Freddie Read online

  What in tarnation was wrong with him? He felt restless, not fearful, he didn’t really care whether he lived or died. Sonofabitch, he could do with a whiskey, a whole bottle in fact. His supply was depleted, and he didn’t fancy going into town until next month at least, so he had decided to ration it.

  Would things have been different if Li hadn’t been killed? She had been a pretty gal with her dark oriental eyes and long black hair. She had been a good wife to him, catering to his every need and asking little in return. It was the way she had been brought up he supposed, to wait on her husband and obey his every command. They hadn’t been husband and wife in the eyes of the law, but he considered them to be a married couple.

  He doubted he had ever truly loved her, he didn’t really know the meaning of the word after the way he had been brought up. Shunted from relative to relative after Ma died when he was about eight years old, until finally he had ended up with his great Uncle Barney, a crusty old bachelor who ran the dried goods store in Everton.

  Li had worked in her father’s laundry a couple of shops away. She had been ten years older than him. They had both been outsiders, him because he was an orphan from back East and her because she was Chinese.

  Why Li’s father, Mr. Chong, came to America was a mystery, as he had been a wealthy merchant in China. Some family scandal Li had hinted at, yet never told him about. She was well educated and had taught him to read and write in the evenings after work. He was too busy helping Uncle Barney in the shop during the daytime to attend school.

  When Li’s father had been murdered and his shop burnt down, he had felt compelled to offer marriage, because he liked Li and she needed his protection. The preacher wouldn’t perform the ceremony, so they just lived together as man and wife. He had never had much opportunity to meet other women, and he did have needs that she happily and expertly met. In return, he looked after her, and the union worked out well for both of them.

  Li’s father had bought this small ranch when he first came to America in the hopes of starting a market garden. As if anything much would grow in this dry, hungry soil.

  Old Mr. Chong had discovered an underground spring in a rocky outcrop a few hundred yards from the cabin. The old man had told no-one except Li of its existence, and she had passed the information on to him.

  If any of the large ranchers ever learned there was a permanent supply of water here, they would kill him and take over the ranch, nothing was surer. Greedy varmints always wanting more than their share. Fair or not.

  The water was little more than a trickle, but it never stopped running; more than enough for his needs. He had fashioned a canvas trough to store the dripping water in until he collected it every couple of days. He had often wondered what would happen if he tried to enlarge the opening. Would it mean more water or less? He wasn’t prepared to risk killing the goose that laid the golden egg by being greedy.

  Visitors were rare, making it easy to keep the secret. Not that he bothered with people much. Years ago, those evil varmints in Everton had ruined his faith in humanity. The pictures swirling around in his head used to nearly drive him loco, until with sheer willpower he had buried them in the deepest recesses of his mind.

  Occasionally, something would resurrect them. All the hatred and bitterness. If there was a fire he hoped it burnt what was left of Everton to the ground, wiping it off the face of the earth. Most people had forgotten its dark history. Pure evil. Hatred raced through him, fueled by the thirst for revenge that had never been quenched.

  He had returned from the war as beaten and broken as the Confederacy, to find a naked Li hanging by the neck from a tree in the center of town. Not only had some of the decent, upright men of Everton beaten her, they had raped her as well. His poor little Li murdered because she was Chinese, and lived with a white man who wasn’t her legal husband. Not one person in town had tried to stop it. Nor had any of them been prepared to help him cut her down and give her a decent burial. He had to do it himself, even though his nerves were shot to pieces by the hellish conditions on the battlefield.

  His head and chest were still bandaged, and the men of Everton had laughed as he struggled to cut her down, while the women stood around taunting him for living with a slant-eyed whore. If he hadn’t lost his rifle, he would have turned it on them and shot as many as he could.

  The remembered bitterness caused him to start shaking, and hatred churned his gut. He needed a whiskey right now. A few slugs might be enough. It wasn’t. He drained the whole bottle before stumbling off to bed.

  ****

  Next morning, Nick’s head ached so badly he had to drink two cups of strong black coffee before he could perform a few of his early morning chores. He scratched his chin through his chest length, black beard. He normally tied his long hair back to keep it out of his eyes, but hadn’t bothered today. Occasionally, he would trim off a few inches from both his hair and his beard.

  He had almost decided not to ride over to the ghost town as he couldn’t smell any smoke now. Circling buzzards indicated something was dead or dying out there. Curiosity got the better of him. He rode out with his Winchester in its scabbard in the saddle, just in case.

  After riding for twenty minutes or so, he came to within a couple of hundred yards of the derelict buildings, all that was left of Everton. Buzzards circled overhead, and he was tempted to shoot the dirty scavengers, except it would be a waste of bullets.

  Dismounting, Nick tethered his gelding to a bush, then carrying his rifle, he slid down the incline, which was covered with burnt grass.

  A buckskin covered arm sticking out from behind a large rock caught his eye. It wasn’t an Indian, the skin coloring was too light. Bending down to take a closer look, the breath was punched from his lungs. A gal! Dressed in men’s clothing maybe, but the long blonde hair was definitely female.

  Her face was battered and covered in dried blood and dust. It was obvious she had sustained a severe beating. Blood saturated the area near her shoulder.

  He squatted down to make sure she was dead, wondering why he did. He had seen a lot of dead men on the battlefield. He felt for a pulse and couldn’t find one. Now what was he to do? He couldn’t leave the body out in the open for the buzzards and coyotes to devour.

  A groan caught him completely off guard. She was alive, only just. One arm was held at a strange angle, broken most probably. He pulled out the small silver flask he always carried in his shirt pocket, and pressed it against her lips.

  “Have a swig of this.” The liquid dribbled out of her mouth. He tried to raise her shoulders, but her agonized screams stopped him. Either her back or ribs were broken, or maybe both.

  “Help me,” she croaked.

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “Ribs busted I think, they kicked me.” She lapsed into unconsciousness.

  What in tarnation was he to do now? He wasn’t so devoid of humanity he would leave this little gal out here to die alone. The nearest town was fifteen miles away, she’d be dead before he got her there. It went against every instinct he possessed to take her to his cabin. No-one except him ever set foot inside it.

  Gnawing his lower lip, he picked up her hand. It was dainty, and work roughened. He couldn’t distinguish her features because her face was so bruised and beaten, but he thought she might be pretty, her hair certainly was. By his reckoning she would be about twelve or thirteen. Where were her parents? He scanned the area. There was no-one around except them.

  She was lucky she hadn’t been burnt when the grass caught fire, the rock and the bare ground around it had obviously saved her.

  “I need to pick you up and carry you to my cabin. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

  She didn’t answer, her lips were so cracked and dried they probably wouldn’t work. He felt a slight squeeze of his fingers indicating she understood.

  “I can give you a drink of water when I get you to my horse.”

  He felt the pressure on his fingers again.

  He li
fted her up as gently as he could, but she still screamed in agony and blacked out. Better for her this way. He scrambled up the hillside as fast as he could, thankfully she was a light weight.

  Who would beat a little slip of a gal so badly and leave her out here to die? Nothing she had done would have deserved this kind of punishment. Still, people were evil, who would know better than him what brutal sonsofbitches they could be?

  Once he got to his horse he sat her in the saddle, placed his rifle in the scabbard, and swung up behind her. He didn’t like riding double it was too hard on the horse, especially in this terrain.

  Before setting off he unscrewed the lid of his canteen and dribbled water over her parched lips. If she came to, he would see if she could drink. If he hadn’t found her, she wouldn’t have lasted more than an hour or two in this heat. The buzzards knew it as well as he did.

  As the gelding picked his way over the pebble-strewn path, the gal slumped against him and he rested his chin on her matted hair. Every now and again she whimpered so she was still alive. Once they passed over the worst of the rocky ground, he kneed his horse to pick up speed.

  Chapter Four

  Nick sighed with relief when his cabin came into view. The gelding trotted into the front yard, glad to be home also.

  “Some extra oats and a good rub down for you, boy, but I have to see to this little gal first, her need is greater than yours.”

  He dismounted and tied his horse to the porch post. Lifting the gal down, he strode into the cabin. The only bed he had was the double bed he had shared with Li more than ten years ago. He had never bothered to replace anything, just left it the way it was before he marched off to war.

  He carried the gal into his bedroom and gently placed her on the still unmade bed from when he had slept in it last night. For the first time he realized she was shoeless, her feet wrapped in dirty rags.

  Undoing the buttons on her coat, shock punched the breath from his lungs. Underneath the torn shirt his shocked gaze settled on two creamy, pink tipped breasts. This was no gal, it was a young woman.

  Now, what should he do? The shock sent a stab, of what he wasn’t quite sure, straight to his groin. He hadn’t been with a woman in years, but at least he knew his manhood worked as it should. The situation was worse than he had anticipated. He couldn’t leave her in the filthy, blood stained clothes. Couldn’t have her lying naked on the bed, either.

  He stepped over to the dresser which had oriental carvings on it. Everything was the same as what it was when Li lived here. He rummaged through the top drawer until he found a silky nightgown. Snatching it up, he spun around. The gal hadn’t moved although she moaned softly.

  “Water.”

  He dashed out into the kitchen, and plunged a tin cup into the bucket of water. How in tarnation was she going to drink it when she screamed in agony if he moved her. He took the cup into the bedroom, and went straight to the small drawer where Li had kept her handkerchiefs. Soaking one in the cup, he squeezed the excess water into her mouth. After a few times she turned her head away.

  “I’ll have to clean you up and bandage your shoulder and ribs.”

  Hurrying outside, he led the gelding to a paddock near the barn, unsaddled him and filled a bucket with oats, and left the horse to it.

  His head ached, probably from too much whiskey last night and the happenings of the last couple of hours. Cursing under his breath, he filled a dish with water, found a cloth and towel and returned to the bedroom.

  He would have tear up some of Li’s linen to make bandages. He suddenly wondered if there were any of the oriental potions and creams left. She always swore by them. Would they be all right to use after all this time? He didn’t know but was prepared to risk it as he had nothing better. Well, he didn’t need anything for pain, a slug of whiskey always fixed any problem he had. Once he had cleaned away the caked-up blood and dirt around her face, he cursed at the extent of bruising and lacerations around her eyes and nose. Some man had obviously taken to her with his fists. Her skin where it wasn’t bruised or lacerated was smooth and lightly tanned. She would normally be a pretty woman. Easier for him if she was a hag.

  His hands trembled as he folded back her coat. She had obviously ripped material off her shirt to bandage her feet. Had she been a prisoner? It seemed likely. Well, she had found a Goddamn awful place to escape.

  Her body under her clothes was clean, large areas starting to bruise. Some low-down skunk had kicked her numerous times if he was any judge. The arm wasn’t broken. She had been shot through the shoulder. He cleaned the wound, thankfully the bullet had gone straight through, exiting just below the shoulder blade.

  He slathered it with some black, foul smelling salve Li had sworn by to heal cuts. Well, a bullet hole was pretty close to a cut. He bandaged her wound then her ribs.

  Gritting his teeth, he worked on the fastening of her pants, desperately praying she wore undergarments. They appeared undisturbed thank goodness, but there was blood on them. Had she been violated or was it her woman’s time?

  Shock almost forced him to his knees. He cursed. Now what was he supposed to do?

  He knew little about this ailment except when it was Li’s time, she banished him from their marital bed. After about a week, she welcomed him back to the bed and into her arms. The only thing he could think to do was fold up a piece of left over linen and place it between her thighs. If she survived the gal would be mortified at what he had to do. What other course was open to him? He wasn’t happy about it, either. This would have to be one of the most embarrassing things he had ever done.

  Her skin where it hadn’t been touched by the sun, was smooth and milky white. As he pulled up her drawers he tried not to stare at her golden pubic curls. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he ignored the stirring of his manhood.

  All he could do now was wait and see if she survived the night. He went back outside to make sure the gelding was all right, then went to his little outside fireplace, stirred up the coals and placed a couple of logs on before hanging the coffee pot on a steel tripod. He was desperate for a drink, and it would have to be coffee instead of whiskey to ensure his head remained clear.

  He strode back inside to check on his patient who moaned softly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for your pain.”

  Leaning over her he noticed tears flowing from under her swollen eyelids. “If I could prop you up I could give you a proper drink, as it is, the best I can do is dribble water into your mouth.”

  “Thank you.” The husky words shocked him, gave him hope that she would survive.

  He dunked the handkerchief in the water again and drizzled it into her mouth. She tried to move and screamed in agony. Her breathing was shallow, and he wondered whether she couldn’t breathe properly because of her ribs.

  Nick spent the night in his armchair in the kitchen. He had left the door open so he could hear any sounds coming from the bedroom.

  ****

  Freddie’s eyes creaked open, but she couldn’t open them fully. At least the pain shooting through her chest every time she breathed had lessened. She couldn’t remember much except a man’s voice saying. “If you don’t want to die, fight to live,” but she didn’t recognize the voice.

  She vaguely remembered water trickling down her throat every now and again, and someone undressing her. Had she been violated? She had escaped her captors, survived the heat and choking smoke from the fire the man in black had deliberately lit, to burn her alive.

  Another man had rescued her, taken her on to his horse, after that she had recalled very little. Gingerly she moved her hand and felt soft material under her fingertips. Had the man’s wife given her a nightgown?

  A tall man entered the room. His black hair reached past his shoulders and his thick black beard touched his chest. His skin, what she could see of it, was deeply tanned emphasizing the vivid blueness of his eyes.

  “Where am I?” Her voice was so scratchy she barely recognized it.

  �
��My place, how do you feel?”

  “Much better. Thank you for saving my life.”

  He shrugged. “What’s your name?”

  “Freddie Guilford.”

  “Freddie?”

  “It’s Winifred, but everyone calls me Freddie. Where’s your wife? I’d like to thank her for…”

  “You related to Sam Guilford?

  “Yes.”

  “I called into the freight depot a couple of times when I was a kid. To answer your question of before, I don’t have a wife anymore.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Nick.”

  Where did he get the nightgown from, and how did it get on her? Freddie shuddered and closed her eyes. It was all too confusing to work things out right now.

  ****

  When Freddie next woke up, she blinked several times. Where was she? Then she remembered, a man named Nick had rescued her, brought her to his home.

  It was a log cabin she guessed, with roughly hewn logs forming the walls. The bed was large, covered with a faded patchwork quilt. There were no sheets on the bed, just a blanket covering the mattress. A pretty oriental looking dresser was the only other furniture in the room.

  There was a dull, aching pain in her shoulder where she had been shot. Her ribs were still sore, but by using her one good arm and her feet she managed to maneuver herself up on the pillow. The place was silent and instinctively she knew Nick wasn’t here.

  She tried to get out of bed but was too weak and flopped back on the pillow exhausted. She was dying of thirst but could do nothing except wait for Nick to return.

  How long had she been here? Whereabouts was she? Not too many miles away from the ghost town. In the state she was in he couldn’t have taken her far. Where were the outlaws? What if they came for her?

  Questions swirled around in her head until it ached. They would think I’m dead, burnt to death by the fire. She couldn’t believe she had survived. Divine intervention, Pastor Steve would say.