Thanks for all the follows and reviews, peeps! For all those who wished Evans a horrible death.. here's to you!
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It seemed like hours had passed when she woke up. they were still riding, and the jostling of the galloping horse made her feel dizzy and nauseous. They had left the vast desert behind them and were now in a more woodland area. The trees going by in fast passing rows. She listened to the exhausted snorting of the horse under her. His breath visible in the cool night air. Her head throbbed painfully, and she could feel her skin stretch with the dried up blood on her face. But the shoulder of the young man that held her firmly in the saddle was warm and she couldn't help but feel safe. She looked up at him, his eyes focused on the distance, a concentrated expression on his face. He must have noticed her gaze from the corner of his eyes for he turned to look at her for a quick moment.
"Yer up?" he asked.
"Where are we going?"
He didn't answer right away, too concentrated on steering his horse around a fallen tree and jumping over the next trunk they encountered. She knew where they were going, but she wanted to hear it from him. She wanted him to realize what danger he was putting her in.
"We gotta get that wound on yer head stitched or it'll fester and all" He answered. "Ah know what ahm doin'. Ye rest now. We got a long way te go."
She leaned her head against his shoulder and buried her face in his neck. His words had been more comforting than she had thought. Their weight shifted to the back of the saddle as the horse started climbing up a ridge. She looked at the horse's ears going back and forth, listening to Frank's gentle urging. The sounds around them changed from howling coyotes to screaming bobcats and crickets high up in the tree tops. She was vaguely aware of the howling of wolves in the distance, and the horse snorting restlessly before she lost consciousness once again.
It was hours later when Frank started seeing the light of a campfire up ahead. The gang had moved further away than he had anticipated, and he hoped this was indeed the men he was looking for. His horse was exhausted, and wouldn't be able to endure another hour in full gallop. Deciding he had no choice, he took his pistol and fired three shots in the air. He waited, shooting short glances at the unconscious woman in his arms. She seemed more dead than alive at the moment, and that thought frightened him. To his relief, three shots were fired in the near distance. He had found the gang.
"Goin' te be alright now, miss Hartley. Ah promise.." he said, more to himself than anyone. Two horsemen approached him in a steady trot.
"What the hell took you so long?" Asked Barret, halting his horse in front of Frank's. "Who's that?" Frank swallowed nervously and looked down at the half conscious charge in his arms. "Ye only saw her five days ago! How can ye not recognize her now? Rangers came and burned down the ranch. Ah had no choice.."
"The hell are you talking about?" Jesus asked in his thick Spanish accent.
"It don't matter te any of ye! Ah need te talk to Butch.." Frank said defiantly. Barret chuckled and looked at Jesus with a knowing smile. "Ye sure do. He aint gonna like this at all. And he aint in anymore of an amiable mood than five days ago.. Ah don't know what she's good at, but healing sure aint one of her talents." He said.
Frank shot him an angry look and steered his horse around the other two, up the ridge to a small open space in the thick forest. He scanned the campsite for his leader and found him sitting next to Ray, wrapped in conversation. He got off his horse and gently lifted the girl in his arms. Butch's eyes widened at the sight, in a flash he was at Frank's side, startling him so he almost dropped Eleanor on the frozen ground.
"What the hell do ye think yer doin'?!" Butch hollered. Frank stared at him in fear, trying to say something, but he was interrupted. "Answer me, Frank!"
"Ahm tryin'!" Frank peeped nervously. "Rangers came.. and they took Mrs. Hartley away.. they shot her Grandpa and then they burned down them ranch and Evans he.. well he got a hold on er and all" Butch's expression darkened as he listened to the story. In a swift movement, he took out his knife and held it up at Frank. "Ye better start talking straight er ah'll cut ye up so bad yer own mother won't know ye.. what did he do?"
Silence.
"FRANK!"
"Nuthin'! He tried.. but he hit her hard, see?.. ah knocked him out cold. Tied him te a post for ya.. Ah knew ye'd.. git angry and all." Frank said, a wicked grin on his face. He had seen his leader do it many times before, and it had disgusted him every time. But right now, he was requesting it.
Butch stared at him for a moment, his expression impassive, and moved his eyes down to the girl in Frank's arms.
"Take er back.." He grumbled and turned away. Frank took a step in his direction. "Take er back te what? Butch, they burned down her house.. there aint no place fer her to go back to. I'd be leavin' her out in the desert with nuthin'… Ah can't take her to Colby cause they're lookin' fer her. They gonna hang her ma.. they will hang her too if they see her!"
He was talking to Butch's back, but he knew his leader was listening to every word, and analysing every option there was to handle this situation in a matter that would leave him in control no matter what.
"What do ye want me te do about it, Frank?" Butch asked calmly, turning back to face the youngest member of his gang. Frank looked lost and almost exasperated. "She helped you, didn't she? I mean Hell..She was very nice te you. Ah don't know why we couldn't help er at all." He said. Butch gazed at him, the kid had a way to strike chords in a man's heart like no one else could. Which was why Frank was a respected member of the gang, even though it didn't show at all times. Ray approached Butch slowly, scratching the back of his head as he usually did when he was nervous. "We can atleast stitch er up and.. see what te do next." He said.
Butch looked at the faces of each member of his gang. Barret and Jesus had joined the small circle now as well. Skinny stared at the girl in Frank's arms as if he had never seen a woman before.
"Well, Jack.." Butch said smugly. Barret looked up at his leader at the mention of his first name. Only used in serious situations, even though Butch looked rather amused at what he was about to say. "I got a patient for ye."
The look Frank received from Barret could have killed him, but the young man was too relieved that he could put the girl down for she was getting rather heavy. The young woman whimpered when she was placed on a dusty saddle blanket and Frank's warmth moved away from her. He took her hand gently, not really knowing what to do, but was shoved aside roughly a moment later.
"Move.." Barret mumbled gruffly. "Git me one of them whiskey bottles over there." Frank nodded and got up to carry out his instructions. With great precision only a skilled and experienced army surgeon possessed, Barret prepared a needle and threat that he kept in a small tin box. A useful attribute to have out in the wilderness. Frank returned and handed Barret the bottle.
"what else, Jack?" Frank asked, wanting to help. Barret didn't answer as he took out a handkerchief, wetted it with the strong liquor and cleaned out the wound on the woman's forehead. "Ye can hold er down fer me in a minute." He said.
Frank gulped nervously. "what is she gonna do that ah need te hold er down for?" Barret looked up at him with an annoyed expression. "Just hold her arms for me, ye idiot. Stop asking me questions." The rest of the gang watched the ordeal from a distance. They had all been stitched up by Barret at some point, and they all knew what it felt like when there was nothing to numb the pain but a good swig of Whiskey. They would never admit to themselves they felt sorry for the young woman, cause empathy wasn't a trade any of them felt willing to adopt, but their silence and distance spoke volumes. Butch paced around the campsite restlessly, shooting looks at the young woman being tended to by his gangmember every so often.
"Don't make a scar.." Frank pleaded softly when the needle was about to hit Eleanor's skin. Both men locked eyes for a moment. The army surgeon sighed in annoyance and lowered the needle.
To get the best access to her wound, and thus reduce the chance of creating scars, Barret lifted one leg over Eleanor's unconscious frame so he was hovering just above her. He examined the wound closely, a menacing look on his face. "It's gonna leave a scar no matter what.." he mumbled. "It's a deep cut." When the needle dug into her soft skin, and a trail of blood trickled down her face, Frank looked away, unable to stand the sight. For a moment it seemed the young girl would go through this without feeling any of it, but she started squirming after the third time the needle pierced her skin.
"Hold er down, boy.." Barret said again. Frank did his best, but he wasn't much stronger than Eleanor herself. She opened her eyes to stare straight into Barret's, a stranger to her, basically sitting on top of her. The position they were in reminded her much of her experience with Evans, and her eyes widened in fear. "Lay still.." Barret told her, his expression dark, but all she could think of was trying to get him off her. Now more awake, she started trashing more violently and screamed out in pain when the needle was pushed through her skin again. The gang took a step back in uneasiness. It was never a pleasant sound to hear a young woman scream in agony.
Still not completely aware of what the man on top of her was trying to do, she brought her knee up fast, hitting him hard in the small of his back. He cursed loudly in pain and dropped the needle to catch his own weight with his hands. "OW! Knock it off, ye little hellcat! Jesus! Hold down er legs or she gonna break my spine!"
Big hands wound themselves around her legs, rendering her completely immobile. The stitching continued with violent and forceful precision. The girl cried, screamed, and it seemed like she'd never stop scaring the birds from the trees. Skinny had his ears covered and stared at it all in utter shock.
She screamed till her throat was red and raw and her voice gave up on her. She cried till she couldn't see anymore because the tears filled up her eyes and pooled around her lashes. She tried to move and trash around until her body was exhausted from the effort and she could do nothing more but lay still and listen to her heavy breathing. The pain had stopped, and she looked up at the man on top of her, blinking slowly. He didn't look as shocked as the other two men holding her, but he was panting just like her. He wrapped a strip of linen soaked in whiskey around her wound. The hands on her legs disappeared, leaving bruises from her struggling, none of which she was aware of at the present time.
Barret moved off her slowly, his back aching from the violent kick. He stood up, stretched painfully from the hunched over position he had been in and decided to leave the nursing to others better equipped for it. Frank covered the now shivering woman with an old raggedy blanket, most likely his own, and sat by her side calmly.
"Where's Butch?" Asked Barret after taking a deep swig from a bottle of Whiskey to ease the pain in his back. No one had noticed the gang leader taking off, all eyes had been on the young woman's painful treatment.
"Where do you think he is?" Ray said, poking up the fire with a stick. "He's gone after Evans, of course. That bastard crossed him one too many times."
"That's a six hour ride from here!" Barret protested.
"Seven.." Frank corrected him, looking up at the surgeon for a moment. "Seven hours if yer nice te yer horse. But I don't think he's gonna be as nice to Annabel as I was to Bobby."
Barret spat on the ground angrily. The Whiskey dulling the pain in his back, as well as numbing his brain function. But it didn't matter. Soon all of them would nestle down for the night, and it didn't matter if you were drunk out of your gorge in your sleep.
Eleanor was vaguely aware of her surroundings. Her head throbbed painfully, and the voices around her were dulled like they were behind a glass door. When she opened her eyes, the world started spinning and closed them again quickly. Her throat burned from her excessive screaming, and she coughed pitifully.
"Give her some Whiskey.." Barret instructed reluctantly as he sat down close to the campfire, his back to Frank and his patient. "And put some laudanum in it. Two drops will do. It's in my left saddlebag." He lifted his shirt and peered over his shoulder to look at the bruise she caused him. He scoffed at the tender spot, already turning a bright purple. "Damn Hellcat.." He growled.
The cold rim of a glass bottle was pressed against her lips and she was forced to choke down the strong liquor. She coughed on the unkind taste, the fumes burning her throat like hot oil, now mixed with the bitterness of laudanum.
Barret was obviously tired of her whimpering, cause mixed with the strong alcoholic drink, laudanum was sure to render someone unconscious for a good few hours. None of the outlaws felt like listening to a suffering young woman while they were trying to sleep, and the surgeon huffed when Ray scolded him for knocking her out this way.
She dreamed of her mother in her alcohol induced slumber. Arms tight behind her back, slowly being led to a rope hanging from a lone tree by men in fine suits and bowler hats. She saw the lifeless body of her grandfather, coyotes ripping away his clothes and pulling out parts of meat. One of the wild dogs looked at her, its snout covered in blood, its eyes a sky blue. There was fire, lots of fire, all around her. As if the world was going up in flames. The coyotes yelped and howled. She saw Evans, tied to a pole and struggling to get away from the wild dogs nipping and yapping at his feet. A horse snorted and the man looked up at the sound. His eyes widened in fear when he saw who dismounted. Two snake leather boots landed on the dusty ground and approached him calmly, his step swaying, causing the coyotes to flee in mutual panic. Evans pleaded, holding up his hands in surrender, tears running down his bearded face. The owner of the snake leather boots reached down to retrieve a knife from its holster tied around his leg. All went dark when the man's agonizing cries scared away the vultures that had been waiting patiently for him to die.
She bolted upright, torn from her nightmare, and her body collided with another. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around this unknown person, seeking comfort in anything she could find. She listened to her heavy breathing and rapidly beating heart for a moment, her chin on the stranger's shoulder. For a moment it seemed he was going to let her, but then his hands found their way to her slender arms and pushed her back down.
"Git off me. Stop it.. Ahm trying to look at yer stitches." Barret mumbled gruffly. Embarrassed, she did as she was told and blinked at him slowly while he was examining his own work critically. It was dark around them. The campfire reduced to a pit of smouldering logs. She listened to the snoring of the rest of the men, all of them in deep sleep.
"Where's Frank?" She asked him. She knew she had seen him before, when they delivered Butch at her home, but she didn't know his name. The man didn't seem willing to converse with her and just shot her an irritated look while he changed the bandages around her head. "What is your name?" she tried again. Again it seemed like he wasn't going to answer and she frowned in embarrassment, averting her gaze.
"I'm Jack Barret"
Frank had mentioned that name to her on multiple occasions. She could even recall Butch telling her something about a Barret. Her mind still scrambled from the blow to her head, she tried to remember what they had told her about this man.
"You're the one with the headaches.." she said. Did she just say that out loud? The look on his face was priceless. A mixture of surprise and slight embarrassment, but it soon turned into his usual dark expression.
"I see that goofball can't keep somethin' to himself to save his life." He mumbled gruffly, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle meant for her wound.
"I meant no disrespect.." she spoke quietly and watched him struck a match to light his cigarette, gazing at her quietly. She reached up to touch her bandaged head, the wrappings freshly soaked in whiskey. It stung her open skin, but she knew it was to fight infection.
"Are you a doctor?" she asked. He blew the smoke into the cold air of night and watched it create ghostly patterns in the dark. He shook his head slowly and chuckled at her dazed expression. This girl was so out of it. He recognized a concussion when he saw one, and she definitely got her noodle seriously scrambled.
"Go to sleep. Ye need it." He got up and walked away, leaving her to her own thoughts. She wondered about her dream, had it held any truth to any events? It was too dark to identify the men sleeping around the campfire. They were laying at quite a distance. She wondered why no one dared to lay any closer to her. Somehow she knew Butch wasn't one of the sleeping outlaws. He slept in utter silence, like a desert reptile awaiting an ambush from a bird of prey. She hoped her next dream wouldn't cook up the same horrid images they had shown her before. she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the woods around her until birds announced the first morning light had been seen, then sleep took her once again.
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R&R please!
