CHAPTER TWO

There was no telegraph office in Lone Pine so Ezra had no way of sending word back to Four Corners to let the others know he wouldn't be back at the prearranged date. He didn't expect them to ride out and begin a search for him until he was at least three days late, but he didn't want to worry them or let them down. He realized that was an attitude he'd ever taken before, so to reassure himself of his distance and his professionally cool demeanour he told himself it was because he didn't want to give them any more reasons to criticize him. Gentlemen had been drawn to duels to settle scores like that.

Thankfully there was a small saloon to be found, distastefully located between the livery and the blacksmith, so that there was the smell of manure and whinnying of horses on the one side and the constant pounding and banging and the smell of hot metal from the other. However, he found that the whiskey wasn't watered down and the food wasn't the worst he'd ever eaten.

Upstairs were a few rooms to rent and he took one for the night. For the first time in a long time he had no desire for a card game, and when he had undressed and gotten into the relatively clean bed, he found he couldn't sleep. He was dead tired, but every time he closed his eyes, there was that little boys face, peaceful but devoid, the way the dead always looked. He'd never seen the body of such a young child and he found it disturbed him greatly. He couldn't console himself with the fact that he would have felt no real pain, or that it wasn't a violent death. He may not have felt pain, but he would never feel anything again. Not pain, not joy or love, what might he have grown up to be experiencing those things? Which young woman might he have made a happy wife and mother? Whoever those phantom family members could have been they would never exist now, not in that way.

Ezra had seen dead men; he had killed men. But not without cause, not without some sin on their soul or evil in their heart. And they had lived, and known life. They'd made decisions to lead them to their deaths, the boy had no choice. What sins could possibly be on his conscience? None that were punishable by death, Ezra knew that much for certain.

And so, he sat up all night in the darkness and didn't sleep a wink. He sat on the single chair in his room and stared out the window until he saw the horizon become slightly less black, then a watery grey, and then watched it bathe in the reddish orange glow of dawn. Dressing once again he strapped on his holster and carefully set his hat on his head. Smoothing the wrinkles out of the blankets he put the chair back in the corner and went downstairs where he skipped breakfast but requested a cup of coffee.

It was still very early but he went down the street to where he had left the girl last night and rapped softly on the door. The sawbones opened the door up after a few moments, blinking against the light, which was much brighter than in the little house, where all the curtains were still drawn.

"I've come to check on the girl," he said.

"She's awake, come on through," the healer said gruffly.

They manouvered a dark hallway and then came to a room which took up the entire back of the house. There was a table, a bed and a cabinet with several bottles of pills and potions. Next to the bed was a chair with the singed remains of the girl's nightdress draped over it and on the other side of the bed a pitcher and wash basin on a stand.

"Is she all right?" Ezra whispered.

"She'll live, I reckon. Done the best I can for her anyway."

With that he turned and left, so that only Ezra was standing in the doorway.

Sensing she was being watched, the girl opened her eyes and gingerly sat up in the bed, wincing. Ezra could hardly tell what color her hair was it was so blackened by ash, and although it must have been of a fairly long length before, at least six inches would need to be removed, if not more, after having been burned.

There were white bandages on her arms and hands, and one around her neck. A hastily made up patch covered her right cheek, but her eyes seemed mercifully untouched, at least he supposed they were because she was looking straight at him.

"Didn't the doctor wash you?" he asked in concern, surely bandaging skin that way would cause a terrible infection.

"I washed where she was burned as well as I could," came the doctor's voice behind him. "It's a tricky thing with burns. Don't want the skin to come off."

Ezra cringed.

"Didn't figure washing her hair and putting it up in curls was too important yesterday, being she couldn't breath or move."

"No, quite right."

All this time she sat watching them from the bed, blinking slowly and cautiously rubbing her head with her bandaged hand. She said nothing and looked extremely confused.

"Was her head injured?" Ezra asked, observing her apparently simple minded behaviour.

"Not that I could see," the doctor replied, he pulled a bottle from his back pocket. "That'd be the laudanum you're seeing. I gave her a powerful dose of it last night when she came 'round."

"Is she in much pain?"

"You're damn right she is, burns is the worst. But more than that she was having a fit. Screaming and carrying on, she would have done herself terrible damage. So I gave her some to settle her down."

"Thank you, doctor," Ezra said, reaching out his hand for the bottle. To his surprise the man uncorked it, took a swallow, then re-corked it and handed it over.

Sitting himself down on the chair next to the bed, Ezra reached out and took the young girl's hand. It was difficult to tell how old she was, covered with bandages, laying in bed and slightly addled from the strong dose of painkiller, but he guessed she was perhaps 22.

They sat that way for perhaps an hour, not saying anything. The doctor did not return to check for impropriety of any sort, and Ezra wanted to believe he had come across as a gentleman who would never take advantage of a lady in such a vulnerable state, but he felt it was more likely that the man simply didn't care.

Finally, when he could tell by the look on her face that the painkiller was wearing off, he ventured a question.

"Can you speak?" he began.

After a hoarse croak that brought on a prolonged fit of coughing, the girl drank a glass of water and nodded.

"Yes," she said hoarsely.

"What's your name?"

"Agatha Campbell."

"Are you in much pain? I can give you some more elixir if you require it."

"Not yet," she turned to look him full on. "I need... You found the house?"

"Yes, and you inside of it. I don't waste much time on foolish notions but you must have a guardian angel, my dear."

"But, I wasn't alone?"

There was a desperate hope in her voice and Ezra's heart hitched in his chest. He remembered the young boy again and felt surprising tears prick the back of his eyes once more.

"No, my dear, you were not. But," he said before her hopes were raised any higher. "But..." he said again, and took both of her hands in his.

A horror filled her face, followed by the most extreme pain and sadness he had ever seen. As long as he lived, he would not forget the look on her face or what it did to the very soul of him.

"No," she said, not wanting to believe him. "No! Not William, and Mam?"

"I'm afraid so," Ezra said softly. William, that was the boy's name. At least now he had a name, and he wouldn't remain an unknown corpse weighing heavily on his mind.

Agatha broke down and began to sob, which brought on another fit of coughing. She refused water and sobbed and coughed and choked until he feared she would slip into full blown hysteria. Not trusting her with the bottle, he poured some laudanum into a cup and forced her to drink it. Shortly her sobbing slowed and her ragged breathing was more measured. He stayed with her until she fell into a drug induced stupor, and then back to sleep once again, not sure what else to do.