Disclaimer: I do not own Frank T Hopkins and I am writing about him only
for the pleasure of doing so. I am making no money from this enterprise.
Warning: this chapter is one reason I stuck a 13 warning on the chapter – though their eyes are shut, I promise ...
For the next few minutes, Frank wrestled to wake properly. Something had hit him, hard, and the side of his head throbbed with the pain of it. He lay still trying to assess where he had landed this time. He was on his back, head up-slope, and he hurt everywhere, hips, knees, elbows, hands – the vulnerable points. His right forearm was a mass of tingling pulsations of pain.
He couldn't go on just lying there, not with small stones still rolling past him. He struggled and sat up, but a shout made him freeze.
"Stay still! You go to the bottom and we'll be packing a corpse outta there!" A man's voice, with enough conviction in it to curtail his attempts to stand.
Then, unexpectedly, a voice right behind him. "You move, Frank T., and I swear I'll leave you down there for the buzzards. After I come down here for you special, too."
He glanced up. Lil stood just above him. She was tied round the waist with a rope, and was using that to balance herself. "Where d'you hurt?"
"Think my arm's busted. Not too much else, apart from my head, maybe. My hands ain't so bad."
"No need to worry, then." She was right next to him now, kneeling, pulling down another rope that snaked from the top of the gully. She tried to tie it round him but he winced as she nudged his arm.
"Leave it, ma'am. You go on back now. I can manage this." But he pulled a face when he remembered what had happened last time he had tried that line.
She took no notice of him. She carefully helped him stick his hand between the buttons on his jacket and that helped some. Then she tried again, this time fetching the rope round him and tying it off.
"Okay, Mr Watson! Yeah, you too, horse! Haul away! One tired old cowboy comin' up!"
She helped him to his feet, turned him around and then put a hand on his back. This time, with the support of the rope round him he was able to scramble up the loose cliff. At the top, two pairs of hands took hold of him. Hidalgo snorted a greeting. Frank's little brother had pulled him up.
"Howdy," said an old man, holding out his hand in greeting. He was small and bundled round with clothes and yet he looked tough and experienced. Frank began to relax a little.
"Howdy," Frank answered. "Lucky you were here."
"Lucky she was here, ya mean. She's the one stopped you from fallin' right down to the bottom." The old man, brown eyes dancing but not showing a trace of a smile, nodded down the slope, then pushed Hidalgo back.
Frank glanced down and watched Lil coming up on the rope, one hand hanging on, the other holding up her skirts. She gave him a cheery grin which faded at his expression.
In truth, he wished himself a million miles away. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone any more, least of all to – to her.
But he nodded to her anyway, and promptly threw up, taking even himself by surprise. The old man caught his arm as he fell to one knee, then the world blanked out again.
Hidalgo was carrying him. He'd know his gait out of a million horses. He was tied on, sitting, but leaning so far forward that his horse's mane was in his mouth. They were climbing up. Lil was at his side, one hand holding his left hand. His right was still tucked into his jacket, keeping his arm steady.
"Not far now. Hang on."
"I'm sticking right here, ma'am," he said, feeling nauseous again. But he hung on just the same, to her voice and to the movement of his horse under him, until they approached the ranch house. By then, consciousness was coming back to him, though he was feeling off balance and tired out. He was able to step down by himself and climb the steps onto a grand, airy verandah . He glanced around and saw money, a good deal of money, in the size of the place and the make of door and windows, before he stepped indoors, conscious that he was wet, unshaven and that his clothes were filthy, but no one seemed to care.
"This way, cowboy," said the old man. "Miss O'Donnell – ya want to see to him while I get some hot food on? Family's all out working, womenfolk went to town – we weren't expecting company."
He wanted to tell her he didn't need help. He wanted to just sit down where he was and let himself sleep. But she wasn't having any of that and stood at his elbow, waiting until he moved himself down the white-painted, clean corridor, leaving a muddy track behind him.
"In here. Guest quarters." She opened the door for him, clearly familiar with her surroundings. The room was large, comfortable and cold. There was a fireplace, a nightstand, a large bed, a couple of easy chairs and a large wardrobe. It was grander than many hotels he had been in.
He turned to her, but she was there before him. "Don't even think it. I'm staying until you and that bed are thoroughly acquainted. And you are not going to muddy up those nice clean sheets." She stepped in close and had his jacket off his shoulders before he could protest, and was carefully pulling the sleeve off his arm. He followed her line of reasoning and pulled back with a wince.
"I can do it, ma'am. Been a while since any female ..."
"Has it now? Then pretend like I'm your mother. Or a man. But these wet clothes are coming off. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."
"You haven't seen mine," he thought. But she was an unstoppable force, and had stopped his mouth with a mention of his mother undressing him, and had him sitting in a chair to remove his boots. His shirt was already lying on the floor. Pants next. He made one last feeble protest but it was no good. She threw his pants on top of his shirt. He stood shivering in his union suit, wondering how much more of his dignity he was expected to lose. He was holding his arm up carefully, painfully aware of the way the suit clung to him.
She began unbuttoning, pushing the wet wool off his shoulders and easing his arms out. At last she hesitated.
"I'm sorry, Frank T. I can't leave these on ya. You turn round, I'll close my eyes and you can get under the blankets."
So that's how they managed, and he was grateful for her unexpected preservation of his privacy. But somehow, it seemed easier when he shut his own eyes, then he could pretend it wasn't happening.
He stepped out of the legs and felt his skin react into goose bumps. He was trembling and clammy and still had his eyes shut. Then a blanket was thrown round his shoulders. He was half-blinded by the sunshine when he finally opened his eyes again as he was guided to a bed with sheets neatly folded back for him. He sat himself down, blanket drawn tightly round himself and lay back. He pulled the sheets up to his chin and glared at her, daring her to approach him again.
"You can't sleep like that. I'll get a nightshirt and some supplies."
"Ma'am?" He couldn't let her just go. She looked so – well, he couldn't put a name to her expression but she wasn't happy with him. "Thank you, ma'am."
"You're entirely welcome. Try to stay awake, now. You need some doctoring and old man Watson, he's pretty good at curing whatever ails ya."
Slowly, he began to warm up under the heavy layer of blanket and comforter. He dozed, letting himself drift in the quiet, white room, with sunlight making golden squares on the floor. It was like the heaven his father had told him about, beautiful and quiet and happy. His aches subsided in the calm atmosphere.
But the thought of the way he had treated her worried him. She had done nothing but try to help him. So why was he pushing her away, glaring at her, giving her faint words of thanks? Finding a reason for his actions was too difficult, suddenly, as his head spun and his stomach lurched. He clamped his mouth shut and concentrated on avoiding any more embarrassments.
Then Mr.Watson came into the room and perversely, Frank was disappointed when Lil – when Miss O'Donnell was not with him.
"All right, son, let me look at the arm." He pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning across the bed to take Frank's hand. "Seen a few looked like that in my time," he said, pushing the blanket back and exposing a bruised and swollen forearm. "This is going to hurt some, but you don't need me to tell ya that, do you – Frank? That what she called ya?"
He was feeling round the bones. The pain was keen and Frank sweated.
"Don't think it's too bad, bones even seem to be in the right places. Maybe they ain't broke after all – but I ain't takin' any chances. Man needs his right hand to work properly. I'm putting these boards on ya and tying it up tight as it'll go without cutting off the blood to ya hand. Okay?"
And so he babbled on, talking Frank through what he was doing, though Frank was familiar enough with the process. He squirmed in the bed, trying to keep his body under control.
"You feeling sickly again? You want anything?" Mr Watson said, watching him.
"Yeah," was all Frank could manage.
"Okay, son, here. In case." He drew a pot from under the bed. "I'll be back in a little while. You make yerself comfortable. Lilian – she's cutting up the sleeve of one of my old nightshirts for ya, and she's making you some broth, and she'll be in to light the fire. You need it nice and warm."
Mr. Watson stood with his hand on the doorknob. "I haven't seen her work so hard fer a man for a while now. She's not what you think she is, ya know."
Frank was about to answer but the old man had gone.
He made himself as comfortable as he could, finally feeling sure his stomach was not going to betray him again, and then slipped his legs back under the sheets. He was awake now, and began to take time to look round the room. It was one way to avoid trying to find answers to the questions the old rancher had left him with.
Warning: this chapter is one reason I stuck a 13 warning on the chapter – though their eyes are shut, I promise ...
For the next few minutes, Frank wrestled to wake properly. Something had hit him, hard, and the side of his head throbbed with the pain of it. He lay still trying to assess where he had landed this time. He was on his back, head up-slope, and he hurt everywhere, hips, knees, elbows, hands – the vulnerable points. His right forearm was a mass of tingling pulsations of pain.
He couldn't go on just lying there, not with small stones still rolling past him. He struggled and sat up, but a shout made him freeze.
"Stay still! You go to the bottom and we'll be packing a corpse outta there!" A man's voice, with enough conviction in it to curtail his attempts to stand.
Then, unexpectedly, a voice right behind him. "You move, Frank T., and I swear I'll leave you down there for the buzzards. After I come down here for you special, too."
He glanced up. Lil stood just above him. She was tied round the waist with a rope, and was using that to balance herself. "Where d'you hurt?"
"Think my arm's busted. Not too much else, apart from my head, maybe. My hands ain't so bad."
"No need to worry, then." She was right next to him now, kneeling, pulling down another rope that snaked from the top of the gully. She tried to tie it round him but he winced as she nudged his arm.
"Leave it, ma'am. You go on back now. I can manage this." But he pulled a face when he remembered what had happened last time he had tried that line.
She took no notice of him. She carefully helped him stick his hand between the buttons on his jacket and that helped some. Then she tried again, this time fetching the rope round him and tying it off.
"Okay, Mr Watson! Yeah, you too, horse! Haul away! One tired old cowboy comin' up!"
She helped him to his feet, turned him around and then put a hand on his back. This time, with the support of the rope round him he was able to scramble up the loose cliff. At the top, two pairs of hands took hold of him. Hidalgo snorted a greeting. Frank's little brother had pulled him up.
"Howdy," said an old man, holding out his hand in greeting. He was small and bundled round with clothes and yet he looked tough and experienced. Frank began to relax a little.
"Howdy," Frank answered. "Lucky you were here."
"Lucky she was here, ya mean. She's the one stopped you from fallin' right down to the bottom." The old man, brown eyes dancing but not showing a trace of a smile, nodded down the slope, then pushed Hidalgo back.
Frank glanced down and watched Lil coming up on the rope, one hand hanging on, the other holding up her skirts. She gave him a cheery grin which faded at his expression.
In truth, he wished himself a million miles away. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone any more, least of all to – to her.
But he nodded to her anyway, and promptly threw up, taking even himself by surprise. The old man caught his arm as he fell to one knee, then the world blanked out again.
Hidalgo was carrying him. He'd know his gait out of a million horses. He was tied on, sitting, but leaning so far forward that his horse's mane was in his mouth. They were climbing up. Lil was at his side, one hand holding his left hand. His right was still tucked into his jacket, keeping his arm steady.
"Not far now. Hang on."
"I'm sticking right here, ma'am," he said, feeling nauseous again. But he hung on just the same, to her voice and to the movement of his horse under him, until they approached the ranch house. By then, consciousness was coming back to him, though he was feeling off balance and tired out. He was able to step down by himself and climb the steps onto a grand, airy verandah . He glanced around and saw money, a good deal of money, in the size of the place and the make of door and windows, before he stepped indoors, conscious that he was wet, unshaven and that his clothes were filthy, but no one seemed to care.
"This way, cowboy," said the old man. "Miss O'Donnell – ya want to see to him while I get some hot food on? Family's all out working, womenfolk went to town – we weren't expecting company."
He wanted to tell her he didn't need help. He wanted to just sit down where he was and let himself sleep. But she wasn't having any of that and stood at his elbow, waiting until he moved himself down the white-painted, clean corridor, leaving a muddy track behind him.
"In here. Guest quarters." She opened the door for him, clearly familiar with her surroundings. The room was large, comfortable and cold. There was a fireplace, a nightstand, a large bed, a couple of easy chairs and a large wardrobe. It was grander than many hotels he had been in.
He turned to her, but she was there before him. "Don't even think it. I'm staying until you and that bed are thoroughly acquainted. And you are not going to muddy up those nice clean sheets." She stepped in close and had his jacket off his shoulders before he could protest, and was carefully pulling the sleeve off his arm. He followed her line of reasoning and pulled back with a wince.
"I can do it, ma'am. Been a while since any female ..."
"Has it now? Then pretend like I'm your mother. Or a man. But these wet clothes are coming off. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."
"You haven't seen mine," he thought. But she was an unstoppable force, and had stopped his mouth with a mention of his mother undressing him, and had him sitting in a chair to remove his boots. His shirt was already lying on the floor. Pants next. He made one last feeble protest but it was no good. She threw his pants on top of his shirt. He stood shivering in his union suit, wondering how much more of his dignity he was expected to lose. He was holding his arm up carefully, painfully aware of the way the suit clung to him.
She began unbuttoning, pushing the wet wool off his shoulders and easing his arms out. At last she hesitated.
"I'm sorry, Frank T. I can't leave these on ya. You turn round, I'll close my eyes and you can get under the blankets."
So that's how they managed, and he was grateful for her unexpected preservation of his privacy. But somehow, it seemed easier when he shut his own eyes, then he could pretend it wasn't happening.
He stepped out of the legs and felt his skin react into goose bumps. He was trembling and clammy and still had his eyes shut. Then a blanket was thrown round his shoulders. He was half-blinded by the sunshine when he finally opened his eyes again as he was guided to a bed with sheets neatly folded back for him. He sat himself down, blanket drawn tightly round himself and lay back. He pulled the sheets up to his chin and glared at her, daring her to approach him again.
"You can't sleep like that. I'll get a nightshirt and some supplies."
"Ma'am?" He couldn't let her just go. She looked so – well, he couldn't put a name to her expression but she wasn't happy with him. "Thank you, ma'am."
"You're entirely welcome. Try to stay awake, now. You need some doctoring and old man Watson, he's pretty good at curing whatever ails ya."
Slowly, he began to warm up under the heavy layer of blanket and comforter. He dozed, letting himself drift in the quiet, white room, with sunlight making golden squares on the floor. It was like the heaven his father had told him about, beautiful and quiet and happy. His aches subsided in the calm atmosphere.
But the thought of the way he had treated her worried him. She had done nothing but try to help him. So why was he pushing her away, glaring at her, giving her faint words of thanks? Finding a reason for his actions was too difficult, suddenly, as his head spun and his stomach lurched. He clamped his mouth shut and concentrated on avoiding any more embarrassments.
Then Mr.Watson came into the room and perversely, Frank was disappointed when Lil – when Miss O'Donnell was not with him.
"All right, son, let me look at the arm." He pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning across the bed to take Frank's hand. "Seen a few looked like that in my time," he said, pushing the blanket back and exposing a bruised and swollen forearm. "This is going to hurt some, but you don't need me to tell ya that, do you – Frank? That what she called ya?"
He was feeling round the bones. The pain was keen and Frank sweated.
"Don't think it's too bad, bones even seem to be in the right places. Maybe they ain't broke after all – but I ain't takin' any chances. Man needs his right hand to work properly. I'm putting these boards on ya and tying it up tight as it'll go without cutting off the blood to ya hand. Okay?"
And so he babbled on, talking Frank through what he was doing, though Frank was familiar enough with the process. He squirmed in the bed, trying to keep his body under control.
"You feeling sickly again? You want anything?" Mr Watson said, watching him.
"Yeah," was all Frank could manage.
"Okay, son, here. In case." He drew a pot from under the bed. "I'll be back in a little while. You make yerself comfortable. Lilian – she's cutting up the sleeve of one of my old nightshirts for ya, and she's making you some broth, and she'll be in to light the fire. You need it nice and warm."
Mr. Watson stood with his hand on the doorknob. "I haven't seen her work so hard fer a man for a while now. She's not what you think she is, ya know."
Frank was about to answer but the old man had gone.
He made himself as comfortable as he could, finally feeling sure his stomach was not going to betray him again, and then slipped his legs back under the sheets. He was awake now, and began to take time to look round the room. It was one way to avoid trying to find answers to the questions the old rancher had left him with.