Page 5 of Wagon Train Melody
“But why he sleep there?”
Alice could answer the question, but it was always interesting to hear what Sissy had to say.
“I think he’s not sleeping.”
Kitty drew her sister to a halt. “Then why he don’t open his eyes”
Sissy shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t want to.”
“Girls, he’s unconscious. That’s like sleeping, only he can’t wake up.”
Kitty turned, her eyes wide with shock. “You mean he gonna sleep forever?”
Behind her, Alice heard Rudy chuckle. She ignored him. “Not forever.” She shuddered to think of it.
They reached Bo and she knelt beside him. Apart from the bruises, he was pale. But at least his chest still rose and fell. She touched his shoulder, shook him gently. “Bo, are you awake?”
Nothing but the steady rise and fall of his chest. That was something to be grateful for, she reminded herself. She tried again, her voice sharper, more insistent. “Bo!”
He mumbled something and his arms flew out. The splints hit her on the side of her face.
She grabbed his arm and pinned it to his side.
“You bleeding.” Kitty leaned closer, inspecting the damage to Alice’s cheek.
Bo struggled, his left arm flailing. She ducked.
Rudy knelt at Bo’s other side and held down his arm. Bo muttered, his words indistinguishable but his tone informing them of anger and frustration.
Rudy looked at her cheek. “You are bleeding.”
“It’s a minor detail.” She didn’t want to say what concerned her far more. Not in front of the children. “Sissy, you and Kitty find me a hankie to wipe my face with.” As soon as the girls trotted away, she spoke softly to Rudy. “What’s happening to him?”
“Alice—I’m sorry—Miss Easton, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But he isn’t responsible for what he says or does when he’s out of his head.”
“Out of his head?” What a dreadful way of describing it. Yet it was true. This was not Bo. When would he come back?
She sat back on her heels, her mouth agape as she stared at the possibility he might not.
CHAPTER 2
Rudy wished he could say something to erase the shock on Alice’s face. But there was no point in offering false assurances.
“Are you a praying woman?”
She nodded.
“Then best you do some praying for your brother.”
“I have been. In fact—” She didn’t finish.
“What?”
She lifted her face to him, allowing him to see the trickle of blood from the cut on her cheek. “I was praying for help when you rode up. Guess that makes you an answer to prayer.”
He grinned. “Ma’am, I’ve been called a lot of things, some not very complimentary, but never an answer to prayer.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I thank you for saying I am.”
She studied him, searching for answers to questions she didn’t voice. Finally, she spoke. “So, you’re a man on the run who has had bad things said to him.” Her gaze darted toward the wagon.
