Cross Draw (2 page)

When he reached them, he was careful to keep both hands in view.

“You ladies look like you need some help,” he said.

“That depends,” Rosemary said.

“On what?” he asked.

“On what you want in return for your assistance?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I see five women in need of help, I stop.”

“Just out of the goodness of your heart?” the older woman asked.

“Well, actually,” Clint said, “because it's the right and decent thing to do.”

The older woman rolled her eyes.

The remaining three were looking toward the one with the rifle, waiting for her to make a decision.

“I don't think the axle is broke, and the wheel is still intact,” she said.

“The carter key probably broke, and the wheel slipped off,” Clint said. “May I dismount to have a look?”

Rosemary hesitated, then said, “Please.”

“Rosemary!” the older woman said. “We don't know who he is!”

“Abigail—”

“She's right,” Clint said, dismounting. “My name is Clint Adams, ladies.”

“I'm Rosemary,” the woman with the rifle said. “This is Jenny, Delilah, Abigail, and Morgan.”

“Sisters?” Clint asked.

“Not related,” Rosemary said. “We're just traveling together.”

“I see.”

“That's a beautiful horse,” Jenny said, moving toward Eclipse.

“Be careful,” Clint warned. “He doesn't usually like people.”

Jenny rubbed Eclipse's nose and he leaned into it.

“He's a sweetie,” she said.

“Well,” Clint said, “in that case, maybe you'd like to hold his reins?”

“Sure,” she said eagerly.

Clint handed Eclipse's reins over to the girl and walked to the wagon. Rosemary went with him, and they knelt down together.

“Yeah, it's the carter key,” he said. “We'll have to find a way to lift the wagon and put the wheel back on, then find a replacement for the key.”

“That's what I said,” Rosemary commented, “only I didn't know it was called a carter key.”

“The one we'll use as a replacement won't last very long,” he said. “You'll have to get to the nearest town and have a real one put on.”

“O-okay,” she said. “Where's the nearest town?”

“Up ahead about ten miles.”

“Will it last that long?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I could ride along with you to make sure you make it, but we can talk about that after we get it fixed.”

“How do we do that?”

“We need something to use as a lever, and something as a fulcrum.”

“Are you an engineer?”

“No,” he said, “but I've known some, and I've seen it done.”

They stood up, Clint rubbing his hands together to clean the dirt off. He noticed that Rosemary was holding the rifle in a more relaxed manner.

“I was about to assign tasks,” she said.

“Good idea,” he said. “You might also put that rifle away.”

She looked at the rifle then said, “Of course.”

She walked around and put the rifle back in the wagon.

“Rosemary!” Abigail snapped.

“Shut up, Abigail!”

The older woman fell silent again.

“She's our complainer,” Rosemary explained.

“There's one in every group,” he told her. “Okay, you want to assign—”

“You can do it,” she said.

“Okay, ladies,” he said, “listen up. I'm going to tell you each what we need, and then you're going to go out and find it.”

They needed some stones to use as a fulcrum. One large boulder would have been best, but there was no way they'd be able to carry one to the wagon. They were going to have to stack a bunch of stones to make one big one.

Then they needed a thick enough tree branch to use as a lever. And it had to be strong enough to take the wagon's weight.

He sent the women out by twos to find those things. When they returned, they all gathered near the wagon with the supplies.

First they built a small mound of stones, stacking it so that they would sit firmly and take the weight.

Next he had to find some way to get a branch free of the tree. They had no saw, and it was too thick to break off.

“How are we going to get it down?” Rosemary asked.

“Well,” Clint said, hands on his hips as he considered the problem, “I guess we'll have to shoot it down.”

“How do we do that?” Rosemary asked.

“It would help if we had a shotgun,” Clint said. “I'd just fire at the elbow, where the branch meets the tree, try to shred it. I'll have to try it with a rifle.”

“Wait,” Rosemary said.

She walked to the wagon, reached in and came out with an old Greener shotgun. She carried it, with some extra shells, back to Clint.

“Twelve-gauge,” Clint said. “Is it loaded?”

“Both barrels.”

He broke it open to check anyway. It was loaded.

“Okay,” he said. “Everybody stand back. There may be some ricochet.”

The women stepped back. Clint aimed the shotgun at the tree, fired both barrels. The tree shredded. He reached up and pulled, putting his weight on the branch, bounced up and down with it. There was a crack, but the branch didn't come loose.

Jenny came over. She was the youngest, but carried more weight than the other women.

“Let me help,” she said. “Maybe God made me fat for a reason.”

“You're not fat, Jenny,” Clint said.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I'm heavier than the others.”

“Well,” he said, “I'll accept your help, but I still say you're not fat.”

He reached up and pulled the branch down so that she could also grab hold, and then they both added their weight to the branch. Just when he thought he might have to fire again, there was a loud
crack
and the branch came free. They fell to the ground, the branch on top of them.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” she said with a smile. “We did it.”

“Thanks to you,” he said. “Come on. Let's carry it over to the wagon.”

Rosemary added a hand and they hauled the makeshift lever to the wagon, where their fulcrum was waiting.

“You think this is going to work?” Rosemary asked.

“I hope so.”

They wedged the thick branch underneath the wagon.

“Four of you will have to put your weight on it,” he said. “I need one person to help me with the wagon.”

“Delilah,” Rosemary said, “you're the strongest.”

She was the tallest and sturdiest looking, so Clint depended on Rosemary to know her people.

“Now we need to find a replacement for the carter key.”

“How do we do that?”

“Wait here,” Clint said. “I'll look around.”

They needed something that would fit through the hole on the hub—a thick piece of wood, or even the rightshaped stone.

He walked off, eyes cast down at the ground, looking for something that would work. Behind him, some of the women also started to look. Abigail sat down and sulked. Delilah stood by the makeshift lever and fulcrum.

“This is never gonna work,” Abigail said. “We're going to die here.”

“Oh, be quiet, Abigail,” Delilah said. “Mr. Adams will help us get out of here.”

“And then what? He'll rape us.”

“All of us?” Delilah asked.

“Why not?” Abigail asked. “He's a man.”

“I think we'd be able to defend ourselves against one man, Abigail,” Delilah said. “Besides, he's not that kind of man.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He stopped to help us, didn't he?”

Abigail stared at Delilah and then said, “Oh, don't tell me you're lusting after him.”

“Abigail!”

“God,” Abigail said, “one handsome man stops to help us and you act like a harlot.”

“Abigail,” Delilah said, “I swear, if you don't shut up . . .”

 

Rosemary came up alongside Clint and asked, “Will this do?”

Clint looked at what she held in her hand. It was a branch that looked the right width and length. He took it from her, held it in both hands and tried to break it. If it had been longer, he might have succeeded. The length—or lack thereof—made it stronger.

“Let's try it,” he said. “Good find.”

They walked back to the wagon, gathered all the other women around.

“All right,” Clint said. “When I've wedged the lever underneath the wagon, four of you will put your weight on it. Once you lift the wagon up high enough, you'll have to hold it there. Understand?”

They all nodded, except for Abigail. But that was okay. They didn't need her enthusiasm, just her weight.

Clint looked at Rosemary. “You're going to help me lift the wheel up and slide it on. Then you'll just have to hold it in place while I slide the carter key on.” He held up the branch she'd found.

“Okay.”

“Are we ready?” he asked the women.

They nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Put all your weight on the lever . . . now!”

They did. The wagon creaked, groaned a bit, and then lifted.

“Just a little more.”

The ladies leaned harder, even Abigail on the end. The branch made a sound, but held.

“Let's lift the wheel,” he told Rosemary.

They picked the wheel up, straightened it, then lifted it to put it back on. They got it onto the hub, but it wouldn't sit straight.

“Hold on!”

He left Rosemary to hold the wheel. He had the makeshift carter key in his left hand, reached behind with his right, placing his arm beneath the wagon. He reached behind to try to steady the wheel, then slid the carter key into the hole with his left. It went in, and stopped part of the way. That was good. It was big enough to wedge in there. He pushed harder so that it did just that.

“That's . . . almost . . . got it,” he said.

Abigail heard him say, “. . . got it . . .” She said, “Good,” and took her weight off the branch.

Without her weight the other women couldn't hold it and the wagon came down hard . . . trapping Clint's right arm beneath it.

“Oh my God!” Rosemary shouted. “Lift it, lift it. He's trapped.”

The pain was intense as something metal beneath the wagon punched into Clint's arm. He yelled again in pain.

“Abigail!” Delilah yelled.

“It's not my fault!”

“Just get back on it!” Jenny yelled.

The women leaned on the lever again, lifting the wagon. Whatever had stabbed into Clint's arm caused pain and further damage as it slid out. There was a spurt of blood and then the pain was so bad he passed out.

“Oh my God,” Rosemary said again.

His blood soaked her, but she managed to get her arms around his waist and pull him out from beneath the wagon.

“I've got him! I've got him!”

The women let the wagon come back down and then rushed to see how Clint was.

“Oh, god, his arm,” Jenny said.

“There's so much blood,” Delilah said.

“How bad is it?” Morgan asked.

“We've got to stop the bleeding,” Rosemary said. “Then we'll be able to tell.”

She turned around and looked at the women. “I need a belt, some water, and some bandages. Hurry, girls!”

They scattered, even Abigail moving quickly.

Rosemary got Clint onto his back and began tearing off the right sleeve of his shirt. The wound looked ragged, but there was so much blood she couldn't tell. She knew she had to stop the bleeding somehow. She removed his gun belt, then the belt of his trousers. She wrapped the belt around his right upper arm, pulled it tight, and held it that way. That seemed to stanch the blood flow. She maintained her hold on the belt until one of the other girls returned. It was Jenny, with a belt; but since Rosemary had already pressed Clint's own belt into service, she had Jenny hold the spare.

Morgan returned with a bucket of water and some strips of cloth for bandages. Rosemary soaked some of the rags and used them to clean the wound. It was a deep puncture, and the edges were ragged. The belt had slowed the bleeding, so she packed the wound as best she could with some rags, then used the rest to wrap it tightly.

“Let the belt loose, then tighten it again,” Rosemary said. “We'll have to keep doing that until the bleeding stops.”

“What if it doesn't stop?” Jenny asked.

“Then he'll bleed to death before we can get him some help.”

“Help where?” Morgan asked.

“He told me there's a town about ten miles ahead.”

“If the wheel stays on that long,” Delilah said.

“If it doesn't,” Rosemary said, “one of us will take one of the team—or Mr. Adams's horse—and ride ahead for help. For now, we need to get him into the back of the wagon.”

While Jenny continued to hold the belt on Clint's arm, Morgan, Delilah, and Rosemary picked Clint up and carried him to the wagon. Thankfully, he was still out, so they didn't have to worry about causing him any pain.

With difficulty, they lifted him into the back of the wagon. Eventually, Jenny got in the back and lifted his head onto her lap. She would remain in charge of the belt on his arm as long as possible. After settling him in, the girls tied Eclipse to the back of the wagon.