by Becky Lower
Her horse didn’t care for the rain any more than she did, and wanted to turn back to the relay station. She straightened him out and got him headed east again. After a couple miles, he seemed to realize the Seneca station was where the food and warm stall waited and ran along at a good clip.
Through the rain, Samantha picked up the sounds of another wagon train coming from the east. She had passed by one on her way to Marysville a few days earlier, and grinned as they clapped and hollered at her as she rode by them. She doubted there would be the same kind of fanfare this time, though, since everyone who could fit into a wagon would have taken shelter from this storm. In fact, she doubted they’d even see her this time since the rain was coming down hard. She carefully skirted around the caravan, giving them as wide a berth as possible and sticking close to the trees lining the road. She was nearly by them when the crack of a shotgun startled both her and the horse, who slid in the mud. Samantha reached for the reins and brought up the horse’s head, getting his feet back under him. Pain exploded in her back and she registered a warm trickle of blood soaking her already wet shirt.
She glanced around in the driving rain to see if she was being followed, but could make out nothing but the lumbering of the wagon train as it drifted westward. She clung to the shelter of the trees for a few minutes to make certain there was no one else on the trail. Even though it made no sense, the only logical explanation was the shot came from the wagon train. So there was no way she could ride up on them to ask for help without taking the risk of getting shot again.
Samantha tried to reach for the wound to staunch the blood, but her mind went numb, and her eyes lost focus. The trail got blacker and so did her vision. She was about to lose consciousness. If she could lash herself to the horse and give him his head, he could possibly get to the Seneca station even if she wasn’t leading him. She reached for the rope that held her duster onto the rump of the horse, but each movement brought a wave of new pain. Gritting her teeth, she gave up on the idea of tying herself onto the saddle. She squeezed her legs around the horse and kept going. She had to get the mail through to Seneca at any cost. Only a few more miles to go. She crouched over the horse and wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on for dear life.
• • •
Val waited until several hours after Jeremy took off to approach Gus.
“Do you think something could have happened to Sam? The mail going east was to have been here hours ago.”
“I was just thinking the same thing, Val. Levi’s been ready for hours. Maybe someone needs to ride out and make sure Sam’s all right.”
“I’ll go.”
“Naw, you just got off an eighty-mile ride and Levi needs to stay here, in case Sam does come in with the mail, so he can take the next leg. I’ll send Robert.”
“Robert is a potato peeler in the kitchen. He isn’t a rider and doesn’t know the route. You’d end up sending someone out after him if he goes. I’m in good shape, Gus. I’ve eaten, and I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. I’ll go.”
“All right, then. But be careful. We aren’t awfully far away from where the Indians are waging war with the Pony Express riders.”
The thunder of a horse’s hooves coming from the west made it to their ears. The men’s gazes met.
“Maybe we won’t have to send anyone. Sam’s coming right now. Funny he didn’t blow the horn, though.”
The two waited beside the horse they were saddling up for Valerian to ride. The horse, Sam’s horse, came into view, finally. With no rider. The horse kept running until it was to the corral fence. Val grabbed the reins and inspected the animal. A faint trace of blood along the mochila made Val’s own blood run cold. He lifted the mail pouch from the saddle and stared at Gus.
“Sam’s been hurt. You take care of the mail and get Levi going east, and I’ll head west, to search for him.”
“ I’ll saddle up a horse for Levi. You finish getting this one ready and head out. We need to find that boy.”
Val adjusted the stirrups on the saddle, vaulted up and galloped off. He had a bad feeling Joseph’s prediction was about to come true.
Val kept the horse to a lope and yelled out for Sam every few minutes. Miles melted away under the horse’s hooves, and still, he could find no trace of the boy. What had happened? Had he been attacked by Indians? Val didn’t think the Indians in this part of Kansas were hostile, but the bloody mochila meant Sam had been injured while riding. Val’s mind conjured up all kinds of scenarios. Maybe he’d been attacked by outlaws who thought there was a payroll in the mochila, or something else of monetary value. If that was the case, Sam had done a great job of protecting the mail, since it had still been on the horse even if Sam wasn’t.
“Sam!” Val hollered into the approaching darkness. A faint noise reached his ears. He stopped his horse and called out again. A weak horn blast came from a little ways off the trail. Val dismounted and held the reins as he approached the sound. When he spied the red shirt of the Pony Express rider, he stopped to loop the reins of his horse over a tree branch and then ran to Sam’s side.
“Sam, it’s Val. What happened? Where are you hurt?”
Sam’s hat had come off when he was tossed from the horse, so Val was able to see his eyes clearly. They registered pain and shock. Not good. Val ran his hands down Sam’s arms and legs, checking for breaks, but could find none. He rolled Sam onto his side and found what he was looking for. An injury to the back. Possibly caused by a gun. And blood was still seeping from the wound. Val ran to the saddlebag and removed a length of cloth. He’d wrap the wound, get Sam up onto the horse, and head back to Seneca and the doctor.
He returned to Sam’s side and began to pull Sam’s shirt from his pants. Sam’s body came to life as he fought Val.
“Sam, it’s me, Val. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Let me put a bandage over your wound to stop the blood, and I’ll get you back to the station. A doctor will take care of you there.”
Sam’s hands finally stilled and tears filled his eyes. “No doctors, Val. Only you.”
Valerian recognized shock in Sam’s actions, and agreed just to appease him. “All right. But let me bind your wound now. Don’t be so stubborn.”
Sam lost consciousness, probably from being moved. It was for the best, since the trip to the station, even seated on a saddle, would be quite painful. Val still didn’t know if there was a bullet in Sam’s body or if the wound was from an arrow, and right now he didn’t care. He needed to stop the bleeding, or it wouldn’t matter. He tugged on the shirt and lifted it out of the way. The metallic scent of fresh blood assailed his nostrils.
What the hell? Sam’s body was already wrapped. A length of white cloth was wrapped around his chest tightly. Val’s mind spun while he added another binding to Sam’s lower back. His mind processed what he was seeing, but he didn’t want to believe it. He laid Sam back on the ground after he finished wrapping the wound, and studied him.
Granted, his face was feminine-looking and he hadn’t begun to grow whiskers yet. And his eyelashes were uncommonly long, but he’d seen other men who sported long lashes that made girls envious. But could Sam have really pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes for months? Before he hoisted Sam up onto the horse, Val needed to know for certain. He placed his hand between Sam’s legs, feeling for man parts, testicles and a shaft. And came up empty.
He pulled his hand away quickly. Well, how about that? Sam was a girl!
• • •
With his arms wrapped around an unconscious Sam—or rather, Samantha, he guessed—Valerian made his way back to the station. The binding on her lower back helped to slow the blood oozing from the wound, so Val took his time, walking the horse. The less he jostled her the better.
He needed the extra time, since Sam had jarred him good. Why in God’s name would a girl be posing as a boy? And what was he, Val, going to do about it? He guessed he could take care of Sam’s wound if it was superficial, but if it was a bullet wound, he did
n’t think he’d be able to cut into her and fish the ball out on his own. His stomach turned over at the thought.
But the bigger question was did he want to help her continue the masquerade? It would be so easy to expose her now that she needed a doctor’s services, and to let her fend for herself. Might be better. At least Val would be off the hook for aiding her, Joseph’s theory notwithstanding, and wouldn’t have to be constantly glancing over his shoulder, checking for Pinkerton agents or other unsavory types who were searching for her.
That was the real reason why he hesitated. Because she was on the run from someone. He thought of his sisters. If any of them had ever been so desperate as to pose as a man to escape whatever had frightened them, he hoped someone would come to their aid. He couldn’t turn his back on Sam, especially now that he had uncovered her secret.
With a sigh, he rounded the last corner before the Smith Hotel at Seneca came into view. He’d protect Sam’s identity, even if it meant he’d have to cut her open himself.
Gus met him at the corral and helped Val lower his burden to the ground. They carried Sam into the barn and Gus lit the oil lamp. Val lifted Sam’s shirt only far enough to expose the wound. With any luck, if Gus noticed the other binding, he’d think it was merely part of Val’s efforts to keep Sam from bleeding out.
Val unwound his cloth and let Gus wash it clean.
“What is it, Gus? Gunshot?”
“Yep.” He turned Sam over and studied the front of the lifeless body. “No exit wound, either. That means the ball is still in there. We’ll need to get it out and pray it didn’t slice through any vital organs. Doc’s just left, heading back east. It’ll be up to you and me.”
Val’s stomach jumped and he choked on his fear. “All right. What do we need to do first?”
“Strip him down and get some water heating up. I’ll head inside and get the tools we’ll need.”
Val breathed a bit easier when Gus left the barn. At least he hadn’t suspected anything yet. Maybe Val could stuff a sock or two into Sam’s drawers, and keep them in place. At least it would give the appearance of a man. And keeping Sam’s drawers on wouldn’t cause any problems, since the wound was on his back. Her back. Val ran his hand over his eyes. Good God almighty. Sam was a girl.
He put a pail of water on the wood stove to heat up before he turned to Sam. He fashioned some body parts out of a sock and stuffed Sam’s pants, taking care not to get too close to what was actually there. Then he removed the red shirt and flipped her over, leaving her binding in place. He draped a sheet over the top of her body, hiding her binding, and another over her bottom half. The wound was open to view. He hoped Gus wouldn’t say anything about his draping technique.
Gus returned quickly with a knife, some large tweezers, and a needle and thread. As they cleaned the equipment and washed the wound again, Val asked the question that had been burning at him.
“Do you think this was the work of Indians or outlaws?”
“Not Injuns. They’d use a bow and arrow. And not outlaws, either, would be my guess. They would have gone after the horse with the mochila, and it was still attached to the saddle when the horse returned. We’ll have to wait for Sam to wake up to let us know.”
“Do you think he will wake up?”
“We’ll get the ball out, you and me. The rest is in God’s hands.”
“Then let’s get to work.”
Gus lifted the clean knife and hovered over Sam’s wound for a second before he took a deep breath and made a cut into the flesh where the ball had entered. Sam squirmed under the knife as fresh blood began to flow.
“Hold him down, Val, while I cut an opening.”
Val’s stomach turned as the knife sliced deeper into the flesh. His hands pressed down on Sam’s body as Gus worked. After a few minutes, Gus stopped cutting.
“I’ve hit bone. Must be his rib cage. Maybe he got lucky and the bone stopped the ball from going any farther.”
“Well, hurry up and get it out. We can’t leave that gaping hole open for very long.”
“Son, you’re going to have to get in there and see what’s going on. Your fingers are smaller than mine and more slender. It’ll be better for Sam if yours are the fingers digging into him.”
“Can’t you use the tweezers?”
“It’d be better if we could find the ball first.”
Val could see the wisdom in Gus’s words, even though his stomach roiled at the thought of what he was about to do. He sucked in a breath and slid two fingers into Sam’s body while Gus pressed the knife against one side to open the wound a bit wider. Val closed his eyes, concentrating hard on what his fingers were feeling. The tips of his fingers slid along the rib bone until he ran into the lead ball.
“I can feel the ball!” Val’s heart rate picked up a bit.
“Can you pull it out? Do you need the tweezers?”
“I think I can get it. Give me a minute before we try anything else.”
There was no sound in the room other than the breathing of the two men and a gentle nicker from one of the horses. Sweat poured from Val’s forehead as he tried to get his fingers around the small lead ball. Finally, he grasped it and pulled it away. A slight sucking sound accompanied the extraction of his fingers, with the ball between them. He held it up for Gus to see.
“Good work. Did the bone feel cracked to you?”
“Yeah, it did. Can anything be done for it?”
“Nah, cracked ribs have to heal themselves. We’ll have to bind him tightly.”
“All right then. Stitch him up and I’ll bind him.”
The two men bent over their task. Val cleaned the wound again, and Gus sewed the wound closed. When they were done and a bandage was placed over the wound, Gus and Val locked gazes across Sam’s body.
“Nice work, Val,” Gus said quietly. “Sam might make it if the wound doesn’t get infected. You finish up, and I’ll get up to the kitchen and grab you some dinner. There’s nothing more we can do. It’s in God’s hands now.”
Val got a lump in his throat as he nodded his agreement. “Yeah, I don’t think Sam will be waking up anytime soon. But I’ll stay out here with him tonight, just in case.”
After Gus left, Val propped Sam up to a sitting position while he wound a length of cloth tightly around Sam’s abdomen and then laid her back down on the cot, face first. He picked up the bullet, a small, round ball of lead. He should clean it off and keep it for Sam to see.
No, not Sam. Samantha. Jeez, how could he have been so taken in? Having six sisters hadn’t helped him unravel her deception, not in the slightest. His sisters had all, at one time or another, dressed up in boys’ clothing and tried to imitate being a boy, but they had never been successful, since they’d betrayed their feminine characteristics within minutes. Had Sam done the same, and he’d missed the signs?
He shook his head. Sam hadn’t once betrayed herself, to him or anyone else. She had chosen a very hard way to go. She wasn’t merely playacting. She was in danger, and dangerous situations called for extreme behavior. That’s why her guard had never been let down. She chose to be a stable boy so she could have private quarters in the barn. With only the horses for company, it greatly reduced the chances of being exposed. It meant hard work and being awakened at all hours to get a horse ready for the next Pony Express rider, but she willingly exchanged comfort for the chance of remaining hidden in plain sight.
Again, Val wondered what Sam was running from. Being Samantha added a whole realm of possibilities to the mix. Maybe she had done something illegal and had the law after her. Maybe she was running from a bad situation. What could possibly be so bad that she’d forego her identity? The only thing Val could come up with was an abusive husband. Was Samantha married? Val’s shoulders twitched at the thought. And, if she were running from a bad husband, would Val be committing a crime by helping her? He shifted on the cot so he could stare at her face. Now that he had witnessed the evidence of her true identity, he could easily see he
r face was extremely feminine—pretty, even. He jumped up from where he’d been sitting, so close beside her, and began to pace the small room. He needed to put some space between them.
He thought again about Joseph’s comment. How Val and Sam had been destined to meet. He’d already saved her hide a couple of times, and he’d been comfortable with his actions since he had thought it was one man helping another. By now helping to keep her identity a secret, he’d save her yet again. But keeping her secret would put his job with the Pony Express in jeopardy. Not to mention the possible legal danger he’d put himself in if he abetted her and she did turn out to be a hardened criminal. He’d taken an oath not to lie to his superiors, and he’d already done so by letting Gus continue to think Sam was a boy. Was this situation their destiny?
Val decided the best thing to do would be to wait and see if Samantha survived. If not, Sam and her secret would be quickly buried. If she did wake up and heal, they’d have to deal with the situation. And Val wanted answers. He was owed answers. He sent a prayer heavenward as he paced the small room.
Chapter 12
Samantha came to awareness slowly. The scent of hay and horse came to her first, followed quickly by a searing pain in her left side. So she’d made it back to the barn after being blasted off her horse. But how? She had no memory of getting here. The last thing she recalled was hanging onto her horse as best she could, but she had no recollection of coming into the station. How had she gotten here?
With some effort, she opened her eyes and struggled to sit up.
“Whoa, there, Sam,” Val’s voice came out of the darkness. “Take it easy and let me help.”
His hands were all over her body, turning her over, and then stuffing pillows behind her head. She struggled to make sense of things. Val turned from her to light the oil lamp, and she ran a hand under the blanket, realizing her shirt had been removed and she had multiple bandages on her torso. A gasp escaped her lips as Val returned to her side, offered her some water, and sat on a chair next to the cot.