The first thing he heard was a scream. Even before he opened his eyes, Slocum heard it. And it seemed to go on and on. Finally, he realized it was coming from his own mouth. Another voice joined his, but this one was smooth, low, soothing. He heard it for what seemed hours and eventually he realized that the other voice, his screaming voice, had stopped. But the soothing voice kept murmuring in his ear. What it said, he did not know, but it also did not seem to matter. Finally, though, he began to understand words in the soft murmuring, felt something touching him, a hand maybe, brushing his face, his arm, and feeling came back to him. But not much else. What was he doing here? And where was “here”?
“. . . be okay, just relax now. You hear? Everything’s gonna be just fine. Julep’s going to make sure nothing else bad happens to you, you hear?”
Slocum let the words float in his mind. He chewed on them, worried the edges, then finally understood them. And to his surprise, when he thought about replying, he heard another voice, hoarse and barely more than a whisper, but it was a voice, and he thought that maybe it was his own.
“Where am I? What . . . what happened?” The act of speaking brought with it an unimaginable pain, as if talking had unlocked a door, and the room within was filled with sharp pains, dull aches, and splitting, slicing, searing agonies. His head throbbed, and his arms and legs felt as though they had been ripped off then nailed back on with steel pins driven by sledgehammers.
The soft voice sounded again, but he didn’t understand what she was saying.
“Want to see . . . why can’t I see?” he said through teeth gritted against the pain.
He heard the woman sigh, then she said, “I shouldn’t. I covered your eyes because of your head bandage. Figured you might not be able to take the light just yet.”
“Please. I need to see . . .”
She sighed again. “Okay then. But you got to keep your eyes as closed as you can for a while yet. Just peep a little bit, promise me that.”
“Yeah, all right.”
Slocum felt gentle hands tugging at what must have been the wrappings on his head. Why was his head bandaged? But he had no further time to muse on the subject, because a fresh round of throbbing pain washed over him as brightness invaded his eyes. It took him just as long to overcome the pain as it did to begin to make out dim shapes. He didn’t speak for long minutes, and the woman, thankfully, didn’t say a thing either.
Finally he was able to make out what the shapes were, then details, and lastly, just when he was about to say something, a face edged into view. He felt sure he had died and gone to his great reward. He’d long been unsure of just where he’d end up at the end of his days, his life being what it had been—a rough mix of good, bad, and ugly moments. But this creature staring down at him surely had to be an angel.
The light around her illumined her head from behind, but enough crept through and around her hair—golden hair at that—that he was able to see a kind, smiling face a few inches away from his. She had high cheekbones, a rounded face, a medium nose, not too sharp, nor too long, and full lips that rose in a smile.
“Are you . . . an angel?” he said in a croaking voice that had managed to come out barely above the previous whisper he’d emitted.
The angel giggled and shook her head. “I’ve been called a whole lot of things for a whole long time, mister, but I ain’t never been called an angel.” She leaned closer, laid a hand on his forehead. “I tell you, though,” she said, preoccupied with tending to him. “A girl could get used to that sort of talk.”
“How’s the flying snake man?” A voice almost seemed to shout from beyond the woman.
She turned and said in a loud whisper, “Hush, you! He’s come around and he don’t need your big voice muddying up his head. Leastwise not yet . . .”
“Who’s that?” said Slocum. He tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but the woman said, “Easy now. Take it easy there. That’s just Deke. He don’t do anything quiet.”
“She’s right,” said the big voice, but beside him now. “Julep’s right about most things. Like you, for instance. I swore you were a goner, but she told me to get on out and leave her alone. Said she’d fix you up, and by gum if she didn’t. Though with a fall like that, and snakebit and shot and all . . .”
The words the man spoke rattled through Slocum like a series of hard punches to his chest. It was like watching a speeding train whip by, and every window was filled with a picture of something that had happened to him that day. Within seconds he remembered it all, from waking up at the hot spring with the beautiful Apache maiden, the one he’d called “Princess,” then the chase across the plain, the Apache hot on his heels, his Appaloosa pounding hell-for-leather toward that rock pile, that damned knob of high rocks.
He remembered leaving the horse, his gear, crouching low, skittering in between boulders, getting shot in the leg, the sun, reaching a place at the back near the top, seeing the vast hidden canyon stretching out far below, waiting, watching, the she-lion, the rattlesnake, so fat, so large, then the Apache attacking, going over the edge, landing on another ledge not far below, groping in the dark . . . snakes! All of it barreled into him with the force of a cannon blast.
Slocum felt his chest tightening, heard his own breathing coming harder and harder, felt as if it was too difficult to draw in a breath. He tried to sit up again, tried to thrash out with his arms, but found he could barely move them. His neck tensed and he gritted his teeth, didn’t care about the throbbing pain in his head. He thrashed from side to side, howling unintelligible words—he couldn’t have survived all that he went through, so where was he? What had really happened?
He eventually became aware of the two voices shouting at him, the weight of their hands holding him down, the woman putting something cool on his forehead.
Then the man said, “I don’t care what you say, Julep, I’m a man and I know what a man needs sometimes, and that’s a slug of whiskey, by gum, and that’s what he’s going to get.”
Slocum by then had exhausted himself and sagged back against whatever it was he was lying against. He felt the woman’s hand on his forehead, heard water dripping, then felt a cloth being put on his head again. “Deke is probably right. He’s gone to fetch you a drink. I hope you can keep it down. It’ll probably help with the pain. You must be feeling a world of hurt. I only hope I done the right thing in working to save you. For sure you would have died, but you’re lucky we all were down here.”
“Where . . . where am I?”
“Deke ought not to have said all he did. I shouldn’t blame him none, but I will. The big oaf should have kept his pie hole shut tight.”
“Where am I?”
“Why, sugar.” She smiled down at him, her head canted to one side. “You’re down here with us now. In what I call . . . Devil’s Canyon.”