by Ralph Cotton
“And so he shall,” said the young woman, “just as soon as my father returns.” She dipped the cloth into the water, then wrung it and washed all around the wound as a thin braided stream of blood trickled steadily down over her fingers.
“Ma’am . . .” Mackenzie started to say something but his words trailed.
“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before,” the young woman said without facing him. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Holly Thorpe, ma’am.” Suddenly remembering his manners, he took off his hat. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I’m Jet Mackenzie,” he said, watching her attend to the weeping dark hole in Thorpe’s side. “It’s not that I doubt you being capable of—”
“Hold this in place and help me roll him onto his side.” She held a square thick packet of gauze out to him.
“What’s she doing to me, Mac?” Thorpe murmured. He appeared on the verge of trying to rise up on the table.
“She’s taking care of your bullet wound, Holly, now lie still,” Mackenzie said firmly. “I’m helping her.”
“Here it is,” said Beth Ann, as the two settled Thorpe onto his side. “I hardly had to look for it.” She touched a finger gently to a raised and reddened welt on Thorpe’s back.
“That’s the bullet, in there?” Mackenzie asked in disbelief.
“Yes, that’s where the bullet stopped,” said Beth Ann. She touched the welt appraisingly, pressing her finger on it carefully. “I’d say it’s lying no more than an inch deep beneath, perhaps less.”
“But the hole is down here,” said Mackenzie, gesturing toward the spot of the bleeding wound in Thorpe’s side.
“Yes, but bullets don’t always travel in a straight line,” said Beth Ann, not stopping, not slowing down. She stepped away from the table, over to a cabinet and took out a small blue bottle of laudanum. “Nor are they always this easy to locate. Lucky for your friend this bullet has stopped near the surface. If it hadn’t I would have had to widen the wound entrance and go in and probe for it in order to take pressure off and slow the bleeding. That would have been dangerous to a patient who has already lost a lot of blood.”
“Oh . . . then what will you do now?” Mackenzie asked.
“I’ll sedate him very carefully,” she said. “After a moment when he’s unconscious, I’ll cut in, remove the bullet, let the wound drain from behind for a short time. Then I’ll close it.”
Mackenzie watched her step back over with the laudanum bottle in hand. She poured a measured amount into a small metal cup and had Thorpe swallow it. “I’d like for you to be here with me while I make the incision in case the laudanum doesn’t sedate him enough.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Mackenzie. He swallowed a dry, tight knot in his throat. “I’ll help any way I can.”
Beth Ann smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Ma’am, you can call me Mac if you like, or Jet, either one.”
Beth Ann nodded. “When we’re finished, we’ll let him rest. My father will look in on him as soon as he returns home.” She put the cork back into the blue bottle, walked over to the cabinet and put the bottle away. As she walked back to the surgery table, she unbuttoned her long dress sleeves and rolled them up halfway to her elbows, ready to go to work.
“Let’s get started,” she said calmly.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Mackenzie.
Standing behind Thorpe, he laid a hand on his unconscious friend’s shoulder, ready to pin him to the table if need be. But to his surprise, Beth Ann Ross worked quickly and expertly with the sharp surgical scalpel. With one swift deep stroke she made an inch-long incision into the red welt on Thorpe’s back. Blood spurted, then reduced to a trickle as she laid aside the scalpel, picked up another instrument, shoved it into the incision and withdrew the bloody bullet and dropped it onto the metal tray.
“There,” she said with a sigh, “that went nicely.”
“That’s it, we’re finished?” Mackenzie looked at her, taken aback.
“Yes, with that part,” said Beth Ann. “Your friend was lucky, he never felt a thing.”
“Ma’am, I can’t call it luck,” said Mackenzie. “I saw how quickly you did that. Ole Holly’s luck was finding you here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie,” said Beth Ann, without stopping for a moment. “That was the quick part. But now I need to finish up and clean and dress the wound. You can take a seat in the parlor. I’ll call you if I need you. There is a pot of tea in the kitchen. I boiled it only moments before you two arrived.”
“Much obliged,” said Mackenzie. “As soon as you say it’s all right, I’ll take our horses to the town livery barn and have them looked after.”
“Of course,” said Beth Ann. “This shouldn’t take too long. I’ll come tell you as soon as I’m finished.”
Mackenzie nodded and walked out to the parlor. He took a seat on a long soft divan and closed his eyes, only for a moment, just long enough to relax and shed the weariness of the trail. . . .
Chapter 14
When Mackenzie opened his eyes, he did so with a start, realizing that he’d been asleep, and that sleep was not a luxury he could afford.
The long shadows of evening reached through the open front window and across the parlor floor. Oh no. . . . He sprang up and hurried out the front door and looked out at the hitch rail. His and Thorpe’s horses were gone. A one-horse buggy stood in their place. He turned looking in each direction, dumbfounded, until he heard a man’s voice say from the door behind him, “Don’t worry, young man, your horses are fine.”
Mackenzie spun toward the door, keeping his hand from instinctively going to his Colt.
“I’m Dr. Ross. My daughter had a stable man come get the horses so you could get some sleep. . . . Apparently you needed it.” He gave a friendly smile.
“I—yes, I did,” said Mackenzie, not wanting to appear too anxious about the horses. Remembering his manners, he said, “I’m Jet Mackenzie. My friend in there is Holly Thorpe—”
“Yes, I know,” said the doctor. “Why don’t you come inside, Mr. Mackenzie? Your friend is doing fine. Miss Beth Ann is preparing supper for the three of us, some hot beef broth for your friend.”
“Yes, I will, Dr. Ross,” said Mackenzie. “I need to check on our horses first.”
“You cowhands,” said the doctor, shaking his head slowly. “Go along with you, then, I’ll tell my daughter you’ll be here shortly.”
“Obliged, Dr. Ross,” said Mackenzie, eager to get on to the livery barn and make sure no one had discovered the money in his and Thorpe’s bedrolls.
Across the street, Stanton Parks had stepped down from his horse a moment earlier and looked back and forth along the dirt street, searching for sign of the drovers or their horses. Cursing his luck at having seen no sign of either, he’d turned to walk into a saloon when he spotted Mackenzie in his brush-scarred chaps and battered Stetson.
“Well, now,” Parks remarked to himself, “maybe Lady Luck ain’t so fickle after all.” Fingering the two badges inside his shirt pocket, he stepped off the boardwalk and followed Mackenzie from a safe distance.
Inside the livery barn, Mackenzie looked back and forth, stall to stall, seeing no sign of either a livery man, or of his and Thorpe’s horses. “Hello the barn,” he called out. But he heard no reply. A bad feeling began to creep inside him. Had the livery man found the money? Had he alerted the townsmen? Were there guns aimed at him from hiding right now, ready to cut him down before he had a chance to explain anything?
When he sighted both horses standing in the last two stalls, he felt a little relieved. Seeing their saddles on racks outside the stalls, both of their bedrolls and saddlebags still bulging with the money, he stopped and let out a breath before reaching out and flipping up the leather saddlebag flaps. “Thank goodness,” he murmured. The stacks of money were still in place.
He patted his horse on its muzzle. Both animals had been rubbed down and looked fed and contented. He stepped away and found a wooden bin full
of empty feed sacks. Carrying one sack draped over his forearm and another open in his hand, he hurried back to the saddle rack and flipped open the flap on his saddlebags.
He had begun stuffing the stacks of money into the feed sack when he froze at the sound of the creaking barn door and the fall of soft footsteps walking closer and closer. “Don’t think of it, cowpoke, or I’ll save Arizona the cost of a trial and hanging,” said Stanton Parks as Mackenzie’s right hand tensed over his holstered Colt. Parks cocked his big revolver, making sure the young trail boss understood.
Mackenzie moved his gun hand away from the butt of his Colt.
“Now raise your hands and turn around slow-like,” said Parks.
Mackenzie obeyed. He turned slowly, raising his hands, the feed sack of money hanging from his left. “Are you a lawman?”
“Am I a lawman?” Parks gave a cruel grin. “You tell me.”
Mackenzie noted the stolen sheriff’s badge on his chest. “Yeah, I reckon you are.”
“You reckoned right,” said Parks, liking the immediate respect the stolen badge brought him. “I’m Sheriff Fred Mandrin. I’ve been following you and your pals. I know you robbed that stage and killed those innocent folks,” he said convincingly. “You’re thieves and murderers, the four of yas.”
“You’re wrong, Sheriff,” said Mackenzie. “My pards and I come upon the stage after it had been robbed. We found this money and have been looking at every way in the world of turning it in. Had we been able to come to you, we already would have—”
“Save your breath, cowpoke,” said Parks, enjoying himself. “You’ll wish you had it when that rope snaps taut and chokes the last ounce of it from your squirming body.”
Mackenzie swallowed a tight knot in his throat. “I swear, Sheriff, we’re not outlaws, we’re just working drovers. We wouldn’t know what to do with this kind of money if we had it.”
“Is that all of it?” Parks asked. “Don’t try to lie to me about it,” he warned. “It’ll only go worse on you for lying.” This was the most fun he’d had in years, he told himself, seeing the look on the drover’s face, hearing the way this fool answered his every question as if it were being asked by the voice of God. He’d have to do some more of this kind of play-acting someday, he decided.
“I won’t lie, Sheriff,” said Mackenzie. “This is about half of the stage money.”
“Where’s the rest of it?” Parks asked, already having a good idea the four had split it for safekeeping.
“I don’t know,” Mackenzie said in a knee-jerk reaction to try to protect the other three. “But you’ve got me, Sheriff. If anybody is going to hang for robbing that stage, I expect I’m the one.”
“You’re not a good liar, cowpoke,” said Parks.
“I’ve never had any practice,” Mackenzie said, meaning it.
“Most every cowboy I ever met is too damned dumb to lie,” said Parks.
“Or too honest,” said Mackenzie.
“Honest? Ha!” said Parks, taunting the worried young man. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m not ashamed of being honest. I was raised to be,” said Mackenzie in a firm tone, in spite of the gun pointed at him.
“Don’t try playing the ole innocent and honest game with me, cowpoke. I’m not buying it,” said Parks. “Now, where are you and your pals meeting?”
Mackenzie stalled. “Sheriff, you’ve got me, I’m giving up. That’s all I can do for you.”
“Oh?” said Parks. “I bet a good pistol-whipping will soften your attitude and wear a little bark off.”
“You can bend your barrel around my head if it suits you, Sheriff, but I’m not jackpotting my pards.”
“They would you, if it was the other way around,” Parks said.
“I suppose I’ll die never knowing that,” said Mackenzie. “But they’re no more guilty than I am. I’m not jackpotting them. I might hang for something I didn’t do, but I won’t do nothing to cause them to.”
“I am so touched by all this cow manure,” Parks said sarcastically. He shrugged. “I already figured your pards have the rest of the money. The other two of yas split up at Three Forks to throw off any followers. Now you will all meet up again just as soon as your wounded pal is able to ride. You’ll tell me where before I’m through with you.”
Mackenzie just stared at him, a determined look on his face.
Parks stepped in closer. “Last chance, cowpoke, before I wear this gun barrel out on—”
Mackenzie suddenly swung the bag of money up hard, catching Parks full on his chin. The blow sent the man staggering backward, dazed. Before the outlaw could collect himself and swing his revolver back toward the young trail boss, Mackenzie was upon him.
Snatching the gun from Parks’ hand, he swung a hard right with the barrel and slammed it against the side of Parks’ head. Parks fell back again and down, spinning as he did so and striking the other side of his head on a stall gate.
“You should have settled for me, Sheriff Mandrin,” Mackenzie said to the knocked-out gunman, who was lying limply at his feet. “My pards and I kept one another alive all up and down this hard country. I won’t have them hang for something they didn’t do.”
Holly Thorpe was awake and sitting propped up on his good side in a convalescent’s bed when Mackenzie returned from the livery barn and knocked quietly on the door. Stepping into the room with his battered Stetson in hand, Mackenzie said to Beth Ann, who sat spooning warm beef broth into Thorpe’s mouth, “My apologizes, ma’am, for being late for supper.”
“No apology necessary, Mr. Mackenzie,” said Beth Ann. “I appreciate your concern for your horses. I set aside a plate for you.”
“My daughter sees to it that no one leaves the Ross house on an empty stomach,” said the doctor. He stood up from a desk in a corner and stepped forward, his necktie loosened and hanging at his chest, his white shirtsleeves rolled up from inspecting the work his daughter had preformed on Thorpe. “Come, I’ll join you while you eat, if you’d like some company.”
“Yes, some company would suit me just fine, Doctor,” said Mackenzie, putting up a calm pleasant front that only Holly Thorpe could see through.
“How are our horses?” Thorpe asked, his voice still weak. He stared at Mackenzie through his spectacles that Beth Ann had slipped back on him at his request.
“They’re both good and well attended to. But they’re eager to get going,” said Mackenzie, hoping to give Thorpe some indication that they had trouble licking at their heels.
Dr. Ross and his daughter exchanged glances, both understanding right away that there were urgent matters pressing these two. “Well, Mr. Thorpe,” said the doctor, “if you’ve had enough broth to refuel your blood system, perhaps my daughter and I will retire to the kitchen and see that Mr. Mackenzie’s supper is still good and warm.”
“Obliged, I’m full,” said Thorpe, even though he could have eaten three times as much and still been hungry.
“I’ll save you some more for later,” said Beth Ann, knowing he needed to bring his strength up after losing so much blood. She stood, soup bowl in hand, and followed her father out of the room.
No sooner were the two alone than Mackenzie shot a glance at the closed door and whispered to Thorpe, “How soon before you’re able to ride?”
“I’ll ride right now if need be,” said Thorpe, making a gesture as if to rise to his feet.
“No, not tonight, Holly, you’ll ruin all these two have tried to do for you,” said Mackenzie. “But you can’t stay any longer than two days.”
“What’s happened, Mac?” asked Thorpe, seeing his former trail boss try to mask a troubled look.
“A lawman has caught up to us,” said Mackenzie. “A sheriff by the name of Fred Mandrin. He’s convinced we robbed the stage and killed those folks. I just knocked him cold and tied him up. He’s in the loft of the livery barn. He’ll be coming to anytime. I’m leaving tonight and I’m taking him with me.”
“H
oly Moses,” said Thorpe. He shook his head as if to clear his mind. “Take him with you?”
“Yes, while he’s still knocked out I’ll take him somewhere where he can’t get back to you, or go on after the rest of us.”
“I’m getting dressed and helping you, boss,” said Thorpe, “that’s all there is to it.” He started to try to stand, but Mackenzie placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him down.
“Listen to me, Holly, this is an order,” Mackenzie said in a tone of authority. “You’re staying here and getting your strength back. You’ll be no good to us if you can’t ride and take care of yourself.” He gripped his shoulder firmly. “Have you got that?”
“But, boss—” Thorpe didn’t get his protest out of his mouth.
“Do I look like I want to argue with you about this, Thorpe?” Mackenzie cut him short with a harsh snap to his voice. “I’m telling you what to do, and you’re going to do it. This ain’t just for you, this is what’s best for all four of us. Now, can I count on you, or not?”
“You can, boss,” Thorpe said, relenting. “Tell me where you want me to meet up with yas, and when. I’ll be there.”
“Good man,” said Mackenzie, easing down on his harsh manner. He patted Thorpe’s shoulder before he took his hand away. “When you leave here, head northwest toward the Colorado. Follow the river toward Marble Canyon. Wait for us in País Duro. Have you—”
“Yeah, I’ve got that,” said Thorpe, finishing his words for him.
“All right, that’s our plan,” said Mackenzie. “I tied a bandanna around the sheriff’s mouth, but as soon as he wakes up, he’ll start stomping or raising a ruckus some way until somebody hears him.”
“So you’ve got to get going,” said Thorpe.
“Yep, I got to, and fast.” Mackenzie pitched some gold coins on the bed for Thorpe to pay the doctor and his daughter for their services. “I’m heading out the back door there.” He gestured toward another door on the back wall. “Tell these kind folks how sorry I am to have to leave this way. If ever I come this way again, I’ll come apologize in person for my rude behavior.”