Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) (36 page)

“John, this is a strong medicine. I’m familiar with the proper dose of Laudanum for an adult, but Little John is the first child I’ve ever given it to. I’m not even sure you can give opium to a child. I’m just not sure. And with Stephen missing, I’m not thinking clearly. What do you want me to do?” Jane asked, her heart worried and anxious.

She wrung her hands, nearly in a state of panic because of Stephen and mad at herself for never learning what a child’s dose should be. Before they left on their journey, Sam ordered the painkiller from Edward as part of their long supply list. Stephen
asked her to review the list, but it never occurred to her to ask about the Laudanum.

John gazed at his son, a father’s compassion filling his eyes.

Suffering terribly, Little John whimpered pitifully. Exhausted from the excitement of the day and enduring severe pain, it seemed as if he didn’t have the strength left to cry.

Jane touched Little John’s face and feet. He felt cold as ice. She covered the shivering boy with a wool blanket while John removed his boots and stockings, both soaked through. John rubbed his son’s toes vigorously between his hands trying to warm them while she thought about what to do.

“Would you give it to one of your girls if they were suffering?” John asked.

She recalled the suffering her two girls had endured before they died. “It’s your decision John,” she said quietly.

“Give it to him. I can’t stand to see him suffer like this.”

The rain continued to patter steadily on the wagon cover.

Jane turned so Little John couldn’t hear her and whispered, “I’m still not sure. If he overdoses, it might kill him.”

John reached for Little John’s small hand on his uninjured side and kissed it.

Tears now glistened through the pain in the boy’s red eyes.

“How much would you give me?” John asked. “He weighs about a fourth of what I weigh. Divide an adult dose in fourths.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just do it, now!”

Still apprehensive, she took a deep breath, carefully measured
the dose, and gave the drug to Little John. “God let that be the right amount,” she whispered to herself.

“Pa, Uncle Sam said I’m a real hunter now,” Little John said, his voice weak. The boy soon closed his eyes.

John and Jane both held their breath until they saw him breathing evenly. Within seconds, he slept soundly, his little hand still clutching the small rope that had tethered his pain.

“Yes son, you’re a real hunter now,” John said, sounding relieved that his son’s suffering had ended at least for the moment. “I’ll stay with him and get him out of these wet clothes. You’ve done all you can. He’ll be able to sleep now.”

“His spare clothes are in this bag. I’ll make him a better splint and sling as soon as the weather clears and I’ll put it on him in the morning.”

“Thank you Jane. Little John’s mother and I are both grateful for your help.”

“I’d better go check on Martha and Polly. I’m sure they’re both worried about Little John and their father.”

She was too. Something told her Stephen was in serious trouble.

“Jane,” John said. “They’ll find him.”

CHAPTER 39

J
ane climbed out of the wagon, and searched for Stephen’s brothers, relieved to see their horses gone. They had taken Stephen’s horse too.

She started pacing in the rain. Her hair felt heavy on her back. Her muddy boots felt leaden. All the trees drooped with heavy branches. And her heart wilted with the weight of her worries.

She stared into the dismal gloom. Where was he?

For a moment, she contemplated saddling her mare and following them, but then remembered that Little John might still need her. He could have other injuries and she wanted to be there when he woke. She also didn’t want to leave her daughters.

She would just have to put her trust in Sam and the others.

They would find Stephen and he would to be all right. He had to be. That’s all there is to it, she decided, as though her strong will would be enough to save him from whatever dangers he faced.

With some difficulty, Sam got them close to the spot where they had crossed the rising waters.

There was no sign of Stephen.

The water flowed harder and higher now. The churning muddy waters rushed past them with amazing force, carrying branches and other debris. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to pass to the other side.

The men stuck together. Conditions were too unsafe to split up. They followed the west bank heading north, hoping that Stephen had made it across to the correct bank and that the rising water hadn’t trapped him somewhere downstream.

Sam theorized that the wall of water they saw coming would have carried his brother south. But Stephen would have realized this and headed north to try to get back to where he’d entered the water. Without landmarks though, it would be easy for Stephen to become confused.

Sam and the others urged their horses, unhappy with the conditions, to continue plodding through the standing water. Each of the men repeatedly dug their heels into their mounts’ sides.

A straight route was difficult as they continually encountered impassable areas where the creek was out of its banks. He steered them around these boggy areas, and led the way through thick trees and tangled undergrowth.

Haste was difficult. Only their concern for Stephen kept them moving forward.

When they were able, they fanned out about thirty feet apart to cover a wider area as they searched. They tried calling Stephen’s name, but they could barely hear each other through the rain, and quickly gave up that effort.

Instead, they focused on trying to find some clue that Stephen had passed this way. If he hadn’t, his brother could be in serious
trouble because they wouldn’t find him tonight. If conditions worsened, they could be in trouble too. Trudging through mud and water was causing the horses to tire. Soon their mounts wouldn’t have the strength to continue.

But Stephen needed help, so Sam pushed Alex and the group even harder.

After some time, the heavy deluge finally let up, and the swiftly flowing waters began to slow and recede. They still rode through a fine mist that felt like a liquid breeze.

Bear motioned Sam and William over to him. He pointed to a torn branch.

“The storm may have broken it,” Sam said.

Suddenly, Camel reared—not an easy task for a horse carrying a man of Bear’s size.

Sam glanced down. A large Copperhead, with dark hourglass shaped cross bands, slithered between Camel’s legs, skimming the top of the shallow water. Bear managed to stay in the saddle, but now all four spooked horses snorted and pawed the ground, sidestepping into each other in panic.

William’s mount abruptly cut to the right while Stephen’s horse, led by William, jerked to the left. William ended up laying on his stomach in about three inches of muddy water, facing the yellow elliptical eyes of the snake, now coiled near William’s head on a piece of rotting wood.

“Son of a...” William hissed.

“Don’t move,” Sam warned. “I know you want to bolt, but don’t.”

William froze, not even breathing, and kept his wide eyes on the snake.

They’d all seen what a Copperhead bite meant. Although seldom lethal, the bite made a large area of skin and muscle turn black with rot. The putrefaction often had to be cut out causing great pain and disfigurement. In addition, the victim quickly experienced extreme pain, tingling, throbbing, swelling, and severe nausea.

Menacingly, the Copperhead repeatedly stuck out a long red forked tongue, then it coiled tighter preparing to strike William’s face. A bite to the head could be lethal.

Sam unsheathed his knife, aimed carefully through the rain, and threw but with his wet raw hands, missed. He swiftly jumped from his horse, distracting the still coiled snake from William.

He would have to be fast. Quicker than the snake and that was saying a lot. And he could not miss again. Sam stepped toward the snake gripping his hatchet. His other hand reached for the end of the piece of wood holding the snake. The snake opened its jaws to strike. With a loud howl and supernatural speed, Sam struck, slicing the snake’s head off and hacking the wood in two. Pieces of bark and snake flew in two different directions.

William let out a slow breath at the sight of the viper’s severed head and twitching body. With trembling hands, he pulled Sam’s knife from the muddy water and handed it back to him. “Thanks, I owe you one.”

Sam put the snake’s yard-long body in a sack and stuffed it into his saddlebag. It was food and food was something he never wasted.

“Quit playin’ with that snake. Let’s go,” Bear said, returning with three mounts. Alex had quickly joined Stephen and William’s horses.

“How far do you think Stephen could have gone?” William
asked, mounting his horse and still looking a little shaken. “Could the water have carried him downstream from where you crossed?”

Sam peered over at the now smaller steam of muddy water to his right, barely visible in the fading evening light. Stephen must have sought shelter. He could also have tried to find their camp. Or, if Stephen had gotten turned around and crossed to the wrong bank, he could be anywhere by now. They could be getting further away from him with each step of the horses. Yet his instincts pointed him north and the broken branch gave him a small hope that he was right.

“Sam?” William asked again.

“Stay quiet, start listening, and stop talking,” Sam said harshly, fatigue catching up to him.

The three rode in silence until Sam stopped. He dismounted and motioned for the other two to do the same and then he started walking, leading his horse. Immediately, without the creaking of saddle leather beneath their weight, it was quieter.

About a quarter mile up, Sam tied Alex. He motioned for Bear and William to do the same, then said, “We’ll walk from here. It’ll be harder going for us, but at least we’ll be able to hear. I can’t hear a damn thing with four horses splashing through this muck.”

They trudged some distance in silence, their feet beginning to freeze in the cold water. Until now, he had successfully fought the cold, but at this point, his teeth began to chatter. He’d been wet and in the storm for hours. Every step was grueling, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. The clearing skies and a sliver of moon allowed him to stare into the gloomy darkness ahead.

Sam heard a wolf howl. The skin on the back of his neck
prickled. Then a second wolf howled. “Hurry,” he yelled, taking off at a near run.

The three splashed through standing water for several minutes and then William slipped and fell to his knees. Sam and Bear kept going.

“Stephen,” Sam screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Stephen,” Bear roared even louder.

Sam dashed ahead with only his instincts to guide him as to where the wolf howls had come from.

William caught up to them. “Did you hear him?” he yelled.

“Just keep going,” Sam shouted, struggling now to continue rushing. He slowed somewhat, but motioned the other two to keep on. He sensed Stephen was ahead and that his brother needed them.

Bear turned on the speed and charged through the timber, reminding Sam of a real Bear on the run. William trailed closely behind him.

Sam heard a rifle being fired, probably Bear’s. Bear usually managed to keep his powder dry. In inclement weather, he and Bear both kept their rifles and powder wrapped tightly in deer hide. But even with that precaution, in weather like this, dry powder required a small miracle.

Within moments, he saw Bear standing over a large dead wolf, its silver-black hair fluttering in the stiff breeze. Blood oozed from a hole in its side where Bear’s bullet entered.

“Keep going, there’s another one!” Sam yelled.

The men ran another few yards and found it. The wolf looked like it could barely run, dragging one of its back legs. Its defiant
yellow eyes glowed bright with viciousness, even in the dim moonlight. The wounded black monster snarled at them through a bloodied mouth and teeth stained red.

“Bloody hell,” Sam said at the sight.

CHAPTER 40

S
am heaved his knife, this time hitting his growling target.

They all heard the sound of the blade slamming into the wolf’s thick chest followed by the animal’s dying whine.

Sam quickly retrieved his knife and they continued searching.

It didn’t take long.

Stephen lay nearby under a tree canopy, his knife clutched in one hand, his hatchet in the other. Both were bloodied. His throat torn, blood pooled at the base of his neck.

Sam froze for a moment, his mind denying what his eyes were telling him. Then he sprung towards Stephen as Bear and William also rushed to their brother’s side. Stephen’s face and hands were nearly blue with cold and loss of blood. Sam took a quick look at the neck wound and motioned for Bear to put his hand against the tear to stop the bleeding. The laceration didn’t appear to be deep, but the ragged gash was about three inches long. William pulled off his cravat, folded the necktie into a bandage as best he could, and then tied it around Stephen’s neck.