A shot rang out and Arthur chased after it. He dashed through the dense forest, leaping over fallen trees and rocks. He heard a pained cry and ran faster.
He growled in frustration as he pulled and pressed his way through the thicket. Branches descended upon him, tangling around him, constrictive and painful. Arthur gasped as one large appendage coiled around his throat. He reaching for his knife but he couldn't find it at his belt.
Arthur heard the cry again. A plea he had heard many times before. One born of a non-lethal bullet wound.
He kicked out frantically, tripping himself in the process but somehow he managed to loosen the branches hold across him, tho the vice grip at his throat increased it's suffocating pressure.
He gained his footing again and tried to claw the limb off but it wouldn't budge. He trudged onward, dragging the weight of the branches along with him.
He followed a long wailing sound till he reached a glade and there on the floor of the grassy pasture, was the golden deer.
It thrashed and cried. Moaning and screaming painfully.
Once again Arthur felt a familiar kindship to the Animal. Bound to it on some spiritual level.
He tried to walk towards it but the branches held him back.
The animal continued to struggle, blood from a wound at its throat coated its thick fur.
The deer looked up at him. Its eyes shined dark with an unmistakable plea to aide it. It's fear and desperation contagious and Arthur found himself too engrossed in the turmoil of the deer to notice the roots wind around his legs.
An especially loud scream startled Arthur and a pain at his own throat made him double over coughing. He gasped and cried alongside the deer. The branches increased their hold and slowly began tugging him back into the forest. Arthurs strength was waning but some part of him knew he had to stay with the deer. That being separated would kill them both.
The deer flailed, it's limbs wild and uncoordinated, desperate for a solid purchase so it could stand.
Arthur struggled to breathe as he watched the buck get its feet under it. As it stood, Arthurs vision began to fade.
He heard another cry from the deer. One of fear but this time, Arthur knew it was for him.
Arthur felt week as he slowly regained consciousness. His throat burned and chest felt tight.
Someone nudged his head up and the cool lip of a canteen was pressed against the seam of his mouth. A low foggy murmur encouraged him to drink. After a few difficult sips, he turned his head away. The movement pulled at the pain in his throat.
"... promise..." was the only word he caught before slipping back to sleep.
It was fascinating watching the man struggle to breathe. One moment he was sitting up tall in the saddle. The next, hunched over vomiting blood. His fear was palpable.
Dr. Koch considered himself a brilliant man and many of his colleagues agreed. Throughout his life he had gained a reputation as a foremost authority in a wide array of deadly diseases. From cholera to typhoid, yellow fever, anthrax and Tuberculosis. His awards and accolades were numerous. But Dr. Koch had never had the misfortune of running into men like these before. These were men of action. Wild and uncultured as the American land they lived off of.
Dr. Koch had no illusion that the large black man wouldn't make good on his threat if he let his friend die... but after looking the patient over, he realized there was going to be a problem.
The illness was quite far along and thus any sort of treatment was going to be less effective.
The man was week and frail, whiter now than he was before. The turgor and pallor of his skin lead Koch to believe he had lost weight recently and was in need of hydration.
Having one of the men remove the man's coat, revealed how the sweat clung to the man's body. Long triangular patches of moisture under the armpits, chest and back. The man felt warm to the touch with fever.
About 20ccs of blood coated his hands and lap. Vomiting blood is not a typical symptom of TB but it was not unheard of. As a medical professional Koch found himself genuinely intrigued by his findings but Koch didn't really care... this was an opportunity.
"We need to get him someplace warm and dry. A place with a bed."
"We aren't far from camp." the large black man said evenly.
"No, that won't do. He needs someplace with a bed. Not a pile of unwashed sheets on the ground. I need running water and good lighting."
"All of that can be found in camp." The ignorant man insisted, crossing his arms defiantly.
Of all the arrogance!
"I am the doctor here and I say the man needs a city in which to treat him. Someplace CLEAN. " he spat out with snide confidence. "Or do you want to be the reason he dies?"
He was expecting the other man to back down in the face of obvious facts. To kowtow in the fashion he was normally accustomed to... instead, the man grew angry. Seeming to rise up in stature and his eyes flared in anger. "
"This mans dead body would still hold more value to me than yours alive."
Dr. Koch did his level best to suppress a shiver as he backed away. He had no illusions as to if this man was bluffing. The sincerity certainly caused Koch to reconsider his current mode of escape. Using the man's health as a means to get into town may not be as effective as he hoped.
Begrudgingly he agreed to travel the rest of the way back to camp.
Arthur heard someone saying something but he didn't care. Everything hurt, everything was dark and the voices were far away. He didn't have the energy to focus on them. Arthur just wanted to go back to the deer. It was injured, it needed him... and somehow, he needed it.