Chapter 6
"Eirik, wake up! We're going hunting!" Mark was an insistent nuisance when he was excited. Lucas grinned widely, watching the young man grumble something unintelligible, stumble outside to wash face and neck in the cold water, and finally look around with bleary eyes.
"What's with you, Eirik? Usually you're up way before us."
"Must be the moon shining in my face most of the night. Sir."
The tall man laughed quietly. "Everything ready?"
"Aye." Eirik grabbed a bundle that showed his bow and a full quiver. A water bottle hung around his neck.
"But you still got to saddle Spirit!" Mark piped up from where he stood by the door. The dun stallion twitched his ears at the sound of his name.
"No."
"Not even a blanket?"
"Just to spite you for waking me so early I'm not even taking a blanket."
"Boys, stop fighting, let's go." Sometimes these two seemed more like brothers than the at least ten years age difference.
They rode out in companionable silence. Lucas grinned into his collar watching the two young men with him – Mark shivering in the early morning cold, Eirik visibly enjoying the moist air, loose-limbed and soft-moving on the big horse.
"Spirit wants to run free, doesn't he?" The big horse was pushing eagerly.
"Not only him. Sir, why not split up now, and I'll meet up with you and Mark at midday at that place on the stream, for lunch."
They had planned the hunt like this – splitting up, hoping for twice as much result.
"Fine by me, Eirik. But be careful, the rocks are treacherous."
A slight frown creased skin almost translucent in the dim light. "You be careful, too. Good hunting!" The young man nodded, and leaned forward.
His intention must have translated itself instantly to the horse – Spirit picked up the pace, and within a few breaths, the pair was galloping over the hillside.
"I like him, Pa, I wish he would stay forever."
"Mark, don't set your hopes too high."
"I know. But he's a fair worker, right?"
"Yes, Mark."
"And he's really smart."
"Yes."
"And he can charm bees!"
"We haven't actually seen him do it. Maybe he smoked them out."
"He makes the best corn bread."
"You've told everyone."
"He could open a carver shop and stay in town."
"Sure he could, though I am not certain if he could earn a living that way. Norfolk is not very big." Though that commission of Miss Hattie's had given the boy quite a reputation.
"Don't you like him, Pa?"
"I do, Mark. I think he's a fine man."
"Then why wouldn't you want him to stay?"
"Mark, it's not a question of what I want. It's a question of what Eirik wants. He could earn more money with other work."
The boy considered that. "Still, he'll stay our friend, right?"
"I sure hope so, Mark." Lucas was surprised he felt that inner heaviness at the thought of the young man leaving. Part of it was that he had grown accustomed to his quiet, foresightful presence on the farm. But looking at his son he knew he was not alone in his enjoyment of the sometimes musical, often humorous evenings that came out of their growing friendship.
"Or he could help Miss Schuler as teacher."
"He could."
The monosyllables finally quieted Mark, who brooded to himself for the longest time. Only after the sun came up his mood brightened. Soon Lucas picked up the fresh trail of a buck. They left the horses at the river, hobbling them so they would not get too far, and made their way up the steep side of the mountains.
As usual the elder McCain pointed out all things noteworthy to his son. Twice they met with the large snakes native to this environment. He did not realise he had missed something until it was too late.
The sun was almost at its highest point when the two finally sighted on their prey. It was a beautiful young animal, strength in every line of its posture.
Lucas motioned for Mark to stay where he was, in case the buck tried to run his way he could cut it off and shoo it back toward his father's rifle. Lucas climbed on, rifle at the ready, when his instincts warned him: The buck was nervous. Their approach had been from downwind, so someone or something else must have the animal skittish. A small cry made ice run down Lucas' back.
"Pa!"
Turning, he noticed the large feline stalking his son – and the male version only five meters away staring at him.
For a moment the rifleman stood frozen. How could he have missed them? It was mating season, the mountain lions would range in pairs. Both cats could attack immediately. Lucas quickly felled the decision – he could only shoot one, and it would have to be the one threatening Mark.
The shot rang out. Mark's scream froze in the air. Lucas saw the cat jump and made a step backwards, reaching for his knife. The rifle fell from his hand as his foot slipped. He could feel the lion's claws break his skin at his shoulders and thighs, but more imminent was the feeling of free fall. A twinge irritated him for an instant, a shadow that attached itself to the feline, then he hit the ground and knew no more.
….
"Come on, Lucas, stay with me."
Cool hands, slender fingers … so gentle… running over arms and legs strangely foreign.
Margaret?
"Mark is waiting up there. Please, stay with us."
The voice… dimly familiar… Mark… gentle, cool hands on his brow… darkness.
….
A weird feeling of free fall, again, a memory of the furious lion above him.
Trying to say something, but only a groan came out.
"Lucas? We're almost there." A deep voice, very deep, very strained. "Mark? Talk to him!"
From far, far away came a voice that stirred his heart. "Pa! Pa, I'm here. You'll be ok, I promise! We'll get you to the doc!"
The words made no sense. He was floating, dangling, being pushed left and right, something warm and movement under him. A horse? The smell was wrong. Warm, spicy, sweat, dimly familiar. Hot air against his cheek.
"Lucas? Can you hear me?"
A talking horse? It was moving wrong. It was uncomfortable. His leg bumped against something, sending a spike of heat up his spine. A sound came out of his mouth.
"Almost, Lucas, hold on a bit longer."
Thirst. When the horse slipped, jolting him, his head screamed and he fell into darkness again.
….
"Pa? Can you hear me?"
"Mark?" lightning crashed behind his eyes. "Mark!" The lion! There was a lion jumping!
Cool hands, water dripping into his mouth. Blessed moisture.
"More." He croaked.
Slender, so gentle fingers lifted his head ever so carefully, as if aware of the lightning. A bottle was tipped to his lips. "Slowly, slowly." The deep voice.
He drank, sank back exhausted.
"Pa? Can you open your eyes?"
He tried. Anything for that voice. "Mark?"
"I'm here, Pa." Small fingers gripped his hand reassuringly.
"Mark. The lion…" his heart threatened to pick up speed again, calling the lightning.
"You killed the lion, Pa. I'm fine."
Mark safe. He could go then.
"No, Lucas, stay with us a little longer, please." The deep voice, the cool fingers on his brow… gentle hands.
"Margaret?"
A poignant sound. "Pa!"
"Don't follow her, Lucas, stay with us. Mark needs you. Please, stay."
He tried to move, to follow... But the voice kept him still. "Your son, Lucas, your friends. We're going to get help, but you have to stay with us, please."
The lightning came again, and he could not suppress a groan. A sob from somewhere beside him.
"It hurts, I know. You took a bad fall. But you'll get well again." The deep voice shook.
Who was crying? "Mark?"
"Pa, Pa, please. Don't go to Mum! Don't leave me alone!"
"Shh, Mark, don't distress him. He's trying."
"Mark. Son."
"Yes, Lucas, he's here. He needs you. Here, drink some more."
Blessed coolness dripped down his throat. He swallowed thirstily. The gentle hands put something soft and cool and wet over his eyes. Lucas relaxed.
"Pa?"
"'m here, son, 'm here." He tried to tighten his grip on the smaller hand, and the small hand tightened back. Mark.
….
Being shaken, but gently. Still, every push and pull sent thunder through his head. Though not as bad as before. Before?
There was a rhythm to the shaking, a sound to the rhythm. Horses. He was being carried between two horses. Why?
He tried to open his eyes. Something soft and wet and cool hindered him. He tried to move his hand.
"Pa! He's moving! Pa, be calm, we're taking you home. Micah, he moved!"
Home? Many voices seemed to reach out to him at once.
"Lucas boy, good to have you with us. Stay still, son, only a bit longer."
"Only a bit longer. We're almost there."
"Oh Pa, everything's going to be ok, you'll see!" his son was almost singing.
"Hold on, Lucas. We're almost there."
The familiar sound of hooves on the yard, he never knew how telling the echo of barn and house were.
Strong arms carried him inside, Doc Burrage's unmistakable tone sent everyone except Micah outside again. He could hear them muttering on the porch, could feel their tension through the wall.
"Micah…"
A hard, well-used hand gripped his tightly. "I'm here, Lucas. We're all here. Mark is fine."
There was somebody missing… one voice…
"Eirik?" the lions, the meet, the hunt...
"Calm, Lucas, calm. That boy is fine, too. Bringing home the bounty. 't was a good hunt." The older man joked.
Lucas managed a grimace.
Then the Doc stepped up to the bed and began probing his whole body with practised moves.
He struggled to stay awake long enough to hear the older man's verdict.
"All right. Concussion, Lucas, I never thought I'd see the day with that thick head of yours. Those scratches are nothing, but your leg is broken. Lucky there, it should heal clean. The shoulder was dislocated, but seems Eirik knows what he's doing and set it right where he found you. I'll have to talk to that young man."
Someone opened the door, and short steps stumbled in. "Doc?" Mark's voice was hesitant.
"He'll live, boy."
"Micah?" His son trusted the old sheriff more than the town doctor.
"He's got a broken leg and a concussion, Mark. He'll be fine."
"Oh." A sob threatened to escape.
Lucas lifted a hand, and the small warm body of his boy threw himself against him with force.
"Easy, son… fine." He held the shaking shoulders.
…
Thunderous hooves woke the yard, muted quickly. Murmurs could be heard through the door, even a soft cry of surprise.
Lucas tried to ask a question, but the sound came out mangled.
"I'll have a look, Lucas." Micah closed the door behind him.
Quiet talk, horses, footsteps, something being pulled or pushed over the sandy earth.
Mark padded to the window and moved the curtains: "Eirik came back – seems he brought the buck. And the lion!"
Lucas shuddered in memory. "Eirik?"
Micah re-entered, the door clanged. "That farmhand of yours proved mighty resourceful, Lucas boy. At least you'll have food for a while."
"He brought the buck, I saw!"
"Yes Mark, he brought two bucks – one he killed, and the one you two must have been chasing. And the two lion skins."
"But how?"
"We left your father's horse with him, remember? With the two stallions each pulling a buck, it's manageable. Must have skinned the lions on the spot."
Awe swung in the boy's voice. "He does that. The meat is no good. He left that for the vultures."
Lucas gave up trying to follow the conversation and surrendered to sleep.
…..
He woke blearily to more hoof-beats outside.
"Now what?" the old sheriff's stride was tired.
"Doc Burrage, Sheriff Torrence!" a very young voice called out.
"Aye…" a second presence moved in the McCain living room.
"You've got to come to town real quick. There's been a gunfight."
"Oh bloody…, what now?"
"Dean Dorcas and a stranger – they're both wounded."
Burrage's voice rang out. "Donnelly!"
"Aye, Sir." The deep, calm voice ran through Lucas like cool water. He remembered that voice. It had leaded him back to reality.
A quick back and forth resulted, muted and tired on one side, alert and intent on the other.
"I've got this, Doc. Mark and I got this. If you could look in tomorrow evening, we'd be mighty grateful, but for tonight and a day, I think we're set."
Both Micah and the Doctor came to say good-bye to him. He tried to thank them, to form words, but they would not let him, silencing him with demands of quick recovery.
Hoof-beats leaving, then silence. It was amazing the information his other senses conveyed if he concentrated on them, eyes still threatening him with lightning whenever he tried to open them.
"Mark, you must be hungry." Eirik enquired of the boy. The door closed, and Lucas could feel their presence in the room.
"I don't rightly know, Eirik. My stomach's all twisted up."
"Here, I'll warm some milk for you."
Lucas drifted off again to the warm, comfortable back and forth between the two.