Struggling to stay centered in the saddle, Heyes ignored the pain that shot through his shoulder and his dangling, wounded foot every time he careened against the sheer cliff wall to his right. To his left was a steep slope of several hundred feet falling away from the rocky, precarious trail his horse was madly racing across, the lead rope whipping between all four legs. So far the animal had managed to remain upright but one wrong step, or a shift in weight, could send both horse and rider to their deaths.
Heyes could see the widening of the trail as it cleared the cliff and snaked along a forested slope, but he wasn't sure they'd make it. Sheer will kept him mounted as the bay made one more crazed leap before landing on softer soil. They plunged into the trees and the horse galloped, unaided, until it began to slow. First to a jog then a breathless walk before stepping on its lead rope and stopping altogether, dropping its head to anxiously tear the sparse, tall grasses on the forest floor. Heyes panted along with the bay, both of their hearts racing from exertion and adrenaline. He attempted to guide his horse using his legs and body, but the gelding was still too shaken to respond. Together, they wandered off the trail and into the trees. As Heyes' heart rate slowed, fatigue and fever overcame him and he tumbled to the ground rolling over onto his back and staring up at the sky, inert. His eyelids closed. The horse continued nibbling, drifting further and further away, contented to be relieved of him.
XXX
A hollow grumble issued from the Kid's stomach, closely followed by a thunderous belch from his mouth. His horse's ears swiveled towards him noting the sounds as it jogged along the trail.
"Um, sorry, guess I should've had more breakfast before we started out." The thought of food brought an instant wave of nausea. "Or maybe not." He hadn't eaten much since the night before last and had yet to recover his appetite. He'd managed to down a small piece of dry biscuit early this morning but, rather than curbing the hunger pangs, it had set his gut to roiling. At least, the food had stayed where it was supposed to, but he was feeling light-headed and weak. They'd had a few hours rest in the early hours of the morning, but he'd spent half of it tossing and turning, worrying about his partner and letting his fear and anger build. He hoped whoever had Heyes wasn't in any hurry to get to where he was going, because the Kid was planning on sending him straight to Hell. With a click of his tongue, he sent his sorrel into a lope.
XXX
A weak groan roused Mac from his stupor. A shifting, heavy weight across his legs chased away the last vestiges of unconsciousness. Pain radiated through him before he bolted upright only to find he was pinned in place by his injured horse.
"Dickie! Aw, %$# *, Dickie!" The horse's leg was clearly broken and it was groaning with pain, too far gone with shock to thrash. Without wasting a moment, Mac slid his Colt from its holster and leaned towards the prone head. Gently positioning the barrel of his gun where it would swiftly put the animal out of its misery, he pulled the trigger. A small jerk and the big brown eyes glazed over.
Mac's eyes welled up and tears spilled, coursing down his cheeks. He sobbed like a baby, gulping and sniffing, for several minutes before pulling himself together. "Heyes is gonna pay for killin' you, Dickie boy. You was the bestest pony that ever was." His rough hand lovingly stroked the glossy, soft neck as the skin cooled. "I swear to you, he'll pay." His pledge made, Mac began using his bare hands to dig out his immobilized legs. His nails broke and his fingers bled, but his furious grief fueled his determination.
XXX
The faint echo of a gunshot reverberated across the peaks. Curry pulled up his horse and sat for a moment but he couldn't be sure where it came from. He waited pensively hoping for a second shot to help him locate the source, but none came. His nerves tightened. The best he could do was to hurry along the trail he was on and hope that Heyes was still alive. Both he and his mount were worn out but his fear drove them on.
XXX
Dark eyes snapped open to the bark of a gun. Heyes' mind tried to catch up to his instinctual reaction as his bruised and battered body sat up. He moaned. His aching muscles screamed in protest while the throbbing in his foot penetrated his foggy brain. Twisting his arms, he tested the cuffs. The chain binding them together was too short to allow much give. He'd have to try to pick them. He wasn't worried, he'd done it blindfolded often enough, but how to get his lockpick from the sleeve inside his hat band; the hat band that was on the hat dangling from his neck?
Swinging his upper body, Heyes worked the hat around so it was hanging against his chest and caught it between his knees. He dropped his head and, after several failed attempts, his teeth trapped the small knot of leather securing the band to the crown. Yanking and pulling and ultimately chewing, he worked the lacing loose and the band slipped to the ground. Again using his teeth, he picked it and a considerable amount of soil up before looking around for something to lay the strap on so he could work on it without eating another pound of dirt. A nearby downed pine tree was perfect. He shuffled along on his knees until he reached it. Tipping his head, he managed to lay it down inside up, the lockpick visible and resting securely in its pocket.
Heyes spit as much of the remaining grit from his mouth as he could. Using his open mouth to keep the band pinned, he fished at the lockpick with his tongue. Finally, he levered it up, closed his teeth on one end, and shaking his head like a crazed dog, the pick slipped free from the band. Heyes gave a stifled howl of pleasure as sweat dripped from his chin. Gingerly placing the pick on the tree trunk, he turned around and leaned back until his numbed fingers felt the tiny metal instrument. In seconds, his hands were free. As his arms swung to his side, he nearly fainted with pain. The nerves in the confined extremities shrieked with the shock of movement and he fell forward onto the tree trunk, panting as the blood flowed back in his arms and hands. At last, when he could feel the texture of the coarse bark and flex his fingers, he sat up and turned his attention to his real wounds.
Heyes pulled off his crusty sock and examined his foot. Luckily, the bullet had gone straight through leaving a large exit wound in its wake, but what sort of foul debris had it left behind? Poking both putrefying holes gently, ignoring the pain, he forced pus from them until blood freely flowed. Better the wounds healed from the inside out. His pants leg was stretched tight around his swollen calf and his attempts to roll it up failed. Using his lockpick as a dull knife, he slipped the tip through the material and tore at it until the fabric fell open. Fascinated, he traced the ugly, engorged veins from his ankle to his knee. He could see them pulsating with infection. If it continued unchecked, he would die.
XXX
Mac slid his legs out from under Dickie's carcass. They were sore and numb but as far as he could tell he was a very fortunate man. He reached across the corpse and tugged his Spencer from its scabbard. Opening the breech, he checked the load and set the weapon aside. Turning back to his saddle bags, he removed his small store of beans and coffee and tied each bag to his belt. Matches went in a shirt pocket and his good hunting knife was slipped into his gun belt. He un-cinched the saddle and slid the wool blanket from under it, draping it around his neck. Examining his saddle, he found the tree had broken in the fall. Another thing Heyes was gonna pay for. It had taken him years to break that saddle in so he could sit it comfortably for days but Mac had to admit he didn't need to be lugging forty pounds of leather while chasing down that no-good outlaw trash. His canteen of drinking water and the one he'd confiscated from Heyes had also been crushed by the weight of his dying horse. He'd have to make do.
Mac looked up the slope to the visible cut along the cliff face. It had to be a couple of hundred feet above him. He'd work his way back to the trail on an angle. It would cost him some time but the slope was too steep to scale and he was too sore. Besides, he was pretty sure Heyes wasn't going to get too far with a wounded foot and his hands tied behind his back even if he was still mounted. He gave Dickie one last regretful pat then picked up the rifle, grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, and walked away.
XXX
"Come back here, you worthless nag!" growled Heyes, heavily leaning on a forked, snapped-off tree branch as a makeshift crutch. His bay danced just out of his reach each time he neared, preferring to be free to graze at its leisure. Both reins had long since snapped off the bridle, but the obstinate beast still trailed the braided lead rope. It had taken almost all of Heyes' remaining strength to track the animal to the grassy meadow, but he'd had no choice. If he was going to survive, he needed his horse. Frustration was making the ex-outlaw angry and his face had purpled with exertion. Horses sensed these things so he forced himself to calm down and think about how to get the beast to come to him. That's when he remembered the peppermint candy in his shirt pocket. The waitress at the café had given it to him along with the check at breakfast. He pulled out the small candy and un-wrapped it. Placing it in the center of his palm, he held out his hand and whistled. The sound lifted the horse's head and it turned towards him. Seeing the offered hand, the bay remembered other tasty treats. His ears pricked up and he cautiously stepped towards his rider with his neck stretched out. His nose wiggled in anticipation until his lips close around the sweet. Happily, he crunched the sugary snack placidly while Heyes quietly reached out and gripped the lead rope. "Aha, gotcha!"
Clutching the rope and stumping along on the crutch, he led the bay to the closest tree and tied it securely. Balancing against the animal's side, he opened a saddlebag, and withdrew a spare rein. Lacing the proper end to one side of the bit, he knotted the split end to the other side fashioning a short, looped rein. He worked his way around the bay's hind end to the other saddle bag, pulling out some muslin bandaging, a bindle of powdered white willow bark, and a bottle of whiskey. His hands full, he dropped the crutch and hopped to another tree, putting his back against it and carefully sliding down it to a sitting position. He uncorked the bottle, taking a long draw from it then tore open a corner of the packet, shook a third of the contents into his mouth, and grimaced at the bitter taste before washing it down with a lot more drink as he considered what to do next. The willow bark should keep the fever down and ease some of the pain so he could clean the wound with the booze but it wouldn't take care of the infection working its way through his body.
There was some dried out skunk cabbage around a dried up waterhole in the middle of the meadow. He knew it, too, could relieve pain. Struggling to his feet, he slipped the branch under his arm and limped out into the patch of dying plants harvesting as many leaves as he could stuff in his pockets. Turning away from the waterhole, he scanned the forest undergrowth; he had to find chokecherry. It was plentiful around these parts and he remembered an old mountain man telling him the Indians used it on gangrene. His foot wasn't there yet, but it would be soon if he didn't do something now.
The chokecherry was easy enough to find but tearing the bark off took the use of his lockpick and a lot of effort. Winded and feverish, Heyes returned to his horse and sat down against the same tree. He picked up the whiskey bottle and drank some more. When he began to feel suitably fuzzy, he poured the some of the alcohol into the open wounds swearing huskily as the fluid burn into the raw flesh. Tearing the chokecherry bark into tiny shreds, he packed it into his wounds, gritting his teeth against the pain. He sprinkled the skunk cabbage on top, soaked it with some more whiskey, and wrapped the muslin around everything to hold it in place. It was the best he could do. One more swig and he was ready to try mounting.
Getting to his foot with difficulty, Heyes stowed away the remaining herbs and bandaging in his saddlebag. He retrieved his hat and the band, using a piece of latigo to tie the band back on before slipping the stampede strings over his head. He untied the gelding. He had one chance to vault into the saddle without doing any more harm to himself. Grabbing the mane, he tucked his forearm into the horse's shoulder blade, took a deep breath, and swung into the saddle, his sore foot clearing the cantle easily. Relieved, he took a moment to catch his breath before urging the horse on.
XXX
The Kid's sorrel plodded along at an exhausted walk. His rider's head pitched forward and his eyes strained to read the rocky ground. Game trails crisscrossed this section of trail making it difficult to discern tracks but telltale drops of spilled blood were still visible in the weakening afternoon light. Curry prayed the blood wasn't his partner's. Every few steps, the horse stopped and refused to move on. Finally, both horse and rider could go no further. The Kid dismounted, stiffly leading the sorrel to the lowest branch of an old blue spruce. He pulled the saddle from the weary creature, dropping it on the ground, and spreading out the saddle pad to dry. Giving the animal the last of their water, he stretched out on his bedroll.
Immediately, the Kid drifted into a fitful sleep, his dreams filled with his worst nightmare.
Author's note: what is commonly called Skunk Cabbage in Colorado is also called Corn Lily. It is not the same plant as Eastern Skunk Cabbage and has different medicinal uses.