and hissing his lurid plans in her ear. Her stomach churned at his debasing comments and sickening odors.

  This was not the kind of adventure she'd hoped for.

 

  Chapter 3