“What are you doing?”
She could barely make out his moving lips in the low light but saw enough to say, “I’m going to help him.”
Clay’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you’re not.” He was on his feet faster than she would have thought he could move. He stepped closer to her, lowering his head to be level with hers. “We know nothing about this man. He could be dangerous.”
He repeated the phrase, and she shook her head when she made out what he was saying. “If he were going to hurt us, he would have by now. Besides,” she turned to look across the room. “From the look on his face, I think he’s in too much pain to do much even if he wanted to.” He stared at her for a long moment before blowing out a breath. Then he let go of her arm.
She smiled and turned back to the man in the corner. Helping him was the right thing to do, but she’d admit to no one how scared she was at the idea of it. The stories she heard about Indians weren’t good, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was truth and how much was embellished. Not that it mattered now. They were in the middle of nowhere, trapped in a cabin by a storm that was still raging.
She took a hesitant step, the floorboards moving under her weight. When she took another, she saw Clay move with her out of the corner of her eye. They both made their way across the cabin and stopped at the Indian’s feet. He was out cold. The blank expression on his face told her as much.
Clay snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face a few times, but he never moved. Walking around him, she bent down and hesitantly reached for the edge of his shirt. He never moved as she eased it up his torso. Nor did he flinch when she touched his skin.
She had to bend down to see the wound in the low light. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it looked like a bullet hole. It was jagged, and peeking at his back, she saw the hole where the bullet had entered. At least it went clean through and didn’t need to be dug out. Looking up at Clay, she said, “I need some water.”
They had nothing to carry it in, but Clay found a water skin in the man’s belongings. Working to get the wound clean, she tore off the bottom of her shift to wrap around him as a crude bandage as Clay walked outside to refill the water skin with rainwater. She was reaching around the Indian’s waist to wrap the makeshift bandage around him when the man moved.
She froze and lifted her eyes to his face. He was awake and looking right at her. Her heart started pounding, her hands shaking the longer he stared at her. He reached for something at his side. Her inner voice screamed to get up and run, but fear kept her locked in place.
Her first thought when he raised his hand was that he had a knife and was about to kill her, but the small pouch he thrust toward her was unexpected. She took it from him and opened it, the scent coming from it strong. It looked to be nothing but leaves and roots. When the man pulled out a few of the leaves from the bag, putting them into his mouth to chew, she sat silently until he spat them out into his hand, then placed them on the cleaned wound.
He reached for more and stuck them in his mouth. Daisy grabbed a few herself, looking at them. She couldn’t tell what plant they had come from. Granted, they were withered and held little smell, but she was sure this man knew more about medicine than she did.
The Indian spat into his hand and smeared the wad onto the wound, covering it with the chewed leaves. Lifting his eyes to her face, he pointed to his back and shook his head. He can’t reach it, she thought. She nodded her head and waited until he’d chewed more of the leaves. When he spat them out, she took them from his hand, trying not to make a face when she did. Touching a glob of chewed leaves wasn’t on her list of things to do today, but she took it and smeared it on the wound on his back.
By the time Clay came back inside, they had the wound covered. She held up the strip of cloth she’d torn from her shift and motioned to his side. He nodded his head and sat up enough so she could wrap it around him. When she tied it off and leaned back on her heels, Clay knelt beside her.
He handed the waterskin to the Indian, who took it and drank his fill. When he held it out to her, she glanced at Clay before taking it. The water wasn’t the best she’d ever tasted, but it was wet and cold.
She gave it back to him when she finished drinking, and he said something she couldn’t make out. She wasn’t sure if it was the dim light or if he was speaking his native language, and she just didn’t understand it. Not that it mattered. She smiled at him and stood, crossing the room to grab the pouch of jerky he’d given them. She carried it to him and held it out. “Thank you,” she said, but wasn’t sure he understood her. He took it from her outstretched hand and said something else, but again, she couldn’t make it out.
She turned and went back to the corner they’d been resting in. Clay followed her. They sat and stared across the room as the last of the light died. The storm outside was still raging, lightning sparking across the sky, and she blew out a breath before laying her head against the wall. She glanced at Clay, watching him watch the Indian, and closed her eyes.
Chapter 4
The Indian was gone when they woke. Clay jumped to his feet and hurried to the door, and looked out. The rain had stopped, the sun once again shining, and there wasn’t a sign of him anywhere.
He turned to find Daisy standing up and looking at him. She motioned to the corner where the Indian had been, and he shrugged his shoulders and said, “He’s gone.”
She frowned and crossed the room. “Think he’ll be all right?”
“Hard to tell.” He raised his hand and motioned for her to follow him out.
The forest was a soggy mess, his boots sinking into the ground in a few places, but it didn’t take long to find more solid ground. He wasn’t sure how much further they had to go, or if he was even going in the right direction, but when the sun was high in the sky, he heard the faint sound of a train whistle. “I think we’re close.” He realized Daisy hadn’t heard him and grabbed her arm to get her attention, pointing to his ear. “I hear a train whistle.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded and tilted his head to see if he could tell which direction it was coming from. Turning in a complete circle, he spotted smoke. “Look.” He pointed to their right. Above the trees, black smoke billowed into the air. They had been going in the wrong direction.
It took until early afternoon to reach Butte, and they both grinned when they stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk. The train station was on the other side of town, so Clay grabbed her hand and started that way. They’d only taken a few steps when the train jerked and began to pull away from the station.
“Shit,” he said, before turning to look at her. “Run.” It was pointless. By the time they navigated the town and the multitude of people littering the sidewalks, the last train cars were rolling past when they reached the station. They were both winded, but he found an attendant and asked, “Is there another train coming in?”
“Not until next week.”
His shoulders slumped. That had been Daisy’s train. She should have been on it. He tapped her shoulder to get her attention. “That was your train.” Not that it mattered. Those bandits had taken her ticket.
She smiled. “Good.”
