Wild Abandon

And when the driver of the buckboard wagon made the turn and his face became visible to Clint, he lowered his pistol and met the wagon’s approach.

“Noah Brown, I didn

’t expect you to come this way,” Clint said, stopping beside the wagon as Noah drew his one horse to a halt. He glowered up at the man in overalls. “Your farm lies yonder. What brings you this far from your farm grounds?”

“I just purchased this acreage today,” Noah said, peering past Clint, his face ashen at what he saw lying in the road a short distance away. “I intend to farm it, as well.”

“Come back another time, Noah,” Clint said. He took the reins to Noah’s wagon in an effort to get the horse turned around. “I’ve business on this road. Don’t go stickin’ your nose in it. I wouldn’t want to be forced into doin’ somethin’ I might regret later.”

Being a strong-willed man, who took orders from no one, Noah grabbed his reins back from Clint. “Clint McCloud, don’t try tellin’ me what to do,” he said gruffly. “As I see it, you’re trespassin’. I’ll have you locked up if you force my hand.”

“Not if I shoot you first,” Clint said, slowly raising his pistol again. “Don’t force my hand, Noah. I’ve grown to like you durin’ my stay in Mattoon. And remember. Your son Brad fought side by side with me durin’ the war.”

“And my Brad is dead and you’re alive,” Noah said, stepping down from the buggy. He leaned his face into Clint’s.

“And that can change mighty quick,” Noah said, slipping a derringer from his rear pocket. He thrust it against Clint’s abdomen. “Now step aside, sonny boy. Let me see to that gent in the road. Seems you’ve not left your warrin’ days behind you. It’s a pity that someone as smart as you can in the same breath be so dumb. Do you think shootin’ that Cherokee is goin’ to solve any problems for you? It’s just one more thing that’ll keep you awake nights.”

“Because of that damn Cherokee and those who fought with him on the Confederate side, I’m forced to walk with a wooden leg the rest of my life,” Clint growled. “I’ve not thought of much else but gettin’ my revenge one way or the other for being disabled.”

“You can still ride a horse,” Noah argued. “You can still make love. And by George you’re one of the best railroad men in these parts. So don’t whine like a baby over a wooden leg.” He leaned into Clint’s face. “At least you’re still alive.” He gave the derringer a shove. “But I can change that pretty quicklike, Clint. If you don’t get on your horse and ride away and leave me to see to that wounded Cherokee, I swear I’ll shoot you right here on the spot.”

“He’s a damn gray coat Confederate,” Clint whined. “He don’t deserve to live.”

“The war’s been over for years, Clint,” Noah said tersely. “So I suggest you put down your arms and be on your way.”

“What are you going to do about him?” Clint asked, gazing over at Dancing Cloud.

“What I’d do for anyone I’d find bleedin’ in the road,” Noah said, himself glancing over at Dancing Cloud. “And as I see it, he won’t have a chance in hell if I don’t get him to Dr. Kemper, and fast.”

“You’re takin’ him to be mended up?” Clint said, his voice almost a shrill cry. “I went to all this trouble for nothin’? Ever since I heard that this Confederate Cherokee was arriving to town, I watched for him, and then I’ve stalked him. I just waited for him to be alone away from Judge Peterson’s niece. And by damn I took advantage of it. Let him die, Noah. For God’s sake, let him die.”

“I don’t like Rebels any more than you,” Noah said thickly. “They killed my eldest son. But I’m a Christian. I don’t believe in vengeance. Now, Clint, get on your horse and get the hell out of here so I can see to the wounded man.”

“I can’t let you,” Clint said, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t see how you can stop me, unless you shoot me once I place my derringer back in my pocket to see to the Indian,” Noah said, narrowing his blue eyes into Clint’s. “Can you truly shoot me, Clint? You’re sure as hell going to get the chance.”

Clint backed away. He raised his hands in the air as he edged himself backward, his horse only a few feet away. When he reached Dancing Cloud he stepped around him. “Go ahead and do what your religion guides you into doing,” he said angrily. “There’ll be another time when I’ll get my chance to make sure this Rebel never takes another breath.”

“It might be sooner than you think if I don’t get him to Dr. Kemper’s house,” Noah said, slipping his derringer in the rear pocket of his overalls.

“Noah, if you tell the authorities that it was me who shot this Cherokee I’ll come for you,” Clint threatened. “I’ll not stop at killin’ just you. I’ll also kill your wife, June, and your son, Paul. You’d better forget your religion long enough to tell a lie that will be convincin’ enough when you are questioned about findin’ this Rebel on your land.”

Noah gave Clint a sour look. “I believe you would kill my family,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I truly believe you would.”

Then ignoring Clint as he mounted his horse, Noah went and knelt down beside Dancing Cloud. He took a pocket knife from his front breeches pocket, opened it, and cut the buckskin shirt away from the wound.

He winced. “Terrible, terrible,” he said, closing his knife and placing it back inside his pocket. He gazed down at Dancing Cloud whose eyes lazily opened and closed, his body limp. “Young man, you may not make it until morning.”

Dancing Cloud still drifted in and out of consciousness. He had partially heard the discussion between the two men. He now understood that Clint McCloud had lost a leg due to the gunshot wound that Dancing Cloud had inflicted on him during the war.

He also knew from the conversation that Clint was a railroad man, and that this kind man leaning over him, caring for him, was a farmer.

Through his hazed-over eyes Dancing Cloud could see a man with a lean face that had been bronzed over by the sun, smooth features, a long, straight nose, and kind, blue eyes that mirrored the sky. He wore baggy overalls and a long-sleeved denim shirt. His hands were large and comforting, his voice soft and gentle.

“Young man, there ain’t much I can do for you way out here away from the city,” Noah said, taking a handkerchief from his rear pocket. It was fresh and clean, directly off the clothesline in his backyard. He placed the handkerchief over the wound. “It’s going to hurt like hell when I lift you and take you to my wagon. Just grit your teeth, young man. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Noah gathered Dancing Cloud into his powerfully muscled arms. He slowly lifted him from the ground and held him there for a moment as he peered down at him. “You see, Cherokee, although the Rebels killed my eldest son during the war, I hold no grudge,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sure you lost someone as close, yourself, during that damnable war.”