Lizzie and the Rebel

by Stephy Smith

  “You, mister, have become a handful,” she absent-mindedly said. She had other worries besides trying to save a stranger’s life. Not to mention she wasn’t a doctor or nurse.

  “I should stop thinking like this and be thankful for men like you. I didn’t mean what I thought. I have to figure out how to get to the barn to gather eggs, feed horses, and the pig, plus make sure nothing got your friends in the night.” She nodded at the unconscious man. “Right now, I suppose I should be focusing my mind on you instead of worrying about things that can wait. You, my friend, I’m afraid can’t wait for me to do my chores. You must be attended to now.” She patted his arm, and retrieved the boiling water.

  She held her breath as she stood over him. The bluish tinge had faded into a pale tan and his lips were now a light pink. She prayed for her spirit guides and guardian angels to assist her and bring forth the knowledge to help him.

  “Please, River Crow. I need you more now than ever. I have no idea what I can do for this man.”

  Her hand shook for a moment as she felt confidence settle over her to complete the task. The presence of River Crow settled around her. Lizzie lanced the wound, praising River Crow for his assistance. The smell of the putrid infection wasn’t as strong. After she flushed the wound, she added more baking soda and replaced the bandage.

  She took her thick coat and snowshoes and pushed the window open. Tossing the items outside, she pulled a chair over to stand on and crawled through the small window. Her desire to escape the tense situation in the cabin spread guilt thick as the ice on the troughs outside. With added swiftness, she pulled on her coat and slipped on the snowshoes.

  Tiny stabs stuck her face as the snow embedded itself in her skin. Unable to see the barn, she tugged her coat tighter around her chin. Her frozen hands awkwardly worked a rope to tie on the porch support. She kept her head low as she made her way to the barn. The loose end fastened to a hook, she squeezed through the half-opened door.

  Her numb hands grasped the pitchfork. With little effort, she hefted hay to the horses and cow. After feeding the hog and chickens, she faced the bodies.

  “I wish I could get you boys home faster. I’m sorry I can’t with this weather. Please forgive me for leaving you out here all alone.” She closed her eyes for a moment and then set to work.

  She leaned over the men and searched their pockets. Guilt settled in at disrespecting the dead. However, more than anything now, she needed letters from or to home. She was thankful when she found paper littered in the pockets. Even though it would still be weeks before notification would reach their families, she had to find just the right words to say prior to sending it.

  “What am I gonna do with you two?” She glanced around. An extra rope hung on the wall. With all her weight into it, she hoisted the travois to swing from the rafters. She gathered her eggs and placed them in her pocket, took hold of the rope outside and followed it back to the window.

  Busy closing the window, she could feel eyes on her back. The eeriness overpowered her senses and she knew it wasn’t the man on the floor. Afraid to look at the source, she let on that nothing was amiss. She refused to let fear take over.

  She clutched her coat and removed the eggs from the deep pocket. With slow movements, she pulled out her pistol and twisted to the shadow of a man sitting in the chair near the fire.

  “Who are you?” The gun was concealed behind her.

  “Names don’t matter,” the filthy, bearded trapper said.

  “Well, Mr. Names Don’t Matter, why are you in my house?” Lizzie’s sarcasm matched his.

  “Blizzard’s blowin’, or ain’t you got eyes in that purty little head of yore’s?” he said, testing the blade of his hunting knife with his thumb. He twisted his hand so the flames sparkled off the blade.

  “Why is an all knowing trapper like you taking refuge under someone else’s roof? I was under the impression your sorry hide was tougher than the skins you rip off animals.” She didn’t like this man. She didn’t like trappers in general, and this one proved to be the nastiest one she had come across in a long while.

  “Yore not corrigible are ya, lady?” Tobacco juice seeped from the corner of his mouth. She hid her astonishment that he even knew what corrigible meant, much less was capable of using the word in a sentence.

  “I don’t like you, and I don’t like your kind.” She tightened her fingers around the handle of the pistol. Her finger twitched with a burning desire to blow him to pieces. Lizzie wasn’t keen on killing a man, but she held no reserve if it had to be done.

  “Rustle up me some of them eggs of yore’s, wench, or I’ll cut Johnny Reb from ear to ear.”

  “Did you have a mother? She didn’t teach you any manners, did she?” Lizzie glared into cold, steel eyes. Her trigger finger twitched once again. One move toward her house guest and she would blow the nasty trapper to smithereens.

  The nappy head of the trapper whirled to the door, squinting at the eerie scratches coming from outside. His raspy voice remained low, but shook with each word. “What’s out there?”

  Lizzie reached for the window. A quick flip of the latch, and the shudder flew open with fury. She jumped to the side to allow Spirit full range. He stood on all fours, hair bristled and teeth showing. His ears were pinned back and the eerie groan of anger rose from deep in his throat. He approached the trapper in his predatory stance. Spirit’s steps were unheard, soft and slow, as he crept closer.

  The trapper stumbled back into a corner with nowhere to go. The blade of the knife shook in his hand. His eyes grew wide, his breath almost stopped, and his face paled despite the closeness of the fire.

  Lizzie ran and pulled the soldier to the spare room. She left him on the floor and shut the door. Spirit had never been so protective of anyone but her. She didn’t know how far his hatred for this intruder would take them.

  “That’s a…that’s a wild wolf, lady. Call him off.” The blade of the knife quivered as the trapper tried to squeeze himself further away from Spirit.

  “He’s a free spirit. You know as well as I do that no one tells wild animals what to do,” Lizzie said, leaning against the wall with a smile on her face and itching to take a shot at the fool.

  “What do I do?” The trapper glanced around for a way out of the predicament he was in.

  “Don’t make a sudden move.” With gentle pressure, she pushed herself away from the wall and closed in on the trapper.

  Sweat ran down crevices and craters on the trapper’s face. His breathing intensified, along with the fear in his eyes. Lizzie sneered as she paced in front of him. “How does it feel to have the tables twisted? Does it make you feel more like a man?” She paused. “Oh, I see. The big, bad trapper man is afraid. So afraid he can’t say a word.”

  The trapper’s face transformed to fear sprinkled with anger.

  When he gets too mad, his greed to harm will be so far off it won’t take much for me to kill him.

  Then, he lost his self-control.

  With a swift movement, he attempted to throw his knife at the wolf. Spirit’s mouth opened wide when he jumped from the floor to the trapper’s throat. The trapper yelled out as the teeth of the wolf ripped into his thick neck. Spirit yelped, but refused to give in to the pain in his side.

  The trapper lay dead in a pool of blood. “I told you not to do anything foolish.” Lizzie shook her head. The short-lived scuffle left her body numb.

  The wolf lay in a heap, barely breathing. The knife remained stuck in Spirit’s side. Lizzie knelt down beside him. She stroked his soft, sticky fur. Pain stung her eyes and heart.

  A slow, deep breath drew into her lungs. Lizzie let it out as she inspected damages of the quick fight. Her pistol pointed toward the man for precaution, she stepped toward him, stretched out her foot, and kicked the man in the side to satisfy her fear.

  She slipped a rope under his arms and ran it out the open window. In a few minutes, she returned with her stallion and placed the rope around his neck. S
he crawled in the window and made sure she secured the rope around the trapper’s torso.

  “Walk on,” she commanded the horse as she guided the body through the window. Oro, her stallion, headed straight to the barn with the trapper. She shook her head as she left the body on the frozen floor.

  “You fool.” She muttered while she removed the rope and returned Oro to his stall. Extending her hand to the guide rope, she made her way back to check on Spirit and the guest.

  Both arms under his armpits, Lizzie pulled and heaved until she fell back on the bed. The injured man lay on top of her. She rolled him off and he let out a slight moan. Her heart lurched.

  “Sorry, I had to get you off the floor to where you would be more comfortable. I hope that didn’t cause much pain.”

  Lizzie pulled the covers up over the man and fluffed up the pillow, which she replaced under his head. She was careful not to aggravate the hole in his leg. As long as you’re asleep, I know you aren’t in pain. I hope you’re not anyway.

  Spirit! Fury engulfed her. She ran to the wolf in the outer room and half carried, half dragged him into the spare room and placed him on the floor near the bed.

  Tears filled her eyes and she knelt over Spirit. She took great care in bandaging Spirit and the man, and then placed more wood on the fire. The rabbit stew heated on the stove. Lizzie sat down with her book.

  Her mind swirled around. Her appetite had been lost in the midst of the events of the day. The struggle had rendered her incapable of concentrating on anything other than the man, the wolf, and the horrid trapper. She shuddered as his form flashed before her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Day after day, Lizzie seemed to lose track of time. The blizzard hadn’t let up and trips to the barn grew harder to make in the deep snow. Her wards occupied the spare room. Both seemed to fade in and out of sleep. Neither stayed awake long enough for conversation. Just long enough to take a small amount of food and a sip of water.

  Cabin fever savored the moment to get her down. She concentrated on the reader, trying to absorb everything she could. A person can only learn so much at a time, she reasoned. Especially with two injured souls sleeping under her roof.

  “This snow has got to let up at some point. Just a few seconds on the front porch, a stroll around the barn, anything outside of the walls would be comforting.” She glanced around.

  A twinge of guilt faded. Anyone would feel this way when cooped up this long. The spot between her shoulders ached along with the rest of her body. Too much stress without relief played unwelcome tricks on her body.

  Relief came at night; she lay awake to listen for the wind to die down. On calm nights, she opened a window and gazed at the snow and the moonlight. Those days became precious, but rare. She missed the nights of watching Spirit chase a rabbit with the moon bouncing across the thick shine of his fur.

  Her mind snapped to the patient in the next room. Spirit’s history wasn’t a mystery, but what about the man? He hadn’t spoken but a few words since she’d brought him in from certain death. No letters from home were in his pockets. Before washing his blood stained clothes, she’d checked. So much time was spent between bandaging and feeding the man and Spirit, she barely had time for herself.

  The knock on the window caused her heart to lurch. Snapped from her train of thought, she prepared for another trapper. She grabbed the pistol and pulled back the hammer, crept across the floor with her breath caught in her throat. With one hand raised, she opened it.

  The familiar face of the sheriff, red nose and cheeks with ice-coated brows and moustache, stood staring back at her. He breathed into his hands. She let out a long sigh and relaxed.

  “You okay in there, Miss Lizzie?” The short, chubby-cheeked man asked. His smile warmed her.

  In normal circumstances she would invite him in. There was no normal situation right now. She couldn’t open the door. Plus, she had injured visitors and the sheriff couldn’t fit through the window.

  “Yes, I have plenty of food. I’m going crazy,” she said. “Do you have a cure for cabin fever?”

  “Afraid not, Lizzie.” He chuckled. “What I came to tell you is for a few weeks I been trackin’ a man wanted for murder. He killed Ben Lovelace a couple weeks back. I tracked him headin’ to this area. Have you seen anyone lurkin’ around?”

  “I rode on the mountain the day of the blizzard. I found two soldiers frozen and one wounded. The dead are in the barn and I have the wounded man in here. He hasn’t said a word since I brought him in. There’s a dead trapper out in the barn, too.”

  The sheriff’s brows rose. “A trapper, you say?”

  “Yes, a nasty man, he was. Could he be the one you’re looking for?”

  The sheriff shivered. “Could be. That would put the town’s people at rest and get me off this cold mountain. Did you kill him?”

  “He came in my cabin while I was in the barn. Spirit didn’t care for the looks of him. That trapper tried to kill Spirit and Spirit ripped him up good. I had it rough getting that stinking man out of the cabin. I had to take him out this window.”

  “That wolf of yours here?” The sheriff took a few steps back from the window and glanced around with wide eyes.

  “Has been for two weeks. He’s hurt bad. Not as bad as the soldier, though. I got the two bunking together in Mom and Dad’s room.”

  “You say there were two other men with the one you got in there?” The sheriff showed relief at knowing the wolf wouldn’t attack from behind.

  “The other two soldiers had letters and I wrote their families.” Lizzie threw a finger in the air and disappeared for a few seconds before she returned with two letters. “Could you post these for me?”

  “Yep, I can do that for ya. Mind if I take a look at the dead men?”

  “I wrote these a couple weeks ago.” She shoved the letters into his cold grasp. “I couldn’t risk getting out myself and leave the soldier here alone in case I got stuck in town or in the blizzard. The men are in the barn. You plan on taking them back with you?”

  “I walked in. I need to leave them here. I’ll bring help in a few days to fetch them if the weather clears. I want to look at that trapper fellow, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, go ahead. You can warm up in the barn if you like.”

  “I know I can’t fit through this window.” The jolly old sheriff’s laugh echoed under the snow-covered porch. “I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if that’s the man I’m looking for.”

  Lizzie closed the window when the sheriff disappeared from view. An uneasy feeling shivered her. She wheeled around to see Spirit, and the man stared through the open door. “Ya’ll hungry?”

  The man glanced to the floor at his roommate. “As long as it ain’t more of that broth.”

  “My name’s Elizabeth George. Most call me Lizzie.” She leaned to throw a log in the stove and placed the pot of vegetable stew on the burner.

  “I’m Frank Walling. Good to know ya, ma’am.” He lowered his eyes to the wolf.

  “Where you from?” She busied herself cutting slices of bacon.

  “Texas. My friends, where are my friends?” He leaned to look in the outer room. Lizzie’s heart skipped a beat. She had dreaded this moment since the day she’d brought him into her home.

  Next to the bed, she knelt down by Spirit. Stroking the gray fur, she gazed into the brown eyes of Frank.

  “They didn’t make it. I put them in the barn. I’m sorry.” She reached to touch his arm.

  The tingle riveted up her arm and stirred her stomach. A flush crept up her neck to encase her face.

  Did he feel the jolt when she touched him? His eyes never wavered, nor did he flinch at the strange sensation. His lips quivered.

  “I figured that would happen. I tried to tell them to go around the mountain.” He paused and fell back on the pillow. “They were in a hurry to get home to their families and let reason cloud their judgment. They carried me…” His eyes pooled with tears.

  “
I wrote letters to their folks. The sheriff is in the barn warming up. He said he would be back in a few days to pick up their bodies. Do you know their families?”

  “We’re all cousins.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lizzie wanted to reach out and pull him to her. The overpowering helplessness in his time of sorrow pulled her to the outer room. She walked to the stove and dished up the hot vegetable stew. “Would you like to come to the table and eat?”

  “You’re going to help me, right?” Mischievous stars danced in the midst of unshed tears.

  “Better yet, you’re going to help yourself.” She reached behind the door and produced a crudely constructed crutch. She helped the man up, and he worked the crutch as he hobbled to the table.

  “What happened to the wolf?”

  “Trapper came in and threatened to cut your throat. Spirit didn’t take well to the threat. He killed him. That’s why the sheriff’s out here.” She glanced over at Spirit, who pulled himself along with his front legs.

  Lizzie sat down in the empty chair as Frank and Spirit ate. At least their appetites were returning. She bit back her exhaustion, telling herself her appetite would return when she was rested.

  She opened the window to the sheriff’s knock.

  “That’s him all right. You got a reward coming to you next time you’re in town. While I’m thinkin’ on it, have you been losin’ cattle?”

  “I continued tracking the big cat until I came across the soldiers. I followed the tracks from the carcass of a calf to the cliffs. That’s when I saw smoke from the fire. I don’t know if I’ve lost cattle in the last few days.”

  “Do you need doc to bring you anything for the other man or the wolf?”

  “They’re both up eating.” She stepped clear of the window so the sheriff could look in. “But it would be nice if he could take a look at them if he has time. I need some herbs I asked him to gather at our last meeting in town.”

  “I’ll send him out in a few days.” The sheriff paused. “The ranchers thought the killer was your wolf. I suspect they’re wrong this time since he’s been here for two weeks. They continue to lose calves on a daily basis.”