8 

Jesse had just reached the river’s far bank and turned to assure himself that Shiloh was following safely behind him when he caught sight of the uprooted dead tree headed directly toward her on the fast-flowing current. He yelled to warn her, then leaped from his horse, turned, and dove into the water. Even as he did so, he knew he’d never reach her in time.

Once more the icy temperature took his breath away. The river current was strong, and he had to fight his way back to the surface. As he did, the old pine, now a scant ten feet away, began to pass him. He saw Shiloh’s horse rear, wheel around, and throw her into the river.

The tree, rolling about in the current with roots leading, swept over the spot where she’d just sunk below the river’s surface. He swam toward the tree as the massive pine swept by, hoping to find Shiloh as she resurfaced. Instead, she rose several yards downstream, just as the end of the tree passed over her.

Her hair, broken loose from her braid, tangled in some of the roots. The tree rolled over again, pulling her beneath the water. Jesse flung himself forward. By some stroke of luck, he managed to grasp a long, broken branch protruding near the top of the big pine, before being jerked downstream along with it.

Water, churning around him and splashing into his face, obstructed his view down to the end of the tree slicing through the middle of the river. Flinging his arm around the rough bark, he inched his way down toward the roots. He saw a flash of red and flailing arms as Shiloh managed to fight her way to the surface. She gasped, drew in a frantic breath of air, and tore at her hair still entwined in the myriad sharp, dried roots.

Then the tree bounced off a large boulder, and the impact sent it rolling again. With a cry, Shiloh was jerked back beneath the rushing water. The twisting trunk almost pulled Jesse under as well, but he kicked away from it just in time. As soon as it righted, he swam back and grabbed hold of it again, desperately making his way down toward where he’d seen Shiloh disappear.

For a brief time, the river calmed a bit. He grabbed a long root, swam around the tree base, and looked for a sign of Shiloh. Just then, a hand rose amongst the roots. He saw faint strands of auburn hair entangled in the finer tendrils splaying off the main roots. He reached out, grasped the hand, and pulled. In the space it took for Shiloh to surface and take a breath, he held her up.

Her face was pallid, her lips blue. But recognition flared in her terror-darkened eyes.

“Hold on!” Jesse yelled above the river’s roaring tumult. “I’ll get you loose.”

He began to tear at the bits of her hair that he could see caught in the roots. Then the tree glanced off another boulder and rolled yet again. He was forced to let go of Shiloh or risk breaking her arm. This time, though, he followed her beneath the water. It was that or risk becoming caught in the roots himself.

Blinded in the dark, churning water, Jesse thrust out wildly, trying to find Shiloh. His hand glanced off something soft. His numb fingers clenched around a human limb. An arm.

Frantically, Jesse used his other hand to reach her head and work its way up to the hair still caught in the roots. He jerked down hard, tearing the ends of her hair free. Then, slipping his free arm about her waist, he held her down as the rest of the pine sailed over and past them.

As Jesse kicked his way to the surface with his now-limp burden, the big tree slammed into a huge boulder jutting from the middle of the river. The wooden hulk spun around, its end barely missing Jesse. He swung his body to protect Shiloh just as a jagged, broken branch caught him in the right side.

Burning pain shot through him. He thought the flesh was surely being ripped away. Then the tree caught in the boulders, its farthest end nearly at the riverbank. Jesse seized the fleeting opportunity this presented and swam the few feet back to the tree. Still holding onto Shiloh with one arm, he used the other to pull his way down the tree toward the shore.

He made it just in time. With the last of his strength, Jesse dragged Shiloh up onto dry land. He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath and gritting his teeth against the searing agony in his side.

Don’t you dare pass out, he fiercely ordered himself, fighting the blackness that threatened to take him. Shiloh needs you. Needs you as much as you needed her that day.

His fingers digging into the soft earth, Jesse made himself sit up. Then, as gently as his numb hands would permit, he turned Shiloh over on her stomach and began to try and push water from her lungs. For the longest minutes of his life, she didn’t respond, only lay there limp and lifeless.

“B-breathe,” he cried. “Don’t you die on me! I can’t lose you too. I just c-can’t!”

His words caught on a sob. He was so tired. His head spun. And he was so very cold. But still Jesse pressed on. Shiloh couldn’t die. Not while there was breath still left in his body . . .

Water began to gurgle from her mouth. She gagged, choked, and then began to cough. Her arms flailed at her sides.

Jesse rocked back on his heels. He lifted his gaze to the sky in silent gratitude. Then the edges of his vision began to gray. He blinked hard against the encroaching darkness, fighting to stay conscious. It didn’t work for long. He toppled forward.

It seemed forever before she could draw in a full breath, as water kept rising from her lungs to spew from her mouth. The choking kept going on and on. Finally, blessedly, however, the moment came when Shiloh found she could breathe again. And, for what seemed the longest time, she just lay there, savoring the experience.

At last, she rolled onto her side and levered to one elbow. Bone-deep shivers racked her. The recollection of her near drowning flooded back with terrifying intensity.

How did I get free . . . ? The memory of a darkly handsome face filled her mind.

“Jesse!” she whispered, her voice little more than a ragged croak.

Her bleary gaze took in her surroundings, the river racing past only a few yards away, the scattered bushes and chokecherry trees, and the greening grass beneath her. There was no sign of Jesse, though.

Fear lanced through her. Had he drowned trying to save her? She forced herself to a sitting position and, looking over her shoulder, found him.

Jesse lay there motionless, only inches from her, facedown on the ground. His hair and buckskins were dark and wet, but what sent Shiloh’s heart to hammering was the blood she saw seeping from a long gash in his right side.

She turned around to face him and after a brief struggle managed to get him onto his back. His skin was pale, his lips blue. But he was at least breathing, thank the Lord.

The continued bleeding, however, was worrisome. Shiloh pulled up his buckskin shirt and soon found the reason why. Something had pierced Jesse’s side and torn a ragged hole in his flesh.

Panic, this time bordering on hysteria, filled her. Here she was in the middle of nowhere, their horses missing—and with them had gone all their supplies. Jesse was badly wounded and bleeding. In the bargain, they were both soaking wet and night would be here soon. A very cold night.

“Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, her chest rising and falling in rapid sequence until she began to feel light-headed. “Help me. Help me to see what I must do and how to do it.”

Clasping her hands before her, Shiloh clenched shut her eyes and prayed. Little by little, her breathing slowed. Her muscles began to relax. Her confidence returned.

The land would give her what she needed. Her Ute nursemaid had taught her much about herbal remedies. How to recognize the many healing plants even in spring, before they regained their full growth and color.

Shoving to her feet, Shiloh forced her cold-stiffened limbs to move her back down toward the river. She walked along the bank, checking for patches of green amongst the rocks and sandy shore. And, finally, she found several mounds of moss in the shallows between some rocks, already beginning to green in the warming days of spring.

It was a simple enough matter to dig up big handfuls of the absorbent plants, which she unceremoniously shoved into her jacket pockets. First order of business was to get Jesse’s wound to stop bleeding, she decided, then move him to some sort of shelter. Next, she had to locate one or both of their horses. Without them, and the bedding and supplies they carried, both their lives might yet be forfeit.

Jesse was still unconscious when she returned, and Shiloh was more than thankful for that. The wound itself was surely painful. Packing the moss into the wound would be even more so.

A scant ten minutes later, the moss firmly pressed against his side and bound in place by strips she’d torn from her chemise, Shiloh finished dragging Jesse’s inert form a short ways downstream to rest beneath a small chokecherry tree. Already, its leaves were beginning to swell. Not the best shelter in the world, but hopefully the branches would provide Jesse with a bit of visual haven from any who might venture by.

Any humans at least, she amended as she next set out to hike upstream in the hopes of finding their horses. Jesse’s blood and its scent could easily attract several kinds of nonhuman visitors. She had done the best she could for the time being, though.

The activity of hiking uphill, combined with the still warm sun, eventually rejuvenated her, stimulating the blood to flow back into her benumbed limbs. If not for her wet clothes, Shiloh would have felt almost comfortable again. She only hoped the sun was helping to warm Jesse too.

After a half hour’s brisk walk, Shiloh’s efforts were rewarded far beyond what she had dared hope. Both of their horses stood near each other, placidly dining on the bits of spring grass poking up through the winter-killed foliage. They glanced briefly at her, then resumed their grazing. They were easily caught.

A quick check revealed their bedrolls were still tied to the back of each saddle, the rifles and saddlebags as well, and three of four canteens still remained. Neither horse was hurt or lame. Shiloh soon mounted her mare and, leading Jesse’s pony, headed back downstream.

Thank You, Lord, she thought, relief and gratitude filling her. Now, if Jesse survives through this night, and we can get him to some town or friendly settler’s house, I’d be most thankful.

The return trip was a lot less strenuous and a whole lot swifter. Shiloh jumped down when she reached the chokecherry tree, tied the two horses to it, and quickly unfastened the bedrolls from both saddles. Both sets of double blankets were wet. Shiloh spread the four blankets atop some nearby bushes to hasten their drying.

An examination of Jesse’s wound revealed the moss had done its work. The bleeding had stopped. Jesse was still unconscious, however.

She used the time to good purpose. After gathering a load of tinder and scrap wood from the shrubbery and trees growing along the river, she fashioned a fire pit ringed with rocks, then set up the wood and tinder to make a fire. Within one of the saddlebags, the flint and steel lay in its waterproof pouch. With those invaluable aids, it was a simple enough matter to create sufficient sparks, and it didn’t take long before Shiloh had a small fire going. She added additional twigs until the fire flamed hot and bright, then paused to pull Jesse as close to it as she dared.

Next, she found her lidded pot, fashioned a spit, and headed to the river to fill the pot with water. After hanging it over the fire to heat and adding some bigger branches to the flames now leaping into the rapidly darkening sky, Shiloh checked on Jesse once again. His wound was still doing well and he was finally beginning to stir.

Retrieving her knife from her saddlebags, she next headed to a willow tree a short distance down the river. Reaching up as high as she could, she cut off a sizable length of several newer, smoother-barked branches. Her booty in hand, Shiloh hurried back to the fire, where the pot of water was steaming. She stripped the bark from one of the branches, cut it into pieces, and popped a few into her tin cup. Then she carefully filled the cup with the now-boiling water.

“Sh-Shiloh?”

“I’m here.” She set down the cup to allow the tea to steep, and scooted over to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve swallowed half of that blasted river.” He tried to push himself up, then grimaced and fell back. “And my side feels like it’s on fire. But otherwise, not bad. Not bad at all.”

Though he accompanied his last few words with a wan smile, Shiloh knew he was in a lot of discomfort. “I packed some moss into your wound to stop the bleeding. And I’ve got a cup of willow bark tea almost ready for you. It should at least take the edge off your pain.”

His lips quirked. “Trying some of the old Indian remedies, are you?”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve got an apothecary in the neighborhood.” She paused. “How did you get that wound?”

“I’d just freed you from those tree roots when the tree hit some rocks and ricocheted back toward us. I got in the way of a branch.” He glanced up toward her head. “Just so you know, I had to break off some of your hair to get you free of those branches. There wasn’t time to slowly unwind it all, considering what was going on at the time. But I’m sure your hair will look just fine . . . in a year or two.”

At the twinkle in his eyes, Shiloh reflexively touched the top of her head. There were definitely some spots of shorter hair up there. “Well, considering the other option, I reckon it was a good trade-off. And,” she added with a grin, “if it ends up looking too awful, I’ll just cut it all short and start over. Maybe start a new fashion trend.”

He used his good arm to reach up and touch the damp curls tumbling over her shoulders. “I think it’ll be just fine without you having to cut it.”

The tenderness of his gesture and the unguarded expression of affection in his dark eyes found an answering chord in Shiloh. Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked back tears.

“Oh, J-Jesse . . .” Her voice wobbled. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve never insisted on taking such a dangerous trip just to get home faster. We both could’ve died today.”

“But we didn’t. I took care of you, and now you’re taking care of me. As long as we each do our part, we’ll get you home safe and sound.” He inhaled a deep breath, then caught himself as the pain in his side apparently fiercely reminded him of his wound. “Er, do you think that willow bark tea has steeped long enough by now?” he asked, shooting a questioning glance at the cup sitting beside her.

“Of course it has.” She picked up the cup, leaned down to slip her other hand beneath his head to raise it, and held the cup to his lips. “Sip it carefully to make sure it’s not too hot for you. Then, try and drink it all down. It’ll be bitter, but I’m thinking you can use a bit stronger dose for a time or two.”

He grimaced at the taste but dutifully emptied the cup’s contents in just a few swallows. She laid him back down. Scooting around to her saddlebags, she pulled out a bag of oatmeal and two smaller containers.

“Do you prefer your oatmeal sweet or salty?” She held up both small containers.

“I don’t recall ever having oatmeal, so I couldn’t say.”

“Even at the mission school? What did they serve for breakfast then?”

“Some sort of gruel. It tasted like glue.”

“Well, oatmeal’s a lot better tasting and better for you.”

“I’d prefer a haunch of roast venison.”

Shiloh laughed. Jesse might just make it after all. “Not tonight. Let’s start with something gentler on your stomach, shall we? Besides, it’s getting too dark for me to go out deer hunting.”

He glanced around and sighed. The night had settled in, Shiloh thought, and the air had taken on a decided chill. She tossed a few more branches on the fire, then rose to go and check how the blankets were doing.

If they weren’t dry enough by bedtime, they were in for a long, cold night.

As she feared, the blankets weren’t dry enough to use for cover that night. By dint of not much sleep, she managed to keep the fire going and the area near it relatively warm. She made Jesse lie as close to it as he could tolerate, and she then tried to shield his back as much as she could by snuggling up behind him. Still, as the night wore on, and despite additional cups of hot willow bark tea, Jesse couldn’t seem to shake off his shivering until, near dawn, he took a fever.

His face became flushed, his forehead and body hot. He was harder to rouse and tossed and turned restlessly. Though hesitant to remove the moss packing, afraid its extraction might set off fresh bleeding, Shiloh knew she needed to do so.

“Jesse,” she said at last, when she had all her supplies ready. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to waken him.

After a time, he opened his eyes. Their gazes met, and Shiloh knew he was awake enough to understand her.

“I need to clean out your wound with some of the willow bark tea then repack it with the moss. Are you all right with that?”

It took him a long moment before he nodded. “Do what . . . you must.” He licked his dry lips. “But first, a little water, please.”

She grabbed a nearby canteen, lifted his head, and held the opening to his mouth. “Drink as much as you want. It can only help.”

His intake was minimal before he fell back exhausted. Shiloh wet a cloth with some of the water and wiped his sweat-sheened face with it.

“That . . . feels good,” he murmured, smiling softly.

Shiloh laid him down, set aside the cloth and canteen, and began to untie the bandage that held the moss in place. “I’ll do it again, once I’ve got this wound taken care of. And I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.”

Less than ten minutes later, Jesse’s wound was examined, cleaned of a few stray splinters, flushed with the willow bark tea, and repacked with fresh moss. The wound edges were inflamed, which worried her. She could only hope the antiseptic properties of the tea and the moss dressing would help with that. There wasn’t a lot more she could do, save pour more tea down his throat at appropriate intervals, encourage him to drink a lot more water in between times, and keep him warm.

What she really needed was to get him to a doctor, or at least to someplace with better shelter and more access to a variety of food and medical supplies. But, as ill and weak as he now was, she didn’t think there was much chance of getting him onto his horse, much less him staying on it for very long. The other alternative, however, of leaving him to try and find help, didn’t set very well with her either. So far, they hadn’t come upon any towns or individual ranches. And there was no telling how long it might take her to find anyone.

A wave of despair overwhelmed her. What would she do if Jesse got worse? Sit beside him and watch him slowly die?

The sense of helplessness of such a passive act grated on her normally practical, take-charge nature. She lifted a fervent prayer for aid, then rose, walked to Jesse’s saddlebag, and pulled out the small hand ax. After ascertaining that he was sleeping soundly, she headed out toward the nearby hills toward a stand of aspens.

Two hours later, sweaty and sore, Shiloh dragged the first of two felled aspen saplings into camp. She’d found the hand ax did the job, just very slowly. It worked a lot better, though, in stripping off the branches to make relatively smooth, long poles.

Twenty minutes later, the second sapling was back at camp. By noon, she had a reasonably sturdy travois tied to Jesse’s pony’s saddle with the coil of rope they’d brought along and two blankets sewn onto the bottom half of the poles. After making herself a sandwich for lunch and eating it, she woke Jesse and fed him the jerky broth she’d made.

“We need to try and get you somewhere where we can get better care for your wound. Can you get up and make it to the travois?” she asked as she spooned the broth into his mouth. “If not, I’ll drag you over to it on your blanket, then pull you up onto its bed.”

He swallowed the broth in his mouth, then gazed up at her with a confused look in his eyes. “A travois? Where . . . did you find . . . a travois?”

“I didn’t find it, Jesse. I made it.”

“M-made it?”

She nodded. “Yes. If a Ute woman can make one, I reckon I can too.”

“Well, let’s see . . . how well it holds up first. Before you get . . . too cocky.”

“For that comment,” Shiloh said with a grin, offering him another spoonful of broth, “I should dump you on your head no matter how good a job I did on that travois.”

Jesse took the spoonful, then managed a wan smile. “You’re . . . too good to me.”

“Yes, I am.” She scooped up some more broth. “Now, no more talk. You need to finish this so we can be on our way.”

For the next several minutes, Jesse silently complied. Then as he lay resting, Shiloh filled one canteen with the remaining willow bark tea, filled the other two from the creek with fresh water, and packed up what was left of their supplies. Jesse was dozing when she returned.

Kneeling, she gently shook him by the shoulder. “Jesse? Time to go. Do you think you can walk to the travois, if I help you?”

“I-I think so,” he replied, shoving to one elbow.

“I brought it close, so you won’t have to walk more than maybe ten feet or so.”

He was very weak and unsteady on his feet, but with Shiloh’s help, he made it to the travois. After eyeing it for a moment, he nodded. “Looks . . . pretty good.”

Even with Shiloh’s assistance, it was difficult for him to climb onto it. By the time he did so, he was pale and winded. She covered him with the other two blankets.

“I’ll try and go slow enough not to jerk you around a lot,” she said. “But I can’t promise I won’t give you a rough ride at times.”

“Do what you have to,” Jesse whispered, closing his eyes. “I’ll be . . . fine.”

Her heart twisted. He was so weak, so ill, and she feared his wound was beginning to fester. What frightened her the most, though, was that he was totally dependent on her. She literally held his life in her hands.

Well, actually the Lord held Jesse’s life in His hands, and she was but His handmaiden. Don’t let me lose him, she prayed, just when I’ve finally found him again. Please, Jesus. Help me to be Your hands in saving Jesse’s life.

Tears welled and fiercely, almost savagely, Shiloh brushed them away. Stop it. Stop it now, she ordered herself. You don’t have the time for weeping. All that matters is keeping Jesse alive long enough to get him to better medical care. And you’re the only one who can do it.

Shiloh checked one more time to make sure he was securely tied down to the travois, then went to fetch her mare, lead it over, and fasten a long lead rope onto its bridle. Rope in hand, she next mounted Jesse’s pony.

Signaling the horse forward, Shiloh set out across the valley. Their journey, with the travois trailing behind, was slow. Still, they were finally on their way. On their way to find other people.

She only hoped that discovery wouldn’t be long in coming.