The Girl of the Golden West

by David Belasco

Now she cut away his shirt in order to find the wound, which proved to be in his breast. Quickly then she felt with her fingers in an endeavour to find the ball, but in this she was unsuccessful. So after a moment’s deliberation she made up her mind that the wound was a flesh one and that the ball was anywhere but in the man’s body—a diagnosis that was largely due to the cheerful optimism of her nature and which, fortunately, proved to be true.

Presently she went to a corner of the room and soon returned with a basin of water and some hastily torn bandages. For a good fifteen minutes after that she washed the gash and, finally, bandaged it as well as she knew how. And now, having done all that her knowledge or instinct prompted, she drew up a chair and prepared to pass the rest of the night in watching by his side.

For an hour or so he slept the sleep of unconsciousness. In the room not a sound could be heard, but outside the storm still roared and raged. It was anything but an easy or cheerful situation: Here she was alone with a wounded, if not dying, man; and she well knew that, unless there came an abatement in the fury of the storm, it might be days before anyone could climb the mountain. True, the Indians were not far off, but like as not they would remain in their wigwam until the sun came forth again. In the matter of food there was a scant supply, but probably enough to tide them over until communication could be had with The Polka.

For three days she watched over him, and all the time the storm continued. On the third day he became delirious, and that was the night of her torture. Despite a feeling that she was taking an unfair advantage of him, the Girl strained her ears to catch a name which, in his delirium, was constantly on his lips; but she could not make it out. All that she knew was that it was not her name that he spoke, and it pained her. She had given him absolute faith and trust and, already, she was overwhelmed with the fierce flames of jealousy. It was a new sensation, this being jealous of anyone, and it called forth a passionate resentment. In such moments she would rise and flee to the other end of the room until the whispered endearments had ceased. Then she would draw near again with flushes of shame on her cheeks for having heeded the sayings of an irresponsible person, and she would take his head in her lap and, caressing him the while, would put cold towels on his heated brow.

Dawn of the fourth day saw the Girl still pale and anxious, though despair had entirely left her; for the storm was over and colour and speech had come back to the man early that morning. Love and good nursing, not to speak of some excellent whisky that she happened to have stored away in her cabin, had pulled him through. With a sigh of relief she threw herself down on the rug for a much-needed rest.

The man woke just before the sun rose. His first thought, that he was home in the foothills, was dissipated by the sight of the snow ranges. Through the window of the cabin, as far as the eye could see, nothing of green was visible. Snow was everywhere; everything was white, save at the eastern horizon where silver was fast changing into rose and rose to a fiery red as the fast-rising sun sent its shafts over the snow-coated mountains.

And now there came to him a full realisation of what had happened and where he was. To his amazement, though, he was almost without pain. That his wound had been dressed he was, of course, well aware for when he attempted to draw back still further the curtain at the window the movement strained the tight bandage, and he was instantly made conscious of a twinge of pain.

Nevertheless, he persevered, for he wisely decided that it would be well to reconnoitre, to familiarise himself, as much as possible, with the lay of the land and find out whether the trail that he had followed to reach the cabin which, he recalled, was perched high up above a ravine, was the only means of communication with the valley below. It was a useless precaution, for the snow would have wholly obliterated any such trail had there been one and, soon realising the fact, he fell back exhausted by his effort on the pillows.

A half hour passed and the man began to grow restless. He had, of course, no idea whatever of the length of time he had been in the cabin, and he knew that he must be thinking of an immediate escape. In desperation, he tried to get out of bed, but the task was beyond his power. At that a terrible feeling of hopelessness assailed him. His only chance was to reach the valley where he had little fear of capture; but wounded, as he was, that seemed out of the question, and he saw himself caught like a rat in a trap. In an access of rage at the situation in which he was placed he made another effort to raise himself up on his elbow and peer through the window at the Sierras. The noise that he made, slight though it was, awoke the Girl. In an instant she was at his bedside drawing the curtain over the window.

“What you thinkin’ of?” she asked “At any moment—jest as soon as the trail can be cleared—there’ll be someone of the boys up here to see how I’ve pulled through. They mustn’t see you....”