“Well, I shed a tear or two—”
“For me or Benny?”
“For you, silly. And I was about to leave when I thought I saw your eyelids flutter. I leaned over you and put my hand on your chest, and sure enough, I felt you breathing. I don’t know what happened after you were shot, but it might be you were paralyzed from the bullet and Tobin thought you were dead.”
Sally let Tyree drink again, then said, “I couldn’t tell Tobin you were still alive because he would have shot you again for sure. Anyway, I knew I had no choice—I had to get you out of there.”
“And you got help from somewhere?”
“Yes, first I took all the money in your pockets—”
“Thirty-seven dollars and change.”
“Right. Do you always keep close track of your money like that?”
“Only when I’m down to my last few bucks.”
“Well, I asked an old man who works around the livery stable to help me.”
“I met him,” Tyree said. “He’s a watcher.”
“Is that what he is?” Sally asked, puzzled. “Well, anyway, he agreed to help for the money, though it really didn’t seem to interest him that much. We waited until dark and he helped me get you out of the funeral parlor and onto your horse. Got your gun, too. J. J. Ransom had it in his desk drawer. The old man rode out with me and the two of us carried you into this canyon.”
Sally shrugged apologetically. “I couldn’t stay with you for fear we might have been followed, so I stood guard at the canyon mouth all night.”
“Thank you, Sally,” Tyree said. “You saved my life. Tobin would have had J. J. Ransom bury me alive.” He looked around him. “Where are we?”
“Across the Colorado, about fifty miles east of the Henry Mountains. I knew Tobin would search for you, so the old man and me crossed the river at the head of Glen Canyon and brought you here.”
Sally put her hand on Tyree’s shoulder and pulled him away from the wall. “Do you have a bullet in you?”
“No,” Tyree answered. He showed her the mangled ring on his suspenders. “Benny’s bullet was deflected by this, but I think a piece of the ring was driven into my back close to my spine. I reckon it’s still in there and that’s why I can’t move my legs. Maybe my whole body was paralyzed after I was shot and that’s why Tobin thought I was dead.”
This was bad news and Sally did not try to hide her feelings. “Chance, you can’t ride?”
Tyree shook his head. “I can’t even stand on my own two feet.”
The girl was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then she said, “We’ll just have to stay put until you can walk again. I’m guessing that Tobin has already accused you of murdering the Bradley’s bartender and the alarm is out. The way you are now, try to leave and you’d be a sitting duck for Laytham or Luther Darcy or anybody else who wants to take a shot at you.”
“We can’t stay here,” Tyree protested. “We have no food and maybe no water.”
“Yes, we can,” Sally said, her little chin set in a determined way. “We’ll find a way.”
Chapter 16
A week drifted slowly by. During that time Sally found water farther into the canyon and shot a deer, bringing in armloads of firewood to cook the meat. She harvested prickly pear fruit, passed the pods through the open flame of the fire to burn off the spines, then cut them open to get at the sweet, juicy pulp. She foraged for wild onions to use in thick broths with deer meat and dandelion root, assuring Tyree the soup would give him strength.
But Tyree was not growing stronger. The very opposite was happening—his strength was waning fast. He tried a few faltering steps, but always ended up falling flat on his face, his legs suddenly giving way from under him. The pain in his back grew worse, though the wound itself seemed to be healing well.
All this Sally watched with growing concern. At the end of the first week she told Tyree to strip off his shirt and carefully examined his back.
After a few minutes of painful probing, she finally said, “I think there is a piece of metal in there, and it’s digging right into your spine. Chance, I need to get you medical help.”
“Medical help?” Tyree echoed. “There’s a doctor at Crooked Creek, but if you’re right about Tobin accusing me of murder, the doc could tell him and lead a posse right to us.”
“There’s another doctor—the old man who helped bring you here.”
“The watcher is a qualified physician?” Tyree asked, surprised.
“No, not really, but he was a mule doctor during the War Between the States. Maybe he can get that chunk of steel out of your back.”
“Or paralyze me permanently,” Tyree said.
“I know, but that’s a chance we’re going to have to take. You can’t ride, and we can’t stay here much longer.”
“Can you trust that old man?”
Sally thought for a few moments. “I’ve trusted him this far.” Then she seemed to make up her mind about something and shook her head. “No, I really don’t know if I can completely trust him. But trust or not, right now he’s our only hope.”
Tyree sat in silence, weighing his options. They were few. Sally was right. They couldn’t remain in the canyon, leaving Quirt Laytham to grow in power and become even more entrenched. And what of Lorena? If Laytham took it into his head to put range before romance and decided to move his herds farther north, both she and her father could be in danger.
Of more immediate concern, the strain was beginning to tell on Sally. She looked exhausted, the rough food and constant wakefulness draining her.
“Get the old man, Sally,” Tyree said finally, his decision made. “But make sure you’re not seen.”
“I’ll be careful.” The girl smiled. She kneeled beside Tyree and lightly kissed his unshaven cheek. “Now I have to be on my way if I hope to reach Crooked Creek before nightfall.”
“People ain’t that much different from mules,” the old man said. “They’re as stubborn and just as ornery. Leastways, that’s been my experience.”
He kneeled beside Tyree, groaning slightly as his frosted joints creaked in protest. “One thing I learned about doctoring, mules or humans, is that the art of medicine is to amuse the patient while nature cures the disease.” He studied Tyree’s face in the flickering firelight. “Now I’ll amuse you by telling you about my days with the First Missouri Confederate Brigade while I take a look at that back of your’n.”
“Why are you helping me?” Tyree asked. “You could have gone to Sheriff Tobin, told him where I was.”
The old man nodded. “I could have at that. But me, I kinda enjoy just setting in the shade and watching things unfold. If I went to Tobin I’d be interfering in the natural course of events, wouldn’t I now?” He smiled under his beard. “Like I’m not interfering enough already by coming here.”
“I never got your name,” Tyree said.
“That’s because I never told it to you. Anyhoo, it’s Zebulon Thomas Pettigrew, but most folks call me Zeb, when they ain’t calling me ‘Hey, you.’ ”
“Well, Zeb, I’m beholden to you,” Tyree said.
“Save all that until I take a look at your back, young feller. When it comes to doctoring, there’s some things I can do and some things I can’t.”
Tyree stripped off his shirt and Pettigrew studied the wound, all the while talking of great battles won and a cause lost. Darkness had reached into the canyon and the only light came from the fire. Sally sat closer to Tyree and took his hand in hers.
“It will be all right, Chance,” she said. “I know it will.”
His examination over, Pettigrew shook his head and muttered something under his breath that Tyree couldn’t hear.
“Zeb, is it bad?” he asked.
