The Virginian frowned to himself as he sat in the chair beside the bed, watching and waiting.
Sturdevant was still unconscious, burrowed into the pillow and sounding pained when he breathed.
Suzanne was out of the room, half-heartedly trying to make something to eat for her and The Virginian. They had both been so concerned about tending to Sturdevant that neither of them had eaten dinner yet. It had been while she had been tending to The Virginian's shoulder that they had realized they were thoroughly starved.
The Virginian stayed where he was, not wanting to be in the way with only one good arm. Instead he gazed into the distance, deeply in thought. There was something he had not told Trampas about the incident in the woods, mostly due to the fact that he had been rather disoriented when it had happened.
He owed his life in large part to Sturdevant.
When Jacques had fired on him, hitting him in the shoulder, it had been Sturdevant who had rushed over in outrage and wrenched the rifle away. The Virginian had heard him loudly proclaiming that he would not have any part in a murder.
In his dazed state, The Virginian had originally thought Sturdevant was responding only to the evil plan Jacques had concocted for Louis. Only later, when things had calmed down, had he realized that Sturdevant had also meant he would not stand by and allow Jacques to kill The Virginian. And Jacques might very well have done just that, if Sturdevant had not been there—or if Sturdevant had not been a man of high integrity.
Poor Sturdevant would be stricken if he knew how he had attacked The Virginian in his delirium.
The Virginian sighed, pulling the quilt up more firmly around him and praying both for his recovery and Trampas's safe return.
He frowned, tilting his head to the side.
It was eerie. When he looked at Sturdevant in just a certain way, he felt that Sturdevant vaguely resembled an old friend. The Virginian had never known his name, but names had not really been needed. He had christened the fellow Silent Sam.
His eyes flickered. Sam had come back with him from Canada, having decided that he had found something more worthwhile than hiring out as a bodyguard and killer. But ranch life had not agreed with him and some of the hands had distrusted him. He had finally told The Virginian that he needed to get away and think for a while, but that he would keep in touch.
He had, too—until several months later when there was a terrible rainstorm and flood in the town where he had last been. After not hearing back for some time, The Virginian had written to his last known address. The Sheriff had written back, saying that a man like Sam had died during the storm. He had found some of The Virginian's letters among the man's effects.
The news had been a blow. The Virginian always hated to lose a good friend, and it was even worse when he never saw it coming. He had not even considered that Sam was dead.
He had ridden out to the town after receiving the Sheriff's reply, but there was no real way to find closure. Out of the people he had spoken to, several of them had not remembered Sam at all. Several others had, but had been spooked by his almost-constant silence. One or two had mentioned attempting to talk to him but not receiving much in the way of a response.
The great majority of the townspeople had also figured that Sam had likely been up to no good. They were by and large just relieved to be rid of him.
The town's Boot Hill was like many others that The Virginian had seen—lonely and cold, filled with the graves of those who had died in unrest. He really wasn't one to believe in ghosts, but it wasn't too hard to imagine that if such things did exist, there could be some hanging around places like that.
Sam's grave was near the edge, under a tree. The only thing on the marker was the carved name "Sam", which had been decided on after the discovery of The Virginian's letters, which had all been addressed to Sam.
The Virginian had lingered for a time, gazing at the grave and becoming swept up in his thoughts and memories and regrets of the past. He had spoken some words of farewell, resting his hand on the carved cross before turning and trudging away.
He had left the town after that.
Perhaps that was one reason why he had never talked much about Sam to his other close friends, including Trampas. They had both lost friends, some mutual, but it just wasn't their nature to talk about it. The Virginian had preferred to simply try to move on.
He sighed. Sturdevant could not be further from Sam in personality. But they did have one thing in common—they had each saved his life.
xxxx
Trampas had been deep in thought for some time. Sam was not talking again and the wind had been howling for the past hour or so. Both things had rendered a conversation quite impractical and mostly downright impossible. But a sudden thought jumping into Trampas's mind made him jerk upright and look to his traveling companion.
"Hey!" he cried over the wail of the blizzard.
Sam looked to him, questions in his eyes.
"Something still isn't right," Trampas frowned. "Sam went to Shiloh with The Virginian. I was off on ranch business at the time and heard about it later. He cut out after a while. Later, The Virginian said something about finding out that an old friend was dead. He wouldn't say much more than that, but . . ."
Sam looked honestly shocked. "You can see I couldn't be the one he meant," he exclaimed.
"Unless you decided you were tired of having ties with someone and cut them by faking your death," Trampas retorted. "The Virginian never did talk about you after that. Not that he ever said much, but there had been something . . . until after he said someone died."
"You've got a suspicious mind." But Sam looked troubled. "Did he say anything else about the person who died?"
"He said something about a bad storm and the Sheriff writing to tell him about the death." Trampas narrowed his eyes, peering at the stranger.
Sam gripped the horse's reins. "There was a storm," he admitted at last. "I was in it, and I almost died in it. Almost."
"That doesn't explain much," Trampas said coldly.
"Someone recognized me—someone who'd got on my old boss's bad side and was bitter for it. He saw a chance to get even with his enemy's bodyguard and left me for dead in the flood. When he saw me hanging on some old branch caught near the edge of the water, he made sure it pulled free and took me down the current. He took my belongings with him back to town for good measure and reported that I was dead."
Trampas frowned. It was possible, he had to admit that. But there were still questions. "And who was that supposed to be?" he asked.
"The town's Sheriff."
Trampas exhaled. "I should've seen that one coming." He glared daggers at the other man. "But it doesn't explain why you never went back to The Virginian or wrote to him or something. Obviously you don't have amnesia. You've just let him think you were dead! It must have been you he meant!"
"I did write to him," Sam answered immediately. "As soon as I was well enough. It takes a long time to come back from being more than half dead. I told him I'd been laid up while trying my hand at my old kind of work. And I said I was coming back. I never got an answer to that. I figured he was out on a cattle drive."
"When did you send that?" Trampas demanded.
"Almost a month ago." Sam rubbed subconsciously at his arm. "I was going to go down there anyway, but then someone wanted me for one last job. Since I thought he wasn't back, I decided to take it. And just as I've finished up with that, you came along."
Trampas leaned back, thinking hard on what he was being told. "Maybe you're telling the truth," he said at last. "Or maybe you aren't. I just don't know what to think."
"Then you're going to have to stay suspicious for a long time yet," Sam answered. "And this storm is getting too bad for us to keep going tonight. We have to find some shelter somewhere."
"No," Trampas retorted, even as the fierce snow slapped his cheeks. "Not yet. If we don't keep going, someone else is probably going to die."
"And if we do keep going, The Virginian loses two friends," Sam said flatly. "And this other person will die. If we stop, we'll have a better chance of still getting to that doctor in the morning."
Trampas scowled. He knew how dangerous winter storms could be, especially when they were this strong. Maybe he was resisting solely because he still didn't know that he wanted to take this character's word on anything.
But he heaved a sigh. Sam had finally made sense about something. Maybe it was time for Trampas to take a leap of faith and believe him.
"Okay," he conceded. "We'll look for a place to bed down."
Sam regarded him in approval. "Good choice."
xxxx
The only available place to take shelter in the area seemed to be in an old cave deep in the trees. The dark shape of the opening did not look particularly friendly; it glowered at them from amid the swirling white.
Trampas and Sam approached the opening cautiously. One horse shook his head and sniffed, but the other was rather blasé about the whole matter. He simply stood blankly, twitching his ears.
"It's empty," Trampas reported after going to the doorway and holding up the lantern. "It doesn't go back very far." It looked like it was going to be crowded, especially with both of their horses, but Trampas shivered and decided to be grateful that there was any place for them at all.
Sam just nodded. It was good enough. It pretty much had to be.
They got down and led their horses inside. The beasts promptly moved to the back, as far away from the wind and snow as possible. Sighing, Trampas followed and took down the blankets from his horse. "Do you have any?" he asked.
Again Sam nodded. He was quiet once more.
Trampas shook his head, burrowing into the covers and sinking to the floor. "This is going to be a long night," he muttered.
Sam smirked, just slightly.
"Were you always this quiet?" Trampas found himself asking.
A shrug. "Unless I had a good reason to talk. I found that a lot of things didn't need words to get said."
"And you also found that a lot of people weren't worth talking to," Trampas said dryly.
"That too."
Trampas pulled the blankets closer around him. He wasn't tired, and he wasn't sure he wanted to sleep anyway, when he didn't really know this character.
"You said you told The Virginian you were going to come back," he said at last. "Are you planning to try the ranch life again after all?"
Silence. "No, I thought I'd see if anyone in town needed a bodyguard first. Maybe even your ranch. That's what I'm good at."
Trampas shrugged. "We could probably use something like that."
"I thought you might. Shiloh's a big ranch. Well-known, too."
Trampas fell silent now, just listening to the swirling wind ahead of them and the horses snorting behind them. It felt very lonely all of a sudden. But he was used to that.
". . . You don't happen to know a fella named Sturdevant, do you?" he blurted all of a sudden. Then, taken aback by his own question, he stopped and shook his head. Where in the world had that come from? He couldn't think of any reason why Sam should know Sturdevant.
"I can't say I do. Is he someone important?"
"He works for who he claims are three of the biggest fur trappers on the continent," Trampas replied.
"Hmm. He must be doing pretty well for himself then."
"Yeah, I'd say so." Trampas stared into the distance.
"There's a reason why you're interested in him all of a sudden."
Trampas sighed. "Yeah, there is," he admitted. "He's the one who needs a doctor."
"And you're wondering if he's a decent human being."
A frown crossed Trampas's features. "I guess that would sum it up," he said slowly. "Only I think I already know the answer. He saved one man's life, and I don't know but what he saved The Virginian's, too."
Sam slowly nodded. "But someone doesn't have to be a particularly decent person, to save someone else's life," he mused.
"Well, they can't be all bad," Trampas returned.
"It depends at least somewhat on why they're saving the life," said Sam. "Sometimes there's some awfully selfish reasons."
"I don't think his reasons were selfish," Trampas frowned. "He's dying because of it."
Sam shrugged. "Then as far as you're concerned, you've already got your answer. Why are you even asking me?"
Trampas sighed in frustration. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just trying to keep up the conversation."
"We'll be here all night. Maybe you should think about getting some sleep."
"Yeah, maybe I should," Trampas muttered. "But not until you're asleep."
Sam grinned wickedly. "I might pretend."
"Well, I might do that too," Trampas returned.
"Maybe. Only I'm not worried about you the way you are about me. Whether you dozed off for real or were just pretending wouldn't matter either way to me."
"So you don't think I'm the kind of person you could talk to, but you also figure I'm harmless," Trampas deduced.
"Harmless to me," Sam said lazily. "As long as I don't do anything to you, you won't do anything to me. And I don't plan to do anything to you. I have every reason not to."
"Including that The Virginian would be very upset if you did," Trampas said.
Sam nodded. "Especially that. And the fact that there wouldn't be any purpose in it."
"Maybe you'd be after the money those other guys think I have."
"Money isn't everything."
Trampas gave Sam a Look. "It's kind of weird, hearing someone in your profession say that."
Sam just shrugged.
Trampas sighed in exasperation. Hopefully, when they came back this way with the doctor, he would be more talkative than this guy.
xxxx
"Here, you'd better try to eat something."
The Virginian looked up with a start at Suzanne's voice. She had come back into the bedroom and was proffering a bowl of soup.
"That smells real good," he smiled, accepting it. "Thank you."
Suzanne smiled too. "How is Mr. Sturdevant?"
The Virginian glanced to him. "Still sleeping. Or unconscious. Maybe this'll bring him around." He indicated the steaming bowl.
"Well, there's plenty for him, if he wakes up and feels well enough to eat," Suzanne said. She soon produced a bowl as well and sat near the doorway to dine.
"What time is it, anyway?" The Virginian mused.
"I'm not sure you want to know," Suzanne replied.
"That bad?" The Virginian sounded a lot more casual than he felt. He turned his attention to the food.
"You're wondering about Trampas too," Suzanne said quietly.
"The storm's worse," The Virginian nodded, glancing at the window. "He's probably had to bed down somewhere, if he found a place."
"And if he didn't . . ." Suzanne let the sentence trail off.
"Then I don't know where he could be," The Virginian answered.
Sturdevant jumped a mile in the bed. His eyes snapped open, wide, wild, and confused.
The Virginian and Suzanne both tensed, unsure if he was still suffering from his delirium.
"Hello there," The Virginian greeted, friendly but careful.
Sturdevant stared at him for a moment, searching, still confused. But then he sighed, sinking back into the mattress and the pillow. "I thought you were dead, Sir," he mumbled. "I thought that man killed you after he attacked me."
"I got away," The Virginian said. "But I probably wouldn't have, if you hadn't been there."
"I'm glad," Sturdevant answered. "At least I managed to do something right." He fell silent, gathering his strength. "This entire trip has been a disaster."
"That wasn't your fault, Mr. Sturdevant," Suzanne spoke up.
"I suppose," Sturdevant mumbled.
"How are you feeling?" The Virginian queried. "You've kept us mighty worried for a while."
"I'm sorry." Sturdevant closed his eyes, looking weary. "I . . . I've seen better days."
"I'm sure you have," The Virginian acknowledged. "But you could be seeing worse ones."
"We're trying to get a doctor here, Mr. Sturdevant," Suzanne said. "Trampas is out looking for one."
"Trampas?" Sturdevant sounded vague. "I'll thank him when he comes back."
"I guess you don't feel up to eating," The Virginian said.
"Thank you. Maybe later." Sturdevant sighed, starting to slip out of awareness again.
Suzanne bit her lip. "Well, at least he isn't delirious now," she said quietly.
The Virginian nodded. He hoped that their brief conversation was an indication of improvement, and not instead a short recovery of senses before Death took over.