Chapter 8: Monday, Palo Duro Canyon
The trail was well-travelled, and even at low season and that early hour Jimmy and Annie overtook hikers on the trail. The first part of the trail was fairly broad and flat, and the horses covered the distance to the steeper sections near the Lighthouse in good time. They picked their way up the slopes around the Lighthouse and were finally past it and off the mapped trail by late morning.
Annie was leading now, looking for anything she might remember from her visit with her father twenty years before. She had remembered clearly hiking into the rock formation with their gear, and continuing past the landmark into the back canyon, a jumble of hoodoos and ravines. Within the next mile they came to a creek, nearly dry, only a trickle of water running in it and she signalled to Jimmy to stop. They dismounted and led the horses to a small pool for a drink.
"I remember the creek, but there was more water when we were here. If I'm right, I know which way to go from here. The place we camped must be less than a mile away, that way," she said, pointing ahead of them.
There was not really a trail, but a vague impression of one; Jimmy could see that others had passed this way before. He looked closely at the dry sandy soil and could make out faint footprints, but could not tell how recently someone might have walked this route.
While the horses were resting, they drank from their own water bottles and each had an energy bar, careful to make sure the litter was returned to their bags to be carried out with them again. When they finished, they mounted the horses and moved forward in the direction Annie had indicated.
Perhaps half a mile further on the faint trail they passed through a tight chute between a cliff rising on their right and a massive pillar of rock on their left. They entered the chute together, but when they could see where it would widen out again, Annie called softly to Jimmy to stop. "We're comin' up the the place I remember." He nodded. "I don't think we want to surprise anyone," she continued, "Stop here and let's walk forward an' take a look."
They slid from their horses and dropped the reins over a scrubby tree, pulled their bags over their shoulders and walked forward through the chute, hugging the pillar wall on the left hand side. At the end of the chute, beyond the pillar, the left hand side fell sharply away into a narrow box canyon that angled back away from them. The trail ahead sloped down sharply, turned and widened out again, forming an open area along the far rim of the small ravine. What Annie saw rocked her.
There was indeed a small campsite set up in the open area: a tiny tent near some tall boulders, a portable chair. It was just as it had been twenty years before. Beyond the campsite, against the rock wall of the curving cliff on her right hand side, a man with a shovel was digging. The memories flooded back and Annie remembered their trip: the job in New Mexico and their trip into Texas, camping in the park, the walk in past the lighthouse. The bag her father had carried in, but not carried out. He wasn't revisiting his past, regretful and ready to make amends, he was back to reclaim something buried twenty years before. All the hurt and anger of a neglected youth flooded back and overwhelmed her.
Impulsively, unthinkingly, she ran forward down the steep slope along the upper edge of the ravine, pulling her gun, yelling.
As always, Jimmy followed her, running as fast as he could, dragging his own gun from its holster.
William Frost heard them, turned from his digging, dropped the shovel and reached for his own gun, stepping into the shelter of the cliff and firing towards the running Marshals. They returned his fire, running now for the minimal cover of the boulders near the tent.
Adrenaline focuses the eyes forward, cuts off peripheral vision in favour of concentrating on the threat ahead, and in the rush of fight-or-flight as she scrambled for the cover of the boulders Annie did not see Jimmy get hit and stumble. But as she reached the boulders and turned to look for him, she saw him take the second hit, stagger backwards and tumble over the lip of the ravine. "Jimmy, no, no, no…", she gasped, and sparing only a glance in the direction of Frost, she ran back to where Jimmy had gone over, and levered herself over the edge.
There was a short drop and then a long, very steep scree slope, and she was able to slide down the slope on her backside and heels, to the piles of larger rocks and boulders that had been released from the eroding slope above. She found Jimmy near where she stopped her downward slide, groaning against the side of a refrigerator-sized slab of rock. She looked briefly back up the slope; their position was such that if William were to look over the edge he would have a clear shot. Even knowing he shouldn't be moved, Annie holstered her gun and grabbing Jimmy under the arms, dragged him around to the downhill side of the rock.
Quickly she assessed his condition. He was barely conscious and not really aware of her, although she spoke to him constantly, using his name, telling him to keep his eyes open, to hang on, he was going to be all right. She found he had a bleeding gash on his head behind his ear and numerous scrapes and cuts, most likely from the fall. A gunshot wound to the right leg below the knee appeared like it might have broken the shinbone. He was turning pale and sweaty, his breathing was fast and shallow and his heart rate was rapid.
His own bag had been lost in the fall, but hers, with the first aid kit, was still with her and she quickly emptied it out. In a few minutes she had bandaged his head and leg to stop the bleeding, using everything in the little kit; cut off his shirt and removed his vest to see if that would help his breathing; and added long strips of the shirt to his bandages to maintain better pressure on the wounds. The vest, when she saw it, made her hands tremble; if it weren't for the vest, he'd have caught a bullet in the chest.
There was nothing she could do about the leg once the bleeding was controlled, and no way to know how serious the head wound was, although she was sure his not waking up was a bad sign. By the time she had done all she could, she was shaking violently, horrified by the trouble she'd brought down on this man. He'd warned her, and she hadn't listened.