Part 46 (1/2)

When I almost had her ash.o.r.e, I squealed out another yell.

For she wasn't alone.

In her other hand, she held the hand of a boy. The kid who'd been riding along behind her in the buckboard. Her son, more than likely.

She'd had him all along, must've. Even when she was pinned, legs up, in the fork of the tree. He'd been under there, clutched in his mother's dead hand.

It was purely amazing and awful.

I dragged the woman, and she kept her grip on the boy. They both came out of the river and onto the dry rocks.

Neither one of them wore a st.i.tch of clothes. Neither did I, for all of that. But I knew how come I was naked.

I sat nearby, gazing at them, wondering. Trying to figure out what had happened to their clothes, but mostly imagining how their final moments must've been, the mother clinging to the boy's hand as they both got carried to their deaths by the monster wave.

I wondered what had happened to her eye. A stick had likely poked it in. I hoped she was already dead when that happened.

The boy didn't appear to be banged up or maimed, but I didn't get near enough to study him. I wished I'd never seen him or the woman.

I gave some thought to burying them. It seemed the decent thing to do. Pile some rocks atop them, maybe. If I went to do that, though, it'd mean getting in close and seeing more of them. I'd already seen more of these two than I could hardly stand.

Besides, there was no telling where the man might be. He was probably as dead as this pair. I scanned about. There was no sign of him or his wagon or his team. They'd likely been swept far off downriver. But suppose he'd lived through it? He might come wandering along and find me, naked as the day I was born, mucking about with his woman and boy. And me with my guns across the river.

Wasn't worth the risk.

He'd seemed like a mean sort of bloke, and I didn't hardly know these people anyhow. They meant nothing to me, and they weren't likely to notice, one way or another, whether I covered them over or not.

I got to my feet and brushed the grit off my b.u.m.

Then I bent down and took a stone in each hand and walked over and set them down on either side of the woman's head. Much as I wanted shut of these two, I just couldn't leave them sprawled out bare and dead for the vultures that were sure to come.

I roamed about the sh.o.r.e, gathering more stones and hauling them back and setting them down beside the woman. I figured I would start with her, and get to the boy afterward.

I hadn't been at it more than a few minutes, though, when I happened upon my own beaver hat. The sight of it, resting atop a boulder off in the distance, just about knocked my breath out. I rushed over and picked it up, then searched around for Jesse and called her name.

She didn't answer.

Alive or dead, she was nowhere to be seen.

I put the hat on my head. It hurt me some where she'd clobbered me with the rock the day before, and suddenly I just had to find her. It was foolishness to waste time covering a couple of strangers while Jesse was somewhere, maybe dead and needing a burial, maybe alive and hurt and needing help. b.l.o.o.d.y foolishness.

So I ran to the river and waded in.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE.

I Find Jesse Though the current was still quite swift, the water never rose much above my waist and I was able to stay on my feet all the way to the other side.

I raced along the sh.o.r.e to where I'd left my duds, got into them quick as I could, strapped on my gunbelt, picked up my rifle and saddlebags, then hurried on over to General, who was having himself a drink, and climbed onto him. It was tough to do, what with a rifle in one hand and him without a saddle, but I flung myself aboard, grabbed his mane and hauled his head around. Then I dug in my heels and we were off at a gallop.

Why the all-fired rush, I'm not quite sure. Somehow, it was on account of finding my hat. It had been on Jesse's head, last time I'd seen her. It made me reckon she might be nearby, though there really wasn't a good reason for believing any such thing. Nearby, and needing me. I had to find her straight away. Every second mattered, or so it seemed to me though I'll be blamed if I know why.

General fairly dashed along the river bank, hooves thundering, mane afly. We hadn't made such speed since the time we were with McSween, the posse giving chase. That time, though, I'd had a saddle under me. Now all I could do was hang onto his mane one-handed and grip his sides with my legs and hope for the best.

What with the rush and the way it all jarred me, I couldn't get much of a look at the sh.o.r.es. It crossed my mind that we might race past Jesse and leave her behind. The notion didn't worry me, though. I simply knew we'd find her, and soon.

And it happened just that way.

The river took a turn to the east, and we no sooner galloped around a bluff near the bend than straight in front of us was a buckboard overturned with its wheels in the air and Jesse sitting on the ground, leaning back against it.

Alive and watching me come.

Golden hair, golden skin agleam in the sunlight.

Wearing her boots and dungarees, and no s.h.i.+rt.

I wanted to let out a whoop, but anger and alarm got mixed in with my joy.

Her legs were tied together at her ankles. Her arms were stretched overhead, roped to the wheel rim.

n.o.body else seemed to be about.

I pulled General to a halt, leaped down and rushed for Jesse. ”Where is he?” I asked.

”Went off to hunt for his family.”

”Keep a lookout.” Crouching, I propped the rifle up against the buckboard. Then I reached for the top of Jesse's boot, figuring to use her knife on the ropes.

”He took it off me. Don't reckon I'd be in this fix if I still had my Bowie knife.”

With a glance over my shoulder, I saw that General had wandered off a piece. My knife was in the saddlebags across his back. Not wanting to waste time, I commenced to pluck at the bundle of knots by Jesse's wrists.

”Figured you was drowned,” she said.

”I thought the same of you.”

”Came right close to it. Grabbed ahold of a tree and rode it like a raft.”

”Was it the German who got you?”

”Varmint found me sleeping. He's got himself a Henry. Poked me awake with it. Figured I'd slice him anyhow, so I went for my knife and he jammed the d.a.m.n muzzle halfway through to my backbone.”

”b.l.o.o.d.y swine,” I muttered. The last of the knots came loose. Jesse squirmed her hands out of the coils while I backed away toward her feet.

Smack in the center of her belly, just under her ribcage, her skin was bruised bright red and purple from the muzzle of the Henry rifle.

She lowered her arms. She rubbed her wrists.