Chapter 3

Just before sunset, the man stirred and groaned. Malik set aside the sombrero, knelt at the man’s side and watched as he moved his head and groaned louder. His hands went to his face, then slid along the blanket strip to the top of his head, at which point his eyes blinked open. They registered surprise when he saw Malik kneeling next to him.

“Ya’at’eeh, Shichaha’oh,” (Yah-AHT-ay, shee-CHA-ha-oh meaning, “Greetings, Shadow”) the man whispered in Navajo. Then, in English, “Shadow, have you scalped me?”

Malik answered in Navajo. “Ya’at’eeh, Akalii (ah-KAH-lee-ee, “Greetings, Cowboy.” Akalii literally, herdsman). Do you know who shot you, Cowboy?” Malik reached for his canteen.

“Shot?” Cowboy paused a moment, a puzzled frown on his face. “The last thing I remember is setting out from the ranch to go to that cattle auction at Shepherds Crossing. Where are we? How long have I been here?”

Offering the canteen, Malik said, “Here, take some easy sips.” Malik lifted Cowboy’s head and shoulders slightly. “We’re on the east side of Green Ridge, on the game trail, across from the canyon they call French Girl Creek. I found you at noon and its pushing sunset.”

After several swallows, Cowboy pushed the canteen away. “Níyol?”

“Hobbled, down the hill with my roan. Gave him some oats and water.”

“The money still in my saddle bags?”

“I’ll check.”

“There was three hundred and thirty dollars in there when I set out.”

“Looks like it’s all still here.”

“So why’d somebody shoot me? And why are you up here, Shadow?”

“Well, the first I can guess at and the second is a long story. How ‘bout another sip of water?”

“Here, I can hold the canteen. Just prop my head up a little more.”

Handing him the canteen, Malik said, “I’m running from an arrest warrant that Sheriff Banks wants to serve on me.”

Cowboy interrupted his drink to ask, “What’d you do?”

“Nothing, really. That’s the long part of the story. Leaving that aside for now, yesterday, I picked up the trail of two riders a ways south of here, one with some heft and big boots, the other, well, she was a young woman, as it turned out. They were headed the same direction I was going, so I watched their trail. Just before sunset, I found the girl’s body, beat to hell and probably raped, hidden under some rocks in a shallow wash. I buried her last night, then figured I’d try to catch up with the man who did it, today. But I found you, instead. My guess is, he was watchin’ his back trail, saw you comin’ on, and shot you just to be on the safe side, thinkin’ you might be after him.”

Cowboy’s eyes began to close. “Uh, I think I’m gonna sleep for a bit,” he slurred.

“Sure. Before you sack out, take another drink first. And tell me if you’re hurt anywhere else.”

“Feels like I landed on my left shoulder. It hurts but seems to be working,” he said, flexing the arm. Then his eyes closed.

“Rest. I might set some snares, but I’ll be close by, mostly.”

Cowboy awoke and said, “Is that rabbit, Shadow?”

“It is. You must be feeling better.”

“Some, but it was a rough night.”

“It was two rough nights, Cowboy. You started runnin’ a fever the first night and you had bouts of fever and chills all day yesterday and into the night. I cleaned your head wound again yesterday, about noon. It was septic, so I cauterized it. Hair might not grow back there.”

Cowboy lifted the blanket Malik had covered him with, taking note of his state of partial undress. “Did I pee on myself?”

“Yep. I pulled your ‘skins off you, but I couldn’t wash them. I need to find some water today.”

Cowboy rolled up on his elbow. “Meadow Spring should be just over the ridge. I’ll go after the water.” He sat up, hesitated momentarily, then began to fall backwards, but caught himself on his elbows, and eased down with an, “Oof!” He lay there, breathing in shallow gasps.

Still panting, Cowboy, gaspied out between breaths, “Maybe better ... you go ... West side ... Cottonwoods ... Not far.” He flopped his arm out to point up the ridge, at a slight angle to the north.

“I’ll take both horses, leave you my messenger gun. Still hungry?”

“Hungry later ... Leave some?”

“There’s plenty. I’ll hang this one from that tree, then drag you over behind it, away from the trail.”

“Nah, no ... jus’ le’ me be ... Rabbit?” Cowboy made a “gimme” gesture with the fingers of his still-outstretched hand.

Malik carried Cowboy’s hat, saddle, and pack bags over next to him, then laid the roasted rabbit across the saddle and leaned Cowboy’s “Yellow Boy” ‘66 Winchester against it. “Full load, one in the chamber,” he said, adding, “and both barrels, too,” as he set down the sawed-off messenger gun.

Then he handed Cowboy his own canteen. “Catch your breath, then finish this. It’s only a couple swallows. I’ll fill it, too.” After a minute, Cowboy began to push up on his elbow again. Malik supported his head and shoulders while Cowboy drained the canteen.

Malik saddled the roan and put the Appaloosa on a lead rope. He led the horses back near Cowboy. “You set?” he asked.

“Bring me a beer.”

Malik returned just after noon, his dungarees still dripping at the cuff. The horses looked sleek and were stepping livelier than when they’d left.

“No beer, but I came across some willow. I’ll make a tea.”

“Better ‘n beer,” Cowboy murmured from under his bullet-punctured hat.

Malik untied Cowboy’s rolled-up buckskin breeches from behind his saddle. He unrolled them and pulled on each leg, stretching the skin. He gave them a vigorous shaking-out and hung them over a branch, out of the sun.

“You got any latrine paper, Shadow?”

“Some newspaper. I’ll help you up.”

Malik rummaged in his pack and extracted another page from the Saber. He walked over to Cowboy and knelt next to him. “Unless you’re in a big hurry, how about you just sit up for a bit, before we get you on your feet?”

“Prob’ly better.”

Malik helped him to a sitting position and kept a hand on his shoulder. “Let me look at this head wound while I’ve got you upright.”

He had left the wound open to the air and now he pushed some hair out of the way and peered at the blistered gash. “No more putrefyin’, but I know that’s got a’ be hurtin’. I’ll start a fire for the tea as soon as we get you situated.”

“Just find me a tree to lean against. I’m better. Help me up.”

Malik squatted beside him and pulled Cowboy’s arm over his shoulders. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” And they stood up together, Malik providing balance more than lift to the other man.

Cowboy, a couple inches shorter than Malik, draped his arm across Malik’s shoulders and they walked to the other side of the nearby trail and several yards further to a couple side-by-side aspens. He stopped there and said, “I’m feelin’ pretty steady. Give me the paper and go start the fire for the tea. You’re right. It hurts like the dickens.”

As Malik was building a fire, he heard a loud crack from the direction of Cowboy’s latrine. “Need help?”

“No, just breakin’ off a stick to walk with,” Cowboy called as, still pant-less, but with his modesty mostly protected by the length of his buckskin shirt, he plodded slowly back toward the camp, steadied by an aspen branch.

Malik had retrieved a small coffee pot from his pack. He pulled his still-damp kerchief from his hip pocket. He opened it to reveal a bundle of willow twigs and shredded bark, which he dropped into the pot. Then he looked closely at his kerchief, seeing more shreds of bark and spots of sap stuck to it. He dumped the pot’s contents back into the kerchief, which he knotted, and put into the pot. He poured some water into the pot from his smaller canteen, replaced the lid, and set it on some glowing embers beside the fire.

Willow was known for its medicinal effects among many of the peoples native to the Americas. According to research published by the British Royal Society in the seventeen sixties, willows produced a chemical, salicin, that, when ingested, metabolized into salicylic acid, an analgesic which provided temporary pain relief and fever reduction. Willow had been known for those beneficial effects even in antiquity and had been mentioned in ancient Greek and Egyptian texts.

While Malik completed his preparation, Cowboy sat down by his saddle, leaned back on it, pulled the blanket over his bare loins, and begun gnawing on the remainder of the roasted rabbit.

‘I’ll go check my snares. Tea should be done by the time I get back,” Malik said, as he grabbed his carbine and walked off amidst the trees.