Adventure of Ellie 1

The hearth has burned low when warmth turns to fever. Sweat dampens Ellie's hair, and the bandage at her side darkens steadily beneath the old sword kept within reach.

Amos brings fresh water, clean cloth, and a bundle of horse tack into the room. His hands remain steady, though his jaw tightens at each tremor.

He kneels beside the blankets and loosens the stained dressing with careful fingers. The wound has swollen, and the pain now beats with every breath.

The words leave Ellie faintly, but clearly. Amos hears them, sees the fever shining on her face, and gives one hard nod.

He binds a fresh dressing over the wound, then crosses to the peg for his coat and revolver. The clean cloth stack shrinks to its last folded piece.

Amos shoulders the tack bundle and checks the shutters twice. Before stepping out, he sets the shotgun within Ellie's reach beside the blankets.

The plea barely carries across the room. Ellie tries to push herself higher, but fever and pain steal her strength, leaving her sagging against the blankets.

Amos stops at the threshold and studies her breathing. The fresh dressing is already dampening, and the shotgun lies close but heavy beyond her reach.

He leaves the door unlatched for a moment, then steps into the dark. Hoofbeats strike the yard and fade toward the open road, while the empty house settles around Ellie.

Ellie braces one hand against the floor and forces herself upright. Pain flares through her side, and the room tilts around the low hearth.

She reaches toward the shutters, but a rock punches through the slats with a sharp crack, scattering splinters across the floor.

The impact makes her stumble back onto the blankets. The shotgun remains beside her, while the broken shutter leaves a narrow view of the yard.

Through the gap, Ellie catches a brief shape low beside the barn, then it slips behind the dark boards. Whoever threw the rock has not shown themselves.

The fallen stone rests near the hearth, pale and rough. A strip of torn cloth clings to one edge of the broken shutter, offering a trace without exposing her to the yard.

The house is quiet again, but the damaged shutter no longer protects the room. The shotgun is close enough to reach if Ellie stays low.

Ellie reaches toward the revolver, but the fever makes her arm falter. Her fingers scrape the floorboards short of the weapon.

The movement jars the blankets. The shotgun shifts away, clattering softly against the hearthstone, while the revolver remains just beyond her grasp.

Outside, a board creaks beside the barn. A shadow crosses the broken shutter, and dust sifts through the gap into the lamplit room.

The front door latch lifts once, carefully, then settles. Whoever is outside has reached the house without making the yard speak.

Ellie's revolver lies near the blankets, but the shotgun now rests several feet away. The torn cloth at the shutter stirs in the night breeze.

A low voice comes from beyond the door, muffled by the boards.

The voice barely finishes before the latch lifts again. The door opens a handspan, and a stranger's boot wedges into the gap.

Lamplight catches a rifle barrel sliding through the opening. Behind the stranger, another shadow moves across the porch, blocking the roadward view.

The intruder pushes the door wider. A small tin lantern hangs from his free hand, throwing harsh light over the blankets, the revolver, and the scattered stone.

Outside, a horse gives one nervous snort. The second shadow settles beside the porch rail, while the rifle remains trained through the doorway.

Ellie lunges for the shotgun and fires from the blankets. The blast fills the room with smoke and thunder, and the intruder is hurled backward from the doorway.

The rifle clatters across the porch. The intruder collapses out of sight, while the second shadow cries out and stumbles away from the rail.

Ellie grips the revolver, steadies herself against the wall, and crosses the room through the open doorway. Fever and pain drag at every step, but she reaches the porch.

The yard lies empty except for drifting dust and the dark barn. Beyond the cottonwoods, Amos's trail has vanished into the night, leaving the road open.

Ellie moves away from the ranch house and into the cottonwoods, keeping low beneath the branches. Behind her, the wounded stranger remains by the porch, and no one follows.

The cottonwoods thin toward the town road. Ellie keeps low and moving, one hand pressed to the fresh bandage while distant hoofbeats fade behind her.

Before dawn, the first buildings appear through the dust: a livery, a dark general store, and a plank sign hanging crooked above the main street.

A lantern swings beside the jailhouse as a broad-shouldered sheriff steps onto the boardwalk. His hand rests near his holster, but he does not draw.

His gaze settles on the blood-darkened bandage, then on the revolver in Ellie's grip. He gestures toward the jailhouse doorway, leaving space between them.