Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01] (10 page)

“No, thanks. You go on ahead.”

He nudged his horse up the trail and, checking the wind direction, rode on around the area. He should have told her to give him half an hour. Ransom left his horse higher on the ridge and made his way down to take up a shooting position off one of the larger tracks.
Okay, Mor, anytime now.
The silence that had greeted him slipped away, overcome by the sounds of the forest. A dove called off to the right. Something small scratched in the leaves. How could he be so lucky as to not have a crow announce the presence of a stranger? The wind sighed in the tops of the pine trees. He inhaled a deep breath of forest perfume, redolent of pine, rotting leaves, and fall.

Holding his rifle at the ready, he listened. Was that his mother’s horse snapping twigs and moving rocks?

Two bucks broke through the brush, heading right toward him. He sighted and fired. One down. Tracking the other, he shot again. Two down. He waited to see if they would move. Three does rushed past his hiding place, but he ignored them and made his way to the closest buck. Clean shot, right in the heart. He slit the animal’s throat to let it bleed out and went back down to the first one. As he was bending down to slit the throat, he heard his mother’s voice.

“Did you get one?” she called.

“No, I got two.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Congratulations.”

Ransom counted the points: one had six and the other four. Good-sized mule deer and in excellent condition. This had been a good year for the animals, plenty of feed, and they’d seen twin fawns with many of the does. They liked the apples that fell from the trees not far from the ranch house. His father had planted them when he first settled the land.

“Lucas will be happy with those sets of antlers,” he said when his mother rode in.

“You did well. I thought it maybe took two shots to down one.” Mavis dismounted and pulled her knife from its sheath. “I’ll start on this one.”

Between the two of them, they soon had the deer gutted and slung across their horses’ rumps, behind the saddles. They tied them in place and then mounted to head home.

“Well, you think the hotel might like one? And we’ll keep the other? I want both hides.”

“Either that or JD might like one. He’s not done much hunting since his accident.” They rode back to the ranch and hung both deer up with the pulley. Skinning a deer was like skinning a rabbit. Cut the skin around the rear legs and pull it down and off the front legs. Mavis folded one hide while Ransom finished the other.

“I guess we’ll have dinner at the house after all,” she said. “It’s not much after noon. Thanks for asking me to go along. I needed some time out in the woods for a change.” She patted his shoulder. “And with you.” She paused at the door. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

Ransom finished by wrapping clean sheeting around the carcasses. He gathered up that used on the first elk and dumped it in a tub of water to soak before picking up the bucket that held the hearts and livers and making his way to the house. Fried liver sounded right good for dinner.

“I wish Gretchen had taken her horse in after all,” Ransom said after finishing his last bit of liver sometime later. “Now I’ll have to go get her.”

“I thought she was coming home with the Hendersons.”

“They make too many stops dropping off other kids.”

“I’m surprised Lucas isn’t back yet.”

“Maybe he stopped to swap tales at the store. Prob’ly some of the old-timers chewin’ the fat there.”

“Most likely.” She refilled their coffee cups and sat back down. “I finished that wood carrier last night. It’s in the woodbox. See how it goes.” She propped her elbows on the table and sipped from her coffee cup. “When I make the ones out of leather, I’ll use rivets at the stress points.”

“Prob’ly last a hundred years or so.”

“Well, it never pays to build something flimsy, you know.”

Ransom recognized the quote from his father. When Ivar Engstrom built something, it was built to last.
Flimsy
was near to a swearword for him. “Liver and onions for supper?”

“One of your pa’s favorites. This seems to be a remembering kind of day.”

He watched her face. Whatever she was thinking on was definitely a good one. Ransom left her at the table and, grabbing the new carrier off the edge of the box, headed for the woodpile. That was another thing to be done before winter set in—stack this pile of split wood and start working on the tree that needed to be cut to shorter lengths for the cookstove. The longer lengths would be stacked for use in the fireplace and when needed would be piled on the porch near the door. The roof’s overhang would keep the wood dry and handy. If only he could keep the mice from nesting there. He’d seen a pack rat scurrying away down the porch. Who knew what they’d find in its nest when they got down to it. One year they’d found two shiny buttons and a thimble that Mor had accused someone of misplacing. They’d torn the house apart looking for it.

He set the log carrier down, and it flopped open. Stacking the wood on it, about twice the amount he could carry in his arms, he grabbed the handles and hauled the load inside.

“Works, eh?”

“Yep. A real muscle builder, that one.” He dumped it into the box and continued on to do the same with the wood for the fireplace. Outside, after he’d stacked kitchen wood for about an hour, he loaded up again and carried it in. “You need to make one for the front porch too. This is right handy.”

“You better head on over to get Gretchen. School’s about out.”

“And no Lucas. Surely he didn’t stop off somewhere.”

“He better not have.” The look in his mother’s eyes said there would be misery to pay if he did. After her husband died, she swore there would never be a drop of liquor in her house again. Or in anyone, if they wanted to stay.

What else could have kept him? Ransom went out to the corral and whistled for Gray Bar, his favorite mount. He tied the horse in the opening of the barn after a struggle to get him near the door. Gray Bar did not like the smell of blood, so Ransom never took this horse hunting.

He was tightening the cinch to go to town to get Gretchen when he heard a dog bark. He’d wondered where Benny was, but the dog often went visiting if a female from miles around came in heat. Most likely some other ranch or even a family in town would have puppies in a couple of months.

He heard something in the distance and could see the Henderson wagon drawing near. He took off the saddle and let Gray Bar back in the field with the other horses. No trip to town necessary.

Gretchen yelled at him when the wagon drew near enough. “Guess what happened at school today!”

Ransom’s stomach clenched. Now what?

Gretchen and the others groaned. “Two boys got in a fight, and we all had to make up time.”

A sigh released Ransom’s tight muscles. “You better get a move on.”

North Dakota

C
assie ran back to the gully with a blanket in her arms.

Micah met her, shaking his head.

“Is she still alive?”

“Barely.”

Cassie handed him the blanket and knelt by the woman, ignoring the growls of the dog, warning her away. She felt the woman’s forehead. No fever. Instead, she was very cold. “How long do you think she’s been here?”

“At least a day. If the snow was still here, she’d be dead by now.” Chief and Micah spread the blanket between them and laid it on the ground. “You hold her leg while we lift.”

“But the dog . . .”

“Shoot if it attacks.”

Cassie gulped. She couldn’t shoot a dog. But she couldn’t let it rip a hole in one of the men either. Should she run back to the wagon and get her pistol? “Please, dog, we’re just trying to help her. You brought us here. Now let us help.”

The dog continued to growl, but it sat down just beyond the blanket, watching the woman, then glancing at the men.

Cassie studied the leg. At least there were no bones poking through the skin. She touched the swollen lower leg, but the woman didn’t respond. Perhaps her being unconscious was a good thing. “Roll one side of the blanket and lay it next to her. We can scoot her over easier than lifting her.” Micah did as she suggested.

Chief knelt beside Cassie and ran his hands over the leg. “We will set it now.”

“Set it?”

He nodded. “Before she wake up.”

If she wakes up.
Cassie’s mind finished his statement.

“Let me get some wrappings. What can we use for a splint?” She’d watched the doctor who’d accompanied the Wild West Show care for those who got injured and sometimes helped him, so she had a smattering of medical knowledge. Broken bones happened often to rodeo riders. But then there wasn’t this lag time between the break and the setting. What could they do?

Chief thought for a moment. “Micah, pull one board off storage box under wagon.”

Micah and Cassie both climbed up the side of the gully and ran to the wagon. While Micah got the board, Cassie rushed to drop the steps and tripped going up.
Saved by the door
, she thought as she pushed into the wagon and pulled open a cupboard that held the bedsheets and some other linens. Good thing that
Uncle
Jason liked the finer things of life. She threw one sheet on her bed and, with the other in her arms, hustled back to the woman. Chief took out his knife and cut the edges so she could rip the sheets into usable widths. When Micah returned with a board—one that wasn’t essential for the integrity of the storage box, he assured her—she wrapped some of the strips around it quickly.

“Ready?” Chief looked at Cassie and at Micah, and both nodded. Cassie chewed on her bottom lip. What if they made it worse? What if they killed her while trying to help her?
God, please
. She had no time to continue praying or thinking.

Cassie instructed the chief to kneel by the woman’s leg while Cassie knelt by her foot and Micah by her head. “Micah, put your hands on her shoulders and hold her steady.”

“You’ve done this before?” he asked.

“I’ve helped the doctor.”

“Good.” Micah swallowed hard.

“Chief, get a good grip on her thigh.”

Chief grasped the woman’s thigh while Cassie gripped her ankle with both hands.

“I’m going to pull hard but not jerk.” Cassie felt sweat break out on her forehead and neck. “Ready?”

Both men nodded.

“One, two, three.”

Cassie pulled, the woman jerked, and the leg gave a muffled snap. Chief probed the shin again and nodded. The leg lay straight and the woman was still breathing. Laying the padded board along the outside of the swollen leg, Cassie began wrapping the board to the leg. Since their splint was longer than the leg, she wrapped the two together so that the board ended at the sole of the woman’s foot with the other end nearly to her waist. When she tied the final knot, she nodded and the two men carefully moved their patient to the blanket.

Cassie glanced at Micah and saw that his face had gone white. She hoped hers had not done the same as she wiped the sweat away with the back of her hand. “We’ll put her on my bed. I’ll go get it ready. You bring her as gently as you can.” She slipped on the gravel going up the gully wall but grabbed a bush for balance and kept on moving. Hearing the dog growling again, she ran faster. They didn’t need another injury to go along with this one. In the wagon she pulled off the blankets and smoothed out the sheet on the bed. They’d use the clean one over her and add the quilt on top of that. They had to get her warmed up. People could die from exposure to the cold, let alone an injury this severe.

A yelp from outside and an expletive she didn’t understand brought her to the doorway. Chief had his back to her, hands gripping two of the blanket corners, thus supporting the woman’s shoulders and head as they started up the steps. Micah carried the woman’s feet, trying to keep the blanket firm enough to keep the splint from putting more pressure on the woman’s body. Slowly Chief found his footing and backed into the wagon, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. When Micah was in the now crowded wagon, they eased their patient onto the bunk bed.

A suffocating odor made Cassie gag and head for the open door. Staring out at the sage- and juniper-covered land and sucking clean air, she tried to figure out what to do. They had to clean the Indian woman up. But how to get her clothing off and bathe her in the cramped space of the bunk bed? All without vomiting from the stench. The cotton skirt would be the easiest part. Could she ask the men to help her? It certainly wouldn’t be proper and might scare the woman to death if she awakened while they were undressing her.

She stepped back in at hearing some lids clatter.

“We pull off the road and stay here tonight.” Chief nodded to Micah, who slipped out the door and climbed up on the wagon seat. He backed the wagon and then clucked the team ahead.

Wind Dancer. Without a thought Cassie jumped out the door and landed running. Her horse, still tied to the same bush, nickered when he saw her. Othello trotted beside her. “Where’s the other dog?” Cassie asked, as if Othello could answer.

She untied the reins and led Wind Dancer back to the wagon, which had now been pulled off the road onto a level space, and tied him up at the wheel. A growl from under the wagon answered her question.

Inside the wagon Chief had the fire going and a pot of water on to heat.

“Has she responded?”

He shook his head.

“I’m going to clean her up. If I need help removing her clothes . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Cut them off.”

“Oh.”

He handed her his knife. “I will round up cattle.”

Cassie swallowed against the lump that had taken up residence in her throat. Vomiting was not to be tolerated. She watched Chief leave the room and turned her attention to the woman. “Who are you?” she whispered, laying the back of her hand against the woman’s forehead. Her dark hair lay twisted in two braids. Cassie gently probed the woman’s head and found a lump the size of a duck egg on the back. Wishing she could see if there was any blood, she dipped a cloth in water and applied it to the spongy lump. The cloth showed dirt but no blood. Was this head injury the reason she was sleeping on instead of screaming out the pain when they set the bone and then moved her?

Before the water was too hot, Cassie used the soap from her trunk and washed the woman’s face and her hands. Her skirt was badly torn, so that made it easier to rip and remove. Several scrapes had scabbed over on her legs. By the time Cassie was finished, she and the room were hot from the heat of the stove, and she had a second kettle of water heating. She collapsed onto a chair, wiping the sweat that was starting to drip into her eyes and stared at her charge.

Chief entered the wagon and pulled the rabbits out of one of the pans. “Cook outside. Cattle are grazing while Micah guards.”

“Good. Would you please open the hatch to air it out in here?” At his nod, she picked up the sparse mound of clothing and dumped it outside to be scrubbed later. The woman slept on. Was there a difference between being unconscious and regular sleeping? Cassie watched the woman breathe. Her lungs seemed to be working all right. Was this normal for a head wound and a broken leg?

If only she could ask Doc her questions. If he were there, he would tell her what to do. That thought took her right back to the Wild West Show. Even as a little girl she had been fascinated by medical things, dogging the doctor when he took care of the troupe. He finally started letting her help with simple things like bringing water for a patient to drink or sweeping the tent floor or rolling bandages. When she progressed to holding a patient’s hand, the smiles as they thanked her were her reward. After nursing her father once when he was sick, she was called on to sit with the wounded or injured even more. While her mother had figured this interest kept her out of trouble, Doc had come to depend on her for simple nursing care of his patients. But nothing like this.

She had to get the wet sheet out from under the woman and a dry one in place. Finally she rolled the wet sheet up from the other side of her patient, laid the dry one in place, and heaved a sigh. She couldn’t roll her over alone.

Stepping out the door, she called Chief and asked him to help. She covered the woman with a blanket, and the two of them rolled her over onto the dry sheet, pulled out the wet one, and tugged the dry one under her. Cassie cracked her head on the bunk above her and stepped back to rub the sore spot.

“Thank you. I hope we don’t have to do that again.” When the woman lay clean and dry under the sheet and quilt, Cassie felt weariness roll over her in waves. What if the woman died and they had done all this for nothing? She sank onto the lone chair and propped her elbows up on the fold-down table. The breeze blowing into the wagon was turning her sweat to cold. She pushed the hatch cover up enough to free the board propping it open, and darkness took over the wagon.

When she finally stepped outside, the sun was setting, flinging banners of orange and vermilion against the clouds, setting them afire. All the horses but the one Micah was riding were grazing with the cattle and buffalo. The scene brought her a sense of peace, filling her heart and soul. The breeze bore the tang of sagebrush and juniper, blowing away the stench from inside the wagon.

The woman, if only they knew her name, would have nothing to wear unless her clothes were scrubbed and boiled. The chances of her needing clothing by the morning were so slim that Cassie decided to heat the water for washing the clothes over the campfire after supper. It wasn’t like she had a lot to wash. She would hang them in the wagon to dry. Having made that decision, she wandered over to the fire, where Chief had the rabbits sizzling on sticks over the flames.

“My, but that smells good.” She pulled in a deep breath. “It’ll probably bring coyotes from miles away. We better watch the dogs tonight.”

“That one hasn’t left his spot since we stopped wagon.”

“Are he and Othello doing all right together?”

“Not together,” the chief said. “Othello off with Micah.”

“Oh. Did anyone give it something to eat?”

“Get bones from supper.”

“I see. If she lives, she has her dog to thank.” Cassie cupped her elbows in her hands. “What do you know about her?”

“She is Lakota Sioux.”

Cassie refrained from asking him how he knew. “She’s not very old, I think.”

“More than you.”

“We need to make her drink.”

“Drip warm water into mouth.”

“Of course.” Cassie turned back to the wagon. She should have thought of that. The clouds were turning dark purple and gray, the air colder. The spectacle was over for another day. Time to light a lamp and see if she could manage to get a little water into their guest. She moseyed back and climbed the steps.
Please, Lord, keep her alive and make her well again.

The three of them took turns during the night, spooning liquid into their patient and the men checking on the herd. While it took Cassie several tries at first, now the woman opened her mouth when the spoon touched her lips. The men were already rounding up the cattle in the morning when Cassie tried again. This time the woman’s eyelashes fluttered.