After the crap young Doc went through, I gave you a little comfort. You're welcome.
"Notions" are unspecified items. "Stuff."
Wyatt regretted agreeing not to discuss Doc's illness. He needed to know if the members of his "posse" were well enough to keep on with their mission. Sure, Doc was bound to cough a bit, but the night air probably wasn't good for him. He had also seemed to sleep what they call "fitfully," possibly in the throes of more nightmares.
He tried to put his worries aside as he peeled the blankets apart and settled down beside James. The ground was hard, but the underside of the saddle made a decent pillow in spite of the smell of horse. He listened to the hissing and crackling of the fire until he finally fell asleep.
It was still dark when he woke up. He heard movement and lifted his head long enough to confirm that it was just Doc taking James's place and that Jackson was restlessly shifting position as if he too had just been awakened. They were on the final watch. He had only a couple more hours to sleep. Sleep, however, was elusive.
After a few minutes, Wyatt realized that Doc's breathing didn't sound right. He sat up and scooted toward his friend. "Doc?" he whispered.
Doc was panting erratically. Wyatt cautiously laid a hand on his shoulder and found him hot and twitchy.
Looking back toward the fire, Wyatt saw that James had noticed something amiss, but showed no sign of leaving his place yet. He turned his attention back to Doc.
"Doc," he whispered again, gripping Doc's shoulder and shaking it gently. "Wake up."
Doc lifted his head suddenly with a loud gasp.
"It's all right, it's me," Wyatt said quickly.
Doc reached up to squeeze Wyatt's forearm tightly for a moment before lying back with a sigh and relaxing his grip. "Wyatt... damn it."
"It's fine." Wyatt gave James a signal that things were all right and looked back at Doc through the darkness. He couldn't make out much about his expression.
"I don't know why I'm so unsettled." Doc didn't sound like his usual, cocky self. And his hand was still on Wyatt's arm.
Wyatt reached back with his free hand to drag his makeshift pillow closer to Doc's. He awkwardly rearranged his blankets without reclaiming the use of the hand on Doc's shoulder. Then he settled down on the ground, possibly less comfortable than he had been before. But his arm felt warm in his friend's loose grasp. He flexed his fingers slowly once, silently assuring Doc that he wasn't going anywhere. If he decided this was too familiar or unmanly, so be it, but Wyatt wasn't going to pull away first. Maybe they couldn't talk about the consumption, and maybe it was a little humiliating to have a nightmare in front of someone you respect, but some things that couldn't be said could be felt. I'm here. As long as you want me.
Doc's hand on Wyatt's forearm tightened again for just a moment, as if to say, Message received.
Why is it so dark?
"It's all right, it's me," a familiar voice that was not Michael's said.
Doc reached up and caught hold of a strong, lean forearm as he began to realize that he wasn't anywhere near Philidelphia. He sank back to the ground and relaxed his grip. "Wyatt... damn it."
"It's fine." Wyatt looked back toward the fire where James was surely still keeping watch and lifted his free hand in a gesture of reassurance.
Utterly chagrined, Doc said, "I don't know why I'm so unsettled." I don't know why Michael Edwards is coming to mind at a time like this. Of all times. He had tried to put those days behind him, and until recently had been successful. To have them return to the forefront of his mind when he was far from civilization with three men to whom he wished to appear confident was an appalling turn of events.
Wyatt began shuffling around, and Doc realized he was moving his bedroll closer. He lay down, hand still on Doc's shoulder.
Doc realized his own hand was still on Wyatt's arm. He had left it there so long that it seemed like it would be almost more awkward to remove it now. God damn it, am I losing my mettle?
Then Wyatt's fingers coiled slowly, like they were going to gather a fistful of Doc's shirt, and then relaxed again. This was certainly a deliberate gesture. Like his friend was saying, I'm here. It's all right.
I should push him away. It was the one thing that was sure to make it clear where things stood, to convey his self-reliance and disapproval of such tender displays. But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. After all, Wyatt was the one taking all the risk here. He was offering a deeper trust than they had shared so far. And once rejected, he might never offer it again.
Suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, Doc steadied his breath and tightened his hand on Wyatt's arm, just for a moment. I understand.
Nothing happened. Wyatt didn't pull away. Doc took a long breath, and when he let it out, it felt like a world of worry went with it. He closed his eyes, almost smiling in the darkness.
Wyatt seemed to relax a little, too. Soon, he was breathing the steady breath of sleep.
When James spotted a light patch in the clouds to the east, he got up from his seat by the dwindling fire and cast about for more dry material to burn. He managed to coax up a few reluctant flames and get the coffee started. Then he unpacked enough food for the four of them to have breakfast.
The whole sky was looking lighter by now, patchy with pink and purple clouds. Soon, the sun would make its entrance. James went to wake his brother first.
He paused to take in the arrangement of Wyatt's and Doc's bedrolls - and their arms. Doc's right arm was on the ground between them, and Wyatt was on his side, his forearm lying across that of his friend. It did not look like the most comfortable arrangement - James would not have been surprised if circulation to Doc's hand had been cut off. He frowned in puzzlement.
It's easy enough to excuse it once, but two mornings in a row? If something odd or, he dreaded the thought, improper were going on between the two, was it Doc influencing Wyatt, or the other way around? Or was it a mutual affection taken too far? But surely they would try to hide it better than this... not engage in something so illicit where they could be so carelessly discovered.
He remembered the way Wyatt had cozied right up to him when they first went to bed that second night in Granada. Maybe Wyatt just does that with whoever's next to him in the bed... craving warmth like a housecat. The thought reassured him. He was probably making far too much of this. If Wyatt got downright cuddly in his sleepiness and Doc weren't conscious enough to grasp the situation, he couldn't very well fault either of them.
That being that, James carefully took hold of the cuff of Wyatt's sleeve and pulled his arm over against his body before making an effort to wake him.
James woke them at first light. Bless his soul, he had already brewed the coffee and got out their breakfast rations.
Wyatt stretched and rolled his head around, popping his neck. They had all slept in their clothes, which were rather rumpled as a result, but that wasn't a high priority.
"We'll head north as soon as a good chance comes up," Wyatt told the others as he accepted a cup of coffee from James. He passed it to Doc, who looked like he needed it badly.
"Sounds good," said James. He poured out two more cups for Wyatt and himself, and then a fourth for Jackson.
"Oh, us prisoners get coffee now?" Jackson grumbled.
"No sense in letting it go to waste. Behave yourself and I'll bring you something to eat, too."
Jackson looked sour as ever, but he kept quiet.
Doc was uncharacteristically quiet, too. Wyatt supposed he was thinking about the nightmare he'd had the night before, either what it was about or what he and James thought of it. But none of them would mention it. He recalled that he and Doc hadn't remained in physical contact throughout the night - they hadn't been touching when he woke up, anyway. It was sort of funny. He'd taken his arm off Doc the night before last at some point, too. As if he subconsciously knew that James might find it odd and took action in his sleep.
"Everyone finished?" James asked a few minutes later.
"Looks like it. Let's just pack up and worry about cleaning the dishes in Kit Carson."
The others agreed, and they quickly broke camp. They were back on the trail before seven.
Wyatt put his horse into a slow lope and watched for any trail branching off to the right. Within a few miles, he found one. He slowed to a walk and looked back at the others. "We should be back to the road within the hour. From there, we'll move faster. How's the pack horse doing?"
Doc spared a glance for the hardy little horse trailing behind his own. "Looks fine. Notions are secure."
"Good. Let's keep on."
The new trail got them back to the road, and privately, Wyatt wasn't sorry to see it. He picked up the pace again, determined to get the rest of the way to Kit Carson before noon. They soon came upon a sign indicating that they were twelve miles from town.
Although he had been confident in his plan to use the Indian trails, Wyatt felt reassured in the knowledge that it hadn't cost them much time after all. They could push on hard, knowing that their horses would soon be able to rest in town. They might make Denver by Saturday night.
Oh, Wyatt, you give your subconscious mind far too much credit. xD
Are we beginning to feel sorry for James yet? xD He really means well. And hilariously, it's pretty innocent so far... but eventually it will be far "worse" than he imagines. Poor fellow.
By the way, in English riding, the third gait is called a canter. In western riding, it is called a lope. In case you haven't noticed, when we're in Wyatt's point of view, things are in the terms he would use, so he put his horse into a lope. If we had been in Doc's point of view, it would have been a canter, because Doc probably grew up riding English.