Chapter 6

Alexis

She jerked out of a fiery, tangled nightmare, cracking bleary, crusted eyes, absorbing the ruddy glow of embers in the massive stone fireplace. Muzzily staring up at squared, pine rafters, Captain Alexis Anne Willcox accepted that one of her nightmares hadn’t been imaginary. Slowly rolling her head, she felt neck joints creak and pop. Blessedly, there was no severe pain.

Curtains had been pulled back. A golden, dawn glow was shining through small glass windows. She rolled her head side to side, noticing a bowl two-thirds full of what she guessed to be water. On a platter was a wet cloth. Cautiously moving an arm, she plucked up the cloth, wiping at her crusted eyes and dry lips. There was a large mug next to the bowl and a shot glass full of what looked like laudnum clouded white lightning.

Ignoring the temptation of drugged oblivion, she worked her shoulders, bringing up arms. There were still aches, but nothing unbearable. Alexis pushed against elbows to see if she could lift her shoulders off the bedding. When she succeeded with only a few sharp protests from belly muscle groups and a popping spine, she carefully kicked out of covers. planting feet on cold floor planks. A rainbow of bruises were still mottling her body and legs, the worst very sensitive to her touch. She groaned. Though aching all over, she was no longer incapacitated.

“Damn! She really did a healing. It wasn’t just psychosomatic,” Alexis muttered, rolling onto the Navaho rug, pushing up on hands and knees. Only then did she notice a large trunk had been positioned behind her pillow. Folded atop the lid were tough denim pants, a plaid flannel shirt, woollen stockings and man-sized, full-length red flannel underwear.

“Nice thought,” she muttered, “but I’ve got to pee!”

Glancing around, she could see that her pixie saviour and her large revolver were gone. Also at the foot of her improvised bed, she noticed what looked like a brass spitoon. Beside the thing was a small basket holding linen rags. Alexis groaned. “God, no indoor toilet! A chamber pot?”

The urgent pressure of her bladder left no choice. She crawled to the thing, wrinkled nostrils and sniffed, catching a whiff of urine. Resigned to the inevitable, she groaned, muscles complaining when she pushed up, straddling the pot. Palms pushing against bruised knees, she grimaced, trying to relax. When her buttocks touched cold brass, the shock helped her let go. The resultant splashing let her know that Llywelynn had already used what passed for an ‘indoor toilet’. Rags in the basket were obviously intended as wipes. She used one, feeling that further efforts would be pushing the envelope.

Alexis managed to crawl back on the bed, sitting, but shoving feet and legs back under warm covers. She picked up the mug, making certain it was full of water before taking a sip. Though back muscles still complained, the aches were more from bruises and strained connective tissue. A draft brushed her torso, causing a chill and goosebumps. Though a fire was crackling in the stove, embers in the fireplace were not adequately combating morning chill within the cabin.

After snuggling back under covers, Alexis glanced around, recalling that her bra and panties had been left to soak in a bucket of soapy water. She pushed up again, one hand on the trunk, standing shakily, swaying a little. She picked up the flannel long-johns, studying the front buttons and rear flap. Obviously, Llywelynn had laid out the items, intending she should make use of her father’s clothing.

Momentarily apalled, She sank down, gradually working feet and legs into the long underwear. When her arms were in the sleeves and the front buttoned, Alexis felt warmth returning. She pulled on the wool socks, then the flannel shirt and denim pants. Though a bit baggy, they did reach to her ankles. Not finding a belt, she opened the trunk. Not only were there two leather belts, she found a shell belt and holstered revolver. At a glance, she saw it was a right-hand match to Llywelynn’s rig.

“Damn! Looks like something a gunslinger would have, not a gold miner!”

Alexis fumbled the belt through loops, cinching up the baggy denim jeans. After that, she examined the choice of footwear. A pair of lace miner’s boots and a pair of tall, tooled riding boots had been placed next to the bed. Alexis tried the riding boots. Though a bit loose, surprisingly, they were a close fit.

“So, her dad had a big chest, short legs and small feet,” she said, carefully holding onto the bunk, swaying in the high-heeled riding boots.

“A rancher and miner too,” she mused, settling on the riding boots.

‘Take a look outside?’ she wondered, a little surprised that she was feeling so much better, not to mention, quite hungry. ‘Bad men and Apaches,’ she reminded herself, not yet certain that she had the strength to open the heavy door, let alone step outside. Deciding, Alexis opened the trunk, lifting out the shell belt, noting that every loop held a large calibre round.

“Looks like a forty-four,” she mused, examining a cartridge, fingernail digging into a soft lead bullet.

. She buckled on the rig, drawing and examining the pistol. “Antique,” she muttered with a sniff. “Looks like a Smith & Wesson forty-four.” She lifted a latch, breaking open the action, surprised to find the cylinder loaded with six rounds instead of five. She closed the action, holstering the weapon before taking small, careful steps towards the cabin door. Before opening it, she took down the large, sheepskin coat hanging on a rack of elk antlers. The scent of a man lingered in the lining. Alexis slipped on the coat, once again puzzling about Llywelynn’s father...

Outside, one quick glance around revealed an expanse of front yard blanketted with snow. A surprise, the air almost seemed warm. Dozens of long icicles hung from the eaves. All were dripping water. Her flight suit and inner layers were in a heap below the porch.

A forest palisade of very tall, very old evergreens enclosed most of the yard. A rushing creek emerged from trees. Rhimed with glittering ice, the water tumbled down a slope before vanishing beneath ice that covered part of a broad, highland meadow dotted with a few bare deciduous trees and copses of young evergreens. Below that plateau were intrusions of black basalt enclosing more trees and hummocks of brown grass. As she looked that way, Alexis experienced a moment of vertigo. Banded sandstone ridges, trees and meadows fell away into a vast, grey gulf that she guessed might be desert. Beyond that, the golden light of dawn stretched across a distant horizon. Jagged mountains stood out against brightening light of the eastern horizon.

She leaned on a stout rail, considering scenery that was rapidly gaining definition. Splashes of purple, green, gold and tan coloured the vast basin. North, through gaps in the evergreen forest, she glimpsed cliffs. Layers of red and yellow sandstone were evident.

With one hand on the rough porch rail, Alexis moved to a corner, looking west ... A broad band of grey limestone streaked with ruddy stains from iron oxide rose off to her left. At the western end of the porch, she glimpsed snow-capped peaks beyond stands of timber.