Casebolt had been able to ride that far. The two lawmen had left town by way of the back alleys, so that no one knew where they were going except Dr. Judson Kent and Jeremiah Newton. Kent had promised that he would tell Simone McKay what was going on.
And since he wasn't going to be there for that dance, Cole had reflected, it looked like Kent might get to accompany Simone after all. That was a stroke of luck for the physician, but it gnawed at Cole.
Leaving Wind River surreptitiously was Cole's idea. Given the distrust that most of the townspeople still felt for the Shoshones—even though they had never been given any real reason to feel that way—Cole had thought it was best that no one except for a few know where he and Casebolt had gone.
If Black Otter was able to cure Casebolt, all well and good; if not, the citizens wouldn't have the opportunity to leap to the conclusion that the Shoshones were to blame for the deputy's death. Of course, the plan depended on Judson Kent keeping his mouth shut, and Cole wasn't completely sure he could rely on the Englishman anymore.
By the time Cole and Casebolt rendezvoused with the Shoshones a couple of miles southwest of town, Two Ponies and his warriors had felled several small trees and constructed a travois out of them, trimming the branches and lashing the slender trunks together with rawhide.
Casebolt lay down gratefully on the travois, the side poles of which were tied to Two Ponies' horse, and the group had set off for the Shoshone village.
Night had fallen before they reached the cluster of lodges along the banks of a small creek. Casebolt had immediately been taken into one of the lodges, and Cole had followed. Black Otter brought out his gourds and drum and launched into whatever it was he was still doing now, more than twelve hours later.
Cole didn't know if the old shaman had slept during that time; he didn't much think so. Two Ponies had taken Cole to his lodge the night before, had given him food and a place to sleep, but the chief's lodge was near the one where Casebolt had been taken, and Cole's sleep was restless. Every time he roused wakefully, he had heard the rattling and drumming.
Now it was afternoon of the next day, and as Cole watched unobtrusively from the side of the lodge where Casebolt lay on a pile of buffalo robes, he wondered how much longer this could possibly go on.
Two Ponies was seated cross-legged next to Cole. As Black Otter lay down his gourd and drum, the chief leaned closer to Cole and said, "This part of the ritual is finished."
Cole suppressed the impulse to say that it was about time. Offending his hosts wouldn't be a very smart thing to do. Instead, he said, "Billy doesn't look any different. What happens now?"
"Now we must take him to the place of healing."
Cole frowned. "You didn't say anything about having to go somewhere else. Or is this place of healing here in the village?"
Two Ponies shook his head and said, "Not in the village. But near. It will not take long."
"Can I talk to Billy before we go?" Cole asked with a nod toward the sick man.
Two Pomes spoke to Black Otter in Shoshone, and the old shaman nodded. Cole got to his feet, his muscles a little stiff from sitting for so long, and went over to kneel beside Casebolt. The deputy's eyes were closed. Cole said, "How are you doing, Billy? Can you hear me?"
Casebolt's eyes flickered open weakly. "I . . . I hear you, Marshal," he said. "I don't . . . feel so good . . ."
"I know," Cole told him, resting a hand on Casebolt's shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "Two Ponies says they've got to take you somewhere else close by. They call it the place of healing. I reckon that means you'll be all right soon."
"Sure . . . hope so. I feel . . . downright poorly."
Two Ponies said quietly, "We will take him now."
"I'll be right beside you, Billy," Cole promised. "Don't forget that."
He straightened and stepped back while several burly-warriors lifted Casebolt and carried him out of the lodge. Cole followed. The Shoshones placed Casebolt on the travois again. Instead of riding, this time Two Ponies led the horse as it pulled the travois.
Black Otter walked along on the other side of the horse, moving more spryly than a man of his age should have been able to after a night and a good part of a day spent dancing and chanting. The shaman was obviously a lot stronger than he looked.
Either that, or he really did have the help of the spirits, Cole thought, as he followed along behind.
Casebolt had a lot of friends among the Shoshones, and there was quite a procession following the travois as it left the village. There was a range of small but rugged hills nearby, and Two Ponies headed directly for them. The group had gone about a mile, Cole estimated, when Two Ponies brought the horse to a stop at the crest of a rise and pointed into a narrow valley below them.
"There," the chief said. "The place of healing."
Black Otter spoke, too, in hushed, reverential tones. Cole couldn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear enough. This was a sacred place to the Shoshones.
To Cole, it just looked like a little valley between some hills. A creek ran down the center of it, spilling from a pool at the far end of the valley. The pool had formed against a sheer, rocky bluff that brought the valley to an abrupt end. The pool and the creek were probably fed by underground springs, Cole thought.
But there was something strange about it, he realized as he looked closer. The surface of the pool seemed somehow to be moving, although it should have been calm and placid. And there was a peculiar haze in the air above it, a sort of perpetual mist.
"That pool," Cole said, understanding dawning in his brain, "it's fed by a hot spring, isn't it?"
"The spirits of the earth rise there," Two Ponies said. "That is why it is a place of healing, a place of great medicine. In your tongue, the Shoshone name for that stream would be Medicine Creek."
Cole looked over at Two Ponies. "What's Black Otter going to do, let Billy drink some of the water from the creek?"
"No. We will bathe him in the waters of the pool."
His eyes widening in surprise, Cole couldn't hold back the words that sprang to his lips. "Wait just a blasted minute! Billy's already got fever, and that pool's probably boiling hot. You put him down in that water, he'll burn up for sure!"
"You said that you trusted us, Cole Tyler," Two Ponies said, his voice formal enough for Cole to know the chief had been insulted. "Even more important, our friend Billy trusts us. The waters of Medicine Creek are his only hope."
"Cole . . ." Casebolt's voice came from the travois, and he struggled to lift a hand. "I reckon we better . . . let 'em do . . . whatever they want. I . . . I'm willin' to . . . take a chance . . ."
Cole knelt beside the travois. "You sure about this, Billy?"
"I'm . . . sure." Casebolt managed to nod his head as he spoke.
Cole straightened and drew a deep breath. He looked at Two Ponies and nodded. "Go ahead. Do what you think is best."
Two Ponies led the horse down the hill toward the creek. Black Otter went with him, and after a moment, so did Cole. The other Shoshones stayed where they were, on top of the hill, as if they were afraid to come any closer to the stream but wanted to see what was about to happen.
When Two Ponies reached the creek, he turned the horse and headed toward the pool at the head of the valley. Cole reached down and dipped his hand into the creek, aware as he did so that some surprised muttering came from the Shoshones looking on. He supposed what he was doing bordered on sacrilege of some sort, but he lifted his hand to his mouth anyway. The water was quite warm, and it had a strong, unpleasant taste to it. He spat it out and tried not to make a face.
They reached the pool, which was surrounded by rock. Although there were trees and bushes along the banks of the creek, not much grew around the pool itself. Two Ponies and Black Otter helped Casebolt up from the travois. He stood between them, swaying unsteadily.
"You must take your clothes off now, Billy," Two Ponies told the deputy.
Casebolt nodded, and with th
e help of the two Indians, he stripped off his boots, shirt, pants, and long underwear. He was too sick for any false modesty. His face, neck, and forearms had weathered over the years to a deep permanent tan, but the rest of his body was fish-belly white.
"Now what?" Casebolt muttered when he was naked.
"Step into the pool," Two Ponies said. He grasped one of Casebolt's arms while Black Otter held the other.
Gingerly, Casebolt extended a foot and let it sink down into the water. He pulled it back as quick as he could and said, "That water . . . is mighty hot."
"It is the place of healing," Two Ponies urged.
"Well, I reckon . . . I can only get . . . boiled once."
Casebolt walked out into the shallow pool, wincing as he did so. Two Ponies and Black Otter went with him part of the way, then stepped back. From where he was standing nearby, Cole thought he could feel the heat coming from the pool, but that might have been his imagination, he told himself.
Slowly, following the orders that Black Otter relayed through Two Ponies, Casebolt sank down into the pool, letting the water rise around him until only his head was showing. Within minutes, his features turned a bright red.
"Damn it, you're killing him!" Cole burst out. He took a step toward the pool. "Billy, I'm coming in there to get you out."
Casebolt lifted an arm and held up a hand, the palm turned toward Cole. "Wait, Marshal," he said. "It ain't quite so hot . . . once you . . . get used to it. I reckon I can . . . stand it."
The hand and arm that Casebolt had lifted out of the water to forestall Cole's reaction were even more red than his face. Cole knew that sitting in that pool had to be like sitting in a pot of boiling water.
It was like a gigantic pot of son-of-a-bitch stew—and Casebolt was the son of a bitch.
Long minutes passed, and Cole had to admit that the flush on Casebolt's face was fading. Great beads of sweat formed on his forehead to roll down his cheeks and drip from his chin. He shook his head slowly.
"How are you doing, Billy?" Cole called out anxiously to him.
"Well, it ain't as bad as what you'd think. You get a little used to it after a spell."
Casebolt's voice sounded a little stronger, Cole thought. Maybe the Shoshones were right. Maybe there was something special about this pool and the creek that it fed, besides the fact that the water was as hot as hell's hinges and tasted bad.
Black Otter began shaking a rattle and chanting again, and Two Ponies told Cole to sit down. "It will take some time for the healing to be complete," the chief explained.
Casebolt didn't seem to be in any particular distress, so Cole sat down with Two Ponies, both of them moving back off the rock that bordered the pool. The rock was hot, too, since it was heated by the water it enclosed.
Cole thought about the hot springs that must feed this pool and remembered the area called Colter's Hell, up north of the Tetons. There were hot springs up there, too, as well as pits of boiling mud and geysers of steaming hot water that shot from cracks in the ground.
As a young man, Cole's mountain man father had known old John Colter and had heard all the stories about the region that was also sometimes known as the back door to hell.
Those yarns had been passed down to Cole, who had been there later in his own wanderings and knew the stories to be true. It stood to reason that if such things were possible in one place, they could be possible in another, especially somewhere relatively close like this. It was a reminder that the earth was alive and ever-changing, especially below the surface.
More time had passed than Cole was really aware of. He only realized how late it was when he looked up and saw how much the sun had sunk toward the western horizon. Casebolt was still sitting in the pool, his eyes closed now and a look of contentment on his face. Cole felt a sudden stab of worry. What if Casebolt had died out there?
"Billy?"
Casebolt's eyes opened, although he had trouble for a moment focusing them on Cole. "What is it, Marshal?" he asked groggily.
"How do you feel? Are you ready to get out of there?"
Black Otter spoke before Casebolt could say anything, and Two Ponies translated, "It is time to leave the pool."
Cole got to his feet. "I'll come out there and give you a hand."
"Don't reckon you need to do that," Casebolt said. He stood up, water streaming from his spindly shanks.
His skin still shone a bright pink. He shuddered a little as he walked out of the pool. To him, even a warm spring late afternoon had to feel cold after a couple of hours in that hot water. Black Otter met him with a buffalo robe and wrapped the thick hide around him.
"Lie on the travois," Two Ponies instructed him. "We will take you back to the village."
Cole asked, "Will he be all right now?"
Black Otter said something, and Two Ponies translated, "Only time—and the spirits—will tell."
Chapter 7
Casebolt had fallen into a deep sleep by the time they reached the Shoshone village.
Two Ponies barked some orders, and several men carried the deputy back into a different lodge from the one where he had spent the previous night. That lodge, Two Ponies explained to Cole, would have to be cleansed before it could be used again, just in case some of the evil spirits that had caused Casebolt's illness had escaped from his body while he was there.
That made just about as much sense as anything else Cole had heard over the past couple of days, so he nodded and went on into the lodge with Casebolt, who was still sleeping. Black Otter knelt beside the deputy and chanted softly.
When Two Ponies joined him, Cole gestured toward the shaman and said quietly, "I thought everything was finished."
"A few more songs of prayer will not harm our friend," Two Ponies replied with a faint smile. Cole nodded.
Once again, Cole ate supper with Two Ponies and his family in the chief's lodge, leaving Black Otter to continue watching over the sleeping Casebolt.
It was difficult for Cole to leave his friend's side, but Casebolt seemed to be breathing deeply and regularly and resting comfortably. There was nothing Cole could do for him, so it didn't make any sense to go hungry.
He enjoyed the stew with big chunks of buffalo meat floating in it that Two Ponies' wife dished up for him in a wooden bowl. While he was eating it, however, his thoughts turned back to Casebolt and the idea that had gone through his head earlier in the day. From now on, Cole figured, stew was always going to remind him of Billy Casebolt sitting in that pool of hot water.
When the meal was over, Two Ponies brought out his pipe, but before the smoking ritual could get underway, Black Otter came into the lodge and spoke hurriedly to the chief. Two Ponies listened with a solemn expression on his face and finally nodded to Black Otter. Cole leaned forward anxiously, fearing the worst, as Two Ponies turned toward him.
"Our friend Billy is awake," Two Ponies said. "He wishes to speak with you, Cole Tyler."
A wave of relief washed through Cole. Quickly, he got to his feet and left the lodge, followed by Two Ponies and Black Otter. When he thrust aside the flap of hide that hung over the entrance of the other lodge, he saw Casebolt sitting up, still wrapped in the buffalo robe. The deputy held a bowl of broth in his hands and sipped from it. He looked up and smiled at Cole.
"Howdy, Marshal. Sorry I had everybody so doggone worried about me."
Cole dropped to one knee next to him. "Are you feeling better, Billy?" he asked.
"A whole heap better," Casebolt confirmed. "I reckon I'm still about as weak as a little ol' kitty cat, mind you, but my head's clear again."
"That's good," Cole said. "Mighty good. The fever's gone?"
"Seems to be. You can check for yourself."
Cole held his hand to Casebolt's leathery forehead. The skin was cool. Casebolt's eyes were brighter and more alert than Cole had seen them since before the sudden illness had struck. The deputy seemed to be well and truly on the way to recovery.
"You go ahead and drink that," Cole to
ld him, "then get some more rest. I reckon you need that about as much as anything right now."
"You're right," Casebolt nodded. "I feel like I could sleep for nigh on to a week. Reckon I won't, though, because I want to get on back to town soon's I can. Got to thank Doc Kent for tryin' to help me."
Cole couldn't stop himself from grunting. "You'd probably be dead by now if we'd left you in Kent's hands," he said.
Casebolt frowned. "Aw, now, don't go sayin' things like that, Marshal. The doc, he done as much for me as he knowed to do. Wasn't his fault that whatever laid me low was something he didn't know nothin' about."
"Well, you're more generous than I might be," Cole said as he patted Casebolt's shoulder and stood up. "I'll see you later. Rest."
"Intend to," Casebolt nodded.
Cole strode out of the lodge into the night and took a deep breath, feeling better than he had since leaving Wind River. Casebolt was alive and evidently well on the way to recovery.
And back in Wind River tonight, Cole suddenly realized, the dance was likely going on as planned. At this very moment, Judson Kent might be taking a turn around the floor with Simone. Cole's jaw tightened at the thought.
Then he made himself relax. Saving Casebolt's life was more important than any dance. And there would be other nights, he told himself, nights that he could spend with Simone McKay.
It was going to be hard to wait for Casebolt to grow strong enough to return to Wind River, Cole realized dismally.
* * *
To Cole's surprise, Casebolt was ready to ride the next morning.
"I can't get over how good I feel," the deputy said as he and Cole ate breakfast together in Two Ponies' lodge. "I slept mighty good last night, and this mornin' I feel downright perky."
"Well, we don't want to take any chances," Cole said. "You don't need to go wearing yourself out by trying to do too much too soon. It won't hurt for you to rest a day or two more before we start back."
Casebolt frowned. "I don't much like leavin' Jeremiah there to take care of any trouble that comes up. He ain't even an official deputy. Folks might not pay him no mind, was he to tell 'em to do something."
Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4) Page 5