After what seemed like hours, the baby's cries subsided into whimpers, then silence. Alarmed, Wyatt stopped to check on the child. The infant's eyes were open, revealing a startling shade of blue that reminded him of the Montana sky. Despite the hunger and discomfort, the baby wasn't crying anymore, just staring up at Wyatt with a gaze that seemed far too knowing for one so young. "Hang on, little one," he whispered.
"We'll get you some help soon." The woman on the horse moaned softly, her eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before closing again. At least she was still alive. Wyatt quickened his pace as much as he dared in the afternoon heat. By the time the first buildings of Clearwater came into view, the sun was beginning its descent toward the western horizon. Wyatt's shirt was soaked with sweat, his muscles aching from the unusual burden.
He headed straight for Doc Harrison's place at the edge of town, ignoring the curious stairs of the town's people, who stopped to watch the unusual procession. The doctor's house, a modest two-story structure with a sign announcing doctor. James Harrison, physician and surgeon, stood apart from the main street. Wyatt managed to knock on the door with his boot, unwilling to release either of his precious charges. The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with spectacles and a neatly trimmed beard.
"Wyatt Harmon," the doctor exclaimed, taking in the scene before him. "What in heaven's name found them out on the prairie?" Wyatt explained tursly. "The woman's burning up with fever and the baby starving. Can you help bring them in quickly, doctor?" Harrison stepped aside, holding the door wide. Inside, the doctor's wife, Martha, appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
Her eyes widened at the site. Martha, we need milk for this infant immediately, the doctor ordered as he helped Wyatt lower the unconscious woman onto an examination table in the front room that served as his office. I'll warm some cow's milk with a bit of sugar, Martha replied, already moving toward the kitchen. Poor little might. Let me take the baby, she added, returning quickly and holding out her arms.
Wyatt hesitated for a moment, suddenly reluctant to release the small bundle he'd carried so far. Martha smiled gently. "I've raised five children of my own, Mr. Harmon. This little one will be safe with me.
Nodding, Wyatt carefully transferred the baby to her capable hands. The infant made a small sound of protest, but then settled against Martha's ample bosom. While Martha tended to the baby, Dr. Harrison was examining the woman. She severely dehydrated and running a high fever, he reported.
Likely influenza, though I can't rule out other ailments yet. She'll need constant care for at least several days. Will she make it doc? Wyatt asked, his voice rough with concern for this stranger who had somehow become his responsibility. The doctor looked up, his expression grave.
I won't lie to you, Wyatt. Her condition is serious, but she's young and appears to have been healthy before this. With proper care, she has a good chance. Wyatt nodded, removing his hat and running a hand through his sweat dampened hair. Any idea who she might be?