"Mornin' Miss Kitty. Let me hep ya outta here and then I'll tell ya what happened." The lanky young man scooted out from under the wagon, then came around to the other side and pulled her out as she tried to painfully wriggle. She handed him his wrinkled shirt with a smile and ran her fingers through her curling red hair, now a lovely loose tangle.
"Wal, during that storm, the horse got spooked, run away, and ya fell off. I reckon ya hit yer head, and wal, ya was feverish durin' the night. How are ya feelin' this mornin'?" He had pulled down his suspenders, put on his blue shirt with dried mud on it, buttoned it, and tucked it into his pants as he talked. As he marveled at how beautiful she looked even wearing a wrinkled, muddy dress, no makeup, and with a head of wild, red curls, he noticed how swollen her left wrist looked, and how she held it close to her side.
"That wrist looks hurt, Miss Kitty," he said as he reached out and gently felt it as she tried not to flinch. "Don't think it's broken. Here, let me fix it." He pulled a dark blue bandana from his back pocket and wrapped and tied it snuggly around her wrist. "Thar! Does that feel some better? How's yer head? Are ya hurt anywhere else?"
"Thank you, Chester. That does feel better. My head hurts some, but I'll be fine. I sure could use some hot coffee, though!" She smiled at him despite the pounding in her head and the waves of dizziness, determined to not be a burden.
"We better git ta walkin', then!" he said with relief, pushing his squashed hat back into shape before pulling it on over his rumpled brown hair. Now that he could see the sun, the way to Dodge was clear to him, and he reached out for Kitty's hand. "Reckon we must be a good ten or fifteen miles or more from town, and maybe we'll come across a farm or house along the way." A perceptive young man, he could tell that Kitty felt worse than she let on. He put his arm around her waist and they started to walk east towards the sun.
After a half hour, the sun beat down on them unmercifully. The land showed no sign of the recent rainstorm, and their feet now raised clouds of dry, choking dust with every step. Too thirsty for words, the pair plodded along, Chester bearing more and more of Kitty's weight as she sagged against him. Looking down at her pale, perspiring face, he picked her up and began to carry her.
"I…I'm so sorry, Chester," she whispered. "My head…"
"Ah, Miss Kitty, yer light as a feather! And ya cain't hep it being all swimmy-headed after that thar fall ya took! Y'all be fine once we find some water." He prayed it would be soon, as he squinted off into the distance. Then he saw it. A small, weathered, wooden shack was barely visible in the shade of a few trees that Chester now headed south towards. Broken barrels, bent and rusting metal, and empty bottles were strewn about in the weeds out front. A small, split-rail corral a short distance from the house held one mule. But his eyes zeroed in on the square, wooden well structure about twenty-five feet from the front of the shack.
"Look, Miss Kitty! Thar's a house with a well!" Readjusting her in his arms, he took in a deep breath and quickened his pace after realizing that Kitty was unconscious. When the exhausted man reached the well, he carefully set her down and drew a bucket of water, unhooked the metal dipper from its nail, and dipped his red bandana in it. "Mr. Dillon always says a man needs ta carry TWO bandanas with him at all times," he murmured to himself. "Wringing it out, he gently dabbed Kitty's dry lips and flushed face. Then he took a gulp from the dipper for himself, and thought that it tasted better than any beer or whiskey he had ever had. He dipped his bandana again, wrung it out, and wrapped it around Kitty's head, covering the large knot on the left side.
"Whatja doin' here?!" A massive bearded man dressed in filthy buckskins brandished a hefty buffalo rifle at Chester. He was coming down the steps of the lopsided porch of the nearby shack, and the open door behind him revealed a shambles of dirty clothes, used eating utensils and plates with dried food scattered about on every surface, and a cot with bedding so dirty it looked brown.
"Uh, wal…Mster…me and this lady here been in an accident durin' the storm last night, and wal, we sure could use some food, if ya can spare any?' Chester knew how suspicious and dangerous buffalo hunters could be, and he kept very still and tried a lopsided smile.
"Looks like ya already hepped yerself ta my well water!" the man snarled, as he advanced threateningly, raising his rifle. When he had taken two steps, he saw the beautiful young woman at the lean man's feet, and stopped. "She hurt bad? She yer woman?" He kept his eyes on her as he came closer.
"Er, uh, wal, I'm Chester Goode, and this here is Miss Kitty Russell, and we're friends and need ta git back ta Dodge. She hit her head, but mostly is jest worn out and hungry. She ain't used ta not eatin', ya know."
The big man stared down at Kitty as Chester spoke, then turned and started walking back towards his shack. "Bring her along then! Got some corn pone I kin give ya."
Chester felt uneasy, but bent down, picked up Kitty, whose eyes fluttered open and closed again, and carried her towards the house. When he reached the open doorway and got a closer look inside, he decided to put her down on the wooden bench on the porch, under the small, smeared front window. There was no way that he would put Miss Kitty down on anything inside that filthy house. Once again he put his hat under her head as a pillow.
The buffalo hunter shrugged, went further into his shack, and then reappeared with a dirty flour sack. "Here. It's only four days old." He stood uncomfortably near, still staring at Kitty as Chester gingerly accepted the damp sack. "Cain't hep ya git back to Dodge 'cause my brother Jeb is out with our wagon and team selling pelts. Only got my mule and I cain't let ya take him. Jeb'll be back sometime tomorrow, I reckon. Ya kin sleep here, if ya a mind. I'm Ender Strong." With another long, appraising look at the young woman, the big man went back inside and closed the door.
"Whew! He bears watchin', that's fer sure," Chester muttered. Opening the sack, he took one look inside at the moldy corn pone, tossed the food far out into the brush, and put the sack by the door. "Sure could do with some hot biscuits, burned jest a tad on the bottom, covered with that waxy honey that drips down over all the cracks," he sighed. Squatting on his one knee beside Kitty, he felt her face and was relieved to find it cooler.
"Chester? Where are we? I heard voices. Is someone going to help us get home?" she asked hopefully, looking at him with large, trusting eyes. She tried to sit up, groaned a little, and lay back down. "I'll be all right in a minute or two." Her left wrist throbbed and the ribs on her left side gave her a sharp pain when she moved, but her head was the worst.
"Now Miss Kitty, ya jest lie still thar. This man's gonna hep us in the mornin' when his brother gits back with their wagon. You rest up now, and I'll be right here."
Suddenly, Chester felt two strong hands on his shoulders yanking him roughly backwards. Then he saw the butt of a huge buffalo rifle coming towards his head, jerked to one side and managed to avoid the full brunt as it glanced off his face. Stunned by the blow and sharp explosion of pain in his face, Chester fell back to the wooden floor. But only for a few moments. He had a dear friend relying on him, and he could hear her screaming.
"Shaddup!" Ender Strong had a knee on Kitty's abdomen after savagely grabbing and ripping the neckline of her dress down to her waist. As she clawed and beat at him with her uninjured right hand, he slapped her face and began to laugh as he fumbled with his pants.