Shadows Through Time

by Madeline Baker

  Picking up the paper and the linen, she placed them on the table, then went to check and see if the water was hot. It was. Using her skirt for a pot holder, she carried the pan to the table.

  “Reese?”

  He opened his eyes.

  “Can you raise up a little?”

  Teeth clenched, he did as she asked.

  Being as careful as she could, she removed the bandages from around his arm and his middle and tossed the bloody bandages. She helped him out of his coat and laid it on the foot of the bed, noting that the shallow gash in his arm had already stopped bleeding. His gunbelt came next. Unbuckling it, she dragged it out from under him. She was about to drop it on the floor when he stayed her hand.

  She frowned when he pulled the gun from the holster and slipped it under the pillow.

  When she started to unbutton his blood-stained shirt, he waved her off.

  “I can do it,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Let me help you.”

  “No.”

  Puzzled by his behavior, she waited while he removed his shirt. Careful to keep his back toward the wall, he tossed his bloody shirt on the floor and then lay back on the bed.

  “Where’s your knife?” she asked, dreading the thought of what she was about to do.

  “Inside my right boot.”

  A strange place to keep a knife, she thought as she withdrew the weapon from a sheath inside his boot. She held the blade over the flames in the fireplace, her mind shying away from what she was doing and why.

  She removed the blade when it turned red, stared at it while waiting for it to cool. Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought of guiding the blade into Reese’s flesh. In an effort to buoy up her flagging spirits, she told herself that if he could stand to have it done, then she could stand to do it. Nevertheless, she felt the need for a little fortification. Rummaging through the saddlebags again, she pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Ordinarily, she wasn’t much of a drinker, but right now a good stiff shot was just what she needed. With a hand that trembled, she pulled the cork, wiped off the mouth of the bottle and took a drink. And then she took another. It burned all the way down.

  “I’ll take some of that,” Reese said.

  Going to the bunk, she lifted his head, held the bottle to his lips while he took a drink. And then another. And another. When she set the bottle on the table, it was nearly empty.

  She wet the soap with water from one of the canteens and then, trying not to think of what she was doing, she washed the blood from his stomach. Under other circumstances, she would have taken time to admire his physique, but not now. Now, she took pleasure in noting that the bleeding had dwindled to a mere trickle.

  “I don’t think it’s too deep,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “Just dig the damn thing out. If it bleeds a lot, heat my knife and slap it on the wound. If it doesn’t, pour what’s left of the whiskey over the hole, then bandage it up.”

  Kelsey nodded. The whiskey she had consumed gave her a warm, detached feeling as she picked up the knife. She could do this.

  As though watching someone else, she probed the wound with the point of the blade. Found the bullet. Slid the knife under it and popped it out. Bright red blood flowed freely in the wake of the blade. She watched it, hoping it would stop, but it didn’t.

  She looked at Reese. His eyes were closed, his jaw rigid with pain. He had told her what to do. It couldn’t be any worse than what she had already done.

  She added more wood to the dwindling fire. Heated the knife. Mopped up the blood oozing from Reese’s side with a piece of linen.

  Placed the hot blade over the raw wound.

  Pain hissed through Reese’s clenched teeth.

  The stink of burnt flesh filled her nostrils.

  She wrapped the last of the linen around his middle, tied it tightly with fingers that trembled.

  And then she fainted.

  Chapter Seven

  Kelsey woke reluctantly. Her head ached. Her back ached. There was a bad taste in her mouth.

  Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find herself lying on the floor. Why was she lying on the floor? And then she remembered.

  Lurching to her feet, she stumbled toward the bunk where Reese lay. His eyes were closed, his body sheened with perspiration. A touch of her hand to his forehead confirmed that he had a fever.

  She drew a blanket over him, then went to the hearth and started a fire. Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the day before. Pulling a piece of jerky from one of the saddlebags, she gnawed on it while she warned herself by the fire.

  She wondered how soon Reese could travel and what she would do if his fever worsened and how she would find her way back to Grant’s Crossing if, God forbid, he should die.

  She didn’t want him to die. Moving toward the bunk, she gazed down at him. He had broad shoulders, a flat belly that looked as hard as a rock and long, muscular arms. There was a puckered scar on his left forearm, another one on his shoulder and yet another wicked-looking scar across his belly. Apparently gambling for a living was more dangerous than one would expect.

  Gathering up his bloody shirt and her sash, she carried them outside. She was glad to see that the sky was clear and the sun was shining. Raindrops sparkled like diamonds on the leaves of the trees. It looked like a beautiful day, until she saw the bodies.

  How could she have forgotten about the dead men, or the fact that Reese had killed them to save her?

  The bodies looked oddly pathetic, sprawled face down in the mud. She felt her gorge rise when she realized that scavengers had already been at work. What was she going to do with the bodies? It went against everything she believed in to leave them lying there in the open, but she didn’t have any way to bury them. Frowning thoughtfully, she went back into the cabin. Picking up the saddle blankets laying atop the saddles, she carried them outside and draped them over the heads of the dead men, wrinkling her nose against the stink of death. Lowering her head, she closed her eyes and murmured a brief prayer for the welfare of their souls, then, feeling as though she had done all she could do for them, she walked away.

  The outlaws’ horses whinnied at her from the corral. Reese’s horse stood nearby, reins dragging on the ground. She supposed the animals were hungry but there was nothing she could do about that now. Taking up the reins to Reese’s horse, she opened the gate and led it into the pen. After securing the gate, she relieved herself behind the shack, then went back inside.

  Reese was awake. He had managed to pull on his jacket while she was outside.

  She hurried toward him. “How are you feeling?”

  It was a stupid question. He was pale and shivering uncontrollably, his dark eyes were filled with pain. She pulled one of the bedrolls from the top bunk, unrolled the blanket and spread it over him, tucking it in as best she could.

  “Water.” The word rasped through his lips.

  Grabbing a canteen, she held it to his lips. He drank greedily, then closed his eyes.

  “Reese?”

  He must have heard the fear in her voice. His eyelids fluttered open again. “I’ll be all right…the fever…it’ll pass in a day or two.”

  She nodded. But what if it didn’t?

  “Don’t worry.” He managed a weak smile. “I won’t die…and leave you here…alone.”

  He closed his eyes again. Moments later, he was asleep.

  Kelsey moved about the cabin. She emptied the contents of all the saddlebags onto the table and sorted through them, separating the items into piles—clothing here, food there. For men on the run, they hadn’t carried much in the way of food and they had eaten most of it last night. She put the bottles of whiskey and the boxes of ammunition on the floor beside the saddles, placed the matches on the mantel, the coffee pot on the hearth. She found a sack of coffee beans, but had no idea how to make coffee that didn’t come already ground and flavored with vanilla.

  Filled with nervous energy, she found an o
ld broom and swept the floor. She heated a pot of water and washed the dishes, the cups and the cook pots. There were no dishtowels so she put the dishes on the table to air dry, then wiped her hands on her dress.

  She looked over at Reese. He needed something to eat, something to keep his strength up, but what? She looked at the foodstuffs on the table—beef jerky, tinned peaches, some stale biscuits. She eyed the beef jerky, then shrugged. It might work. She heated water in the coffee pot and added a couple strips of the jerky. Flavored water, she thought, but it would be easy for him to swallow and serve to warm him up besides.

  When it was ready, she poured some into a cup and carried it to the bed. “Reese, wake up.”

  With a low groan, he opened his eyes.

  “Here,” she said, slipping one arm under his shoulders, “drink this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Poison. Just drink it, you’ll feel better.”

  A grin twitched his lips before he took a swallow. Grimacing, he looked up at her. “Poison is right…what the hell…is that?”

  “Beef broth, sort of.”

  He drank it all.

  Easing him back down on the bunk, she asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. How about…you? You doing…all right?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said brightly. “I’m fine.”

  “Yea,” he muttered. “I can see that.”

  “Get some rest.”

  He didn’t argue.

  She stood there, looking down at him, pleased that he seemed to be shivering less. His color looked a little better. She frowned. His skin was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. At first she had simply thought he had a nice tan. She realized now that he was the same color all over. Was he an Indian? She shook her head. He couldn’t be. He didn’t sound like one, she thought, and then laughed. She had no idea what Indians sounded like except for the ones she had heard in movies and somehow she doubted that real Indians had ever talked like that.

  Moving away from the bed, she looked for a place to sit but of course, there wasn’t any. She had burned all the chairs and the crates.

  Grabbing one of the bedrolls from the top bunk, she opened it and spread it on the floor. She looked at it a moment, wondering which man had slept on it. Hoping it wasn’t full of fleas or worse, she sat down, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head resting on her folded arms.

  At this rate, she would never find her way back home.

  * * * * *

  Kelsey was on the brink of sleep when she heard Reese cry out. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried to his side. He was tossing restlessly. Sweat ran down his face and dotted his chest. He clutched one corner of the blanket so tightly that his knuckles were white. Fresh blood spotted the bandage wrapped around his middle.

  His body arched, then convulsed. A curse hissed through his teeth. He muttered something she didn’t understand and then his body convulsed again.

  A strangled sob rose in his throat, a sound that was filled with such pain and anguish it brought quick tears to her eyes.

  “No!” Sobs racked his body. “Dammit, leave her alone! Chumani, no, no. No!”

  She couldn’t stand to hear any more. Putting her hand on his shoulder, Kelsey shook him gently. “Reese? Reese, wake up.”

  He came awake with a start. Jackknifing into a sitting position, he glanced around, his eyes wild.

  “Shh, it’s all right,” she said, “you’re safe now.”

  He blinked up at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes. She had the feeling he was looking at her, but seeing someone else.

  “Reese, it’s me, Kelsey.”

  The breath left his body in a long, shuddering sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He lifted a hand to his face, swore when he felt the tears on his cheeks. And then he fell back on the bed. Closing his eyes, he released his death grip on the blankets.

  Kelsey stared down at him, her mind filling with questions. Who was Chumani and why did mentioning that strange name cause him such pain? The answers would have to wait until another time, she thought. Right now she had to re-bandage his wound.

  * * * * *

  His fever wasn’t much better the next day. Kelsey was terribly afraid he was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. She washed the wound in his side, appalled to see that it was swollen and hot to the touch. The lesser wound in his arm had already scabbed over.

  She stayed close to his side, plagued by the irrational thought that he would die if she left him alone. She mashed the peaches and managed to get him to take a few bites. She forced him to drink as much water and broth as he could hold, helped him to relieve himself when necessary. He didn’t seem to feel any embarrassment and she was too worried about him to give it any thought.

  She didn’t leave the shack except for those brief moments when she had to go outside to relieve herself or to bring in more wood. She dragged the bodies of the dead men as far away from the shack as she could, not only because of the awful smell, but because she could see that scavengers had been preying on them.

  Standing in the open doorway, Kelsey decided it was time to leave, the sooner, the better. She would get Reese on a horse somehow. He could tell her how to get back to town.

  As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she put it into action.

  She gathered up the remaining foodstuffs and the matches and jammed them into one of the saddlebags. She stuffed a couple of the spare shirts into another saddlebag, figuring Reese might want to put one on later.

  She didn’t know how to saddle a horse but she dragged one of the saddles outside and into the corral. Picking out the smallest horse, a gray with a black mane and tail, she pulled the saddle toward it and heaved it onto the animal’s back. It took her ten minutes to figure out how to cinch the saddle and another ten minutes to get the bit into the horse’s mouth and the bridle over its head. When that was done, she led Reese’s horse and the gray out of the corral and tied them to one of the rails, then left the gate open so the other two horses could get out.

  Returning to the shack, she picked up the saddlebags, the canteens and two of the bedrolls and carried them outside. She looped the canteens over the saddle horns, then tied the bedrolls behind the saddles. Lastly, she shook out the smallest of the dead men’s jackets, wrinkling her nose at the overpowering scent of sweat and tobacco smoke as she pulled it on.

  She was out of breath when she finished.

  Now all she had to do was get Reese outside and into the saddle.

  “Reese, wake up,” she called softly. “We’re leaving.” She slipped her arm under his shoulders and helped him to sit up. She had removed his boots earlier, now she helped him put them on. She debated trying to get him into one of the shirts, but decided against it. He should be warm enough in his jacket.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Back to town. You need a doctor.”

  He grunted softly as she helped him to his feet. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “Get my gunbelt.”

  She plucked it off the top bunk where she had thrown it and buckled it around his waist.

  With a nod, he reached under the pillow for his pistol and dropped it in the holster.

  “Can we go now?” she asked.

  “I’m game to try,” he muttered.

  She put her arm around his waist and they staggered out of the cabin toward the horses.

  Reese rested his forehead against his horse’s neck for a moment; then, taking a deep breath, he put his foot into the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle.

  “Are you all right?” Kelsey asked, looking up at him. “Can you ride?”

  He snorted softly. “I can ride in my sleep.”

  “That’s great, but try to stay awake, okay?”

  She handed him the reins, then stepped into the stirrup and pulled herself onto the back of the gray. She looked over at Reese, who sat very still. She had a feeling he was gathering
his strength for the ride ahead. After a few moments, he lifted the reins. His horse moved out at a brisk walk and Kelsey’s followed behind.

  Kelsey stared at Reese’s back. If she ever got back home, no one would ever believe her story. She wasn’t sure she believed it herself. How could she be here, riding a horse in the middle of nowhere, following a man who had been shot by outlaws?

  They rode for several hours. Reese swayed in the saddle from time to time, making her fear he was going to pass out but he rode steadily onward, refusing to stop when she suggested he should rest.

  After a time, she began to suspect they were heading the wrong way. Even allowing for the time difference in riding a horse that was walking as opposed to one that was running, it seemed that they should have reached Grant’s Crossing by now.

  She was about to ask Reese what was going on when a dozen Indians suddenly appeared before them. Kelsey shook her head in disbelief. Where had they come from? One minute the prairie was empty and the next there were a dozen mounted warriors in front of her. Feathers fluttered in their long black hair. Streaks of paint adorned their faces and cut across their chests. Some carried feathered lances. Others held rifles. Several of the warriors lead pack horses.

  Reese reined his mount to a halt.

  Kelsey glanced around, looking for a place to hide, but of course, there was none. And then it was too late, because the Indians were practically on top of them. Had she been rescued from her kidnappers only to die a worse death at the hands of savage Indians?

  One of the Indians rode forward and then, to her amazement, began speaking to Reese, who answered in the same harsh guttural tongue. Reese gestured once in her direction. He spoke to the warrior for a few more minutes and then urged his horse forward. The warriors fell in around Reese. They paid her no attention at all.