Heat slid up his neck. “Not yet. I’ll need to leave you for several hours. I’m not sure you’re well enough for that.”
Her eyes turned beseeching. “Please. I need that crate. It’s vitally important. People could die.”
A shiver ran down his arms, and not from the icy breeze ruffling his hair. At least, not completely. “What do you mean, ‘people could die?’” More than had already perished when the wagon crashed? Was this a delusion from her trauma? He studied her face for signs of mental instability.
She strained toward him, clutching the cup with both hands. “We were taking it to Settler’s Fort. The contents of that box will save the lives of the people there. I can’t lose it.” She set the mug on the ground and pushed the covers aside. This time she made it halfway to a sitting position before he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.
“I’ll go. But only if you promise to lie still and let your bones heal.” What could possibly be in that box of such import that she was willing to injure herself further? But she’d already lost so much. If the box was that important to her, he could retrieve it.
She eased back down, her gaze wary. Searching. “You’ll go now?”
He glanced at the sky. Gray, but not so impending that snow would come before he returned. “I’ll go now. Is there anything else you need me to bring back? Clothing? Keepsakes? I can’t carry much, but I’ll get what I can.”
She stared upward at the cover of brush he’d constructed above her, clearly thinking through what had been in the wagon. “My father’s Bible. It might be in his doctor’s bag.” Her eyes developed a thick sheen. “I suppose anything else he might have in his pockets. His watch.” She nodded, but didn’t look at him. “Thank you.”
A lump clogged his throat, and he worked to swallow it down. He’d suspected that might be her father’s medical bag. Had he been a good doctor? Surely better than Micah had been. He shoved the thought aside. “All right then.” Pushing to his feet, he loaded as much wood as he dared on the fire, then moved a small stack of logs close to her. “Keep the fire as hot as you need it. I should be back in a couple hours, but don’t worry if I’m not. There’s more meat in this pack, so help yourself. Sleep when you can.”
He scanned the area. How could he leave her here, defenseless against any prey that wandered along? “Do you know how to shoot a rifle?”
Her gaze jerked to his. “Do you think I’ll need to?”
Pressing his lips together, he eyed his Hawken. The gun’s recoil would likely break another of her ribs if she actually had to fire it. If she could fire it. But it might save her life in a pinch.
Grabbing the weapon, he dropped to his haunches beside her. “If you have to use it, tuck the stock into your shoulder like this.” He positioned the gun at his own shoulder. “Squeeze this rear set trigger before you’re ready to fire. When you need to shoot, squeeze this front trigger. Be careful. This rifle has a powerful kick, so don’t use it unless you have to.”
Her eyes had been wide when he started the short lesson, but now they narrowed with determination. At least she wasn’t afraid of the weapon.
She reached for the rifle, but he didn’t release his hold as he helped her lay it down beside her bedding. This gun was lighter than most, but still heavy enough to strain her broken ribs.
“I’ll be careful.”
He stood and inhaled a long breath as he looked around once more. That was the best he could do. After reaching for the last of his breakfast, he touched his hunting knife to ensure it hung at his waist, then started out.
The sooner he accomplished this task, the better.
The crash site was worse than Micah remembered.
The snow blanketing the wreckage gave it a ghostly appearance, as though the scattered debris were flotsam cast about years before. A shipwreck with no survivors.
Save one.
Pushing aside his thoughts, he focused on the job at hand. Food, a crate of medicine vials, and her father’s Bible. And if he could carry more, some of the doctoring supplies. He could collect the other belongings from Dr. Chastain’s person on his way back up the mountain.
After kicking snow off some of the mounds, he found a piece of splintered wood and used it to clear the icy blankets from the rest of the crates and trunks. Several of the trunks were locked shut, but he found the ax he’d used before and split them open.
When he lifted the first lid, a wad of green velvet fabric sprung out at him. He nearly dropped the cover, then lowered it back in place to protect the delicate items inside from the wind and snow. He hadn’t seen anything this luxurious in years, maybe decades.
He hated to touch such dainty things with his grimy buckskin gloves, but there might be something in there Miss Chastain needed. He should at least look for an extra coat or gloves or the like.
After raising the lid again, he peeled back the green velvet and found a striped fabric, some kind of soft blue cloth, and a bunch of white frilly things. Not one would be suitable for the weather in these mountains, especially with winter now upon them.
He eased the cover shut, then moved on to the next box. He could have spent an hour digging through all the crates and supplies, but he could only carry a few bundles in addition to the crate of vials he found partway through. The case wasn’t marked, but Miss Chastain had been right about how well each glass container was packed. Partitioned by wooden dividers, then wrapped in stuffed fabric, not a single bottle had broken. Nothing indicated what the contents were, though. Why hadn’t he asked?
He stacked the Bible on the crate, then piled on bags of cornmeal, flour, oats, and salt. Perhaps he should leave a bag or two behind so he could bring the doctor’s bag, but food seemed more important.
Far more important.
With the load in hand, he started up the mountain. After climbing only a few steps, a whimpering sound from behind stopped him midstride. He braced his foot on a sturdy rock, then turned, leaning to see past the bulk in his arms.
The noise had a high pitch. Maybe a bird? Not a bird call he’d heard before. More like an injured child. Surely there wasn’t someone else from the wagon he’d missed before. Hadn’t Miss Chastain spoken of only the three people he’d already discovered?
“Is anyone there?” He strained to hear a response.
A movement farther down the mountain caught his focus. Just a shifting of a snow-covered bush, as though a rabbit hopped deeper into the shelter.
“Hello?” He focused on the bush. That noise sounded again, definitely a whimper. Or . . . more like the whine of a dog. “Here, boy.” He took a few steps down the hill, then eased his load onto a rock.
The bush moved again, dusting the ground around it with a fine powder of snow. Micah crept toward the spot, taking a visual sweep of the full area. No other movement warned of danger.
As he neared the bush, the whine sounded once more. Louder this time. Definitely coming from within the scrubby plant. “Come here. I won’t hurt you.”
When he stepped around the shrub, a shadow moved inside. Or rather, a mass of black fur. “Hey, there.” He reached toward the shadow, careful not to come close enough that the animal could strike out and bite him. It looked and sounded like a dog, but that was the last thing he’d expect out here.