Train from Marietta

by Dorothy Garlock

  A rock-hard fist caught the slow-moving Hayden in the mouth as he rose to his feet. He staggered back and then began to circle, looking for an opening. Each man appraised the other. Hayden was a rough-and-tumble fighter. While not a brawler, Tate had steel and rawhide in his rangy frame. He moved in, hit, and retreated, dancing away from Hayden’s grappling arms.

  Suddenly Hayden closed the space between them and grabbed Tate by the arm. With an animal yell, he slammed him down against a nearby boulder. Tate’s head bounced off the rock. Dazed, he crashed into the ground. Stars danced in front of his eyes. Hayden lifted one boot to stomp down on the fallen man’s face, but Tate avoided the blow, rolled, and then staggered to his feet. He blinked and shook his head, desperately trying to clear it. He would not let this hunk of lowlife beat him down! His life and Kate’s depended on it. Ducking under another punch, he lashed out with a fist of his own. The blow struck Hayden in the mouth, shearing off a tooth. His enemy backed away in surprise and spit it out of his bloody mouth. He glared at Tate.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” Hayden bellowed.

  “Is this the best you can do, you stupid jailbird?” Tate taunted. Blood flowed from the deep cut above his eye, from his gashed cheekbone, and from his nose, where Hayden had battered him with his head.

  They circled each other again, the hot sun beating down on them. Sweat dripped down into Tate’s eyes as he picked his way through the stones that were strewn on the ground.

  Suddenly Hayden’s eyes left his foe, and he bent down and snatched something up out of the dirt. Sunlight gleamed off the knife blade. Tate’s guts knotted. Now he was back where he’d started.

  “I’m not through yet, you son of a bitch,” Hayden roared with rage.

  Hayden charged, his knife in his hand, the blade darting and thrusting like the tongue of a snake. The point of the blade ripped a small gash in Tate’s forearm, and the cut felt hot. Trying not to give any ground, he sprang forward and threw a punch, but Hayden jumped back and escaped the blow. Then, holding his knife low, the cutting edge up, he jabbed at Tate. But Tate moved away.

  Both men continued to circle, Tate ever watching the knife blade. Finally, after Hayden had missed with another slashing pass, Tate crouched and put all of his strength into his fist, which he sent into Hayden’s stomach. As Hayden’s head came downward, Tate drove his knee up into the other man’s chin. He groaned, but as he fell down, he swung the knife wildly and cut a shallow slit across the center of Tate’s chest.

  Hot and searing pain filled Tate’s body. He wanted to fall down and clutch his hands over the wet wound, but he knew that he couldn’t: Hayden would be on him with the killing blow. He had to get the knife away! With Hayden still dazed, Tate moved to step on the arm holding the knife, but he was too slow. His foot found nothing but earth as Hayden rolled and came up slashing.

  Hayden’s first slash missed. As he turned to slash back in the way that he had come, Tate jumped into the opening and threw a punch at the man’s knife arm. His blow landed, but a moment too late: The blade entered into his side. This time the pain wasn’t immediate, which he knew to be a sign of a bad wound. Regardless, he didn’t have time for pain. Instead, he clamped his hands down on to Hayden’s arm, his fingers seeking to find a way to pry the blade from his grasp. For a minute, it was strength against strength, every muscle in both men straining with the effort. Then Hayden yielded, throwing Tate off balance. The shift sent both men falling to the ground. Hayden sprang back to his feet. Tate also got to his feet, although not as quickly as before. He felt sluggish and weak.

  Knowing that he had a wounded enemy, Hayden leaped at him, swinging his knife. Tate sidestepped, his left forearm taking the tip of the blade, and smashed his right fist hard into Hayden’s face. The second that Hayden hit the ground, Tate was on him, his arm straining to hold the knife away from his body. Tate hammered away with his fist while Hayden clawed at the bloody wounds that he had inflicted. Wildly, bitterly, and desperately they fought, their battered bodies slick with blood. They rolled around in the dirt, their faces close. Tate got his hand into Hayden’s hair and jerked his head back. Hate-filled eyes stared back into his own.

  “Shit-eatin’ buzzard,” Tate hissed. Blood ran down his chest and seemed to pour from the wound in his side. The dull feeling that he had first felt was being replaced with a throbbing ache.

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Hayden spat.

  “It’ll take a better man than you to kill me.”

  Suddenly Hayden struck a vicious blow behind Tate’s ear that sent him falling over on his side. He was dazed, unsure of what was up and what was down. Hayden didn’t have the same confusion and jumped back to his feet. Still reeling, Tate caught a boot in the jaw that knocked his head to one side. For a moment, Tate lay on his back defenseless.

  Almost babbling in pain and insane rage, Hayden straddled Tate’s body and lifted the knife to plunge it into his chest. With the last bit of strength that he had, Tate shot his hands up and caught enough of Hayden’s thrust to keep it from being a killing blow. Instead, the knife bit into his shoulder. As pain filled him, his life seemed to flash before his eyes. He had failed to save Kate. He had made Emily an orphan. He had allowed this dirty rotten son of a bitch to best him. His frantic eyes saw Hayden prepare to stab him again. This time he knew that he wouldn’t have the strength to stop him. This time he knew that he was going to die.

  Like a thunderclap, the sound of a gun erupted on the hillside. Through blood and sweat, Tate saw a surprised look come over Hayden’s face as he grabbed at his neck. He doubled up and fell heavily to his side as blood poured from between his fingers.

  Slowly and with much effort, Tate staggered to his feet, bent over Hayden, and grabbed a handful of his shirt. As he held him there, he saw blood flow from a hole in his neck and his eyes roll back in his head. He knew immediately that Hayden either was dead or soon would be. After he lowered the man to the ground, he turned to see Kate holding his gun in both hands, the barrel still pointed at Hayden.

  “Put the gun down, Kate,” he gasped. “He’s dead.” When Kate didn’t respond, he repeated himself, more forcefully this time. “Put the gun down.” When Kate still gave no response, Tate stepped over the prone body of his enemy and took the gun from her hand. “It’s over,” he said.

  Kate looked at him with dazed eyes, not seeing or hearing him. Suddenly her knees buckled and she tottered, but Tate slipped an arm around her and held her upright.

  “It’s all right,” he said calmly. “It’s all right… he’s dead.” There was a minute of taut silence as she leaned heavily against him.

  “You’re hurt,” she gasped as her hand touched the crimson stain that was growing across Tate’s shirt.

  “I think I need to sit down.”

  Kate sprang into action. She grabbed the blanket, spread it on the ground, and eased Tate down onto it. Without hesitation, she undid the buckle on his trousers and loosened his belt. Pulling his shirt up, she first examined the wound in his side. She couldn’t tell how deeply the knife had penetrated. Tate winced as she touched him. The slash was bleeding profusely.

  She searched among the rocks in the area where Hayden had first grabbed her until she found her bag. She opened it and brought out several white handkerchiefs. Folding two of them together, she made a pad and pressed it into Tate’s side. Then she removed Tate’s belt from his pants.

  “Can you sit up long enough for me to slip this around your waist to hold the bandage in place?”

  “Whatever it takes.” He clenched his teeth tightly in pain when he moved. Kate hurriedly placed the belt around his waist.

  “How bad is it?” Tate asked. Now that his fight with Hayden had ended, the pain from his wounds was worse. The long cut in his chest throbbed with every beat of his heart, but it was the one in his side that caused him the most discomfort.

  “I don’t know. But for right now I’ve got to stop the bleeding, or you’ll go into shock,�
�� Kate answered honestly. She’d seen worse wounds at the clinic, but there she had modern utensils and supplies. Here she had to improvise.

  She pulled Tate’s shirt apart and saw that she didn’t have to deal with the cut across his chest. The wound was not as bad as the one in his side. With Hayden’s knife, she cut the sleeves off the shirt and used them to stanch the flow of blood oozing from the cut.

  “You won’t have a shirt left when I get through with it,” she said as she tended to his arm and tried to keep the worry out of her voice.

  “I’m glad you’re a nurse and not a schoolteacher.” His eyelids seemed heavy, but his gaze never left her face.

  “So am I,” she said, and pushed the hair back from his forehead. “I was so scared when I saw him go at you with the knife.”

  “Why didn’t you run when I told you to?”

  “And leave you here with that madman?”

  Tate’s eyes closed for a long moment before snapping back open. His mouth opened and shut a couple of times without making a sound before he managed to ask, “When … when did you pick … up the gun?”

  “I don’t know. I just knew that I had to help you.” Tears began to well in the corner of Kate’s eyes. Stay strong! she told herself.

  “Good thing you did,” was all that he managed to say before he felt the sky go dark and the dizziness overtake him. The last thing that he saw before falling unconscious was the first tear streak down Kate’s cheek.

  Chapter 18

  WHEN TATE OPENED HIS EYES, the sky was streaked with the reddish purple colors of dusk. High above, early stars shone brightly, signaling the coming of night. He felt weak as a newborn colt, but the pain that had filled him wasn’t as sharp as it had been. A blanket covered him, and he tried to push it off, but his efforts were resisted.

  “Don’t,” Kate’s voice ordered. “I’ve got to keep you warm.”

  “I feel hotter than hell.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Do you want a drink of water?”

  “No, you better save it. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

  “Take a drink anyway.” Kate lifted his head and brought the canteen to his lips. He was glad that she’d insisted, and he drank thirstily. “How is the pain?”

  “I’ve felt worse.” He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he didn’t want to panic Kate. She’d already been through so much.

  “I still don’t want to move you. I’ve done what I can to stop the bleeding. If you were to try to walk or ride, you could bleed to death.”

  “Luke will be back by morning.”

  “Will he bring help with him?”

  “Probably not. He’ll be alone. The sheriff in town isn’t the smartest man in the world. He won’t pay much attention to Luke. The only thing that’d stir him would be a wire from the Texas Rangers.”

  “Then we’ll just have to wait for Luke,” Kate said. Tate was weak. She knew that he could easily black out again. “If we’re going to have to camp here for the night, what do I need to do?”

  “The sun will be down soon. Do you know how to start a fire?”

  “I do. Do we have matches?”

  “There are a few in a tin box in my pocket. Find a bare spot over by that other boulder and rake some leaves into it. Pick up some dry sticks, but be careful of snakes.”

  “Snakes?” Fear knifed through Kate at the thought of another encounter like the one that she had the night they escaped from the cabin.

  “Don’t worry,” Tate said reassuringly. “Take a big stick and stir it around. Snakes are as afraid of you as you are of them.”

  Using a large stick, Kate scattered a pile of leaves, then stood back and waited to see if there were any snakes. When she saw no movement, she raked the leaves into the bare spot by the boulder, picked up some sticks, and placed them on top of the leaves. She went to her bag and took out the letter from her uncle in California. With the pile ready, she struck a match from the tin, lit one corner of the letter, and held it to the leaves. She fed more sticks into the fire slowly, and before long a steady fire burned. Kate sat back on her heels and watched the fire. She was grateful that they didn’t have to worry about Hayden seeing the smoke. Furthermore, she doubted that she’d have to worry about either Eddy or Squirrelly The mangy vermin were probably back in the cozy cabin with plenty of food and water.

  “Where’s Hayden’s body?” Tate asked.

  “It’s where he fell.”

  “We’ll need to move it away from here. It could be dangerous to have it close. The smell of blood can draw animals.”

  “I can do it if you tell me what to do.”

  Tate tried to sit up. “I … I think I can do it.”

  Kate gently but firmly pushed him back down. “No. No, you can’t. Tell me.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Tate said, “You’ll have to go get the horse. Then tie a rope around Hayden’s feet and drag him off a ways.”

  “I can do it,” she said confidently. “I’m not squeamish around the dead.” She tucked the blanket around Tate’s shoulders, stood, and looked down at him. “I’ll get the horse.”

  “There’s a length of rope in the Mexican’s saddlebags. Hand me my rifle and take the pistol with you.” With a faint smile, he added, “I guess I don’t need to worry that you don’t know how to use it.”

  Returning the smile, she picked up the pistol from where she had dropped it. She turned the barrel of the gun away and checked to see if there were bullets in the chamber. Seeing that there were, she then placed the rifle by Tate’s side.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said as she turned away.

  Tate had never felt so helpless. He had almost gotten himself killed because he hadn’t shot Hayden when he had the chance. Now he had to depend on this woman, the same woman he’d silently ridiculed as a spoiled city woman while standing on that train platform. How wrong he’d been! She had a lot more starch in her backbone than some men he knew. If he could hold on for a day or two, Lyle would be able to find them and then get her to town and safety. Then she could get on with her life. With that thought came another: He would miss her. If only they could have met under different circumstances.

  There was no way she could be compared with Hazel, Emily’s mother. Hazel was a selfish bitch who had cared more for herself than for her own child. He had seen no signs of selfishness or arrogance in Kate. She never complained, even when she was dead tired or frightened, or when her feet were so sore that she could hardly walk.

  Kate returned, leading the horse. She tied the reins to a scrub tree, lifted the saddlebags, and brought them over to the blanket where Tate lay.

  “Did you have any trouble with the horse?” he asked.

  “No. I’ve been around them all my life. We have eight or ten horses on the farm where my father and I used to spend our summers.”

  Tate lay silently on the blanket, Kate’s words rolling about in his head. A summer farm with horses? There was such a difference between her lifestyle and his. It was foolish to think that she could share his life.

  Ignorant of Tate’s thoughts, Kate pulled a rope out of the saddlebag and held it up for him to see. “It isn’t very long,” she said.

  “You can tie his feet with his belt and then loop one end of the rope around the belt, then the other one around the saddle horn.”

  Kate shuddered. “I really don’t want to do this, but I will.”

  She went to where Hayden’s body lay faceup in the dirt. His eyes stared skyward blankly, and he still looked as confused as he had when he realized that he’d been shot. Disturbed, Kate shook her head. Keeping her eyes away from Hayden’s face, she unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his britches. Quickly, while she still had the nerve, she looped it around his ankles and fastened it. Tate’s voice came faintly from where he lay.

  “Go through his pockets. You might find something that could tie him to the kidnapping.”

  Kate quickly searched Hayden’s pockets. She found a gold coin, the address of
a man in Alpine, and a billfold that contained several hundred dollars. Also in the wallet was a picture of a nude woman lying on a couch. She placed all the items on the blanket beside Tate. Then she wound the other end of the rope around the saddle horn and picked up the reins.

  “You don’t have to go far.” Tate pointed to a small stand of trees.

  Kate led the horse, and it moved with little resistance. Tate lifted his head to see Hayden’s body slowly moving away. He hated that Kate had to do this, but it was necessary. She returned a few minutes later and again tied the horse to the scrub tree.

  “He needs water,” she said, pointing toward the horse.

  “Pour a little from the canteen into my hat. It’ll be enough to get him by until morning.”

  Kate did as Tate instructed, and the horse drank lustily. She rubbed the spot between his eyes until he was finished. As she turned around, she glanced over to see that Tate’s eyes were shut. Dropping the hat to the ground, she hurried over to him and lifted his hand to take his pulse. It was steady, but not as strong as she would have hoped. She pulled the blanket aside and checked his wounds. Crimson spots had soaked through the makeshift bandages. She still had no idea how they were going to move him.

  Gently she pulled the blanket up to cover him. She felt his forehead and found him cool to the touch. She knew that he hadn’t had time to get a fever from his wounds, but he was still in great danger. Her greatest fear was that he would go into shock. She took the blanket from Luke’s bedroll and spread it over Tate. Nightfall would be coming soon, and with it would come cooler temperatures. He needed to stay warm.

  I wish the Mexican had carried a bottle of whiskey in his saddlebag.

  For the next couple of hours, Kate sat in front of the fire and looked up at the thousands of stars in the sky. She had never seen them so bright! Once, a noise, like the snapping of a twig, startled her, and she grabbed the rifle and held it in front of her. But when nothing else happened, she went back to looking at the stars.