spreading wide to tear at my throat.
Chapter Eight
Of all the ways to die, being slain by a badger has to qualify as unique.
I braced for the sensation of its fangs tearing my flesh and the warm gout of blood that would ensue. But suddenly the badger seemed to fly off me and swing around in midair. Then I saw that Zach had hold of its rear legs and had torn it off me. He released his hold, and the badger hit the ground with a thud and rolled.
I feared Zach had hurt it, but the animal was up in the blink of an eye. It snarled and hissed, then whirled and vanished down its hole with a speed that belied its size.
“Well,” I said, for lack of anything better. Zach picked up his rifle and turned to me. “You saved my life. I thank you.”
Zach simply stared.
“Say something,” I prompted.
“You are an idiot.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” Zach said. “You nearly got yourself killed, and for what? To spare an animal that was out to kill you? If that’s not being an idiot, I don’t know what is.”
“Really, now,” I said, offended.
“Try that stunt with a grizzly or a mountain lion, and I will bury what is left of you and laugh when I do it.”
“I would never get that close to either,” I responded indignantly. “I am not entirely without common sense.”
“A thimbleful isn’t much to brag about.” Zach squatted. “Let’s take a look at you.”
It was not as bad as it looked. My sleeve was ripped, but my wrist had been spared. Both shins were bloody and my pants torn, but the bites were not all that deep, and the bleeding had about stopped. “See?” I said, wincing. “I’ll live. There was no call to kill it.”
Zach was bent over my right leg, examining the wound. “I don’t like the looks of this one.”
“I will be in pain for a few days, but I will be fine,” I said. “It is not as if a couple of bites will kill me.”
“That’s just it,” Zach said. “They can.”
“I have been bitten before. It is nothing to get excited about.”
“Maybe not back East where there are plenty of doctors to tend you. But out here”—Zach gestured to encompass the wilderness—“just about any wound can land you in the grave.”
“Posh and poppycock,” I declared.
Zach regarded me much as you might regard a wayward child. “Evidently no one ever told you.”
“Told me what?” I was sure he was trying to put a scare into me for my insisting he spare the badger.
“About what kills more folks than anything else. It’s not guns or bows or lances or knives. It’s not claws or fangs or talons. It is the infection that sets in.”
“You exaggerate, sir.”
“For every man who dies of a bullet to the brain or the heart, nine more die from being shot in the leg or the arm. For every warrior who goes down from an arrow or a lance to a vital organ, nine more die from minor wounds. The cause is always the same. The blood turns foul.” Zach indicated my shins. “I’ve seen worse bites than these, sure. But that’s not the point. Even the smallest bite can become infected, and if it does, you’re as good as dead.”
He was so greatly in earnest that I grew alarmed. “You are serious? You are not pulling my leg?”
Zach surprised me by placing a hand on my shoulder. “I would never joke about a thing like this. We need to clean and bandage you, and pray to high heaven the rot in that badger’s mouth did not get into your blood.”
“The rot?” I repeated.
“All meat eaters have bits of rotting flesh between their teeth from the critters they have fed on. That’s what mixes with your blood and turns it putrid.”
Genuine fear washed through me. “I didn’t realize,” I said, my mouth going dry as the implications sank in.
“Most newcomers don’t.” Zach slipped an arm around me and assisted me in rising. He smiled in encouragement. “So long as you don’t come down with a fever, you won’t have anything to worry about.”
All night I tossed and turned. I was so hot, I was caked with sweat. I told myself it was because of my blankets, and toward morning I cast them off.
Zach was up before the sun rose and immediately came to my side. He saw I was awake. “How are you feeling?” he asked, pressing a palm to my brow.
“Tired, but otherwise fine.”
“You have a fever.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean I am infected,” I said. But I knew. I was just being pigheaded.
Zach went to one of his parfleches and rummaged inside. “My mother packed some herbs for me. She has considerable skill as a healer.”
“Herbs?” I said skeptically.
“Indians have cures for all sorts of ailments. Pine gum for boils. Sagebrush leaves for indigestion. Elderberry roots for inflammation.” Zach brought out a packet tied with twine and set it down. “A lot of their cures, the white man doesn’t know about.”
“Are there herbs in there that will help me?”
Zach began undoing the twine. “What the Shoshones call
“You are going to a lot of trouble on my account,” I remarked.
“Would you rather die?”
All that day I lay feverish and sweating. Zach applied poultices to my shins and made me drink a cup of tea every hour or so. I felt awful, slowing us up this way, but it could not be helped. I was too weak to ride.
That night I was worse. I hardly remember any of it except that I was constantly sweating and constantly shivering. How you can be hot and cold at the same time is a mystery, but I was. By morning I was so helpless, Zach had to tilt a tin cup to my lips to get the tea into me.
About the middle of the afternoon the fever broke. I became aware of the blue of the sky and white pillowy clouds and of the breeze on my face. I smelled my own sweat and longed for a bath. Licking my lips, I turned my head.
Zach was nowhere to be seen.
Panicked, I tried to rise on my elbows but couldn’t. For a few wild moments I feared he had deserted me. Yes, I should have known better. He had already demonstrated he was not the ogre he was reputed to be.
I licked my dry lips and croaked, “Zach? Zach? Where are you?” When there was no answer, my panic climbed. I struggled to sit up and was afflicted with dizziness. Then a shadow fell across me. I gave a violent start, convinced some beast had found me.
“What in the world is all the fuss about?”
I looked up. Zach had a small doe over his shoulder and was regarding me in puzzlement. “Where have you been?” I said.
“Off hunting.” Zach gave the body a thump. “You need meat, and a lot of it, to build your strength.”
I almost burst into tears.
“Are you all right?” Zach dropped the deer and knelt beside me. “I checked you earlier and would have sworn we beat the fever.”
“Why are you doing all this for me?” I foolishly asked.
Zach shrugged. “You need help.”
“But you hardly know me. And gossip has it that you hate whites, yet here you are, doctoring a white
