Swift Horse
She saw her life flashing before her eyes before dropping the fawn and blacking out, falling limply toward the ground.
Chapter 9
He is made one with Nature: there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder, to the song of night’s sweet bird.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley
Having seen the smoke, Alan Burton, whom so many called Cowkeeper, rode hard toward it on his black stallion. Anger swelled inside him because he knew why things were afire today, yet had to see it for himself. He especially had to see how much land it was consuming and just how close it might get to his ranch, where his cows were innocently grazing on tall, green grass.
He found it hard to believe that the Creek were using this method to hunt, when from all of his observations, there were plenty of deer to just go out and shoot!
“But, no,” he cried to the heavens. “They had to set good land afire!” He was so angry he could hardly contain it.
The fires were eating up grazing grasses, and risked killing tiny, innocent forest animals that would get caught amidst the flames.
“The fools!” he shouted, raising a fist above his head and swinging it.
He coughed when he found himself engulfed in a thicker, rolling smoke. He covered his mouth with a hand and blinked his eyes to clear them of the sting, yet he rode onward.
His eyes narrowed angrily when he finally saw the flames up ahead that were sending off the ungodly smoke that had reached as far as his ranch. He urged his horse forward to see just how far the flames were reaching, coughing and choking the farther he rode.
Realizing that he had gone his limit, yet close enough now to see the huge circle of fire, he drew a tight rein and patted his horse on the neck. He could feel the fear in his horse, and as it yanked on the reins and looked back at him, he saw it in the wildness of its eyes.
“It’s okay, boy,” Alan reassured his stallion.
He started to wheel his horse around to head back for home, but stopped, swallowed hard, and wiped at his eyes to see if he was imagining things or if he had seen a woman lying amidst the flames. He looked again through his stinging eyes. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that what he had seen was real enough. A woman lay within the circle of fire, the fire slowly inching its way toward her.
“Lord amighty!” he cried as he leaped from his horse. His hands trembled as he grabbed a blanket from his saddlebag.
He looked anxiously around him for the creek that he knew should be there but was momentarily hidden behind the smoke. The smoke separated and there it was.
Water!
He ran to the creek and fell to his knees, dunking the blanket into the water and soaking it thoroughly. Then he stood up, and as he ran back in the direction of the flames, he threw the blanket over himself, leaving enough of his face exposed in order for him to see where he was going.
Gathering his courage, he swallowed hard, then bravely ran through the fire, feeling the heat even through the wetness of the blanket and the soles of his boots.
He knelt down beside the woman. He hoped that she was still alive, but he didn’t have the time to check for a pulse. The important thing was to get her to safety.
His eyes darted over to the tiny creature that lay beside the woman. He knew that it might already be dead because of smoke inhalation, but if Alan succeeded at getting the woman freed of this damnable fire and smoke, he would try to rescue the fawn, as well.
He swept Marsha into his arms, hating to feel just how limp she was. Hopefully he was in time and wouldn’t die while trying to save her.
Holding the blanket over them both now, he sucked in a wild breath, then held it as he ducked low over Marsha and ran again through the fire. He didn’t stop until he had Marsha safely away from the flames and stretched out beside the creek.
The blanket resting around his shoulders, Alan placed trembling fingers to Marsha’s throat and sighed with relief when he did feel a pulse. He looked toward the flames again. He knew what he must do.
He wetted down the blanket again, swept it over him, and soon had the fawn back beside Marsha. Alan examined the fawn’s neck and was relieved when he felt a strong pulse. Then he tossed the blanket aside and concentrated on the woman.
He cupped his hands together, sank them into the creek, and brought out as much water in them as he could. He slowly drizzled the water over Marsha’s face in hopes of reviving her.
When she still didn’t awaken, he washed her face clean of as much ash as he could, then sprinkled water across her lips, all the while gazing upon her and seeing her loveliness through the ash.
Now that her face was cleared enough, he recognized her. He had seen her at the back of the trading post, hanging clothes. He had heard about a sister having come to live with the storekeeper.