The day dawned bright and sunny, a beautiful day for the ride back to Four Corners. Chaucer was lively, prancing and snorting in the cool, early morning mist. Ezra didn't hold many things close to his heart, but he had to admit that his horse was certainly one of those few things that he did. As a matter of fact, he would have to say his relationship with his horse was the closest and longest he'd ever had in life. And among those relationships he included that of himself and his mother.
After a few miles, Chaucer settled down to an easy pace, he had a smooth gait that Ezra loved; you could ride a long time on Chaucer without suffering any ill effects. Man and horse were just beginning up a steep incline at that smooth, steady gait when all of a sudden Chaucer leapt to the side and began to snort again. He rolled his eyes and sidestepped and refused to go any further. When Ezra prodded him with his heels, he accomplished nothing but a series of flighty dance moves that nearly unseated him.
"Now, you know my dear equine friend, how fond I am of you. And I am wont to sing your praises, but you are behaving rather poorly."
Ezra stopped prodding and sat for a moment, feeling his horse quiver ever so slightly in alertness. His nostrils flared and his ears pointed directly ahead of them, to the top of the hill.
After a few moments, the wind shifted ever so slightly and Ezra caught the faint smell of smoke. Now he understood; a horse positively hates the smell of smoke, and they won't willingly go towards it when it's in their nature to flee in the other direction. They also hate the smell of fresh blood, although it takes an awful lot for a human to be able to detect that.
It smelled like wood smoke, but there was no roar or heat which would indicate that the landscape ahead of them was on fire. It was either a farmer burning off his grass, or a homestead that had caught fire. Dismounting he took hold of Chaucer's bridle and began to ascend the steep hill. Chaucer was happier to be led onwards, trusting his rider implicitly.
As they crested the hill, a valley stretched out below them and there, a short ways off to the right, was the charred remains of a house and a barn, and perhaps a chicken coop or shed. A horse and a few chickens were roaming in the distance, dazed and covered in soot. The horse whinnied when he saw Chaucer come over the rise, and came galloping over.
Ezra dropped his horse's reins, trusting him to stay near while he explored what was left of the house. Stepping over the threshold he nearly put a foot directly onto the remains of a body. Gasping he pulled his foot bakc and withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his lips to mask the strong, acrid smell that assaulted his nostrils.
There was another body near the collapsed stairway. This one was unmarred, he must have died from the smoke, after the fire had moved further on through the house. He was young, probably no more than eleven, and Ezra felt bile rise in his throat, tears burning behind his eyes.
He would have to find a shovel and dig these two people a grave, but not before he had finished searching the house. There could be more unfortunate souls somewhere in this burned out mess.
When he had tiptoed throughout the house and was satisfied that there were only two people who needed burying he came back through to the front door. He was about to go in search of a shovel, when he heard a rustling behind the stones of the fireplace chimney, which was only partially standing.
He stood stock still and listened. There it was again, louder this time. And then a weak voice called out something inaudible. But still, it was a voice! There was someone else here, someone who was still alive.
Frantically he leapt over the piles of rubble and began tearing at the only possible place that could still be harbouring someone. Beams had fallen crosswise over some of the stones from the chimney, creating an apex under which someone could just fit, if they weren't too big. Sure enough, when he began to move the burnt wood aside, something stirred underneath and soon a hand reached out to him, blackened but strong enough to grip his.
"Hold on, I'll get you out," he said. "Just hold on, am I hurting you?"
"No," the voice answered back, weakly. "Please help me..." the voice trailed off and Ezra worried he was too late.
Finally a figure emerged, crumpled and tucked away as if this shelter had been constructed just to fit her frame. She was covered in soot head to toe, and her chest was rising and falling only barely. He imagined she had inhaled a great deal of smoke, and that she may have been burned underneath the ash that hid her skin.
"I have to get you out of here," he said, but she didn't answer. Taking her in his arms he lifted her, ignoring the stains he was bound to create on his favourite jacket. Whispering an apology, he begged forgiveness for leaving the bodies, but he knew the girl left living was more important than burying the dead.
Riding hard, until Chaucer was puffing and sweating, Ezra came into the town of Lone Pine. They had no doctor, but a man experienced in medicine, like Nathan. What Ezra would have given for Nathan at that moment, at least he was someone, he admitted to himself, that he could trust. As it was, he turned the young woman over to this strange man and hoped for the best.