“It’s not as if you planned it.”
“Lost horse,” Fargo tried to explained. “Fell off mountain. . . . so much snow . . . couldn’t stop.”
“Hush. Don’t waste yourself. You can tell me all about it later, after we have you warm and bandaged and fed.”
“Don’t want . . . to be a burden.”
“There you go again,” Mary Harper said, kindly. “Please. Don’t think anything of it. I would do the same for anyone in the shape you are. Indians included.”
Fargo believed she would. An awkward silence fell—awkward to him, at any rate—and he said to fill it, “Can’t believe you’re here.”
“My children were gone too long and I came looking for them.”
“No. I mean, I can’t believe you’re
“Oh. To tell you the truth, there are days when I can’t believe it, either. When I wonder what I was thinking when I let my Frank talk me into it. But, God, I loved that man.”
“I heard about the griz.”
Mary’s features clouded. “The bear comes back from time to time. I shot at it once but don’t think I hit it. Mark my words, though. I’ll make it pay for what it did to my Frank.”
Fargo had more he wanted to say, but a great weariness came over him and he closed his eyes and was out. Movement brought him around. He was being jostled, but gently.
“Careful now, Jayce. Don’t drop him.”
“I won’t, Ma.”
“Nelly, lift his legs higher if you can.”
“I’m trying. He’s so big, Ma. Bigger than Pa.”
“There. That should do it. Now, Nelly, you spread the blanket, and all three of us will pull.”
Fargo was on his back, a hard surface under him, his arms folded across his chest. He felt himself being covered. Blinking, he tried to raise his head.
“Lie still,” Mary said. “We just got you on the sled. It will be a while before we get you to the cabin.”
Two ropes had been tied to the runners, high up at the front. Mary took hold of one and her children took hold of the other. Bent at the waist, the ropes across their shoulders, they put their whole bodies into it. The sled moved a few inches, and stopped.
“It’s hard, Ma,” Jayce said.
“I know. But if we don’t get him to our cabin, he’ll die, son. Let’s try again.”
The sled jerked forward, stopped, and jerked again. This time it kept going. The crunch of the runners through the snow and the heavy breathing of the three pulling the sled soon lulled Fargo into limbo. He didn’t fight it. He was so weak from blood loss, he didn’t have the energy.
When Fargo woke up they were still huffing and puffing and the sled was still crunching. But instead of blue sky above him, there were tree branches. They were in the woods. He licked his lips and got an elbow under him so he could try to sit up.
“Don’t even think it,” Mary Harper warned. To her children she said, “Let’s stop and rest again.”
“Fine by me, Ma,” Jayce said. “My shoulder is about rubbed raw.”
“With me it’s my hands,” Nelly said. “My blisters have blisters.”
“We’re almost there. Another few minutes.”
Fargo said, “If you’ll help me up, I’ll try to walk.”
“Nothing doing,” Mary responded. “You wouldn’t make it, and we’d have to go to all the trouble of putting you back on the sled.”
Her face floated above him. She placed her palm to his brow, probed for a pulse in his wrist, and scowled.
“What is it, Ma?” Jayce asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re fibbing. And you always told us not to ever fib. Is he dying, Ma? Is that it?”
Mary Harper looked sadly down at Fargo and didn’t say anything. Her expression was more eloquent than words could be.
Fargo forced a chuckle. “I’m that bad off, am I?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“Nothing but.”
Mary’s throat bobbed, and she touched the back of her hand to his cheek in a gesture of sympathy. “I’m no doctor. Oh, I can set broken bones and sew up cuts, and I have a few herbs for croup and the like. But you need a sawbones. Without one, without a hospital where they can tend you proper, well . . .” She bit her lip. “I can’t offer any guarantees.”
“I wasn’t expecting any.” Fargo softened his tone. “Look, we hardly know each other. But something tells me you’ll do the best you can. I’m in as good a pair of hands as any.”
She looked at him strangely, then gazed off into the trees, her face in profile as lovely as any he ever beheld. “It’s not far. Once I dress the bites and get some soup into you and we put you to bed, the rest will be in God’s hands.” She patted his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d do a lot of praying.”
“I’m not much for bending my knees,” Fargo confessed.
“Then we’ll pray for you. Never underestimate the power of the Almighty, Mr. Fargo. The Good Lord has kept my children and me alive.”
“But not your husband.”
Mary glanced sharply down. “No, not my Frank. And if I live to be hundred, I’ll never understand why God saw fit to take him. The kindest, most decent man I ever knew. Why, Mr. Fargo? Why do bad things happen to good people?”
“Hell. You’re asking the wrong man. Find yourself a parson. I gave up looking for answers long ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Fargo. A person needs to have faith in this life. Without it, what else is there?”
Fargo figured she really didn’t expect an answer. He wearily closed his eyes and immediately dozed off. A jolt brought him back to the world of the living. That, and a loud thump.
“At last!”
“Nelly, you heat up water. Jayce, bring in extra firewood.”
Fingers pried at Fargo’s buckskins. The dry blood had caked them to his skin and they wouldn’t come off. There was a tug, and then fingernails peeled at his shirt.
“I’m afraid I’ll need to cut these off.”
More reason for Fargo to miss the Ovaro. He had a spare shirt in his saddlebags. “Do what you have to.”
As she worked, he faded in and out of consciousness. The warm cloth she used to wash the blood off felt wonderful. She used a needle and thread to stitch the bites and claw marks, and that didn’t feel wonderful at all. Each time the tip of the needle pierced his skin, he gritted his teeth.
“Sorry if I’m hurting you,” Mary said.
Fargo passed out again. When next he looked around, he was in a bed with blankets pulled to his chin. He did not need to pull them down to know he was naked. He brought an arm out from under and laid it on top.
The bed and a dresser were the only furniture. A single candle on the dresser cast flickering light.
A door opened, and in came Mary, carrying a wooden tray. On it were a steaming bowl of soup, a spoon, and a thick slice of buttered bread. She set the tray on the edge of the bed and sat next to him.
“Oh. You’re awake. Good. It saves me having to wake you to get some food into you.”
Fargo’s mouth watered. His stomach growled louder than the wolves had. “That sure smells good.”
Once again Mary Harper felt his forehead. “You’re burning up. I don’t have a thermometer, but I’d guess your temperature to be at least one hundred and three.”
“I’m more interested in that soup.” Fargo attempted to sit up, but once more his body betrayed him.
“Let me.” Mary dipped the spoon and brought it to his lips and carefully let the broth trickle into his mouth.
