Free Crow Mountain by Lucy Inglis

weight on my chest hurt beyond bearing. I lay back on the dusty stones, which pushed the stay-bones into my ribs to the point of breaking. From the corner of my eye,I could see a deathly still mass of crumpled skirt and crinoline, the dull mauve colour of Miss Adams’s dress. There was an intolerable roaring in my ears. I shook my head a little to clear it, wincing at the pain in my neck.
    The wind had picked up, blowing dust over me. At the edge of my vision, I could see the trees on the unreached side of the bridge stirring. The crows began to gather. The one pecking at the horse’s face now had strings of gore hanging from its beak. Tears clouded my vision. Was I to die out here? No one would miss me for weeks, possibly longer, for we weren’t to reach a telegraph station allowing Mr Goldsmith to advise of our progress until we had left Montana and got to Spokane. Panic rose in my chest and I felt suffocated by the weight of the wreckage and my tight stays. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye, cutting a track in the grit on my face.
    I pushed again at the debris but it wouldn’t shift. Another tear.
    My voice wouldn’t work. And who would hear me? We hadn’t seen a living soul since last night’s trading post. The roaring in my ears was becoming louder. I swallowed repeatedly to try and lessen it. Then stopped. The roaring wasn’t in my ears; it was coming, seemingly, from miles away. My side was suddenly chilled. The cold spread beneath my hips, under my legs and into my shoes. Water was swirling through my hair . . .
    The glacier spring melt! I was going to drown. The racket of the crows increased as they saw the possibility that their opportunistic meal might be lost. More gathered on thecorpses of the horses. From another part of the wreckage, I saw one land on the sleeve of Mr Goldsmith’s greatcoat, his dusty hand lying palm up. There came a groan from somewhere.
    â€˜Hello?’ My voice was scarcely a whisper. ‘Are you there? I’m so sorry but I can’t move.’ No answer. I found my voice suddenly, raising it for the first time in my life; it tore out of me in desperate horror and panic.
    â€˜HELP. Somebody, please!’ My scream echoed around the gulch, dying out slowly.
    The crows, which had taken to the wing at my cries, began to settle. One landed perhaps ten feet away, near where I lay. We watched each other, its beady eye upon my wet ones. It hopped closer, wings spreading for balance, like an old lawyer in a black gown. It was no more than a couple of feet away now. I scrabbled a handful of tiny pebbles and flung them at it. The bird lifted two feet into the air, then came down fractionally closer. I threw more stones. It repeated the action. My movements were weakening. The cold was dulling me. And everything hurt so much. The crow hopped on to a boulder by my head. I tried to push it away. Instead, my hand fell with a splash into the water. It lifted into the air and landed on my chest, wings spread; its beak opened and closed with a clack. It dipped towards my eye.
    And exploded in a cloud of feathers, splattering my face with blood.
    Through the ringing in my ears I heard hooves picking their way through the water. Gun in hand, you swungyourself down in the graceful vault I had witnessed days ago in Helena, landing with a splash, weight on your left leg, then stooped and lifted the piece of coach siding from me, casting it to one side and surveying the wreckage.
    â€˜Please, I . . . will you help me?’
    You just watched.
    â€˜The others . . .’
    You looked around, at the horses first. Further away, I could see now, one of them was still alive and struggling feebly, legs horribly broken. You ran a hand over its wet face, steadying it, speaking to it for a few seconds before standing and shooting it in the head. Its broken legs jerked frantically, then were still. Only then did you look for the other