“Hold tight. I'll be right back,” Sammy said, and bolted from the chamber.
Blaine was checking the last of the Apaches when Sammy reappeared. “They all right?” Blaine asked.
“She put three holes in him, and they stoved in the tied up one's head.”
“Good.”
“These ones all dead?”
“Done for. My heart's poundin’.”
“Yeah I know. Let's get after the two that's left. I don't wanna be worryin’ about them.
“I hit the one ‘fore he lit up this tunnel.”
“The other ain't hit. He went right out the front. Hope he didn't scatter their horses—we need at least one more. How do you want to play it?”
“I'll take the tunnel. You take the front.”
“All right. Fire your pistol twice or yell if you're up against it. I'll do the same.”
Blaine headed slowly into the tunnel without a torch, deciding it would make him a clear target if the Indian were still about. Hugging tight to the wall with his cocked pistol out in front of him, he moved as quietly as possible, putting each foot down with great care to avoid crunching anything. It didn't seem possible that the Indian would still be in the tunnel, but he didn't want to die being wrong. Now in complete darkness, he moved slowly, knowing from his previous trip up the tunnel that a corner was coming up. It would be a likely place for a surprise. His heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer rapidly hitting the anvil, so much so that Blaine worried the Indian could hear it if he were there. Inching along the wall, he felt for the corner, as sweat rolled down his forehead, and he wondered how that could happen in such cold. The corner was suddenly there beneath his hand. He readied himself for an encounter, straining with all his being to smell anything or hear anything other than the faintest sound of the storm. He snaked around the corner, and there was nothing.
Now he could see the dim light about thirty feet ahead of him where the tunnel turned to the last leg that eventually led outside. Blaine stepped forward with more confidence that the Indian was long gone. The silhouette suddenly appeared at the turn ahead. It took an instant to realize it was not Sammy. The flash from the muzzle accompanied the thunderous boom and was followed by the sound of a double ricochet. Blaine felt the searing pain in his thigh as he flattened against the wall and fired his pistol again and again. The silhouette jerked, but the muzzle flashes continued from the other end of the tunnel. Then he heard the more distant but unmistakable report of a Henry 44. The figure at the end of the tunnel was blown to the side and collapsed.
“It's me, Sammy! Don't shoot!”
“I hear ya! Come on in!”
Sammy made his way past the dead Apache and down the dark tunnel where he found Blaine holding his thigh. “You all right?”
“I'm shot in the leg. Damn ricochet got me. I think it's bleedin’ bad.”
“Let's get back in the cave. I can't see anything here. That other Apache got away. I don't think he's comin’ back—knows it's only him left. He scattered all but two of the horses. I think they came back on their own.”
Sammy helped Blaine down the tunnel and back into the cave, where he got him seated by the fire. He could see Blaine's pants were soaked with blood. “We're gonna have to tend that right now. Work at getting your britches off. I'm gonna bring those horses in.” Sammy strode quickly to the chamber where the women were. “You can all come out now. My partner is injured. Shot in the leg. We need boiling water and clean cloth. I'm goin’ outside to get some horses. I'll be back directly.” He turned and disappeared.
Emily was overcome with a sense of hope and relief more powerful than any she'd felt in her life. “Oh girls! We're going to be saved!” They all looked at each other, tears instantly welling up like a dam held back by terror and fear for so long. Emily caught herself. “There are things to do. Margaret, you find suitable cloth for bandages. Claire, get a pot and collect some water. I'll set up the cooking rig.” The women broke apart and hurried toward their tasks.
Sammy brought in the Apache's two ponies and tied them in the alcove at the rear near Dobe and Seesaw. Then he brought in some of the elk the Apaches had left behind and set it near the fire where water was heating and Emily was cleaning Blaine's jagged wound. Margaret and Claire watched. “This storm is a bad one. We're here for tonight and we'll ride in the morning,” Sammy said. Then he moved around the cave and dragged each of the bodies outside, piling them together after taking several of the coats. He took Ten Loco's leather pouches of gold and stacked the Apaches rifles at the rear of the cave. Then he returned to the fire.
“The bullet is still in my leg,” Blaine said. He had skivvies on and a blanket covering his lower half. He held a wad of cloth against the wound to stem the bleeding. Blaine was initially embarrassed about being pantless, but his modesty had given way to the gravity of the situation. Emily had helped him get his second boot off and then his pants.
“There's a sewing kit here,” Emily said. “I'll see if I can get that closed up some.”
Sammy examined the wound on the front of Blaine's left thigh. “Roll over. Let's see if we can find that bullet.” Blaine rolled over and Sammy could see the purplish bruise on Blaine's hamstring where the bullet had stopped. “I can see where it is. Not too deep on this side, I don't think. Almost made it all the way through. It has to come outta there,” Sammy said, pulling his knife and holding it in the fire.
“I'll get the sewing kit,” Emily said.
“Claire, would you hold this in the fire some more. I need to get something,” Sammy said.
“Get the damn whiskey! I reckon I'll need it,” Blaine said.
“That's what I'm gettin’.”
Sammy returned a moment later and handed the bottle to Blaine, who promptly took a big swallow. “Easy on that. I'm gonna need it to clean these wounds when I'm done carving on you.”
“Carvin’! Hell, I ain't a damn turkey!”
“You won't be any more useful ‘n one if we don't get this bullet out.”
Blaine took another pull at the bottle. “Then get to carvin’!”
Sammy looked at the young girl. “Thank you, Margaret. I'll take that knife now. You girls hold his leg tight down there on his calf. Emily, you hold that lamp in close.” He held the knife with its tip glowing red and poured a little whisky over it, then moved it to just above the area he intended to lance. Sammy took a slow, deep breath. “Okay, hoss … here we go.”
Sammy pressed the knife tip up against the purple distended skin, taut as a swollen melon. He applied pressure and moved the knife slowly and evenly for several inches, the incision rolling open easily because of the swelling.
“Mmmmmmmmmm!” Blaine trumpeted without opening his mouth—a bronchial roar that sounded like a strange melodic note, resonating a wall of will against the pain.
Sammy held the incision partially open with the knife's edge and saw the glint of metal deep in the meat. He used his left thumb and forefinger to spread open the incision as best he could and then cut directly around the metal, peeling back the tissue which quickly vanished beneath the pool of blood that filled the incision. Sammy put the knife down and reached in with his fingers, rooting around to get a grip on the bullet that had been transformed to a jagged shard.
“Ahhhhhhh!” Blaine yelled with as much restraint as he could manage.
Then, like a prospector who had seized the prize, Sammy held up the bloody metal trinket and showed it to Blaine. “That's sure enough a ricocheted bullet,” Blaine said, looking relieved at having it out of his leg.
“Yep,” Sammy said, and tossed it into the fire. “Here comes a little whiskey.” Sammy poured the golden spirit into the gaping incision.
Blaine grunted. “Too bad that hole can't swallow.”
Emily sewed up Blaine's leg and tied on bandages while Claire and Margaret cooked elk and made fry-bread and coffee. Sammy rummaged through some of the looted goods and found paperwork that he tucked away. Then he sat where he could see both e
ntrances to the cave and studied his map, the thought of their circumstances upon him. He had an injured man and three women who needed to be returned to their families, if they still had any, or at least to civilization. He knew it was likely to be a tough conversation, but a plan could not be shaped until it occurred.
Blaine slept, and the rest of them took their meal around the fire when Sammy opened up the conversation. “Where are you women from?”
They all looked up at him, but it was Emily who spoke first. “I live outside the village of Abiquiu with my husband and two sons. But I don't know where that is from here or how far. They took me from my own yard when I was bringing in wood. My husband was out hunting that morning with our boy, Grayson. He's eight. Torbin, our five-year-old, was inside. They never went in, I don't think. They blindfolded me. It was January eleventh. We've all been here through the winter.” She paused and looked at Sammy as if for help making some sense of it.
“Abiquiu's not too far from here—mostly east—maybe twenty, twenty-five miles,” Sammy said.
“We rode many hours—close to a day, I think,” Emily replied.
Claire suddenly spoke out. “They killed Jonas … my husband! There's no one else.” She began to weep.
“She has family in Texas,” Emily said. “Isn't that right, dear?” Emily grabbed Claire's hand and squeezed it.
“Yes … but …” Claire did not finish the sentence.
“She and her husband lived by Santa Fe,” Emily said.
Sammy considered that. “These renegades covered some territory. That's two or three days from here.” Sammy looked at Margaret. He thought for a moment about the resiliency of youth versus the ordeal she'd been through. “And you, Margaret. Where are you from?”
She looked at him with pause, as though gathering her thoughts from a place she cared not to delve. “We live in Cordova,” she began. “I was on a stagecoach with my father on the way to Santa Fe. They killed him and the other men. My mother and brothers are still in Cordova … I hope.”
“I'm sure they are,” Sammy said confidently. “My partner and me were headed for Denver. But tomorrow we'll make for your place, Missus Evans. From there, we'll head for Santa Fe. We'll see that you get back to your family in Cordova.” Then Sammy looked into Claire's eyes. “And ma'am, we'll get you to wherever you decide you want to go. I'm not sure about the timing of all this yet. My partner's lost a lot of blood … not sure how he'll do.”
“You all can stay with us as long as you want,” Emily said.
“Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate that. We'll see how it goes.”
After they ate, Sammy built a fire next to the brook at the rear of the cave and strung up some hides as a curtain. The women were grateful, taking the opportunity to bathe the best they could. The two cowboys moved back to a position in the shadows, and Sammy took up watch while Blaine slept again in a sort of delirium. When Blaine awoke, Sammy served him up some elk and frybread with coffee. Blaine had struggled to get up, his leg swollen and stiff beyond use. “Stay put. I'll get you a plate.”
“I gotta get up sometime to piss.”
“Well, if it ain't right now, you might as well lie there and eat.”
“Yeah, maybe I'll wait a little.” Blaine felt a rush of dizziness and half fell, returning to a lying position. As he ate, Sammy told him about where the women were from and what he figured they needed to do. Blaine agreed. They talked about the weather and the terrain of the new routes and the way they'd mount up with four horses. Then they talked about a watch schedule for the night and about Blaine's leg.
“You'll need to see a doctor about your leg.”
“I reckon. But I'll be all right for now. You just wake me after a spell. You're gonna need some sleep too.”
“Yeah.”
Chapter 34
The storm quit early in the evening like a vanishing act, leaving behind a still, cloudless sky of twinkling orbs looking freshly polished. Sammy let Blaine sleep most of the night, watching the restless nature of it brought by the pain. When Blaine did awaken from his diluted sleep, he quickly sat upright and grabbed his rifle. “Go on and get some sleep now,” he said, half irritated. “You were supposed to wake me.”
“You need the rest more than me. You bled out like a stuck hog … bound to be a little weak.”
“Anymore of that coffee? That's all I need.”
Sammy poured him a cup. “All right. I'll be up in an hour. If I'm not, wake me,” Sammy said, and hunkered down.
Sleep came instantly to him, deep and dreamless like a necessity of exile. He awoke exactly an hour later feeling refreshed and anxious. He looked over at Blaine, who sat stoically pondering. “I'm goin’ out and take a look around,” Sammy said as he got to his feet and pulled on his coat and hat.
Blaine got raggedly to his feet. “I'll go with you.” He limped badly for several steps, but then improved slightly as if learning how best to compensate for his condition.
The night was stark and crisp and all was quiet as they looked around the canyon blanketed with snow. An owl hooted. “It'll come light in another hour,” Blaine said.
“Yeah. We need to ride out of here before then.”
“I hope that red bastard ain't out there just waitin’ to take a shot at us when we leave.”
“I know.”
The women were up, and eagerness permeated their demeanor and their every move. “We can make breakfast quickly,” Emily said.
“We don't have time for that. We'll take some of that cooked elk with us and eat later,” Sammy replied.
“What can we do?”
“Be ready to go in fifteen minutes. We're ridin’ out of here while it's still dark … and we'll be movin’.”
“We'll be ready.”
Sammy and Blaine saddled their horses as the animals stamped and snorted. Sammy reached in his saddlebag, then came to Dobe's head and slipped his open palm with the biscuit on it under his horse's mouth. “You'll be eatin’ more soon enough.” He tossed a biscuit to Blaine.
“Is this for me or my horse?”
“I wouldn't give the horse a choice if you really want it.”
Blaine shot him a straight look. “Yeah, you're probably right on that.” He took half of the biscuit in one bite and fed the other half to Seesaw.
They rigged halters on the Apache horses and tied lead lines to each. Emily mounted double with Claire on the back, while Margaret sat on the other with Blaine taking her lead line. The women were bundled in buffalo hide coats and looked deadly serious about departing the place that had been their hell on earth. “All set?” Blaine asked. The women all nodded.
Sammy looked back at them. “Claire, you hold on tight to Emily. All of you lean forward and low the best you can. I don't believe that Indian is anywhere near, but we don't wanna give him too good a target if he is. If me or Blaine go down, you keep goin’. These lead lines ain't tied. Now we ain't leavin’ at a gallop, but we'll keep a fast trot or a canter goin’ till we're clear of this canyon. Any questions? Ready?”
“I'm ready,” Margaret said.
“Me too,” Claire followed.
Emily looked from Blaine to Sammy. “I don't think any of us have ever been more ready in our lives,” she said.
The horses crossed the cave at a walk and continued out the entrance, past the pile of Apache corpses and on down the outside corridor to the canyon. Sammy looked at Blaine and nodded the signal to go. Each gave the reins a light flick, and the horses came alive. All was visible as the last of the moon spilled across the snow like a canvas of incandescent light. The horses loped forward into the stillness, snow crunching beneath their hooves and their nostrils cycling the air as their muscles contracted and expanded in the lithe flexing that propelled them on seamlessly between the drifts of snow and through the trees.
The night was vacant, but the riders were weighted with unease that accumulated like the haunt of escaping an unending peril. They rode on, tense and anxious, hoping a shot would not ring
out. Each minute that passed offered a greater chance, one way or the other. Finally, the dim light of approaching daybreak saw the canyon's mouth give way, flattening out as a grand exit onto upper plains that rolled wide open. They turned to the east and rode at a canter.
An hour later, the sun was up, warming their faces as they squinted against the intense glare. Sammy saw a stand of cottonwood trees. “Let's pull up over there for a minute. Give the ladies a break. I need to get a compass heading.”
“Okay,” Blaine agreed. He looked pale, and Sammy knew he was hurting. A herd of fifty elk trotted from the trees as they reined up. “Looks like we just ran ‘em outta their hotel,” Blaine said
“Storm's over. Checkout time,” Sammy replied, glad to see that Blaine still had a sense of humor.
“They're beautiful,” Claire said, as the herd trotted single file across the open expanse like a wagon train leaving Independence.
Sammy quickly dismounted and helped the women down. Blaine made a rough dismount and stood for a moment, waiting for the blood to return to his leg so that he could move on. Margaret whispered in Emily's ear and then all three women began making their way into the trees. “We'll be back in a minute,” Emily said.
“All right,” Sammy replied. He unstrapped his canteen and took a long drink, then walked out to where he had a full line of sight and pulled out his compass. Blaine hobbled out after him, smoking a cigarette. Sammy glanced at Blaine's pants. The bullet hole in the fabric was surrounded by stiff dried blood that appeared undisturbed. “How's your leg doin’?”
“Well it ain't bleedin’, I don't think.”
Sammy stepped around and looked at the backside of Blaine's pants where he'd cut the bullet out. There was a small bloodstain. “How's it look?” Blaine asked.
“Looks pretty good. I'd say that gal is quite the seamstress. Sewed you up good and tight.”
Along The Fortune Trail Page 15