Without warning, Camel decided it was time to make a move. The horse leapt into the moving waters. Bear jumped off the saddle, knowing Camel stood a much better chance of making it across without his heavy weight. The water pushed him into the panicky horse. Bear extended his legs against Camel’s side to keep from sliding underneath the gelding. Darkness and water enveloped him and he went under. He prayed he was not under Camel’s hooves. He pushed against the current, trying to stay oriented. When his feet touched bottom and he could tell which way was up, he used his big hands to pull his way through the muddy water until he burst through to the air and took a much needed breath.
Freezing, he began to shake. He had to get to the opposite bank soon. Artis was on the other side. Artis would help to warm him. He repeated that over and over, as he struggled through the water, swimming and then being pushed or tossed by the current, and then swimming again.
It seemed to take forever, but he soon felt the bank against his body and he scrambled up clawing into the mud until he found purchase. He gripped what felt like a root and was able to get enough traction to haul himself out of the rushing water. He spit muck and dirt out of his mouth and crawled a few feet before he stopped, breathless and spent. He took a few deep breaths, and felt better, and mercifully, the heavy rain abruptly lessened.
He tried to stand, but his boots were full of water and heavy. He took them off, poured the water out, and put them back on. So much for the shine he had the cobbler put on his boots, he thought grimly. His new tricorne was long gone. But after wearing it all evening, he didn’t like the hat anyway. It was too tight on his big head.
His eyes widened and his breath caught as he remembered Artis’ pledge gift. He slapped his palm against his upper left chest. The clan crest was still there. He let out a long sigh of relief.
Then worry grabbed his mind again as he remembered Camel. The horse had been his loyal companion for more than a decade. “Camel!” he called, as he quickly stood up. But he heard nothing to indicate that the horse was out there.
But he did hear something else.
Another mountain lion. It must be the mate of the one he and Artis killed. The animal’s scream echoed through the darkness and the rain, chilling him further. He reached for his pistol, but it wasn’t there. It must have washed away. He’d given his other one to William so he could give it to Kelly to reload and he’d returned William’s pistol to him.
He reached for his knife that hung on top of his sporran. As always, his trusted blade was there. He’d almost left both behind, thinking they did not complement his new clothes. But the sporran was the only item he wore regularly that represented his Scottish heritage. In the end, he could not part with them. It had been a wise decision.
He tightened his grip on the knife, as best he could with wet hands. The best defense against a mountain lion was to make it think you were not easy prey.
He extended his arms above his head and yelled, “Come out ye bloody girl. Aye, I’m the one who killed yer mate. Let’s have this fight and be done with it. I’ll not have ye stalkin’ me half the damn night!”
Bear heard the sound of an animal walking through the trees. It wasn’t the cat. Thick pads kept a mountain lion’s tread so silent it was undetectable to human ears. He peered into the darkness, hoping it wasn’t a bear he’d heard. Och! That was all he needed now.
He was not a man to back down from either man or nature’s challenges, but this evening’s events were beginning to wear on his nerves.
He couldn’t see anything. Then to his great relief, he heard Camel’s familiar snort. The sound warmed his heart as nothing else could have. “If yer done with yer swim, get over here ye big ugly fellow.”
At the sound of Bear’s voice, Camel hurried over and stood next to him, nearly leaning into Bear’s chest. He stroked the gelding’s long neck and, as best he could in the darkness, checked him over. He appeared to be unharmed.
“Let’s go find Artis,” he told Camel, “my wife.”
Chapter 22
Kelly threw the smokehouse door open and stepped inside. She held her lantern high, lighting up the black interior walls. Disappointment filled her when she didn’t find Artis. She lowered the lantern, and it illuminated the floor, as she turned to leave. There she was, crumpled in a heap on the dirt next to the table, her face on the fur of an animal’s pelt.
Kelly rushed to Artis’ side and turned her over. Despite the warmth of the glowing coals, Artis’ skin felt icy and her beautiful face appeared strained and drained of color. Was she still alive? Her own heart beat furiously as she tried to find a pulse on Artis’ neck.
Thank God. It was there, faint, but steady.
The side of the gold gown Artis wore was soaked with dark bloodstains. At least the bleeding looked like it had stopped. For that, she gave thanks.
“Artis, can you hear me? It’s Kelly. You are going to be all right. I’ll help you. Don’t leave us, please. Bear needs you. I need you.”
Artis did not respond and Kelly decided to go get her father to help. She opened the door to the smokehouse and started to step out, but rain was pouring down. No wonder it had been so dark as she had searched for Artis. She made a dash for the house, nearly slipping twice. By the time she reached the front porch, her gown was soaked.
“Papa, I need your help. I found Artis in the smokehouse. She’s won’t wake up, but she has a pulse.”
“I’ll pull the wagon over there and we’ll load her in the back. But we need something to cover her with. It won’t do to get her wet.”
“How about my bear rug?”
“That’s exactly what we need. No rainwater will get through that big hide.” Her father had bought the fur in town and given it to her for a wedding present.
He helped Kelly grab the black rug from the floor in front of her bed and carry it to the door.
“Let me turn the wagon around and then you come running and hop up by me. Do you think you can carry the heavy fur?”
“I’ve had to move it several times, cleaning.”
Moving a little gingerly, her father pulled on a jacket and hurried out the door. It made her angry all over again to see evidence of the thrashing Steller gave her father.
Kelly grabbed one of William’s extra tricornes, twisted her damp hair up and tucked it inside, and nestled the hat snugly on her head. It would keep the rain off her face at least.
She watched a curtain of rainwater pour off the roof of the porch while he got the horse team facing the right way, then she darted out, carrying the bulky fur with some difficulty.
A spectacular bolt of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the black clouds looming overhead. “This is going to be a bad one,” her father said as she climbed up to the seat.
He pulled the wagon close to the door of the smokehouse and Kelly and her father jumped down.
Within a few minutes, they were back inside the house. Kelly helped her father lay Artis on the bed she and William shared. Her father barred the door and then took Artis’ boots off while Kelly blotted her face and long hair, the only part of Artis that got wet. She handed the towel to her father and he dried his own hair and face.
Kelly carefully removed the luckenbooth and set it aside. Then she began removing the filthy gown. With some difficulty, she was able to get it off Artis, while her father added logs to the hearth fire and heated some water.
“One of us will need to get that bullet out of her,” McGuffin said.
She halted, shocked. “Can’t we wait and get her to the doctor in town?”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “The way this storm sounds, the creeks will rise and will be impassible, near impossible to get a wagon through. I don’t think she’ll last through the night if we don’t get that lead out of her.”
“Have you ever removed a ball from a wound before?” she asked.
“Yes. I have.” He didn’t elaborate further and turned his face away.
Kelly wondered when her papa had to do
such a thing. But now was not the time to discuss it.
“Surgery is perilous, but not as risky as letting the wound fester any more than it already has. It has to come out. Do you want me to do it, Kelly girl?”
“Oh, I wish Bear and William were here. It should be Bear’s decision, not mine. Where are they anyway? I pray to God that man chasing us didn’t catch up with them.”
The frightening thought hung in the air between them.
“Let’s not borrow any more trouble than we already have. I’d say we have more than enough as it is. They probably both took whoever it was to William’s jail and wisely decided to wait out the storm in town.”
“Are you sure you’re up to helping Artis? You look in pretty bad shape yourself.”
“I’m well enough, but she isn’t. Let’s get started.”
Kelly cut open Artis’ shift above where the blood had soaked through and laid the fabric to each side of the wound. She gasped at the sight of Artis’ torn flesh. It was the first time she had ever seen a bullet wound up close. She stood and stared down at the blood on her own hands and felt a sudden coldness hitting her core.
McGuffin sat down on the bed next to Artis and bent his head over the injury. His fingers gently probed around the wound. “I was hoping the lead was near the surface. But it’s not. Get William’s bottle of whiskey, some fresh cloths, and the water I warmed. First, we have to get this clean. I need to pour whiskey into the wound.”
Kelly jerked her head up. “Won’t that…hurt her?” she asked, worried as she set about getting what her father needed.
“I hope so. That means it’s cleaning it out.” Her father dipped one of the cloths into the warm water and washed away most of the blood. Then he poured a little whiskey directly into the hole left by the lead. “It’s a good thing she’s passed out. That whiskey stings a fair bit. But what I’m about to do will hurt a good deal more if she wakes. If she does, have her bite down on a clean cloth. Roll one up and have it ready.”
Fear and apprehension coursed through Kelly. What if Artis died? God forbid. What would Bear do? Would he blame her father? A wave of panic swept through her confused mind.
“Kelly, we can do this. Trust me girl. But, I will need your help. Get your sewing kit—I’ll need a strong thread and a sharp needle. And I need your smallest knife.”
Kelly swallowed the panic rising within her and retrieved the items her father asked for. “Should I thread the needle?”
“Yes, but first thrust that knife into those hot coals in the hearth for a moment or two.”
Kelly did as he asked and then drew the blade from the coals. Her hand shook as she gave him the knife. Then she grabbed the needle and thread and took several deep breaths to still her trembling hands. It took her several attempts to get the thread through the needle’s tiny eye.
“This knife will do nicely, it’s long but narrow.” He rinsed the ashes off with clean water, letting the liquid spill to the floor, and waited a moment for the blade to cool. Then he inserted the blade tip into the hole on Artis’ side.
Kelly thought she might swoon. She was more shaken than she wanted to admit at the sight of the blade point entering Artis’ soft flesh.
“How deep do you think it is?” she asked. She turned away without waiting for a reply.
“Don’t know yet.” He gritted his mouth tighter and leaned in.
She took a deep steadying breath and turned back. She had to do her part to help Artis. “What can I do?”
“Soak a cloth with that whiskey and be ready to apply pressure with it when I get the ball out,” he answered. “I think I feel the lead.” Kelly held her breath.
He edged the knife deeper, without haste, but with purpose.
Blood began to gush from the wound.
“Kelly, soak up this blood. Don’t use the cloth soaked in whiskey. Get another cloth,” he said. His voice and face were still calm and full of strength and determination. “Get as close to the hole as you can, without touching the knife or my hand, and apply some pressure.”
Kelly had to admire her father’s composure. Now, she was sure he had done this before, maybe many times. But she was far from calm herself. Her mouth felt parched and her throat tight. And her heart ached with worry. She had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying.
She positioned herself by Artis’ head and reached down toward the draining blood. Artis could ill afford to lose much more blood. If her father didn’t locate the lead soon, Artis might be in serious trouble. She was even more certain of that when the cloth quickly became soaked.
Kelly startled as someone tried to open the latched cabin door. Then impatiently pounded on the heavy door.
Fear filled her instantly. Was it Steller? Had he come back to torment them further? Or to get Artis?
The noise woke Nicole and she started crying.
“Artis! Kelly! Open the door for God’s sake,” she heard Bear shout.
“Don’t move,” her father told her firmly “He’ll just have to wait. I’m almost there.”
“Are ye all right?” Bear yelled. “Answer me!”
Chapter 23
Bear pounded the heavy plank door. Why weren’t they answering? He could hear the wee bairn crying. His mind searched for a plausible explanation. Perhaps they were up in the loft.
“Kelly,” he bellowed again. “Artis!”
“Bear, wait a minute. I’m coming soon,” Kelly finally yelled.
Bear was relieved to hear Kelly’s voice and assumed Nicole was keeping her occupied. He reached up and wrung the water out of his hair and stomped his feet on the porch to shake some of the moisture off his clothes. Then he removed his boots, poured a little water from both, and sat them by the door to dry. His entire body was chilled. He was looking forward to the warmth of the hearth fire and some hot coffee.
When Kelly unbarred the door a moment later, Bear’s throat closed up and his heart nearly stopped. Kelly’s bloodstained hand held a cloth soaked red. But it was the look on her face that chilled him to his very bones.
“What happened?” he asked before he could take a step.
“Artis,” she replied in a small frightened voice.
“Artis what?” he demanded. Panic rampaged within him.
Kelly was on the verge of tears. “Bear, she was shot by the man who chased us. I didn’t realize she was hurt until I got here. I’m so sorry. I would not have driven the wagon so hard had I known. All those bumps.” Kelly looked wretched and miserable.
“Shot!” Was Artis dead? God forbid.
“She couldn’t get out of the wagon. Then I noticed all the blood.” Kelly glanced uneasily over her shoulder then back at him. “What happened to you?”
He ignored her question, pushed the door aside, and stomped in. The sight before him weakened his knees. He took a quick breath of utter astonishment. Artis lay on William and Kelly’s bed. Blood soaked rags and clothes were everywhere.
In two long strides, he stood by Artis’ side. The scene before him ripped his heart apart. Blood was everywhere. Her face was pale and she seemed to be barely breathing. And the sight of a needle entering her skin above a heinous wound made his limbs start shaking. He had to hold back a cry of panic. Instead, he growled with despair. He glowered at Kelly. “Holy God, what’s happened?” he demanded.
Kelly didn’t answer him. Instead, she quickly moved to pick up her crying daughter.
Mister McGuffin, bent over Artis’ stomach, did not look up. “I’m just finishing the last stitch now. I got the lead out!” he said, triumphantly.
“Lead? No. No!” The shock of the news hit him full force. He could only stand there, blank, and shaken.
“Rest assured Bear, if the wound doesn’t fester, she’ll be all right,” McGuffin said.
“That’s not reassurin’,” he managed, growing angry now. “Wounds often fester.” He knelt down next to her and bent to one knee. He put a hand on her forehead. At least she had no fever yet. “Artis,” he breathed. He had t
o swallow the emotions tightening his throat.
McGuffin withdrew the lead from a pocket and handed it to Bear.
His breath caught in his lungs for a moment as he scrutinized the small ball. A tiny thing—nonetheless so often deadly—capable of stealing life from the living. Traces of her blood still clung to the metal, painted on like tiny strokes of red paint. It made his own blood boil.
He stuck the lead in his sporran and fixed his gaze on McGuffin, his eyes searching, imploring, hoping.
McGuffin’s voice sounded tired as he said, “I did all I could to reduce the likelihood of the wound festering. I cleaned the wound carefully with whiskey and we heated the knife in the coals to cleanse it. The lead did not hit any of her organs, but Artis lost a significant share of her blood. Nevertheless, she’s young and healthy and with Kelly’s help and good food, she’ll heal fast.”
“Why did ye na take her to Boonesborough? To the doctor?” he asked. “Was it the storm?”
“Yes. The way that cloudburst came down, I knew the creeks would rise and be impassible. She would not have lasted through the night, Bear,” McGuffin explained. “Besides, she was bleeding too much to withstand another rough wagon ride into town.”
“But what do ye know of surgery?”
“I know enough.” His tone was patient and calm.
But calm was the last thing Bear felt. He seethed with mounting rage. “That damn thief. If I’d known the whoreson shot her, I would have killed him instead of just woundin’ the man,” he swore.
“Who was he?” McGuffin asked, as he pulled a clean sheet up to Artis’ neck and then laid a blanket over her.
“The fourth robber of the state’s gold,” he answered abruptly. “He was after revenge because I shot his brother.” He didn’t want to talk about the robber. He’s was too worried. Only once before had he experienced worry this deep and overwhelming. It happened on the journey to Kentucky with his brothers. And that did not end well. A deep foreboding erupted within him.
“Where’s William?” Kelly asked.
Frontier Highlander Vow of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 4) Page 15
