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“Touch of vertigo.” He started off for the stream, remembered the sheets, and hurried back to get them. Coleridge Braxton Monroe rose in his estimation when he didn’t comment on the lapse.
    Cole removed Runt’s boots, rolled down her trousers to her knees, then cut away part of her union suit with the knife Will left behind. When Will came back with the damp cloths he held out one hand for them. “Go wash out your shirt,” he said, gesturing to the wadded and bloody chambray lying on the ground. “Then fashion some kind of sling we can use between the horses to take Runt back.”
    “I can make a litter. It’d be more gentle-like if we carried her back.”
    Cole considered the distance and the time and weighed it against the caution they would be able to exercise. “You’re right. Make a litter.”
    Relieved that he wasn’t needed at Runt’s side, Will decided his shirt could wait. He grabbed his knife and went off in search of a couple of limbs long and strong enough to use as poles.
    A grim smile flickered across Cole’s mouth. In a whis pered aside, he addressed his patient just as though she were able to hear him. “He’d never be able to look you in the eye again if he had to look at you now.” The cotton bandage between Runt’s legs was soaked with blood. Cole removed and replaced it, then began to mop the blood from Runt’s belly and thighs. “I don’t know if there would have been any satisfaction for you in seeing his face, but when he realized I was telling him that you’re a woman, he looked as if he’d been poleaxed. I’m not convinced he believes me now.”
    The damp cloth in Cole’s hand was already dark red with blood. He tossed it aside and picked up a clean one. “I’m not convinced that you believe me,” he said quietly. The bloody smear on her skin was transparent enough now that Cole could see that some of what he’d assumed were streaks of dried blood were actually welts. The raised ridges ran diagonally on the flesh of her abdomen and upper thighs. Frowning, Cole set the cloth down and picked up Runt’s right hand. He stripped off the bloodstained glove and examined her hand for defensive wounds. There were none, neither on the palm nor the back of the hand. He examined her wrist with his eyes this time, not merely with his fingertips. Evidence that she had been restrained was burned into her skin. He gently cleaned her wrist and found rope fibers embedded in her skin.
    “Mother of God.” Cole closed his eyes, but it was a brief indulgence. Setting Runt’s hand aside, he continued to work to staunch the flow of blood. He eyed the shape of her abdomen, then laid his palm over her belly to gauge the distention. It was difficult to know the length of her pregnancy without speaking to her, but he didn’t think he was wrong about the fact of it. The extent of the hemorrhaging concerned him. A woman in the first months of pregnancy could lose a child and only have ever had an inkling that she was carrying. The terrible proof that Runt’s pregnancy had progressed beyond the first trimester was in the angry wales that marked her skin. Someone had tried to beat the baby out of her, which meant it wasn’t solely her secret. Had she shared it, or had she been found out?
    Looking at the raised stripes again, Cole couldn’t help but wonder about internal damage. Concerned that a crude examination in this setting would do more harm, Cole elected to wait. Runt had to survive the transport first.
    He called out to Will. “How’s the litter coming?” There was a rustling in the trees off to Cole’s left, but he didn’t bother looking up. “Did you find anything you could use?”
    Will came out of the woods dragging a trimmed and sturdy limb in each hand. “Sure did. I figure I got enough rope with me to lash a sheet to these poles. If I can tie it off, even better.”
    Cole nodded. He pointed to a spot some distance away where the horses were grazing. “Make it over