The Eyes of the Wind, Part Five

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG

LINK TO PART ONE

~

“Drew!”

That was Adam’s voice. It was just a short distance from me, but if my ears could be trusted, he was a little ways from the men who were moaning. I got to my feet--I couldn’t stand the notion of crawling toward him.

“Careful!” he ordered. “You’re surrounded by debris.”

I stopped moving and swore under my breath. Then I forced myself back down to my hands and knees--this was no time to worry about my dignity.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“More or less,” he returned. “But my leg is injured--I’ll need your help to get up and around.”

I nodded at him as I continued to feel my way toward him. He guided me with his voice and soon I was at his side. He put a hand on my shoulder. Usually I would have recoiled from that gesture--apart from handshakes, I’m not one for personal contact with anyone but my brother--but under the circumstances I decided to allow Adam the familiarity.

“You don’t look too bad,” Adam commented. “Are you all right?”

I nodded again. “Yes. Apart from scrapes and bruises I wasn’t hurt. How do I help you up?”

He put his whole arm around my shoulders in response, allowing me to put my arm around his back. Then I stood up, hoisting him with me. He was winded even from that small effort.

“How bad is your leg?” I asked.

“It’s cut open, swelling up and probably sprained, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“You might have a fracture,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” he said, heaving, “but I’m trying not to think about that. We’ll bandage it up in a few minutes. For now, let’s move toward our left.”

“Very well,” I said, holding him up as we started toward the men who were groaning.

I could feel that Adam was wearing no waistcoat or frock-coat. He had just a plain shirt. Looking back, that seemed an odd observation to make under the circumstances. But I remembered my brother talking dismissively about Adam’s attire--he complained that Adam usually looked like a cowboy, sometimes even for business meetings.

But I suppose that he had earned that cowboy look. I could feel the hard muscles in his back. Jack, who spent his time in an office instead of laboring on a ranch, couldn’t match them. Neither could I, for that matter, though I was in better shape than my brother.

“Which men are we walking toward?” I asked, though we weren't walking so much as staggering.

“The strangers,” he answered. “I can’t see your servants yet.”

I swallowed hard at that. I wasn’t close to Brian, my valet, or Peter, my footman. But they were both well-behaved, hard-working young men. I could be a difficult, prickly master--I knew that of myself--and yet they both accepted my moodiness with good humor. I couldn’t stand the thought of either of them dead beneath the rubble of the coach.

But we had to handle the men in front of us before we went searching for them. I understood that.

“Stop here and help me down,” Adam ordered.

I obliged him and then got down on my knees myself. I could tell from touch that the ground around us--and the wounded men--was littered with more debris. I sighed as I got myself settled.

One of the strangers moaned. From his voice I could tell that his head was only a few inches in front of me. I reached out to him on instinct--but as soon as my hand found his forehead I felt a warm, sticky liquid that could only be blood.

I could hear Adam examining the man. “How is he?” I asked softly.

Adam sighed in response. “Let’s leave him here for now and look to his companion--he’s a few yards away. Would you help me up again?”

“Of course,” I said, moving toward his voice. But I cringed as I hoisted him up. Not from the weight of him, but from the task that lay before us. What good were a blind man and a man with an injured leg going to be if everyone else was worse off or dead?

LINK TO PART SIX