Marna (12 page)

It was no use, she cried silently. The animal, sensing
that she was becoming weaker, was throwing added
strength into its powerful, tugging jaws. Her fingers
were losing their grip and soon it would have her in the
deep woods.

Darkness was closing in on her. Her grip was gone,
and she was being dragged across the ground, thinking
dazedly, Matt will be rid of me now. Then she heard a
voice, desperate in its urgency, call her name.

Only semi-conscious now, she heard dimly the sharp report of a rifle, then felt herself released abruptly.
Gentle hands grasped her shoulders and turned her
over. Her eyes flickered open, and she saw Matt kneeling at her side. She smiled up at him faintly, then
slipped into unconsciousness.

Matt had been just drifting into the deep sleep that
comes with first rest when a bloodcurdling scream rent
the air. He jerked erect, thinking it had come from
Dove. When the second scream came, almost on the
heels of the first, he whipped off the covers. His heart
racing, he heard his name yelled in terror.

"Marna!" he whispered, his body growing cold. He
sprang to his feet, grabbed up the rifle, and collided
with Caleb at the door. Giving the hunter a shove that
sent him staggering back into the room, he was outside,
sprinting toward the cabin.

He rounded a large pine and immediately saw the
cat The animal had dragged Marna almost to the edge
of the forest Matt raised the rifle and shot into the
air.

The cat bolted into the woods, and as Matt ran,
stumbling toward the quiet form lying on the ground,
he realized that he loved his wife desperately. He loved
her wildness, her stubborn spirit that stood up to him,
but most of all her decency and sweetness.

"Dear God," he prayed, "let her be alive."

He knelt beside her and turned her over tenderly.
When she smiled up at him, he gathered her into his
arms and held her tight in thanksgiving.

He stood up with her and Caleb jumped to help him.
But the cold, warning light in Matt's eyes made the
hunter drop his arms and walk along beside him.

Inside the cabin Matt laid Marna carefully on his
own bed. Now that it was too late, through his own
fault, he realized she had belonged there all the time. He turned to the white-faced Caleb and wanted to
shout, "Get the hell out of here. She is mine and you
have no right here." Instead he rasped out, "Go get
Hertha. Tell her what has happened so she'll know
what to bring."

Caleb nodded and raced from the room.

Matt placed his hand on Marna's forehead. She was
hot and dry to his touch. Already fever had set in. He
called her name softly, but she only rolled her head
back and forth, moaning.

I must get her out of these clothes and look at her
wounds, he thought.

Rising, he moved to the table to fill a kettle with
water. Only the dipper lay there, seeming to accuse
him. He knew then why Marna had left the cabin. She
had gone to the spring for water, and the cat, lured by
the scent of the fresh kill, had attacked her in its hunger.

Matt's great frame was bowed with grief and guilt. If
he'd behaved as a decent husband should, the pail
wouldn't have been empty, and his wife wouldn't be
lying there now with her leg chewed up.

He stepped out on the porch, then stopped. Waiting
in front of the cabin was a silent, sober gathering of his
men. Each hunter there, with the exception of Corey,
had developed a deep respect and liking for the strange,
woods queer girl. They had sensed her innocence, and
now they wanted to help her.

Henry stepped away from the group and asked anxiously, "Is the little one all right, Matt? Is she alive?"

Matt raked trembling fingers through his hair. "Just
barely, Henry. She's losing a lot of blood." He stepped
to the edge of the porch. "Would you bring me some
water? I think you'll find the pail over by the spring."

Henry nodded and left in a run.

As Matt was about to reenter the cabin, his attention
was caught by Corey's squaw hiding in the shadows.
Her face shone pale as she leaned against the wall.
"What do you want?" he snapped gruffly.

"Please," the girl whispered, "I would like to help
you with your wife. I used to help my mother tend the
sick in our camp."

Relieved to have some help, Matt pushed open the
door and said, "Go on in."

Dove knelt by Marna and carefully lifted one of her
eyelids. She nodded her head and murmured, "She is
only unconscious. Will you hand me your knife,
please?"

Matt looked at her suspiciously. "What are you
gonna do with it?"

Dove smiled. "Don't worry. I wouldn't hurt this one.
Her grandmother saved my father's life when he was a
young man. I am only going to cut away her clothes."

Swiftly and carefully she slit the seams of the shirt
and pants. Slowly she laid them away from Marna's
body. Even in his all-consuming worry, Matt gasped at
the beauty laid bare before him. This time it was unlike
that night Corey had attacked her. That time he had
been half blinded by his anger and seen only portions of
her body in the semi-darkness of the room. But now
every plane and curve was clearly visible in the moonlight streaming through the window.

"Is she not beautiful?" Dove asked slowly.

Matt could only nod his head.

The squaw brushed the tangled hair back from the
dirt-smeared face, then looked up at Matt. "Do you
know that her face is as beautiful as her body?"

At his surprised look she nodded her head and continued, "Yes, it is true. Old Hertha keeps her beauty
hid. She does not trust her husband or the hill men."

"How do you know all this? How can you tell with
all that dirt on her face?" Matt asked, puzzled.

"My mother told me. She has seen the girl bathing in
the river. She said that before the girl rubbed dirt back
upon her face, she looked like a moon goddess."

Matt peered at Marna's face, trying to see beyond
the grime.

"Let's turn her over and see to her wounds," Dove
said.

They eased her over on her stomach and discovered
the angry red furrows reaching from her shoulder to the
small of her back. Trickles of blood still oozed from the
long scratches.

"My God," Matt whispered. "I thought it was only
her leg."

When they examined the leg, Matt was thankful it
was not as badly lacerated as he had feared. Probing
with gentle fingers around the teeth marks, Dove
breathed her relief also. "The cat got only the flesh.
There are no punctured veins."

But already there were large patches of red and blue
around the fang marks. Dove sat back on her heels,
murmuring, "She is badly bruised, but it is the scratches
and wounds we must concern ourselves with. The
animal's claws are full of dirt, and who knows what
kind of rotten meat had been in its mouth. We must
begin to try to drain away the poison."

Unnoticed by Matt and Dove, Henry had returned.
He had filled a kettle with water and hung it over the
flames to heat. Then, not knowing what else to do but
still wanting to help, he sat the coffeepot on the fire to
warm. He now sat on the rug, careful to keep his back
to Matt's naked wife.

Dove had just finished bathing Marna's wounds
when pounding hooves came to a stop outside the cabin
door. The door flew open and Hertha stood there. The
wild ride had whipped loose her hair, causing it to
stand out all over her head. Looking more than ever
like an old witch from primeval times, she rushed to her
granddaughter.

Kneeling down beside the unconscious girl, she
whispered, "Oh, no," and turned a dismayed face to
Matt.

Matt looked away from the scared, frantic look,
unable to meet her eyes.

"How did it happen, Matt? What was she doin' out
alone after dark?"

Matt pulled his gaze back to her. "She went to the
spring after water."

It was quiet while Hertha's gaze swept over his set
and strained face. Then, her tone cold and accusing,
she asked bluntly, "Where were you? Layin' with a
squaw?"

Matt's face reddened under her steady gaze, but he
kept his eyes fixed on hers. "It's true, Hertha, I wasn't
here, but I wasn't layin' with anyone. Me and Marna
argued, and I walked out"

Hertha gazed at Matt another moment, then turned
to open the leather pouch that always hung at her side.
Matt watched her, pleading silently with his eyes. When
she continued to ignore him, he touched her arm awkwardly. His voice low, he began to speak haltingly.
"Hertha, I know better than anyone that I've treated
Marna shamefully. I don't know why I did. It was like
there was a stranger inside me. Pushin' me to say things
that would hurt her." He stopped, unable to continue.
He stared down at his clasped hands. Then, as though
speaking to himself, he said, "After what I said to her
tonight, she'll never want to see me again." He raised
despairing eyes to Hertha. "Now that it's too late, I
realize how much she means to me. How much I love
her."

His words died away in a whisper. Drawing a deep
breath, he rose to his feet and left the cabin.

Hertha gazed thoughtfully after him. When the door
closed behind him, she mumbled, "Dratted fool."

Turning back to Marna, she asked sharply of the
squaw, "What's your name, girl?"

Dove smiled at her timidly. "They call me Dove."

An interested gleam appeared in Hertha's eyes, and
she looked closely at Dove. "I saved your father's life
one time. Did you know that?"

"Yes I know, old Hertha. I am deeply grateful to you. That is why I would like to help with the little wild
one if you'll let me."

A smile hovered around Hertha's lips, a tint of sadness in it"So that's what your people call my baby?"

"Yes, but with deepest respect."

Hertha nodded. "I understand."

The old woman became a bustle of activity now.
She called to Henry for hot water and pans. Directing
Dove to gather bowls and clean rags, she mixed together different herbs and barks. Henry and Dove
waited, knowing that she wasn't finished with them yet.

Finally Hertha was ready. "Henry," she ordered,
"grab Marna's shoulders and hold them firm."

Henry hesitated. "I don't know, Hertha. I don't think
Matt would want me to see his wife.. .bare and
all."

Hertha shot him an impatient look. "Don't be a durn
fool. I need a pair of strong hands, and I don't see him
around anywhere. Keep your eyes shut if you want to."

While Henry laid uncertain hands on Marna, Hertha
spoke to Dove. "Dove, you sit on her legs. This is
gonna burn her fierce."

While Henry and Dove held the slender body steady,
Hertha gently spread the hot, pungent salve over the
wounds. Marna shuddered and cried out, unconsciously
fighting against the hands that held her. Hertha talked
to her in low, soothing tones, gently stroking her head.

Gradually the searing pain abated and Marna ceased
her thrashing about When she lay quietly, Hertha
nodded her head in satisfaction. "You can let her go
now."

She reached into her pocket and brought out a bottle
of whiskey. "Pour us all some coffee, Dove, and lace it
good with this."

Henry took the bottle from her and shook it. While
he studied the beads that formed on top, Hertha
snapped gruffly, "I made it myself, and it's the best
you'll find in these hills."

Henry grinned widely, not at all surprised that
Hertha was capable of making her own whiskey.

When they had finished the doctored-up coffee,
Hertha turned to Dove. "You look beat, girl. Go roll
yourself in a blanket there by the fire and get yourself
some sleep."

Dove looked uneasily toward the door. "I'd best be
getting back to quarters. Corey will be expecting me."

Hertha frowned a fast look at her. "So you're
Corey's squaw, are you? Do you care for that hellion?"

Dove hung her head and the tears flowed. "I hate
him," she sobbed. "He forced me to come here."

Hertha looked at Henry, and he nodded his head.
She moved then to put her arms around the heaving
shoulders. "Do as I say, child. That devil will never
bother you again."

At the doubt in Dovie's teary eyes, she added, "You'll
see. Old Hertha will put the fear of God in him."

Henry pulled a wide-bladed knife from his belt and
sent it whanging into the tabletop. "If Hertha don't, I
will," he promised.

When Matt left the cabin, he rushed blindly off the
porch. Caleb stepped away from the waiting group and
reached out a detaining hand, but Matt brushed it
aside, hurrying on. Caleb ran after him, calling out,
"Matt, is Marna all right?"

Matt made no response. At this moment Caleb was
the last person he wanted see or talk to. His wife would
turn to this man now. Caleb hadn't been afraid to declare his love for her.

Caleb turned back to the others, shaking his head.
Matt was acting like a crazy man. Had Marna died? He
jerked around, determined to make Matt talk to him.
One of the hunters then reached out and stopped him.
"Don't bother Matt now," he said gruffly. "He's
hurtin'."