The cat’s claws had gone deep and the wound, unbandaged, gaped open.

It, too, was festering. I washed it out with the warm salted water, an operation that left Hitch hammering his fist against the dirt floor. He swore, but did not cry out with the pain.

“It should have been stitched,” I said. “I think it’s too late to do it now.”

“I know that. Do you think I’m an idiot? Or that I could have stitched myself up one-handed out there in the dark?”

I bit my tongue and made no reply. Instead I smeared the edges with salve and rebandaged it more firmly, strapping the flesh back in place and hoping it would find a way to heal together. The gash on his arm was similar, deep and gaping and oozing pus. The smell was foul; my gorge rose. Breathing through my mouth didn’t help. I gritted my teeth against my nausea and treated the arm wound as I had his chest. It used up the last of my bandaging and salve from home. “You’re a well-prepared traveler,” Hitch said tightly. Sweat beaded on his face from the pain he’d endured.

“I was,” I said with scant humor.

“Don’t worry. When we get to Gettys, I’ll see that everything you used for me is replaced.”

“When we get to Gettys?”

“You said you’d help me. Even if I didn’t demand it of you. Well, I’ve got to get to Gettys. And I know damn well that I won’t get there on my own.

You’ll have to go with me.”

The soup was beginning to bubble. I could smell the dried smoked meat and the carrots simmering. I stirred it a bit. I looked around the room. I could still see the possibilities there. I knew they didn’t belong to me. “I’ll take you.”

He gave a short nod. “I want to rest for the rest of the day and the night.

And then we’ll start at dawn. You’ve done a good job on me, but I know these things will pus up again in no time. There’s a doctor at the fort. He’s my best chance. Is that soup done yet?”

“How good are your teeth?”

“Good enough. I’m famished.”

I gave him my bowl. I ate from the pot. The carrots were hard and stringy, but they still tasted good to me. I ate as my habit prompted me, carefully, savoring every bit. I drank the hot broth slowly, closing my eyes as it passed over my tongue and down my throat. I felt the warmth of it reach my belly. I opened my eyes and saw the bottom of the pot. I lowered it to find Hitch staring at me. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.

“Where did you come from?” he asked me, and it seemed like more than a request for my hometown.

“Back west,” I told him, and found I didn’t want to tell him even that much. I used my favorite trick to shift his thoughts away from me. “What happened to the cat that attacked you?”