Christie And The Hellcat Part 18

"Nothing."

Green eyes regarded her suspiciously. "Zee?"

"All aboard," came the driver's voice.

Relieved at the interruption, Zee kicked back her chair and stood up.

"C'mon, darlin'. Our carriage awaits."

Chapter 3.

Christie was glad Zee had chosen to ride inside the stage with her for the next portion of the journey. Being squeezed between Mrs.

Grummond and the flabby-bellied banker (whose name, she had learned was Walter Bonney) was not an experience she wished to repeat. It had taken another of Zee's glares to make the sour matron resume her place on the middle seat.

Zee's presence had also nipped in the bud another unpleasant development. Colonel Gregg had taken to eyeing Christie with open admiration and to making overly flattering remarks. Fortunately, a glare from Zee had soon returned his attention to the pa.s.sing landscape. Now if only Zee could do something about the preacher.

Ignoring his fish-eyed stare, Christie rested her head on Zee's shoulder and stared out at the clumps of cacti and desert paintbrush, wondering what Phoenix would be like, and what Zee was being so secretive about.

She must have dozed off, because she woke disoriented to find the stage slowing and Dusty's voice calling, "Rest stop. Everybody out."

"Thank heavens!" cried the girl in the pink dress, whose name Christie had learned was Annie Stenhouse. She scrambled for the door, and the other pa.s.sengers weren't far behind her.

"Have a nice nap?" asked Zee, as she handed Christie out.

She stifled a yawn. "What time is it?"

Zee pulled out her pocket watch. "Three o'clock."

Christie groaned and shook her head. When the driver pa.s.sed round a full canteen, she took it eagerly and eased her parched throat with a few mouthfuls of tepid water. Then the call of Nature came, so she grabbed the spade and went off behind a cactus to answer it. When she returned, the preacher was standing in her path. She 119.

sidestepped, but the man in black did likewise.

"Something I can do for you, Reverend?"

"My dear," he said, "your soul is in grave danger."

Christie blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

He glanced at Zee who was being talked to by the English couple.

"That woman is the sp.a.w.n of Satan. If you allow her to corrupt you, you will go straight to h.e.l.l."

"How dare you!" Christie tried to walk around him, but once more he placed himself in her way. Then came the Bible quotations, giving chapter and verse, on which he based his condemnation of the two women. Christie became aware she was gripping the spade handle so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She resisted the temptation to hit him over the head with it.

The litany of hate continued but eventually he was forced to pause for breath. She seized her chance.

"Why, you narrow-minded, hate-filled, unchristian"

His eyes widened as she advanced on him. Giving the spade a nervous glance, he stepped back. Then something made him look down. He screamed.

Shocked by his reaction, Christie halted. In the sudden silence conversation had stopped and all heads had turned their wayshe heard what the preacher must have heard scant seconds earlier: a dry rattle.

Heart pounding, she scanned their surroundings. Then she saw it, the diamond-backed snake lying coiled beside his boot, the tip of its tail vibrating in warning. And as she watched, the deadly reptile began to uncoil itself. A broad triangular head reared, and a forked tongue flickered.

"Don't move," she told him.

Then something flashed past her, making her flinch; a gunshot rang out; horses whinnied and began to rear in their traces; and the preacher cried out, clutched his leg, and began rolling on the ground.

Christie was dimly aware of Dusty rushing to calm the panicked horses, and of Zee's voice raised in anger, but her attention was on the snake. A small knife had pinned it through the neck to the dirt, and it was in its death throes. Where did that come from?

She looked round and saw Zee and the colonel glaring at one another. Smoke curled from the muzzle of Gregg's revolver.

"Did no one ever tell you not to fire guns around untrained 120 horses?" yelled Zee. The colonel's reply was lost as the preacher reclaimed Christie's attention.

"I'm dying," he moaned. "I can feel the poison spreading."

She knelt next to him and tried to pry his hands away from his calf. Weren't you supposed to cut the wound open and suck out the poison? Zee would know. "Let me look." But he only hung on tighter.

When Zee didn't join Christie as expected, she looked round to see what was keeping her and blinked in astonishment. Zee was murmuring in one of the horses' ears and patting its neck.

"Zee." The deputy looked round at her shout. "The Reverend's been bitten. We don't have much time."

"No he ain't." But Zee gave the horse a last pat and came over to join Christie anyway. She squatted on her heels next to her.

"What are you talking about?" Christie suppressed an urge to slap some sense into Zee. "Look, there's blood." The preacher had at last released his grip, and his trouser leg and palm were indeed b.l.o.o.d.y.

"Gregg's bullet must have nicked him," said Zee calmly, "because I knifed that snake 'fore it had chance to bite anyone." She batted away his hands, tore his trouser leg open along its seam, and examined the wound. "See. No puncture. No swelling. Just a graze from a bullet. Almost stopped bleeding already."

While Zee pulled her knife free of the dead rattler, wiped the blade clean on its carca.s.s, and shoved it back in her boot, Christie peered at the supposed snake bite. She's right. She sighed and stood up.

"Hey," came Zee's voice. "You all right?" Her hand rubbed Christie's back.

Christie nodded. As the panic of the last few minutes receded, tiredness and anger replaced it. She turned to stare down at the man with the long whiskers, who was examining his calf and torn trousers, his face the picture of disbelief.

"This woman you called a 'sp.a.w.n of Satan' just saved your miserable life."

The preacher's head remained bent, but a telltale flush spread to the tips of his ears. Afraid of what she might do to him with the latrine spade, Christie let Zee take it from her and guide her toward the stage.

"Sp.a.w.n of Satan, huh?" Zee seemed amused. "That's another term for h.e.l.lcat, right?"

Christie sighed. "Maybe." She tried to snap out of her sour mood.

121.

"Nice throw, by the way."

"Thanks." Zee held her gaze for a long moment, then squeezed her hand. "There'll always be jerks like the Reverend, darlin'. Best just to ignore 'em."

"Easier said than done."

"You'll do all right."

Zee's confidence put new heart into her and she returned the squeeze.

"All right, folks. Rest break is over," yelled Dusty, breaking the moment of quiet intimacy. "All aboard."

Chapter 4.

The next hour pa.s.sed without incident and Zee rode on the box with Dusty again. They were swapping scurrilous stories when the trail began to deteriorate and he was forced to concentrate on his driving.

This particular stretch, she saw, had suffered from erosion. Up ahead was a deep dry wash where torrential rain from a summer storm had washed the trail away. As the horses thundered toward it, Dusty tried to rein them in to a more reasonable speed. They had the bits between their teeth, though, and were slow to respond. He cursed and reached for the brake lever, but by then the stage was careering into the wash and beginning to skew.

Zee grabbed for the handrail and hung on.

The horses were back under control and the stage straightening up when, halfway down the slope, the vehicle checked sharply. Zee's jaws clapped together, and she was flung forward, almost losing her grip. She barely had time to register that the near back wheel had struck a rock buried in the dirt, when the stage began to tilt.

"We're going over," yelled Dusty.

She let go and jumped for it, hitting the ground in a roll and coming to her feet just in time to see the side of the stage hit the ground with a sickening crunch. A glance rea.s.sured her that Dusty was picking himself up and dusting himself off. Zee's thoughts turned to Christie.

The wheels were still spinning and startled cries and curses were coming from inside the stage when Zee tugged open its upper door.

Seconds later, a fair head popped into view and Zee pulled Christie to her and held her tight, heart pounding at the thought of what might have happened.

123.

"I'm fine," soothed Christie. "Shaken up but fine. See?" She flexed her elbows and wrists in demonstration, but Zee wasn't convinced until she had checked her over for herself.

She made a protesting Christie sit quietly in the shade of the downed vehicle, then began to help the dazed pa.s.sengers out one by one. Both Mrs. Grummond and the preacher spurned her hand so she shrugged and let them climb out as best they could. Amazingly, all except the flabby banker had escaped with b.u.mps and bruises. Mr.

Bonney, however, was cradling his right arm and whimpering.

Zee checked it. "Broken," she said.

"Driver, this is an outrage!" Mrs. Grummond's hands were on her hips.

"Sorry, ma'am," said Dusty. "The horses must have still been a mite unsettled from that gunshot." Colonel Gregg flushed and looked at his boots.

But the apology made no difference to Mrs. Grummond. "Wells Fargo will be hearing from me. Your incompetence could have killed us all . . . And look what you've done to our luggage."

Boxes and suitcases, valises and bags had broken free of the leather boot and were strewn about the dry wash in all directions. The impact had burst open many of themclothing and toilet articles lay in plain sight. Zee blinked at the corsets, dresses, and ladies' boots spilling from Dan Galvin's case.

The Colonel and Annie each began gathering their belongings and cramming them back into their bags. The other pa.s.sengers, including Christie, joined them.

"My bags," said the clearly anxious banker. "I must see to my bags."

"Later," Zee told him. "Let's get this arm fixed first."

"I'll do them for you, Mr. Bonney," offered Christie. It had taken her only a moment to repack their few belongings (Zee believed in traveling light). She started examining baggage labels.

"This is gonna hurt," warned Zee. She braced the banker's shoulder with one hand, grabbed his wrist with the other, and pulled.

"Aargh!" Heads turned in their direction then hastily turned away again.

When the ends of the fractured bone had lined up to her satisfaction, she released her grip. "The worst is over." She patted him on the shoulder and looked up.

124.

Christie was coming toward them. "Your bags are all intact, Mr.

Bonney." She halted in front of him. "They must have very strong locks."

Some color came back into his cheeks at that, and Zee wondered what he hadn't wanted the other pa.s.sengers to see. But she had other things on her mind. What could she use for a splint? A comb, maybe?

A hairbrush?

Her gaze wandered, then settled on something. Ah. With a "Be right back," she crossed to the kneeling Dan. "May I?" She whisked a corset out of his hand.

"Er . . . erm . . ." Startled brown eyes gazed up at her.

She grinned. "I'll take that as a yes."

Christie was tending to the banker when Zee resumed her place by his side. The smaller woman's hands were nimbler than her own, so she handed her the corset.

"What on earth?" Christie's eyebrows climbed.

"Wrap it round his arm, good and tight. The stays should keep it stable."

"Ah." She set to work with a will . . . or would have, but Bonney had recovered himself sufficiently to see what she intended and jerked his forearm away.

"Are you crazy?" he cried. "No decent person would be seen in such a thing."