The Dawn of Fury (49 page)

“I got your rifle as quick as I could,” she said. “You're bad hurt.”

“Yeah,” said Nathan. “I'm losing blood. Take my bandanna and knot it tight, just above the thigh wound. The others will have to wait. Bring me my horse. We must find water, make camp.”

Somehow Nathan mounted his horse, and with Lacy leading the packhorse, they rode on. Cotton Blossom followed, leaving a trail of blood. The water, when they reached it, was a spring. Nathan was dizzy and all but fell out of the saddle. Lacy unsaddled the horses and managed to remove the packsaddle from the packhorse. She spread Nathan's blankets, brought his saddle for a pillow, and helped him to lie down.

“I'll get a fire going,” Lacy said, “and boil some water. I've never done anything like this before. You'll have to help me.”

Nathan said nothing. Unlike gunshot wounds, which for a while were numb, knife and arrow wounds wasted no time. They hurt like hell immediately. Lacy learned quickly, and despite her inexperience, she kept her nerve at the sight of blood. With steady hands, she cleansed the wounds with the hot water. The arrow had cut through the flesh of the upper arm, and when the shaft had been broken, the deadly missive was easily removed. The knife wounds were far more serious. The blade had gone deep, and cleansing them did little to stop the bleeding.

“Bring some mud from the spring,” Nathan said. “Lay it on thick over the knife wounds. If we can't stop the bleeding, I'm done.”

Lacy brought the mud and halted the bleeding. She applied disinfectant—fiery alcohol—to the less serious arrow wound and bound it with muslin. She then covered Nathan with one of the blankets. Little more could be done until they were sure the bleeding had stopped.

“Cotton Blossom's cut near as bad as you,” said Lacy. “While we wait for your bleeding to stop, I'll see to him, if he'll let me.”

“If he's hurtin' half as bad as me, he'll let you,” Nathan said.

Timid at first, Lacy approached Cotton Blossom with the pot of hot water and some of the clean muslin.

“I won't hurt you any worse than you're hurtin' already, Cotton Blossom,” said the girl. “Just rest easy and let me work on you.”

Cotton Blossom didn't flinch as she washed the blood from his many cuts. Some of them needed an application of mud to stop the bleeding, while others could be cleansed with hot water and disinfectant.

“You can't bandage him,” Nathan said. “When you've cleaned the wounds and applied disinfectant, use a coat of sulfur salve. There's a tin of it in my saddlebag.”
²²

By the time Lacy went to the saddlebag for the sulfur salve, Nathan was snoring. She found the tin of salve, but in so doing, discovered the canvas bag that contained ten thousand dollars in double eagles. It all but took her breath away, for she had never seen more than a handful of the coins in her life. How could one man honestly accumulate such riches? Had she rid herself of one outlaw only to tie in with another? The more she considered the possibility, the less likely it seemed. She had conspired with Virg Dillard to murder Nathan Stone while he slept. Nathan had, on the other hand, treated her only with kindness, never once even suggesting that she sleep with him. Now he was hurt and needed her, but she had a horse and a sackful of gold for the taking. She fought down the temptation, ashamed of having considered it. She carefully replaced the canvas sack in the saddlebag, fastening the buckle afterward. She smeared Cotton Blossom's wounds with the salve and he watched her every move.

“Now, don't you lick that off,” she said reprovingly.

It was time to look at Nathan's knife wounds again, to see if the thick coat of mud had stopped the bleeding. He awoke when she turned back the two blankets.

“The pain's eased up some,” said Nathan. “The mud's doing more good than the medicine.”

“I think we'd better go with the medicine,” Lacy said, “unless there's still some bleeding.”

But when she removed the mud packs from the wounds, the bleeding had stopped. After again cleansing the wounds with warm water, she applied plenty of disinfectant.

“Damn,” said Nathan, “that alcohol must be a hundred and fifty proof. It's more painful than the wounds.”

“When you're able,” she said, “I want you to teach me to fire a gun.”

“You did right well a while ago,” he replied.

“But if I'd had a gun of my own and had known how to use it, you wouldn't have been cut so bad.”

“That's behind us,” said Nathan, “but this being the frontier, you ought to be able to defend yourself. I'll teach you to shoot.”

Lacy cooked supper and doused the fire well before dark. She gave Nathan some laudanum to help him sleep, and by midnight he had a raging fever. She gave him whiskey. He was still feverish at dawn and she forced him to take more whiskey. Cotton Blossom remained in camp and it appeared he hadn't licked the wounds she had doctored with the salve. Nathan slept all day, and when he awoke near suppertime, he was sweating.

“Lord,” he said, “get these blankets off me. I feel like I've been spitted over a slow fire, and all I can taste is that God-awful whiskey. I need water and plenty of it.”

It took two weeks for Nathan to heal enough to resume the journey to Colorado. He spent much of the time instructing Lacy in the use of a Colt revolver. She practiced “dry firing,” lest the actual shots be heard by unwelcome visitors, and by the time Nathan was again able to ride, she had become adept at drawing and cocking the Colt.

“Once we reach a store with guns for sale,” Nathan said, “I'll get you a Colt pocket pistol. It's deadly as either of mine, but it's a .31 caliber, not quite so heavy, and with a shorter barrel.”

After Nathan had been wounded, Lacy had taken to spreading her blankets close to his, until one night, they overlapped.

“Lacy,” he said, “I ... I'm not ready for anything to ... happen.”

“I'm old enough to know my own mind,” she snapped. “Whatever happens, I'm not expecting anything from you.”

“I believe you,” said Nathan, “but a man's responsible for what he does. If he compromises a woman with no intention of standing by her, then he's less of a man. All you know about me is that I'm from Virginia, that I rode West after the war. I'm riding a vengeance trail, Lacy, and there's no place for a woman.”

“A woman can make a place for herself,” Lacy said. “Why do you think I'm learning to fire a gun? You were so interested in Virg Dillard, I felt like it was him—or one like him—that you're after.”

“Lacy, Dillard was the third of seven men I've sworn to kill.”

“Then I don't feel so bad about you killing him,” she said. “He must have done somethin' awful.”

“He did,” said Nathan. “Him and six riding with him.”

She deserved to know the truth, and without sparing himself, he told her. She listened in silence, and it was a while after he finished before she spoke. When she did, her reaction was much like Eulie's had been.

“Why couldn't I have had a family that meant as much to me as yours did to you?” she asked. “You made a promise, and I understand your need to keep it. It's the last thing you'll ever be able to do for your Pa. Let me ride with you as far as I can, as far as you want me. I've never had much, Nathan, and I'm taking what I can get, while I can get it. You don't hold that against me, do you?”

“No,” Nathan said. “We all have to play out each hand as the cards are dealt to us. I don't spend all my time shooting no-account skunks. I'm a gambling man, and I'm not broke. When we come to a town, I'll stake you to some finery.”

“I've never had finery,” she said, “and I don't know that I'd want any. But I would like to have more than one shirt and one pair of Levi's, and the Colt pistol. I've been afraid most of my life, and I don't want to live the rest of it that way.”

Nathan reined up his horse near a creek. There he saw the very thing he had been dreading. All the animals had been shod. The tracks led in from the east and fanned out toward the northwest, the same direction he and Lacy were riding. Nathan counted the tracks of at least twenty horses as he rode. While there were some Union forts in Indian Territory, it was doubtful any of them could muster a patrol large enough to account for so many horses. A more sinister possibility was that these riders were renegades.

“There were so many horses,” said Lacy, “these must have been the outlaws Virg rode with.”

“I have no doubt they are,” Nathan said. “Twenty horses or more, and they're somewhere ahead of us, maybe just a few hours. But if they're bound for a raid, it'll have to be in Kansas. Texas is the other way.”

The next morning, after they had first seen the tracks, Nathan was loading the packhorse when he heard the distant rattle of gunfire. It was loud enough for Lacy to hear it too, for the wind was out of the northwest.

“Mount up,” said Nathan. “I've been expecting us to catch up to that bunch. They've got one hell of a fight going with somebody. Whoever it is, I expect they're needin' all the help they can get.”

“But there's just one of you,” Lacy protested. “I haven't actually fired a Colt, and I don't have a rifle. Nathan, that's not our fight.”

“It will be,” said Nathan grimly, “and I'm of a mind to pitch in while I've got some help. How long do you think we can ride the back trail of that many outlaws without them turning on us?”

“I was hoping we might stay far enough behind them ...”

“Lacy,” Nathan said, “when you hide in the brush to avoid a fight, you always lose, because you're always at the mercy of your enemy, whatever move he chooses to make. That hard experience and two hunks of lead is all I have to show for my years with Mr. Lee's army. I want you to stay put and hold the horses. Nothing more. In a strategic position, one man with a Winchester can make a hell of a difference in anybody's fight. Now let's ride.”

She mounted, keeping her silence, but Nathan sensed she wasn't pleased with his decision. So be it. Men did what they must, anticipating victory, without agonizing over the consequences of possible defeat. As they drew near the conflict, Nathan reined up. There was a tree-lined ridge ahead, and the conflict was such that powder smoke rose from the brush.

“Lacy,” said Nathan, “I want you to remain here, out of sight. Tie the packhorse and your own mount. I aim to flank this fight and see just who's shooting at who.”

He rode west until he was past the line of skirmishers on the ridge. He then rode north until he reached the crest of the same ridge, and from there he could see the powder smoke rising from the opposite ridge. The men under fire, whoever they were, had been trapped in a thicket that partially concealed a shallow arroyo where the foot of one ridge joined that of the other. The slopes of the ridges didn't have enough cover to conceal a cottontail. The defenders were caught in a withering crossfire, and as Nathan watched, one of them was hit. He staggered from cover and was hit again. He wore the blue of a Union soldier. Nathan rode along the ridge until he reached the first man's position. Saving his Winchester, he drew his Colt and cut down the outlaw. He rode on, taking out a second man. The roar of his Colt was lost in the fire from the long guns, and while the concealed men ahead of him were unaware of his presence, their comrades on the next ridge had spotted him. They began shooting at Nathan instead of the men in blue, but he was out of range. He continued along the ridge, and as he eliminated the riflemen, their confederates began to notice the diminishing fire from their line. The last three or four backed away from the crest of the ridge and stood up, and what they saw sent them running for their horses. Nathan holstered his Colt and cut loose with the Winchester. He knocked down one of the fleeing men while the others escaped into the brush along the upper end of the ridge. Nathan heard a slight noise and found Cotton Blossom approaching from the rear. The dog had bowed out, for there had been too many guns and too many men. The firing from the opposite ridge had ceased, and as a result, there was no more firing from the besieged men below.