CHAPTER

10

The smell of burning flesh woke me up.

I lifted my head from the ground and saw a charred, smoke-filled landscape. Coughs racked my body, clawing their way up my parched throat and spewing forth like stones thrown down a rocky slope. I lifted my hand to my mouth and realized the burning flesh was my own.

Instinctively, I slapped at my sizzling forearm with my bare hand, and though effective, I now had two burns instead of one. I stared, dumbly, at my scorched forearm, and fell to the ground dry heaving from disgust.

On the ground it was easier to breathe. Smoke hovered a few inches from the earth, offering a pocket of fresh air and a somewhat clear view. Keeping my head low to the ground, I took my bearings. Fire was all around me. And, I was alone. If I stayed where I was, I would die.

I hadn’t come this far to die in a lightning-fueled grass fire.

Using one arm, I pushed myself to sitting. In between coughs, I tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of my shirt and wrapped it around my face to filter some of the smoke from my lungs. I ripped off what remained of my left shirtsleeve, and using my right hand and my teeth, bound it around my burn. I screamed when I tightened the bandage, from pain as well as the knowledge I would lose the arm from infection if I couldn’t treat it correctly. I pushed the idea to the far reaches of my mind, stood up, and walked.

The pinprick of sun directly overhead gave no indication which direction I was headed. I walked around the clumps of fire, and stumbled over a cactus, barely feeling the needles prick my legs. I staggered on, passing one cactus after another until it dawned on me I was walking in circles. I stopped and heard someone humming a tune. I set off in the direction of the sound.

A woman stood with her back to me, working on a makeshift table set up on two whisky barrels. She was a slight woman, with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a tight bun.

“I know that bun.”

As I got closer, I heard the tune she sang and recognized the voice instantly.

“Maureen?”

Maureen O’Reilly, the closest person to a mother I ever had, turned to me. Her hands were covered with flour, and there was a disapproving smile on her face. The smile she gave me when she wanted to be severe but couldn’t hide her pride in me for all that.

“Katie Girl, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself in now?”

“I’m lost.”

“Are you now?”

The land around us was barren. “I think I’m going to die here.”

Maureen wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s not like you to give up.”

I exhaled. “I’m so tired, Maureen.”

She reached out and stroked my short hair. “I know, Katie Girl.”

Tears choked my throat. “I miss you. I’m sorry I brought you out here.”

She smiled and patted my cheek. “What’s done is done. You have to move forward.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t want to.”

“I do. But I can’t forget.”

“Look forward.” I gaped at her with incomprehension. She smiled and shook her head. “You always were too busy being right to see what was in front of you. Get up. Move forward.”

I pushed myself up, and walked on until the world fell away beneath me. I tumbled down the hill, head over feet, and slid to a stop next to a large, warm wall. Every muscle in my body hurt. My eyes were dry and I struggled for breath. I reached out for the wall and touched hair. Warm breath snuffled on my neck and cheek, followed by a low nicker of recognition.

“Piper,” I said, patting the palomino’s side. I sat up and leaned my back against the horse. The small dip had miraculously been saved from the fire. Smoke drifted along the tops of the hills above us. I found my canteen, uncorked it, and drank deeply, the lukewarm water a panacea on my parched throat. I sighed and twisted my neck from side to side. The back of it felt as if it was being beaten by a hammer. I reached back to massage it, felt a bump the size of a walnut, and knew I was concussed.

I shook the canteen. Half-full, at most. I corked it to save the water and dug into the saddlebag for hardtack or a piece of jerky. I ate and contemplated what to do next. I had a gun with four rounds, little water and food, was injured and on foot in the middle of Indian Territory. I didn’t even have my hat.

“A bad predicament any way you look at it, Piper. What do you suggest we do?” The horse gazed at me with one big, brown eye and shook her head. “Lot of help you are.”

I chawed off a bit of hardtack. “Surely Kindle will come back for me. I’ll wait here for him.”

The horse snorted and turned her head away. “You’re right, it’s a horrible idea. The Lord helps those who help themselves. Or something like that.” I leaned forward and whispered to the horse. “I haven’t been much for church these last eight years.”

The boom of cannons shook the ground. The storm clouds above me roiled and growled as the thunder receded. Fingers of lightning touched the horizon. Rain, warm and gloriously wet, flushed from the sky. I lifted my face to the rain, and let it wash away the grime, fear and indecision covering me like a second skin.

I kissed Piper’s forelock, thanked her for carrying me so far, and shot the palomino in the head with my gun. Three rounds left. I hoped I wouldn’t regret using one to put the foundered horse out of her misery.

I walked away, carrying my saddle on my right shoulder and my saddlebags around my neck. My head throbbed, my left forearm felt like a knife was repeatedly slicing into it, and my right hand, burned and weak from being broken by the Comanche, struggled to steady the saddle on my shoulder. I wanted to walk in the low areas between the hills but knew there would be little chance of anyone seeing me if I did. The small hill in front of me was as imposing as the Dover cliffs.

I put my head down and climbed.

I dropped my gear when I reached the top, exhausted and afraid my head was going to explode. When I caught my breath, I surveyed my surroundings. As far as I could see, small hills rose and dipped. “Where’s a goddamn plain when you need it?”

I evaluated my gear for what to jettison. The saddlebags stayed with me. They held the last of my medical tools and my gun. I would walk over coals to keep them. I could leave the saddle; there wasn’t a horse to put it on when I caught up with the group anyway. But, I would have to buy another one down the road and money was scarce. I would carry it as long as humanly possible. I would need the buffalo skin at night when the temperature dipped. I inhaled, picked up my gear, and walked on.

On hill five I saw a familiar-looking cactus with a piece of my shirt impaled on a long needle. On the eighth hill, the scorched ground stopped suddenly and was replaced with waist-high buffalo grass. On the tenth hill, I stopped counting.

As I walked, I watched the storm in front of me recede into the distance, replaced by a cloudless royal blue sky. Slowly, the sky turned the deep blue of a Union officer’s coat and the sun behind me fell to the earth. It would be night soon. I crested the final hill and saw a rider in the distance, loping toward me. I dropped my gear and put my hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath. Exhausted as I was, I couldn’t help grinning as Kindle rode his towering gray toward me with Aénhé’ke at his back. He pulled up and took in my bandaged arm, the saddle at my feet, and saddlebags around my neck.

“Took you long enough,” I said.

He shook his head and a slow grin of admiration spread across his face. “Sometimes I wonder if you need me at all.”