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them on the nightstand near the bed. He dug through Bear's
chest of drawers until he found a clean shirt, a faded, red-
checked flannel that had seen better days, and tore it into
wide strips.
Bear's eyes were closed and he was snoring lightly, his
head turned to the side. Pride sat on the edge of the
mattress, stiffened his spine and grit his teeth, then poured a
goodly amount of whiskey directly over the wound.
Even in his sleep, the burning of the alcohol on the open
wound roused Bear. He shrieked and bolted halfway up,
blinking his eyes open and staring accusingly at Pride.
"Sorry, Bear. Had to."
"Fuck'n baz..." Bear's growl was slurred, and even as he
spoke he laid back down on the mattress, his eyes rolling up
into his head. Pride waited until he'd slumped back into a
faint before picking up one of the bandages he'd made out of
Bear's clean shirt and dipping it into the hot water. Using it to
wash down Bear's shoulder and chest, he cleaned the blood
from the wound.
Sending a prayer to Heaven and hoping that God was still
turning his ear toward a sinner like himself, Pride took the
knife to Bear's shoulder. Carefully, he slid the blade into
Bear's flesh, reopening and slightly widening the wound.
Digging around, wincing every time Bear moaned as the pain
dragged him back toward consciousness, Pride used the blade
of the Bowie to feel for the bullet. He breathed a sigh of relief
when he felt the blade hit something hard. Working slowly, he
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eased the bullet up and out of Bear's shoulder, grabbing it
with his fingers. Dousing the wound with alcohol again, he
wiped the fresh blood from Bear's skin.
Tearing the rest of Bear's clean shirt into strips, he
bandaged the wound, which was bleeding freely again,
wrapping the strips over his shoulder and under his arm, and
tying them in back. He sat for a long while with his hand
pressed against the bandages, until the bleeding had slowed
again and Bear rested more quietly, his other hand gently
stroking Bear's hair.
Lord, he had come so close to losing Bear that his gut
twisted to think on it. Pride's hand was shaking when he
picked up the blood-soaked shirt Bear had been wearing and
stared at the hole in it for a few moments. A few inches to the
left and the bullet might have hit Bear's head or his chest.
Goddamn fucking bastards. They'd almost killed him. He
angrily tossed the shirt into a corner of the room, along with
the bloody blanket.
After placing the small, blood-coated, misshapen lump of
pewter-colored lead on top of Bear's nightstand, Pride
carefully undressed Bear. He removed his boots and pants,
and pulled his long johns off the rest of the way. Picking up
the edge of the patchwork quilt, he covered Bear to his chin.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched Bear sleep for a
long time, his breathing deep and even.
He'd done all he could. With a little bit of luck and a lot of
care, the wound might heal clean. He prayed that Bear
wouldn't develop a fever. If he did, chances were good that
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Pride would lose him after all, and the thought near froze his
breath in his chest.
Fighting the exhaustion that threatened to drop him like a
stone, he Pride searched Bear's pockets for extra shells, then
walked into the main room. Piling the ammunition on the
kitchen table, he picked up the shotgun, cradling it in his
arms, then sat down and prepared to stand watch throughout
the night.
* * * *
Levi had been gutshot by the first round, and although the
second bullet that the smaller man had fired had missed
them, the third had grazed Zack's right arm. He'd recognized
the bastard, too. Goddamn if it wasn't the same fella they'd
come across in the woods a few days before. How the hell
he'd come to be with Bear was beyond Zack's reckoning.
Should've put a bullet in his head when Zack had had the
chance, instead of leaving him tied to that tree. Well, he'd
never make that mistake again.
The pain in his arm burned like hellfire, and Zack had
never been a passable shot with his left hand. His only option
had been to turn tail and melt back into the hills, even though
he ached to go after the two bastards and finish what he'd
started.
The horses had scattered when the shooting had begun.
Now Zack was half-carrying, half-dragging Levi back up the
hills to where they'd made camp during the storm. If it
weren't for the fact that Levi had been with him for the past
decade and a half, Zack would've just left him behind. He
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wasn't going to last the night anyhow. But Zack figured he
owed him that much.
Laying Levi down in the snow outside of the hide tent
they'd pitched, Zack kindled a fire and stripped out of his coat
and shirt. Damn bullet had cut a furrow through the skin of
his forearm that was near a half-inch deep, and bleeding like
a sumbitch. Shivering, he dug into his coat pocket with his
good hand, pulling out a large, dirty, gray handkerchief. Tying
it around his arm, he used his teeth to help knot it in place,
before pulling his shirt and coat back on. "Goddamn bastard.
Gonna kill him for sure, gut him like a fish if I can get close
enough. Make him suffer long and hard, make him wish he
was dead," he promised himself.
Levi moaned, his hands clenched over his belly wound,
blood flowing through his fingers, and Zack began to regret
that he hadn't left him behind. Damn, if he kept on like that
Zack might have to waste a bullet on him, and his
ammunition was already on the low side. But he sure as shit
wasn't going to spend the night listening to those bubbling,
gurgling groans.
Be best if Levi just up and died and got it over with.
Zack stood up and went after the horses. He found two,
one more than he was going to need, and called it a day.
Back at the campsite, Levi's face had gone gray, and his eyes
were closed. He was still breathing and bleeding, but at least
he'd stopped that godawful moaning.
Rooting around in his saddlebag, Zack fished out a can of
beans and opened them, heating them up over the fire.
Sitting and staring at the flames, he ate the barely-warmed
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beans with his fingers and drank whiskey out of his hipflask,
the hate in his gut souring the taste in his mouth.
All Zack could think of was killing Bear and how he was
going to make the interfering little bastard that was with him
suffer for costing Zack his right-hand man and his chance at
revenge. The map wasn't even important anymore then [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]