"I'm going to shorten the shaft so you can lie more comfortably. I'm not removing the arrow."
His eyes opened again.
He watched her.
She worked carefully.
When she finished, she cleaned the surrounding skin and placed loose protective dressing around the wound.
The blood loss frightened her.
So did the fever she could already feel rising through his skin.
She needed a physician.
The nearest town was fifteen miles away.
The nearest physician she trusted was farther still.
She considered riding for help.
Then looked at Nantan.
He was barely conscious.
Leaving him alone might mean returning to a corpse.
Besides, there was no guarantee that every physician in the territory would agree to treat an Apache man.
Eleanor stood beside the mattress for a long time.
Finally, she fetched Daniel's old medical manual and began reading by the window.
The hours passed slowly.
She cooled Nantan's forehead.
Changed his dressings.
Helped him drink when he was awake enough to swallow safely.
And listened to his breathing.
At sunset, the stranger began speaking in his own language.
His voice was strained.
At times he seemed angry.
At others frightened.
Once, he reached toward the empty space beside the bed and whispered a name.
Eleanor could not understand it.
She sat nearby.
"It's all right," she said.
He moved restlessly.
"You're safe for now."
He opened his eyes.
For a moment, he seemed confused.
Then his gaze found her.
"Why?"
She leaned forward.
"Why what?"
"Why help me?"
Eleanor looked at him.
There were many answers she could have given.
Because it was the decent thing to do.
Because Daniel would have done the same.
Because she could not bear to watch another person die.
Instead, she said the simplest thing she could think of.
"Because you needed help."
Nantan stared at her.
Then closed his eyes.
A single tear slid from the corner of one eye.
Eleanor pretended not to notice.
Outside, darkness settled over the ranch.
Coyotes called from the distant hills.
Wind rattled the loose shutters.
And somewhere beyond the eastern ridge, three armed men followed a trail of blood through the desert.
Their leader stopped beside a patch of disturbed sand.
He knelt.
Touched the ground.
Then smiled.
"He's still alive."
The man beside him shifted uneasily.
"How can you tell?"
"Because there's no body."
The third rider looked toward the darkening horizon.
"We've followed him forty miles. He can't have gone much farther."
Their leader stood.
His name was Silas Creed.
He worked for Victor Harrow.
And he had been paid five hundred dollars to ensure that Nantan Grey Wolf never reached his people.
Creed looked toward the faint silhouette of the Whitmore ranch.
A light burned in the house.
He smiled.
"Well, boys," he said, "I believe our runaway has found himself a nurse."
The men laughed.
Creed mounted his horse.
"We'll visit her tomorrow."
The next morning, Eleanor woke in her kitchen chair with a cold cup of coffee in her hand.
The sun was already rising.
Her neck hurt.
Her back hurt.
And one foot had fallen asleep.
For several seconds, she could not remember why she had spent the night downstairs.
Then she heard a voice.
"You snore."
Eleanor nearly dropped the cup.
Nantan was awake.
He lay on the mattress, watching her with dark, observant eyes.
She stared.
"What?"
"You snore."
Eleanor straightened.
"I most certainly do not."
He considered this.
"Then perhaps there was a bear in your kitchen."
She blinked.
Then, against her will, laughed.
The sound startled her.
She had not laughed so unexpectedly in months.
Nantan watched her.
For the first time, she noticed the intelligence behind his exhausted expression.
His face was stern, but his eyes held a dry amusement.
"You're feeling better," she said.
"A little."
"Your fever has gone down."
"Good."
"The arrow is still in your back."
"I noticed."
She smiled faintly.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Nantan's expression changed.
He looked toward the window.
"Men."
"What men?"
"Five riders. White men. They hunted me through the canyon."
Eleanor's smile disappeared.
"Why?"
He hesitated.
Then asked, "Do you know Victor Harrow?"
Her stomach tightened.
"Yes."
Nantan watched her face carefully.
"Then you are already in danger."
Eleanor felt a chill despite the heat.
"What does Harrow have to do with you?"
The wounded man closed his eyes.
For a moment, she thought he would refuse to answer.
Then he said, "I was carrying something."
"What?"
"Proof."
"Of what?"
His gaze returned to hers.
"That the railroad intends to destroy this valley."
Eleanor stared.
Outside, a horse whinnied sharply.
Then came the sound of approaching hooves.
Nantan's expression hardened.
"They found me."
Eleanor stood.
She moved to the window and looked out.
Three riders were approaching the front gate.
The man in the lead wore a gray coat and a black hat.
A rifle rested across his saddle.
He looked toward the house and smiled.
Eleanor recognized him.
Silas Creed.
She had seen him once before.
Four years earlier.
Standing beside Victor Harrow at Daniel's funeral.
Her blood went cold.
Creed dismounted.
He walked toward the porch.
Then called out cheerfully.
"Morning, Mrs. Whitmore! Beautiful day for a visit!"
Eleanor stepped away from the window.
Nantan tried to rise.
Pain twisted his face.
"Stay down," she whispered.
Creed called again.
"Mrs. Whitmore? We know you're in there!"
Eleanor reached for Daniel's Winchester.