Death Has Its Price

Chapter 3 – Lost and Found

It wasn't the first time she'd heard a rumbling from the top of the mountains. Some of those reverberations turned into rock slides, some of them didn't. They all started out sounding the same, and the one she'd heard this morning was no different. But this one turned into a full-blown avalanche of boulders, and the noise resonated through the valley below at a deafening level. She wasn't supposed to go up to the mountains after one had occurred, but something told her she was needed this time. So she set out up Canyon Peak and rode for a half mile or so before she heard something that sounded like . . . . she wasn't sure what.

Somewhere between a moan and a howl, it didn't sound human at first. It wasn't very loud, but she could tell the area it was coming from. Against her better judgment, she turned her horse in the direction of the sound and followed it down the gully that became the creek bed in the spring.

Amelia, or Amy as her friends and family called her, always had her own mind. When everyone around her was marrying and starting a family, she decided that life wasn't for her, and at twenty-four she'd already been called an 'old maid' behind her back. She looked like nobody else in her family; they were all tall and dark, even her mother, and she was petite and blonde, with amber-gold eyes and dimples. She lived in pants instead of dresses and rode her horse bareback more often than not.

The further down the creek bed she rode, the louder the disturbance became until at last she could tell it was a human noise and not an injured animal. Once that realization hit her, she began listening for the sound in earnest. Whoever it was coming from must be in a lot of pain, and the faster she could find them, the faster something could be done about it.

She kept looking for a mount of some kind, but no horse was in view. So she followed the moaning, around the bend and down the hill, until it became loud enough that she knew she'd located the source. She pulled Cooper's head up sharply and he stopped and waited for her to jump down, the way she always did. Instead she sat there for a minute, to listen before climbing down. There it was again, and she finally slid off the horse and hurried to the creek bed.

What she saw startled and sickened her. A man, not too much older than her, who looked like he'd been twisted into knots and then untied and flung on the ground, half buried in leaves, branches, and rocks. She could tell from the funny angle he was positioned in that his collarbone and probably his shoulder were broken, and his right arm looked shattered, too. With that much upper body damage, who knew what his insides looked like, or if he would even survive. But he was alive now, as she could tell from the moans that continued to emanate from him. She should hurry and go get a wagon and some cowhands to help transport him, but she hesitated for just a minute and looked at his face.

Battered and bruised as he appeared to be, he had a handsome face, and he was tall and thin. Dark-haired, like her family, with elegant hands and long, slim fingers. "Hold on, beautiful," she told him and swung back up on Cooper. "Come on, bud, he needs our help," and she urged her horse forward and back down the mountain.

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She brought Pete and Jess and Sandy Malone with her, with plenty of blankets and a full canteen. Before she left the ranch she sent Wally to Junction Flats to fetch Doc Greeley and get him back to the house as quick as possible. When they got to her mystery man Pete took one look and decided the only way to get him out was to carry him – so they tied blankets together and made a 'sling'. It wasn't easy to lift him out of the gully without some jostling – which brought a substantial amount of moaning and groaning.

"I'd say he's broke up pretty good," volunteered Jess.

They all nodded in agreement. "Musta been caught in the rock slide to look this beat up," Pete observed.

"Gonna take a long time to heal," Sandy spoke up last. "If he lives."

Amy took a good look at the unconscious man as the three cowhands lowered him carefully into the bed of the wagon. He really was a fine-looking man, despite the dirt, dust, bruises, and blood. "Oh, he'll live," she told the friends helping her. "Let's get him home."

It was slow going all the way back to the ranch. She drove the wagon as carefully as she could, but every time she hit a rock or a rut that slid the wheels around the road he moaned. Jess and Sandy rode on ahead to warn Big Gage Stanhope, Amy's father, what kind of a guest he was going to have in his home. That way the downstairs bedroom could be readied; there was no way to get the injured man up the stairs to any other room. Pete stayed with Amy and the stranger just in case a problem arose. By the time they got back to the ranch it was almost dusk. Gage and the boys were waiting for her to arrive.

"Daughter, what kind of a wounded animal have you brought home this time?" her father asked as she pulled the wagon up to the front door.

"Not an animal at all, daddy," she answered brightly.

Big Gage took a look in the wagon. "Musta got caught in the rock slide. Doesn't seem too dangerous, the shape he's in. Doc Greeley should be here any minute." He turned to his ranch hands. "Let's get him inside, boys, real gentle like. He's gonna be in enough pain as it is."

Pete lowered the wagon gate in back and the four men each grabbed a corner of the hastily made 'sling' and carried the stranger inside. Sometime between the ride home and being removed from the wagon the man had slipped back into unconsciousness because there was no more moaning.

They'd no sooner gotten him into bed than Doc Greeley came riding up, surprised at being sent for by the Stanhope's. Once he got a look at the patient he understood. "Amy, get me some towels or rags or something, and some hot water. And send your father in here – I may need him to help me with this shoulder."

"Is it broken?" Amy questioned.

"Oh, yeah," the doctor answered. "And probably needs to be popped back into the socket, too. That's why I'll need your dad. Now skedaddle, and get me what I asked for."

Amy scrambled for towels and put water on the stove to heat. Before she could get everything together, she heard a God-awful shriek come out of the bedroom and knew the stranger's shoulder was back in the socket, where it was supposed to be. Once the water was hot, she took it and the towels into the room and was surprised to find the man's eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. His teeth were clenched and he was trying not to let out another yell as Doc attempted to set his broken arm.

Her father turned to her almost as soon as she re-entered the room. "Amy, go get me the whiskey bottle in the front room – it's over by the fireplace. And hurry, honey." That wasn't a good sign, and she was well aware of just what it meant. The pain was about to be so intense that whiskey was needed to dull it. She scrambled for the bottle and found it just where Gage left it the night before. Hastening back to the spare room, and passing the bottle over, her father didn't bother with a glass, just tipped the bottle back and poured it down the poor man's throat. He coughed and gagged, but Gage kept right on pouring, knowing the discomfort from the forced drinking was far less than the agony about to be endured. Finally he stopped and glanced back at his daughter. "Go on outta here, Amy. This could get ugly."

She did as instructed and went back out to the pantry. Even there she could hear the scream of agony - loud and clear before abruptly stopping. Either the injured man had passed out from the pain or – she didn't want to entertain the other possibility. While she was considering what had occurred to cause the reaction Pete emerged from the room and brought something over to her. It was a wallet, filthy and tattered from the trip down the mountain, but she opened it just the same. She needed to know who she'd rescued – and when she saw the name engraved on the inside flap, she gasped and dropped it as if the leather itself was hot to the touch. Her brief glimpse was enough to scare her to death – and almost did so. On the inside flap was engraved, in quite an elegant script, 'J.H. Holliday.'