Thunder Wagon (Wind River Book 2)

by James Reasoner

  Was the baby coming? he wondered. He knew little about how a woman gave birth. When Gretchen had been born, he and the other men-folks in the family had been banished from the house in Cincinnati. The doctor had been the only male allowed anywhere near the new mother. All Michael really knew about birthing babies was how to grin from ear to ear when somebody came and told him he had a fine, spanking-new daughter and that mother and child were doing fine.

  That skill didn't do him, or Delia, one damned bit of good now.

  He took a deep breath, then another, forcing himself to calm down a little. He wasn't completely ignorant, he reminded himself. Delia had told him some things about the process, if only he could remember what she had said. There had been something about pains that came and went, and something else about . . . water breaking, was that it? That didn't make any sense.

  If Delia was still in pain through her unconsciousness, it seemed to be fairly consistent. She wasn't writhing or moaning. Feeling awkward and stupid, Michael slipped his hand underneath the tablecloth and felt her dress around her lower body. There was no dampness as far as he could tell. Maybe she wasn't having the baby now.

  But if she wasn't, what had caused her to pass out like this, in such obvious pain that Gretchen had been terrified?

  The sound of footsteps in the front room made him lift his head hopefully, and the next instant a British-accented voice called urgently, "Michael! Where are you, lad?"

  "In here, Dr. Kent!" Michael shouted back to the physician. "In the kitchen!"

  Kent hurried down the hall and into the room, followed by Simone McKay. As the doctor knelt on the other side of Delia, he said briskly, "Please move back and give me some room, Michael. Don't worry about Delia. I'll do my very best for her."

  Michael knew that, but it was still difficult to leave Delia's side. Simone put a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him back, and after a moment he straightened from his crouch and let her steer him over to the wall next to the oven, where the fire was still burning. Michael felt the heat coming from the squat, black, cast-iron oven.

  "I'm sure she'll be all right, Michael," Simone told him. "There's no finer doctor west of the Mississippi than Judson Kent."

  "I know," Michael said, wiping a trembling hand across his face. "I . . . I just wish I knew what was wrong." Something else occurred to him, and he looked at Simone and asked, "Where's Gretchen?"

  "After I sent someone to fetch Dr. Kent, I took her to Abigail Paine's house," Simone explained. "Abigail said she would be happy to look after Gretchen for as long as you need her to."

  Michael nodded shakily and said, "Thanks. That was a good idea." Abigail Paine, who ran the nearby boardinghouse with her husband, Lawton, had a brood of her own children, and she had kept Gretchen for Michael and Delia in the past. The little girl always enjoyed staying with the Paine youngsters.

  That was one worry off Michael's mind, at least. Now he could concentrate on Delia. Dr. Kent had felt her forehead, probed her stomach, and now had his stethoscope out and was listening to Delias heartbeat. Michael couldn't tell anything from the physician's expression, which seemed to be a bearded mask at the moment. Kent lowered the tablecloth Michael had spread over Delia and placed his hand on the unconscious young woman's abdomen, low down on the right side. He pressed firmly, and Delia stirred and let out a groan of pain.

  "What are you doing to her?" Michael asked in a ragged voice.

  "Trying to determine what's wrong," Kent replied evenly.

  "It's the baby, isn't it? Something’s wrong with the baby?"

  Kent shook his head. "I don't believe so. Did Delia complain of any pains earlier in the day?"

  Michael frowned in thought. "Not while I was around. Oh, she said this morning that her stomach didn't feel very good, but that's pretty much normal when a woman's in the family way, isn't it?"

  Kent looked intently at Michael. "She told me yesterday that the so-called morning sickness hadn't afflicted her in several months. Isn't that correct?"

  "Well . . . come to think of it . . . I guess you're right, Doctor. You mean those pains she was having earlier were caused by something else?"

  "It certainly seems that way to me. I believe, Michael, that your wife has suffered an acute attack of appendicitis."

  "What?" Simone asked.

  "Appendicitis. An inflammation of a small, vestigial organ attached to the lower intestine. It will have to be removed as soon as possible."

  "My God!" Michael exclaimed. "You mean you're going to have to operate on her?"

  Kent stood up, his face grim now. "Immediately. Delia will have to be taken to my office. I could fetch my instruments and do the procedure here, but it would be much better if she was moved."

  "It won't hurt her worse to move her?"

  "I won't lie to you, Michael," Kent said. "She'll be in great pain, but she has already lost consciousness. The advantages outweigh the risks." He moved toward the hall. "Ill find some men to carry her, then go on down to the office to get ready."

  "I'll carry her," Michael declared, stepping determinedly toward Delia.

  Kent moved smoothly in front of him. "I'd rather you didn't," he said. "We don't want to run the risk of dropping her, to put it bluntly. That could make things a great deal worse."

  For a couple of seconds, Michael looked as if he wanted to shove the medico out of his way. Then he sighed and nodded. "You're right. Go ahead, Doctor. But if there's anything I can do . . ."

  "Certainly there is," Kent told him briskly. "You can pray, my boy. And I suggest you do so."

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when Billy Casebolt tied his pinto to the hitch rail in front of the marshal's office. Cole had been watching for him, hoping that nothing had happened that would delay the deputy's return to Wind River, and he met Casebolt on the boardwalk.

  "You all right, Billy?" Cole asked.

  Casebolt thumbed back his hat. "Well, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Did you find Two Ponies?"

  "Yep. Or I reckon I should say, he found me. Well, to tell the truth, it was his brother-in-law, a feller called Climbs on Rocks, who first run across me, but he took me right to the Shoshones' camp."

  "Did Two Ponies know anything about that raid on the Jessup farm?"

  Casebolt snorted. "'Course not. I didn't figger him and his band had anything to do with that. It just ain't like 'em."

  "What about some railroad workers who were killed and scalped along the roadbed west of here? Or two of Sawyer's cowboys who were done in the same way when some of his stock was stolen?"

  Casebolt gaped at Cole, obviously shocked by the news. "When in blazes did all that happen?" he demanded.

  "Jack Casement of the UP found his workers yesterday morning and got to town later in the day to report it. Sawyer rode in earlier today. Just so happened the cavalry was already in town when he got here."

  "Cavalry?" Casebolt repeated.

  Cole nodded. "A whole troop under the command of a major named Burdette. You know him?"

  Casebolt thought it over, then shook his head. "Don't recollect the name from when I was scoutin' for the army."

  "Neither did I. He struck me as being fairly new to the West. Maybe not fresh out of West Point, but you can tell he hasn't been out here long." Cole shook his head. "For one thing, he seems to think there's some sort of glory to be had from fighting Indians. Wants to be over east of here tangling with the Sioux, instead of hunting down the Shoshones. He'll do that if he has to, though, in order to get his superiors to notice him."

  "Holy jumpin' toad frogs!" Casebolt exclaimed. "You don't mean this here Major Burdette's goin' after Two Ponies' bunch, do you?"

  "That's what it looks like," Cole replied grimly. "He and his troopers have ridden out to the Diamond S with Sawyer. They plan to pick up the tracks of whoever killed Sawyer's hands and stole his cows."

  "Well, I can damn sure tell you it wasn't Two Ponies nor none of his people. I was with 'em last night, and th
ey wasn't nowheres near the Diamond S."

  "The whole band was there?" asked Cole. "There weren't any hunting parties out, or anything like that?"

  Casebolt shook his head. "They did some drummin' and dancin' after I got there, sort of to celebrate me visitin', I reckon, and I saw all of 'em. Unless Two Ponies' band has grown a whole heap durin' the past couple of months, there ain't no way any of 'em could be off raidin'."

  Cole nodded, feeling the urgency growing inside him. If Burdette had just been willing to wait before he went charging off after so-called hostiles . . . !

  "Sorry to do this to you, Billy, after the long ride you've had the past couple of days, but you'd best get your saddle on a fresh horse."

  "We're goin' after them bluebellies?"

  "Damn right," Cole snapped. "Maybe we can catch up with them in time for Burdette to hear your story. Once he has, he'll have to admit that Two Ponies and his people are innocent." Cole rubbed his jaw wearily. "Although that major's stiff-necked and hardheaded enough, he might not pay any attention to what you've got to say. But he's still got to know the truth."

  "Well, what're we waitin' for?" Casebolt said. "Let's get after 'em 'fore it's too late!"

  Chapter 13

  Dusk was settling over Wind River. Michael Hatfield sat in the front room of the house that served Dr. Judson Kent as both office and home. He was staring at the faintly patterned wallpaper on the opposite wall without really seeing it. All he could see in his mind's eye was the face of his wife, accusing him as she fought for her life—and the life of the child within her—on the operating table behind the closed door of the next room.

  Jeremiah Newton laid a huge hand on Michael's shoulder. "Would you like to pray, Michael?" the big blacksmith rumbled.

  "We've already prayed, Jeremiah," Michael answered hollowly.

  "More prayer cannot do any harm."

  "You go ahead," Michael said. "And thank you, Jeremiah, for coming over here to stay with me."

  "When I heard about your wife's misfortune, I knew I had to come. We all need someone to stand beside us in times of trouble. The Lord is always there, of course, but sometimes it helps to have a fellowman to help bear the load."

  Michael nodded as Jeremiah began to intone a prayer. He found himself wondering if it would do any good. Could anything do any good now? Dr. Kent had been in there with Delia for well over an hour. Michael wanted desperately to know what was happening on the other side of that door, but at the same time he shrank away from the thought. The idea of seeing Delia, his Delia, laid open like . . . like some sort of butchered animal, while the doctor poked and prodded and cut inside her—

  Michael shuddered all the way to the core of his being and tried to force his brain away from those thoughts. He considered instead the things that had been happening in Wind River today. He had certainly neglected his job as the editor of the Sentinel. There was news in the making, important news.

  The cavalry had been in town, Michael knew that much. Late the previous day, he had been able to get a last-minute story in this week's edition about the killing of the Union Pacific scouts along the roadbed west of town. He knew Jack Casement, the railroads construction boss, had sent a wire to Fort Laramie requesting that troops be sent. How could the cavalry have gotten here so quickly, though?

  And why had the troopers and their major then turned around and ridden out with Kermit Sawyer a little while later? Michael had interviewed the crusty old Texas cattleman in the past, and he knew Sawyer's tendency to stir up trouble. Had Indians raided the Diamond S?

  A little earlier, the rapid beat of hooves outside had made Michael look up just in time to see Cole Tyler and Billy Casebolt riding out of town in a hurry. Why had the marshal and his deputy headed out of Wind River hell-bent for leather?

  On any other day, Michael would have been trying to find the answers to those questions so that he could get the story in the next edition of the Sentinel. If the news was important enough, he could even put out an extra. He had never done that before.

  The only news he was interested in today, however, was what Judson Kent would have to tell him when the doctor finally emerged from the other room. Michael put his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and rested his chin on them, hoping that time would come soon.

  A door opened, making Michael's head jerk up, but it wasn't the one he wanted to see open. Instead it was the front door, and Simone came in, an anxious expression on her face. "Any news?" she asked.

  Jeremiah shook his head. "The doctor's still in there with her, but Michael and I are praying for her."

  "So have I been," Simone said as she moved across the room to sit down in an empty chair beside Michael. She patted his hand and went on, "I'm sure Delia will be just fine. You'll see."

  "I don't know if I'll ever see her alive again," he choked out.

  "Of course you will!" Simone insisted. "I tell you, Delia will be perfectly fine. She's stronger than you give her credit for, Michael. When we were both being held prisoner, I never saw her give in to her fears. All she worried about was her family. She'll be all right."

  Michael nodded. He ran a hand over his face and gave a slight shake of his head, trying to clear the cobwebs of grief and fear out of his brain. "How's Gretchen?" he asked.

  "I stopped by the Paines' on the way over here," Simone said. "She's doing fine, Michael, you don't have to worry about her. She's concerned about Delia, of course, and still a little scared. That's natural, considering what she saw."

  "I reckon so. I was sure scared—I still am— and Gretchen's just a little girl."

  Simone patted his hand again. "I'm sure Dr. Kent will be finished soon, and then you'll see that everything's going to be all right."

  As if he had been listening on the other side of the door for the right moment, Kent opened it and stepped through. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was wiping his hands on a cloth. Michael shot to his feet, and Simone and Jeremiah hurriedly stood up, too. Michael asked breathlessly, "How . . . how is she?"

  Kent looked tired and drawn, and his grim expression sent a wave of panic crashing through Michael. In the next instant, though, the physician said quietly, "She'll be fine, Michael. She's resting now, and I don't think you have anything to worry about at the moment."

  Michael felt as if every muscle in his body went limp with relief, and he had to catch himself to keep from falling. Jeremiah's strong hand on his arm steadied him. "Thank God," Michael said hoarsely. "And thank you, Doctor."

  "I must admit it was a bit touch and go there for a while. The advanced state of Delia's, ah, condition caused me a spot of trouble. Nothing I couldn't deal with, though. The appendix is out and will no longer cause her any trouble." Kent tossed the cloth on his desk. "I put it in a jar of alcohol. Would you like to see it?"

  Michael shook his head emphatically. "I'd rather see Delia."

  "She's sleeping, as I told you. I had to give her a bit of ether so that she could cope with the pain of the surgery. Didn't much like to, considering her condition, but I deemed it worth the risk." Kent began rolling his sleeves back down. "You can sit with her for a moment. Just don't disturb her."

  "I won't," Michael promised. He stepped through the door and caught his breath at the sight of his wife lying on the table, her face pale and her eyes closed. If not for the barely perceptible motion of the sheet that was drawn up over her chest, he might have thought that she was—

  No, Michael told himself sternly. There was no reason to think such things anymore. She was going to be all right. Dr. Kent had said so.

  Michael moved forward quietly and gently laid the tips of his fingers on Delia's cheek, letting them rest there as he stared down at her and thought about how much he loved her. Tears rolled down his own cheeks, but he didn't feel them . . .

  In the other room, Simone quietly asked Dr. Kent, "What about the baby?"

  Kent picked up the coat of his dusty black suit and shrugged into it. "As far as I can tell, the child
is fine. Delia has taken good care of herself during this pregnancy, and that certainly helped matters." He chuckled. "It may not sound much like the rational thinking of a doctor, a man of science, if you will, but it seems to me this child has someone or something looking out after it. First there was the episode with that outlaw, and no harm came of that. Now this appendicitis attack, and it appears the child is still all right. If one can live a charmed life even before birth, this baby seems to be doing so."

  "The Lord's watching out for the little one, that's what it is, Doc," Jeremiah put in, smiling and nodding.

  Kent returned the smile. "I certainly won't argue that point with you, Mr. Newton." He turned to Simone. "Michael is lucky to have an understanding employer to stand beside him in such a time of distress."

  "I hope I'm more than his employer," Simone said. "Michael is a friend. He stuck by me after Andrew's death, and he's kept the paper running almost without a hitch. He deserves all the help he can get right now." She lifted the small purse she held in her hands. "That's why I want to pay you for your services, Judson."

  "For this operation, you mean?"

  Simone nodded.

  Kent considered for a moment, then said, "Tell me, did you mean it when you told Michael that I was the finest doctor west of the Mississippi?"

  "Of course I meant it."

  "Then I shall consider that partial payment, my dear Mrs. McKay. A compliment from a beautiful woman is without price, after all."

  Simone smiled. "Why, Dr. Kent, are you flirting with me?" she asked.

  He snorted, tugged at his beard, and looked away. "I'm much too tired for that," he said after a moment. "Just speaking the truth, that's all."

  "And so was I." Simone took some bills from her bag and pressed them into his hand. "If that's not enough, you be sure and tell me. Perhaps I could mention what a handsome man you are, Doctor, as well as being an excellent physician."