THREE
WES FOUGHT THROUGH THE PAIN AS HE SLOWLYopened his eyes. He tried to remember what he’d done this time in his endless efforts to get himself killed, but too many scars, from battlefields to barrooms, clouded his memory.
The words of an old sergeant he’d known back in ’63 drifted through his mind. ‘‘If you can hear yourself breathing and don’t see your brains splattered beside you, there’s a good chance you’ll make it to fight another day.’’
Wes took a deep breath.That’s half the test, he thought. Slowly, he forced himself to focus and look around.
The air seemed thick, foggy, as though a cloud were resting on the ground. And colors, from the dark green of late summer to the blue-brown of aging foliage, surrounded him in varying hues of clarity. Wes guessed it was evening or just before sunset. He couldn’t be sure. The trees distorted the light, and his mind blocked out a sharpening of his senses.
He felt along his side. First order, check his Colt. Still in place. Then his ribs. Painful to the touch.
Slowly, he forced his hand to his back as he closed his eyes in dread. He hated the feel of his own blood. The memory of the fiery pain returned, and the night ride, and the woman.
Wes glanced up. The woman! He opened his mouth to call out, but to who? He couldn’t very well yell, ‘‘Hey, crazy lady!’’ or ‘‘creature’’ or ‘‘wild woman.’’ The best he could think of was ‘‘blue eyes.’’ He doubted she’d answer to that.
She was probably long gone anyway, he figured as he swore aloud and fought to stand. Judging from the pain in his back, the bullet was still lodged just above his waist. If he didn’t get to a doctor fast, it wouldn’t matter about his loss of blood-the bullet’s poison would kill him.
The forest became a merry-go-round as he stood. Wes staggered from one tree to another. Corrected and stumbled again.
From nowhere, an arm moved about his waist and straightened his path. Gentle hands guided him as she made her body his crutch.
When he looked down at the tiny creature helping him, blue eyes met his gaze. She was still dirty, with hair flying around her and a face that seemed made of more mud than skin. But her eyes were filled with a kindness that touched his soul.
‘‘Where are we?’’ he asked, not expecting an answer.
Silently she helped him to his horse. He guessed that she’d taken care of the animal while he’d slept. The mane looked freshly brushed. Maybe he could cross off crazy from her names. She was smart enough to take care of the animal, knowing that the horse would very likely be the difference between life and death.
‘‘I have to get to Fort Worth, Blue Eyes,’’ he mumbled, hoping she’d prove even smarter. Fog fought to overtake his mind. ‘‘I have a brother there who’s a doctor. I have to get to him.’’
She pushed Wes into the saddle.
‘‘Do you understand?’’ he asked through teeth gritted from the agony of moving. He’d climbed into a saddle a million times, and reasoned he’d be able to hold on even if he passed out. After all, he’d spent months sleeping atop a horse during the cattle drives.
The tiny woman jumped up behind him without showing a sign of understanding anything he said.
‘‘Find Doctor McLain.’’ Wes fought for a few more moments of clear thought. ‘‘Find him. If I don’t make it, make sure he gets my saddlebags.’’
‘‘There’s a map he must see even if I die.’’ Wes knew he was mumbling, but he had to fight the darkness closing in. ‘‘Doctor in Fort Worth named McLain.’’
Allie heard his words, but she didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she knew how. It had been so many years since she’d spoken the language of her people, she wasn’t sure she remembered. When she’d been captured by the Rangers, none of the words had made sense, but now she understood many of them. She liked the low voice of this stranger and wished he’d talk more to her.
She’d thought the man would be dead by the time she watered the horse. Then she could have given him a burial in exchange for his supplies. But he hadn’t known her plan, for when she returned, he’d been stumbling worse than the man with the crippled hand who drove her cage.
He was still alive, still bleeding. This stranger would not be buried here in the quiet of the woods tonight.
She’d have to think of a new plan, for planning what she would do had been the only thing that had kept her alive these past few weeks.
Much as she hated to go toward a town, the only way she could be rid of him was to drop him in Fort Worth, as he apparently wished. Then she would vanish back into the hills. He had saved her from the preacher and she owed him for that.
She knew the way to the place called Fort Worth. She’d crossed the road many times. If the man had family there, it would be only right to take him home to die. Once he was with them he wouldn’t need his horse or gun. He’d probably give them to her if she asked. In fact, she was sure he would, so there was really no need to ask. She’d just take him to his family and vanish with his unspoken gifts to her. With a horse and a gun the Rangers would never capture her again and call it ‘‘a saving.’’
Allie worked on her plan all the way to Fort Worth, fighting down the fear that grew with each mile. She’d go back to the hill country where she’d lived alone for the past five winters. She had no tribe, no people. If she wanted to stay alive, she must stay away from everyone.
In the darkness before the stars appeared she rode into Fort Worth. The man was mumbling out of his head about a map and a treasure hidden long ago. He managed to hold himself in the saddle. Sometimes he’d call out names of people or yell orders as though he were in battle.
Keeping her arm around him, she leaned against his back more for warmth now than need to hold him upright. The day had turned from cloudy to rainy. Her cotton dress did nothing to keep her warm. She could no longer tell if the dampness against her abdomen was from rain or the stranger’s blood. It no longer mattered, for their journey would soon end.
Turning the horse down a main street, Allie wondered how she would ever find his kin. She could hear music and the sounds of voices, but very few people walked the street. She was afraid to ride close to the lamplight for fear someone would recapture her and put her back in a cage. They would see that she was a wild creature.
But if she didn’t get someone to assist them, the man would be dead before he saw his family.
Allie nudged the exhausted horse forward, hoping to find a way. Men stumbled out of the bars, but she didn’t ask for help. People rode by in wagons, without slowing enough to notice her. She’d gone from being the center of attention to being invisible. The few folks who crossed in front of them looked at Allie in disgust and quickened their pace. They didn’t take the time to see his blood, or her exhausted tears.
Allie was alone in this town full of people with a dying man no one would help. Maybe it would be better to lower him to the street and leave him among his kind. Maybe it was she no one wanted to look upon. Except for this one stranger in her arms, no man or woman had ever offered to help her. Even the stranger would call her a creature in time. For all she knew he’d been taking her to put in another cage. The preacher had told the Rangers he’d help her; an hour later she’d felt his staff across her back.
But the memory of this stranger’s low voice close to her ear when they’d run from the cage returned. He’d whispered that everything would be all right. He’d spoken the words to her, not at her. For once in her life, Allie wanted to believe it could be true.
Moving through the streets, she searched the faces, hoping to find someone who would meet her gaze and show enough kindness to assist a dying man. But the light rain kept heads bowed as people rushed by.
Stars spotted the partly cloudy sky as time passed and Allie fought to keep from falling asleep as she crossed back and forth through the town. Finally, they passed a big two-story building full of activity. People inside ate at tables covered with white cloths. Allie stared at the sight. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten a meal in two days, she couldn’t take her eyes off how grand everyone looked. All dressed up like visions she sometimes saw in her dreams. Women in dresses of every color with their hair piled high atop their heads, and men in black jackets and shirts as white as new fallen snow.
Moving the horse closer, she held to her charge as she watched the people through the tall windows. They all
