Chapter Fourteen
x
The heat of the midday sun pressed heavy on the sloping stretch of prairie and the rutted dirt road that wound its way down into the little valley. On either side of the trail, a thicket of tangled brush and cottonwood trees expanded down towards the base of the slope which eventually leveled out into the dry creek bed which was known as Cross Creek.
Doc Adams pushed the sweat-stained hat off his forehead and used his handkerchief to mob the glistening beads from his brow. Underneath his well-worn vest, the white shirt stuck to his back, already weighted with a thin strip of perspiration. He found himself thinking how welcome a nice, cold drink of water would be at the moment. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he turned and looked back down the rubble-strewn trail he had come from.
The glare of the sun hurt his eyes and the details of the landscape were lost in the dazzle, but he was able to see that the buggy with Kitty and the Crandall-children had ambled out of sight. The only evidence of its recent presence was the stirring cloud of dust it had left in its wake. Doc knew that she wouldn't stop until she had reached Dodge. But he also knew that even then, it would be a couple more hours until he could expect any help.
Not exactly a comforting thought. All he could do was hope that it wouldn't come too late.
He'd never thought himself a hero nor thought himself exceptionally brave; all he knew was that if someone needed his help, he would do everything in his power to give it. The fact that this 'someone' was a man that he had come to regard as one of his closest friends over the last four years, only firmed his resolve.
The thought that he could get hurt, maybe even lose his own life in the process, fleetingly occurred to him, but he wasn't afraid. Over the years, he had seen death in so many different forms that he had learned to accept it as an inevitable part of life. Besides, death wasn't always the worst thing that could happen to a man; he had lived long enough to know that much. In a country like this, experience and wisdom often beat out strength when it came to survival, but he knew that sooner or later there would come a day when experience and wisdom weren't enough anymore...and strength would get lucky.
He finally topped the rise and decided to leave the road in favor of the shadowy growth of cottonwoods to the right of it, mindful of the fact that Biggs and his men might be still outside and prematurely spot him.
He had taken no more than a handful of steps into the grove when a flicker of movement caught his eye.
Straight ahead, a small clearing stretched out amidst the trees and away off to one side stood a horse, contentedly munching away at the sparsely scattered grass. The animal was switching its tail. It was the movement Doc had seen.
When the buckskin took notice of the approaching doctor, he raised his head and perked his ears forward, snorting softly as if to greet him.
Doc quickly glanced around to make sure that no one was within sight and then shuffled over to Matt's mount. "Well, hello there, boy." He patted the horse's neck. "I shoulda known that Matt left you out here somewhere."
He quickly checked the rifle boot attached to the saddle but was disappointed to find it empty. At least the water canteen was still there, looped over the saddle horn.
He removed it and shook it, estimating the amount of water inside. It was almost full. The water tasted tepid and stale, but it was enough to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and slake his thirst. When he had finished, he drove the stopper firmly back into place with a slap of his palm and slung the canteen over his shoulder.
The buckskin nuzzled the doctor's hand, wanting his share of the water. Doc stroked his velvety nose.
"I'm sorry, fella but I'm afraid I can't let you have any," he said. "There's a good chance I might need it."
The animal snorted and swished his tail as if signaling understanding and returned to his grazing.
The doctor gave him a parting pat on the rump. "Well, wish me luck," he muttered, more to himself than to the horse, and then moved out to disappear between the trees.
Walking slowly, cautiously, he began to pick a path through the dense undergrowth. Most of the ground was covered with brush and tangled deadfall and could trip a man easily if he wasn't careful.
It took him a good ten minutes to make it halfway down the slope. Deciding that he was close enough for now, he crouched behind a small clump of bushes from where he had a good view of the small valley and the homestead. Carefully, he parted the leafy branches and began to study the cluster of buildings below.
Everything was quiet, without any sign of Biggs or Matt. Of course, it was quite possible that they had gone back inside, but there was no way of knowing for sure unless he got closer to the house.
His intent gaze continued to slowly travel across the yard. He noticed that the men's horses were still in the corral, confirming to him the fact that they hadn't left yet. That was good, he reasoned as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin, maybe they were still trying to decide what to do with Matt. But then he remembered the shots again and his heart sank.
What if-
He stopped himself, unwilling to finish the gruesome thought. No, if Matt was dead, surely Biggs and his men would've wasted no time and left as quickly as possible.
Doc scratched the back of his neck, trying to decide on the best course of action. But he didn't get a chance to think on it for very long.
The sudden sound of Biggs' voice startled him like a clap of thunder, abruptly cutting short his musings. In a flash, he had dropped down lower behind the protective shelter of the bushes.
"Hey, Dillon! You still havin' fun?" he could hear Biggs call out. "I don't know about you, but I'm enjoyin' this!"
A nasty cackle followed that sent a cold ripple down the physician's back.
x
x
The doctor wasn't the only one who had heard Biggs' taunt. A good hundred yards below and off to the right, unbeknownst to him, Matt had heard it as well.
At the first sound, he had quickly pressed himself against the nearest tree, afraid the outlaw had caught sight of him. He carefully leaned around the side of it, attempting to get a glimpse of his pursuers.
He didn't have to search for very long; there was Biggs coming into view close to the base of the slope, flanked by Stanton and Kiley. Matt was surprised to see that the outlaw had ventured only a few yards into the grove; he had fully expected him to be a lot closer by now. Then again, it was probably part of the other's twisted game, he realized grimly.
Biggs stopped, and Stanton and Kiley both veered off into the thicket in opposite directions.
Squatting on his haunches, Biggs began to study the ground with the practiced eye of a tracker, tracing his fingers over the sparse blades of grass.
Matt knew right away what he had found. He scowled. Given the amount of blood he was losing, he was probably leaving a trail, a blind person could follow.
Biggs straightened slowly and turned his gaze up towards the thicket. He indulged in a savoring grin. "Hey, Dillon! That's sure's a hell of a lotta blood you're leavin' ev'rywhere...you're almost makin' it a little too easy to be tracked!" He wiped his fingers on his dusty jeans. "Just do me a favor an' don't die before I can get there," he then hollered. "I got a mind to put a couple more bullets into you before you take your last breath!"
Matt's jaw tightened. There was no doubt in his mind that Biggs would do exactly that if given the chance. He watched as Kiley now re-emerged from between the trees to Biggs' left. What he was carrying in his hands caused Matt to swear softly under his breath. It was his gunbelt, along with his Winchester.
So much for that, he thought frustrated to himself as he watched the two men briefly converse with one another. Kiley handed Biggs the Marshal's rifle and kept the colt for himself.
"Nice rifle," Matt could hear Biggs call out. He watched as the outlaw lifted his Winchester up in the air. "I might just use it to kill you!" He followed his remark with another nasty laugh and then signaled Kiley and Stanton to split up and spread out again.
The three men began to move slowly and unhurriedly, their rifles up and ready before them.
Like hunters tracking their prey, Matt couldn't help but think. He carefully drew back behind the tree and rested the back of his head against its rough-textured bark, taking a few shallow breaths.
Without a weapon of some sort, he wouldn't stand a chance against those three. As much as he hated the idea of playing Biggs' game, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice; if he wanted to survive, he had to try and elude the others for as long as he could.
His face firmed. No, he wouldn't give Biggs the satisfaction of winning, not if he could help it.
His body thrummed with the agony ripping apart his shoulder, but he couldn't allow himself to think about it. Ducking low, he clutched a sweat-slicked hand to his throbbing arm, holding it closely against his side and carefully retreated deeper into the protective shadows of the grove.
x
x
From the safety of his perch behind the intertwining mesh of branches, Doc had listened to Biggs' words with mounting anxiety. From what the outlaw had said, the doctor was able to gather that Matt had managed to get away. That was good. The bad news was that he was apparently hurt.
Doc rubbed his mustache and drew a deep breath. Why, in thunder, didn't he bring his medical kit? How could he have left it in the buggy? Well, there was no sense in crying over spilled beans, he told himself firmly, the most important thing right now was to go and find Matt.
He had no idea where to look for him, all he knew was that he had to find him before Biggs and his men did. Remaining on his haunches, he carefully backed up a few steps, to stay out of sight of the men below and then straightened.
Despite the shade of the closely intertwined trees, the air inside the grove was heavy and oppressively hot. Thin rivulets of sweat ran down the nape of his neck where they soaked into his shirt collar.
He pulled the handkerchief from his pants pocket and, blotting his damp neck with it, began to study the downward sloping hillside in front of him. While straight down would certainly be the quickest way, it was also the most dangerous, and he'd probably end up on his backside right in front of the outlaws.
No, he couldn't take that chance; it would be safer to take the long way down and circle around. It would also give him a better chance to remain on the look-out for Matt.
Slowly, cautiously, he started making his way down the grade at a forty-five degree angle away from the road.
He hadn't been walking for more that maybe a few minutes when a distinct rustling noise coming from the brush somewhere below suddenly drew his attention. Right away, he ducked behind the nearest bush. The little hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle. It was a sensation he had come to trust over the years and so far, it had seldom disappointed him.
He listened intently.
Again he heard the soft noise and it seemed to be closer than before.
Breathing a little faster, Doc felt his muscles tense, his heart thumping loudly in chest. He hadn't expected for the outlaws to be that close already. He suddenly found himself wishing he had his old shotgun. Old fool, he chided himself, why did you have to take the gun from the buggy yesterday?
He frequently brought it along to supplement his pantry with the occasional prairie chicken. But this time he had left it behind on account of Kitty and the children.
Doc moved his eyes over the ground and spied a stout piece of wood amongst the leaves and rotting debris that littered the ground. He picked it up just as the rustling sounded again, this time very close.
He tightened his white-knuckled grip on the make-shift club and held his breath, afraid that the sound might give away his presence. The brush was too thick and tangled for him to see through and make out anything and he dared not lift his head any higher so he strained his ears and listened.
The ever so soft whisper of twigs scraping across clothing suddenly sounded to his immediate right.
Now he could feel someone's feet make the earth tremble beneath his fingers. His heart was pounding, filling his ears like the crescendo from a bass drum beating louder and louder in his head as he felt the tension mount.
Seconds later, a pair of scuffed boots crossed his line of vision and then stopped a few feet in front of him. Doc sat quietly, barely breathing now as he concentrated on not giving away his position.
The boots shuffled a little as their owner turned and looked behind himself, not realizing that by doing so, he left his back vulnerable to the physician.
Doc saw his chance and acted. With a surprising agility that belied his age, he surged from his cover and threw himself forward, the club raised high in his right.
x
x
The sudden snap of a twig alerted Matt, and at the last second he realized the danger coming from behind. He whirled around and barely managed to side-step the blow that had been aimed squarely at his head. In a flash, his good hand had grabbed his attacker's arm, trapping it in mid-air in a grip of iron.
"Doc!?" Matt gaped at him in mingled confusion and disbelief. He let go of his friend's wrist.
"Matt?" the physician exclaimed, equally bewildered. "What, in thunderation, you're doin', sneakin'-"
He suddenly broke off and lowered the club. "You know that I almost-" He shook his head, realizing just how close he had come to knocking out the very man he had been searching for.
The Marshal spared a quick glance at the rather pathetic-looking weapon in the doctor's hand. "Doc, what're you doin' here?"
There was a bit of a snap in Matt's voice, prompting the doctor to stare at him with a mixture of surprise and hurt. Wasn't it obvious why he was here? "Well, good to see you, too, Marshal," he groused, annoyed by Matt's obvious lack of appreciation for his presence. "I thought you could use a little help."
He fixed the lawman with a rankled look, but then his gaze slid down to Matt's blood-soaked shirt. In an instant, the edge of irritation fled, quelled by deep concern. "For Heaven's sakes...looks to me, like they got you pretty good!" He reached for Matt's arm. "Here, let me see..."
Matt gave a slow shake of his head. "Never mind about that right now," he dismissed him with a quick glance at his bloody shoulder.
Although a small part of him was glad to see the doctor, the more rational part of his mind wasn't too pleased that his friend had so willingly placed himself in danger. It meant that now he not only had his own life to worry about, but also the doctor's as well. Suddenly, the shoulder seemed the lesser of his problems. "Where are Kitty and the children?" he wanted to know, hoping dearly that they weren't anywhere nearby.
Doc sniffed and briskly swiped a hand across his mustache, thinking it a fool question to ask. "They're safely on their way back to Dodge to get help," he said, taking care to keep his voice low despite the rising irritation he felt. "Now let me take a look at that shoulder." He reached out again, but Matt's raised hand stopped him short.
"Later, Doc, we don't have time for that now."
Doc scowled. "Well, confounded...if you're not the most pig-headed-" he began to say, but Matt cut him off.
"Look, I mean it...Biggs is out there somewhere after me an'-"
"I know," the doctor dismissed him with an impatient gesture. "I heard that big oaf holler for you."
Matt took a slow breath, summoning what little patience he had left; obviously, Doc didn't quite understand the seriousness of the situation. "Now, Doc, look here..." There was a distinct edge of exasperation in his voice. "You can-"
But the rest of his sentence was suddenly cut short by the unmistakable sound of Biggs' booming voice as it carried through the thicket. "Hey, Marshal, that shoulder hurtin' you bad?" Biggs gave a short, sharp bark of savage laughter and added, "hell, I sure hope so!"
Matt pressed his lips together and cautiously glanced around the trunk again, just long enough to catch a glimpse of Biggs. The outlaw was slowly, steadily pushing his way through the brush up towards them, parting branches and bushes with the Winchester as he went.
Backing away from the tree, Matt took a steadying breath against the bone deep throb of raw agony that sent pain streaking down into his arm and across his back and shoulder. He found that if he didn't move too much, the pain retreated to a throbbing distraction, but unfortunately, that wasn't an option at the moment.
They couldn't remain here, they had to get moving. The last thing he wanted to happen was for the doctor to fall into the hands of the outlaws. He knew that they wouldn't be too pleased to see him again, and he hated to think of what they might do to him if they caught him.
Sweat stippled his upper lip and glistened on his brow, plastering several unruly curls to his forehead. Carefully pressing his palm against his bleeding shoulder, Matt squared himself, hoping against hope that Doc didn't catch on to how bad he was really feeling. With a nod of his head, he indicated the denser trees further up the slope. "We better get movin'," he said, purposely ignoring Doc's concentrated gaze on him, and before the doctor had a chance to protest, Matt had already begun to nudge him along.
to be continued...