Chapter 3 #2
Clay didn’t move to pick it up until the man motioned to it with his head.
He let go of her and leaned out to grab it, pulling it close.
She could smell what was inside it the moment he opened the pouch.
It was dried meat. Clay confirmed it when he pulled a piece out.
Venison, if she had to guess. Her brother-in-law, Graham, hunted with his brother Gideon, and they smoked some of the meat to make deer jerky. It was always good, if not a bit spicy.
Clay looked back across the room, and the Indian nodded at the pouch again.
He was offering them food. Vulnerable as he was, he was giving them something to eat.
Her stomach chose that moment to gurgle.
Clay may have had reservations about eating it, but she didn’t.
She took the strip of meat from his hand and stuck it in her mouth without a second thought.
It wasn’t until she’d bitten a piece off and started chewing that she wondered if it was tainted.
Would the Indian poison them? She watched him and decided, no, he wouldn’t.
He was in pain. His expression told her as much, and besides, he had no reason to harm them.
They’d not made a move since he’d walked in the door.
Clay finally took a piece of the jerky and started eating.
It was good and had a few spices she didn’t recognize.
The Indian closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. His breathing still looked funny. The pain he felt was no doubt the cause, and he’d yet to do anything about his bleeding wound. When they’d finished the jerky, she whispered, “He’s not moved in a while.”
Clay nodded and pointed to his side, asking if she’d seen the man’s wound. She had. The red blotch on his shirt was getting bigger, the material soaking up the blood.
The fact he hadn’t moved in a while was troubling.
Was he sleeping or had he passed out from pain?
Not that it mattered. With the amount of blood he was losing, he’d be dead by morning, anyway.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she let go of Clay and stood. He grabbed her hand the moment she did.
“What are you doing?”
She could barely make out his moving lips in the low light but saw enough to say, “I’m going to help him.”
Clay’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you’re not.” He was on his feet faster than she would have thought he could move. He stepped closer to her, lowering his head to be level with hers. “We know nothing about this man. He could be dangerous.”
He repeated the phrase, and she shook her head when she made out what he was saying.
“If he were going to hurt us, he would have by now. Besides,” she turned to look across the room.
“From the look on his face, I think he’s in too much pain to do much even if he wanted to.
” He stared at her for a long moment before blowing out a breath. Then he let go of her arm.
She smiled and turned back to the man in the corner.
Helping him was the right thing to do, but she’d admit to no one how scared she was at the idea of it.
The stories she heard about Indians weren’t good, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was truth and how much was embellished.
Not that it mattered now. They were in the middle of nowhere, trapped in a cabin by a storm that was still raging.
She took a hesitant step, the floorboards moving under her weight. When she took another, she saw Clay move with her out of the corner of her eye. They both made their way across the cabin and stopped at the Indian’s feet. He was out cold. The blank expression on his face told her as much.
Clay snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face a few times, but he never moved. Walking around him, she bent down and hesitantly reached for the edge of his shirt. He never moved as she eased it up his torso. Nor did he flinch when she touched his skin.
She had to bend down to see the wound in the low light.
She wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it looked like a bullet hole.
It was jagged, and peeking at his back, she saw the hole where the bullet had entered.
At least it went clean through and didn’t need to be dug out.
Looking up at Clay, she said, “I need some water.”
They had nothing to carry it in, but Clay found a water skin in the man’s belongings.
Working to get the wound clean, she tore off the bottom of her shift to wrap around him as a crude bandage as Clay walked outside to refill the water skin with rainwater.
She was reaching around the Indian’s waist to wrap the makeshift bandage around him when the man moved.
She froze and lifted her eyes to his face. He was awake and looking right at her. Her heart started pounding, her hands shaking the longer he stared at her. He reached for something at his side. Her inner voice screamed to get up and run, but fear kept her locked in place.
Her first thought when he raised his hand was that he had a knife and was about to kill her, but the small pouch he thrust toward her was unexpected.
She took it from him and opened it, the scent coming from it strong.
It looked to be nothing but leaves and roots.
When the man pulled out a few of the leaves from the bag, putting them into his mouth to chew, she sat silently until he spat them out into his hand, then placed them on the cleaned wound.
He reached for more and stuck them in his mouth. Daisy grabbed a few herself, looking at them. She couldn’t tell what plant they had come from. Granted, they were withered and held little smell, but she was sure this man knew more about medicine than she did.
The Indian spat into his hand and smeared the wad onto the wound, covering it with the chewed leaves.
Lifting his eyes to her face, he pointed to his back and shook his head.
He can’t reach it, she thought. She nodded her head and waited until he’d chewed more of the leaves.
When he spat them out, she took them from his hand, trying not to make a face when she did.
Touching a glob of chewed leaves wasn’t on her list of things to do today, but she took it and smeared it on the wound on his back.
By the time Clay came back inside, they had the wound covered. She held up the strip of cloth she’d torn from her shift and motioned to his side. He nodded his head and sat up enough so she could wrap it around him. When she tied it off and leaned back on her heels, Clay knelt beside her.
He handed the waterskin to the Indian, who took it and drank his fill. When he held it out to her, she glanced at Clay before taking it. The water wasn’t the best she’d ever tasted, but it was wet and cold.
She gave it back to him when she finished drinking, and he said something she couldn’t make out.
She wasn’t sure if it was the dim light or if he was speaking his native language, and she just didn’t understand it.
Not that it mattered. She smiled at him and stood, crossing the room to grab the pouch of jerky he’d given them.
She carried it to him and held it out. “Thank you,” she said, but wasn’t sure he understood her.
He took it from her outstretched hand and said something else, but again, she couldn’t make it out.
She turned and went back to the corner they’d been resting in.
Clay followed her. They sat and stared across the room as the last of the light died.
The storm outside was still raging, lightning sparking across the sky, and she blew out a breath before laying her head against the wall.
She glanced at Clay, watching him watch the Indian, and closed her eyes.