“Okay, but let me know if you need to stop. Do you need more blankets?”
“No, I’m fine. I know you are going slower for me, but I don’t mind if we go faster.”
Clint thought she might be saying she needed to get to La Grange as fast as possible to see the doc. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
When Clint stopped for the night, he had a nice fire going before he carried Amelia from the wagon to a pallet he’d arranged close to the fire. He tried to hide his concern about her deteriorating condition throughout the day. “I thought you might be tired of being in that wagon.”
“It’s nice to be outside, and the fire feels good.”
Clint warmed some biscuits, and he was pleased when she ate two small bites. After she drank some water, she leaned back against Clint’s saddle, which he’d placed behind her and closed her eyes.
Thinking she wanted to sleep, Clint poured himself another cup of coffee.
“I want to thank you for doing this for me.”
Glancing her way, Clint noticed her eyes were still closed. “My pleasure.” Again she was silent, and he sat quietly and drank his coffee. He was feeling a little more optimistic about her condition. Two cups of coffee later, he decided he’d check the animals one more time while she was resting.
* * *
He’d just placed his rifle down by his bedroll when Amelia mumbled something. He walked over and kneeled down beside her. The optimism he’d felt earlier about her condition quickly dissolved. She was shivering, and as soon as he touched her forehead, he knew her fever was much worse. After throwing another blanket over her, Clint added more logs to the fire and dampened a cloth to place on her forehead.
“So cold,” Amelia muttered.
Pulling his bedroll beside her pallet, he pulled her into his arms and covered them both with another blanket. After a few minutes, he was sweating, but she was no longer shaking. “Better?”
“Better.” She snuggled close to him and buried her face in his chest.
She finally fell asleep, but sleep evaded Clint. He spent the night watching over her, afraid he wouldn’t hear her if she needed him.
* * *
The next several nights were a repetition of the first night, with Amelia alternating between freezing and sweating. Clint was more discouraged because she absolutely refused to eat. He could barely get her to drink, and he felt somewhat guilty that he was forcing water down her. To make matters worse, the entire day Clint thought someone was following them. He hadn’t seen anyone, and it was difficult to see if he was being trailed while he was driving the wagon. Over the years he’d developed a sixth sense on the trail. This wasn’t a feeling he could ignore. When he stopped for the night, he carried his rifle with him as he cared for the horses and prepared their meal over the fire. If he’d been traveling alone, he would have forgone a fire tonight. That feeling he’d had all day about being followed remained with him, and he knew a fire could be spotted for miles.
* * *
Later that evening, Amelia’s fever seemed to be higher than before, and once it broke her clothing was drenched. He carried her inside the wagon and he’d just removed her dress when he heard the snap of a twig. Clint covered her with some blankets, grabbed his rifle, lifted the canvas and slid over the side of the wagon. Crouching low, he silently made his way to the trees. He’d intentionally arranged his bedroll to look like someone was sleeping in it because he was halfway expecting company. And he had a feeling he knew who the visitors would be.
Just as he positioned himself where he could see the fire, he saw three men walk into the camp. As he expected, it was the same threesome he’d encountered in Honey Creek.
“Look at what we have here.” The leader of the group had his pistol drawn, and he used the toe of his boot to kick Clint’s bedroll.
Clint walked from the brush with his pistol pointed at the man. “Yeah, look here.”
The man laughed and pointed his gun at Clint. “We know you and the little lady are traveling alone. Where is she?” His eyes darted to the wagon. He glanced at one of his men and inclined his head toward the wagon. “Check it out, Alvin.”
“If Alvin takes another step, I’ll shoot you,” Clint stated resolutely to the man who was giving the orders.
“If you shoot me, my boys will still have a fine time when we’re dead.”
When Alvin took another step, Clint and the leader fired their weapons at the same time. The stranger’s gun hit the ground and he dropped to his knees grasping his hand. Clint had shot his gun hand, but the man’s bullet had grazed Clint in the side.
“Take him, Marv,” the leader on the ground commanded as he clutched his hand.
Suddenly a blast came from the wagon. Alvin stumbled backward, hopped around on one foot and screamed, “My foot! My foot! Someone shot my foot!”
Marv was so busy watching Alvin hop around like a fool that he didn’t see Clint move until he felt his pistol at his temple.
Clint pulled the hammer back. “Unless you want to end up missing an important body part like your friend on the ground, you’ll ride out and not come back.”
Alvin and Marv stuck their hands in the air as Clint took their weapons, tucking them in his gun belt.
“Now grab your boss and ride out. If I see any of you again it won’t bode well for you.”
When the men were out of sight, Clint hurried back to the wagon. He found Amelia lying on top of the blankets with the pistol he’d given her gripped in her hands. “Amelia?”
“I heard them,” she replied, her voice sounding stronger than it had in the last couple of days.
“I thought you were unconscious.” Clint
