“I don’t know what I’d like answered first.” Noah, still slouched against the well, labored in between breaths. “How you survived two bullets to your heart, or where the hell you been all this while?”
“I’ve got to get you to the doctor.” Toby, dusty from head to toe, grimaced at the sight of the dark blood staining Noah’s shirt. Franklin stood on the porch, not knowing what to do.
“Are you dead, Toby?” It was Noah, murmuring as his strength faded.
“Noah, you need Doc Richardson.” Toby crouched and placed his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Now.”
“I’d rather the doc care for my wife first.” He inhaled before sighing out the last part. “To be honest with you.”
“He already has.”
Noah, confused, stared at Toby. “How do you know?”
“Where do you think I was most of the time?”
“Up until about two minutes ago? Heaven or hell. That’s why I’m asking if you’re dead. Based on the day I’ve had, it wouldn’t surprise me if the answer’s yes.”
“I’m not dead, Noah.”
“Then how are you alive?”
Ten men, at least seven of them soldiers, followed by a dual horse-drawn wagon, turned left off the road onto Toby’s property.
“Good, the doc’s here,” Toby said.
“How did he know to come?!”
“Calm down, Noah. Save your strength.”
“Mister Jenkins, I saw Mister Diggs and Lyle shoot you. I buried you myself.”
“And I’m glad it was you who buried me.” Toby smiled.
“I don’t get it.”
“I know.”
Noah recognized the sheriff’s deputy leading the charge: Harrison. Noah’s gaze wandered to the rear of the procession to Doctor Richardson, sitting alongside Sarah Jenkins, who held Isaac.
“I’ll be right back.” Toby ran, not toward the approaching wagon, but to the grave plots and returned holding a few items.
He tossed a shovel blade onto Lyle’s Stetson, which still rested before Noah.
“I fit that under my shirt yesterday after Sarah called for me while I was talking to you. Excused myself and went into my barn. Oh, and I layered this over it and wrapped twine around my chest to keep it all in place.”
Toby dangled a thin slab of meat wriggling with maggots. “Sorry ’bout the smell.”
“Is that your liver?” It was Franklin.
Toby laughed, an unexpected loud bark. “No, my friend, it isn’t. It was a fine cut of beef, actually. I needed something to pass for a chest wound. The bullets went right through it and wedged in the shovel. If you look you can see the dents they made.”
“How’d you breathe?” Franklin asked.
“I dug the grave so there’d be a minimal amount of dirt covering me—enough for me to maneuver. And I kept a few of these in the hole.” Toby held up a couple of hollowed-out lengths of sugar cane.
“You didn’t see it, but when you laid me in the grave, I felt around and grabbed one. I snuck it in my mouth when you took a break from shoveling. I almost gagged. I appreciate you burying my head last—otherwise things would’ve been more complicated. Once you were done I pushed this little guy out of my mouth so it could poke through the dirt. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to breathe, but it did the job. I snuck out of there late at night because I had to be certain there was nobody around. The place was crawling with Diggs’s men all day. They’d have seen me for sure.”
Noah glanced at the shovel. “But what if Diggs had shot you in the head?”
“I’d be dead.”
“How did you know he’d aim for your chest?” Noah hesitated. Questions formed in his head too fast to be asked. “Or that they were even coming at that time?”
“I didn’t—not a hundred percent. I had a hunch. So did Sarah.”
“I don’t—” Noah stopped when sounds of heavy splashing rose from the water well.
“Quiet down there!” Toby shouted down the well. “Rest.”
Toby focused on the bottom reaches of the well. “Rest now. I’ll call on you later.” The splashing ceased almost immediately.
Noah watched Toby, whose eyes momentarily appeared vacant and white—or so Noah thought. But a double-take revealed them to be brown and wide.
They sure looked white as snow, though, Noah thought, and then spoke. “Toby, what the hell’s down there?”
“Not now, Noah. Not yet.”
Things got blurrier for Noah. He felt cold.
Noah saw visions of men hopping off horses, guns drawn, scouring the property, then Doctor Richardson jogging to his side, lowering himself while opening his medical bag, and pulling out a rag and a bottle.
“I’ve got you, son. I’ve got you.”
Richardson placed a damp rag over Noah’s mouth and nose and sleep came quickly.