The Beholding, page 10
Having lost his grip on the rifle during the fall, Luke clawed wildly for his Colt, coming up with it just as a Comanche broke through the brush, knife in hand, eyes widened with bloodlust.
Luke fired, his bullet planting a bloody blossom in the Indian’s chest. Something metallic burned Luke’s cheek, and he whirled, shooting blindly at a leaping shadow. A second Indian broke stride and fell.
How many? Luke wondered and twisted around, finding his rifle and pulling himself to it. His leg no longer tingled; the pain faded into numbness. When he touched his cheek, his fingertips came away bloody.
Easing himself back into a better defensive position, he reached out with the Winchester to draw the last Comanche’s rifle closer. The forest became silent again.
Slow minutes passed. A dizzying weakness engulfed him. His leg throbbed. Luke reached to touch it and discovered that a bullet had cut through the muscle of the right thigh. Blood soaked his pants leg, attracting flies. He would have to get the wound bandaged or pass out from blood loss.
Was that all the shooter waited for?
Trying to make no sound, Luke struggled to remove his boot, hoping he could roll up the legging. Didn’t want to take the chance of being caught with his pants down. When the boot gave, he bit back the pain and took off the blood-soaked sock. But the legging was too snug to roll past his calf. Luke put his boot back on and unlaced the buckskin at his waist With a painful jerk, he pushed the leather past his hips to the wound.
God almighty, I’m in trouble! Luke cursed as blood spread into an ever-enlarging stain with every beat of his heart. Packing grass into the wound, he tied his bandanna around his thigh, then pulled the buckskin up over his hips.
Luke’s eyes misted over when he moved, and the weakness worsened. Suppose he passed out. If he did, he would be killed for certain. Only one thing to do … hide. But what of Tessa and Tommie? Had they heard the shots? He couldn’t let them ride into this hell. Where was Daggert?
Gotta take my chances. Luke eased from the tree and inched his way through the grass. Though he expected the dragging of his leg to give away his position, he made little noise at all. Continually searching the ground, the trees, the shrubs, his gaze froze at the sound of a chuckle.
“So we meet again, white man.”
Luke could not see him but knew the harsh, ugly voice. Blue Hawk! The half-breed must be where he can keep an eye on me. Pulling himself a little further along, Luke sorted the places in his mind. When the Comanche spoke again, the bounty hunter threw his rifle around and fired at the sound.
From a few feet away, Blue Hawk laughed. A bullet tore a furrow in the grass just ahead of Luke, almost burning his fingers. A gully stretched only a few feet ahead and to Luke’s right. Though only inches deep, it offered him shelter.
A rush of feet in the grass forced Luke to wheel around, taking aim again. As the warrior sprang into sight and swung a gun muzzle down on him to count coup, Luke fired. At the same instant, from off to the left, another gunshot rang out.
The warrior’s body jerked in mid-air as the bullets struck. Still, he tried to bring his gun down on Luke. Two more bullets ripped into the warrior. Blue Hawk fell into the bottom of the gully, landing only inches from Luke, the half-breed’s blue eyes opened in disbelief for all eternity.
A strawberry-colored roan appeared at the edge of the shallow, and Luke looked up into Jim Dagger’s bearded face. Suspicion made Luke get up cautiously. Had the gambler meant to save his life or was there the chance that he had chosen to come in slow?
Jim cradled a rifle in the crook of his arm, leaning forward over the cantle. Something more ridiculing than mockery hardened his gaze even before the sarcastic words were uttered. “Looks like I came just in time.”
As Jim reined the roan half-quarter, he allowed room for the wagon he’d spotted a second before he finished off Blue Hawk. Damn her pretty hide! Instead of killing Luke, he’d been forced to save the bastard’s life by Contessa’s appearance at the edge of the gully.
Now Jim wondered if maybe it wasn’t all for the best. Reeves owed him, and the man would honor such a debt. Then there was Contessa. She might express her gratitude as well. That thought alone was worth waiting to kill Luke at another time. Watching the bounty hunter struggle painfully to his feet, Jim signaled to the widow. “He’s been shot. Better see to him.”
When the prettiest face this side of Fort Smith looked down at Luke, he flashed her an I’m-all-right grin … then passed out.
Chapter Nine
Jim Daggett dismounted as Tess brought the wagon to a halt and jumped from the driver’s box in a flurry of skirts. Concern etched her features into a mask of worry as she gently removed Luke’s hat and cradled the bounty hunter’s head in her lap. When her hands began to search the leggings for the exact location of his wound, Jim cleared his throat to stop further exploration. “I meant I’d better see to him. He’s hit in a delicate place.”
Irritation pricked Tess. “He’s losing blood and all you can worry about are my so-called tender sensibilities!” Her voice became curt as anger replaced the fear for Luke’s life. “Are you forgetting we’ve just been attacked by Indians? What if there are more? You can handle the team much better than I. Don’t forget I’ve been a second-hand nurse to the men at the post. I’ve dealt with more than you could ever imagine.” She arched a brow at the gambler. “If you truly want to help, then drive this team to safety.”
Jim noticed Tess’s quick perusal of the area before giving all her attention to Luke. She had no way of knowing the immediate danger was over, at least until some of Blue Hawk’s braves found the bodies. The Comanche would be considerably unhappy without at least one white scalp to justify the killing of their leader. Wouldn’t particularly matter to the band of renegades if it was his, either. Perhaps he should pacify her. “I’ll help load him in the wagon.”
Reluctance stabbed at Tess as she helped lift the unconscious scout. Despite her claim, she preferred to hoist Luke by the shoulders rather than the feet, putting off the sight of the wound until absolutely necessary. As her arms laced through his armpits and the back of his head rested against her breasts, beads of pain moistened the grim line of his upper lip. Ignoring the dark, curled hair at the edge of the buckskin covering his chest, Tess worried over the paleness of his skin.
“Mista Yuke going to Heaven with Daddy, Mommie?” Tommie asked as Jim struggled to lift Luke into the back of the schooner. The boy’s voice trembled with dread as his eyes widened and tears welled.
“No, son,” she promised, though her grip threatened to slip at any moment and drop the bounty hunter on his head. Tommie had accepted the explanation she gave about his father going to Heaven, and it seemed to have eased her son’s loss. But to watch Luke die might be too much for the boy. She needed to convince him that if they fought hard enough, long enough, they could overcome … even the clutches of the grim reaper. “I won’t let him die.”
“Better he faces reality, Contessa.” Jim wrangled half of Luke’s body onto the wagon bed. He took the remaining weight from Tess by linking one arm under Luke’s left shoulder and scooting him sideways into the Conestoga. “The man’s bleeding like a stuck hog.”
“I’ve seen worse.” Tess climbed into the wagon behind him. But the stain of blood kept darkening, revealing the continual blood loss.
Jim wiped the perspiration from his brow with a sleeve. He hoped that if he were ever in such condition, Tess would fight just as hard to pull him through. “If you can get him to raise that thigh and bend the knee, you can stanch the flow of blood a bit easier than keeping it flat.”
“I think I may have some alum in my trunk.” Tess gave Tommie a reassuring look. “You’ll help me find it, won’t you, son?” The boy struggled to unbuckle the lid to the biggest trunk even before she finished the question.
“Not much we can do for his pain unless you packed some whiskey.”
Tess didn’t like Jim’s tone, thinking the gambler a bit unfeeling. “Don’t you think you should be rounding up his horse so we can get under way? Tommie and I have Mr. Reeves under control.”
As he nudged his hat low over his eyes, Jim’s gaze lingered on the beautiful lady he wanted for his own. Just make damn certain you don’t comfort him too much, he wanted to say, but kept the warning silent. Instead, Jim nodded and exhaled a sigh of resignation. “You take care of the bounty hunter, Contessa, and I’ll see to it we get to Wichita safely.”
Tess thanked Jim, then quickly studied Luke more closely. A sheen of sweat dampened his face. Pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, she found his body radiating an inner heat.
“Fetch me a bowl of water, Tom.” She pointed to the small bucket of drinking water covered and roped in a corner for convenience. Tommie dipped a bowl into the bucket and handed it, along with a washcloth, to his mother.
Sponging Luke’s grazed cheek, neck and as much chest as the taut buckskin would allow, she left the cool compress on his brow in an effort to bring down the fever. The shirt would have to be removed if the fever didn’t slacken, and the thought of undressing Luke reminded Tess that the buckskin trousers would have to come off first.
She checked the wound and noted that his powerful calves were too muscular for her to roll up the fringed leggings to tend to the wound. The only thing left to do was to unlace the buckskin and pull off the dusty, blood-soaked trousers. Her palms dampened. This is silly, she told herself. His life depends on you.
“You scared, Mommie? I help you.” Tommie patted her trembling hands with his own.
With unsteady fingers she squeezed his palms reassuringly. “Thank you, son. I am a bit frightened because I don’t want to hurt Luke. But knowing you can help makes me feel much better.” She smiled gently, then began her task. While loosening the lace of Luke’s buckskin trousers, she purposely ignored how closely her hands worked near the intimate portion of his body, concentrating instead on making him well.
Jim took control of the team, and the prairie schooner jarred to a roll. A soft moan permeated the air.
“Help me.” Tess waved Tommie to the other side of Luke. “We’ve got to get his pants down and over his hips, so Mommie can doctor the wound.”
Tommie tugged on one side while she pulled at the other. With the bounce and jostle of the Conestoga as it rolled over the rutted road, they managed to lower the buckskin over his hips, painful inches at a time.
Luke continued to moan, instigating prayers that he would remain unconscious until she finished the bandaging. Finally the leggings dislodged from the obstinate curve of his buttocks and the buckskin slid past his knees and to his boots. Removing the boots would have to wait until she stemmed the blood flow.
Tess’s bream caught in her throat at the sight of his nakedness, and she quickly grabbed a towel from the trunk to cover Luke. When Tommie glanced up at her, she hoped her expression revealed none of the emotions rampaging within. Her son must learn that one should offer comfort and medical aid to the injured, whether it be man or woman, no matter where the injury was.
Quickly unknotting the bandanna tied very high on his inner thigh displayed a seeping wound plastered with dry grass. Gently peeling the grass away, Tess noted where the bullet had entered and then exited out the outer side. The few rags she had wouldn’t be enough to stop this kind of bleeding. Glad now that she had washed her pantalets and replaced them with Clifton’s longjohns, Tess hoped they would provide enough material to make a bandage for the poultice.
She applied pressure against the wound while she waited, then nodded at the trunk. “Tom, fetch me my pantalets and the alum powder. The blue jar.”
The towel deepened in color as Tommie hunted for the needed materials.
“I can’t find ’em, Mommie.”
“Yes you can, darling. Just look hard. Maybe they’re playing hide-and-seek with you.” Tess prayed as his small hands riffled through her carefully stored belongings.
“Here they are!” Tommie flung the pantalets toward her in triumph. Taking a step closer, he stumbled in his haste. The bottle of alum hit the planked wagon bed with a loud crack. Tess’s lashes closed instantly over her eyes in a plea that he had not broken pieces of glass into the soft, white powder.
“I’m sorry, Mommie. I din’t mean to.”
Tommie’s eyes stared up at her in sincere remorse. She carefully lifted the bottle of alum, examined it, and offered her son a forgiving smile. “It’s only cracked. You did fine, darling.”
Relief flooded his face as he stepped back out of her way and folded to his knees to keep watch.
Tess attempted to rip the pantalets into pieces, but the cotton proved difficult and would not give. As she once again applied pressure, Tess’s gaze frantically searched the interior of the Conestoga for something to cut the pantalets. Her mind ran through a list of belongings in the trunk. Dare she entrust Tommie with handing her a knife? Her son needed her trust now, and Luke couldn’t afford to lose more blood.
“Tom, get a knife,” she instructed him, nodding toward the trunk once again. “We have to cut the pantalets. Be very careful, darling. Pick it up at the handle, not the blade. If the wagon bumps or the knife jars loose, just let go and jump back. Don’t try to catch it.”
“I be careful, Mommie.”
To her surprise, he didn’t open the trunk again but delved one hand into Luke’s right boot. When his hand appeared again, it gripped the handle of a large Bowie knife. Luke Reeves was full of surprises even when unconscious.
“Mommie’s going to let go of the wound so I can take that from you. Put your other hand here where I have mine, sweetheart, and press hard. You won’t hurt Mr. Luke even though it’ll seem like you are. You’ll have to keep the blood stopped while I prepare the medicine. And when I take the knife, you’ll need to use both hands. Understood?”
“Oooh, it yooks uggleyee.” Tommie’s voice cracked with uncertainty though his expression held a mixture of dread, hope and fascination.
Tess waited until one of the small palms pressed tightly against Luke’s thigh, before taking the knife from Tommie. She made certain the boy applied enough pressure, then stripped the pantalets into pieces and sprinkled the alum onto them. When she applied the poultice to the gaping wound, she hoped the makeshift medicine would do. The powder should have been cooked until burnt to be truly effective, but they couldn’t take the time to stop and make a fire.
Luke lay still as death, no moans uttered within the last few minutes. She pressed one hand against his forehead, then his cheek, and found that the fever raged even stronger. Wishing they could dig up herbs and make a tea which might fight the fever, Tess faced the reality of the situation. Water would have to suffice. Water and her prayers.
“We’ve got to get him to drink something,” she told Tommie. Her son’s gaze seemed glued to the bandage on Luke’s thigh. “Do you think you can get Mommie a tin?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Scrambling away to do her bidding, he quickly handed her the cup and returned to his careful watch.
Tess dipped the tin into the water bucket and tried to force a sip into Luke’s mouth. Luke coughed and the water dribbled from his lips, running down his neck. Several more times she tried, but the fever gripped him too deeply.
“Drink up, Mista Yuke!” Tommie urged, taking a big gulp himself. He rubbed his tummy and pretended the water was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. “Hmmmm-hmm. Gooder’n everythang.”
When Luke stirred but didn’t obey, the boy batted the tin against Luke’s mouth. Tess flinched at the sound of metal against enamel, afraid Tommie would crack the man’s teeth. But the childish insistence worked. A white slash of teeth opened, and Luke’s mouth formed an O of protest wide enough to let the child pour the entire contents of the cup into it.
Luke gagged and his arm shot out unexpectedly, backhanding the boy from reach. The three-year-old wailed and scooted out of harm’s way, wrapping his arms around his raised knees.
“Mista Yuke’s mean, Mommie. Yike Jim. I jist tried to help.”
“No, darling.” Tess gave her son a quick hug. “He’s not mean. Mr. Luke’s terribly, terribly sick. And when he wakes up”—she couldn’t bring herself to say if he wakes up—"he won’t even know he struck you. If you tell him, he’ll be terribly sorry and will apologize, I’m certain.”
Tommie did not unthread his arms, making Tess worry all the more. The boy had grown to care for Luke, and this regrettable moment might end his trust in the bounty hunter. Noticing that the movement caused Luke to roll over on his leg again, staining the cotton a deeper crimson, Tess prepared herself for the task of rebandaging the wound. As she worked, Tommie refused to help again.
She stripped the bloodied bandage from the thigh and kept a close watch on Luke’s powerful arms, not wanting to be another victim of his fevered fisticuffs. She would worry about how he and the boy would repair their friendship later. For now, she had to concentrate on keeping the man alive.
Slowly … hazily, Luke discovered he still lived. If being alive meant burning with the heat of a thousand hells, that is. Pain shot through him, and his lashes jerked open as it concentrated in his right leg. No … thigh. The thigh felt as if someone had taken a knife, plunged it full hilt into the bone and was twisting it back and forth, back and forth.
As the hard surface where Luke lay jostled and he became aware of movement, his world spun and a curse screamed through his mind. Luke’s eyes shuttered closed and he willed himself to sink into the blissful oblivion from which he had just awakened. Heat and pain scorched him, denying the return to the haven of sleep.
Dear Jesus, he thought, praying this was some God-awful nightmare he could dispel. His eyes grated open but all he could see was the shadowed confines of a tent. A moving tent. Where am I?
Concentrating on his last conscious moment, he remembered Tess’s face filled with concern as she brought the schooner to a halt. Blue Hawk! Daggert! I’ve been shot!
