Colter's Path (9781101604830) (18 page)

“Don't think so.”

“You have. There's blood coming out around your ankle.”

And there was, a small but steady flow. “Lordy!” Treemont declared. “I didn't even notice it.”

It was unnecessary then for Jedd to suggest that Treemont divest himself of his trousers. Tree did it right away, dreading but needing to know how much injury he'd suffered courtesy of that pinching, twisting tree root.

Jedd examined the leg. The knee was indeed miscolored and puffing, and Jedd knew at once that Tree was in for a period of convalescence that would probably stretch on for weeks. What really caught Jedd's attention was the source of the blood running down Treemont's ankle, however. It came from two places, on the left side of the calf and from a parallel spot on the right side. Jedd looked at it a full minute before being willing to say aloud what it was.

“Tree, you've been shot.”

“Shot? The hell!”

“It's true. You've had a ball pass clean through your calf. Looks like it went in on the left side, went on through, and came out the other side. Was your left side faced toward the creek when you went down into that space in the tree roots?”

“It was, yeah.”

Jedd instantly began scanning the terrain on the far side of the creek. The land was relatively clear up to a stand of trees that lined a smaller branch of the creek thirty yards distant. That line of trees and brush must have been the hiding place for whoever put a rifle ball through Treemont's lower leg.

“Why would anybody shoot me, Jedd?”

“No idea. You ain't been getting too close to some other argonaut's woman, or daughter, or sister or somebody, have you?”

“I've tried with a couple, but you know my luck, Jedd. The women get a scared look and run off once they figure out what I'm up to.”

“Maybe you tried too hard with one of them, and somebody close to her noticed and decided to put you out of the lecher business.”

“Or maybe it was an accidental shot.”

“I'm going to go over the creek there and look around, see what I can find that might tell us something. After we get you patched, I mean.”

“I'd like to go with you, but I don't think I'll be doing much walking for a spell. I may end up like old McSwain, making my journey to California mostly in the bed of a wagon.”

“Treemont, I don't think you'll be going to California right away. I think that knee isn't going to be up to a lot of bumping around in the back of a wagon. And you want that punctured leg muscle to heal up right, too. We'll think about all that later, though. For now let's get you on the safe side of this tree and get a bit of cloth wrapped around those bullet holes.”

They'd just gotten Treemont settled on the side of the tree away from the creek when Jedd, glancing around the trunk, caught a flash of gunmetal in the brush across the rill. He came around the tree, looking hard, figuring he'd just located the person who had wounded his friend.

He saw the rifle barrel come poking out through a bush just before it fired. He felt a sharp, cracking pain in his left ankle and fell down hard.

“I'll be drawed up and quartered, Treemont—I'm shot, too!” he exclaimed.

Treemont swore loudly and whoever was across the creek moved, rustling the brush, and then was gone.

Jedd looked down at his shattered and bloody ankle, and wondered what in the blaze of perdition was going on, and who had done it.

“Whoever it was was either a very bad shot or a very good one,” Jedd said to Wilberforce Sadler. Wilberforce had come, with Witherspoon, to see Jedd and Treemont and learn the details of their woundings. Wilberforce was evidently disturbed at the fact that someone in his enterprise
had been fired upon, even hit, but Witherspoon was an emotional wreck, weeping inconsolably.

Jedd wasn't much surprised by that: he'd seen Witherspoon weep when he saw one of the wagons crush a scampering field mouse beneath its wheels while they were still traveling toward Louisville, Kentucky.

Jedd soon found out there was more to Witherspoon's sorrows than mere upset over the inexplicable shooting incident.

Wilberforce was the one who brought it out. “Jedd, you must realize that your current crippled situation, which is likely to continue for some time yet, considering how long it can take an ankle to heal, puts a new light on your situation with us.”

“I grant you, sir, I am of much reduced value to the venture,” Jedd conceded. “But I've always healed fast and well from injuries. I've broken many a bone in my day, from fingers to ribs to arms, and never have I been out of commission for long. If you can bear with me patiently for a short time, I am certain I'll be able to carry out the most important parts of my duties.”

Wilberforce sighed and shook his head. “That is not realistic, Jedd. You can scarce hunt, scout, or give protection if you cannot even take a step. As you know, our travel has been much slowed and impeded already—mostly through the fault of the late General Lloyd, not you—and we cannot afford to be slowed again. I am sorry, Jedd, but I believe it essential for us to end our arrangement and proceed without you. You will be provided packhorses, extra mounts, and what supplies can be charitably spared, but go on without you we shall.”

As Wilberforce said that, Witherspoon moaned loudly and wept harder. Jedd could tell there was no theatricality in it; Witherspoon was authentically distressed. “I'm sorry, Jedd,” he managed to say. “I wasn't for it, argued against it, in fact—but Wilberforce…but other voices spoke out against me. I'm sorry. I don't want to see you go.”

The truth was, Jedd didn't much care if he parted from
the Sadler enterprise. He did not consider himself reliant on any particular group, individual, or agreement to make his way in the world. He could go to California with or without the Sadlers.

“What would remain of our original agreement?” Jedd asked, thinking of the provision giving him a percentage of any mining profits made by the Sadlers. “Am I to be penalized because some unknown person chose to shoot me and my partner?”

Wilberforce's smile was cold. “And are Witherspoon and I to be penalized perpetually by having to recompense in an ongoing way a man who was unable to complete his agreed task?”

“It's you who are asking me to separate from you. As I said, given a small amount of time I believe I could complete my side of our bargain without difficulty.”

“We can't afford further delays, Jedd,” Wilberforce said. He put out his hand for Jedd to shake, but Jedd was not so inclined. Wilberforce shrugged and turned away. “My best to you, Jedd. I hope your healing proceeds apace and that, should you come to California later or should you take a different direction in life, you will find much success in your undertakings.” With that, Wilberforce turned and exited the infirmary tent where Jedd and Treemont lay on cots. Treemont grunted disdainfully.

“That man, I believe, is a cheat to the very heart of him.” Realizing Witherspoon was still present to hear this said of his brother, Treemont said, “No intention of slurring your family, sir. Just speaking my mind with my usual freedom.”

“I have no argument with you,” Witherspoon said. “I am more aware than any other man of the coldness of my brother's heart and his focus upon taking care of himself above all others. I want you to know, gentlemen, that I was of the view that your situation should have been accommodated, time given for you to heal, and our journey to move forward as before. I was told just what you were: we can't afford more lost time.”

“It would be best at this point to delay in any case,”
Jedd said. “So much time was lost by General Lloyd that there is the danger of being caught in the winter snows before we complete our crossing. Safest to wait and reach the gold fields in the spring.”

“I don't question that you are right,” Witherspoon said. “I will express that same view to my brother and see if, for once, reason can prevail over ambition.” Witherspoon shook his head and moved his rotund form toward the tent door. “We should never have promised a fast crossing. That was our mistake. By making that promise we put unneeded pressure upon ourselves, the kind of pressure that can lead to hasty decisions and mistakes. Should never have done it that way.”

When Witherspoon was gone, Treemont said, “Jedd, that porky Sadler may prove to have some sense and mettle to him yet.”

“So he might, Treemont.”

Tree chuckled. “You know, Jedd, old Withers there will realize something before long that may make him shift to his brother's side. There'll be an advantage to him in you being left behind.”

“I know what you're thinking. Rachel McCall. With me out of the picture, Witherspoon will have her to himself.”

Jedd laughed and unwittingly moved his hurt ankle, which brought his laughter to an instant halt. Treemont said, “That's indeed what I was thinking. That woman is smit with you, no question of it. Pure old smit to the core of her. But not so bad as poor Withers is smit with her.”

“Smitten, Tree. Smitten. Not smit.”

“Beg pardon, schoolmaster. I'm just an unschooled old rover of the wild country. I know very little of book learning.”

“Just trying to help you out a little.”

“I'm obliged.” A long pause, and then Treemont spoke again. “Jedd, you don't think old Wilberforce would have shot us himself as a way of getting rid of us, do you? You know, so he wouldn't have to share any of his gold with you in California?”

Jedd could have admitted that the same possibility had come to his own mind. But he didn't. “I don't think he'd do that, Tree. He ain't that bad a man, surely.”

“I don't know, Jedd. Somebody surely did shoot us, and it had to be somebody with a reason. Something to gain.”

“Who knows, Tree? But let's you and me agree to be mighty cautious in speculating, especially out loud. These tent walls are mighty thin, and sound carries.”

“If it wasn't Wilberforce, then who?”

“Ben Scarlett ran into Jake Carney a short while back.”

“Jake Carney? The one who was so mad when you beat him because it made him lose the affection of his woman?”

“The same. Not that he ever really had her affection. He just wanted her and she was looking for a reason not to take him. She let that fight become her reason. She claimed that she couldn't accept a man who would lose in a fight like that. Silly sort of way to think, but like I said, she was looking for a reason.”

“You really think he'd kill you after all this time, over something as silly as that?”

“He might. Or he might just try to ruin my life for me. Turn me into a cripple.”

“But why would he shoot me, too? I never had any dealings with him, never done him any wrongs, real or 'maginary! And I was the one who got shot first!”

“It may not have been Jake Carney at all. I'm just speculating based on the fact that Ben ran into him. But if Carney was the shooter, and he recognized you out by that creek, he might have decided to injure you so I'd be drawn out there, and he'd have an opportunity at me.”

“Well…”

“I know it don't sound that convincing. And like I said, it might not be him who did it. The fact remains, though, you and me are both laid up wounded by what was surely the same man. So somebody out there had cause to do it, and Carney's been seen in the area.”

“I can't argue with that.” Treemont paused. “How long you think we'll be crips, Jedd?”

“I think we'll both be up on our feet a lot faster than old Wilberforce thinks we will. And if the Sadlers don't manage to make hay of not having the general to slow them down anymore, and keep on foot-dragging, I can easily see the day when you and me come riding up on their camp, tip our hats, and go on past and get to California before they do. Even after being left behind here.”

“You mean that?”

“I do. In fact, let's just kind of plan on doing that, huh? Because I got a feeling they ain't going to do much better without the general than they did with him. Slowness has become a habit by now. It happens.”

“Sounds good to me, passing them by.”

“My ankle hurts, Tree.”

“My knee hurts. And my leg.”

“Just another adventure to tell the grandchildren about.”

“If we ever find wives.”

“Tell you what, Tree: I'll let you have Rachel McCall.”

“Know what? I'd take her. A lot of men would. And since you've got the chance, you ought to take her yourself.”

“She ain't my kind. Besides, Witherspoon would hunt me down and gut me if I took his gal. He's a mighty frontiersman, you know. He's got the clothes to prove it.”

Treemont laughed and did not speak for a while. Then he looked at Jedd and said, “Jedd, you don't think it could have been Witherspoon who shot us, do you? You know, being jealous over the Widow McCall being smitten with you?”

“The way he was wailing and caterwauling in here a little while ago? No. I really don't think he'd do it. And I doubt he's a good enough shot to put a ball through one man's ankle and through another man's lower leg.”

“You're probably right.”

Jedd sat up, listening to the night. Treemont slept soundly, not hearing what Jedd heard faintly, but distinctly. He sat up farther, despite the pain it caused him to do so, and listened harder, to be sure he was not merely misinterpreting
some natural sound…the howling of some beast, or of the wind.

No. It was not that. Jedd listened until he was sure, then lay flat again until the sound grew faint and indistinct beyond the thickening mask of descending sleep. When morning came the sound was gone along with the darkness from which it had been born.

By midmorning, daylight and distraction had all but erased the memory of that sound from Jedd's mind.

B
eing “laid up” did not suit any aspect of Jedd Colter's temperament other than his enjoyment of solitude. His idea of good solitude, however, had nothing to do with lying on cots in tents or bedrolls in the back of a wagon. Jedd liked the solitude of the forest and plains and mountains…and a man had to be able to move to enjoy those.