** An older story from 2009. Thanks to Karen F. for providing the beta, so very long ago! I never liked the ending on this so I'm re-writing it ;-).
A Man Forgotten
Chapter 1
They were trying to kill him. Only one thing mattered-escape. He had to get away as fast as possible. Tree branches slapped and heavy underbrush clutched and grappled, threatening to tug him down with every step he took. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the silhouette of a man raising his rifle. The weapon belched fire and the loud report split the quietness of the late evening air. His arm suddenly stung, the throbbing spurring him on, keeping cadence with his charging run through the thick woods. His right hand snaked upwards to splint the pain and came away wet and reddened for the effort.
Their voices, loud and harsh, edged nearer.
Stopping, he swayed, turning his head in one direction and then the other. What compelled him to take the small opening between the two trees he couldn't fathom a guess, but he stepped over the bulbous tree root. Movement was close behind him now, quick and darting. He started blindly past the oak and heard the crack of a second gun. His vision exploded into whiteness, and he tumbled, over and over.
#-#-#-#-#
Eli Mathias, his mouth set in a long thin line, knelt beside the empty trap. Pressing the stock of his rifle against the ground, he heaved himself upwards. He'd been up since four and out to the traps by six and the only measure of his hard work was the three skinny rabbits now hanging from the tether line on his saddle. He tied one more knot in the line to secure the animals then whistled shrilly. A soft rustling in the leaves to his right told him Toby was nearby. He whistled again, this time less patiently. Toby's misshapen yellow-brown head popped out of the brush. He grinned at the sight and jammed a hand into the pocket of his shabby woolen coat while he waited for the dog. Toby may have had only one ear but he could hear as well, or better, than any other dog he knew of-when he had a mind to listen. It was a plain fact that he wore stubborn just as well as some men.
"Tobe! C'mon, it's time to go!"
The dog bounded up and out of the leaves, shaking bits of twigs and underbrush from its shaggy fur. Reaching Eli, he bumped and rubbed his massive head against the man's thigh, smearing slaver on the rough fabric of his canvas trousers.
"Look, we haven't got time right now. Wait 'til we get home, Joe'll play with you." The man shook the dog off and mounted up.
Two more trap lines to see to then back to the house, hopefully by early afternoon, if he was quick about it. Joe would be done at the Walker place by then and he wanted to be home. Toby hurried off in his ground-eating dog-trot, nose held high in that peculiar way he had of scenting the wind. He caught snatches of Toby's white belly flashing through the greenery every now and then, the only way of telling if the dog was actually following or not.
Coming to the usual turn-off, he paused and whistled once more. Silence greeted him. He pulled his roan around and scanned the area. It wasn't unusual for Toby to run off; he'd always find his way back home, but something seemed wrong here. Hearing a few strained barks in the distance, he put heels to his horse's sides and galloped towards the sound.
Riding up from a dip in the trail, he saw Toby, his mouth pulled back in a panting grimace, standing close to the body of a man. Raised hackles outlined the dog's spine from neck to tail. Abruptly, the animal pounced on front paws and gave a mewling bark, the same sound that Eli had heard before.
He remained mounted and slowly pulled out his rifle. The dog edged closer to the prone man, snuffling low.
"Get away!" he ordered.
The dog turned to look at Eli, his head cocked to one side as if in question.
"Don't give me that bull, Tobe, I said get away!" Toby gave a short whine and peeled off at the command.
Eli studied the man. He was facing the stranger's back and saw that one arm had been caught under the body. His head was tucked at an odd angle, almost curled-in like he was sleeping. Sparing a glance upwards, he saw remnants of the chaotic pathway he'd taken down the hill. Eli sucked his teeth. Helluva first step. Whoever he was, he likely fell over and rolled down the sharp embankment into the shallow ditch where he now laid.
He dismounted and moved a little closer. The man's brown-checked shirt was the worse for wear with a split from shoulder to elbow. The gun holster had been twisted around but was clear of any weapon. He cocked his rifle as Toby padded silently up to his side.
"Hey, Mister!" Eli waited for a response but the only sound was the dog's panting and the creak of leather as his horse shifted its weight under the saddle.
"You need to know that there's a forty-four aimed at your back, if this is some type of foolishness."
He stepped up to the man's bent leg and nudged it with his foot. He kicked a little harder. Toby had moved to the opposite end and thrust his muzzle into the man's hair, inhaling deeply, a worried low whine escaping his throat.
He bent down on one knee and placed his hand on the man's back, feeling the heat captured there. Seeing the bruised and abraded shoulder under the ripped fabric of the sleeve, he hesitated for the briefest of moments, then laid the rifle down and pulled the man over.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the man's bloodied head. The tear in his scalp had been hidden from view before, but it was now sharply visible against the man's pale features. It was fairly long, too, stretching from his temple past the ear. The blood had crusted there already, mixing in with soil to form a dirty scab and coloring his blond hair orange. But it had bled, and plenty long, from the amount of rust-colored stains on his collar and shirt front. There was more dried blood covering the man's arm, all the way down to the wrist. A piece of tattered paper, stained a deep reddish-brown, tipped out of the man's curled hand.
He let out a long breath. "Oh, Mister, you did it up real good."
He let his hand linger on the man's chest, feeling a light flutter against his palm. "But you're still alive, at least for now anyhow." He looked back at the roan. "The real question is how to get you up on that horse." Toby nudged his arm up with two hard pushes of his head and looked down at the unconscious man with attentive eyes. Eli tapped his finger alongside the dog's nose to shoo him away and started to make preparations.
It had been no mean feat getting the stranger home. The man was tall, and he was heavier than his lean build gave away. In fact, he'd been dead weight since he hadn't come awake yet. Eli had given up trying to rouse him and had eventually eased the man across the saddle and tied him on. He figured that in his state, the man would never know about the three dead rabbits bumping against his hip all the way home.
He laid him down onto Joe's bed, not thinking twice about it until he saw the two booted feet hanging off the end. More than a few inches too short, but it would have to do. It reminded him of Joe, and the first time he saw his son's bare feet sticking out of the covers and off the end. He'd thought that Joe had hunkered down under the covers too far in bed, but he'd been wrong. The boy was just growing too fast; his arms and legs ridiculously too long for the rest of him.
The boots were removed after some hard tugging, then he scraped up a chair to the bedside and sat down to look at the damage. He cut away what was left of the brown shirt and frowned when he saw the man's arm. There was a hole in the outer edge of it; congealed blood darkening the otherwise bright red wound. He felt behind it, found a second hole, and frowned harder. A bullet had done the injury, he'd bet money on it. The ribcage was dotted with bright purple bruises but nothing appeared to be broken. His fingers brushed across an old scar near the man's left shoulder, the raised neat circle of dark brown flesh standing out from the light tan of his torso. It looked like this man and bullets were no strangers to one another.
Joyful barking and a slamming of the front door interrupted his thoughts.
The pantry doors were opened and closed. "Hey, Pa! I'm back from the Walker's…what's to eat? Mrs. Walker's gonna pay me for the chores tomorrow. She said I did such a good job that I might get extra! Did you catch any rabbits today?"
Joe was home.
"What'cha doing in my ro…" his son's voice trailed off. He stood in the doorway, his speech garbled by a mouth half full of chewed apple. The expression on his face went from startled to puzzled to alarmed all at once. He flicked his head to the side in a gesture that was pure Joe, tossing long bangs out of his eyes.
"Who's he?" he said, pointing with the bitten apple to the man on his bed.
Eli pivoted on his chair to face the stranger again. "I don't know just yet, Toby found him. He's been hurt, though. Come here and help me turn him, I've got to get this shirt out from underneath his back."
He heard the thud of the apple being dropped on the dresser top. "I'm going to push him to his side, just hold on to his shoulder."
"Pa, his head…"
Joe's voice echoed his same revulsion when he'd first turned the man over, yet held a tinge of morbid curiosity only a twelve year old could muster. "I know, son, I know. It needs to be sewn but it stopped bleeding before I got to him, it'll be all right for a little longer."
"Hold his shoulder now, but be careful of it."
No new wounds were found, but there was a light crisscrossing of white marks peppering the man's shoulders with a few trailing further down the back. He looked up at Joe; his son was transfixed, staring hard at the mess on the man's head. Quickly, he pulled out the shirt remnants.
"Okay, lay him back. Easy now."
"Is he gonna die?"
The question, asked tentatively, gave him pause. It was the same one that Joe had quietly asked of him a year ago, when his mother had gotten so very sick. And it was the same question that had been going through his head since Toby had discovered the man. It seemed odd to have it finally spoken aloud. He'd been wrong back then, in that cold, early spring; he had to cut through ground as hard as ice to bury her. He didn't want to be wrong this time.
He stood and laid his hand on Joe's shoulder, feeling the youthful sturdiness of it. "I don't know. But we'll get him cleaned and stitched, then it'll be up to him, I suppose."
Joe looked away, trailing his finger tips across the picture frame on the table by the bed. "Pa"-he was frowning a little-"you gonna leave him here?"
He waited for the next part of the question which should have been "in my bed?" but it never came, and that was surprising. It seemed his son was growing up.
"You'll sleep with me until he…comes around, then we'll see." He wrapped his arm around Joe's shoulders and brought him in close. His son didn't pull away from the affection as he'd been doing so for the last few months. Instead, Eli felt a small hand creep to his lower back and cling to his belt loops. His earlier thought came back and he recanted, maybe there was still a little bit of "boy" left in his son after all.
The lamps had been turned down low for the night, save for the one in Joe's room. Eli sat in the hard-backed chair and contemplated the still form in his son's bed. He wasn't that old, maybe a couple handful of years younger than himself, give or take a few. His clothes, boots and holster were of good quality, or at least they were. He had checked the man's pockets, but there was nothing in them. All he had was the decrepit envelope with a single name written across the front-Daniel Sorensen.
The white bandage encircling his head made him look younger while bruising had spread and seeped a little into his cheek, adding frailness. He thought about the bullet wounds and other marks on the man's body, and was beset by a sense of uneasiness. This man had known some pain in his life all right. But Eli only knew two types of men who ever wore faded scars like the stranger did on his back-those who'd been caught by the law and those running from it.
He asked aloud to the quiet room, "Which one are you, Mister?"
tbc