Chapter One
Colorado Territory, 1866
Lord, it's hot!
Nathan Jackson wiped the sweat from his brow and carried on shit-shovelling. He decided he hated horses. Almost as much as he hated cows. And crappy little towns like Jubal.
Well, Jubal could hardly be called a town. A lawless, one-horse, two-bit pile of nothin', with a couple of stores, a saloon, a whore-house and a run-down livery stable run by a bigot called Jennings. A town that survived by dealing with frontiersmen and drifters, with an occasional visit from the army thrown in. As a matter of fact, the whore-house probably did more business than the rest of the town put together.
Nathan Jackson worked for Jennings. He didn't want to, but black ex-slaves just back from the War couldn't be picky. Now Nathan wasn't naïve, he hadn't expected things to be much different than they had been before the war, but hell - it couldn't be much worse. He may be a free man, but he was still being treated like the piece of dirt on a white man's shoe.
He sighed.
No wages to speak of, a broken-down shack in the yard to live in because Jennings didn't want him taking up room that could be filled by a money-earning horse, and three meals a day. Broth and greasy stew, mostly. The only reason he had stayed on in Jubal was the lack of money. A couple of dollars, and he would be outta this hell-hole faster than a racoon runnin' up a tree.
Squinting into the distance, he saw nothing but a wide expanse of arid land backed by distant mountains, the heat making the land dance and merge with the sky.
Something moved.
Nathan blinked, once more wiping sweat out of his eyes, and squinted again. More movement. This time he noticed a shape, wandering aimlessly towards him, resolving slowly from the heat-haze to become the figure of a rider.
"What the hell - ?" Puzzlement creased the dark features.
The rider came closer, and it was soon plain that something was wrong. The figure was slumped over the horse's neck, left arm hanging lifelessly by the bay shoulder, red soaking the arm and side.
Nathan dropped the shovel. Running towards the figure, he saw the big bay gelding wander to a halt, the rider not moving or responding to the change in pace.
"Dammit!!" Nathan cursed quietly. He was too late. He'd buried too many men these past years, seen too many bodies broken and cast aside like pieces of meat. This would just be one more.
The bay rolled its eyes at the tall black man, backing off, its hide staring with dried sweat. The animal had obviously been hard-ridden, its belly tucked up and lean.
"Whoa, there, fella - got to see to your man there, get him off you an let you rest a little … " The soft mellow voice soothed the big animal, and Nathan slowly but surely got close enough to catch the rein and quieten the beast down. "There you go, fella - s'all right now, take it easy - "
"M … mind keepin' th … the noise down, friend? Th … there's a man … tryin' to die kinda peaceful-like here - "
The soft voice gave Nathan the shock of his life.
Shushing the nervous bay, he turned to the slumped figure on the animal's back - and was surprised to see two azure eyes gaze back, hazy with pain, coupled with a tired, lop-sided smile.
"Jesus … "
"Nope - ain't Him - " The deep voice was raw with exhaustion, but Nathan couldn't help but notice the amusement trying to break through the weariness.
Nathan saw the big frame begin to slide sideways and caught the man, steadying him back in the Mexican saddle.
"No you don't mister - just you stay where you are. Hang on a few minutes an' then I'll let you down an' take a look at them hurts of yours. Hey!! Y'hear me?"
The blue eyes had closed, and Nathan thought for a moment the man had passed out, but they flickered open once more, now beginning to dull with agony.
"I'm dyin', friend … just leave me be … "
There it was again. Friend. No white man had ever called Nathan Jackson 'friend' before.
"Not yet, you ain't. Now, just keep hangin' on in there, friend, an' I'll have you settled in a few minutes." Nathan's voice was tart with annoyance. It was bad enough folks gettin' killed without havin' much choice in the matter, but sittin' there lettin' it happen - well that just plain pissed him off.
"You, Brother, are one persistent, stubborn sonofabitch … " The baritone voice was weakening fast.
Brother?? Shit, the man's brains must have all but turned to mush in the burning heat.
Nathan snorted with amusement despite himself.
Whoever this big man was - and he sure as hell was big, almost as tall as himself he guessed, with great breadth through shoulders and chest - he had a sense of humour. Not an easy thing to keep going when you're bleeding to death.
He touched the wounded man's shoulder, and the blue eyes perused him steadily, the head still slumped against the horse's neck. The stranger was just too wore out and hurt to sit up.
Nathan's brown eyes softened in pity.
"Just sit tight. Won't be long now."
" 'Til what? 'Til I die or 'til I get off this damn' horse??" The voice was now a mere whisper.
Nathan grinned this time, shaking his head.
" 'Til you get off the horse, you fool! You ain't gonna die just yet, 'cause I ain't gonna let you!!"
But as he said it, Nathan didn't know if he could fulfil that promise. From what he could see, the man was shot to pieces, his left arm and side sodden with blood, blood that dripped from the hand into the dust. The side wound had bled down onto the charro pants and then onto the horse's side, caking the dull bay hide.
The tall ex-slave looked back at his small shack, all of fifty yards away, relieved to see a small figure standing gazing at him with wonder.
"LILY!! Lily, get over here, girl! I need you!"
Hesitating for only a second, the child ran towards him, bare dirty feet carrying the frail, underfed body swiftly to Nathan's side. She looked about eight years old, but she might have been older - Nathan had never found out.
Huge brown eyes too big for the fine-boned face gazed up at him, glowing wide in a thin face the colour of milky chocolate.
"Here - lead the horse, I'll steady him."
She grasped the rein, eyes larger than ever, taking in the wounded man on the worn-out horse.
Nathan saw the hesitation.
"Don't be scared girl - he ain't gonna hurt you. He's just all banged up an' plumb wore out, is all."
She looked back at the face of the wounded man. She noticed he had a neat moustache amid the stubble, and his hair was soft light brown curls under the dirt and dust. Then she gasped. Two tired blue-on-blue eyes opened and studied her. One of them winked slyly. She giggled silently, delighted.
Nathan was astonished. Lily, as a rule, didn't giggle - hell, the child didn't have much to giggle about.
He watched as she eagerly led the tired bay towards Nathan's shack, Nathan gently holding the big-framed man in the saddle, hearing the occasional grunt of pain as the horse's movements jarred his wounds.
Lily brought the horse to a halt at the door, turning once more to Nathan, wondering what to do next.
"Boil some water, an' go look for somethin' to use for bandages. Go on now, scoot!"
Nathan noticed she seemed reluctant to leave the injured man on the horse. Damn, that girl had a soft spot for hurt things. Jack-rabbits, birds - now some shot-up drifter who was probably nothin' but an outlaw.
The bay stood quietly, reins trailing in the dirt, well enough trained to stand ground-hitched. Nathan moved around to the man's right side, intending to ease the stranger out of the saddle while causing him as little pain as possible.
"Aw hell …." Nathan sighed. There was another wound in the right thigh, not from a bullet this time, but a long gash that had bled profusely but now had dried to a stiff, swollen mess. Nathan hoped fervently the man hadn't lost too much blood.
Lifting the stranger's lax right arm, Nathan draped it across his shoulders and began to shift him off the exhausted horse. Surprisingly, the sick man had enough strength to slip his feet out of the stirrups and leave Nathan free to help him to the ground.
For the first time he heard a deep, uncontrolled moan of pain. The body sagged as Nathan staggered, trying to support the injured stranger.
He's too damn' big -
"What the hell're ya doin' boy?!!"
Nathan turned awkwardly at the harsh voice, desperately trying to hold up the fast-fading man.
Jennings.
The livery owner was also big, but in his case it was bulk tempered with fat. Bull-necked and vicious, he stood scowling at the ex-slave carrying his heavy burden.
"Got a wounded man here, Mister Jennings - gonna take him inside an' get him tended to."
Jennings studied the semi-conscious figure supported by his livery-hand. He marched over to the two men and bent over to look at the stranger.
"Who the hell is he? Looks near dead to me."
"Don't know. But I do know he's bad hurt an' needs patchin' up before he bleeds to death."
Jennings thought for a moment. His eyes turned to the bay horse standing quietly beside them. Despite the animal's poor condition, he could see with a practised eye that it had some quality about it, some decent breeding that made it a valuable animal. A couple of weeks of good feed would put a lot right, and he could sell it for a fair price. But having a still-living owner posed a problem.
"Leave him."
Nathan's eyes widened.
"Leave him?? Leave him where?"
"Anywhere. Out there'll do." He gestured towards the empty vista. "He's already a dead man by the look of him an' it ain't worth trying ta keep him alive."
Nathan's eyes grew cold with anger.
"No." The soft voice was full of menace.
Jennings' eyes grew wide with disbelief.
"You sassin' me, boy?? You talkin' back to me, you piece-a-shit nigger - ?"
Nathan hit him. The effort of throwing the right hook sent the tall black man and his burden reeling, whilst Jennings took the hefty blow firmly on the chin. He fell flat on his behind in the dirt.
Nathan stumbled, dropping the stranger in a heap at his feet, the impact sending a yelp of agony from the broad chest.
There was a flurry of tattered blue dress and dirty feet at the edge of Nathan's vision, heading towards the wounded man. Lily. The girl was flying to the defence of the fallen stranger like a momma bear to its cub.
Nathan clambered to his feet, watching Jennings rise like an enraged bull. The livery owner was incensed.
"Goddamit, you black whoreson - I'm gonna whup your ass, you low-down, bastard nig - "
There was a loud click. Jennings knew exactly what that sound was. The sound of a hammer being drawn back on a gun.
"Just say it, you sonofabitch; finish it, an' - so help me - I'll kill you stone dead where you stand." The weak, pain-filled baritone voice was cold, hard.
Jennings froze.
Nathan turned to see the wounded stranger propped in Lily's grasp, a big Colt Dragoon held steady in his right hand.
Cold fear suddenly trickled down Jenning's back.
Nathan strode over to him, shoving his face close to Jennings' sweating visage.
"Now, Mister Jennings, listen, an' listen hard. I'm gonna take this man inside and get him tended to. Don't you worry none, you're still gonna get a full day's work outta me an' I won't ask for anythin' to help him. I can take care of him on my lonesome." Nathan's voice was coolly calm, threat dripping from every syllable. "But understand me, Mister Jennings - don't interfere, or I'll kill you."
Jennings tried hard to glare back, but the threat was empty. Cursing, he turned on his heel and went back into his house.
Nathan stood silently for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching with anger. Then a hiss of pain reminded him of something more urgent.
Turning, he saw the big stranger relax back into Lily's frail arms, his long limbs sprawled in the dirt. Fresh blood showed at his side, and his teeth were bared in a grimace of agony. Lily's dark eyes were luminous with fright and worry for the brawny man.
"Landsakes, child … let's get him inside, huh?"
Crouching down beside her, Nathan lifted the Dragoon from an unresisting hand and eased the hammer back down, slipping the big revolver back into its holster, noting in passing that the man was left-handed.
Lily sat, the man's head cradled in her lap, gnawing the inside of her cheek with concern. A ragged breath suddenly ran through the tall stranger, blue eyes opened once more, and he looked up at the frail child above him. A shaky smile graced the long features, already sheened with sweat from a high and pernicious fever, and he lifted an unsteady hand to brush back a stray ebony curl from her face.
"Hey now, little sister, ol' Josiah's as tough as nails - don't you go worryin' about me none, d'y'hear?" The deep voice was gruff with pain, but soft, so as not to frighten the child.
Nathan's eyebrows lifted.
Josiah. So that's your name. Bet your Daddy was some good-ol'-boy Bible thumper -
He sighed.
"C'mon, now, friend, let's get you outta this dirt an' into bed. I got to stop this bleedin' if you're gonna live long enough for me to thank you proper for what you did just now."
A cock-eyed grin swept fleetingly over Josiah's features.
"Weren't nothin', Brother … if a man's … takin' the trouble … to try and save your sorry hide … then the least you can do … is cover his back when he needs it."
Nathan's face broke into a broad, white grin of its own. This big lunatic may be an outlaw, or gunfighter, or worse, but he had a healthy streak of decency in him a mile wide.
For the next few minutes Nathan and Lily struggled to get Josiah on his feet and into Nathan's tiny shack, where, at last, they laid his long body on the makeshift bed filling a good two-thirds of the available space.
Lily went back to her chore of ripping up Nathan's only clean sheet, a worn old thing, but freshly boil-washed only the previous day.
"You wash your hands, girl?" Nathan's voice was stern.
She nodded vigorously. After word got out that the black labourer had some skill at tending injuries, she had seen Nathan patch up the girls in the whore-house a couple of times after a client had become too handy with his fists, and they weren't too proud to have a darkie tend 'em. Hell, whores couldn't be picky.
Lily knew all about that. Her Momma had been a whore. A dusky, dark beauty from a distant place called Jamaica, her sultry looks a magnet for white clients entranced by her distinctiveness and her lilting accent. Well, until she became sick. The disease had killed her in the end, and Lily was left all alone in the house of 'fallen' women, allowed to stay on until she became old enough to pay her way. In return for chores she slept on the kitchen floor and was given the left-overs to eat.
She hung around Nathan because he was kind to her, and he was the only one in Jubal who didn't treat her like a piece of horse manure. Not only was she a bastard, but she was a black bastard to boot. So she tended to wander around the livery stable, helping out in return for a smile and the odd bowl of broth.
But now she had work to do. She had to help Nathan take care of this big, blood-soaked white man with eyes so blue that the colour took her breath away. But she was deathly afraid that he was gonna die, 'cause Nathan had that look about him. The same look he had when he'd tried to keep that dyin' horse alive. It died anyway.
Nope. No way. She wasn't gonna let that happen, because she liked the tall white man. He had winked at her, and smiled at her, and he had a soft rumbly voice that made her feel all safe inside.
The water began to bubble on Nathan's small pot-bellied stove, and he lifted it to one side then returned to his task of trying to ease the bleeding from the bullet hole low on Josiah's left side.
Undoing the buckle on Josiah's gun-belt he eased it off the man, remembering that it was Josiah's gun arm that was injured. Huh, Lily must have passed the gun to him outside in the yard, just when Jennings was gonna …. no, he didn't want to think about that. Focusing on his work, he unbuttoned the threadbare shirt to find Josiah had managed to wrap a makeshift bandage around the wound, made from the remains of his undershirt. But it obviously hadn't been enough. Blood still soaked the material - very slowly, Nathan had to admit, but the bleeding hadn't stopped completely.
The arm too, was a mess. A bandana had been clumsily bound around the wound, but that hadn't completely stopped the bleeding either. But here was a problem. The bullet was still lodged somewhere in Josiah's arm.
That's it, Nathan decided. That shirt's gettin' cut off, and we'll stitch these bullet-wounds properly and then I'm gonna cut that damned bullet outta there.
The leg wound wasn't too serious, though, and could wait until Nathan had taken care of the rest of Josiah's injuries. Drawing Josiah's knife he moved to cut off the shirt.
A powerful hand caught him gently by the wrist.
"Can we take it off? - It's the only shirt I got …"
Nathan's eyebrows shot up. The man had to be kidding.
"But it's all shot fulla holes!!"
"Yeah … yeah, I know - but humour me, huh?" The baritone was getting real tired now.
Shaking his head, Nathan sheathed the big knife and nodded to Lily.
"C'mon, girl, let's take this big fool's shirt off. Can you wash it for him an' see about gettin' them holes stitched up?"
Nathan knew one of the girls at the brothel would do it - hell, they owed him plenty and he didn't take his payment 'in kind', as most men would have done.
Lily nodded vigorously. Josiah's shirt would be spick and span before Nathan knew it.
Nathan had to grin at the child. She had taken a real liking to the big man.
Between them they finagled Josiah out of his suspenders and then his shirt, having to undo the bandana around the arm to pull it right off. Josiah hissed once more in pain as they gently pulled the material away from the wound, and Lily had to suppress a heaving stomach as she saw the swollen hole in the big bicep.
Dumping the bloodstained shirt on the small dresser, Nathan showed Lily how to press a cloth against the arm wound to stop the bleeding. She wasn't happy about it, especially when she heard Josiah moan as she pressed hard, but Nathan assured her it would help keep Josiah alive.
Leaving a very serious Lily in charge of the arm, Nathan returned to the wound in the big man's side. He noticed that Josiah was pretty thin. Well, not thin, as such, he was still all long bones and brawny muscle, but he was - well, kinda gaunt. Nathan was pretty damn sure he could count every rib.
Looks like he's been livin' on nothin' but his wits the past few weeks. It's a good job he's sick,' cause I couldn't have lifted him if'n he'd been fit.
Once again using Josiah's bone-handled knife, he sliced through the filthy bandage. Feeling Josiah flinch as he removed the material, Nathan couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath as he saw the wound.
"Damnation, man!! When did you get this??"
The wound was festering, full of infection, swollen red and oozing blood and other foul matter.
"Oh … a few weeks back … "
Nathan cursed silently. He could see the wound had partially healed up, somebody - probably Josiah - had done some rough doctoring, keeping the hole - front and back - clean. But somehow the wound had bust open and infection had rapidly set in. No wonder the man was running a fever.
"Goddammit!!! This damned thing's gonna be enough to kill you, you big idiot, an' I got nothin' but boiled water to clean it!"
"I got tequila - "
"Then I gotta cut out that damned bullet in your arm, an' clean up that cut in your leg!! I got no laudanum to knock you out - you're gonna have to deal with the pain without any help, an' then I don't know if I got enough bandages to keep 'em clean …"
"Tequila in my saddlebags - "
"I'm gonna have to scrub this damned hole in you, four, maybe five times a day to try an' keep the infection down, an' if the blood-loss don't kill you the infection probably will - it's full of bits of shirt an' Lord only knows what else - what in hell's name are you talkin' about, tequila??"
Josiah's eyebrows went up a notch. This big, powerful man certainly had one helluva temper.
"I got a … couple of bottles … of tequila … in my saddlebags."
Nathan blinked.
"Why in God's name didn't you say so??"
Josiah grinned weakly.
"I tried … besides, you didn't ask."
Nathan stared at him. Then he smiled, shaking his head.
This big fool'd better not die, dammit - God help me, I'm beginnin' to like him …
Leaving Josiah in Lily's capable hands, he went outside to retrieve the saddlebags. As he turned back to the doorway he felt eyes on him, and glancing up to Jennings' house he was surprised to see Mrs Jennings, broom in hand, standing watching him.
She had never spoken to Nathan in all the months he'd worked there, this small grey woman, all grey dress, grey hair and drab, blue-grey eyes. Old before her time, wore out being married to a mean sonofabitch like Emil Jennings. Nathan knew Jennings left her alone a great deal, preferring to spend his time at the brothel, where he liked 'em young and inexperienced, and - if they rebelled - he used his fists. Nathan knew because the girls he tended had been the victims of the man's temper.
Mrs Jennings nodded acknowledgement of Nathan's glance, then returned to her sweeping.
Discomfited, Nathan entered the shack to find Lily wiping sweat from Josiah's face and chest. The man was beginning to shiver with fever, and Lily was beside herself with worry.
Nathan knew then he had little time to get Josiah cleaned up and tended to. If the bullet didn't come out soon, Josiah probably wouldn't make it through the night.
Sloshing a liberal dose of the alcohol into the boiled water, he filled another pot and set more to boil on the stove. Then he groped under the bed and drew out his kit.
Nathan's 'kit' was the only thing he treasured, a relic from the war. It appeared to be nothing more than a rolled leather pouch tied with a thong. He untied it and rolled it open on the dresser, then lifting out the contents, he dropped them in the newly boiling pot on the stove - three well-made steel-bladed knives, a set of surgical forceps, a probe and a curved needle. A small ball of silk thread completed the outfit, and Nathan cut off several lengths and dropped them in beside the knives.
Pouring some of the tequila-laced water into a pan, he began to scrub his hands, then he dried them on a pad from his torn sheet.
"Done this … before, huh?"
Nathan turned to see Josiah watching him closely, squinting through the sweat beginning to run into his eyes.
"Yeah. More times than I care to remember." Dark eyes filled with pain at the memories. "Stretcher-bearer in the Union Army durin' the war. One of the army surgeons figured I was interested, and showed me a few things. Gave me the probe an' the needle. He was a good man …"
"He make it?"
Nathan's eyes closed.
"Nope. Died at Vicksburg. Stray shell."
Josiah saw the pain, the hurt in the big man's face. He shifted, trying to ease his leg, and a deep groan of agony sliced through him, bringing Nathan out of his reverie.
"Don't you move now, y'hear?"
Josiah winced.
"I ain't goin' nowhere, friend - hey, if I'm gonna die … I'd like to know … the name of the man … who tried to save my hide before I go." He proffered a big hand. "Name's Sanchez. Josiah Sanchez."
Nathan held up his scrubbed hands apologetically.
"Sorry, Josiah - I'll shake your hand later if'n you don't mind. After I get you all cleaned up and sorted." He smiled. "Nathan Jackson, shit-shoveller, at your service. An' this here's Lily." He gestured at the girl.
Josiah relaxed back into the lumpy bed, a smile on his tired face. If he was going to die, at least he wouldn't be alone. The knowledge made him feel warm inside.
Nathan moved to his side, bringing the bowl of tequila-laced water and some pads of cloth with him. Soaking the material, he began cleaning up the wound, wiping away blood and pus, dumping the fouled pads on the floor as he used them up. Then he poured neat tequila on the wound and began to scrub with a cloth, wishing fervently he had a small hogs-hair brush to do the job instead.
Josiah shook with the pain. His good right hand clutched the edge of the rickety bed with a vice-like grip, and every muscle in his chest and belly tensed and jumped with the agony.
"I'm sorry Josiah - wish I could give you somethin', but I'm gonna need the tequila to keep this thing clean for the next few days. Y'understand me?"
"Y - yeah, I gotcha …" The words squeezed past clenched teeth.
For long agonising minutes, Nathan sweated and cursed, digging out muck and foreign matter, trying to clean as much infection out of the wound as he could, all the while Josiah stoically standing the pain.
Finally, he decided he'd done enough, and bandaged the wound neatly.
"I ain't gonna stitch it, seein' as I'm gonna be scrubbin' it out for a while yet. That'll let any crap drain out that shouldn't be in there. Means I'll have to change the dressin's out regular though - you up to it?"
Josiah, glad the pain had eased a little, grinned wolfishly.
"Ain't … got no choice … now have I?"
Nathan grinned back.
"Nope. You sure as hell ain't. But you're gonna have to be still, not move too much, 'cause the bleedin' will start again at the drop of a hat."
Josiah just nodded.
Removing the bullet was a far quicker job. Quietly and efficiently, Nathan put an incision over the hole and hauled out the bullet with the forceps. He hoped that Josiah would pass out, but - damn the man - he seemed to have a remarkable tolerance for pain, teeth clenched, never making a sound.
Stitching and bandaging the wound, he saw Lily, watching him with enormous eyes, fear in the brown depths. His heart went out to her. He didn't think Josiah had much of a chance, and the child would be devastated if the big man died.
Now for the leg.
Once more, Nathan moved to slice open the pants leg, but he heard a faint murmur of protest from the hurt man.
"Dammit, Josiah! I ain't no lady's maid! No, don't tell me - they're the only pair you got, an' you want for me to take 'em off you."
"Bingo …" He heard the smile in the baritone voice.
Nathan looked at Lily, her brown eyes defiant.
"Don't tell me you're sidin' with him, girl - he's nothin' but a damn' pain in the ass, an' you're sidin' with him??"
"Wh … what can I say, Nathan - that's two against one, Brother ….."
Cussin' mightily, Nathan managed to haul off Josiah's boots and remove the battered and torn pants. He looked at the pair of bloodstained long-johns - Oh Lord, may as well. Nathan didn't have a spare set himself, and Josiah would need them back later to keep him warm. If he survived.
"Lily - out you go."
The girl was genuinely puzzled by Nathan's words.
"I ain't havin' you around a buck-naked grown man, so - out!!"
Then Nathan realised what he had said - Lily lived in a whore-house. She probably saw more bare-assed men in a day than most of the decent ladies of Jubal saw in a lifetime. He decided that didn't matter.
"Here." Nathan handed her Josiah's clothes. "Go soak the blood outta these, if you want somethin' to do - but out you go, girl."
Lily exited in a huff, wandering over to the pump.
Nathan draped a blanket over Josiah's lax body to preserve the man's modesty, then removed the long-johns, the wounded man cursing weakly as the material pulled from the wound.
Exposing the wounded thigh, he cleaned out the gash, put in a few stitches, then wrapped it firmly in clean bandages.
He was done. Now it was up to Josiah.
The man was pretty damn sick. How he'd come by the injuries - one wound several weeks old, the others fresh - Nathan couldn't understand. It was the old wound that worried him. It seemed to have been healing well enough, Nathan guessed, until it was bust open, probably at the same time as Josiah had acquired the bullet in his arm and the gash in his leg. But the infection was bad. God help him if it turned rotten on him.
"Thirsty …" Josiah muttered, the fever beginning to take a firm grip.
Nathan gave the man a few sips of water, then covered him with his other two blankets, trying to keep him warm.
He rubbed his eyes wearily. He had no idea if the big man was going to make it, but Josiah had a stubborn streak in him that Nathan was relying on - for Lily's sake as well as Josiah's.
Talk of the devil … Lily struggled back into the shack, hauling Josiah's bedroll behind her. How on earth had she retrieved it from the big horse's saddle? The girl was tenacious, if nothing else.
Nathan began picking up the soiled cloths from the floor and set them to boil, knowing he would be hard-put to keep up with clean bandages for the wounded man. Lily unrolled the bedroll and laid Josiah's colourful blanket over the big man, very gently covering his chest and wounded arm.
Nathan watched furtively as Lily curled up in the rickety chair beside the now semi-delirious Josiah, and was amazed when she slipped tiny fingers into the sick man's large hand. He was dumbfounded when Josiah quietened, easing into a restless sleep.
That's right girl - keep him still an' quiet, an' he may just have a chance …
