The Road to Eagle Creek

By Maggie Hinton

After soldiering in the Union Army and consequently being interned in a Confederate prison camp, Wilson McEwen is finally on his way home to the territories when he is ambushed by an unknown assailant. He is found near death on the road to Eagle Creek and taken home to be nursed by his old friend, Uncle Hy, and his sister-in-law, Sass, who was just a young girl when he left for the war. He learns that an erroneous telegram from the army has informed his wife, Elizabeth, that he has died in battle. As a result, she has left Billythe son born after Wil left for warwith Sass; sold their prosperous cattle ranch; and left Eagle Creek with Wils best friend, Mason Savage. While recuperating from his wounds on Uncle Hys little farm, Wil and Billy at last become father and son. And Wil reluctantly becomes attracted to Sass. One crisis after another prevents Wil from going to find his wife and bringing her home. At last he learns the truth about those he left behind when he went to war. And he must decide what to do with his newfound knowledge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490725604

Maggie Hinton

Hinton is a retired public school English teacher. Growing up, she attended eleven different schools as her traveling-salesman father moved the family from California to Arizona to Utah. She graduated from a small high school in Fort Thomas, Arizona, and went on to graduate from Arizona State University. She has been a counselor for students traveling abroad, accompanying groups of teenagers through nineteen different countries. She was also a volleyball coach for over twenty years. Presently, she tutors English to homeschooled children and helps dropout students either reenter high school or get their GEDs. She lives with her husband, James (third generation Arizona cattle rancher, teacher, and coach) in the little Northern Arizona town of Show Low.

Book preview

Chapter One

S he opened the door, letting it swing, creaking noisily behind her. When it didn’t close all the way, she kicked it shut with the heel of one bare foot. The morning at dawn was clear and damp, smelling of moist buck brush and wet wood from the willow thicket near the meadow. She breathed in the early morning scents, deeply filling her lungs. As if to store in them the coolness, only too aware of the heat of the day to come.

This was her favorite time of the morning, when the sun was not yet visible and the chill of the night still hung stubbornly in the air. Stopping at the edge of the porch, she scanned the sky, gray-blue in the first light of morning, with its delicate smudges of pinks and yellows, with the expectancy of the sun’s rising over the mountain crests to the east.

She shaded her eyes with both hands, cupping her palms above her eyebrows, squinting towards the untamed fields beyond the yard. She remembered the night before, when a sudden rumble of thunder had awakened her. She frowned now, disappointed that the sound had not brought the rain that it had promised. She scanned the horizon, searching for distant clouds. Then, reluctantly, she had to admit that perhaps she had only wistfully dreamed the thunder.

Reaching for the broad-brimmed straw hat dangling from the porch post, she tied it firmly beneath her chin with its tattered ribbons. She hardly ever ventured from the shade of the porch without it for then the hated freckles would sweep across her face like a childhood disease. Even with the hat worn faithfully every day, dozens of tiny brown freckles spotted the milk-fair complexion across her nose and upper cheeks. She rarely looked in the cracked mirror above the sink anymore, but did her face-washing and hair-combing without its benefit. She took no pleasure in her own reflection.

Half-heartedly picking up the heavy shoes she’d left on the porch railing the night before, she carried them with her down the steps. Although the rough-lumbered boards felt splintery under her bare feet, she delayed putting on the worn, leather work boots. Carrying them by their frayed laces, Selena stepped off the front porch of the little cabin and started toward the side yard where Hyrum, or Uncle Hy as he was known to the family, had already readied the tubs and scrub board for her most-hated task of the week. But between the three of them, Billy, Uncle Hy and herself, they didn’t have many clothes for washing—three or four batches usually did it.

Her bare feet pressed prints in the moist, wild grass, gently crushing the dew with their weight. Still carrying the shoes in one hand, she delighted in the dampness under her feet.

She glanced toward the barn and saw that Bess, the milk cow, was placidly leaving the small barn where Hyrum had just finished milking her. On her way now to day pasture.

After checking the heat of the water in the tub Hyrum had set on the fire, she finally sighed and put on the shoes. She turned back to the cabin to gather up the clothes . . . overalls, medium sized for Hyrum and small for Billy. And the other two plain calico dresses she owned. Along with under-garments and bedding, her week’s washing would be ready to boil, scrub, rinse and hang out to dry on the fence behind the house that divided the home place from the fields. The fence that divided their small acreage from the ranch land beyond the fields . . . land that no longer belonged to them.

Billy, still sleeping, would wake to fix his own breakfast of left-over corn bread from last night’s supper, hand-churned butter, and cool milk from the crock in the small cellar. He had chores of his own to do while she washed. And even though he complained about gathering the eggs and feeding the chickens, he was secretly proud of his contributions to the life the three of them had made together.

As she rounded the corner of the cabin on her way back to the yard from the outhouse, a noise from the road startled her. Shading her eyes once more, she saw a riderless horse come around the bend, fully saddled and bridled, reins dragging in the dusty lane. He was leisurely feeding on leaves from the oak tree branches that were drooping over the fence.

It was not a familiar horse . . . she knew most of the horses from the neighboring farms and ranches, as well as those from town. And so she was puzzled because strangers didn’t often frequent Cade’s Crossing since the closing of the silver mines.

She met Hyrum coming out of the barn with the bucket of warm milk. Uncle Hy, she told him. There’s a horse down the road a piece. She pointed and he turned to look.

One hand reached up to scratch his kinky, gray hair. Don’t look like no horse I’ve seen roundabouts. He placed the bucket on the wide gate post and walked toward the horse. The buckskin gelding flung up his head in alarm and laid back its ears, ready to bolt back down the road in the opposite direction of the strange, wiry, black man coming toward him. But, with his natural ease with animals, Hyrum kept talking in his soothing voice, walking with easy, measured steps to where the horse stood wide-eyed but curiously tamed.

As soon as the old man had secured the horse’s reigns, Selena made her way to where the animal and Hyrum were standing inspecting each other. She patted the horse’s head between the ears and made calming noises. Uncle Hy was examining the saddle, clearly an expensive one. And the worn leather saddlebag that lay plump behind the cantle.

Then he exclaimed, Look here, Miss Sass. Blood! All over the saddle.

Selena’s eyes widened in alarm. Blood was smeared not only on the saddle but on the edges of the blanket under it. And had splattered on the horse itself

Ain’t nothing wrong with the horse, Uncle Hy said, examining the animal. "Someone riden’ him must ‘a got bad hurt somehow . . ."

"What do you think . . . ?" Selena looked down the road in the direction the horse had come.

Hyrum tied the horse to one of the fence posts and turned to the girl. Somebody might be lyin’ out there somewheres ’bout to die from leaken’ out so much blood. He started down the road, then turned to squint at her. Ain’t you a’ comen’?

Though she dreaded the prospects of what they might find down the road, Selena began to reluctantly follow behind. The old man could follow the horse’s tracks easily and he hurried along, looking to the right and left of the road as he went. Selena, too, scanned the tall dry grasses on both sides.

Suddenly, ahead of her, Hyrum shouted out. He crossed the fence and was leaning over a figure by the time Selena reached him. She ducked between the two wooden crosspieces with dread, and looked down at the form of a man. A sob struck in her throat. She was certain that the stranger could not possibly be alive. One leg stuck out at a grotesque angle from his body. The face and arms and one hand were covered with blood. Gore spilled from one eye. There were no signs of his breathing and he hadn’t moved since they’d squatted down beside him. Standing on weakened legs, she told Hyrum flatly. He’s dead.

Hyrum pushed her aside and turned his attention to the injured outsider. When he put his ear to the man’s chest, he discerned a faint, irregular murmur. With one quick look, he took in the gash around the victim’s right eye. The man’s left hand was smashed and bloodied. And the twisted right leg lay with a snapped bone protruding. Once again Hyrum listened for a heartbeat, afraid that what he’d heard before had been only his imagination. But there it was . . . a pulse that seemed slightly stronger than before . . . as if the stranger was aware of their being there beside him.

He’s alive, Miz Sass! the old man cried out. And he saw the quick light enter her eyes, the instant change in her posture. He had witnessed spunk in the girl before. They had been partners during the past few years. They had met one crisis after another together and she had always come through those times tenaciously. He knew she could be counted on to help him now.

Selena stepped forward, suddenly steady, unruffled. We have to get him to Doc Traynor.

Don’t think he’d make it all the way to town jostlen’ around in the wagon. He’s pert near bled out.

"Then . . . ?"

Hyrum made up his mind quickly. You stay here with him, Miz Sass. I’ll go hitch up Miss Maud to the wagon and be back in jist a speck. He started off down the road at a trot, then turned back to tell her, Don’t you be tryen’ to move him now.

Selena nodded and then squatted once again by the stranger. She put one hand gently on his head and spoke to him. It’s alright, she told him softly. You’re going to make it. We’ll take care of you now.

Suddenly she remembered what she had assumed was thunder just before daylight. Now she realized that what she’d heard had more than likely been the sound of a gunshot.

She wore no petticoat . . . there was no money for such a trifling thing. So she tried to rip some of her old dress’s hem, but the material held. Looking around as if she expected someone to be watching her, she picked up her dress and managed to tear off the unlacy ruffle from one leg of her pantaloons. With the long strip of the material wadded in her hand, she attempted to gently wipe some blood from the man’s face. But both the make-shift bandage and the blood were dry.

She didn’t dare leave the man alone to go to the nearby creek for water. She believed, almost superstitiously, that if she left his side, he would die.

Finally she worked some spit around in her mouth, spit on the cloth several times, and tried using the scant moisture to clean up the wound around the man’s eye.

She sighed with relief when she at last heard the wagon coming, and then Billy’s voice high with excitement.

Selena swore out loud, a word she saved for times when she was by herself. And the first thing she said to the old man when he reined in the old blue mule was, Why did you bring Billy? He shouldn’t be seeing this.

Billy, short and slight for his six years, jumped off the wagon, his eyes alight with morbid curiosity. He would have come directly to the bloodied body but Hyrum grabbed the boy’s arms and turned him toward the mule. Hold Miss Maud. Hold her still, he ordered and then came himself to where Selena now sat beside their patient. He stared her straight in the eyes. I figured we needed Billy’s help, he said unapologetically. He can calm Miss Maud whiles you and I load this pore feller. And then he can take off for town to fetch the doc.

Selena sighed. Of course. You’re right. She winced. I forget he’s not a baby anymore.

Hyrum had brought one of the pieced quilts from Billy’s cot. Gently, carefully, the old man wrapped the quilt around the broken body, heedful of the twisted leg. They half-drug, half-pulled him beneath the bottom wooden rail of the fence.

Careful! Careful! Watch out for that leg. he admonished Selena as the two of them attempted to lift the man between them. The wounded man didn’t look as if he weighed much more than a hundred pounds. He was not tall and seemed more bones than flesh. But his weight was still heavy for the man and the girl. They sweat as they half-lifted, half-drug the body toward the tail end of the wagon. Selena was sure the two of them were going to finish the job of killing the man themselves with their clumsy handling of him.

Miss Maud looked over her shoulder, eyes bulging, ears pitched back on her head. Ho! Billy ordered the mule, pulling on her ears and jerking her face toward him. The boy’s heart was beating fast. He wanted to look at what lay wrapped in the familiar multicolored quilt that always covered his Aunt Sass’s bed. And yet he didn’t want to look. And on top of that, he was afraid that Miss Maud would see how afraid he was and bolt, leaving Uncle Hy and Aunt Sass with the sure knowledge that he, Billy, was too young, or too little . . . or both . . . to help out when he was really needed.

But, blessedly, the mule was still quivering, nostrils flaring but nevertheless still.

With a final effort, Hyrum got the wounded victim under each armpit and heaved him halfway onto the back of the wagon. Selena, straining and swearing under her breath, thought for an agonizing second she would drop his legs. But she clenched her jaw and, struggling, finally managed to swing them up onto the tailgate.

Even then, the body seemed to topple precariously on the rim of the wagon and she fully expected to see the man drop with a bone-crunching thud to the ground, finishing up the job some assassin had begun. But Hyrum was up on the back of the wagon now, quickly pulling the man forward, arranging him in the middle of the wagon, tucking the quilt around the broken body.

This would be the first time Billy had gone into town alone, and he’d be walking more than five miles barefooted. Selena was more than a little apprehensive for him. She put both hands on his small shoulders. You go right straight to Doc’s, hear? And if he’s not there, leave a message with Dutch at the store and high-tail it right back.

I’ll run all the way, Aunt Sass! He adjusted the strap of his bibbed overalls over one bony shoulder and started down the dusty road trotting.

Though the wagon bounded and rolled, there was not a moan, not a sound, not a sign that the stranger was even alive. Selena had jumped into the wagon beside him and tried to keep his head from bouncing around. She continued to murmur words of encouragement to the unconscious form. When they reached the front gate to the cabin, she and Hyrum had just as much trouble getting the man out of the wagon as they had suffered loading him.

Again, Hyrum took the man’s shoulders, Selena his legs. They carried him up to the porch, had to lay him down so they could open the screen door, then picked him up once more and moved clumsily through the room to Selena’s bedroom. Relieved that they had made it to the bed at last, they dropped the man, as gently as they could, onto the tick mattress, bared of its bedding for wash day.

I’ll fetch you some of that water we got simmerin’ out yonder, Hyrum told her. With the clean water from the wash tub and a clean cloth, Selena began to wash the man’s face tenderly. Blood had splattered on his entire face, but it was only the left side that was injured. She gasped when the wound around his eye was cleaned of the gore and blood that had surrounded it. The eye socket seemed to be just a gaping hole in his face.

Hyrum cut the man’s pant leg to reveal the bone jutting crookedly. With care, Selena inspected the left hand and found the three middle fingers crushed. She put the side of her hand under the man’s nose, certain there would be no breath. She was relieved when she felt a thin passage of air.

Continuing to wash away the blood from his face, she abruptly straightened and stepped back in shock. Outside she could hear Jonesy’s Dog, back from his morning ritual of chasing rabbits through the field grasses, making his good-morning noises at the back door, waiting for Billy to come out and feed him. She was aware of the chickens clucking as they scratched in the barn yard; Gussie, the goose, scolding the chickens; the drone of a lone fly somewhere outside the window. All normal morning noises. But nothing was the same as it had been before this moment.

It was Hyrum who put the confusion she was feeling into words. And even as he, too, was certain who the man on the bed was, he couldn’t believe it. Mister Wilson? he asked of no one but himself.

Wil? Selena peered closer and saw the familiar face in spite of the swollen misshape and horror of its injuries. The old man and Selena looked at each other in disbelief.

It is Mister Wilson! Hyrum said in astonishment.

"But . . . it can’t be!" Selena could barely find breath to speak.

Lawd be! Mister Wilson done returned from the grave!

"But . . . But . . ." Even as her mind protested the truth of it, Selena knew that the thin, frail, grievously injured man was indeed Wilson McEwen. But how can it be? she asked Hyrum.

I don’t know, Miz Sass. But it shore’nuff is him. The old man turned back to the man on the bed. He’s alive! And he’s done come home.

Chapter Two

D oc Traynor walked quickly to the bed, put his bag on the floor and leaned over the patient. But after one quick glance, he stumbled backwards as if he’d been struck a blow to the chest. Both Selena and Hyrum moved to steady him. He stuttered as he looked first at Hyrum and then at Selena. "It’s  . . . It’s  . . . It’s Wil!" He f inally managed to gasp.

Hyrum answered, Yes, suh. And Selena just nodded when he looked at her with wide eyes.

Doc looked back at the man on the bed as if he were an apparition. "But . . . Wil’s dead!" His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

No, Selena said patiently. He’s not. But he might be if we don’t do something for him soon.

Her words brought the doctor back to his senses. He shook his head as if to clear it and moved quickly. He became efficient, in control, and began to examine his patient. Hyrum stood quietly at the doctor’s side.

They had all forgotten Billy standing small and confused just outside the door, peering into the room with curiosity and trepidation. All of sudden he made a small sound and Selena turned to see him. She went swiftly to where he stood and knelt down to take his seven-year-old shoulders in her hands.

Who is it? he asked, his voice barely audible, his eyes wide.

Glancing over her shoulder at the two men in the room behind her working over the dying man, she looked the boy straight in his eyes. She whispered too. It’s Wilson McEwen, she told him. It’s your father, Billy.

The boy jerked and looked around her to stare at the bed. He took a tentative step into the room, but Selena reached out to hold him firmly. No, she said softly. Not now. Let Doc and Uncle Hy take care of him first. Then you can see him.

She felt the boy trembling. "But . . . but you told me . . . Mother told me . . ."

I know. Selena pulled the small body close. "We all thought . . . The army sent a telegram. They told us he was dead."

She gently led Billy out of the room. If she could keep him busy . . . Your chickens. They must be wondering where you are. And the pigs will think we’re trying to starve them to death. She held him at arm’s length and searched his eyes. You’ll have to take over my chores, too. Think you can do that? She thought of something else before she let him go. And his horse. Your father’s horse. Do you think you can manage him? He needs taken care of. She narrowed her eyes. We really need you to help us out right now. What do you think?

The boy nodded, and with one last look toward the bedroom, his face full of turmoil, he shuffled out of the house toward the chicken yard.

Doc hadn’t wasted any more time. By the time Selena joined the two men beside the bed, he had taken out his stethoscope, a clean roll of bandages and his suturing scissors. Feeling Selena’s presence beside him and aware of the appalling sight of the figure on the bed, he turned to her and said, How about a cup of coffee, girl? Billy came and fetched me before I had time to brew my morning pot.

And even though she knew that he was trying to kindly spare her from seeing Wil’s torn body, she merely nodded and left the room.

It was much later when Doc was finished and came into the kitchen with Hyrum. The coffee had long since boiled and Selena jumped up from the table where she’d been sitting to put the old, chipped, blue pot back on the wood stove. The three of them waited silently for the few moments that it took for the black liquid to reheat. The coffee was another luxury she had rationed to herself and Uncle Hy. But she had made enough for both men and Uncle Hy took one, his eyes meeting hers with gratitude. He was dreading how Selena would handle the news the doctor had for her.

Selena’s eyes questioned the doctor’s and with a loud sigh he finally turned to her, the steaming cup held in both hands. She sat down opposite him, her heart pounding in anticipation of what she was about to hear.

I’m afraid he’s lost his right eye. He’d decided to give her the worst news first, then tried to ignore her gasp or look at her pale face. I might be able to save the eye itself. But he won’t be having any sight out of it. There’s nerves in the back of the eye. I’m certain they’re damaged beyond repair. He took a gulp of the strong coffee and set his cup down on the table. It had scalded his mouth but he had barely felt it. I’d guess a knife did it.

Selena trembled uncontrollably and hugged herself. She was glad that she was already sitting because she was sure that her legs could not have held her standing up.

Doc squinted and continued to avoid looking at Selena’s stricken face. "Three fingers on his left hand. I had to . . . remove them. She uttered a small, pitiful sound. He decided to get it over with quickly now. Shot almost completely off. They couldn’t be saved. Good thing it was his left hand. He won’t be using it much for a long time."

Selena told him dully, Wil is left handed.

Doc groaned and pushed back his chair. He turned and walked to the window. The day had turned still—sultry and cloudless.

Selena broke the silence. And the leg? Her voice was strangely firm now, in spite of the trembling she was feeling inside.

Doc turned but was still able to avoid her eyes. I’ve set it. It was broken up pretty bad. Probably when he fell off the horse?

We found him across the fence. Don’t know how he got there, she told him.

Anyways, he continued, he’s got to keep it perfectly still. I’ve shown Hyrum how to accomplish that. It was Hyrum’s turn to nod. Doc took a ragged breath and went on. Another bullet hit high on his shoulder. Luckily it went clean through. Didn’t do too much damage. But his shoulder, his arm, are going to be pretty durned sore for a long time.

Doc drained his cup, set it down on the table, stood up and reached for his bag. That damn war! he muttered angrily. Hell! He don’t weigh much over a hundred pounds. He’s got three serious injuries. He turned at the door. His voice was again steady. He’s lost too much blood. In all rights he should be dead now. But if Wilson McEwen has a spark of the grit he used to have, he’ll pull through.

Selena and Hyrum followed him out onto the porch.

I’ve left him a bottle of opium. On the trunk by the bed. When he comes to, give him only what he needs for the pain. No more. He placed his bag in the buggy. You might want to get a chicken broth cooked up for when he wakes up. Nothing else except that and water. And keep him warm. When he had wearily stepped up into his buggy, he gave them one more instruction. Come fetch me if you need me.

Selena expelled the breath it seemed to her she’d been holding since they’d found Wil beside the road. She was relieved that Doc hadn’t said if he comes to. We haven’t talked about what we’ll be owning you, she hollered, dreading what he’d answer.

The doctor just should his head. Don’t worry about that right now, he yelled back. And he turned to look toward the pig field. We might be able to make us a deal. A trade. I hear tell you raise a mighty good ham.

Selena smiled, relieved for the second time that morning. They had no cash money and no way of knowing when Mace and Elizabeth would send them some again.

At any rate, Doc yelled again across the yard. I’ll be back day after tomorrow. Then, before he climbed into his buggy, he walked back to the gate and squinted at Selena. You going to be able to handle this, gal?

Selena straightened, raised her chin and met his concerned eyes squarely. Yes, she said evenly. Yes, I am.

Well, you got Hyrum. You two can rest each other off. He was confident he was leaving his patient . . . his old friend . . . in competent hands. He flicked the reins and was gone, the wheels of his buggy raising little clouds of dust as it bumped down the road.

With optimistic determination, the two turned to face the burden of the man within the house. They hadn’t realized that Billy had joined them until they started across the front porch. He began to hurry into the house in front of them but Selena put out a hand to stop him, thinking to spare him the horrible sights of the boy’s father’s wounds. But Hyrum said in a low voice, I reckon the boy’s imagination might be worser than the real thing. Ain’t ‘you thinking the same thing?

Billy flashed the old man a look of gratitude. Squatting down by the boy, Hyrum looked him right in the eyes as he spoke. I reckon yore old enough to be seein’ how your paw needs you now. He turned the boy lightly toward the cabin and the lean-to bedroom. Now be real quiet and don’t be botherin’ him none. Sleep is what yore paw needs the most right now. Time enough for the two of you to git acquainted up by and by, when he’s done got well.

Billy nodded and slipped into the house to meet his father for the first time.

Chapter Three

S elena and Hyrum took turns sitting by Wil’s bed. Often Billy would come into the room and stand, full of curiosity and wonder that the man lying there was indeed his father. Selena dipped strips of cloths in water and wiped Wil’s face and chest. Hyrum kept him bathed and clean-shaven.

The next morning, Hyrum returned to where they’d found Wil. He came back to report to Selena. Wil must’ve shot the critter that waylaid him. Selena turned, curious, eyebrows raised. They’s boot tracks leaden’ to where Wil was a’layen’. The Villian musta shot Wil offen his horse. Somehow Wil gone acrost the fence and the murderer followed him to finish the deed. I figured that’s when Wil shot the varmint. He showed her the pistol in his hand. "I found this in the thick grass aways from where we found Wil. Shells is missen’. Then they’s blood spilled over the ground to where another horse’s tracks show up on the road. I reckon the villain’s hurt pretty bad, consideren’ the blood that’s wasted on the ground. When I go into town this afternoon, I’ll be tellen’ Sheriff Cannon ’bout what I done found. Hope the bastard . . . ’scuse my language, Miss Sass . . . hope the one who done this to Wil is dead hisself!"

The second day after they had brought him home, Wil contacted a fever. He began to sweat profusely and they had to change his clothes and sheets several times a day. Selena wet clean cloths and dripped the cool water into Wil’s dry mouth. His lips were cracked, almost bleeding. Selena gently swabbed them with lard she’d made from her pigs. The doctor came and pronounced that they were doing all they could do for Wil. Now it was up to him to heal himself.

In Wil’s dreams, the sounds of spurs haunted him. A face leered at him and Wil fought to escape it, turning his head wildly from side to side. And there was another figure . . . just the shadow of a being . . . Someone standing in the outskirts of his mind. He strained to see this person in the shade of his dream . . . always just beyond his reach.

His moaning and twisting caused Selena and Uncle Hy a great deal of concern. They feared that he was going to struggle until he fell completely off the narrow cot. So they were watchful, not leaving him alone during those first days and nights. Sometimes Billy was enlisted to guard his father for a few minutes.

On the fourth day, Selena sat by the bed, completely exhausted from her vigil, yet unwilling to leave him. She studied him. He was thin, pitifully thin. He’d never been a tall man. Now that she had finally reached the peak of her growth at eighteen, she was maybe five feet, ten inches tall. She had once considered Wil a tall man. But now she was probably close to his height, if not taller. He had been stocky, shoulders wide and chest broad. He had once appeared powerful, but now his weight loss had left him emaciated.

She positioned the pillows under him with care, adjusting his head to a more comfortable position. She couldn’t avoid looking down at him. Doc’s bandaged patch covering the left side of Wil’s face couldn’t hide the hideous slashes down his cheek, the bloody, swollen bruises. The other side only a few, turning-purple discolorations. His thick brown hair was long enough to cover the collar of the single clean shirt they’d found in his saddle bag.

Studying his face made Selena nostalgic for the Wil she remembered . . . handsome, strong. Softly, ever so gently, Selena whispered the fingers of one hand through his hair. His eyes were closed . . . as if he were just sleeping peacefully. Long, heavy eyelashes rested on his cheeks.

With a sudden rush of melancholy, Selena remembered the first time she’d seen Wil, when she’d first glimpsed him from the loft in a crowded barn. How her eleven-year-old heart had ached with a feeling she couldn’t even put a word to . . . a kind of sweet yet sad longing . . .

Now she closed her own eyes, put her palms together, touching her chin with the tips of her fingers. Please God, she prayed. Please God. Please God. Let him be alright. Help us make him be alright.

In his unconscious state, Wil fought to wake up. He wanted to escape the nightmare he was experiencing, taking him back to the night just before he had been shot. He was afraid of the silence. Then he was terrified because the silence was broken by a sound. What was the sound? He struggled to identify the noise. Then, suddenly, with a cold chill, he knew. It was spurs chinking on boots. He could hear the spurs jingle, then silence between. After the fall of each boot, the quiet would wash over him. In panic, Wil sought wakefulness, anything to escape what he knew would happen when the sound of the spurs at last reached him. And then the sound ended and there was the face, close to his own, looking down at him. The cold, blue eyes, The sneer on the cruel, thin lips. Wake up. Wake up, He whispered to himself in the dream. Heart beating wildly, his breaths coming in gasps, he struggled vainly for consciousness. Words formed in his throat but no words reached his lips. He thrashed back and forth, seeking escape from the nightmare.

Selena, sitting by the chair, witnessed Wil’s struggle. She saw his lips moving with soundless words, his head turning uncontrollably on the pillow. She soothed him with tender fingers and soft voice until he finally lay quiet again. She had hoped that his movements were signals that he was about to wake from his stupor. But he slowly became calm and lapsed once more into the deep sleep.

Hyrum was in the room with him when Wil finally regained consciousness. The old man had brought a breast collar into the room and was applying oil on it with a ragged rag. He had moved the chair near the window to catch the best light.

Wil spoke from the bed with a voice faint but full of surprise. Uncle Hy?

The old man knocked over the old chair getting up and over to the bed, the collar forgotten on the floor. Mister Wil! he beamed. Yore back home. You done made it!

Wil’s strength was ebbing and flowing. He tried to smile at his old friend but his mouth was dry, the probing pain in his head, particularly behind his left eye, was overwhelming. Tentatively he managed to raise his right hand and touched the bandage there. The agony from the wound caused him to wince, then groan out loud.

Hyrum desperately wished that Selena would come back. He didn’t want to handle Wil’s waking up without her there.

Where am I? Wil asked weakly. And then, What happened to me? With his fingers still on his bandaged eye, he tried to move in the bed and gasped at the sharp pain in his leg. What in the hell happened to me? His voice was stronger now, a low growl.

Hyrum leaned over the bed. You’ve been hurt something terrible, Mister Wil. Somebody done shot you up bad. And when Wil gingerly fingered the patch over his eye again, And they cut on you some, too. But you is strong, Mister Wil. Why, you be well before we knows it!

Wil frowned and shook his head until the pain quickly taught him to remain completely still to escape from it.

Jist you rest, Mister Wil. I’ll be right back. He intended to go fetch Selena.

Wil made another attempt to speak before his strength left him completely. One word. Elizabeth? But by then Hyrum was gone.

He rushed from the room and out the front door. He stopped on the front porch and looked toward the barn, around the yard, out to the fields. He finally spied Selena coming out of the barn, a basket of eggs in her hands. Hyrum hollered at her. She hurried toward him. Fear was clutching her breast at