Hill after hill passed as the sun made its way to the horizon. She eventually slowed the horses to a walk. The lack of any people soon became discouraging. How far down this trail could the fort be?
By early evening, her tidal wave of hope withdrew and doubt began to creep into its place. Off to her left and slightly behind her, the horizon began to take on a pink hue as the sun grew closer to it. If she were lucky she had an hour before it set completely. Being stuck out in the open would be far too dangerous. She urged the horses back into a trot. The mare slowed them down more than she was comfortable with, but she didn’t want to leave her behind, so she tolerated it.
In the distance she began to see a shape that resembled possibly a rock formation. Something like Chimney Rock, only flatter, perhaps? She didn’t recall reading or hearing about any such thing on the eastern side of Wyoming. But she was discovering that a lot of what she’d read about the California Trail wasn’t true. The closer she grew, the more the shape revealed itself. It wasn’t a rock formation at all, but a building. A very large one. Suspicion almost caused her to slow the horses. Then she realized what the place was.
“Fort Laramie. By all the saints, Lincoln, that’s Fort Laramie!” she cried.
Lincoln gave a little “woof” as if in agreement and kept trotting along a few paces ahead of them.
They reached the gates of the fort just before the sun dipped below the horizon. Ten-foot-high walls of great pine logs ending in sharp spikes rose up before her. Pungent scents of people and animals cramped together mingled with aromas of roasting meat and bread. In this case, she would happily take the bad with the good if it meant hot food. The two uniformed men standing before the open gates nodded to her as she approached. When she grew close enough to see their faces they removed their caps in a hurried manner. The one with salt-and-pepper hair approached her.
“Ma’am, are you in distress?” he asked.
Lincoln sauntered up and sniffed him. The man drew back a bit, eyes widening. She could hardly blame him. Despite being only a pup, he came easily to the man’s hip. Even a seasoned soldier would be wise to be wary of such a large dog.
She saw the chevrons on his shoulder marking him as a corporal. “No, Corporal, thank you. I’m quite all right now that I’ve made it here. I was separated from my escort. The fort is open to travelers I do hope,” she said.
He nodded. “O’ course, ma’am. All are welcome. There’s trading and lodging to be had within.”
She smiled at him, doing her best to hide her relief. “Thank you. If you can direct me toward the lodging, I would be most grateful. And has a man left word about a woman coming to meet him, I wonder?”
The soldier shook his head, and her heart plunged. She did her best not to let it crush her into a thousand pieces. Just because Rick wasn’t here yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t be soon. He went on to tell her all about the different boarding places while trying to casually step away from Lincoln. The pup followed him step for evasive step, seeming to enjoy the game.
“Lincoln, come,” she commanded. She gave the corporal a smile and nodded. “Thank you once again. And if a man by the name of Rick Fergusson asks after me, would you please let him know where I’m lodged?”
The man nodded deep enough for it to be considered a bow, then put his hat back on. “Will do, ma’am.”
Knowing Rick wasn’t here, each step Galiha took inside the gates dragged her deeper into a well of misery. She wanted to turn the horses around and gallop out to find him. Being under the guard of the army while he was still out there felt terribly wrong. The safety of the walled fort embraced her into its shadow. And she didn’t want it. She had thought maybe she wanted Rick back by her side because of the sense of safety he represented. Now she realized, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter 17
Day Fifteen
Rick dropped the reins—guiding Ayegi with only his legs—and drew both pistols as he charged toward the natives. As he had left Cat, he’d released the packhorse, but the faithful fellow still followed along behind. Rick’s resistance to violence melted away in the rush of survival. Letting these men get to Cat wasn’t an option. While he felt for their plight, he had no tolerance for anyone who would rape and enslave women.
Cantering at full speed made aiming out of the question. Instead, he pointed the barrels and relied on instinct. Both pistols recoiled in his hand at nearly the same time. As it always was in battle for him, he heard the crack of gunfire after the shot. And this time, just barely over the noise of the storm.
The native to his right clutched at a blooming red spot on his bare chest and began to slump. He tumbled from his running horse, which promptly shot off to the left. The man to his left hollered out a war cry and raised a tomahawk with a blade as black as night. A press of Rick’s legs and Ayegi veered away from the man. This put them in the path of a third man. Moments too late, Rick realized the third man had a bow aimed at him. He threw himself as far to the left as he could while remaining in the saddle. Something punched him in the left arm, right between the muscles. His fingers jerked and the pistol in that hand tumbled free. An arrow fletched with the two-toned feathers of a golden eagle stuck out of his arm. Ignoring it, he used his entire left hand—which hurt like unholy hell—to pull back the hammer of his remaining pistol. At the same time the third man drew another arrow, he shot him in the abdomen.
Only feet away, the man with the tomahawk launched himself at Rick. That he could do so not only from the back of a galloping horse, but also collide so accurately with Rick was a marvel. But Rick had little time to appreciate his enemy’s battle tactics. He blocked the tomahawk swing and tumbled from Ayegi’s back. Pain seared into his left arm again as the arrow broke off. He and the native crashed to the ground and rolled, ending up in a heap of tangled limbs. He wrestled the tomahawk from the man’s grip.
The man ended up on top of him by sheer luck of the tumble. As he went for Rick’s throat, Rick slammed the flat side of the tomahawk against the man’s face. A lift and thrust of his hips sent the native flying. Half conscious, he groaned as he rolled to a stop a few feet away. Blood seeped from a small cut amidst the white face paint streaked across the left side of his face. The wound wasn’t fatal by a long shot. Rick breathed a bit easier. At least he would only have two new deaths on his conscience.
He rolled to his knees and tried to stand. The vibrating ground proved too difficult to find footing on.
“What the…” The raging storm swallowed his words and his breath right along with them.
Only two things he had ever encountered made the ground vibrate. Seeing how there were no trains this far west, that only left one thing. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled past the groaning native. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up both his pistol and the native’s tomahawk, shoving one into his belt and the other into his holster. Heavy rain painted the world gray, obscuring anything over twenty feet away. Neither Cat nor the natives’ horses were anywhere to be seen. The clouds above him swirled in a massive circle that was picking up not only speed, but grass and dirt as well. He started running in the opposite direction of the storm-born monster.
From out of the gloom to his left emerged Ayegi, running in his direction. Rick turned and ran in the same direction as the horse. At the last moment, he veered to the side. When Ayegi came alongside him, the horse slowed. Rick grabbed the saddle horn and vaulted up onto Ayegi without missing a step. The horse ran for all he was worth, legs pumping, straight into the gloom. He couldn’t see more than a few paces in from of them. Reckless as it was to run blind, not running from the building tornado would have been a death sentence for certain. He trusted his horse’s instincts and let him do the steering.
Shapes soon emerged from the gloom—trees. They swayed and gyrated like fifty-foot-tall men in the throes of a wild dance. Going into a place with so much possible debris would be a risk, but they
had no choice. At least, he didn’t, because there was no stopping Ayegi at this point. One wrong decision and they’d be dead. Rick decided he’d leave the big decisions up to the horse.
They cantered all out into the forest. The amount of leaves and branches flying about forced him to hunker down and squint. He did his best to simply be a responsive rider so he wouldn’t pull Ayegi off balance. The horse leapt, dodged, and skidded about, avoiding trees and flying debris. They ran so hard and so long that he started to worry about Ayegi overexerting himself. The wind eventually started to die down. The amount of leaves and branches whisking through the air decreased. Rick reached for the reins.
Too late, he caught sight of a large white barked branch as it flew at him. It collided hard with the side of his head. The last thing he saw before being plunged into darkness was the ground approaching at high speed.
* * * *
Head throbbing with a powerful vengeance, Rick groaned as he clawed his way back to consciousness. The pain made him want to stay in that darkness, but he couldn’t. Cat was out there somewhere. He had to get to her. Ayegi, Lincoln, Galiha… Any one of them might need him. He had to wake up. Never in his life had he had such a headache, not even after an entire bottle of good Irish whiskey. He lifted his head from the blanket of yellow and green leaves. A blow of pain so sudden and forceful struck him that for a moment he thought he was being attacked. But further movement revealed that it was the movement itself causing the pain.
Bright sunlight bathed the battered forest around him. It assaulted his eyes with each agonizing blink. He forced himself to a sitting position. The sharp ache in his left arm was dull in comparison to the continuous throbbing in his head, but it served to remind him of the arrow. Two inches or so of an oak shaft stuck out of the side of his arm. In the mass of dried blood he couldn’t see the arrowhead, but he most certainly felt it. Gritting his teeth, he wiggled it to get a sense of the shape. The resulting jabs of pain told him it lacked barbs on its backside.
“Thank the saints for small favors,” he mumbled, the last word developing into a muffled yell as he yanked the arrow out.
The wound started to bleed, but that was a good thing, for now. It needed to be flushed and bleeding was a good start. Gently, he probed at his head with his fingers. A large bump had risen on the right side, but his hair seemed free of blood.
“I take it back. Thank the saints for large favors.”
Satisfied he would live, he patted himself to get a feel for what sort of resources he had left. His pistol nestled in his slightly askew holster, eight bullets remained in the slots along his belt, and the native’s tomahawk was still tucked through the left side of the belt. Weapons but no food wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Water was another matter, especially since his mouth felt as parched as Nevada. He would need to find water soon. But, to do that, he would need to get on his feet. A tree standing not two feet away would help in that matter.
The crunching of branches to his right had him reaching for his pistol instead of the tree. He turned in that direction, pistol thrusting out, thumb pulling the hammer back. Ayegi’s long, dun-colored face lay not two feet away from the barrel of his pistol. The horse chewed a mouthful of grass as he watched him with mild interest in his big brown eyes.
He lowered the pistol. “For the love of Saint Peter, horse, you scared me half to death. But ’tis good to see you.”
Ayegi took a few steps closer and sniffed at his head. Rick reached up and scratched the horse’s chin, gently moving him away at the same time. “It hurts bad enough. I don’t need you bumping it.”
He holstered the pistol and grabbed hold of Ayegi’s bridle. “Up,” he told him.
Ayegi lifted his head, easily pulling Rick to his feet. The world swayed beneath him, threatening to drop away, and his head throbbed like it might explode. He leaned on Ayegi until the wave of pain passed as much as it was going to. Hanging onto the bridle with one hand, he took a few tentative steps. The world swam far more than he was comfortable with. Murmuring words of praise to his horse, he leaned heavily on him as he worked his way back to his saddlebags. Much to his relief, nothing more than a few scrapes marred Ayegi’s hide.
From his battered saddlebags, he removed his extra canteen of water and a large green bottle. He took a longer drink than he should have from the canteen. The powerful thirst made him wonder how long he’d been out. Legs apart, knees bent, he tore the sleeve from his shirt. He braced himself with a few deep breaths that only served to make his headache worse. Focusing on his head, he opened the canteen and poured it over his arm. Pain seared into the wound, but not nearly as bad as he’d expected. To the best of his ability, he cleaned the blood and forest floor debris away and probed the wound to get it clean as possible. That part hurt a bit more. He put the cap on the canteen and put it back in the saddlebag.
The green bottle shook in his unsteady hand as he uncorked it. He stuck the cork in his pocket because he knew he’d drop it. The acrid odor of the tincture within wafted up and attacked his nostrils. Nose wrinkling in disgust, he turned his head away. Only two other times had he been subjected to this awful stuff, but the nurse who administered it the first time had sworn by it. If that nurse hadn’t been Ashlinn—his best friend’s wife and Cat’s sister-in-law—he wouldn’t be doing this right now.
What had she called the stuff? Oh, yes, iodine.
Having stalled all he could, he poured the tincture over his wound sparingly. Fire erupted in the wound as though he had dumped molten metal in it. A cry of pain pushed against his clenched teeth and pursed lips. The damnable stuff foamed in a most unnatural seeming way. It must have gotten shaken up in the commotion. Ashlinn had sworn it was purely science, but the stuff felt more like dark magic. Considering both that the stuff had been reserved for officers in the war, and that Ashlinn’s patients had the highest rate of survival, it was worth the pain. He poured a bit more on for good measure before he could lose his nerve.
Finished torturing himself, he put the bottle back in his saddlebags and withdrew a clean bit of cloth that he kept for just such an emergency. As best he could with one hand, he wrapped the cloth around his wounded arm and tied it off. Taking hold of Ayegi’s reins, he began looking for something to help him mount. Just swinging up into the saddle wasn’t an option. He’d most assuredly end up on his backside. A half-downed tree nearby looked like it would do the trick.
With one hand on Ayegi’s shoulder for support, he led him over to the tree. Ever so slowly, he stepped up onto the downed tree and climbed in the saddle. It took a while for the world to stop spinning and the urge to vomit to pass. The saddle horn served as his anchor. Once the world settled and his vision cleared, he spotted his packhorse grazing nearby in the trees. He whistled short and quick. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, making his vision go white. The clop of a horse’s hooves approaching made it worth it.
“Good boy,” he soothed as he leaned down and grabbed the horse’s dangling lead rope.
For a moment, he had to cling tight to the saddle horn while the pain the movement caused passed. With sincere promises of treats to come, he tied the lead to Ayegi’s saddle horn. He hung tight to both the saddle and consciousness as he set out to find the trail that would lead him to Cat.
Chapter 18
Day Seventeen
Chipped nails of her left hand drumming on the watchtower windowsill, Cat peered through the sailor’s glass the soldier had provided. After a sleepless night, she had made her way to the gates at the first light of dawn. Each hour that had ticked by challenged her resolve to wait. Finally, she had convinced the latest guard on duty to let her into the tower that overlooked the surrounding valleys. Nothing but fields turning golden in the later afternoon sun lay out there.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, my shift is almost over. I’ve got to ask you to leave so I don’t get into trouble,” came the soldier’s voice.
Doi
ng her best to repress the protest that sprang to mind, she started to lower the glass. A sound from the soldier stopped her.
“Look at that, there comes a rider now,” he said.
She whipped the glass back up to her eye. Her pulse pounded in her ears for a terribly long moment as she scanned the horizon. The soldier said more, but she couldn’t hear it over the rush. Then she saw two horses and one rider approaching. They were still too far away to make out any details, but she didn’t need them. Something in her just knew. She thrust the glass back at the soldier so fast the impact caused his breath to expel in a grunt.
“Apologies, my deepest thanks!” she said as she spun and took off for the stairs.
Wood ground against wood as the soldier shoved his chair back in a rush and stood. “Wait, ma’am. It’s dangerous to go down the ladder on your own!”
Already flinging the hatch open, she started down the ladder with no intention of waiting. Dressed in breeches as she was, she didn’t need the man’s assistance. Even in a dress with a full bustle she could have made it, though it would, of course, been considered quite the scandal. Not that anyone at this fort would care much beyond the entertainment factor. By the time the soldier put a foot on the ladder, her booted heels were touching the dirt.
Tail wagging with an enthusiasm that suggested he knew something was about, Lincoln greeted her with a bark. She praised him while freeing him from the pillar he was tied to with one easy pull. Her shaking hands took two tries to remove the rope from his collar. At over a hundred feet down the wall, the gate seemed a world away. Each step was an agonizing test of her restraint. Being a grown woman, she couldn’t run through the fort without raising all kinds of alarm. She walked as fast as she could, weaving in and out of people and carts selling wares. The frantic pace could barely be called a walk. Lincoln jogged alongside her, darting away only to go around an obstacle or a person, then darting straight back.
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