No Rafe.
Oh, my God! He never came back from work. Something must have happened. Oh, my God!
“It’s that Indiana Girl,” Zeb said, sitting up groggily on his floor pallet.
“Helen, open up. It’s me, Mary.”
Helen opened the door. “What? What’s happened?”
“It’s yer husband. He’s been hurt. Now, don’t get yerself all in a fret. He ain’t dead.”
Dead? That thought had never occurred to Helen. Helen dressed and hurried over to the Indiana House with Mary. Despite her admonitions to stay behind, Zeb and Hector followed after them.
Along the way, Mary informed her, “We found him in the back of The Lucky Dollar. He wuz beaten up mighty bad, but don’t you be worryin’ none. Papa and me strapped up those cracked ribs and cleaned up the blood from — ”
“Blood?” Helen squeaked out.
Mary waved her hand with unconcern. “Mostly jist from a wallop to the nose. He has a few loose teeth, but he din’t lose none. Lots of bruises, though.”
Well, that’s reassuring. “Who did this?” Helen asked icily.
“I don’t rightly know, and I don’t think yer husband does, either. Too dark las’ night.”
“But why?”
“To teach ‘im a lesson, and cuz he’s a Mexican, I s’pose. Mos’ addlepated men don’t need much reason fer a fight.”
Helen seethed with indignation. The slimy bigots!
“You know you two have got ta leave Rich Bar, don’t you? Tain’t safe fer you here.”
Helen nodded. Maybe this would be the push that would convince Rafe they should try to go home.
“Course, you got to head north fer a bit,” Mary added, as if reading her mind.
Helen shivered with foreboding, sensing she would not like Mary’s next words.
She didn’t.
“Some men come up from Sacramento City yestiddy, and they claim yer husband is some outlaw — the Angel Bandit, I think — and yer some soiled dove by the name of Elena.” She eyed Helen suspiciously. “I don’t s’pose you know anythin ’bout that?”
Helen’s chin dropped before she started to howl with laughter, probably hysteria. She was still laughing when she and Mary, arms linked, entered the room where Rafe had been taken.
“Great! I’m dying, and she’s laughing,” Rafe slurred, his eyelids fluttering in an effort to fight sleep, or unconsciousness.
Helen looked at Mr. Stanfield, who sat near the bed. “We gave him a few dollops of whiskey ta kill the pain,” he explained sheepishly.
“A few dollops!” Mary whooped. ” ‘Pears ta me you dumped the whole durn jug down his gullet.”
Helen moved closer to the bed, and her laughter died.
Mr. Stanfield had removed all Rafe’s clothes, except for his boxers. To her horror, she saw that most of Rafe’s body, from forehead to calves, was covered with cuts or bruises or swellings. Tight strips of linen had been wrapped around his ribs.
Rafe moaned.
In that instant, Helen made a decision. It was the only decision she could make, of course. She had to get Rafe somewhere to recuperate, where he would be safe until the time was right to return to the future.
“Zeb,” she said, turning to the old man standing behind her in the doorway, twisting his hat in his hands. Tears misted his eyes, witness to the affection he’d come to feel for Rafe these past few days.
“Yessum?” Zeb answered, stepping forward.
“Is your offer still open for Rafe and me to work your claim with you up in the mountains?”
Zeb’s rheumy eyes brightened with sudden hope. “Thanks be ta God! It surely is.”
“Then it looks like we’re all going to be gold prospectors together for a while. Partners.”
“God sent you two ta save me,” Zeb declared vehemently. “I jist knew Effie would have a talk with the good Lord, and He sent you, sure as shootin’.”
Helen smiled at his whimsical words.
Hector tugged on Zeb’s hand, and both of them looked at Helen.
Helen hesitated for only a moment. “Heck, why not! Yes, Hector can come with us, too.”
In a spirit of camaraderie, they turned to the bed, where Rafe was snoring lightly. At least, they thought he was snoring until he cracked one eye open and tried to grin through his split lip. He held out a hand for Helen, and she sat down next to him on the bed, barely stifling a cry over his pitiful condition.