several rattlers entwined together. He tried not to think of how many there were. He tried not to dwell on the consequences of being bitten. He thought only of Evelyn, and of not letting anything stop him from reaching her.
The next stretch was clear of water and almost clear of rattlers. He ran faster. Well to the east a mound caught his eye, a mound where none had been before. He couldn’t quite make out what it was and he couldn’t keep staring at it with snakes to watch out for.
A lot of small pools and puddles appeared, pools and puddles writhing with serpents.
Zach stopped. It would be easier to go around. He turned toward the lake and glanced at the strange mound again—and his pulse quickened. He had realized what it was; a horse, on its side. And when he squinted he could make out a part of a saddle.
“Evelyn,” Zach said, and flew toward it. He didn’t care that there were rattlesnakes in his path. He didn’t see his sister and that meant she must be down, too, and nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to stop him from reaching her. He slashed a rattler, sidestepped, cut another, took several long bounds and cleared a moving rug of scaly death. He landed, swung, rent a reptilian head, spun, chopped another in half and was in motion even as the blow landed.
He didn’t dare stop, didn’t dare relax, didn’t dare relent. He must stay on the move so he was harder to bite. Speed and reflexes, they were the key. He mustn’t think. He mustn’t worry about Evelyn. He hacked. He cut. Always in motion, always slicing. There were so many snakes. So very many. For every serpent he slew there were ten more.
A big one with green markings lashed at his foot. He jumped and struck as he alighted, his tomahawk splitting its skull as neatly as a butcher knife split red meat. Then he was on the move again, running, jumping, dodging, evading. He was closer to the horse, but he couldn’t look at it. Not yet. Not until he was there.
More rattlers bared his way. Those heading for the forest paid no attention to him unless he came near them and then most hissed and a few coiled, but they didn’t attack. He cleared a knot of ten or more and in front of him were a pair of thick ones, one on his right and the other on his left, big and coiled and their tails buzzing chorus. Both struck at his legs and Zach leaped straight up as high as he could leap. The two snakes flashed under his moccasins. He came down on top of them, slamming his right foot on the neck of the one and his left foot onto the head of the other. Instantly he speared the Bowie in and drove the tomahawk down. Then he was off and running, jumping, spinning.
Chickory Worth couldn’t understand it. He had been biten twice. The bites hurt like the dickens. But he was still breathing. Even more amazing, except for where he’d been bitten, he didn’t feel anything. He wasn’t numb or tingly or itchy or in much pain.
Emala had her hands clasped to her bosom and was rocking on her knees and praying at the top of her lungs. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Hear me, Lord. I beg you. Spare him. He’s my only boy. Don’t let him die by no serpents. Serpents are Satan’s brood and the Bible says that those who have faith are proof against their poison.”
“Please, Ma,” Chickory said.
Emala raised her hands over her head. “I pray my faith is true. I pray you will heal him. I pray for your blessin’ in this as I pray for your blessin’ in all there is. Please, Lord, help us.”
Samuel had stopped sucking and was sitting with his hands propped behind him. Spittle glistened on his lower lip and chin. “I don’t know as I got it all out, but I tried my best, Son.”
“I know you did, Pa.”
Randa hunkered and examined Chickory’s leg. “There’s no swellin’ yet. I think I heard they swell sometimes.”
“How do you feel?” Samuel asked.
“Except for where they bit, I feel fine. I don’t feel nothin’.”
“Nothin’?”
“Not a thing, Pa. It could be you got all the poison out. It could be you saved my life.”
“Or it could be there wasn’t any poison to begin with,” Samuel said. “I didn’t taste any. But then, I ain’t exactly sure what snake poison tastes like.”
“I was bit,” Chickory said.
“Sure you were. But Nate King told me that rattlers don’t always…” Samuel stopped. “What was the word he used? Oh. Yes. Rattlers don’t always inject their poison. Sometimes they just bite and that’s all.”
“Please hear me, God!” Emala wailed. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. Unto thee, oh Lord, do I lift up my soul. I will praise thee, oh Lord, with all my heart. Have mercy upon me, oh Lord. Have mercy upon my son.”
“Emala,” Samuel said.
“Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my King and my God, for unto thee will I pray. My voice shalt thou hear in the mornin’, oh Lord.”
“Emala?”
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table—”
Samuel gripped her arm. “Stop your caterwaulin’ and listen to me, woman.”
Emala opened her eyes and recoiled as if he had slapped her. “Did you just call my prayin’
“He’s all right.”
“Here I am, tryin’ the best I know how to persuade the Lord to help us, and you go and blaspheme.” Emala shrugged off his hand. “You’re beginnin’ to worry me, Samuel Worth. You truly are. Don’t you give a fig about your eternal soul?”
“Chickory is all right.”
“The Lord don’t like blasphemin’. It says so right in the Bible. He’ll forgive a heap of things but not that. You’d best get on your knees and beg him to forgive you or—” Emala blinked. “What did you say?”
“Our son is fine.”
“He is?” Emala turned to Chickory, new tears shimmering in her eyes. “Is that true? The poison isn’t makin’ you turn all blue and choke on your tongue?”
“The bites sting some, is all,” Chickory answered. “But I’m breathin’ fine.”
“Land sakes.” Emala grasped Samuel’s arm and nearly jerked him off balance. “Do you know what this is?”
“We were lucky,” Samuel said.
Emala vigorously shook her head. “None are so blind as those that won’t see. Luck had nothin’ to do with it.” She reverently put her hand on Chickory’s calf and said in awe, “This was a miracle.”
“What?” Samuel said.
“You heard me. A miracle. Just like in the Bible when Jesus healed the sick and Moses parted the Red Sea.” Emala ran her fingers over the bites as if caressing them. “Our very own miracle right here in our family. That I should live to see somethin’ so wondrous.”
“The snakes only bit him, is all,” Samuel explained.
“Of course they bit him. I can see the holes.”
“No. I mean they bit him, but they didn’t get their poison into him,” Samuel said. “Haven’t you been payin’ attention? That’s why he’s not dyin’.”
“He’s not dyin’ because the Lord heard my prayer.” Emala raised her arms on high. “We must give thanks. When we go to church we—” She stopped and her eyes widened. “Glory be. I just realized. We don’t have a church to go to.”
“Ministers don’t come to the Rockies,” Samuel said. “I doubt there will be a church hereabouts for a hundred years or better.”
“We can’t have that,” Emala said. “We need a house of worship. I bet if we had one, the Kings and the McNairs would come and maybe those Nansusequas if we asked them real nice, even if they are heathens.”
