The Man and The Outlaw

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, both Clara and Walker were quiet and tired as they left Kessinger behind them. Walker had his hat pulled low over his eyes and, between bouts of coughing, he yawned ceaselessly. The morning was warm, and Clara knew the riding would be a draining affair whether they met anyone on The Trail or not.
"Some dream you must've been having last night," Clara commented as they rode in step with one another.
Walker gave her a quick look, a suspicious one, and then shrugged his shoulders as easily as he could manage. "Don't remember. Was I talking? Did I keep you up?"
"Oh, not really," she lied. "I just caught little words every now and then. You really don't remember any of it?"
He shook his head, no longer looking at her but staring off ahead of them. He seemed to still be under the burden of the dreams, his shoulders tense like they were holding up an immense weight. She wished to help him let some of it go. She knew what it was like to keep things bottled up.
"I used to have these dreams when I was a kid," she began thoughtfully. "I dreamt that people would come in the night and take me from my home, from my father, because of what I am, the marks on my neck."
Walker nodded, drifting slightly ahead of her as he listened, but made no move to comment.
"They would tear me from my bed and stuff something down my throat. My father never even knew I was gone because I couldn't make a sound and wake him."
She paused, realizing how similar these dreams were to the real nightmare she had experienced with Todd for the first time. She hadn't thought about them in a long time, nor had she truly considered the words that her father had given her to combat the dreams when she finally confessed them to him. As she relayed these words to Walker, she wished she had been able to take the advice much sooner herself.
"I was convinced the dreams would come true if I told my father about them, so for the longest time, I just didn't. Even when he asked me why I didn't want to go to bed at night or why I always snuck a flashlight beneath my covers, I told him I was fine. Of course, I was too young to hold out for that long and eventually it all came spilling out in a flood of exhausted tears and snot."
Walker still wasn't looking at her and his head dropped a little as she went on.
"I don't know how he ever calmed me down but when he finally did, he told me something that I should've remembered more frequently since he's passed. I guess when you're young, you forget to remember all the good stuff people tell you."
She smiled at the memory of him soothing her on his lap, rocking her in his armchair as she slowed her sobs. He had always been so patient with her, so understanding, even when there was nothing understandable about anything, even when she asked the hard questions about what she was. He'd never been surprised by her; never told her she was dangerous like some people thought she was. He'd loved her unconditionally and for that, she would forever be grateful.
"He told me that dreams, fears, they're only as big as we let them get. If we face them, talk about them, we can come to understand that they're not monsters so much as they are overgrown mice with large shadows. We spook easily, it's just our nature, but we've got the courage to take anything on as long as we face up to it."
She'd been rambling a little bit, thinking back on times with her father, and at Walker's silence she was afraid she had failed to get across the message adequately. She watched his back for a moment, noticing for the first time that he was breathing rather heavily, and his head was swaying with each step that his horse took beneath him. She realized too late that he was falling, and he went right off his horse before she could catch up to him and offer her help.
He hit the dirt hard, and Clara jumped from her own horse and rushed to him. He was burning up as she put her hand on his chest to feel for his heart. It was beating rapidly against her palm and his body tensed and jerked as she held him. His face was ghost white and his eyes rolled in their sockets. It pained her each time he drew a raspy breath, a sound that couldn't mean good things, and she patted his cheeks lightly.
"Walker? Wake up Walk. Come on back." She shook him hard enough that his teeth rattled, and his eyes fluttered.
"What happened?" he sputtered, trying to sit up. Clara, one hand still in the middle of his chest, pinned him to the ground. His eyes rolled once more before finally focusing on her face.
"I don't know what happened, Walk. You just went down," she told him, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. "I think you've got a fever."
"It's just hot out here," he grunted and tried again to sit up. This time, Clara let him.
She didn't think it was all that hot, not hot enough to knock a man off his horse after only a few hours riding anyway. She also didn't think he had the look of somebody taken with heat stroke. He looked downright sick, an awful paleness in his face and a drifting quality in his gaze that had her shaken up for him.
"I think you need a doctor," she said honestly.
Walker shook his head and moved to get to his feet, swaying so hard on one knee that she didn't think he'd complete the task without another trip to the dirt. He regained his balance though and got up straight, brushing dirt from his pants and the front of his shirt as he did so.
"I don't need a doctor, Clara. I'm fine, I swear."
She didn't believe him, and she didn't believe that it was just a chest cold that was ailing him either, not that she ever really did. Something was seriously wrong with him, and he was only going to get worse without help. She got up from where she'd been kneeling and went around to her saddlebags. Digging inside, she found the med kit that she always carried with her, one of her father's lasting pieces of advice. She found some tablets that would help with the fever, and she grabbed a canteen too.
"Take these," she said, handing the pills and water to him.
"What are they?" He narrowed his eyes and gave the medicine a skeptical glare. For just a moment, there was a raw savageness present in his face, like a wounded animal might give someone who'd stopped to help it because it didn't understand.
"It'll get your fever down," she assured him, a little unnerved by the look in his eye. She watched him as he popped them into his mouth slowly, swigging from the canteen to wash them down.
"You know what? That might've been the purgative medication," she smirked. "I get those two confused."
Walker choked and coughed up some water, the pills already swallowed. Clara bent over her knees, laughing.
"That isn't funny," he growled, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
Clara stood up, catching her breath. "I thought it was a little funny."
Walker turned to get back on his horse and Clara watched him pause to gather himself before making the attempt to get his foot in the stirrup. She could see the hesitation in his body. He didn't want to fall again.
"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked as he finally climbed atop his horse with little to no shakiness. "We got a ways before Driscoll and, like you said, it ain't getting any easier once we get there."
Walker righted his hat on his head and tipped the brim at her. When he spoke, he put on a thick drawl, much thicker than his normal accent. "Don't you worry about me darlin'," he twanged. "I'm a might tougher than some no good fever."
Clara rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh. Walker chuckled and gave his horse a swift kick. The animal took off, kicking up dust as it went, and Walker called "Race ya!" over his shoulder. Clara urged her horse into action and the two of them went speeding off towards the horizon.