The poacher fired again, and Ben rolled to the side. At that same moment, movement to his right caught his eye. He twisted to raise his rifle, but before he could fire, another man towered over him, the sun behind him blocking out his features. Ben rolled out of the way when the man brought the butt-end of his rifle down with the intent to club him in the head.
The blow never came. The earth beneath him crumbled and gave way as Ben’s body broke through a thin layer of crust. He threw his hands forward to grope for anything to prevent him from sinking. Steam and scalding hot water soaked the britches of his left leg. His right leg was almost impossible to move due to the pain from the bullet lodged in his thigh. Ben screamed in agony. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up as more chunks of earth gave way.
The pain became almost unbearable, and darkness descended over him as stars swam before his eyes. A man’s hand reached for him and pulled him from certain death. Ben stared up and squinted into the sunlight, gasping for air as the excruciating burning sensation in his leg threatened to consume his entire body. Before he lost complete consciousness, the golden wisps of a woman’s long hair tickled his face as she hovered over him.
Chapter 2
“Why didn’t you just leave him in that hole? It would have looked like an accident.”
“Accident? With a bullet in his leg? Why couldn’t you do what you were told and only take one elk, rather than shooting as if a horde of Injuns was after you? I don’t want the army on our tail.”
“There were three bucks there, all begging for the taking.”
Clara Youngblood stood silently beside Uncle Eli’s horse. The exchange between her uncle and her cousin, Max, became more heated by the moment. Max clutched at his arm. The fabric of his shirt was blood-stained, clearly from a wound the soldier had inflicted on him.
“Now we have this mess on our hands.” Uncle Eli waved a hand at the unconscious man on the ground. When he had pulled the soldier from the hole that had opened up, as if the earth wanted to swallow him, he’d dropped him the moment he’d dragged him to more stable ground.
Uncle Eli had almost lost his balance when the crust gave way and nearly ended up stepping into the widening hole as well, but his reflexes had been quick enough to avoid the mishap. The ground around them was dangerous, and Clara’s heart began to beat faster. Her eyes darted to the ground. Was it safe to stand here, or would the earth open up more and take her, too?
“Get back on the horse, Clara,” Uncle Eli had barked when she’d stepped up beside him to look at the unconscious man. Or was he dead? She shuddered. If he wasn’t dead already, he surely would die if they didn’t help him. The thought sent a wave of fear through her.
She took in several deep breaths, then shook her head and tore her eyes away from the man, staring off into the trees instead. Birds chirped as if there was nothing in the world to worry about, and a gentle breeze caressed her heated cheeks.
She glanced around and took a few cautious steps back. What if the earth’s crust was weak where she stood? There was no telling in this area. She swallowed back her mounting fear. The urge to flee became stronger by the second as her gaze drifted back to the solider lying on the ground.
“I say we get out of here. Where there’s one, there’s bound to be more of them soldiers around.” Cousin Max sneered as he looked down on the man.
Uncle Eli nodded. “All right. Best to leave him here and get going. If we ride through the marsh back to camp, no one will find our tracks. I don’t need trouble with the army.” He glared at his son. “And trouble’s exactly what we’ll get if they find out you were killing those elk, and now we have a dead soldier on our hands, too.”
Max scoffed. “I’m not the one who shot that Yankee. Besides, you told me to kill that elk.”
Uncle Eli glowered. He marched up to Max, his face inches from his son’s. “I only needed one elk, not an entire herd,” he sneered. “Now mount up. If there are more soldiers around, I want to be far away from this man when they find him.”
Max glanced around at the three carcasses lying a short distance away. “What about the elk?”
“Leave them. If the army comes sniffing around, I don’t want any part of those animals in our possession. We’ll have to try for another one some other time.”
Max mounted his horse, but not before he paused and leered at Clara. She met his eyes, then quickly averted them when the cold smile turned into a familiar taunting sneer. He leaned forward, so only she could hear his whispered words.
“The ground’s about to give way where you’re standing.”
Clara pulled herself into the saddle, ignoring the taunt from her cousin. He laughed, but thankfully Uncle Eli strode up at that moment and climbed into the saddle behind her. At least he wasn’t as bad as her cousin. Max would be gloating happily later for having dragged her through this dangerous part of the territory and witnessing this soldier’s death. She quietly shook her head. With her last bit of willpower, she forced the tears back.
It had been Max’s suggestion that she come along while they went hunting for elk. As much as she’d tried to put on a brave face, he’d seen her fear the other day when they’d come near some of the geysers and hot water pools. He loved nothing more than to tease and taunt her and feed her fears. Forcing her to ride through these hot water areas was just one more way for him to torment her.
Ignoring her cousin, pretending his jeers didn’t affect her, was often enough to make him stop. Uncle Eli sometimes stepped in and told him to quit, too. Not that her uncle was much better. Although he didn’t taunt her, he’d often told her that she was worthless because, according to him, she didn’t help more in the family business.
Uncle Eli was good at peddling wares and his useless cure-all medicine to unsuspecting folks in the towns they passed through. As much as she’d tried to please her uncle when she was younger, she’d never been able to convince anyone to purchase the concoction or be enthusiastic about it.
Her mother had been a good actress. She’d been pretty, and folks were drawn to her. She and Eli made a good team. Mama drew folks to their wagon with her looks and charm. Unfortunately, Clara had neither her mother’s beauty nor her friendly personality.
“You’re my special little miracle, Clara,” Mama had whispered to her when she was a little girl, rocking her at night and holding her in a protective embrace. “My beautiful little princess, and I love you more than anything.”
“Why do we have to do what Uncle Eli tells us to do?”
“Uncle Eli takes care of us, sweetheart. He provides for us. Without him, we wouldn’t have a home or family.”
Home had always been their traveling wagon.
“You hold your chin up high, and let everyone see how strong you are, Clara. I know your cousin loves to tease you, but don’t ever let him break you down.”
Mama had been the only one who’d protected her from her older cousin’s constant taunts and teasing, and the nasty words of some of the folks they encountered. At the time, Clara hadn’t known the meaning of the words, or understood why women held their heads together and whispered when they saw her. She understood now, but it didn’t matter.
She loved her mother, no matter what, because Mama was the strongest, most beautiful person Clara had ever known, but sadness had haunted her mother’s eyes. Clara had often heard her cry in her sleep, but never in her presence.
As the years went by, her understanding of her mother’s true strength had become crystal clear, for Clara suffered from the same affliction that had plagued her mother. Not even Uncle Eli’s cure-all for all ailments had been able to save her. He made her drink the concoction, but it hadn’t done a thing to make her feel better.
Her mother’s words of love and encouragement while Clara was little were her only source of comfort, even now, years after her passing. Even though she’d only been ten years old when Mama had died, Uncle Eli had made Clara do what her mother had done so well – draw the customers and mesmeriz
e them with her smile.
If she’d had a lick of sense, she’d have run away from her uncle and cousin a long time ago, but like a dog on a chain, Clara was tied to the only relatives she had. Uncle Eli made sure to remind her often that she’d never make it far on her own if the thought to leave ever crossed her mind. No one would want to put up with her affliction. Max simply enjoyed bullying her as much as possible.
When Uncle Eli kicked the horse into a run, Clara glanced over her shoulder at the man lying on the ground. He was going to die. Hopefully, for his sake, he wouldn’t regain consciousness.
Clara scrambled from the horse and hurried toward the wagon as soon as they reached their camp. Scamp scurried out from under the wagon and ran toward her, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out. He came as far as the rope around his neck would allow. Max had tied the dog to the wagon wheel earlier before they’d ridden off.
“I can always bring him along,” he’d jeered. “Would be fun to see what he does if I toss him into a hot pool. I wonder how long it would take him to die.”
Clara had ignored her cousin and had made sure herself that the dog was tied securely. He was the only friend she had in this world, and her only source of comfort.
She rushed to the canine and wrapped her arms around his shaggy neck. Scamp licked her cheeks and nearly knocked her over. Clara smiled and fumbled with the rope to release him, then scurried into the wagon. Scamp followed her and sat beside her, whining and dropping his head into her lap.
She treasured these moments alone, away from the two men who not only lacked understanding, but also compassion. Here she could allow her feelings to come to the surface and escape the tormenting jeers and harassing looks from her uncle and her cousin.
“We shoulda jest let him cook in that hot water. No one would have found him. He’s gonna die anyway if he ain’t dead already.” Cousin Max’s voice drifted from outside. Clara shook her head and held her hands over her ears. Her cousin’s mean streak was getting worse each year.
“I think there’s a patrol cabin not far from here. They’ll find him and if he’s still alive, they can deal with him,” Uncle Eli answered.
The wounded solider’s image flashed through Clara’s mind. She unfolded herself and stood on shaky legs. She had to do something, or it would haunt her forever, just like the death of her mother haunted her after all these years.
Scamp whined louder and raised his paw, digging at her leg for attention. Clara’s fingers raked through the dog’s fur, and she leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if hanging on for dear life. The dog sat quietly. He always seemed to know that he was her source of comfort.
Images of the soldier’s face as he broke through the earth’s crust, suffering in the blistering steam and hot water, continued to haunt her. On limbs as watery and shaky as pancake batter, she rummaged through her supplies for some clean linens. She grabbed a canteen and some salve she kept in a tin, then reached for a sack of flour. Scrambling to leave the wagon, her eyes fell on the butcher knife lying on top of the breadbox. She blinked and shook her head. Could she remove the bullet from his leg?
Before giving herself any time to think about it, she snatched up the knife and wrapped it in her linens, then climbed over the tailgate. A welcoming calm spread through her.
Uncle Eli sat by the fire he’d started, glancing at her. He never cared if she strayed when they were camped, because he knew she’d never go far. Max sat next to him. He had his shirt off, inspecting the wound in his arm. Uncle Eli pulled a knife from the fire.
“Hold still, Max, while I dig this bullet out.”
Max grimaced but leered at Clara. “Maybe she should do it.”
Uncle Eli looked up. “Where are you going, girl?”
“I’d like to be alone for a while.” Clara kept her head down, averting her eyes.
Uncle Eli grunted. “Be back in time to fix supper.”
She nodded. Looking at Scamp, she motioned with her hand to beckon the dog to her side. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I’ll take you with me, but you have to stay on a leash. I can’t risk losing you.” She hugged the dog a final time, then slipped the rope around his neck.
Scamp panted happily, his shaggy tail wagging as he fell in step beside her. Clara scurried into the nearby trees, then headed back in the direction where they’d left the soldier. Her heart began to pound faster again, and the dreaded fear spread through her once more.
She gripped tightly to the items she carried, and especially to the end of the rope that kept Scamp securely at her side. No matter how frightened she was, she had to do this. Before she reached the fragile earth and geyser area, she tied Scamp to a tree and gave him a final pat on the head.
“I’ll be back shortly. You have to stay here for your own safety.”
The dog whined but sat obediently to wait for her return. Picking her way carefully over the soil that might send her to her death, Clara approached the area where they’d left the soldier. A horse grazed nearby. She headed for it and grabbed for the reins. A ‘U’ and ‘S’ were branded in the horse’s shoulder, the brand of the US Cavalry.
Clara gave the horse a pat on the neck. Cautiously, she led the gelding closer to the man. The horse wouldn’t step somewhere unsafe. If its rider was alive, he’d need his horse, but he hadn’t moved.
Tethering the gelding to a dead tree stump, she took one tentative step after another toward the man. Her heart pounded faster with each movement. The uncertainty that was her constant companion threatened to rise up.
She focused on the man on the ground, not on the tightening in her chest. This man needed her help. He was far worse off than she. She wasn’t lying there dying, but what if she stepped wrong and fell through the crust into hot water?
“Enough,” she said out loud to quiet the voice inside her head, the one that never failed to convince her of imminent danger even when there was none.
Clara gritted her teeth. After what she’d witnessed today, she’d have a new irrational fear to add to her growing list. If the man was dead, she was risking her life for nothing.
She dropped to her knees beside the man. His face was pale and sallow-looking. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took, but it was a weak effort. She sighed in relief. Clara’s hands trembled as she unrolled the knife from the strips of linen and glanced at the man’s britches. The material around his right thigh was torn from Uncle Eli’s bullet and stained crimson. The left pant leg was soaking wet and clung to him.
A shudder passed through Clara, but she swallowed back the rising panic. She took a deep breath, then pulled the man’s boots off, eliciting a slight moan from him and some resistance. She tugged until his feet were free, then cut away at his britches. Swallowing hard, she ripped at the torn fabric to expose the bullet hole.
His left pant leg was harder to get off. It had been soaked in the scalding water, and no doubt continued to burn his skin even after he’d been pulled out of the hole. Gently, she separated the fabric from his scalded skin. The soldier’s left leg was red and raw, from his foot to the top of his thigh, and blisters had formed on his skin.
Clara poured flour over the burns of his left leg. Steeling herself, she dug at the bullet wound in the other leg, until she finally had it out. The man moaned louder and stirred once but didn’t regain consciousness. The wound oozed red with blood, and she poured some water over it, then plugged the hole with the salve she’d brought. Finally, she wrapped the leg in linen. When she was finished, she stood, trembling as much as before.
“That’s all I can do for you,” she whispered. Hopefully, he’d wake up and manage to get to his horse, which she’d left tied several yards away.
With a final glance at the soldier, she rushed back to camp. If her uncle or Max found out that she’d tried to help the soldier, Uncle Eli would lock her in the dark wagon for days, no doubt. Whether the man lived or died, at least her heart was a l
ittle lighter knowing that she’d tried to do the right thing.
Chapter 3
“Ben?”
The faint voice calling his name seemed far away. It sounded like someone had shouted through a narrow tube or tunnel. The words were distorted and echoed in Ben’s ears. It wasn’t her voice. It couldn’t be her voice. She’d sounded like a lovely songbird on a summer day. And those blue eyes. He’d never forget those blue eyes.
“Don’t leave. Please come back.”
Ben gritted his teeth as he moved his head to look up. The beautiful angel who’d hovered over him, talking in hushed tones and soothing his pain with her tender touch had vanished. He blinked to focus his eyes and reached his heavy arm out.
“Don’t leave.” His chest hurt from the effort of breathing and speaking. Nothing around him seemed real, as if he was floating on a dense cloud. His vision blurred, then cleared, then blurred again. Someone other than the angel leaned over him.
“Ben, it’s me, Michael. I’m going to get you to my folks’ place. You’re going to be all right, you hear? Stay with me.”
The voice faded in and out of earshot. Ben squinted and blinked to see better. The golden-haired angel had been replaced by a dark-haired figure. Ben nodded, then his head slumped to the ground as he closed his eyes.
Jolting and jarring brought him back from oblivion. He groaned as every little movement sent jabs of pain searing throughout every inch of his body. Hot pain shot through his right thigh and the lower part of his left leg. His foot felt as if he was stepping on hot coals.
Ben gritted his teeth. He opened his eyes to stare up at a blue sky. He was lying on some kind of travois. The rhythmic clopping of hooves behind him told him it was being pulled by a horse. He moved his lips, but his mouth and throat were so parched that no sound could escape. If only the jarring would stop so he could die in peace.
In His Thoughts Page 2
