New Mexico Territory, 1880:
The stopper in the neck of the canteen is stubborn. Maybe if he weren't so intent on trying to work the thing out, he would see the girl come up on him. But he doesn't. She seems to come out of nowhere, and then the rain does too. Thunder cracks. The leaden sky opens to release rain as if it will cast all the water in heaven onto the earth.
"Mister!"
Buck hears the call, wipes his face, and blinks. He can barely see through the sudden downpour, but there she is, a young woman, hardly more than a girl. So close he could reach out and touch her, except she backs further away, pressed into the whipping wind. "Come with me, please, mister. I need...", and when she turns, Buck finds himself going after. The path is rocky, uneven; his boots slide on the slick mud.
The girl goes fast. Buck follows on the slippery path, but the rain pounds down like a waterfall, smothering, obscuring. Coming up on a tree root, Buck stumbles. His knees hit the ground and the canteen bounces off into the brush.
"Wait, Miss, stop!", and she does, turning to observe him.
In the buffeting wind, Buck stands up, breathing hard. His hat is gone, has been ripped away.
The girl seems to sway in the path. Her eyes are blue, her hair a thick muddy brown, and even soaked as it is, it waves at her shoulders. The colorless dress she wears is nothing but a thin shift, saturated, and plastered too close to her body.
Buck glances away. Folks call him a ladies man, but he has his boundaries. She shouldn't be out here like this. "What's your trouble?" he asks. "Is someone hurt? My friend Vin is back there. We have horses, supplies. What do you need?"
"Only one. Just you." She extends a hand.
The path is smoother here and the rain seems to have eased up, or maybe it's just that they've moved under cover of trees that line the way. Still, it's gloomy, hard to see. Buck moves near, eyes still averted. "I'm Buck, Miss." His tone is gentle. "What's your name?"
"Buck?" The girl seems to ponder this. Then, "I've never had a boy with that name before."
Oh.
But this girl is too young, and he is not some boy. "I don't have money," he lies.
The unexpected laugh is low, a shivery sound. "Don't worry 'bout that", and she smiles. "I'll take whatever you've got. Watches, rings." She glances down. "Shoes."
Buck lets his eyes move down the girl's mud streaked legs. Her ragged slippers are waterlogged, mismatched, not even the same size. "My boots won't fit you," he says quietly. "Let's get you out of here before you catch your death."
She isn't listening, offering her hand again, the upturned palm ingrained with dirt in every line. "Come with me now, and hurry, Buck. But you have to be careful. There's logs that come up in the way and they'll hurt you." The girl begins to run then, skims easily along the path, slides over muddy stones as if there were nothing there.
Buck runs, too, but clumsily in his mud caked boots. He doesn't know where they're going, but this girl seems desperately poor. He'll help if he can, just give her the money, but he won't –
"Stay clear!" The words are a scream.
From nowhere two logs appear in the way. Buck slams into one, pitches forward, lands hard on his shoulder against the other. One eye just misses the stub of a broken limb, but jagged bark scrapes skin from his cheek . Dizzy, he stays low and still a moment, then lifts his head. The girl has stopped and is drifting back his way. "I told you to stay clear of those."
Sprawled over the log, Buck feels exhaustion flow through him, and it brings a chill that goes to the bone. He's thinking he must have got the wind knocked out of him, because he can hardly catch his breath. "You live here?" he gasps out, trying to buy time before he has to rise. He manages a small chuckle. "Can't believe how fast you – take this trail – it's like you know every rock."
"I do," the girl answers. " 'Cause I come along here every day."
Buck nods sadly, breathing easier, finding it in himself to raise up some. He believes now he is getting the picture. "Every day, huh?" His eyes are soulful, his voice soft as he gazes into her face. "So where I found you, you go up there every day looking for men?"
"I don't have to look for men." The girl tilts her chin up, proud. "They find me. That other boy up there? I saw him, and I knew he's the wary kind. Those kind never come with me. But you did, Buck. You found me."
She's standing there, hair swirling, eyes expectant, waiting. Buck stays down. His shoulder aches. He lets his breath go quiet, just stays there, thinking, listening. The sound all around is of water – patter of rain on the leaves, swollen river rushing beyond the trees. Under the dripping leaves, Buck contemplates the world he can see. The canopy here is so dense the sky barely shows. Behind, where they've been, the way has turned so murky he can't see through the gloom. Ahead, the path twists into more thick cover. Where does this girl stay, and what kind of life does she lead here? A bleak one, for sure.
"Look, Miss," he says. "My friend is gonna wonder where I got off to. We can help you, but we need to go back there."
"No!" The girl lunges forward. Her voice is pitched high and wild as she grabs his hands. "Only one! You found me! Just you!"
Buck jerks away, certain her ferocity comes from fear. His hands go up, placating but shaky. All right. Just one.
She becomes calm. But her eyes are sly now, darkening, turned gray like dirty ice. "I seen you looking behind," she says, and she reaches for Buck again, deliberately this time. "You can't easily get there." An icy, dripping finger trails his cheek. Close and clear, she whispers, "But going ahead is easy."
A weird unease crawls into Buck's gut. He can't understand her words, or his fatigue, or why he is so unbearably cold. Shivering, he forces words through chattering teeth. "You're freezing."
The girl pulls him up, away from the log with far more strength than he could have believed she'd possess. Her hands are so cold. He would give her his coat if it wasn't soaked through. The whole thing is sodden, slick with mud, no protection, and heavy, too heavy to wear in his exhaustion. He shucks it off, leaves it on the trail, and they go on together, though more slowly now where the path has widened.
Buck's senses are muddled, breath coming short again, but the girl's words seep through. "We're almost out from the trees now."
Is that good? His brain feels foggy, he doesn't know what to think. Wonders if the girl means she has a shack in a clearing there. He becomes aware that she is cautioning him. "I said you need to watch out for Old Ash. This bend up ahead, that's where he stays."
"Old Ash?" Buck pants. "An old man lives here?" Wiping water from his eyes, he peers around.
The girl watches the way his eyes search. "I said, up ahead." She pauses, a hand on Buck's sleeve telling him to stop, too. "It's calm here, but when we come out of the trees, it's gonna get real hard again. The way is steep, but you have to go fast, Buck. Now let me tell you something. A long time ago, Old Ash, he took a fall and broke something, never left. Must be 'bout eighty years old, but you gotta watch out for him, 'cause he lies and waits to catch them like you. Do you understand? You have to stick close to me."
"What?" Buck laughs weakly. He cranes his neck, still trying to see. "Miss, no eighty year old can best me."
"I seen it!" she barks. "Yes – boys like you that come through here. I seen women too, and little kids. If Old Ash catches them, I can't always get them back." For a scant moment she seems rueful. Staring toward where Old Ash waits, she says softly, "Sometimes someone else comes to take them away."
Buck shudders. A protective instinct surges. "Has he tried for you?"
She reaches for his fingers, entwining them with hers. "Don't worry 'bout that. Just come with me, fast like I said, through these last rocks, and don't let go for nothin'. We'll get past Old Ash together, Buck, and then you can be with me."
The one constant in Buck's confused mind breaks free. "Miss, I am not gonna be with you. You're too young for this life, and I'm gonna get you out of here."
A thin ripple of laughter escapes the girl, but Buck recognizes hardness in her eyes. He's seen that before – the dead emotion disguised behind fake humor, and he's not surprised when she tells him, "Some that look young can be older than you'd ever believe."
"There's always a way out," Buck murmurs.
Suddenly, thunder crashes, and they are at once running again, downhill this time, as the rain pours harder than ever. The rocks are big, tumbled in the path, slick and mossy with little space between. The girl slips through, if possible even swifter than ever. Buck has lost his grip on her hand. He stumbles behind, battered and disoriented when he emerges, just as the bend in the path appears.
The girl is waiting. Buck feels her arms go around him and she speaks against his neck. "Stay to the center. Stay clear of Old Ash. Hold on to me, Buck, please." He scoops her into his arms. She is light as fog. So close he can smell the musty scent of her hair. She whispers, "This time you can't let go."
They are going fast now, so fast it feels like his feet are not his own, like he's being carried along, and he circles his arms tight around the girl, just as hers are tight around him, so tight he feels he's being smothered. Buck can feel every beat of his own heart.
"No, not that way! Not there!" she screams. But something's pulling. Buck's legs are frozen, his feet numb, and he can't make them obey him. He's veering the wrong way, his strength is gone, he can't fight it. The girl screams again, grips even tighter; she is strong, but this other force is immovable. It's here, looming, gnarled bony hands reaching – Old Ash! Buck struggles, cries out, fights against something huge that has taken hold and is grabbing, dragging him down. The girl has vanished, slipped right through his arms and Old's Ash's knotty hands. Buck can't breathe, strikes out, limbs thrashing.
"Gotcha!"
No!
There's a pull at his collar.
"Help me out here, Bucklin. Don't fight me."
Vin?
"You're kinda heavy. Think you can get outta there?"
His head is free now, he's been somewhat lifted, finds himself in a tangle of –
But he's coughing, choking, vomiting out water. It takes some time for his chest to clear, the nausea to settle, the world to right itself. Then, with effort, Buck hauls himself from the snarl of weather worn branches. He clasps the offered hand, clambers from the shattered bole of the tree to the bank. "You all right?" says Vin, and despite the scratches, the cuts and bruises, aching head and shoulder, Buck says, "Yeah", and collapses down to the sun warmed mud of the river bank, rolling onto his back. Water slithers from his hair. Buck opens his eyes to light so strong, it's like the storm never existed. He clenches his hands, still so cold, freezing, but his face feels a soothing warmth. He's lying in full sun.
And it's peaceful. No crashing thunder. No downpour. Only the careless rush of rapids some way behind him and the quiet slosh of water by the bank. Overhead, the October sky is bright as a bluebird.
More spasms of coughing hit, and Buck bolts upright. Vin pounds on his back until Buck pulls away. He runs a hand through his sopping hair, scrubs at his face in agitation. Leaning forward, he takes ragged breaths, at last wheezing out, "The rain. The storm. I was running on that path."
Squatted beside him, Vin tilts his head, eyes squinting, and waits.
Buck tries again. His voice is hoarse. "I was following the girl."
Vin nods with understanding, but he sighs. "Buck, listen. It ain't been rainin'. There wasn't no girl. I was on that path, runnin' – and you was in the river."
"In the river?" Bewildered, Buck weighs the words, looking for sense in them.
"Not for long," Vin says. "Seen you surface when that log come up against you sudden, but you lost your grip. Then, right past those rapids back there, the current pulled you to the side. Good thing this old tree caught you."
Limbs bone white in the sunlight, the ash tree lies stretched in the water, long dead. A long time ago he took a fall and broke something.
Buck's eyes dart to the river, then back to Old Ash. And he remembers. Vin didn't want to stop here. Said something felt wrong in this valley; he knew another place not too far. But Buck's canteen was near empty, and he saw the water sparkling... The river was swift, the bank steep. Buck remembers the stony crumbling slope, the way his boots slid and he lost his footing.
"A young woman called me," he mumbles. "I wanted to help her." Immediately, he feels foolish. "You think I'm crazy."
But Vin aims a serious gaze at him, lips tight and grim. "Well, she nearly claimed you."
Buck sags. "Who was she?"
"She? Was the damn river." Vin quirks up a wry smile. "Trust you to see death as a woman. Buck, you was drownin' ."
End