Into the Wilderness (73 page)

Richard
threw his head back and his eyes fluttered in the rain, his face transformed by
a sickly smile. "Your summons," he whispered, and fell away into a
faint.

* * *

It
was a damn shame they couldn't leave him where he lay, Nathaniel thought, but
then he kept this sentiment to himself. Elizabeth was distraught enough; he
would need her usual calm good sense to deal with what was to come, and he
couldn't afford to upset her further. She had helped without complaint through
the worst of it, pale and thin—mouthed but determined, not wavering until they
had deposited Richard, bleeding profusely, onto the stripped cot where Joe had
lain.

"What
in the name of God are you doing?" Richard asked when he had roused
himself. He was watching Nathaniel pour schnapps onto a piece of muslin.

"For
your hand," he said tersely. "To clean it out."

"Mohawk
foolery," Richard said, yanking his hand away. "Bind it and be done
with it."

Elizabeth
was standing to one side with her arms wrapped around her, one foot jiggling
hard. She hadn't spoken to Richard since he regained consciousness, but to
Nathaniel her growing anger was almost palpable.

"Do
it," she said to Nathaniel. "It might fester otherwise."

"You
have a degree in medicine now in addition to your other new skills?"
Richard interrupted himself with a howl as Nathaniel grabbed his arm and
slapped the wet dressing against the gaping wound in his hand. "Goddamn it
to hell!" he screamed.

"Nathaniel
just buried a man who had a wound on his hand fester," Elizabeth said.
"Perhaps we could do the same for you."

"That
would suit you very well, would it not?" Todd shot back at her.

"Then
you could tear up that summons and forget your obligations."

"I've
already torn it up," Elizabeth said. "And burned the scraps. And I am
not obliged to you in any way at all. Although it seems we must tend your
wounds out of common courtesy. Not that such a concept would mean anything to
you."

Nathaniel
followed this exchange with some surprise. For the first time since he'd known
her, he saw Elizabeth out of her head with anger. Too mad to make sense or see
what needed to be done. He tried to catch her eye but she was staring at Todd.

"We'll
talk about business matters later," Nathaniel said. "Right now that
spike has to come out of your leg."

He
saw the grudging acceptance of this on Todd's face. To Elizabeth, Nathaniel
said: "I don't much like the idea of bending down there when he's got that
look on his face. Will you hold my rifle on him?"

Elizabeth's
color flared. "Gladly," she said, putting out one hand to accept the
gun with a small, tight smile.

"It's
primed, now, so mind you don't shoot him. Unless you have to."

"She
can't manage that piece," Todd said, his voice hoarse.

"I
can," Elizabeth said, pulling the rifle up with a jerk, and taking many
steps backward to accommodate its length. She went down on one knee to brace it
on the boulder that served as Joe's table, but it was longer than she was, and
Nathaniel could see that it was almost more than she could handle. Not that she
would ever admit that in front of Todd. They could stop and sort out the
musket, or get this over with.

"Elizabeth,"
Nathaniel said. "Keep it aimed on his shoulder, just there."

"She
wouldn't shoot me," Richard said dismissively.

"She
just might if you keep talking at her that way," Nathaniel noted.

Elizabeth
gave Todd a very grim smile. "I suggest you do not test your hypothesis,
Dr. Todd. The results might surprise you."

With
quick motions of his knife Nathaniel cut the leggings away around the wound.
The spike had passed through the muscles of his lower leg and pushed up and out
much like an arrow.

"This
is going to hurt like the devil," he said cheerfully. "Tear up your
leg something awful. But we can't leave it in there."

Todd's
stare was direct. In the midst of his thick red—gold beard, still wet and caked
now with dirt, his mouth was set straight and thin. "So do it," he
said.

"Hold
her steady there," Nathaniel said quietly to Elizabeth. "He's going
to holler."

"I
am perfectly steady," Elizabeth said. "Let him make all the noise he
likes."

Nathaniel
turned back to Todd and knelt to pin down his foot with knee. With his left
hand he grasped Todd's thigh to immobilize it. With his right hand he took firm
hold of the broken spike.

* * *

Sweat
ran into Elizabeth's eyes. She blinked, and blinked again, looking down the
softly gleaming barrel of the long rifle to fix her sights on Richard's
shoulder, as she had been directed. But the muscles in her hands and lower arms
and shoulders began to cramp almost immediately, and in spite of all her
efforts the rifle sight wavered disconcertingly between Richard's shoulder and
his belly. She thought longingly of the short—barreled musket in her pack,
which she had shot a number of times.

But
she mustn't distract Nathaniel.

His
back was to her. He moved suddenly, and with that movement Richard's face
contorted horribly, his mouth and eyes flying open and his head falling back
and then bolting forward. As Nathaniel pulled, Richard's upper body came up off
the cot, his left arm and fist following in an arc aimed squarely at
Nathaniel's temple.

It
happened very slowly, Elizabeth thought later, because she could remember
individual moments. Nathaniel's profile fixed in utter concentration, his fist
curled white—knuckled around the bloody shaft. The spurt of blood and its
smell, hot in the damp air. The roaring wild anger in Richard's voice as he
threw his weight forward, the blur of his fist as Nathaniel's head snapped away
to the side.

The
recoil slammed into her shoulder and sent her spinning, the rifle dropping out
of her hands. In the small space of the shelter the sound of the shot was
deafening, echoing on and on. But it was not loud enough to drown Nathaniel's
grunt of surprise as he pitched forward across Richard's legs. Elizabeth landed
on her rear, and inhaling sharply she drew in some of the cloud of blue
gunpowder, the acrid taste filling her mouth immediately with saliva.

By
the time she regained her feet, Nathaniel was already lifting himself off
Richard, who scrambled back and away. He pushed with his hands to right himself
shaking his head as if to clear it. Elizabeth stood immobile, unable to talk or
even to reach out to him as he turned toward her. There was surprise on his
face, and shock, and confusion. Nathaniel looked down at himself and she
looked, too, and saw the bullet wound, a round ragged hole on the right side of
his chest.
That's where it came out,
she thought quite clearly as the bile rose into her throat.
I shot Nathaniel in the back, and that's
where the bullet came out.

He
was touching his shirt with one finger, as if he could not believe what he saw.
His breath came in great gasps, and when he looked up at her, it was with a
face suddenly bluish—white in color, and sagging with pain.

He
sat down heavily on the edge of the cot.

"Jesus
Christ Almighty, Elizabeth," he whispered. He coughed, and there was a
trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

She
fell to her knees in front of him with her arms wrapped around herself and
rocked toward him, not touching, not daring to touch him.

"Forgive
me," she said, her eyes fixed on his face. "Forgive me, forgive
me."

She
had forgotten completely about Richard Todd, who had pulled himself into the
farthest corner at the head of the cot, his hands pressed against the gaping
wounds in his lower leg. The sound of his voice startled her as much as the
rifle shot had.

"You
married the wrong man," he said with a grimace. "But you sure as hell
shot the right one."

It was
enough to bring her up out of her trance. Elizabeth leaned toward Nathaniel,
still afraid to touch him. "I forbid you to die," she said. "I
won't let you."

There
was no answer, just the desperate sound of his breathing. But his eyes held
hers and he blinked, slowly.

"I
need something to bind this leg."

"Nathaniel,"
Elizabeth said, ignoring Richard. "I will not let you die, do you hear me?
But you have to tell me what to do for you."

But
he could not. She stood and paced the small room, almost tripping over the
rifle where it had fallen. She kicked it, and then turned back to Nathaniel. On
her knees in front of him, she scrambled madly for a clear thought.
His shirt
, she thought.
Get his shirt off
.

Her
hands were trembling so that she could barely manage the ties. When she found
that he could not lift his arms, she took his knife and she slit the sleeves
and sides, until he sat bare—chested before her with his head and upper
shoulders against the wall, his hair dripping down over his chest.

It
was a simple hole, an angry red hole that could be covered with two fingertips.
She looked at it, a handbreadth below his right nipple, and Elizabeth was
overcome with panic and terror. Then she pinched the web of flesh between her
thumb and finger as hard as she could, willing her vision to clear.

"It's
not so bad," Nathaniel whispered when she opened her eyes again.
"Missed the ribs, I think." He coughed again, and a bubble of blood
appeared on the wound, bright red.

"What
shall I do?" she asked, trying to modulate her voice. "Can you tell
me what to do?" In response, his eyes rolled back in his head and he
slumped against the wall. Elizabeth put her head to his chest and felt his
heartbeat, too fast. Too fast. His breathing, shallow. His skin clammy and cold
to the touch.

She
stood to yank the blanket out from under Richard and tucked it around
Nathaniel, tight around his shoulders but tented over the bullet hole. She
thought of leaning him forward to look at his back, and her stomach rose. Not
yet; she couldn't, not yet.

Richard
was pale, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"You
must tell me what to do," she said to him. "You must."

Blood
welled from between the fingers pressed over Richard's wound. "Give me
something to dress this leg of mine first. The muscle is badly torn."

"Your
leg can wait," she said. "Tell me what to do for him."

Nathaniel
gasped, his eyelids fluttering. Elizabeth looked at the blood bubbling from his
chest with every breath, at his face, tinged blue with the effort to breathe,
and then into Richard Todd's eyes, filmed with a different kind of pain, long
hoarded and treasured. She leaned toward him and brought her eyes within inches
of his.

"Listen
to me," she hissed softly. "You will tell me how to bind this wound.
You will do that, and do it clearly and without delay. Because if he dies, then
I will gladly sit here and watch you bleed to death. Do you hear me?"

There
was a flicker of something in his eyes. Surprise. Perhaps respect. Richard Todd
hesitated while the sound of Nathaniel's labored breathing punctuated the
silence. At length, he nodded.

* * *

Elizabeth
had never been so tired in her life, and yet she knew that she dared not sleep.
She could not afford to sleep. On either side of the shelter, with the
makeshift fire between them, Richard and Nathaniel were alternately dozing or
in need of her attentions. It was just hours since the events of the morning,
but it felt to her like years.

She
went outside, desperate for fresh air, and sat down for the first time in what
seemed to be days. But there was no escaping it; if she closed her eyes it all
played itself out in her head again. The feel of the rifle in her hands, the
way it had jerked to life as Richard reared up. The sound of Nathaniel's
laborious breathing, louder than any gunshot. It would be with her for the rest
of her life. Elizabeth put her head on her knees, willing herself to cry,
wanting to scream, to be done with this terrible anger. With a sudden heave,
she brought up everything in her stomach, her whole body coated in a cold and
sticky sweat. When the retching finally stopped, she raised her head and found
the red dog sitting across from her.

"You,"
she said flatly.

It
thumped its tail twice and then went down to the ground. The dog observed her
calmly. There was still the smell of skunk about it, and Elizabeth could see
burrs caught in the tangled deep red coat.

"I'll
have to go for help, you know." Saying it out loud made it real, and she
was overcome with fear at the idea. But there was no other way. They could not
stay here; she could not nurse them and hunt for them and keep them and herself
alive. She needed to get them out, and neither of them could walk. It would be
weeks, she thought, in Nathaniel's case. If ever.

She
jumped up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and the dog rose, too.

"I
have to find my way back to Robbie's, and there's no time to waste, she said.
The dog thumped its tail in agreement.