Chapter 12

First one, then the other of Lou's elbows made purchase on the ledge where the shack that had pulled at him with its promise of water leaned against the vertical rock wall of the high desert canyon. His eyes immediately locked onto a thin stream of water running out from under the shack and pooling a few short feet away. It was only about twelve inches across and shallow, no deeper than an inch or two. To a man near death from dehydration it looked like all the water a person could ever desire.

Lou never even took to his feet. Pulling himself across the short distance of flat rock shelf on his knees, his hands scrabbling for purchase, Lou collapsed to his belly and dropped his face full into the water. His attention was so completely occupied with the veritable river flowing beneath his mouth, so completely involved in gulping in the cool, life giving liquid, that he did not see the small herd of goats milling about, the small fire crackling in the open pit in front of the shack, or the young woman that sat cross legged beside her fire with startled wonder written in her eyes. He drank, huge swallows, one mouthful right after the other. He didn't even bother to remove his face from the water to take a breath of air. At the moment he didn't care that his body's extraordinary thirst could not be quenched this way without shock convulsing his stomach muscles. He drank deeply anyway, then, when he could take in no more, he lifted his head from the streamlet and the water gushed back up. Nausea brought tears to his eyes, but the intensity of his thirst put his face back into the water once again. This time he slowed down. Taking the water into his parched body in slow, languid sips, Lou revelled in the taste and feel of moisture coating his throat, soaking into the skin of his face, and ending an endless search.

The need for air finally brought his face up out of the stream. For several minutes he lay flat on his belly, his cheek pressed into the rock floor of the ledge with the shallow stream running an inch from his face. Lou lay with eyes closed, luxuriating in the scent of water filling his nostrils. He was quite certain nothing in his life had ever felt better than this, laying right here on a rock shelf half way up a canyon wall in the middle of a wasteland while water worked its way into the nooks and crannies of his body. It was pure heaven.

With water running off his face, he took stock of what the past few days had done to him. His exposed skin felt like that of a potato thrown into a dying fire and forgotten for days; crisp, stiff, and cracking. Fever raced through him. The injuries his body had taken, crashing through a full pane of window glass and so shortly later taking a twisting, tumbling fall down the wall of a canyon, would not heal without attention. Even laying here perfectly still his ribs pained him. And as sharp as that pain jabbed him, it held no comparison to the agony aflame in his shoulder. The fire burning there felt like the Devil himself had taken residence.

A chuckle coughed its way out of his throat. He was sure paying the Devil for playing at being an outlaw. Laying motionless, the smell of water inches from his face, Lou took in the truth in a series of deep, chest filling breaths. He had found water. For the moment he would survive. But he was not saved. His wounds needed some serious tending. His body needed food. The Devil might take him yet.

After several minutes of simply accepting the water's gift of survival, Lou lifted his aching body enough to stiffly turn his head and study the shack whose sight had brought him this largess. Through fever bright eyes he noted several goats milling around one side of the dilapidated structure. They bleated while pushing their noses into the bare ground. No one appeared to be taking care of them.

Given the broken-down condition of the shack, Lou wondered if anyone lived here at all. Sure, people lived in worse places. Down in The Big Valley, he'd seen Mexicans living in crude huts as bad, if not worse, than this. He knew Indians out on the western plains lived in even cruder places. And what with all the Earth's jumping about the last few days, some of the building's fallen down appearance was understandable.

Those bleating goats trying to forage on bare ground brought a rumble from his own stomach. He was hungry enough to eat one raw. Brows knit in concentration, Lou forced his fevered thoughts to give him an answer. Smashing one of the animals at just the right spot on its head with a rock might work, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out how to open the critter to eat it once he had it killed. He had no knife, and right now, as weak as he was, even a sharp rock would be hard to find. Lowering his face into the trickle of water for another drink while he muddled through the problem, he heard a slight rustling sound from behind him.

Mary took to sleeping nude at night. Even the chill night air didn't make the feel of clothing twisting around her legs and body agreeable. How things do change, she wondered. None of the orphans would have dared to have slept without donning their nightgown and nightcap. Why when Patrick insisted she remain nude at all times from the very first nights, and even days, of their marriage, her cheeks had burned with shame. Now for some reason, she found she preferred sleeping that way. Clothing against her body at night, with its constant tug against her skin as she moved in her sleep, felt confining. She would wake with a start, the fabric of her nightgown twisted tightly about her neck, gasping for air as if something evil had hold of her. Given her preference she would have done without even the blanket, but the cool nights prevented that. She did put on her duster during the days, especially since abandoning the now dangerous interior of the shack. As silly as it sounded, she could not seem to overcome the feeling someone might come along and find her prancing about naked. Then the stranger had suddenly appeared.

Mary watched in silent surprise as a dirty mop of hair appeared, followed by a lean, blistered and battered body. The man struggled up over the rock ledge on elbows and belly, then crawled, over to the small stream of water just ahead of where it dropped to the canyon floor and Jenny's corral below. He never even looked her way. Mary thought she'd have had time to cover herself even if she had been nude.

Still unable to find her voice, Mary's mouth dropped into a round open "o" none the less. As the stranger submerged his face, his body undulated against the ground as if in ecstasy. Not moments later, however, his head rose from the stream and he purged himself in great heaves. Once his stomach emptied, he immediately placed his face into the water again. This time he slowed himself. He sipped at the water, turned his head for air and sipped again.

In time, he raised his head, supported his upper body on elbows encased in torn and tattered sleeves and looked around a bit. Mary watched silently from just outside his field of vision. The stranger had not seen her yet.

Still silent, Mary backed several steps away. Only the terrible condition of the man stopped her from turning and fleeing. The scorching desert sun had burned the man's face badly. A huge blister on his forehead had broken and was now a stiff flap of skin drooped down over one eyebrow. It nearly hung in his eyes. Against one shoulder, the back of his once blue work shirt was brown and stiff.

Finally concern overcame fright and she found her voice. Moving forward two steps, she halted, bringing the palms of her hand to her cheeks. "Oh my Heavens!"