Chapter Fifteen
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The little boy beside her saw it before she did. A tiny dot at first as it broached the far horizon, the wagon crawled slowly across the expanse of the prairie, steadily inching its way down the rutted dirt trail.
"Miz Kitty, look!" Rory's excited shout stirred her from her desolate thoughts.
Kitty turned, her expression questioning. "What is it?"
Rory was literally bouncing in his seat with excitement. "Looky there!" he called as he pointed with an out-flung arm straight ahead.
Squinting against the bright glare of midday sunlight, Kitty let her gaze follow in the direction the boy's finger was pointing.
Heat devils shimmered and danced on patches of rocky soil. They distorted perspective and made it hard to discern details but the wagon and the rider, silhouetted darkly against the bright blue summer sky in the far distance were clearly visible. To Kitty, there couldn't have been a more welcome sight and she could hardly contain her relief.
Kitty and Rory exchanged a quick, tentative smile before she sent the reins snapping down onto the horse's back, urging it into a swift jog.
As the buggy continued to bounce across the rutted trail, Kitty saw that the driver of the other wagon had apparently taken notice of her; he was now pointing in the direction of the buggy.
The rider brought his mount alongside the wagon and leaned towards the driver. They seemed to converse briefly and then he straightened in the saddle again. Seconds later, he broke away. Urging his horse into a swift canter, he headed straight towards the buggy.
Her heart pounding with anticipation, Kitty watched him approach, the pounding of the horse's hooves stirring up billowing clouds of dust.
She didn't know who they were-all she knew was that their presence meant getting help for Matt and Doc. It was all that mattered at this very moment.
Slowing the horse down with a tug on the reins, Kitty brought the buggy to a shuddering halt, allowing the rider to close the last of the distance between them.
The rhythmic drumming of hooves grew louder as the dark, fused form of man and beast was covering the remaining ground quickly. Across the steadily shrinking distance, Kitty could tell that the rider's right leg was sticking out straight, away from the horses' body-almost as if it was stiff.
There was only one person she knew of that fit that description.
Chester.
As horse and man drew nearer, the all too familiar face of the Marshal's assistant solidified. Never had Kitty been happier to see the gangly young man, and at once, a new sense of purpose settled over her; she knew that Chester would see to it that Matt and Doc would be safe.
Beside her, Rory jumped to his feet upon recognizing the jailer and began to wave both hands over his head, shouting excitedly. Right away, Carrie crawled to stand on the seat and joined in, but Kitty put a quick end to it, afraid the little girl might fall off.
A short moment later, Chester had reached the buggy. He hauled the sweating chestnut to a dancing, prancing stop and leaped from the saddle before the animal had even come to a complete halt.
"Miss Kitty...boy, am I sure glad to see you," he gasped the second his booted feet hit the dust with a thud. "My goodness...we was just gettin' plump worried-"
The rest of his words never made it past his lips. As soon as he saw the expression on her face, he knew that something terrible had happened.
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A heavy silence was hanging over the grove. It seemed that even the creatures living in it had stilled, straining to listen for the unknown danger that intruded upon their presence.
The doctor was fully aware of it. He wondered if Matt was, too.
Not a single word had passed between them for the last ten minutes as they had angled their way through the thicket, backtracking every few minutes in hopes of eluding Biggs and buying themselves more time.
Doc's worried eyes contemplated the tall man that was doggedly plowing onwards a few yards ahead of him. The back of his shirt was darkened with sweat, the bandanna tied high to his upper arm soaked in blood. He couldn't help but wonder how much longer his friend would be able to keep up the pace.
His question was unexpectedly answered as the Marshal suddenly staggered to a halt. Right away, Doc dropped the club he had been hanging on to and came to his aid. "Easy now, Matt, easy," he warned as he helped him lean against the trunk of the nearest cottonwood.
This time, the lawman didn't protest. With his right shoulder propped against the gnarled trunk, his left arm now lax at his side, he hung his head, drinking in uneven gulps of thick, dust-flecked air. Sweat glistened in the wavy tangles of his hair, dripping off the curling ends and into his eyes.
His head was heavy and his body ached, and all he longed for was for the pain to stop.
Broken rays of sunlight fell through the leafy canopy above, painting his pallid features with dancing flecks of light.
Matt could feel the doctor's eyes on him. His right cheek scraped against coarse bark as he lifted his gaze. "I'm-I'm all right, Doc...I just-just need a minute…" A wave of nausea suddenly washed over him and he closed his eyes against it.
The physician scowled, not sure who Matt was trying to fool-it certainly wasn't him. But he refrained from saying it aloud, taking the opportunity to study his friend more closely instead. He noticed that despite the heat, the lawman's face was alarmingly pale. It was a sure sign that the blood loss was beginning to take its toll. He shifted his gaze to the injured shoulder. The amount of blood that was still pumping from the wound gave him reason to believe that the bullet had probably nicked an artery and he was sorely tempted to inspect the injury despite Matt's objections.
He reached for the shoulder, but his hand suddenly froze in mid-air.
"HEY, DILLON!"
The unwelcome sound of Biggs' voice cut through the thicket as steely and cold as the blade of a knife. "Sure looks like you're bleedin' a hell of a lot...you think you gonna last much longer?"
Doc's face twitched with anger. "Why, that fella's just plumb crazy!" he declared outraged.
Matt opened his eyes and managed to flash him something that resembled a grim smile. When he spoke, his voice was just a sliver of its normal strength. "Yeah, that's...puttin' it...mildly."
He glanced at his shoulder and grimaced. The left side of his shirt was blood-soaked from his shoulder on down to his stomach and crusted dark red in other places. He could smell the coppery tang of his blood, the mere scent of it making him sick. He drew a careful breath, could feel the doctor's intense gaze on him again, studying him with worried eyes. He knew what Doc was thinking and the words that remained unspoken hung heavily between them.
They had to move on. If they could just make it to where he had left his horse this morning-
His hand, shaking and sweaty, locked down onto the doctor's shoulder. He straightened with considerable effort, biting back a cry at the pain that the movement evoked. He swallowed thickly, forcing his voice to sound steady. "Come on...we-we can't...stay here."
But Doc didn't budge, leveling the full weight of his frustrated glare upon his friend. This was going against all sensibility, and he found that he couldn't restrain himself no longer. "By thunder," he groused angrily. "You gonna bleed to death if you don't let me take care of you, Marshal!"
Matt locked gazes with him for one stubborn moment. He could see the anxious concern reflected in the doctor's deep amber eyes. He hated being the cause of that worry, wanted nothing more than allow him to examine his shoulder, but there simply wasn't time right now. Biggs was quickly closing in on them. This was his game, his call and all he could do was try and stay a step ahead of him-especially now that he had Doc to worry about, too. There was no time to fret over the punishing agony in his shoulder, the nausea that squeezed his stomach and made him choke back bile.
He shook his head slightly. "We're...both gonna...be dead...if they-if they...catch up with us…" Pushing himself off the physician's shoulder, he tentatively cupped his right hand against the wound. Right away, blood saturated his fingers. He could feel the sticky wetness seeping through his shirt, plastering the fabric to his body. "Let's go," he said through tightly clenched teeth.
The doctor hesitated, his expression an odd combination of deep concern and frustration at Matt's stubbornness. Unfortunately, he knew the lawman well enough to realize that no amount of arguing could change his mind and he finally relented. Muttering under his breath, he began to follow after him once again.
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"Don't you worry a thing, Miss Kitty," Chester reassured her. "Ev'rything's gonna be all right. You just go on back into Dodge with Missus Crandall here an' let us handle this." He gestured with his head at the woman that was sitting atop the plank seat of an old buckboard wagon.
Millie Crandall was a short and pleasingly plump woman in her mid fifties. Her warm, kind face was framed by graying hair which she wore in a single, thick plait that hung down the middle of her back.
She responded to Chester's words with a kind smile. Little Carrie was already sitting in her aunt's lap, sucking contentedly on a chunk of horehound.
Kitty acknowledged the older woman, forcing a little smile to flicker across her lips and then turned back to the young man at her side. It was then that her carefully erected facade of self-control finally began to crumble and the fear came on, complete and overwhelming.
"Oh, Chester-" She choked on the words, a shaky breath expanding her chest as she fought for control. "I'm just so worried-" Her teeth clamped down hard onto her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and she dropped her head against his chest, suddenly unable to hold back the flow of tears any longer.
The tremor in her voice made Chester realize with slight shock that she was actually crying. He swallowed hard, unable to stop the fierce anger that was beginning to well up inside him. Anger at the men that were the cause of her distress. He raised his hand and began to awkwardly pat her back.
"Miss Kitty, oh please don't cry. I'll see to it that nothing's gonna happen to Mister Dillon an' Doc...I promise you that."
Kitty sniffed and straightened away. She lifted her gaze and looked up at him from red-rimmed eyes. There was nothing but sincerity and fierce determination in those whiskey-colored eyes that lingered so anxiously over her face. She knew that she could count on him to do everything in his power to help Matt and Doc.
Rory reached up and touched his hand to Kitty's arm, trying to offer his own bit of comfort. "Don't you worry, Miz Kitty, them men cain't hurt the Marshal," he said. "He's way too smart fer them."
Touched by the little boy's words so sincerely spoken, Kitty managed a brittle smile. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Yes, Rory, I'm sure you're right." Her eyes caught a flash of light as the sun reflected off the badge pinned to the boy's shirt. She bit down hard on her lip again, fighting back a shudder. Dear God, let's hope so, she desperately thought to herself.
"Marsal?" Carrie now crowed from her aunt's lap upon overhearing her brother say the name. She cocked her head inquiringly, wondering where the big man was.
"Chester," Luke Crandall suddenly spoke up, "we better get goin'."
He had already turned the doctor's buggy around and was now waiting for the Marshal's assistant to join him.
Chester acknowledged the older man with a nod and then turned to Kitty. "Please, Miss Kitty, you best get goin' now," he said gently as he pointed towards the buckboard where Mrs. Crandall had already placed Carrie in her brother's lap and taken up the reins.
Reluctantly, Kitty nodded. Although she didn't want to leave, she knew that there was nothing else left for her to do out here. "Please be careful, Chester."
The young man nodded sincerely. "I sure will, now don't you worry."
He held out to his hand to her and she allowed him to help her up onto the wagon.
Numbly, she watched as Chester mounted up and nudged the horse into a canter while Luke Crandall followed closely behind with the doctor's buggy.
Soon, the two men had disappeared in a lingering cloud of dust and the buckboard lurched into motion with the sharp creaking of wheels that were badly in need of some axle grease.
All that was left for her to do now was hope and pray. Hope and pray that Chester and Luke weren't too late.
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Knowing that Biggs was close on their trail, Matt and Doc made the best speed they could as they continued to angle through the thicket, but it had become slow and laborious progress. The ground was difficult, steep at times and uneven, and the tangled underbrush hampered every step. Every few yards, Matt threw a long, searching look back over his shoulder. He saw nothing save bushes and trees, but he knew that didn't count for anything.
He had no idea how far ahead they were of their pursuers. He doubted it was far enough. They were leaving a trail behind them that a blind person might follow, but there and then, he could think of no way to avoid it.
Soon, it became an effort for him to walk and he had to lean upon Doc more and more to make it through the more rigorous parts of the tangled brush. He was clinging to consciousness with grim determination but he wasn't finding it easy. His strength was steadily leaking away with the blood that still flowed freely from the wound.
Finally, the exhaustion caught up with him. Too drained and fatigued to maintain the illusion of stamina any longer, he staggered into the doctor.
In an instant, Doc's hand beneath his elbow steadied him. "Easy there, Matt," he urged, bracing his feet against the much taller man's weight as it pressed down onto his shoulder. He lifted his head, quickly taking a look around. A little off to the left, he found a small grassy patch amongst a denser clump of trees, a spot where sunlight filtered in dusty shafts through high branches.
With a nod of his head, he indicated the spot.
"Let's get you over there," he said, wasting no time in tugging the Marshal over to a fallen log.
This time, Matt offered no resistance. With a groan, voiced as much from frustration as from pain, he slid down onto the leaf-strewn ground, his back against the fallen log.
He felt sick and weak and so very, very tired. It angered Matt that his body was betraying him and that he was unable to do anything about it. His chin dropped onto his chest as he ran a hand through his hair, scattering sweat-dampened curls across his forehead. His long legs stretched out in front of him, his left arm lay numb and useless in his lap, his fingers clumsy appendages, barely capable of simple contraction. The blood roared loudly in his ears and only vaguely did he register that the doctor had stripped off his coat and bundled it into a rough pillow to place it between his head and the log.
He heard the plop as Doc wrenched the stopper from the canteen. Moments later, he felt it touch his cracked lips.
"Matt...come on an' drink, it'll do you good,"said Doc as he tipped the canteen a little more so that the luke-warm water trickled past his lips and into his mouth.
Matt managed to swallow a little and immediately felt the flutter of gut-wrenching nausea leap to his throat the moment the water hit the bottom of his stomach. He turned his head away, indicating that he didn't want anymore. He was tired, just so tired. "Can't...stay...gotta...move," he whispered, trying to instill a sense of urgency in his friend.
Doc stoppered the canteen and set it aside. "No, Matt, you've done about all the movin' you're gonna do for a while," he said softly yet firmly. "Now let me take a look at that dead-blamed shoulder."
The tone of his voice was such that brooked no argument, and this time, Matt didn't protest when Doc began to untie the bloody bandanna and examine the wound.
He didn't like what he was seeing; the area around the entry wound was tender and swollen, a sure sign of the onset of infection. The bullet, it seemed, had lodged somewhere deep against the joint which would account for the loss of movement in the -faced, he began to re-fasten the bandanna moment later. He fetched his own kerchief from his coat pocket, adding it to the Marshal's.
Matt's breath hitched between his teeth as Doc yanked the make-shift bandage tight in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. A dark red stain was spreading through the white cloth before he had even finished tying the knot.
"Well, let's see here," he muttered as he laid his hand on the lawman's sweat-sheened forehead to gauge his level of fever. It wasn't high, but Doc wasn't fooled by that; he knew that Matt was in grave danger as long as that bullet remained in his shoulder. But the question of how to give him the help he needed was a difficult one.
His mouth was a tight white line, heavy salt and pepper brows knitted above worried his eyes as he sat back on his heels and studied his friend's ashen face. It ate away at him that there was nothing more he could do for him-not as long as they were out here anyway. "Matt," he said quietly, rubbing his chin, "you know...you lost a lot of blood-an awful lot. "
The seriousness in Doc's tone compelled Matt to open his eyes. Though he had to struggle to organize his thoughts, it still was perfectly clear to him what the physician was implying.
He wet his lips. "That...bad, huh?"
Something faltered in the doctor's expression.
It was more than bad.
Running a slow hand through his mustache, he exchanged a long glance with the lawman. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, filled with pain. "I done all I can for you. That bullet's gotta come out before I can stop the bleeding and I can't do that here."
Matt understood and nodded, accepting it. So. That was it. His luck had finally run out.
Strangely, he found that it didn't bother him too much. At least he had the satisfaction of having led Biggs on a merry chase for a lot longer than the outlaw had expected. Not bad, he thought, considering he was without weapon, wounded and had no idea where the hell he was going. If it hadn't been for the bullet wound, he might have had a shot, but between the blood loss and the weakness resulting from it, Matt knew that he was only buying time against the inevitable. Be it from his injury or another bullet from Biggs, the outcome was going to be the same: this time, he wasn't going to make it.
He knew that he was going to die. Nothing he could do about was no sense in Doc risking his life, too. Biggs still didn't know that he was with him, leaving the doctor a good chance to slip away undetected."Doc," he gritted hoarsely, struggling to focus on the older man crouching before him. "I...want you...to get...outta here...go...find my...horse an 'go...go away-"
The doctor rubbed his neck, forcing himself to keep a tight reign on his emotions. Each word was like a knife driven in his chest. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Marshal," he replied calmly. "You might as well save your breath."
It was very clear from the expression on his face, his own safety was the last thing on his mind, and Matt realized that no amount of arguing could change that. Thinking clearly was becoming harder and harder. He was tired. Just so damn tired. Before he allowed his eyes to drift shut again, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'old quack' to the doctor's ears.
A ghost of a smile flickered across Doc's lips. How many times had Matt called him that? He couldn't remember. Feeling the sudden need to do something, he leaned forward and began to fidget with the blood-soaked handkerchief for what little good it did.
"Now Matt, you just go on an' lie still an' rest some. It's gonna be all right." It was a lie and both of them knew it.
If he had the strength, Matt would have been angry, insisted on him getting the hell out of here; instead, all he was able to do was close his eyes in acceptance of the darkness that was now nipping more insistently at the edges of his senses.
Doc scrubbed at the bristly stubble that had begun to sprout along his jawline as he stared at the younger man before him in silent frustration. No, their odds weren't good, but as far as he was concerned, it wasn't over yet.
Matt had lost too much blood, was in no shape to continue on and Biggs was quickly closing in on them. The only option left, he thought, was to stay and fight. He considered the opposition. Three men, armed to their teeth and out for blood, and all he had was a half-rotten tree limb that barely qualified as a weapon.
Hardly a fair match.
He watched the Marshal's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. No, he'd be damned if he left Matt to fall into their hands.
The muffled voices of Biggs and the two others were drifting to his ear again and Doc stilled. Ever so careful, he inched a cautious head above the leafy shrubs and took a long and careful look around.
Sure enough, there they were, no more than a hundred yards away, still moving slowly, still taking their time.
Beside him, Matt had heard it as well. He fluttered his eyelids, then opened them, struggling to get up. He was stopped short by the doctor's hand, firmly placed on his chest.
"Sshh...keep still," Doc cautioned softly.
Matt swallowed, then nodded and relaxed back against the log. He watched as the physician turned and peered through the bushes again. "Can-can...you...see 'em?" he demanded in a weak whisper.
Doc took another long look through the greenery before he responded. "No...no sign of them," he lied, watching the slowly approaching men with a feeling akin to cold dread. Like predators closing in on their kill. The notion caused a shutter to run down his back.
Always a practical man, he didn't try to fool himself for a minute. He knew that neither he, nor Matt was going to survive the encounter unless he came up with something quickly.
"You...sure?" wondered Matt again. His voice held the beginnings of suspicion, something that would not bode well for the plan, the doctor was already devising.
He finally turned and found his friend looking straight at him. Quickly, he cleared the concern from his face. "You just lie still, Matt," he instructed him softly with a reassuring pat on his good shoulder and then rose to stand. As he saw it, the men were still several minutes away. Enough time if he didn't draw untimely attention to himself.
He stared down at the lawman, giving him one last, long considering look. Beads of perspiration were glistening on his bushy brow and trickling down his cheek as he thought of what he was about to do. "I'm sorry, Matt," he said quietly, "but I don't know what else to do."
The doctor's words had been little more than a soft whisper, but some vague intuition alerted Matt to the fact that something wasn't right. His eyes flew open the instant it registered. Blinking, he tried to focus his unstable vision, alarmed when he saw the doctor moving away from him-straight towards Biggs and the others. "Doc, what-"
Suddenly realizing what the physician was about to do, Matt tried to climb to his feet but the dizziness set him off balance. With a muffled groan, he sank back down. "Get...back...here," he ground out frustrated. "You're...goin' the...wrong...way..."
The physician stopped and turned to glance over his shoulder. "I know, Matt."
Matt tried pushing himself up on his haunches. Small stones and rocks pressed painfully into his palm, a distraction he barely registered.
"Doc...don't-" The words were bitten off in a deep-throated groan as he folded back onto the ground.
His head was reeling and he was forced to watch helplessly as the doctor disappeared amongst the trees, the crunch of his shoes on broken twigs and dried leaves quickly fading away in the distance.
"Dammit...Doc-" Despite his desperate efforts to resist, his eyelids drooped shut again and then there was nothing more but the insubstantial mist that came with unconsciousness.