The night was growing colder.
Sturdevant weakly gripped the pillow, burrowing farther into it. At his bedside, Suzanne adjusted the quilt, something he processed only vaguely in his fevered mind.
The memories were colliding and separating, melding and fading. One would come to the forefront of his mind and then disappear just as quickly, its metamorphosis into another scene happening so seemingly naturally that in his delirious, dreamlike state, it felt completely normal.
"Mr. Sturdevant?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"I've noticed that you take a particular interest in the revolution in Canada. Is there any particular reason why?"
"Only that I believe the rebels are in the right, Sir. It's wrong, how they were tricked and exploited by the people they trusted to help them."
"And you believe that everything they've done is right, including what happened to the Scotsman?"
"I can't say I fully agree with all of their methods and actions. But I do believe the Scotsman was a last, desperate effort, not something that would happen often or even ever again."
"You're not a violent man, are you, Mr. Sturdevant?"
"I try not to be, Sir."
"How would you like to do something to help the rebellion?"
"Could I? How?"
"You see, we all agree with you. And we've been discussing the matter of how we would all like to help them. We have each contributed some of the money in this box—a sum totaling ten thousand dollars. We want to deliver it to the former leader of the rebels and try to convince him to come out of retirement and use the money to revitalize the rebellion. With him in charge once again, and with the proper weaponry and funding, they would not lose.
"The only problem is, we haven't been able to find a suitable courier for the money. It would have to be a very certain kind of person, you understand—someone who wouldn't just run off with the money all for himself. It would be quite a temptation for many people.
"But even aside from your interest in the rebellion, you're an honest man, aren't you, Mr. Sturdevant?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Then we have chosen wisely. We have decided that you will be our representative and deliver the money and our message."
"I, Sir?!"
"That won't be a problem for you, I trust."
"No! No, not at all. I'd be honored."
"Then you will start tomorrow, bright and early. It will take a while to travel out there. The inn is an old Army fort in the middle of nowhere."
Sturdevant jerked uneasily. He had been upset ever since his meeting with Louis the previous night. Not only had it been suggested that the men who had sent him really just wanted the Canadian forests for themselves, Sturdevant had been implicated as well. Insulted and angry, he had returned to his room, where he had stayed until receiving the communication from Jacques.
Of course he had not had any thought of claiming the forests for the men he worked for. But he had been forced to start wondering . . . what had they really wanted? Had they taken advantage of him, of his honesty and integrity, to manipulate Louis into rejoining the revolution and possibly winning so they actually could take the forests for themselves? If that were true, then he wanted no part of that any more than he had wanted to be part of Jacques' plot of murdering Louis.
Jacques . . . Jacques had stabbed him.
Was he really still alive? Was it possible? Or was this what the afterlife was like? It certainly was a strange place, if so.
But there was pain. He had not thought there would be pain there. And every now and then he heard voices, vaguely familiar voices. A man and a woman. . . .
"Well, he's a bit more active than he was earlier, but I don't know if that's a good sign." The man.
"Why wouldn't it be?" The woman.
"If he moves around too much, he might hurt himself. And if he tries to get up, he might hurt somebody else. He had a fever when Trampas and I found him. I imagine it's only getting worse now."
A hand on his forehead. "It's quite bad."
"That's what I thought."
"Mr. Sturdevant?" The woman rested her hand on his shoulder. "You're safe now. Can you hear me?"
He could hear her, but he could not respond. He flinched slightly at the touch but then settled back into the bed. If these two were the only people with him, he was alright.
He thought so, anyway.
xxxx
Trampas was alternately keeping his eye on the road ahead—which was increasingly difficult in this blizzard—and watching the stranger whose horse was keeping pace with his.
Silent Sam was living up to The Virginian's nickname for him; he had not spoken a word since they had departed the town. But he was highly alert, mostly looking ahead but also from side to side and occasionally behind them. Trampas had the feeling that if there were trouble, Sam would be instantly capable of whipping out his gun and dispatching of said trouble.
"I thought you said those men didn't follow me out after you came around," Trampas said at last.
"I said they were having second thoughts. They could decide to go ahead with it anyway."
"Do you think we're really being followed or do you only think it could happen?" Trampas frowned.
"I don't have any proof of it yet." Sam gripped the horse's reins.
"You say you hire out as a bodyguard. Is that what you were doing when you met The Virginian?"
"Yes. But I didn't hire out to him."
"Someone he met, then."
"Yes."
Trampas exhaled in exasperation. Here he was, riding with a man he had only just met, having to trust that the guy knew what he was talking about and was telling the truth—when he told anything at all. His preferred state seemed to be not speaking.
"How did The Virginian find out anything about you?" Trampas demanded. "You barely talk to me."
"The Virginian is the kind of man I can talk to."
"Oh, and I guess that means I'm not?"
"I don't know yet."
"But probably not. Right?"
"Probably. Just because I'll help a friend of The Virginian's doesn't mean I'll treat him like he is The Virginian."
"Tell me something I don't know," Trampas grumbled. Part of him was growing thoroughly fed up with this partnership. The other part was admittedly relieved that he did not have to traverse the blizzard alone. Even if Sam was quiet, he was there. And he was someone to help out if there was trouble.
If Sam didn't cause the trouble himself.
Could anything he said really be trusted? Trampas knew The Virginian had spoke highly of the man he had called Silent Sam, but what proof did Trampas have that this was that person? He could have just learned of The Virginian and Sam's association and decided to fake it to get Trampas to trust him.
"For all I know, you're one of the men I have to watch out for," Trampas declared.
Sam shrugged.
"Who were you working for when The Virginian met you?" Trampas pressed.
"A man named Winthrop, here in Canada."
Trampas stiffened. Now that was a name he recognized too. "The Virginian had a lot of trouble from a man named Winthrop," he said. "And you're trying to tell me you were working for him but you and The Virginian ended up buddies?"
"I wouldn't say it like that, but that's basically how it was."
"Sure," Trampas mused. "The Virginian said that without you, he could've been dead."
"That's true. But he still would've died if he hadn't got his gun out quick."
Trampas shook his head, still not sure what to make of any of this. "You could have just heard the story somewhere," he said. "I still don't know that you're who you say you are."
"You can't know that until we get back to the inn and The Virginian sees me. Until then, you're just going to have to be patient and trust me." Sam smirked. "But you're not good at being patient, are you?"
Trampas glared daggers at him. "Did The Virginian tell you that?!"
Sam held up his forefinger as if to emphasize a point. "I told you I'm observant."
"You could be observing what you were already told," Trampas muttered.
Sam grinned. "I don't think I'll tell you which."
And then they were approaching a stretch of the road darkened by thick trees and overhanging branches on each side. Suddenly, Sam was stark serious. He pulled on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt in the swiftly piling snow. Then, signaling with his hand, he indicated for Trampas to stop as well, and to follow him off the path and into some nearby trees.
The mood change was so surprising and such a switch that Trampas just did as he was told, not speaking until they were hidden among the pines.
"What's going on?" he hissed then. "Is someone after us?" He frowned. "I can't believe that you could hear them over this howling wind and I couldn't."
Sam didn't answer. Instead he peered through the trees, watching the road. The snow, blowing harder still, was already concealing the evidence of their horses' hooves. For a long moment he stared, waiting. Then at last he relaxed, nodding to himself. He urged his horse to step back from the trees and towards the exit.
"This isn't some kind of a game!" Trampas exclaimed in annoyance and frustration.
"No, it isn't, which is why we have to make sure we're not being followed," Sam answered.
Trampas gritted his teeth. "I thought you must've actually heard or saw something. That man is probably going to be dead before we can ever get back to him with the doctor!" he cried.
"And you'll be dead if you're beaten up and left in this storm," Sam replied. "Even though you're an impatient one, you're not stupid."
"That's why I let you come with me," Trampas said. "Well, that and I thought it'd go faster with a guide."
"Or maybe you figured that if I'm telling the truth about being a friend of The Virginian, I'd be useful to have around."
"Maybe," Trampas said curtly. He checked himself and sighed. "Sorry. I know we have to be careful in case we're being followed. It's just that I don't think anyone's after us. And it's been a long day and night and I'm in a hurry to get back to the inn." He glanced around at the snow. "We haven't made a lot of progress, have we?"
"Some," said Sam. "But we'll be lucky to make it to Pinetree Hill before morning, with this storm. If it gets much worse, we'll have to find a place to bed down for the night. It'd be suicide to keep going."
"Then it'd better not get worse," Trampas said in determination.
Sam concurred. "Oh, and by the way, even if those men at the saloon aren't after us, we still have to be careful," he said. "The dark pass back there is often watched by highwaymen and stray thieves."
Trampas considered that and nodded slowly. "That makes sense," he said. "I guess the storm scared them off tonight."
"Maybe," Sam mused. "Sometimes they lead you into a false sense of security and then pounce when you least expect it."
"Well, that's just great," Trampas muttered in disgust. "So basically, we're not safe from anything until we get to Pinetree Hill."
Sam nodded. "And this is the only road between here and there, so when we get the doctor, we'll have to come back this same way."
Trampas exhaled. "It just keeps getting better and better," he said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.
xxxx
Suzanne was growing more restless the longer the storm raged. She had long ago got up and was pacing the floor in the main room. Every few minutes or so she came back to check on Sturdevant, where The Virginian was sitting near the bed and trying to calm the wounded man when he became distressed.
"Moving around isn't going to make Trampas come back any faster," The Virginian said at last.
Suzanne threw her hands in the air. "Oh, I know," she sighed. "But . . ." She trailed off and turned away.
The Virginian nodded. "You're worried about him."
Suzanne sighed, crossing her arms. "I am," she said, "and Louis, too. I guess it feels kind of overwhelming . . . to have two men I've been close to out in this snowstorm and not knowing what's happening to either one of them."
"That'd be difficult," The Virginian agreed.
She turned to face him, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't know if Trampas told you anything about our past together, but well . . . it wasn't good."
"No happy memories when you met up again?" The Virginian mused.
"Hardly. I was terrible to Trampas, really. My partner in crime and I bilked him out of a lot of money."
"That would make Trampas feel mighty bitter, alright." The Virginian leaned back, studying her. "But it seemed like you parted on pretty good terms earlier today."
"We did, I think," Suzanne agreed. "I've changed since then and Trampas finally came to realize that it's true." She pushed away from the wall. "I was going to close up the inn and move back to Fargo. But now that this man is here, I'm not sure what I'll do. He won't be able to be moved for a while, will he?"
"I wouldn't think so," The Virginian said. "I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing. It's just too far to any town to think of moving him there until he's a lot better."
"If he gets better." Suzanne started to walk out of the room but then paused. "You don't think he hears us, do you?"
"He might," The Virginian replied. "At least sometimes."
A bit of guilt flashed across Suzanne's face. "Then I shouldn't be saying things like that. If he thinks we have little hope he'll make it . . ."
"Then I think he'll just fight all the harder to prove us wrong," The Virginian interjected. "He was lying out there for hours with everyone thinking he was dead. And that sure didn't stop him from living."
Suzanne smiled a bit. "You're probably right. No one could ever accuse Mr. Sturdevant of being weak. Maybe he trusted the wrong people, if he wasn't knowingly mixed up in their schemes at all, but that isn't a crime."
"If it was, just about the whole world would be criminals," said The Virginian. "I can't think of anyone I've met who trusted the right people all the time."
"Even yourself?" Suzanne quipped.
"Especially me, sometimes."
A sudden cry jerked both The Virginian and Suzanne to rigid attention. Sturdevant was pushing himself up from the bed, his eyes open but glazed and wild.
"Uhoh." The Virginian got to his feet, reaching out for Sturdevant with his good arm. "It's alright," he tried to say. "You're safe here, remember? The only things you have to worry about is fighting that fever and staying alive."
But in Sturdevant's tortured mind, the latter was exactly what he was worrying about now. To him, he was seeing Jacques, coming at him with the bloodied knife in his hand.
"So, you are still alive?" the hallucination remarked. "I cannot have that. You will talk about what I told you." And Jacques lunged, aiming for Sturdevant's heart with the blade.
Sturdevant was leaping off the bed in the next moment, tackling The Virginian to the floor. The Virginian's face scrunched in pain as his wounded shoulder hit the hardwood. Trying to ignore the pain, he struggled to fight Sturdevant off with his uninjured arm. Suzanne screamed.
Sturdevant grabbed The Virginian's right wrist, squeezing it as he tried to force the nonexistent blade out of the hand. With no other options, The Virginian tried to push him back with his left hand.
"Sturdevant, listen to me," The Virginian pleaded through gritted teeth. "I'm not trying to hurt you. And I don't want to have to hurt you to keep you from hurting me. But you're not leaving me a lot of choice."
Sturdevant moved back, looking as though he was ready to punch his imagined enemy.
Suzanne swallowed hard as she observed the scene. Then, quickly, she started to step forward. "Mr. Sturdevant?" she called. "Please stop this. You're hurting yourself as well as The Virginian. Your back is bleeding again." It was true—she could see the crimson through the bandage.
Sturdevant paused, breathing heavily. He did not look to her, but at least he wasn't currently trying to strike anyone, either.
"I'll help you get back into bed," Suzanne continued. She drew closer, but did not yet dare to reach out for him.
The Virginian stayed silent, not sure whether speaking up would help or hinder the situation. He also stayed very still, watching Sturdevant, and praying that Suzanne could break through the fog over his mind.
"You really need to rest," Suzanne was saying. "It's the only way you'll get better."
Sturdevant looked to her, finally, and seemed to see her and not a mirage. He started to try to get up, but stumbled forward with a pained grunt.
Suzanne reached his side and tried to steady him. He let her, his cheeks red from either the fever or mortification or both.
The Virginian watched as she helped him back onto the edge of the bed. Still shaking, and looking dizzy, Sturdevant started to lie back down. He either fell asleep or passed out almost immediately, as he slumped down the rest of the way, sinking into the pillow and the mattress.
In relief, The Virginian sat up, clenching his teeth against the pain in his left shoulder. His right hand flew up to the spot. He was probably bleeding again, too.
Suzanne looked to him in apologetic concern. "Are you alright?" she exclaimed.
The Virginian nodded. "He really packs quite a blow, for being almost dead a while ago," he remarked. "If he'd known Jacques was going to stab him in the woods, I bet Jacques never would have got the chance."
Suzanne looked from The Virginian to Sturdevant. "I'd better try to help him first," she said, still apologetic. "But I'll get to you as soon as I can."
The Virginian nodded. "This wounded shoulder hasn't ever been serious," he said. "He needs help first. I'll give you a hand . . ." But he grimaced in pain as he started to stand. Being knocked to the floor had rattled the wound more than he had thought.
"Please, just sit down," Suzanne begged. "You're hurt too. I can manage. Anyway, you might just slow me up."
A sigh. "I guess that's possible," The Virginian consented.
He sank onto the chair by the bed. "How is he?"
Suzanne sighed. "Unconscious." She washed her hands in the basin on the dresser and returned to the bed with a roll of bandages. "Here's hoping that when he wakes up again, he'll know where he is and who he's with."
"I'll go along with that," The Virginian said.
And he hoped that by the next time Sturdevant awakened, Trampas and the doctor would have already arrived.
From the force of the blizzard outside, that seemed more and more unlikely.