Logan stopped helping Cheyenne long enough to answer. ‘‘No, ma’am.’’
‘‘Then clean it when you have time and load it for me. I’ll wear it until he’s up and able to do so again.’’ She left no room for discussion as she laid down the useless gun and began ripping away Win’s shirt, it was one of his new shirts.
Just as they spread a clean quilt over him, Jamie entered the room with a tray loaded down with supplies Kora had asked for.
‘‘How is he?’’ she whispered.
Both men were silent. They’d counted six deep bites and maybe a dozen scratches that might not have released much poison.
‘‘He’s going to make it,’’ Kora said without blinking. ‘‘But until he’s up and on his feet, we’ve got to be on guard. Something’s not right.’’ She mixed the water with a handful of baking soda. ‘‘I don’t care what those men downstairs said, Win would not fall into a nest of snakes.’’
Cheyenne’s head snapped up as if someone had hit him hard in the jaw. ‘‘She’s right,’’ he whispered. ‘‘Win’s no fool. He’s known about water moccasins since he could walk. His mother’s tribe believes in living with them, not killing them.’’
A silence fell between the four people standing around the bed. Words were not needed. Win hadn’t suffered an accident; someone had tried to kill him and might very well have succeeded. And the most likely villains were downstairs in the kitchen right now.
‘‘I’ll kill whoever did this,’’ Jamie mumbled. ‘‘It must have been a gang because no man could take my brother-in-law down alone.’’
Kora pulled the quilt to his waist and began washing the bites with a rag soaked in baking soda. ‘‘Force a drink of whiskey down his throat,’’ she ordered as she worked. ‘‘ Jamie, you may be right. Go downstairs and give the strangers all the leftovers we have in the cool box.’’ Before Jamie could question she added, ‘‘And don’t miss a word they say.’’
‘‘I’ll only make a quick stop at my room. I only have two knives on me and I may need three.’’ Jamie disappeared to do as ordered.
Kora slid down the quilt and began soaking the red dots on Win’s legs. The thought crossed her mind that for a girl who hated Win, Jamie was sure fighting mad at him being hurt.
‘‘That won’t help.’’ Logan’s voice was thick with sadness. ‘‘Nothing will, that I know of.’’
‘‘We’ve got to try and pull the poison out,’’ Kora answered in almost a cry. ‘‘Give me your knife, Cheyenne. Logan, open the windows.’’
Cheyenne did as she asked without question.
‘‘If he’s cold, maybe the poison will move slower.’’ Kora told them. ‘‘Cheyenne, keep one eye on the stairs. No one but the four of us is getting any closer to Win tonight. Logan, spread the word that if anyone comes up here, he’ll be shot on sight.’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’ Logan moved to the stairs, but before he went down, he added, ‘‘The boss would be real proud of you. If he makes it through this, I plan on telling him what a lucky man he is.’’
Kora nodded her thank-you and went back to work. With tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks, she cut each bite from fang mark to fang mark, making the swollen flesh bleed.
Cheyenne forced more whiskey down Win, then held his head as convulsions shook Win’s body and he began to throw up. He vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach, then Cheyenne poured more whiskey down him.
Kora forced each bite mark to continue bleeding, spilling a great deal of Winter’s blood along with a tiny bit of the yellow venom.
When Win finally stopped shaking and throwing up, Cheyenne made him take another swallow of whiskey, then covered him. ‘‘Let him rest. We’ve done all we can for now.’’
Kora gently wrapped each of his wounds, thankful that none of the bites had been on his face or neck.
‘‘He might just make it,’’ Cheyenne said as he moved to where he had a clear view of the staircase. ‘‘All the bites were on his arms and legs, and none looked to be as deep as I’ve seen some. The bigger the man, the more poison he can take in his blood without dying. Win’s got a good chance, Kora.’’
For the first time Kora noticed Cheyenne’s limp, much more pronounced than it had been earlier. ‘‘You’re hurt?’’ she whispered. ‘‘The ride out to him must have been painful.’’
‘‘I can live with it,’’ Cheyenne answered.
The hours passed. The night grew colder. But Win didn’t move. She tried every poultice she’d ever heard of, even having Jamie heat coal and spread it over the wounds. Nothing seemed to work. Win’s breathing was so light she had to listen for his heartbeat to tell if he was still alive.
‘‘Don’t die on me,’’ she whispered once in anger. ‘‘Don’t die on me just when I started believing in us.’’
Cheyenne brought in a root he said his people used for the bites. When they rubbed it on the wounds, it did seem to help the redness some. They brewed a tea from it and made Win drink, but he didn’t keep much of it down.
While Logan went down to talk to the men, Jamie took up guard by the stairs. She badgered Cheyenne until he sat down, resting his injury for a while. ‘‘You’ll reopen the wound and end up sitting around here another month,’’ she complained.
‘‘I’m fine,’’ Cheyenne insisted, but he took the offered chair.
Finally, when Kora had done everything she could think of to do, she curled next to Win’s still body and lay her arm over his chest. His breathing was now deep and regular, giving her hope.
They’d sent for the doctor, but the rider had only left a note on his door. The doctor was out somewhere on call. Anything they did, they’d have to do alone.
TWENTY-THREE
AN HOUR LATER, WHEN LOGAN RETURNED WITH THE story of how the drifters had just happened on Win, Kora was convinced the men were lying. They claimed he’d been floating in the shallow water with his horse only a few feet away. One suggested the mount must have thrown him. Kora glanced from Cheyenne to Logan. Impossible, she thought.
Kora barely noticed Jamie silently slip from the room as Logan went over every detail of the men’s story for the third time.
While the others talked, Jamie tiptoed down the stairs and approached the dining room. The three men were whispering at the far end of the table. She crawled on her belly until she slipped under the tablecloth and crept to the center of the table, her body within inches of their legs.
‘‘Well, how do you like the old guy? He offers us a place to sleep in the bunkhouse. You’d think we’d get to stay in the main house after what we did bringing the boss in and all.’’
‘‘Shut up, Miller. We ain’t got time to sleep. If McQuillen ain’t dead yet, he just might pull through, and where is that going to leave us? I knew we should have left him in a little longer until he took a few more bites.’’
‘‘We held him till he stopped jerking. That should have been long enough.’’ The man called Miller added, ‘‘We’d best hightail it out of here. I ain’t dealing with a man six cottonmouths can’t kill.’’
‘‘No,’’ the third man, smaller than the others, interrupted. ‘‘We’ve been paid by the lady to get Win McQuillen off the blockade line by tomorrow night. ‘Whatever it takes,’ she said. If this don’t work, we’ll have to find another way.’’
‘‘But how?’’ Miller whined. ‘‘I’m not charging up those stairs with that Indian and that wild girl standing guard. Even the wife wears a gun. These folks aren’t going to let us just kill him.’’
‘‘No’’-the little man giggled-‘‘there’s a way he won’t be thinking of minding the blockade even if he wakes up. And we don’t have to kill anyone.’’
‘‘How’s that? I only went along with the snakes ’cause I wouldn’t have to do the killin’. I’ll do just about anything, but killin’s where I draw the line.’’