A long-ish chapter after time away. Enjoy.
WARNING: Animal death. (And human violence, but that's to be expected.)
Doc was all for hurrying, but he knew the saying that haste makes waste, and wasn't too surprised when their quickened pace shook something loose from their pack horse and it clattered on the ground. He gave a shrill whistle that got James's attention as he pulled up his horse so he could turn back for the lost item.
It turned out to be the pack of metal dishes - no wonder it had caused a ruckus. By the time he had picked it up and started tying it down again, the others had backtracked to his position.
"I've half a mind to say to leave it behind," Wyatt said when he learned what happened.
"No point in that now, unless you mean to leave all of our trappings in order to travel faster," said Doc as he finished securing the pack in place.
"Once we get to Kit Carson," said James, "maybe we ought to take the train the rest of the way to Denver."
"It'd be quick." Doc got back on his horse and they started forward at a walk so they could keep talking.
"Quick, maybe, but once at the station, there'd be no hiding," said Wyatt. "If Jackson's gang spotted us there, they could come aboard and take their time deciding when to attack. We still don't know their faces. I noticed roughly what they were wearing when they passed us outside Granada, and what their horses looked like, but they were all bays and chestnuts - tough to know one from another when we haven't seen 'em close. And they could easily have changed shirts. They'd sure have an advantage."
"We could spread the word we're keeping him in the hotel overnight," said James.
"Whatever we do, let's decide in town. I want to move faster."
The others agreed, and they moved into their previous formation. Doc kept a close eye on the pack horse in between scanning the landscape for outlaws. The sound of hooves on dirt and gravel drowned out everything else. The terrain was a little flatter here, but there were still some low, rocky hills with patches of shrubbery.
Doc guessed they had gone four or five miles since they passed the signpost when he saw sunlight glinting off something a hundred feet or so up from the road. "Shit." He whistled again, just before a gun discharged.
Wyatt turned his horse away from the sound, but that meant going toward the light Doc had seen.
"We're in a crossfire, Wyatt!" he shouted in the midst of fresh gunfire.
They all crouched over their horses to make themselves smaller targets, but they were still practically sitting ducks.
Wyatt wheeled his horse around and dismounted beside Jackson's horse. "Dismount, boys!"
James and Doc did as Wyatt said, keeping ahold of their reins. The riderless horses stalked around in agitation while Jackson cursed them for leaving him exposed to the confusion of gunfire.
Doc understood that Wyatt was leaving Jackson on his horse to make the outlaws think twice about firing carelessly. If they aimed too high, they might hit their boss. Meanwhile, the chaos among the horses made them even more difficult to hit, though that wouldn't last. If driven to it, they would shoot the horses.
Wyatt spoke in a low voice to his horse, the calmest of the bunch, and laid his rifle across his saddle. He took aim for a moment, seemingly unconcerned about all the flying lead. He fired and the horse flinched, but didn't spook like the harness horses. James and Doc had a time holding onto the others.
When Doc looked up the embankment, he saw a man fall on his face, obviously hit and possibly dead. Damn, the boy can shoot under pressure.
But there were still two men on that side, and three on the other. Evidently, they had picked up another man since the last time they crossed paths. Doc winged someone on the other side before he heard Wyatt speaking in a commanding tone.
"James, Doc, cover me." Wyatt handed the rifle to James and drew his pistols.
"Wyatt..." James started, but Wyatt was already moving away from them.
"Aw, hell!" Doc exclaimed. Knowing James wouldn't be able to look away from the direction his brother had gone, Doc forced himself to turn back to the side with the man he had injured. He fired until his colt was empty, trying not to pay attention to all the gunfire behind him.
One of the horses squealed in terror and bolted. Then Doc heard James yelp in pain.
Doc dropped another outlaw; this one he was fairly sure was dead. At least if this is it, I'm taking someone with me, he thought grimly.
Then he heard hoofbeats. A rider galloped past them and up the bank he was firing on.
"Well, goddam," he muttered.
The rider was Wyatt, back on his own horse, chasing down his enemies like a one-man charge of the Light Brigade.
Doc fired his Derringer once to add to the intimidation of the lone rider, but then it was over. All of Jackson's men were dead or injured.
Jackson had never let up in his stream of cursing, so Doc hadn't noticed that the outlaw had sustained a grazed shoulder and fallen off his horse. The horse that had run away was limping badly. James's side was bleeding significantly.
Doc quickly tied his horse to Jackson's and knelt to examine James's wound.
"Is it bad?" Wyatt asked, voice full of concern.
"Went on through," Doc reported. "I'm not an expert on the thorax, but I'd say if we're lucky it didn't hit anything vital." He looked up at Wyatt, who was breathing hard and had an almost wild look in his eyes. "As for you... you look untouched."
"I'm fine. You?"
Doc nodded.
"What about me?" Jackson demanded. "One of those jackasses hit my shoulder and I think I broke something when I fell!"
"You can wait!" Doc snapped. To Wyatt, he said, "I think this about makes us even, boy. Matter of fact, when I see Kate, I'm going to tell her she owes you a kiss. You crazy son of a bitch."
Wyatt smiled. He leaned down to pat James's shoulder. "Let Doc patch you up, Jim. He knows what he's doing. I'll start cleaning up."
Doc found that he had dropped the pack horse's rope and it had wandered a little way up the road. That was Wyatt's first order of business: catching the pack horse and bringing it back so Doc could get out supplies to dress James's wound. The first aid was quite an undertaking for Doc, who was used to suturing delicate incisions, not patching up bullet holes.
"Think Bessie'll forgive us?" Doc asked, trying to keep James's mind off his pain.
"Hm." James half smiled even as he made a small, pained sound. He was lying on his uninjured side with his shirt and waistcoat pulled up out of the way.
Doc glanced up from his stitching to see Wyatt examining the injured horse. Wyatt started removing its tack and Doc looked back at his work.
A minute later, they heard a shot. James said, "I liked that horse."
"Yeah... too bad. I imagine ol' Bob's bastards have their horses around here somewhere so we can get a replacement."
"You takin' your time over there or what?" Jackson grumbled.
"I told you: You can wait."
By the time he finished stitching and bandaging James, Wyatt had brought two outlaws over and tied their wrists to their ankles.
"These two will live if we're generous," Wyatt said. "Town isn't far, and they probably have a doctor."
"Maybe I ought to go fetch some help while you watch 'em," Doc suggested. "Unless you wanna shoot 'em and save the bother."
"Hey," Jackson said loudly, "I'm still bleeding over here!"
"Keep on bleedin'. Your henchmen here are worse off than you are." Doc looked up at Wyatt again. "How 'bout it?"
Wyatt nodded. "Yeah, that's probably best." He went to the outlaw that didn't look as close to passing out and grabbed him by the hair. "Are there any more of you around or in town?"
The outlaw cringed. "N-no. No more. You've killed us all, damn it."
"What a thing to say," said Doc, shaking his head. "If we killed you all, you wouldn't be here to say so."
Wyatt didn't have time to react to Doc's whistle before the first shot sounded. He instinctively turned away from the gunfire, but it became obvious, even as Doc said so, that their enemies were on both sides. Hiding behind Jackson and their horses wasn't going to do much good for long, especially when the horses were so likely to escape their grasp. It isn't an easy thing to keep charge of a horse's reins or lead line while firing a gun.
Fortunately, his own horse was used to some commotion. Wyatt managed to use his saddle to steady his rifle long enough to get off a good shot, but he doubted his horse would remain still enough for that to work a second time. They were in a bad spot. Unless they got very lucky, Wyatt guessed they would all die there. Something had to change.
Nowhere to hide, no way to run. We can't get further from them. That left only one maneuver: Take the fight to them.
"James, Doc, cover me." Wyatt handed the rifle to James and drew his pistols.
"Wyatt..." James started, but Wyatt was already moving away from them.
He jogged toward the side of the road where he had already dropped one outlaw. Two to go. A rifle shot rang out and kicked up dust beside the closer outlaw. Wyatt wove from side to side and then paused to aim. One to go. Pistol shots came from behind him.
The last outlaw ahead leveled a shotgun at Wyatt and he dove to the side. Gravel sprayed his boots. He rolled to a sitting position, steadied his gun with both hands, and fired. The last outlaw lurched in pain. Behind him, he heard a horse squeal in terror, and maybe a person crying out from pain.
Once he made sure no one living was within reach of a gun, Wyatt ran back down to the road where his horse was nervously sneaking further from the fray. He threw the reins over its neck and vaulted into the saddle without touching the stirrups. Someone in their group was down... James, it looked like. And there went Jackson.
Don't think about it. He'll be waiting for you.
Wyatt took a firm grip of the reins and a handful of the mare's mane and let his heels nudge its flanks. That was all it took to get his horse's mind back on her job. They charged across the road and bore down on the last two outlaws who were still firing on them.
It didn't occur to Wyatt to consider how lucky he had been so far, or that maybe he should quit while he was ahead. He kept his resolve until all of Jackson's men were dead or injured.
When he returned to the others, Doc had tied his horse to Jackson's and knelt to examine James's wound.
"Is it bad?" Wyatt asked. He licked his lips and tried to quiet his breathing so he wouldn't miss anything Doc said.
"Went on through," Doc reported. "I'm not an expert on the thorax, but I'd say if we're lucky it didn't hit anything vital." He looked up at Wyatt. "As for you... you look untouched."
"I'm fine. You?"
Doc nodded.
"What about me?" Jackson demanded. "One of those jackasses hit my shoulder and I think I broke something when I fell!"
"You can wait!" Doc snapped. To Wyatt, he said, "I think this about makes us even, boy. Matter of fact, when I see Kate, I'm going to tell her she owes you a kiss. You crazy son of a bitch."
Wyatt couldn't help smiling. He wondered if Doc would actually follow through on that offer. He leaned down to pat James's shoulder. "Let Doc patch you up, Jim. He knows what he's doing. I'll start cleaning up."
First, Wyatt mounted up and went to fetch the pack horse. Then he inspected the injured horse. The injury was to the shoulder. The horse would have a hard time walking or even grazing in that condition, and in the meantime, carrying all its weight on three legs would cause it to founder. It was better to put the horse out of its misery now than subject it to a slow death. Wyatt removed its tack.
He gave the horse a last pat on the face. "Sorry, ol' boy." He put a bullet through its head. It felt like a terrible waste, but it couldn't be helped, so Wyatt turned his attention to the outlaws again.
Three were definitely dead, and one was fading fast. Lucky for him, he wasn't conscious. Wyatt did a quick job slowing the bleeding of the remaining two before moving them one at a time down to their impromptu doctor's office where he secured their hands and feet in case they decided to flee.
"These two will live if we're generous. Town isn't far, and they probably have a doctor."
"Maybe I ought to go fetch some help while you watch 'em," Doc suggested. "Unless you wanna shoot 'em and save the bother."
"Hey," Jackson said loudly, "I'm still bleeding over here!"
"Keep on bleedin'. Your henchmen here are worse off than you are." Doc looked up at Wyatt again. "How 'bout it?"
Wyatt nodded. "Yeah, that's probably best."
Unless there's another ambush waiting... He went to the outlaw that didn't look as close to passing out and grabbed him by the hair. "Are there any more of you around or in town?"
The outlaw cringed. "N-no. No more. You've killed us all, damn it."
"What a thing to say," said Doc, shaking his head. "If we killed you all, you wouldn't be here to say so."
He'll be safe. Help will be here within two hours. Everything will be fine. "Where are your horses?" Wyatt asked.
"Back up the road where there's some scrub brush."
"We'll fetch 'em along the way," Doc said. "You just sit tight and don't give up the ship." He winked at Wyatt and mounted up.
Wyatt nodded to Doc and sat by James to watch him ride away.
"I wouldn't believe what you did... if I hadn't seen it," James said.
"Save your breath," Wyatt told him, patting his shoulder again. He left his hand there. There was no point in worrying about how much worse things could have been. But he couldn't help the little chill he felt when he pictured himself desperately trying to find a pulse, taking James's body back to Dodge, trying to explain things to Bessie. No more gambling with my brother's life. He looked upward and, in case God was listening, muttered, "Thank you."
Whew, we can breathe easy now. But there's still the rest of the trip to Denver and the trip back, and what's going to happen with Kate? Will Doc really tell her she owes Wyatt a kiss for saving his life? (Like nothing will happen with that. Ha.)
In those days, veterinarians were few and far between. If your horse had a limp, it was almost as good as dead. Founder (technical term: laminitis) is a condition that usually occurs when a horse carries too much weight on one or more hooves, causing a breakdown of tissue around the hoof. This can happen because the horse is limping from an injury or even because it got overweight. Founder itself won't kill the horse, but not having that leg to stand on will make its life hell until something else kills it. It's sad, but Wyatt did the best thing he could for the injured horse.
Thanks so much for reading. Please leave me your thoughts, darlin's.