Sagebrush Bride

chapter TWENTY NINE





Immediately, Elizabeth began searching for a wound, tears pricking at her eyes, threatening to obscure her vision. With the last of his strength, Cutter thrust her hand away and continued loading, but she returned stubbornly, probing him, holding back her sobs as she searched him.

Sweat trickled from Cutter’s brow as he passed the loaded weapon to Elizabeth.

“Where?” Elizabeth demanded, desperation taking over. She could sense him fading, and still had no notion what it was that was wrong. “I don’t see where you were shot!” She was losing hold of her control. Dear God, Cutter couldn’t die. He couldn’t leave her! She loved him. “Cutter,” she moaned.



“Lizbeth, gal... we’re in a tight... ”he told her, wavering on the brink of unconsciousness. Shadows flitted before his eyes as he handed her the loaded Colt, butt-first. He swallowed nothing. His mouth was dry as death. “Need your help,” he told her hoarsely.



Elizabeth shook her head, shoving the gun away, denying him. She was terrified that if she touched the gun, he would slip away. Desperately she continued to probe his body for the mysterious wound, confounded that she couldn’t find it.

Cutter looked at her blankly, his eyes narrowed and glassy. “Elizabeth,” he said firmly. “Take the confounded gun... point it at the bad guys... and shoot.” he thrust it at her weakly. “Take it,” he entreated softly, blinking as his eyes crossed.

Fighting her hysteria, Elizabeth snatched the odious gun from his hands, fully intending to lay it aside while she continued to search him, but the moment she did, Cutter’s eyes closed, and he slumped to one side.

“No!” she cried, clutching his shoulders in desperation. “Oh, no—Cutter, no!”

Lead shattered into the boulder, flinging shards of stone. One chip hit Katie in the arm. At once Katie began to shriek, scurrying closer to Elizabeth. Elizabeth shoved her down to lie beside Cutter, her instinct for survival taking over. Saying a short prayer for all their souls, she rose to her trembling knees. The gun wavered in her hands as she peered over the boulder, only to face panic once more.

Oh, God! She could see nothing! Nothing at all! She shook her head, denying the position she was in, and turned, sinking down despondently against the cold stone. But it was no use. Denial would accomplish nothing.

“Dear God, have mercy on our souls,” she said with a catch, and resolutely came back to her knees, fully expecting to look death in the face.

She couldn’t see anything beyond the swaying grass—not even the boulder she and Katie and Cutter had used for shelter earlier. Everything, everything, beyond her field of vision was a hazy predawn blur of gray and rose. Another bullet whistled past, just missing Elizabeth.

At her feet, Cutter groaned, startling her.

“Just a scratch,” he said deliriously, his teeth setting against the pain.

Elizabeth felt torn, wanting to go to him, and knowing she couldn’t possibly. She peered over the boulder again. Another bullet whizzed by, missing her, though barely, and she squeezed one of her own off accidentally. Her hands quivering, she muttered a curse she’d learned from Cutter and glanced back over the boulder, pointing her gun shakily, but not firing.

She couldn’t see anything to shoot at and didn’t dare waste bullets. Oh, God... she couldn’t kill what she couldn’t see! And she couldn’t see anything!

Not true! she told herself. You can see all you need to! Don’t panic. “Do not panic,” she told herself firmly.

Biting her lower lip almost painfully, she held her breath, and waited. For the longest moment, there was nothing. Nothing at all. The sound of gunfire stopped abruptly, and only the sound of the breeze stirred through the grass.

With every second of silence, her fear mounted.

And then suddenly she tensed, seeing a face... oh, God, a face... a bearded face! Magnus was on his belly, coming like a snake through the grass!

He was grinning—knowing that she was incapable of staving him off alone. But he was wrong. She could do it! Keeping her hand as steady as she was able, she tried with all her might to focus, squinting as he came closer, waiting for the right moment.

Closer.

“Aunt Lizabeth!” Katie squealed in fright.

“Stay down, Katie!” Elizabeth squeezed the trigger, but it merely clicked, the chamber empty. Cutter had missed one. How many bullets had he loaded? She couldn’t remember.

“Cutter?” she whimpered.

Magnus’ grin widened. Emboldened, he came to his knees, rising swiftly to his feet to rush at her.

Panic threatened to set in. Some part of Elizabeth wanted only to toss down the gun in her hand and throw herself at Magnus’ mercy, knowing there was no way possible for her to fire and hit her intended target... even if there were bullets... but there had to be! She’d watched Cutter load it!

There had to be!

And she had to try. Magnus would kill them all without hesitation. That had been his intent all along, she reminded herself bitterly. Bolstering her courage, she straightened, steadied the gun in her hand, and focused hard on Magnus’ beard.

With a hopeless cry, she squeezed the trigger again. Adrenaline sped through her as the gun discharged. Again she fired. And then again. And then again.

And then she blinked, disbelieving her eyes. Before her, as though in slow motion, Magnus wavered a moment, then fell to his knees in the grass, clutching his ribs... an arrow piercing his heart. Blood gurgled from his mouth.

Oh, God... an arrow!

Elizabeth stared at it for a dumbfounded moment. She watched as he dropped the gleaming silver gun to the grass and then collapsed atop it. Shocked, she turned to see that Katie had buried her face into Cutter’s side.

And then she looked up... and saw another face approaching, a face with eyes as black as Cutter’s. But it was familiar and she didn’t scream, despite her moment of fear. She swallowed, realizing that it was the very same Indian who had come upon her and Cutter in their sleep. The same one who had spoken to Cutter. Who’d thanked her for the sage she hadn’t purposely placed on his brother Black Wolf’s grave. She shook her head, as though disbelieving what she saw. The Indian came forward and bent over Magnus’ body, placing a hand before his nose and then at his throat.

“Enaa'e.”

Elizabeth shook her head frantically, not understanding.

“Enaa'e!” He pointed at Sulzberger and made a quick slicing motion with his hand. “Enaa'e!”

“D-Dead?” she stammered. “Dead?”

The Indian seemed to understand her, and he suddenly pointed away from them, in the direction Sulzberger had come from. “E-e tdhtahe!”

“C-Colyer?” she asked, pointing timidly in the same direction. “D-Dead, too?” She tried to recall what Cutter had said about death in the Cheyenne tribe. “Seyan?” she blurted. She pointed in the same direction the Indian had, once more, hope spiraling in her breast. “Colyer... seyan?”

The Indian’s brows collided, though he appeared amused, not angry. He shook his head and pointed again. Then, turning, he held out his hand. Two of his fingers ran across his palm. “Ee'tóhtahe,” he repeated.

Elizabeth shook her head, still not understanding.

Suddenly his arms flew wide, and his fingers curled, claw-like. He shouted the word again and lunged at them. Katie screamed, hurling herself into Elizabeth’s back, her arms flying about Elizabeth’s neck.

Elizabeth didn’t dare move.

“Ee'tóhtahe!” the Indian said again, pointing at Katie. He mimicked Katie’s fear, running in a circle with his hands high in the air. His mouth was agape with a scream that never materialized.

The image was so comical that if Elizabeth hadn’t been so dazed, she might have actually laughed. As it was, he stopped suddenly, and she flinched at the suddenness of his movement as he again pointed in the direction Sulzberger had come. Just to be certain she understood, he turned his palm up once more and ran his fingers across it. “Ee'tóhtahe!” he repeated.

“Afraid,” Elizabeth whispered with a nod. Her heart pounded fiercely, yet she knew instinctively that he’d meant neither of them any harm. Colyer had run away afraid, she surmised. She made the same running motion with her fingers, and nodded again at the Indian. “Colyer ran away afraid,” she concluded, and then she began to pry Katie’s arms from around her neck. She brought Katie around to embrace her. “He won’t hurt you,” Elizabeth assured, knowing in her heart that it was the truth. “He means to help us.”

The Indian nodded and smiled, as though he’d again understood. He looked down suddenly and kicked Sulzberger’s body violently. Elizabeth winced, but Sulzberger didn’t stir.

Satisfied that the Indian had come in peace, Elizabeth wasted no more time in returning her attention to Cutter. With Katie still clutching at her, she turned and began to examine him under the Indian’s watchful gaze. Quickly she began to unbutton his shirt, removing his arms from his sleeves. He was much too heavy to remove it completely, so she left it for him to lie upon.

As Elizabeth probed Cutter’s arms, she was vaguely aware that the Indian was dragging Sulzberger away from them. When he was gone finally, Katie eased her grip, though she didn’t release Elizabeth completely. Her little fist clutched at Elizabeth’s skirt.

Katie’s whisper was shaky. “I-Is he a Indian, A-Aunt Lizabeth?”

Elizabeth nibbled her lower lip as she met Katie’s frightened gaze. “Yes,” she replied.

“Is h-he a good Indian?”

Elizabeth couldn’t tear her gaze away. There was so much of her own emotions mirrored in Katie’s eyes. “Yes, he is,” she answered with more certainty than she felt. Swallowing, she returned her attention to Cutter.

“Is Uncle Cutter gonna go to heaven, too, Aunt Lizabeth?”

Elizabeth was startled by the innocent question; her eyes flew to Katie’s. Tears stung her own eyes, but she held them back, containing them with anger. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, her voice breaking. She averted her eyes to Cutter’s chest, laying her hand upon it. She bit into her lower lip to keep from crying out loud. His breath was shallow, too shallow, and his flesh was raging with fever. Fear lodged in her throat as she turned him slightly, peering underneath his back.

Nothing.

His color is good, she told herself. As long as he was still feverish, he was fighting. But how could he be feverish if he’d only just been shot? She shook her head. It wasn’t possible. And then she recalled the shots that had killed O’Neill. Had Cutter been hit then, too—all those hours ago—and said nothing of it? It still didn’t make sense.

“Katie,” she said, trying not to give in to hysteria, “turn around, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

Again Elizabeth looked up, beseeching Katie to understand. “Because I have to look somewhere you can’t,” she said bluntly.

Katie nodded abruptly, seeing something frightening in Elizabeth’s eyes. She turned obediently, and Elizabeth immediately began to unbutton Cutter’s denims, tugging them down as far as she was able without removing his boots. Nothing. Puzzled, she lifted one leg slightly, then the other, peering beneath.

Still nothing.

Stupefied, she removed his knife from his left boot, set it aside, and began tugging off the right one. It came off without difficulty, but when she came back to remove the left one, it seemed bonded to his foot. Grunting, she hauled on it with all her might, yanking it down, one frustrating inch at a time. At last, when it was nearly off, she caught a glimpse of the angry red streak, and her breath snagged. Her heart pounded as she tugged again, more frantically this time, releasing the boot with a final sucking sound. She toppled backward from the force of her tug. Shaking her head in denial, she righted herself at once, and began to remove his sock. She tossed it aside in disbelief, her heart filling with an unbearable ache.

“Dear God!” she exclaimed.

“Can I look?” Katie asked.

“No, Katie... no,” Elizabeth sobbed.

The red streak climbed his leg, originating from a gash in his left foot and disappearing into the leg of his denims. She hadn’t realized he’d even cut himself! How could she not have known? Why hadn’t he mentioned it?

He didn’t trust in you, a little voice taunted as she tugged frantically at his denims, removing them.

Cutter didn’t believe in her abilities as a doctor any more than anyone else did.

He watched you kill a man with your ignorance, that same voice sneered.

But she could have done something. Anything... anything would have been better than nothing at all! She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, for in that moment, it hurt so deeply that he’d preferred to suffer—or die, even—rather than have her tend him!

Perhaps he’d had good reason to doubt her, she mocked herself. She hadn’t been able to keep the Indian from dying, had she? But she’d tried. Dear God, with all her heart she’d tried!

He didn’t trust her.

The Indian chose that moment to return. “Eháomóhtâhéotse,” he said, halting dead in his tracks when he saw Cutter’s swollen, angry foot.

Katie buried her face into Elizabeth’s lap, hiding from him, and Elizabeth never felt more torn; she wanted to soothe Katie, wanted to help Cutter, wanted to cry.

“It’s infected,” Elizabeth informed him briskly, even knowing he wouldn’t understand. She held back every emotion. Except for the anger that crept into her heart. Anger that Cutter would have let this go so long without having it tended. Anger that he hadn’t trusted her. Anger that he might die because of his stubbornness. Anger that she had let herself love him.

Why, oh, why had she allowed herself to love him?

Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. “I’ll need you to start a fire,” she said, looking up at the Indian, her lips trembling and her eyes shimmering. “Fire!” She set Katie aside and made a desperate motion with her hand, and then, remembering the cartridge Cutter usually kept in his pocket, she searched for it. Not finding it, she mimed building herself a fire, and then cooking, and then eating what she cooked.

The Indian nodded. “Meséestse!” he said with a grin, and without another word, set about the task assigned to him.

When he began to build the fire, Elizabeth returned her attention to Cutter, satisfied that she had gotten her message across. Her heart ached as she spied Katie’s frightened pose. She was holding her knees to her chest and watching the Indian through her little hands. “Katie,” she admonished gently, “don’t be afraid, honey. And don’t hide your face,” she added firmly, her breath catching on a sob. “He won’t hurt you, and it will hurt his feelings.”

Katie nodded mutely and dropped her hands, looking up at Elizabeth with haunted eyes. Elizabeth’s hand went to her mouth as silent sobs wracked her within. Her lips clamped to contain them. Unable to keep them down, she choked suddenly. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart in her eyes, she met the Indian’s comprehending gaze.

There was no language barrier between them in that instant. He seemed to see everything that was in her heart. He went back to his task, and Elizabeth turned back to Cutter, her emotions too turbulent to be seen. Too embittered.

“I hate you, Cutter!” she choked out suddenly her hands flying to her mouth, covering the telltale trembling of her lips. No... you don’t! You love him, that same voice countered fiercely. You love him!

“Aunt Lizabeth!” Katie sobbed.

The Indian said nothing, only watched her show of emotions from of the corner of his eyes. When the fire was kindled finally, he left without a word.

Her throat seemed to close up as she lifted Cutter’s knife to the fire, watching it flare bright red within the glowing blue flames. When it was heated enough, she removed it, swiping the black ash on her skirt, not caring that it singed the material, not caring that she could feel the burn clear to her flesh.

And then, with trembling hands, she began to slice open the inflamed wound on the sole of his foot.

“Aunt Lizabeth!” Katie cried in protest.

“Don’t look, Katie!” Elizabeth demanded firmly. “Don’t look, honey!” There was little blood and much pus. She swallowed convulsively. But it wasn’t the wound that made her ill. It was the lack of tools along with her fear of failure.

There was no pot to boil water with.

No water to boil, even if there had been a pot.

No alcohol to sterilize the wound.

Nothing.

Nothing but the knife in her hands.

Using the best of her skills, she drained the wound, brushing her tears aside when they hindered her vision.

Vaguely she was aware that the Indian had returned. As though he’d anticipated her needs, he set down two canteens full of water beside her, along with a blanket. “Mahpe,” he said, pointing to the canteen. “Mahpe.”

“Water,” Elizabeth returned, her gaze lifting from the canteens.

The Indian nodded, standing. “Wat-er!” he repeated, and then he walked away.

Tears glistened on her pale face as Elizabeth eyed the canteens blankly, noticing finally that one was made of tin covered with water-stained leather. The other was made solely of animal skin, and she determined that it was the Indian’s. With an immediate surge of excitement, she lifted the one made of tin, inspected it quickly, and then, with her heart hammering, she set it whole into the fire, watching eagerly as the leather ignited before her eyes and burned away. The moment she felt it was hot enough, she found a rock and tossed it at the canteen, nudging it back out. And then another, and another, until the canteen was completely out of the fire. Not caring that it charred her dress, she used her hem to protect her fingers as she lifted up the canteen, unscrewed the top, and poured a heated droplet onto the back of her hand. It scalded her, but she merely smiled with relief and shook it away.

Having little time to waste, she rent a strip from Cutter’s shirt and crumpled the cloth, holding it up to the sole of Cutter’s foot as she poured the scalding water over his newly sliced wound, cleansing it thoroughly.

“Does that hurt?” Katie asked as she watched.

Elizabeth nodded, never looking up. She couldn’t bear to look into Katie’s face and see her own fear mirrored there. “I have to hurt him to help him,” she revealed, setting the canteen aside. She rubbed the remaining dirt from the wound with the water-soaked rag, and then again poured over the hot water when she finished.

When every last speck of dirt was removed from the wound, Elizabeth once again lifted the blade over the fire, watching until the metal glowed. She bit down on her bottom lip for strength, and turned to set it against Cutter’s foot. His foot jerked, the motion more reflexive, than from pain, because his eyes remained closed, his face pale.

But there was no help for it. Knowing she had to hurt him to help him, as she’d disclosed to Katie, she set the sizzling blade to the wound once more, sterilizing and cauterizing it with the heat.

Finally, when she’d done all she could do, she dressed the wound, covering Cutter with a blanket. With the Indian’s help, she retrieved Cutter’s bedroll and then set Cutter upon it, tucking the blanket lovingly about him.

Worrying, she placed a trembling hand to his forehead. “He’s raging,” she remarked softly, her voice still shaky with emotion.

“Raging?” Katie asked.

Elizabeth glanced up at Katie, intending to reassure her, but couldn’t. “The fever,” she explained. “I’ve done all I can for him,” she added dismally. “There’s nothing to do now but wait.”

Katie stared, confusion screwing her young features. “You don’t really hate him?” she wanted know. “You don’t hate my uncle. Do you?”

Dear God, what had she done? The chaos she’d brought to poor Katie’s life—how could she ever forgive herself for it! “No, honey,” Elizabeth cried. “No... I could never hate him.” She stared back, but it wasn’t Katie’s face she saw in that moment... it was Cutter’s.

You did real good back there, Doc, she heard him whisper. She closed her eyes, almost able to feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. “Oh, Cutter,” she sobbed, squeezing her lids tight, blocking out the echo of Cutter’s words. She had done the best she could then, too... and it hadn’t been enough. Black Wolf had died in spite of it.

Dear God, she didn’t know what she would do if Cutter died, as well.

She couldn’t bear it. Hot, silent tears slipped past her lashes.

Did you think I’d won my title by default? her own voice mocked her.

Well? She scorned herself. Hadn’t she, after all?