by Keta Diablo
Jesse finished her business at Porter's Mercantile and Dry Goods and helped Coy load the supplies into the back of the buckboard. On the ride back to the ranch, silence reigned. She wanted to kick herself for being so naïve, so desperate she'd convinced herself something good had finally come along. How could she have been so taken in by his looks, his self-confidence and sweet-talking ways? What did she really know about Cain's brother, someone her husband rarely mentioned, someone who hadn't shared any part of their lives in fifteen years? She had to think of her son now, couldn't expose him to an ex-convict, an outlaw, according to the sheriff.
Coy hadn't said a word since they left Red Butte. In fact, he'd withdrawn, his demeanor now sullen and introspective. Here she was, traveling across a vast wilderness with a dangerous man, albeit a very handsome man. She had questions and she needed answers, but alone with him now she didn't dare press him.
"What do you call your horses?" He stole a sideways glance at her. "The team pulling this wagon?"
"That's Mae on the right and Maude on the left."
"I have to stop. Looks like Mae's picked up a stone. If I don't dig it out she's going to be a lot worse off by the time we get back to the ranch." He brought the team to a halt, bounded down from the seat and spoke gently to the mare as he approached her. He looked back to her with a devastating smile. "Might be easier if you hold the bridle."
Jesse slid from the seat, crossed the short distance to the horses and grabbed hold of the strap near the mare's mouth. He removed a knife from his boot, and in a soft, low tone, cajoled the horse into lifting her front leg. She had to hand it to him; he had a way with horses.
When he finished his task, he looked up and held her eyes, his gaze so intense, it stole her breath. The air around them sizzled with an electric current she hadn't felt in years, and she knew in an instant he felt it too. "Guess you must have a lot of questions 'bout now?"
Had the cat stolen her tongue? She heard him speak and yet couldn't seem to find the words to answer.
"I'll save you the trouble of asking. You want to know why I was in Yuma, don't you? And you've already branded me an outlaw; I see it in your eyes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You didn't ask, and besides, I didn't see the need since I was leaving soon."
She dropped her hold on the bridle and faced him with hands on hips, trying to appear much braver than she felt. "Then tell me now."
"I told you the truth about working cattle and mining." He ran his hands through the hair at the sides of his head. "After one of the drives, we went into town like we often did. A friend got into a scuffle over a woman and the other man shot and killed him in cold blood. When he turned the gun on me, I shot him before he could do the same to me."
"That sounds like self-defense."
"Yeah, well the town sheriff didn't see it that way." A scornful huff left his lips. "Could be because I shot his nephew."
"What about the witnesses in the bar?"
"Some came forward but the other side had just as many to counter. The judge sentenced me to ten years." He looked away from her but not before she saw the pain in his eyes. "After serving five years, I was pardoned. Guess I can thank Niall for that."
When their eyes met again, it seemed the world had come to a stop. She couldn't explain the emotion he invoked in her. Was it because he was Cain's brother, an inherent belief instilled in her that one could and should trust family? Or was she just terrified of what loomed in her future? Worse, did she need to believe there had to be more to life than being a widow at thirty-two, that one day she'd find shelter and safety in a man's arms again?
She knew now that Cain had come back in spirit form. Somehow, he'd managed to walk between this world and another, if only for a short time. He would have warned her of danger, told her to run as fast as she could if a man with evil intent was about to ride in on a Piebald. But he'd said the opposite: "Help is on the way." And..."It's your job to convince him to stay, Jezebel."
This was too soon. He'd only been in their lives for a short time, and yet in so many ways he reminded her of Cain. She had the undeniable urge to run to him, fall into his arms and devour his strength. If only he'd stop looking at her in a way that made her heart pound, her pulse race and her legs feel like corn mush. If only she'd taken time to look deep into his eyes after that kiss in the cemetery. Her mother always said, "The truth lies not only in the way a man kisses you but what passes through his eyes when it's over."
As if drawn by a magnet, she walked toward him. His eyes left hers for a brief moment and focused on something behind her. He drew his gun and seemed to point it at her. No, no, no! She'd fallen for his sweet-talk again.
"There's a rock behind your foot. Don't take a step back. In fact, don't move a muscle, he said through clenched jaw.
The drum of her heart rang in her ears and then the gun discharged, the sound deafening. Instinctively, she lunged backwards and then the hard ground rose up to meet her. White-hot pain tore through her arm. Dear God, he shot her! She tried to rise but another wave of pain ripped through her ankle. Coy was kneeling beside her as the world spun out of control.
The glint of metal blazed under the sun and descended. She closed her eyes and waited for the blade to puncture her skin. Would it hurt much? God, it couldn't hurt more than the radiating throb down her arm. Grabbing her shirt, he tore it from the seam at the shoulder and cast it aside. "What...what's happening? What are you doing?"
"Lay still, Jesse. You've been bitten by a rattlesnake."
She felt the knife cut into her skin, or was it the result of the bite? His lips met her arm and then she felt a sucking sensation. Confusion stormed through her brain. She felt hot and then cold all over. Dear Lord, was she going to die?
He picked her up and cradled her in his arms, his words coming to her through a tunnel. "Stay awake, Jesse, do you hear me? Stay with me! You hang on, do you hear me?"
They were the last words she heard before her world went black.
Chapter Eight
With a burst of speed, Coy tossed Jesse into the back of the buckboard and clambered onto the seat. He picked up the reins and slapped them against the horses' rump. "Hyah! Mae, Maude! Hyah!"
The horses bolted at the sound of his panicked voice. He shouldn't have pulled off the road, should have waited until they returned to the ranch to see to Mae's foot. And he didn't see the diamondback rise up until it was too late.
Grange came running from the barn when he stormed into the yard, alarm exploding on the boy's face. "Where's Ma, what happened?"
Coy jerked a thumb toward the back of the wagon and brought the horses to a stiff-legged halt. "Rattler got her in the arm. Help me get her into the house."
"What! A rattler...what kind?"
"Diamondback."
Grange slid his hands under her armpits and Coy picked up her feet. "I got most of the poison out but...."
"But what?"
"Not enough. The bite is deep and near her heart."
After carrying her through the kitchen, they laid her out on the bed. Standing over her, Grange chewed on his bottom lip, his face as white as cotton bolls. "You can't let her die, Coy. Don't let her die, hear me?"
"The snake is in the back of the wagon. Get it, now! And I need the tobacco out of my saddlebag and some horse dung."
"Snake! You want me to bring that critter into the house?"
"Grange, are you going to stand there and ask me questions or are you going to move your ass and do what I tell you?"
Grange sprinted from the room and returned with the diamondback dangling over his arm. "Now what?"
"While I tie off the bite area with bandanas, you cut pieces of skin from that snake. Lay 'em on the bed and be quick about it."
The boy pulled a knife from his boot and began peeling off long pieces of skin from the snake. He laid them out on the quilt but kept one eye on Coy who fastened one bandana around her arm two inches above the bite and another two inches b
elow. "Hope you never have to do this, kid, but pay attention just in case. Don't make the bandanas too tight but tie off the wound. This slows down the venom." Coy plucked a piece of snakeskin from the bed and placed it over the wound.
"What's that supposed to do?"
"Draw out more of the venom. Once a piece turns green, pull it off and use another. Where's my tobacco and horse dung?"
"Coming right up." Again, Grange rushed from the room, returning moments later with a pouch of tobacco and bowl of foul-smelling horse droppings. "What now?"
"Drop some of that tobacco into the dung and hand me the bowl."
Plugging his nose with one hand, Grange scooped out a handful of tobacco and plopped it into the bowl. "Here," he said, passing it to Coy. "What ya going to do about that swelling?" The kid slapped a hand to his forehead. "That arm's twice the size it should be, and what about those blisters?"
"What do you think this is for?" Grange drove his fingers into the bowl, mixed up the contents and then placed a layer over the wound. "I'm doing everything I can, kid, but there's only so much—"
"Don't say it, don't! I know what I'm gonna do; I'm going to town to get Doc Mueller."
"Nothing he can do for her that I haven't already thought of."
"Then I'm gonna find Kajame. He'll know what to do."
Coy blew an anxious breath. "Like chant and dance?"
"I don't care what you say. I'm not gonna sit here and watch her die."
Before Coy could even answer, Grange fled from the room. He looked down on Jesse and couldn't control the wrenching of his heart. Her pale skin alarmed him and stood in stark contrast to the tumble of copper hair splayed over the pillow. Full, cherry lips lay slack in slumber and her shallow breaths, rising and falling like a death knell sent a fresh series of tremors coursing through him.
He'd seen grown men die from snake bite, men much stronger and larger than this small wisp of a woman. Harder to dispel from his mind was the look of sheer panic marring her beautiful face when he pulled the pistol from its holder and the look on Grange's face as he stood over the bed.
He couldn't begin to dissect his raging emotions right now or the feelings he harbored for Jesse and the boy. Nothing had gone according to plan, his plan to check on his parents and make his way to Utah. Thinking back, he realized the moment he saw her standing on the porch the day he rode in, she'd stirred something deep inside him he hadn't felt in years. Now, stark reality stood before him...the reality of losing the woman he'd fallen in love with. How had it happened? He couldn't answer that with any sane amount of certainty. He'd watched them from far off and up close, realizing they represented everything he never had in life but had longed for. A closeness, a measure of loyalty and love for one another and the land they worked day after day receiving little in return. Yes, that was it, love for one another and love of home and family.
For the first time in his life, he envied his brother and his bookish, uncomplicated life. And now, he might never know the same joy, the same contentment, might lose the one thing he'd been searching for all his life.
A sense of belonging. Mostly, love.
Coy dragged a chair from under the window and nudged it up against the bed. The silence in the room hurt his ears and sent his brain down roads he didn't want to travel. Should he be doing something else for her until Grange returned with the old Indian? Keep her as comfortable as possible, yes, but hadn't he heard somewhere that in order to survive, people need to fight the illness on two fronts—mentally and physically? Ah, yes, now he remembered. One of his cellmates at Yuma was an aged physician imprisoned for theft. Holding the esteemed office of Treasurer, Doc Milburn had pilfered the town coffers and spent five years in jail for his offense.
According to him, even if a patient is unconscious, it's important to speak to them, try to reach them. Milburn claimed the last sense to leave a dying person's body was hearing. Coy didn't know how much stock he put in that theory but right now, but he'd do everything within his power to keep her alive.
"I never lied to you about being in prison but I didn't offer it either. I swore I'd never revisit that hell-hole, not in person or in my mind." He grasped her hand and held it in his. "I have to tell you why I took that oath...in case you're listening. Sometimes there were as many as six men to a cell. We slept on iron bunks with a blanket for a mattress." He looked at the ceiling and delivered an ironic laugh. "Course that was like heaven compared to the dark cell—a fifteen by fifteen foot room with a cage smack dab in the middle. Built into a hard, rock cliff, the only light came from a vent. Twice a day, a guard would unlock the metal door and deliver bread and water, an added punishment for exhibiting bad behavior." Looking down on her again, his mouth went dry and his hands broke into a cold sweat. "If you could speak right now, you'd probably ask if they ever put me in the dark cell." Another laugh. "No, you'd ask how many times they put me in there. I lost count, but I can say more than twice.
For good behavior, they taught us reading, writing and arithmetic. Oh, and Spanish and German too." She moved her head toward his voice and for a moment, he thought she might open her eyes. Instead she released a small moan. "Tu eres muy bonita and Sie sind schön. That's you are beautiful in Spanish and German."
Coy snuck a peek over his shoulder and swallowed a curse. "When are you going to get here with that old Yaqui, kid?" Turning back to Jesse again, he squeezed her hand. "For a year, I shared a cell with a Pima Indian. He used to pray to the four winds every morning and at night he'd tell us stories. They were always about Coyote, the trickster. His favorite was when Elder Brother tricked the trickster. It goes like this: After the waters of the flood had gone down, Elder Brother said to Coyote, ‘Do not touch that black bug; and do not eat the mesquite beans. It is dangerous to harm anything that came safe through the flood.’ So Coyote went on, but presently he came to the black bug. He stopped and ate it up. Then he went on to the mesquite beans. He stopped and looked at them a while, and then said, 'I will just taste one and that will be all.' But he stood there and ate and ate until he had eaten them all up.
When the Indian stopped talking, some stupid fool would ask, 'What happened to Coyote after he ate the black bug and mesquite beans?' He'd smile and say, 'His stomach swelled up and he died.'"
The blessed sound of a horse whinnying outside filtered through the window. Thank God, you're back.
Grange bounded into the room. The boy focused on his mother lying in the bed. "She's dead, ain't she?" Hat in hand, he walked toward her, his face scrunched into a mask of anguish. "No! No!"
"Grange, lower your voice. Calm down. She's not dead."
He dropped to his knees and expelled a long breath. "But the buzzards...."
"What?"
"Buzzards were circling the house when we rode in."
The Indian shuffled into the room. "Buzzards know ghost in house. Dead is dead."
Coy shoved to his feet and pushed the chair back under the window to make room for the tall red man dressed in a breechcloth, deerskin leggings and knee-high moccasins. His salt and pepper hair was tied back in a tuft with a red string, framing a face marred by deep lines and crevices. In one hand, he carried a pig-hoof rattle, in the other a lance decorated with painted bands and designs in forest green, sun yellow and blood red. He wore an eagle-bone whistle around his neck and more bells and whistles hung from a hide belt around his waist.
When his dark eyes settled on the skinned snake at the end of the bed, he stretched out an arm, picked it up and draped it around his neck to join the eagle-bone whistle. Coy couldn't remember seeing a more statuesque, regal-looking man.
Kajame peered down on Jesse and seemed to take everything in at once—her breathing, the sick pallor of her skin, and the fine bead of perspiration clinging to her forehead. He touched her head, both shoulders and then her abdomen.
Without missing a beat, he closed his eyes and emitted a deep, resonant chant. E ya ha w... ye, he ye ye he ye... ho w ... ye. E ya ha w... ye, he ye ye he
ye... ho we ... ye.
Beneath hooded eyes, Coy snuck a glance at Grange. His panicked expression had turned to one of mild worry. Silence descended for a brief time before the Indian shook the pig-rattle over Jesse's body, uttered a few guttural words and slowly turned his head of dark hair to the rocking chair under the window. Shifting his body toward it, he let loose with another chant, one that seemed direct and commanding, "Ha ai ya ha ai yo yu! Ha ai ya ha ai yo yu!"
Coy knew in an instant he was banishing the ghost from the room. A surreal ambiance smothered the air and the fine hairs on Coy's neck stood at attention. He didn't know what to expect next. Would the chair implode; would they hear a noise if the apparition departed? Long seconds later, after nothing significant happened, nothing a sighted person could see anyway, Kajame dug into a pouch around his waist and added a pinch of black powder to the glass of water resting on the small table. He lifted Jesse's head and allowed the liquid to trickle down her throat.
"Snakeroot," Grange said and looked at Coy. After Kajame and Grange exchanged a few Yaqui words, the boy spoke again. "He says he will stay with her, continue the chants and give her more snake root soon. There's nothing more he can do but wait until the sun comes up. He says the gods will decide now."
Coy and Grange walked softly from the room and settled into chairs at the kitchen table. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Nine
Nightmares swamped her brain, flew in on the wings of delusion. Jesse swam toward the light, only to be sucked under again into the black void. Pain, intense and unbearable, spread outward to every limb. Green lizards and red-winged creatures chased her through a dense forest, their laser-sharp tongues licking at her heels. Run, Jesse, run!
She tripped over her feet and tumbled down a slope of dead and decayed leaves, the fetid, damp earth spiraling up her nose. Get up, run, girl! An echoed shot rang out and somewhere in the muffled tunnel, horses screamed. From her prone position, she turned her head, the words stuck in her parched throat, help me, someone help me.
