Few people knew about this place and because of the roughness of the terrain it could only be got to at night on foot. Voices floating clearly on the night air alerted her of danger.
“I know I got him”
She stifled the screams rising in her throat by thrusting her fist in her mouth. Men were searching close by. She froze against a tree trunk, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Johnny Valentine is as good as dead. Can’t have got far without a horse, especially when he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. The others are watching the horses and the McGuire cabin so he won’t get away. All we have to do is wait ‘til daylight. I can almost smell that reward money.”
Two men walked past, they were so close she could have put out a hand and touched them. Sheriff’s deputies talking about Johnny. They must have discovered his hideout and cold bloodedly waited in ambush.
She broke out in a cold sweat. Her palms became clammy, while the sickening sensation of fear churned her stomach. It was agony not knowing how badly hurt he might be.
Like a shadow she flitted from tree to tree, using the darkness for cover. Wounded, perhaps weak from loss of blood, where would he go? Her brain strived to grapple with the possibilities. The cave and his little valley were the logical places if he could he make it so far?
She dared not go back to get a horse in case one of the men saw her. The stars shed the only light in the darkness. She could never remember a night being as black as this.
“Help me to find him please, God,” she prayed desperately. Except for the rustle of animals going about their nocturnal business, there was no sound. She moved like a shadow making no noise, and though she wanted to run, forced herself not to.
Caution was required now, lest she lead Johnny’s pursuers to his hideout. Once away from where she first encountered the deputies, she risked calling out. “Johnny, where are you?” She was tempted to scream out loud so he would be sure to hear, instead used a loud whisper.
“George.”
Finally, she was rewarded with an answer.
“I’m hurt real bad.”
She followed his voice to a fallen tree trunk half hidden by undergrowth.
“I’m inside this hollow log.”
A hasty glance around, then she pushed her way through the bushes to where a giant tree had lain for years.
She dropped to her knees, frantically searching for his hand. When their flesh touched, she started dragging him out. He could not climb to his feet unaided, and it took all her strength to get him standing. Even then, he swayed like a drunken man.
“Hang on to me, Johnny. We’ll go to the old Ransom cabin, it isn’t far from here. I want to see how badly hurt you are.”
“It’s on Stanton’s place,” he said in a throaty whisper.
“Without a horse, I can’t get you anywhere else. It will be safe, no one would think of looking for you on his property.”
What a nightmare trip. Johnny passed out twice. By the time they reached the derelict cabin, George was exhausted. He was slightly built, yet leaned so heavily on her, she was almost bent double.
As atonement for the pit like blackness, the moon suddenly disgorged itself from behind the banked-up clouds to light their way. A one-roomed cabin, its dilapidation softened by the translucent moonlight, waited with a silent invitation for them to enter. It had been deserted since the original family had been run off it years ago.
“Only a few more yards, then you’ll be safe.”
Where he got the strength from she didn’t know, but he straightened himself and staggered the last few yards. This effort drained his puny strength and he passed out near the doorway.
Sheer desperation somehow gave her the strength to drag him inside and she pushed the door shut before collapsing on the floor. It was too dark to see properly. She guessed he was hit somewhere about the chest or shoulder region as blood from this area had seeped, hot and sticky, into her shirt.
“George.” He grabbed weakly at her hand. “Listen to me.” His voice sounded rasping and husky. “I’ve got a son.”
“What!” His confession slammed into her with the force of a whirlwind and she almost toppled over.
“Danny’s with the Shannons, his mother’s people. They’ve got a small spread just out of Londrigan on the Settlement Road. It’s a couple of hours ride from Deadwood.” He started panting now. “Promise me. Look after Danny. Sarah’s dead and his grandmother is dying with the cancer.”
“I promise. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He didn’t answer and she realized he was unconscious. Johnny had a son? Was he delirious? He had never mentioned it before? This was the least of her worries. His breathing sounded loud and rattling now. On her own she could do nothing. Who could be trusted to help? Marcus had once professed his love for her before bitterness and misunderstanding drove them apart, surely true love would not be destroyed so quickly.
She thought of Dave Gleeson. An excitable youth at the best of times, he would be hopeless in a situation like this.
“I’ll be back soon, Johnny,” she promised, even though he could not hear her.
She ran. Ran, as she had never done before, desperation driving her on even though her heart beat like a bellows and her legs wobbled.
Everyone would be in bed by now as it was only an hour or so before dawn. Which room was Marcus in? Her tortured brain tried to remember. Directly above the big oak tree, yes, he had complained about branches scraping against the window.
Pausing for a moment to catch her breath and make sure the barking dogs were not roaming loose she started to climb. Climbing had been one of her childhood achievements and it was an easy tree with plenty of footholds.
His window was closed. “Marcus, Marcus.” She knocked on the window a couple of times. Finally, she heard his irate voice.
“What the….” He poked his head out the window. “Georgina.”
“Help me, please. You’ve got to help me. There’s no one else I can trust.”
She grasped his hands. One savage jerk found her inside his room and confronted by his anger.
“What are you up to now?”
“Help me.” She went on desperately. “Johnny’s been shot.”
“Hardly unexpected,” he grated. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Help him.”
“You made your choice, Georgina. You can expect no help from me.”
Was this hard-voiced stranger her Marcus?
“Please, he’s been shot. You’ve got to help him. I’ll do anything you want. Anything,” she babbled in desperation, clutching him in the darkness.
“You’d do anything? He must mean a lot to you. I’ll have to get dressed, you better wait outside.”
“I want to stay here, please, I’ll turn my back.” She heard him fumbling around in the dark. As the lamp flared, she kept her eyes averted.
“All right, I’m decent.”
She swung around.
“Georgina.” At his horrified gasp, she glanced down at herself. The whole front of her shirt was soaked with blood, the red standing out starkly against the white cloth.
“Have you been wounded, too?”
“No, only Johnny.”
A pulse convulsed in his jaw. “If he’s bleeding so badly there’s probably little I can do.”
“Please.”
He muttered a curse. “All right, I’ll do what I can. Where is he?”
“There’s a tumbledown cabin on Stanton’s further most boundary.”
“I think I know it.”
“Hurry.”
“I’m trying to find something to use as a bandage.”
He was wearing moleskin pants, his shirt left hanging half open. He snatched up a couple of towels off the dresser.
“We’ll need this.” He thrust a silver brandy flask at her. “Is there a lantern in the hut?”
“I don’t know.” She started toward the window.
“We can go down the stairs and through t
he side door.”
“Someone might see us.”
“At three in the morning? I doubt it.”
Stealthily they crept downstairs and out on to the porch without mishap. They made their way to the stables and by the lamplight Marcus saddled his horse.
A sleepy voice called out to them.
“It’s all right, I couldn’t sleep and felt like a ride. Don’t trouble yourself about coming down, I can saddle up,” Marcus said.
George watched from the shadows as he saddled the grey who whickered nervously. “It’s all right.” He soothed the skittish animal.
He led the horse outside, hoisted George up before swinging up behind her.
“You carry the lamp,” he instructed abruptly. Within a few minutes they were on their way with George giving him the directions.
“Hurry, Marcus please.” His arms tightened around her.
“I’m going as fast as I can. I have no intention of risking my horse’s legs because of you or your outlaw lover.”
They arrived at the cabin within a short time. She glanced around, still no sign of any other presence, thank goodness. Leaping to the ground she almost dropped the lantern in her haste, leaving Marcus to collect the towels from where he had placed them in the saddlebag.
All was silent as she charged inside and knelt beside Johnny who appeared not to have moved.
“George?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’ve brought Marcus, you’ll be all right now. He’s going to help us.”
She blinked suddenly as the lantern flared in the darkness. “Johnny,” she screamed his name.
“Quickly, out of the way.” Marcus pushed her to one side and dropped to his knees. The towels would be of little use he saw at a glance. Johnny Valentine looked as if half his chest had been blown away. Blood seeped from his wound and one arm lay in an ever-widening pool of blood.
His face was unmarked. The damp tendrils of hair curling on to his forehead only seemed to emphasize his youth. Marcus glanced at Georgina who cringed in the same position he had pushed her. Heart rendering sobs racked her slender body.
“Are you in pain, Valentine?” Slightly glazed blue eyes stared at him.
“Here, drink this.” Marcus held a flask to the young outlaw’s lips, and he drank greedily then started coughing and choking as the brandy burned down his throat.
“George.”
“I’m here, Johnny.” Marcus watched a white-faced Georgina crawl over to grasp a bloodied hand and hold it near her heart.
“Don’t leave me, George.”
“I’ll never leave you, Johnny. Never, I promise.” This seemed to satisfy him for his eyes closed once more.
“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”
The tortured look in Georgina’s eyes pierced Marcus straight through the heart and he would never forget it. He would have given up everything he owned if it would have eased her pain.
“Yes.” She had stopped her wild sobbing now, although the terrible silence was even more piteous. “I really am sorry, even a doctor couldn’t save him.”
“George.”
“Yes, Johnny, I’m here.”
“Am I going to die?”
“No, Marcus will save you.”
“Englishman,” it came out in a husky whisper and Marcus leaned closer. The end was near now, the towels were soaked yet the blood still came. It was dreadful watching this boy’s life literally flowing into the ground.
“Take, take.” The blood started spilling from his mouth. “Take care of George for me and find my son, promise.”
What was Valentine raving about now? He was obviously delirious. There was no time to ask him what he meant, so Marcus gave his vow out loud.
“I promise to look after them.”
Johnny closed his eyes and Marcus thought he was dead, yet life still flickered in the young outlaw.
“Hold my hand, George.”
He moaned slightly. His face by the lamplight appeared white, with not a vestige of warmth left, even his lips were bleached of color. It could not be long now Marcus knew, as the pool of blood was growing and spreading beneath him.
“Englishman.” Johnny struggled to get up. “I’m her brother.” He twitched then lay still.
George screamed, desperately throwing her body across his. “Johnny! Johnny!”
“Georgina, you can’t help him now, no one on this earth can.”
She started sobbing wildly. Marcus picked her up in his arms and carried her outside. The sky was now streaked with pink, the dawn of a new day. Night had departed on silent wings bearing the young outlaw with it.
“Stay here, I want to attend to things.”
She did not move from where he had sat her and never had he seen such raw anguish on any person’s face.
Inside the hut, he folded the outlaw’s arms across his chest and pressed his eyelids shut. There was not even a blanket to cover him. He closed the door and walked over to Georgina who was sobbing piteously.
“I’ll take you to Stanton’s place.”
“No, I want to go home.”
“You can’t stay on your own. If your uncle were here it would be different.”
“Can you see to things, I mean?” She shuddered.
“Yes.”
“I have to go home. Billy will come there when he hears. Johnny said he had a son. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I don’t know, Georgina, perhaps he felt ashamed. Probably got a girl with child and left her.”
“I bet he told McGuire,” she sobbed. “Nobody tells me anything.”
He took her home, his poor broken-hearted Georgina. It was frightful leaving her alone, yet there was nothing else he could do. He had never been particularly religious although he inwardly vowed Johnny Valentine would get a decent Christian burial.
* * *
George could never remember how she survived the next two days. They passed in a daze. Marcus organized for Mrs. Gleeson to stay with her. She didn’t leave her room until McGuire arrived home. The only thing keeping her sane was the thought of Johnny’s son. She became obsessed with claiming him.
* * *
Johnny Valentine was laid to rest with only George, McGuire and a small gathering of friends attending the burying. Marcus stood a little distance away from the rest of the mourners. The Parson gave a short, moving service, deploring the loss of such a young life.
After the service, a white-faced George stumbled to where the horses were tethered. She wanted to be alone and McGuire understood this. Marcus made to follow, but the old man stopped him.
“Leave her be. Come to the cabin this afternoon, she’ll be back by then. She needs to grieve alone.”
Slowly, bent double with pain and anguish, George galloped across the open range then slowly climbed upward into her beloved hills. The air smelt clean and sweet, birds flittered around, a bright splash of color against the somber foliage of the trees.
She tethered her horse then dawdled around for a time, feeling the warmth of the sun on her body, which had been strangely cold since that terrible day. She trudged to the edge of the cliff near Johnny’s lookout and stared down into the valley through tear-drenched eyes.
Tomorrow, she and McGuire would go and find Johnny’s son and bring him home. This thought kept her from going completely loco.
Chapter Twelve
McGuire sat slumped over the kitchen table when Marcus entered the room. The old man’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face more lined than before. Georgina was nowhere to be seen. He was determined to ask for her hand in marriage. He loved her and she would be his wife, and he didn’t care what the aristocracy thought. He was finished with all that kind of thing.
“This is probably not the time or the place, McGuire, but I’d like your permission to marry, Georgina. I love her. I’m sure I can make her happy. She wouldn’t agree without your blessing. If you gave it, I could take her away from all of this.”
“I have no objection if she wants to marry you.” The old
man’s voice was husky with grief.
“Good. Did you know about Johnny’s son?”
“Yes.”
“I want to find the child for her. I’d be prepared to bring him up as my own.”
“I’m pleased you’re prepared to take on the boy as well. I’m an old man; I couldn’t look after him on my own.” McGuire shook his head sadly. “Before you commit yourself to anything, I want to tell you about George’s parents Christina and Jake.”
“You don’t need to.”
“You have a right to know what you’re letting yourself in for before you make your decision. If you find you can’t marry her after what I tell you, her and the boy will be all right with Billy and me. If you marry George, you risk being exiled out here for the rest of your days. Genteel society would never accept you, and George as well as Johnny’s son could be in mortal danger.”
“Danger! What are you talking about?”
“There are people who would be prepared to kill her if they ever found out who her father was, and Johnny’s boy could also be at risk.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Was McGuire mad? Had the happenings of the last few days damaged his brain?
Is it? To gain something he wasn’t entitled to a man set into motion a vendetta, which would lead to Jake and Christina being murdered. Johnny and George would have been killed, too except for a twist of fate.”
Years in the wilderness had obviously affected the old man’s mind. McGuire’s face took on the color of dirty parchment, his eyes burned fiercely. “The story I’m about to tell you began in Texas many years ago.”
The hair suddenly stood up on the back of Marcus’ neck.
Jake was a gunslinger before he met Christina. He could draw faster than any man I ever saw. I was working as a wagon train scout when we first met. Anyway, he won a ranch in a card game at some saloon near the Rio Grande. Can’t remember exactly where. The ranch was in Texas and I went with him. I was sick of fighting Injins and looking after tenderfoots by then.
On the way there, we came across two wagons, one overturned and the other had a broken axle. The wagon train had been running out of food, so they were left behind.”
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