TWENTY-ONE
It was almost funny, I'd asked for water and there I was lying flat in the middle of a shallow stream. Whoever was listening to my prayers had an unusual sense of humor, which I didn't particularly share at the moment. The horse gave me a prod with his muzzle and nickered. Using my good arm, I pushed myself into a sitting position, but the change caused my head to spin and dark clouds to float before my eyes. I knew I was close to losing consciousness, and this was no place to do it. I focused on the bank and began moving in that direction in a sort of three legged crawl. I made it to land and collapsed, positioning my head on the grassy shore, while my shoulder lay submerged under the running current.
I closed my eyes for what seemed like mere seconds willing my thoughts to escape to a summer day less than a year past back in Dodge City, Kansas. It was another creek I was remembering, and a shared picnic lunch. I felt again bare feet dangling in the rushing water, splashing playing, loving. The memory evoked such a feeling of peace that I fought against returning to the present. But unfamiliar male voices jerked me back to the truth of the moment. Like a rabbit caught in a lantern light I froze, not daring to move, hoping the tall grasses wouldn't betray my hiding place.
"I see the horse, down by the water." I heard someone call. There was the squeak of saddle leather, the rustle of brush and the trod of hoof beat as riders came closer. Through the blades of grass I caught sight of a strange horseman dashing into the stream spraying a heavy mist of water in every direction. He grabbed Doc's reins and began pulling him to the bank. "Hell of a fine horse." He yelled.
"Got a brand on it?" His partner asked from the grassy embankment overlooking the flowage.
There was a belly laugh, "Hell it's got the Rolling H, Parm Harris' brand. Rider must a been hit, there's fresh blood on the saddle."
"So whoever the badge was after must a up and stolt one of ol' Parm's remuda."
"Well, I don't reckon that badge is gonna worry none about it no more … I figure he's toasting in hell about now along with Ferdie Kutz."
"Ain't never been a lawman worth mourning over, but old Ferdie weren't a bad sort, kinda hated to see him dead. You know he never watered down the drinks, at least so's you could tell. Can't cipher what would bring Kutz this far from town, unless it was the promise of some cash reward. He was a greedy bastard ..."
The other man interrupted, "Hey Grabow. What's that over there?" The cowpoke jumped from his horse leaving the animal ground tied and walked through the water to stand over my head. I closed my eyes and held my breath; I felt a boot nudging my shoulder turning me over.
"He dead?"
"Been hit, that's fer sure. What do you figure we should do with him?"
The other man had climbed down from his mount to join Grabow. "Don't look to be a mortal wound. Bring him on back to the `nest', we're short men, I reckon Verdon wouldn't mind meeting this here young fella. Must be something or the law wouldn't a been after him and he wouldn't be ridin' one of Parm Harris's horses."
I was roughly grabbed by hands and feet and dragged a distance until I was tossed over Doc's saddle and tied in place. I maintained my charade of unconsciousness. While my clothing and short hair concealed my sex, I didn't know how well I could disguise the nature of my voice and I couldn't afford to have these outlaws know I was a woman.
We traveled over rough terrain in the hot sun; at some point my shoulder started bleeding again and the pain, which had abated some in the cold water returned more intense than before. I would drift from reality to a dream like state and back again. And upon each return I would wonder if I could survive this, or if I wanted to survive. The thought, which kept me hanging on, was that of Matt, and the knowing I was going where he was heading.
They stopped at one point and one of the men tried to pour some water down my throat. It made me gag. I knew infection was setting in and I was becoming feverish. My body was raked with a chill and an ache.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was setting and the shadows were deep. The landscape had changed; we were into the Black Mesa country. I felt an immediate drop in temperature as we rode through the mouth of a canyon. The voices of the outlaws bounced off the stonewalls and echoed through the arroyo. I tried to concentrate on their words, but the fever had control of my mind and it took all my effort to keep quiet. We picked up speed and I sensed the horses smelled home. At last we came to a stop in front of a two-story adobe fortress built into the side of the canyon stockade. The voice of a young Mexican lad greeted the riders and offered to take the horses. My hands and feet were untied and I was pulled from Doc; one of the men slung me over his shoulder and carried me into the large building. It was a smoky room ripe with the smell of spilled beer and stale sweat. My eyes were opened at half-mast to get a look at my new surroundings. The interior of the structure resembled a saloon. A crude bar stretched the length of one side of the building, next to it, an off key melody rolled from the strings of a player piano. Scattered here and there were gaming tables and mingling among the group of outlaws were dance hall girls in revealing clothes. A voice boomed at us from a large table in a far corner. My feverish eyes looked in its direction, "Bout time you fellas got back. What kept you so long, what's ya got there?"
"Badge was shooting at this boy, got a bullet in him, he was hightailing it away on one of Parm Harris's horses. Figured he might could take Ollie or Jeb's place."
"Don't look big enough to fill the shoes. But if'n he managed to steal one of them fine horses of Parm's then he must have some crust to him. Take him to the back room where Virginia Sasse be, tell her she's gotta doctor him." As an afterthought he asked, "What happened to the badge, weren't old Gabriel was he?"
"Never laid eyes on him before, but he was a big'n. His badge said U.S. Marshal. He's dead, along with his sidekick, Ferd Kutz."
"What the hell be Ferdie doin ridin' with the law?" Spencer asked.
"Dead men don't talk," was the outlaw's terse reply. He turned away from his boss, and we left the room through a series of doors at last stopping in a dark hallway. I could hear a key rattle in a lock, a door opened and we crossed the threshold into a small dank room with stone walls and dim light. I was dumped on a cot. "Boss says you're to fix this boy up."
Virginia Sasse walked quickly to my bed and sat down next to me; I stared up at her, trying to communicate without saying a word. She'd been through her own hell; her clothes were torn, bruises traveled down her neck and a wicked cut had slit her lip. Our eyes locked but I couldn't tell if she recognized me.
She did a hasty exam of my shoulder, "Get me some fresh hot water and some sheeting and bandages. I'm thinking the bullet went right through, but this bleeding has to be stopped."
"Git your own, I ain't your errand boy."
"Mr. Grabow, you have deposited this young man on my bed, and if you be remembering correctly I haven't exactly had free run of this fine establishment of yours. Furthermore, I would think that if Mr. Spencer wishes for me to attend to the lad, then he expects you to help, and certainly he wouldn't be pleased at your unwillingness to oblige."
The man called Grabow mumbled a few coarse words but did as he she ordered, when the door slam signaled we were alone in the room, Gin opened my shirt, to better see the wound, and it was then that she noticed the binding covering my chest.
I saw the fleeting expression of surprise register on her face. But that was the last I remembered until sometime later.
`Later' was the middle of the night, when the piano had been stilled and the only noises came from the creak of bed springs on the second floor. I lay on the cot not daring to move for fear the pain might return. Slowly I opened my eyes; the darkness was complete except for the soft glow of a tallow candle resting in a dirty tin lid on a crude table. Sitting on a roughly crafted bench holding a paper toward the weak light was Gin Sasse. I recognized the Wanted Poster I'd so hastily folded and shoved in my pocket before leaving Rubicon. She looked at me and leaned closer, her voice held an edge I'd not heard before, "So Miss Cassie, it appears though young you be, you've got yourself a past to be running from. Only problem, you've escaped the sting of the hornet but ended up smack dab in the middle of his nest."