it. John’s got a real way
with horses. Even if the horse got scared, it John had been able,
he’d have calmed him down. There’s another thing. Morton isn’t
here. My guess is he stayed with John.”
She hadn’t even thought about the dog. “What
do we do?”
“I’ll go look for him. He said he had fence
to fix up in the north pasture. I’ll go there first. I’ll take his
horse with me so he’ll have something to ride home.”
“It’s dark. How will you find him?”
“When I get close, I’ll fire a couple shots.
If he’s able, he’ll respond the same way.”
If he’s able . Yikes. “How badly do you
think he’s hurt?”
Fred shook his head. “Bad enough that he
couldn’t get on a horse. I’ve seen John bale hay with a sprained
arm, brand cattle with broken ribs, and ride a horse all day and
not bother to tell the rest of us he’d snapped his collarbone. He’s
a tough son of a bitch.”
“I’m going, too,” Sarah said, putting her
foot back up in the stirrup.
“No,” Fred said. “You’ll slow me down and
there’s no telling what I’m going to find.”
“But—”
At that exact moment, the howl of a coyote
echoed from the hills. Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle.
“What exactly might have scared the horse?” she asked.
Fred shrugged. “Mountain lion. Bear.
Rattlesnake.”
“Go,” Sarah said. “Find him and bring him
home.”
***
Call 911. Since she’d been a toddler, that’s
what she’d been trained to do in an emergency. Now what was she
supposed to do?
Fumbling with the wick on the lantern, Sarah
cursed the good old days. When she finally managed to get the
lantern lit, she set it down on the table next to the stove. Think.
You have to think, she lectured herself.
She’d read Little House on the Prairie a hundred times as a girl. What would Ma Ingalls have done?
She’d have comforted the children.
No need. Skip to step two.
She’d have boiled water.
Perfect. Something to do. Sarah filled her
arms with kindling from next to the stove. She lifted the burner
plate and dropped the wood inside. In less than a minute, she had a
fire started. Then she grabbed the biggest pot from the shelf.
Carrying that in one hand and the lantern in the other, she went
outside to get water.
She was halfway back from the pump when she
heard the gunshots—just two sharp taps. She stopped, her breath
coming in short gasps from lugging the heavy pot. Less than five
seconds went by and she heard two more taps, fainter, like they
came from farther away.
John Beckett had answered. He was alive.
Sarah tightened her grip on the pot handle and hurried into the
house. She lifted the big pot onto the stove.
Now what? Bandages.
Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a Wal-Mart.
She opened the cupboard and looked for
towels. Empty. Looking around, she weighed her options. The cotton
curtains on the windows certainly weren’t sterile. The sheets on
the bed would be better. But then what would he sleep on? Next to
the bed sat the bag she’d brought home from Fred’ house the night
before.
Flipping over the canvas flap, she quickly
pulled out the entire contents. She sorted through the clothes,
pulling out two white petticoats.
She checked the water. Getting warm. She
added some more wood to the fire.
She grabbed the knife from the shelf and
within minutes, had carved up both garments into strips of cloth.
She laid them on the table next to the bed. Then she walked around
the cabin and gathered all three lanterns and placed them next to
the bed.
Hot water. Bandages. Light. She started to
feel a little better, as if she might not be a complete idiot after
all. She sat down on the bed and tried to remember how to do CPR.
Was it fifteen breaths and two thumps or two breaths and fifteen
thumps?
Either way, she realized with a sick feeling,
it didn’t matter. If he wasn’t breathing at this stage of the game,
no amount of thumping on his chest would make it happen.
She did not want John
with horses. Even if the horse got scared, it John had been able,
he’d have calmed him down. There’s another thing. Morton isn’t
here. My guess is he stayed with John.”
She hadn’t even thought about the dog. “What
do we do?”
“I’ll go look for him. He said he had fence
to fix up in the north pasture. I’ll go there first. I’ll take his
horse with me so he’ll have something to ride home.”
“It’s dark. How will you find him?”
“When I get close, I’ll fire a couple shots.
If he’s able, he’ll respond the same way.”
If he’s able . Yikes. “How badly do you
think he’s hurt?”
Fred shook his head. “Bad enough that he
couldn’t get on a horse. I’ve seen John bale hay with a sprained
arm, brand cattle with broken ribs, and ride a horse all day and
not bother to tell the rest of us he’d snapped his collarbone. He’s
a tough son of a bitch.”
“I’m going, too,” Sarah said, putting her
foot back up in the stirrup.
“No,” Fred said. “You’ll slow me down and
there’s no telling what I’m going to find.”
“But—”
At that exact moment, the howl of a coyote
echoed from the hills. Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle.
“What exactly might have scared the horse?” she asked.
Fred shrugged. “Mountain lion. Bear.
Rattlesnake.”
“Go,” Sarah said. “Find him and bring him
home.”
***
Call 911. Since she’d been a toddler, that’s
what she’d been trained to do in an emergency. Now what was she
supposed to do?
Fumbling with the wick on the lantern, Sarah
cursed the good old days. When she finally managed to get the
lantern lit, she set it down on the table next to the stove. Think.
You have to think, she lectured herself.
She’d read Little House on the Prairie a hundred times as a girl. What would Ma Ingalls have done?
She’d have comforted the children.
No need. Skip to step two.
She’d have boiled water.
Perfect. Something to do. Sarah filled her
arms with kindling from next to the stove. She lifted the burner
plate and dropped the wood inside. In less than a minute, she had a
fire started. Then she grabbed the biggest pot from the shelf.
Carrying that in one hand and the lantern in the other, she went
outside to get water.
She was halfway back from the pump when she
heard the gunshots—just two sharp taps. She stopped, her breath
coming in short gasps from lugging the heavy pot. Less than five
seconds went by and she heard two more taps, fainter, like they
came from farther away.
John Beckett had answered. He was alive.
Sarah tightened her grip on the pot handle and hurried into the
house. She lifted the big pot onto the stove.
Now what? Bandages.
Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a Wal-Mart.
She opened the cupboard and looked for
towels. Empty. Looking around, she weighed her options. The cotton
curtains on the windows certainly weren’t sterile. The sheets on
the bed would be better. But then what would he sleep on? Next to
the bed sat the bag she’d brought home from Fred’ house the night
before.
Flipping over the canvas flap, she quickly
pulled out the entire contents. She sorted through the clothes,
pulling out two white petticoats.
She checked the water. Getting warm. She
added some more wood to the fire.
She grabbed the knife from the shelf and
within minutes, had carved up both garments into strips of cloth.
She laid them on the table next to the bed. Then she walked around
the cabin and gathered all three lanterns and placed them next to
the bed.
Hot water. Bandages. Light. She started to
feel a little better, as if she might not be a complete idiot after
all. She sat down on the bed and tried to remember how to do CPR.
Was it fifteen breaths and two thumps or two breaths and fifteen
thumps?
Either way, she realized with a sick feeling,
it didn’t matter. If he wasn’t breathing at this stage of the game,
no amount of thumping on his chest would make it happen.
She did not want John
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