Disclaimer – no, I don't own any of these characters except the ones I invented. I am writing purely for pleasure and, I hope, others' entertainment. No money being made from this ...
Chapter 11
He was dreaming.
That was the only explanation.
He was being pulled along and his legs were agony as his shins ran over a hard, sharp edge.
Then he was falling, his back hot and then his stomach and chest suddenly wet.
A hot breath on his neck made him reach up to try and fend off whoever was so close to him. His chest began to feel cold, very cold, but his back was still hot. Burning. He did the only thing he could think to do. He whistled for his horse.
He struggled to come to some understanding of what was happening. He opened his eyes and saw whiteness – snow, stamped into mud but still freezing. That was his snatched impression before he had to close his eyes again when a blanket was thrown over him and then he was being thumped, causing sudden hot points of contact all over his back. Finally the blanket was taken away and he was rolled onto his back, his broken arm painfully hitting the ground.
Lilian. Where was she? He looked around frantically in the growing dawn light, calling her name until someone came to stand by him.
"Settle down, mister. She's been taken to the bunkhouse. Ya don't think we'd leave her out here with you, do ya? Not after what ya did to her."
Before Frank could protest, the man walked away. He needed to get up, to find Lilian, to sort out whatever the ranch hand had meant. He needed to be with her, that, above all else. He began to look around for help but the voices that had been all around him faded. He wondered if he was alone.
He wasn't.
The hot breaths were back and he found himself staring up into his horse's muzzle. He squinted up at the horse, quietly studying the patches and splodges of brown and white in his horse's coat as he drifted, numb. Hidalgo stood by him quietly.
"Well now, Little Brother," Frank said, finding a small measure of comfort in his mustang's presence.
Hidalgo moved a little closer and nudged Frank's shoulder.
"All right. I guess I can get up now." And, by rolling onto his side, he managed to get to his knees at least, though the numbness was wearing off, and pain began to report his hurts.
Hidalgo got hold of the back of his coat and tugged but Frank could get no further. He sat back on his haunches and looked around.
That's when he saw the guy with the gun, someone he didn't know, standing nearby with a rifle cradled in his arms.
"Hi," Frank said, far from being himself. "What happened? Where is everyone?"
The man nodded to the house. Frank looked and saw smoke drifting out of the open window.
"Fire. You don't know nothin' about it?" the man drawled, a half-smile telling Frank the words were ironic.
"I remember seein' three men," Frank started to say. He tried again to get up but the other's man's harsh voice stopped him.
"You just stay right there, 'less'n you want more holes in your hide than is natural. And send that horse of yours off – don't know how that half-breed horse got out the barn in the first place."
"He's pure mustang," said Frank quietly, reaching up and rubbing Hidalgo's muzzle.
"What you say?" said the ranch hand, easing his rifle into his hands. "You send him away now, you hear?"
"Little Brother – he wants you to go. I reckon you'd better, too. There, now." Frank pushed at Hidalgo but the horse wouldn't leave him. "I'm sorry – he's used ta havin' his own way. He ain't doin' any harm."
The man stopped forward and began to flail his arms at Hidalgo. "Go on, horse! Useless critter! Go on with you!"
Hidalgo snorted at him, then, as the man persisted in trying to assert his authority, pawed the ground. Frank knew the next stage of Hidalgo's posturing and dragged himself to his feet.
"Whoa, 'Dalgo," he said, "You're liable to make things worse for me. Whoa, I said!"
Hidalgo stood by him, his nostrils flared, and grumbled at Frank.
"I know, I know. Now, mister," Frank said, looking at the man with the rifle. He had to get moving, give himself some sort of a chance to – to do something other than submit to these people. "Mind if I put my horse back where he was? There's no telling what he'd do if I don't settle him back in his stall."
"Go right ahead, cowboy. Just remember I got this rifle trained on yer all the way."
Frank nodded. He tried to get his long legs to co-operate and they did, after a fashion, though once he stumbled and fell against Hidalgo.
"Don't try nothin'," his guard said, taking a step or two closer.
"I got a broken arm, no supplies and Hidalgo doesn't have a saddle. What am I likely to try, mister? Riding off into the snow bareback?" Frank smiled at the man, who stepped back in the face of Frank's truths.
He shrugged. "No tellin' what a man like you'd do, given a chance."
"A man like me? Mister, you don't know what you're talkin' about." Frank trudged through the snow, feeling the cold more and more through his wet clothes and his burnt jacket. He had had the jacket through a number of winters and wondered for a moment if it was salvageable. Hidalgo followed along behind him like the big dog of his Sioux name. He headed to the barn, watching men move purposefully about, carrying lumber and hosepipes, tarps and ropes. He got some curious glances but no-one spoke to him.
Inside the barn he led Hidalgo to his stall and told him to stay there.
"You don't tie him up?"
"I do. But he can untie himself if he wants."
The man snorted. "Reg'lar trick horse, ain't he. Wonder how he knew to come round the back of the house."
"He can hear. He ain't stupid." Frank patted Hidalgo's flank, glad that someone there still accepted him uncritically. "Any chance of me gettin' my clothes dry?"
"I reckon. Want you alive for the sheriff tomorrow. Tom!" the man called, looking away for a moment. Frank toyed with the idea of jumping on Hidalgo and riding for it, but dismissed the idea as plain foolishness. He'd live a few hours in the cold with no provisions and no clothes to speak of. Being half-Lakota didn't make him invulnerable.
"Tom – go get that chain, and the padlock. I'm gonna put Mister Hopkins in the bunkhouse and I don't want him ta decide to take a walk while we fix up the house."
Tom, a six-foot blond bruiser, set down the lumber he was carrying and wandered over. "Sure, Walt. You know who else they put in the bunk house?"
"Yeah. 'Nother good reason for keepin' this one chained, I reckon."
It was all Frank could do not to shout his frustration at them. But he tried to be a patient man. His moment would come.
It was a good many degrees warmer in the bunkhouse. Frank was shoved down towards the stove, where a fire burned hot. He glanced round. It was a standard layout for a bunkhouse but each man had a separate bed – oddly, not a bunk in sight. There was a kitchen, a good stove and lockers for the men, plus a table and some comfortable-looking chairs. At the end of the room a couple of blankets slung over a rope served to give Lilian some privacy. Frank wanted to go to her but he restrained himself. Keeping quiet seemed to the best way to disarm the man guarding him.
"Sit there, cowboy. I'm gonna tie ya up with this rope fer now," the man said, indicating the bed closest to the stove. "Ya can steam there fer a while until we get the chain."
With his hands tied, then another rope tying him to the bed, Frank could find no comfortable way to sit, or lie or even stand. His arm was miserably sore and he was damp and dispirited. A drink would have been welcome.
Then Tom came in at the run, not carrying the dreaded chain but shouting, "Fire! Come on, Walt – she's flared up again! Leave him – he's not plannin' on leavin', I reckon."
Walt gave Frank a glare. "You go and we'll follow ya, get ya back. Don't want scum like you on this good earth."
He stalked off after Tom.
So he was unguarded, with Lilian not too far, and he wondered whether to call to her. But he didn't quite know where he stood with her and if she was sleeping, then she needed her rest. He sat and stretched his legs as far as he could and watched as the steam did begin to rise from his pants. He tried hard not to think of anything much.
"Hey there, cowboy."
He looked up, startled. There in front of him stood Lilian, clad in nightgown and coat, and giving him a smile that transformed everything.
"Hey yourself," he ventured, "ma'am."
"You want me to help you out of those wet clothes again?" The smile became a mischievous grin. Her voice was still hoarse but she looked okay, at least, she looked a great deal better than she had.
"Think mebbe you should get these ropes off me first," he said, trying to hold up his hands and failing.
She knelt down in front of him. "Oh, Frank – I – what a mess!" She reached over to his ropes and began to tug at them, but they were tied tight and she couldn't budge them. She sat back on her heels. "I'll fetch a knife. You have to get out of here, Frank."
He knew she was right but he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay there and be warm and comfortable and safe for a little while. He wanted to be there with her.
"I know," he said, watching her as she rather unsteadily made her way to the kitchen. She found a knife and brought it back, cutting his bonds carefully. "Thanks, ma'am," he said, trying to ease his arm into his coat.
Then he heard her catch her breath.
"Frank! Your coat – your hair!" She stretched up and ran her hand over the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. He put his hand there automatically, trying to feel what she saw, and in the process touched her. He pulled back quickly and could not meet her eyes.
She helped him out of his coat. It was scorched and burnt through in two or three places, and the fur trim was blackened around the neck.
"I'm just going to get a pair of scissors," she said, and the tremble in her voice gave away her emotions.
He tried to settle but without his coat even the heat from the fire couldn't stop him feeling chilly. His wet clothes had to come off and be dried. He just couldn't go anyway until they were dry. He began to unbutton his shirt.
She came back with the scissors and then sat behind him. He felt her, ticklish at his neck, and she began to cut his hair, showing him as she did how it had frizzed and burnt as the cinders had fallen on him. They spoke to each other, exchanges of little consequence to anyone but themselves, until she leaned against his back, reaching round him and hugging him. He could feel her shaking with sobs but didn't move. He knew she didn't want him to see her.
He let her be for a few minutes, until she had stilled.
"Lilian?" he said, waiting quietly. "Lilian?"
She leaned back, her warmth gone from him. "Let's get this shirt off," was all she said, her voice muffled and even huskier than it had been. She helped him take off the shirt then turned her back as he wrestled his pants off and slipped under a blanket, curling up on the bed. He kept his underclothes on.
Taking the damp clothes she hung them on a chair back close to the fire then perched herself sideways on another chair.
"They tell you why they're keeping you tied up?" she asked. She looked sad and happy all at once and he longed for her to sit closer.
"Said I must have set the fire," he said carefully, avoiding the other charge of assault.
Lilian had no such compunction. "I remember dreaming – I remember waking myself up and – and pushing you away. You want to know what I was dreaming?"
"You don't have to explain nothin'. I know it weren't me you were mad at."
"No – no, it wasn't. I tried to tell Mr.Watson but he said I was bein' foolish. And that you'd set the fire because you were hoping to get to his money and get his own back. I don't recognise him any more, Frank. I don't know this man."
"It's all right. I'll clear my name, given a chance. He was scared – he ain't thinkin' clearly. He loves you like a daughter, I reckon." Frank stared at the wooden floor, faltering when he thought he had gone too far with her.
"Yes. He does, I guess. Then he was only protectin' me. How are you goin' to clear your name?"
In truth, he had no idea. He had some vague notion of riding off on Hidalgo and finding evidence of some kind but he wasn't thinking too clearly, not with her so close, and the heat from the fire and not sleeping most of the previous night.
She pulled a wry face. "My hero," she said unexpectedly. "You saved my life."
"You – you saved mine," he said almost inaudibly. Then he ploughed on, as if nothing had been said. "Now, hadn't you better tie me back up? And how am I going to explain how I got myself undressed?"
"I'll explain. And no, I won't tie you up again. If you give me your word you won't leave here. Not until your clothes are dry and you've rested up."
"I can do that. Give my word. But what if ..."
She stood and stepped right up close to him. "What if? What if? What if I ..." She put her hand to his face and touched his cheek. "Let's just be, right now, and not think any more what ifs." She pulled her chair close to him and sat down, drawing her coat around her.
He didn't want to consider what ifs, either. He wanted her there, in his bed, beside him. If the only way that could happen was if he went out there, into the big, cold world to clear his name, that's what he would have to do.
The morning slipped by. They drank coffee together and they talked, until Frank found himself telling her about his long distance rides, how he'd outsmarted and outridden a fancy dude in a fur coat with a horse called Senator. Its tail all tied up neat, looking its best, and the guy had been too. Still lost. He grinned at the thought of what had followed. Lilian laughed too, sharing the precious morning hours with him until it was not safe for her to stay any more.
Then he had to let her go. Just before she disappeared behind the blankets she looked at him She didn't say anything but she smiled. All the sadness had gone and Frank knew he had taken it from her. It felt like the best thing he had ever done.
As the hands trailed in for food around midday, Frank pretended to be asleep. There were conversations all around him, but about the fire, the house and the family, not about him. He felt invisible, until Walt came in.
"How'd you get yourself untied?" was the first question. Frank opened his eyes and was about to answer when Lilian reappeared, dressed, brown hair down but quietly purposeful.
"Leave him be," she said, and Walt stepped back. "Let the sheriff deal with him tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am," Walt said, and hurried away to the table to grab some food.
Lilian winked at Frank and then went back into her den. No one else disturbed either of them.
At two o'clock that afternoon, just after the last man trailed out into the cold again from his meal, Lilian helped Frank dress and gave him saddlebags full of provisions, two extra blankets and a long, deep kiss. They were his own saddlebags, too, and he was happy to have them back.
A little after two thirty, with the sun sparkling off the thin layer of snow, Frank, leading Hidalgo, waved his hand, and a small figure waved back from the window at the back of the bunkhouse. No one else saw him leave.