Elizabeth, holding Giles over her left shoulder, came outside on the back step. “A sick woman, Owen?”
“A man was bringing her down from the hills on a travois. I'd better see if we can give them a hand.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly, knowing that the hill people seldom came down toward Reunion. Then the frown disappeared and she smiled at her husband. “Of course, Owen. We can fix up the boys' room for her if you think it's necessary.”
“Probably it's not as bad as the boys made it out.” Then he waved to her and rode the awkward, iron-gaited mare around their small vegetable garden and toward the north.
He spotted the dusty, brush-scarred little bay through the trees, about a half hour's ride from the house. The saddle was empty. When Owen got closer he saw the man kneeling beside the pole travois. Why, he's not much more than a kid, he thought. And the girl, she can't be more than seventeen.
But when the man looked up, Owen saw the hard young face and dangerous eyes and knew that here was no mere boy. Quickly the man grabbed his shotgun and leveled the big bore at Owen's face.
“Stay where you are, mister!”
“I came to help,” Owen said.
“You a doctor?”
“No and from the looks of the girl I'd say she stands little chance of living till you get her to one.”
“That's my worry, and hers,” the young man said harshly.
Owen shrugged. “All right, if you want her to die. It seems a shame, though, after you've brought her so far.”
The young man scowled, his quick eyes shifting about the woods and hills. He seemed angry and worried, and when he glanced at the girl there was fear in his eyes. At last he lowered the shotgun, but kept it at the ready. “You think you could help her?” he asked.
“I can't say without knowing what's wrong with her.”
“She's been shot.”
Owen felt a little ripple of warning but kept his voice even. “I see,” he said. “How bad is it?”
“The bullet went in under the ribs but I got it out. She's bled a lot and been out of her head. Is there a doctor between here and Reunion?”
“No.”
The hard young face sharpened. “I don't hanker to go to Reunion,” he said, as though he were thinking aloud, “unless I have to.”
“Then I suggest that you turn around and bring the girl to my house. My wife and I will do what we can for her, and then I'll ride for a doctor.”
After a moment of sober thought, the man booted his shotgun and climbed on the stubby little bay. “First,” he said, “we'll make sure that a doctor can help her.” And he nodded for Owen to move out.
Owen kneed his big-footed mount to an awkward trot as they neared the house. Swinging down from the saddle at the back door, he called to his wife.
“Elizabeth, looks like we're going to need that room after all.”
When she appeared in the doorway he saw the look of uneasiness in her eyes. “Owen, is she... hurt badly?”
“Yes/' he said gently, “she is.”
“Oh.” After a moment she said, “I'll get the bed ready.”
Owen helped the young man untie the rough hemp rope that held the girl in her blanket stretcher. She opened her eyes for a moment and stared glassily at Owen. “Cal....”
she said, her mouth working several times before the sound was made. “Cal... don't let him kill me.”
The young man said harshly, “Give me a hand!”
Frowning thoughtfully, Owen helped him lift the girl from the travois, and they carried her between them into the house. Elizabeth had the bed ready in the boys' room and they laid her down as gently as they could.
“If you've got some whisky,” said the hard-faced boy, “maybe you could pour some over the wound.”
“Too late for that,” Owen said, taking off the belt and blood-soaked bandage. “Elizabeth, get some blankets, all we have, and cover her up. She'll be going into chills soon.” He glanced up at the young man. “What's your name?”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Dunc Lester.”
“When was this girl shot, Dunc?”
He frowned. “About this time yesterday, I guess.”
Owen wiped his forehead on his sleeve, holding his curiosity with a heavy hand. “I see. The wound doesn't look too serious, but she's lost a lot of blood. She'd better have a doctor.”
Dunc thought about this, saying nothing.
“What kind of condition is your horse in?” Owen asked.
“It's an Indian horse; it'll run till it drops dead. That won't be for a while yet.” When Owen turned to leave the room, Dunc said sharply, “Wait a minute, mister. You aimin' to use my horse to get a doctor?”
