After dressing, he decided to inspect the woodland plants under massive oaks and soaring pine trees. Despite the constant shade, the underbrush was thick with scrub trees, cedar bushes, and vines, some he couldn’t put a name to.
A few yards upstream, tree stumps indicated a clearing for an apparent picnic area. Bright sunlight flooded the spot, and a thick rope tied to a branch overhanging a deep blue spring marked a swimming hole. This was the first sign of human habitation he’d seen in these woods.
Then he spied a blackberry patch. It grew at the edge of the open sunlight, and the large black fruit glistened.
Though he wasn’t hungry, having eaten a huge breakfast at a quaint café in Abbeville, Jake loved blackberries. He stomped through the underbrush, thick with leaves and pine straw, hoping to warn snakes and other varmints in his path, keeping his gaze glued to forest floor.
The moment he reached out to the first hanging berries, the ground gave way under his right foot. A scream tore from his throat loud enough to scare varmints for miles around as he fell on his backside.
Pain sliced through his leg and radiated like liquid fire. The hinges of a trap had caught his booted leg only a few inches from his foot. When he could breathe, he inspected the trap. It was affixed by a chain that snaked off to the nearest pine trunk. He lifted the chain, covered by leaves and twigs, and found it hooked onto the trap and around the trunk by locks.
If he could shoot the chain loose from the trunk, he might stand a chance to get to a doctor before he bled to death.
Blood was already oozing out of the punctures in his boot and covering the ground. Had it severed an artery? If it had, he was a goner.
His hand shook as he drew his Colt. This would take a steady shot. He drew in a steady breath and, ignoring the pain, took aim. The bullet ricocheted off the lock and whizzed by his head.
Great, he’d kill himself before he had a chance to bleed out. A much easier death, though. He fired again, this time aiming for the chain instead of the lock. The bullet nicked an iron link, but it held.
He fired again and again until he had only one bullet left and doubted, even if it hit the ragged chain, it would break the link. He whipped his belt off and formed a tourniquet above the boot. New fire licked up his leg.
Frustration and pain took hold, wringing tears from his eyes. He didn’t want to die like this. He wasn’t ready to die at all.
When I’m in trouble I will call on the Lord. He recalled reading something like that last night, and if he ever needed the Lord, this was the time.
He’d read enough of the Bible to give him some hope God would help. But why would God hear him. He’d spent most of his twenty-four years avoiding religious stuff. To his way of thinking, it was nothing but a killjoy. Something better left to old men who didn’t have anything left to look forward to. But he remembered that thief on the cross.
That fellow was probably a worse sinner than Jake, and yet Jesus had accepted his repentance.
For the first time since he’d become a grown man, Jake cried out loud. God, if you’ll get me out of this mess, I’m going to listen to You. I’ll change my ways. I have one bullet left, if you want me to live, break that chain. If not, take me into Your Kingdom.”
That wasn’t much of a prayer, but he didn’t know what else to say, and the loss of blood made him dizzy. He’d soon pass out and not be able to shoot at all. With his last bit of strength, he steadied his arm and fired.
Missed the chain completely. Well, that was his answer.
What did he expect? He closed his eyes as his chin sagged on his chest. All he could pray now was for a thief-on-the-cross forgiveness and hope that was enough to get him into heaven.
“He’s over here, Thad. He’s caught in your trap.”
Jake’s head snapped up at the boy’s voice.
Within seconds two tow-headed, overall-clad boys came into view. “Heard your shots, mister, and figured you were in trouble, but don’t worry. We’ll get you out.”
The taller boy unlocked the chain holding the trap and released the hinges. Pain sent waves of nausea into Jake’s throat as the boy pulled the blades away. Blood spilled from his boot. He swallowed the bile choking him. “Just get me on my horse back there and take me to the nearest doctor.”
The boys looked at each other, and the older one spoke. “The nearest doctor is in Abbeville. I don’t think you’d make it that far. We’ll take you to our house, and I’ll go fetch the doc. Juliette can clean you up and stop the bleeding.”
Jake wanted to ask who Juliette was, but didn’t have the strength. The other boy brought his horse, and, with a great deal of grunts and moans, they managed to get Jake in the saddle. He tried to take the reins, but slumped forward as darkness closed in.
***
The sound of nickering horses drew Juliette from the kitchen to the parlor window, Annie on her heels. Ever since their trip to Dr. Kane’s, the girl had followed Juliette like a new puppy.
Why were the boys returning so soon? Mr. Blythe didn’t put up with tardiness, and they needed the income Thad and Corky brought in.
She lifted the curtains and scowled. Three horses. Corky was riding Big Red, leading Sugar Pie by the reins. Thad rode an unknown gray, seated behind a man slumped over the horse’s head.
“Annie, go to your room and stay there.” Juliette threw aside the dishrag wadded in hand and scurried out the door.
Thad brought the stranger’s horse right up to the edge of the porch. Juliette got a good look at why the man couldn’t hold himself up. Blood dripped from his fancy western boot at an alarming rate, though a belt formed a tourniquet just above the injury.
“I’m going for the doc.” Thad slipped from his mount and exchanged Sweetie Pie’s reins for Big Red’s. He climbed into the saddle.
Juliette couldn’t argue that the man needed a doctor, but how was she to get him inside? Corky tethered Sweetie Pie and looked to her for instructions.
She reached for the stranger’s horse and tied it as closely as possible to the porch post. “Who is he and what happened?”
“Don’t know his name, but he stepped into Harp’s hog trap.” He referred to the bear trap Harp used to catch wild boors for his barbecues.
Juliette’s glance fell to the injured man’s leg. It didn’t look all that bad, if you discounted all the blood covering his boot, but she’d seen the trap, and that boot might be the only thing holding the man’s foot on. “How could this have happened? Why was the trap set?”
“Thad and me set it up to catch that bear down by the boil where the blackberries grow. We posted a sign warning folks, but it must have blown away.”
Juliette knew the place well. The deep blue spring the boys called a boil constantly bubbled up like a boiling pot of water, though it was ice cold. But what bear? The only bear was the one she’d made up to explain Annie’s hysteria-triggered muteness.
She couldn’t think about that with this poor man’s leg dripping blood, but with him unconscious, how were they to get him inside? “Keep him from toppling off until I get back.”
After propping the door open with the iron angel they used for a stop, she raced through the house to the room she hadn’t been in since her father’s death. Harp had left it surprisingly clean. She grabbed the quilt from the foot of the bed and, in a hustle, retraced her steps, sparing a glance to Annie’s bedroom door. She wouldn’t be any help.
Juliette flung the quilt out over the front steps, making the horse shake his head.
“Come around here, Corky. We’re going to slide him off and lower him on the quilt. Let’s try to keep his injured leg from touching the ground.” Her younger brother was only twelve, and his skinny frame didn’t have any more strength than she had.
As she tugged the man’s torso to wrap her arm around him, he lifted his head and stared at her with brownish-green marbled eyes. He blinked as if trying to focus. “We’ve got to get you inside, sir. If you’ll just lean on me.”
She�
�d positioned the horse so he’d come off on his good left foot. As the injured right one slipped over the saddle, the man yelled in pain and his head lulled.
“Corky, catch his bad leg and hold onto it as gently as you can as I lower him on the quilt.”
The man groaned and tried to stand on his own. “Lean on me, I said.” She gritted the words, and as he obeyed, she staggered against his weight.
Lord, give me strength. Don’t let me drop him. Not for my sake but for his.
Her muscles strained with the effort, but somehow, between her and Corky, they got him on the quilt without jarring the leg.
She stopped to catch her breath. “Corky, come around and take the other corner of the quilt. We’re going to drag him to the bedroom.”
By the time Corky got in position, she was able to breathe normally. “Slowly and gently, pull.”
The man grunted every time they cleared a step, and she wished he’d fall unconsciousness again. Already, blood soaked the quilt where his injured leg lay.
“How are we going to get him on the bed?” Corky asked as they got the poor fellow inside the bedroom.
“We can’t.” Juliette reached behind her to grab a pillow and, getting down on her knees, lifted the man’s head and shoved the pillow underneath. She looked up at Corky. “He’ll have to lie here until Thad and the doctor come.” She huffed until her lungs stopped straining for air.
“But we can’t wait until they get here to loosen that tourniquet. I want you to go find the tin snips.”
“What for?”
“His boots are a thick leather. I can’t cut it off with a knife without cutting him. I’m hoping the snips with those short blades will help to slice through an inch at the time.”
“You can’t pull it off? I could help.”
She shook her head. “No, we don’t know how badly his leg is cut. For all we know his foot could come off with the boot.”
“Ugh.” Corky blanched and turned to do her bidding.
“Wait a minute. After you fetch the snips, I want you to look in the pantry. There’s a loose board in the back. Pull it up and you’ll find a flask of whiskey. Bring me that and all the ice in the icebox. While you’re in the kitchen, fire up the stove and put on a pot of water to boil.”
She remembered Pa had always used ice to stop bleeding. She hoped there was enough to stem the flow of this man’s injuries so she could loosen, if not remove the belt cording his leg. She’d read in some book about a doctor who’d said cutting blood flow from a limb for too long could damage it beyond healing.
Amazing the variety of things you could learn by reading books. And the idle times in the library left her with plenty of time to read.
To escape.
Corky returned with the whiskey. It was well aged. Her father had brought it in for medicinal purposes, he’d said. And Grace had hid it from Harp. Juliette hadn’t thought of it since her step-mother had died.
“I brought a glass too.” Corky handed her the full bottle and glass. “I thought you’d want to measure how much you give him.”
“Thank you, Corky. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She took the items from his thin outstretched arms.
“Least I can do since it’s my fault—mine and Thad’s—this stranger got hurt.”
No. It was her fault, and she couldn’t even let him know. She forced her lips into a smile. “You couldn’t have known. While the water is heating, would you get this man’s saddle bag and let’s see if there’s something to tell us where he’s from and who his folks are. So we can notify them.”
Corky nodded and dashed back out the door.
Notify his wife. If she were his wife, she’d sure want to know. As she worked to loosen the whiskey bottle’s cork, she studied the unconscious man. He was so good-looking he probably had a wife.
Something in her didn’t like that thought, but she brushed it aside. Why should she care if he had a wife?
After pouring two fingers worth of whiskey into the glass, she slipped a hand under his head. “Mister, I want you drink this. It should help with the pain—or so I’ve heard.”
He groaned and opened dark, tortured eyes. When she touched his mouth with the rim of the glass, his parched lips parted, and he swallowed all the whiskey in one gulp like a man familiar with the brew.
She sat back on her haunches, a little dart of disappointment piercing her. She didn’t like men who drank, but had to admit the whiskey was bringing him around. He blinked several times, his stare fixed on her face.
His mouth worked like he tried to say something, and she leaned forward to catch anything that might fall from his lips. “What’s your name?” she asked.
His brow furrowed as if he had to think about it. “What…is…yours?”
“I’m Miss Kendal.” When he didn’t respond, she urged. “Juliette. Now tell me yours.”
“Ro…me…o.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m glad you can still have some humor after what you’ve been though. But I don’t believe you’re Romeo. What’s your real name?”
“Jake.” Despite the pain in his blood-shot eyes, his lips quirked into a grin.
The gesture compelled her to reach out and touch his forehead. Just to check for fever, her brain told her, but something else made her brush back the chestnut curls. He was younger than she’d first thought, and she was pretty sure he didn’t have a wife. The glint of admiration in his look convinced her of that.
She’d seen admiration in other men’s eyes, but somehow, in a way she didn’t understand, this was different. Yet what did it matter? This man was a stranger, just passing through, and anyway, what man would want to get involved with her and her secret?
Corky broke the spell. “Here’s his saddlebag, Jul, and the tin snips. I’ll get that ice now and check on the water.”
She pushed back, sending a glance over her shoulder to where her brother set the bag and snips within her reach. “Chip up the ice into pieces—not too big—about the size to put in lemonade. The icepick is in the pan with the ice block.”
“All right.”
“And on your way back, stop in my room and bring all the white rags from my rag basket. It’s in the corner. And look under my washstand and bring that bottle of witch hazel. Bring all the towels, too.”
“Okay, Jul.”
She took the snips in hand and examined the situation. Could she get the boot off without causing more bleeding? Would there be enough ice to stop the bleeding? No way to tell without getting this boot off. “Jake, try not to move. I’m going to try to cut your boot off. Sorry to ruin such nice boots, but there’s no other way.”
The cords in Jake’s neck strained as he looked down at his foot. “Ruined already.” He relaxed against the pillow and closed his eyes.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the snips sliced through the leather easier than she feared. But it still required some effort, and she had to go slowly to get the boot off without further injuring the leg.
The metallic smell of blood roiled her stomach, and she was tempted to take a swig of the whiskey to settle her stomach. Jake’s pale face urged her to give him another drink before she removed the boot.
She poured three fingers of whiskey into the glass. “Jake, I’m going to bother you again to drink this.” He opened his eyes into slits as she lifted his head and put the glass to his parted lips. He drank the contents in two swallows.
Corky returned with the items she’d requested, including a pan of warm water. “Annie is crying.”
She examined the ice. “Annie will have to wait. You’re going to have to go to the Blythe’s icehouse and get some more ice.” The Blythes lived about fifteen minutes away by horse. “Take Sweetie Pie.”
Juliette swiped the sweat from her face and scooted to a better position to slip the boot off. Jake was so quiet she wondered if he’d dropped back into unconsciousness. She opened the slit side and coughed, forcing the bile back down her throat. His boot was full of cong
ealed blood. Nevertheless, she reached her hand in to hold his heel while pulling the toe of the boot with her other hand.
Jake’s clenched jaw told of the pain he endured, but she couldn’t wait any longer. The precious ice was melting. As gently as possible, she rolled the blood-soaked sock off.
She was glad her breakfast had had time to be digested, or it would surely have come up as she washed the blood off his leg and her hands.
It took nearly every rag Corky had brought, and the pan of water had turned cranberry red, but she finally got the leg and foot clean.
The deep purple hue of Jake’s foot had her worried. Using her longest rag, a left-over muslin remnant, she loosely wrapped the wounds and dropped the ice inside. “Jake are you awake? I’m going to loosen the tourniquet now. It might hurt.”
He opened his eyes. “It already hurts, honey. Might as well go ahead, but loosen it slowly.”
She unbuckled the belt and slackened it inch-by-inch. Every muscle in Jake’s torso bunched, and he clenched his hands at his sides, but to his credit, he didn’t yell. The ice must be doing its job because not much blood seeped through the rag circling his wounds.
His foot kept that sickly purple hue, though. Juliette kept loosening the belt until it was completely slack. She leaned back to relieve her own cramping muscles and lifted her gaze from Jake’s leg to his face. A days old stubble showed in stark contrast to his pale skin.
She wished she’d gotten Corky to bring the clock in here. The light slanting through the window told her it was way past noon. “Do you have a watch, Jake?”
He tried to reach for his pocket. After watching him fumble for several seconds, Juliette caught his hand and slipped hers inside the pocket—in normal circumstances a scandalous thing to do. She extracted the watch and snapped it open.
Almost three o’clock. It would probably take another hour before Thad and the doctor got here, if they weren’t delayed. But Corky should be getting back. The ice had almost completely melted, and the blood had started to flow.
She was about to tighten the tourniquet again when she heard Sugar Pie’s whinny, and a few seconds later, the slamming of the back door.
Escaped (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 4) Page 3
