Badlands Legend

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  He was so busy watching the man in the wagon, he never even heard the sound of someone coming up behind him. When he heard a man’s voice ordering him to unfasten his gunbelt, and felt the press of a gun’s muzzle against his back, he froze.

  “Well, well. Won’t Will Fenner be happy with me when he sees what I just found.”

  With his hand on his gunbelt Yale turned to see the skinny outlaw known as Slick grinning like a fool. “Why aren’t you with the others, Slick?”

  “I told Will I’d ride on ahead, in case you’d made a break for it in the night. Looks like I was right.” He glanced around. “Where’d you hide the woman and her kids?”

  Yale gave a disgusted shake of his head. “I should have known you’d be the one to figure me out, Slick. I guess that’s how you earned that name.”

  “That’s right.” The old man spat a wad of tobacco juice. “Now where’s the woman and her brats?”

  Yale nodded with his head. “Behind those rocks.”

  “Hooee! I bet old Fenner will have an extra chug of whiskey for me tonight after this.”

  “Is that all you want? Extra whiskey? What about a share of the gold?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “What gold you talking about?”

  “The gold the widow had hidden in her barn. Didn’t Fenner share it with the rest of you?”

  “Will didn’t mention any gold.” Anger flared, quick and hot. “Why’d he keep that from us?”

  Yale shrugged, and managed a quick frown. “You know what gold does to some men. Makes them greedy.”

  “Yeah. Never figured Fenner to cheat his own gang though.” Slick motioned with his pistol. “Take me to the woman. I want to know more about this gold.” As Yale turned away the old man called, “But first you’d better drop that gunbelt, gambling man.”

  “Right. The gunbelt.” Yale reached a hand to it, then spun around. In that split second it took to fire his weapon, he realized his miscalculation. At almost the same instant that he fired, Slick did the same.

  He felt the force of the bullet knock him backward. Felt the white hot pain that had his pistol slipping from nerveless fingers to drop on the ground moments before his knees buckled and he found himself sitting with his back to a rock, staring wordlessly at the blood that flowed down his chest and pooled in the dirt.

  Far below, the first cluster of men heard the two gunshots and turned away from the mine to head toward the mountain. Minutes later the second column of men turned and did the same.

  Far above on the mountain there was only an unbroken stretch of silence.

  “What was that, Ma?” Cody tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “It sounded like gunshots.”

  “I heard them, Cody.” Cara clutched her arms around herself as each gunshot echoed off the mountain peaks and seemed to reverberate through her body, causing a series of tremors along her spine.

  “Do you think they spotted Yale?” The boy’s voice was a frightened whisper.

  “No. Of course not. He said he’d be careful.” But her words lacked conviction even to her own ears.

  She and the children had been deep in the mine shaft since early in the morning. Without the comfort of a fire for warmth and light, the cold and darkness seemed to close around her, chilling her to her very soul.

  Seth started to cry.

  At once Cody said, “He’s afraid, Ma.”

  “Here, now.” Cara reached down and gathered the little boy into her arms, wrapping the heavy shawl around him. “I think it’s time for another story.”

  She reached out into the darkness until she felt her older son’s hand. With an arm around his shoulder she drew him close. “Why don’t I tell you about Jonah and the whale. Now there was a desperate situation. I’ll bet it was even darker in the belly of that whale than it is in here. And think how lucky we are. We have one another. Poor Jonah was all alone.”

  While the children clung to her in the darkness, she told them, in whispered tones, the familiar story. And though it was her intention to help them find strength from the tale, she feared her own faith was faltering.

  The sounds they’d heard had been unmistakably gunshots. Two of them. Had Yale been merely using the signal to lead Fenner and his band on a merry chase? Or was he even now lying dead or wounded somewhere? What if he needed her, and she was too timid to go after him?

  Yale had ordered her to stay with the children. Of course, he had also given her his word that he would return.

  She prayed he was strong enough to keep that promise. And that she wouldn’t be playing a fool’s game if she kept hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cara and the children lay huddled together, wrapped in the bearskin for warmth. She had no way of knowing how long they had been hiding deep in the mine shaft. In the pitch blackness, day and night seemed to blur together, leaving her brain as sluggish as her body.

  She knew that she’d dozed several times, as had Cody and Seth. When they weren’t sleeping, they kept up their strength by nibbling on pieces of deer meat. To hold their fears at bay she told them stories. As many as she could recall. But as the hours dragged on she had to work harder to keep up their spirits. And her own.

  Where was Yale? What if he had been captured? Or worse, killed. The thought of him lying somewhere in this wilderness caused such a pain around her heart, she found herself pressing a hand to her chest and taking quick, shallow breaths.

  For the sake of the children she managed to hold back the panic for what seemed an eternity. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t take another minute in this place. Yale had called it a tomb. That’s what it felt like to her. A black, bottomless pit, closing in on her. Trapping her within its icy walls of timber and rock and earth when she tried to break away. She could almost feel it closing in around her, collapsing into itself and sealing them in forever.

  With a cry of terror she jerked up. The children, lying on either side of her, stirred.

  “What is it, Ma?” Cody asked in whispered tones.

  “We’re leaving here.” She scrambled to her feet. “I want the two of you to take hold of my skirts so we don’t get separated in the dark.”

  The boys stood up and did as they were told, clinging tightly to her skirts. Cara folded the hide over her arm and, using one hand to feel along the dirt wall of the mine, began making her way toward the entrance.

  When at last they came to the spot where the gap in the timbers afforded a little light, Cara breathed a sigh of relief. Even though the daylight had faded to early evening, it wasn’t yet dark.

  “Cody.” She tossed the fur in the back of the cart, then reached a hand to the horse, tethered nearby. “We’re going to need old Sadie to help us roll aside those boulders at the entrance.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “We’re going out there, where the bad men are?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But what about Yale?” he asked.

  “We have to search for him.”

  “You think he’s been shot, Ma?” Cody hadn’t moved.

  “I don’t know what to think. But I do believe he should have been back here by now. So it’s time we went looking for him.” She led the mare to the entrance, then tied the harness around the first boulder. While Cody and Seth gently coaxed the horse forward, Cara strained behind the rock until it had rolled far enough to allow them to pass through. Then she did the same with the next boulder, and the next, rubbing her hands raw, leaning every bit of her strength into the effort until the entrance was cleared.

  “Good work, boys.” Cara wiped her bloody hands on her skirt, ignoring the pain of her torn flesh. “Now let’s get Sadie hitched to this cart.”

  Mother and sons worked quickly, easing the leather over the mare’s head, hitching the cart to the harness. When they were through, Cody helped his little brother into the back while Cara climbed up to the seat and flicked the reins.

  “How do you know where to go, Ma?” Cody asked.

  “I don’t. But we have to begin
somewhere. We’ll use those mountains as our compass.”

  Minutes later they started out, keeping the peaks of the brooding Black Hills always before them.

  Yale put one foot in front of the other and forced himself to keep walking. He’d managed to climb down from the mountain peak, though he didn’t know how. At first he’d feared that his wounded body would refuse to move. The sight of all that blood had him wondering how he could possibly still be alive.

  And then there was Slick. He couldn’t allow the outlaw to fire off another shot. Even in his befuddled state, Yale knew that two shots had already been fired. If there were no more, Fenner and his men would think it was the signal they’d been waiting for.

  He’d drawn his knife, intending to fight to the death. But when he’d pounced on the old outlaw, Yale realized that Slick was already dead. His single shot had found its mark. Though for the life of him he could barely recall firing his gun.

  He’d experienced one quick moment of triumph, knowing he’d been given a second chance. Fenner and his men would already be riding to the other side of this mountain range, just in time to follow the wrong man in the wrong cart. By the time they discovered their mistake, he and Cara and the children could be gone.

  If he lived long enough to get back to them.

  He’d tied his shirt around his chest, hoping to stem the flow of blood. Gingerly touching a hand to the spot he realized the shirt was soaked with his blood. And still the wound continued to bleed. Unless he made it back soon, it would be too late. He’d surely bleed to death. And if he did, what would happen to Cara and the children?

  The thought of them was what kept him going. One more step, he told himself. Just one more. And though his mind had gone numb, and his body was one aching mass of pain, he forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, walking toward the mine in the distance.

  “What’s that, Ma?” Cody pointed. “Up ahead.”

  Cara lifted a hand to shade the setting sun from her eyes and could see something along the trail. It appeared to be a man leaning against a rock, but it was impossible to tell, since the figure was nearly doubled over.

  Handing the reins to her son, Cara took aim with her rifle. Her hands were trembling as they drew near. Whoever this was, he didn’t even react to the approach of a horse and cart. He seemed not to even hear them until they were nearly on top of him.

  And then she saw his head come up. Saw his hand go to the pistol at his hip.

  “Yale.” She set aside the rifle and leapt from the cart before her son could even bring the horse to a halt.

  “Oh, Yale.” Inches from him she stopped and let out a cry at the sight of all that blood.

  “Cara?” His eyes couldn’t seem to focus. He could see someone standing in front of him, but except for the voice, he had no way of knowing her. “Is it you, Cara?”

  “It’s me, Yale.”

  He kept a death grip on the edge of rock, afraid if he let go he’d find himself sprawled in the dirt. “Why aren’t you at the mine?”

  “I was worried about you.”

  He managed a quick smile that tugged at her heartstrings. “No need to worry…Doing just fine.” Suddenly his face lost all its color and he felt himself stumble.

  Cara made a grab for him, and he leaned his full weight into her. She nearly fell over backwards, but managed to dig in her heels and wrap one of his arms around her shoulders.

  “Cody,” she shouted. “Bring the cart.”

  It was no easy matter getting Yale into the back of the cart. He kept stumbling like a drunken cowboy, taking her along with him. But finally, with the help of both her children, Cara managed to settle him into the nest of furs.

  He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “…can’t see you. But I can smell you.” He breathed her in and the grin was back. “…love the sound of your voice. It always makes me think of…” His hand went slack. His eyes seemed to roll back in his head.

  Seeing it, Cara felt her heart stop. When she found his feeble, thready heartbeat, she forced herself into action. She climbed up to the hard seat and took up the reins. Turning the horse and cart toward the mine she whipped the mare into a run.

  When they reached the entrance to the mine, there was no time to get Yale out of the cart. Instead, she climbed in beside him and tore away his shirt. At the sight of the bloody wound, she gasped in horror.

  “I’ll need water, Seth. Cody, give me a hand turning Yale. I need to see if that bullet came out, or if it’s still lodged in his body.”

  Both Cara and her son were sweating by the time they’d managed to lift and then turn the unconscious figure. The torn, jagged flesh in his back told her the bullet had gone clear through.

  “He must have been shot at close range,” she muttered as she began washing away the blood. “I wonder why the shooter didn’t finish the job?”

  “Maybe he thought Yale was already dead.” Cody knelt beside his mother, holding a blackened pot filled with water from their canteen.

  Cara lifted her skirts and removed her petticoat, tearing it into strips which she used to bind the wound tightly. Then, lifting Yale’s head, she forced several drops of water between his parched lips.

  When she covered him with the hide, he lay as still as death.

  For several long minutes she watched the uneven rise and fall of his chest, willing him to live.

  Then, because she had no idea where Fenner and his gang might be, she led the horse inside the mine where she unhitched the cart. With the help of old Sadie she and her sons struggled for another hour to return all the boulders and brush to the entrance, until she was satisfied that their hiding place wouldn’t be visible to anyone riding by.

  Little Seth shivered in the gloom of the mine.

  Seeing it, Cara wrapped an arm around him. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

  The little boy nodded.

  “And hungry, I bet.” Cara drew him close and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Thank heavens for the deer Yale was able to trap.”

  She portioned out the venison to the children, then passed around the canteen of water. Afterward she made them a cozy bed using the deer hide to buffer the cold earth, and her shawl and Yale’s coat for cover.

  As she bundled the children and knelt to kiss them good-night, Cody gave voice to the fear that was in all their hearts.

  “Will Yale die, Ma?”

  “No, son. He’s strong. He’ll fight to stay alive.”

  “Wasn’t Pa strong?”

  Cara sighed. “Yes, your pa was a strong man. But he was much older than Yale. And his injuries much more serious.”

  Cody’s voice was hushed in the darkness. “Would Pa have lived if we’d found him sooner?”

  “We’ll never know, Cody. But we can be content with the fact that we did everything we could to find him.”

  “Just like we found Yale,” Cody said.

  “Yes.” For Cara it was a startling revelation. Had she been thinking about Wyatt when she went in search of Yale? Not consciously, of course. But it seemed reasonable now to concede that his death had been hovering on the edges of her mind. Why else would she have risked her life and that of her children, leaving the safety of the mine to search for him, when he’d expressly told her to stay hidden?

  Maybe she thought of this as a second chance. A chance to be in time to save a life.

  Later, when the children were finally asleep, Cara climbed into the back of the cart and touched a hand to Yale’s forehead. He was burning with fever.

  If they were back at her cabin, she would have had so many things to comfort him and speed his healing. Lye soap, to disinfect the wound. Laudanum and whiskey to ease the pain. Chicken broth simmering over a cozy fire. A soft feather bed and even softer blankets, which she’d spun from the wool of a nearby rancher’s sheep.

  But all of that was lost to her now. All she had was a cold dark mine shaft, and a scant supply of food and water. If Yale’s wounds began bleeding she co
uldn’t even tend to them until morning. Now, with what little moonlight managed to filter through the timbers and rocks above, she could barely make out his face. But she could see his grimace of pain, and it twisted a knife in her own heart.

  “Oh, Yale.” She lay down beside him and brushed damp hair from his forehead. “Please stay with us. We need you.” She brushed a kiss over his cheek and felt a sudden rush of tears. “I need you. I’ve waited a lifetime for you. Now that you’re finally here with me, please don’t go.”

  “Not going…” He sucked in a quick breath on the white hot pain and waited until it subsided before adding, “Staying here. Right here. With you, Cara.”

  “Oh, my darling.” She couldn’t help herself. Just hearing his voice had the tears welling up and spilling over. “Oh, I’m so glad I went after you.”

  “Not half as glad as…” The rogue’s smile was still on his lips as he drifted back into oblivion.

  Cara sat with Yale throughout the night, pressing cool wet cloths to his fevered flesh, soothing him with soft words and whispered promises whenever he moaned and writhed in pain. The worst time for her was when he fell into a deep sleep, struggling for every breath, his pulse thin and reedy. It tore at her heart to see this strong, reckless man so still and quiet. For as long as she’d known him, he had always been in motion. Striding along the main street in Misery, with that cocky, careless attitude that stirred every woman’s heart. Or riding bareback across the hills, taking risks no other man would have ever considered.

  Now he was barely clinging to life. And there was nothing she could do but watch and wait.

  She hated this feeling of helplessness. But the more she railed against it, the more frustrated she became.

  Exhausted, she lay beside him.

  Drained, she found solace in sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Yale lay as still as death. Every breath burned his throat. Even the simple task of opening his eyes brought a blinding flash of pain behind his lids. His body was on fire.