After they had finished eating, she gestured toward the stream and ordered, “Here,” and handed him the towel he had used before. “Sit down over there by the water and pull your pants down. You can cover yourself with this while I look at that leg.”
Figuring it useless to argue further, he took the towel and proceeded to the stream bank. It would be his first opportunity to see how bad he was wounded, and he was a little concerned, because it was beginning to cause him some pain. When he had unbuckled his trousers and pushed them down to his knees, he draped the towel over his vital area and called out to her that he was ready. While she searched in her packs for some clean cloth and the bottle of medicinal whiskey she had carried all the way from Fort Collins, he wet his hand in the stream and tried to clean streaks of dried blood from his leg. It didn’t appear that he had lost a great deal of blood, but there was enough that he could feel it in his boot. He was thinking that, had it been cooler weather, he would have been wearing his long underwear, and that would have helped soak up the blood before it got down in his boot.
“It looks a little puffy,” she said upon her first examination of the small blue hole in his thigh. There was no exit wound, so she knew the bullet was still in there. When she felt around the wound, a slow trickle of blood appeared, so she took her hand away, afraid she might start a steady flow of blood again. “There’s no telling how deep it is,” she said. “It might help to pour some whiskey on it to clean it out.”
Watching her studying the wound, he realized she had no idea what she should do. A bullet hole was a world’s difference from the cuts and scratches she doctored on her husband and daughters. He reached down to his belt and pulled his skinning knife from its case. “Here, take this over to the fire and stick it in the coals till the blade starts to get red. We wanna get all the deer off it.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked as she took the knife.
“I’m gonna see if I can get that bullet outta my leg,” he answered.
“That doesn’t seem like a good idea, to go digging around in there with that knife. You’ll just make it a bigger wound.”
“I can feel that bullet like it was a piece of rock in my leg, and I’d just as soon have it outta there, so go heat my knife please.” She looked at him, then back at the knife, hesitating. “Please,” he implored.
She shrugged and turned to do his bidding. “It’s your leg,” she said. After a few minutes, she returned. Holding the handle with just two fingers, she held it up before him and he took it, being careful not to touch the blade. He held it for a few minutes to let it cool down before he made his incision. Then he gently probed the wound, which resulted in a new flow of blood. “Ooh,” she muttered, “I don’t think I even want to watch this.” She took a step backward, almost knocking her daughters over as they peered out from behind her. One glance and Grace turned away, just as her mother had. Emma, the precocious one, moved in closer to get a better view of the surgery.
“Back up a little bit, Skeeter. Your head’s in the way. I can’t see what I’m doin’.” She gave him a step. “Here, you can hold this cloth.” She took it eagerly, excited to be a part of the operation. Clenching his teeth, he made a thrust with the point of the blade, hoping to feel something metallic, but he met with nothing but bloody pulp. Emma’s eyes got bigger and bigger and she moved in a little closer. He forced his knife in a little deeper, still with no resistance beyond that of the flesh and muscle. He wanted to yell out with the pain he felt, but he forced himself to remain silent in a show of bravery for the sake of impressing the little girl. Finally, when he felt he couldn’t stand any further self-torture, he felt the tip of his knife strike the lead slug he searched for. Ignoring the pain at that point, so close to success, he worked the tip back and forth until the slug loosened slightly. Desperate, he dug into his leg with his fingers, into the hole that was larger by three times than the original, and pinched the bullet out. He released a great sigh of relief and held the bloody slug up triumphantly. Emma clapped delightedly. Mary said nothing, but stepped forward and poured whiskey in the wound. “Shit!” Cam blurted out before he could stop himself. It was the only sound he had made throughout the whole procedure. His face red again, he complained, “Tip me off next time you’re fixin’ to do that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to hide her smile. Both Grace and Emma giggled. “I’ll wrap a bandage around your leg. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t become infected. I hope you didn’t do more damage than the bullet did in the first place.”
“It’ll heal up fine and proper,” he assured her. “Won’t it, Skeeter?” Emma nodded excitedly. “You’re the only one who would stand and help me,” he told her.
• • •
As he had advised, they rode along the eastern edge of the valley, giving Custer City a wide berth. With plenty of venison as well as a supply of salt pork they already had before Cam killed the deer, there was nothing they needed in the town. Their first overnight camp was beside a creek near the south end of the valley. They were in good spirits, since the rest of that day had been without trouble. Even the rain had stopped before sundown, and for long periods of time he forgot that he was guarding a large quantity of gold. Every outlaw in the territory would be rawhiding his horse in an effort to find them if anyone found out about the fortune they were carrying. And Fort Collins in Colorado Territory was a long way away. He wasn’t sure how far exactly, but he knew that Custer City was about two hundred and sixty miles from Cheyenne. And he would guess that Fort Collins was maybe another forty miles below Cheyenne. Ordinarily he would figure on about eight days without pushing Toby too hard. But Toby was gone, and he wasn’t sure how the dun he was now riding would hold up. So far, the horse seemed stout enough. It didn’t matter, anyway, for he found that Mary and the girls weren’t up to riding forty miles or more a day when the trip of about eighty miles to Hat Creek took them two and a half days. So the total trip was most likely going to take them ten days, maybe more, for there was some rough going in parts of that country.
The first couple of days had been without a great deal of concern, for the most part because they had stayed clear of the stage road, choosing to parallel it. Running short of coffee and flour, they decided to stop at the Hat Creek Station to resupply. Mary wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to spend a night in the hotel there to get a good night’s sleep for a change, as well as a hot bath for her and the girls. Her concern, however, was the gold, and how to protect it, especially since they didn’t want anyone to know what they were carrying. Cam said he would sleep in the stable with their packs. The odds of getting held up in the station were not great, and as long as they didn’t appear to be overcautious, probably their packs wouldn’t attract attention. Mary decided to risk it. She had complete faith in Cam’s honesty and his ability to protect her interest, although she felt a little guilty to take the comfort of a hotel room while he slept in the stable with the horses. He was not bothered by the accommodations, however, feeling perfectly comfortable with the prospect of a bed in the hay.
Traveling with a fortune in gold created unique problems, as they had already learned. Someone, preferably Cam, had to watch the packs at all times. So Mary found herself apologizing again when the subject of supper came about. The odds were slim that someone would bother their packs if they all went to supper together, but the possibility was always present. “When the girls and I finish eating, I can come out here and stand guard while you go to get your supper,” Mary suggested, although she was not overly confident of her ability to protect the gold in the event of an attempted robbery.
Cam was equally leery, so he made a countersuggestion. “Why don’t you just have them make me up a plate and one of the girls can bring it out to me when you’re done eatin’?”
“I’ll bring it!” Emma immediately volunteered.
Cam smiled and said, “Maybe you and Grace could bring it.” He glanced u
p at Mary. “Is that all right with you, ma’am?”
“When are you going to stop ma’aming me?” she responded. “You make me feel like I’m eighty years old. I’m not that much older than you. My name is Mary, and that’s what I expect my friends to call me. And, yes, it’s all right with me if the girls bring you your supper.”
“Yes, ma’am, Mary,” he replied, somewhat astonished that she had somehow had a fit of temper over something he must have said.
With the issue of supper finished, they pulled up to the hotel, where Mary and the girls dismounted. Cam untied Mary’s two suitcases and set them down on the walkway. While they stood by the horses, he quickly carried the two bags inside and set them by the front desk. Outside again, he climbed aboard the dun and led the horses down the short street to the stables.
“Howdy,” Bill Freed greeted the young man astride the dun and leading four horses, two of them loaded fairly heavily. “You lookin’ to board them horses?”
“Yep,” Cam replied. “I’d like to unload ’em and turn ’em out in the corral, but I’d like to put ’em inside for the night. I’ll pay for a stall to keep my packs in, too, and I’ll sleep in there with ’em. Is that all right with you?”
Freed shrugged. “Well, sure, that’s all right with me, but there’s a fine hotel up the street, unless you’re worried about your belongin’s. But I ain’t never had no trouble with anythin’ gettin’ stole outta here, or the corral, either. I put ’em in the stalls at night, but I have left a couple of horses outside before, and there ain’t nobody bothered ’em.”
“We’ll put my horses in the stalls tonight,” Cam repeated. “And, like I said, I’ll sleep here tonight.”
“Suit yourself,” Freed said. “I padlock both doors when I leave to go to the house tonight, about nine o’clock.” He waited for a few moments and watched Cam as he led the horses down the center of the stable. “Want me to give you a hand pullin’ off them saddles?”
“No, thanks just the same,” Cam replied. “I ’preciate it, but I can take care of it.” He continued on, past the tack room, toward the back stalls.
Freed watched him with a curious eye. He sure is particular about his stuff, he thought. The small hole in Cam’s trousers would have been easy to miss, had it not been for the white bandage that showed through whenever the tall young man bent down to pick up a pack. It didn’t take any imagination to identify the hole as one having come from a bullet. Wary, but unable to control his curiosity, he walked back to the rear stall where Cam had stacked the packs. “Looks like you got more saddles than you had when you led them horses in.”
“I had ’em,” Cam replied. “One of ’em was covered up—that one.” He pointed to the saddle Rafer had used.
“That’s a real fancy one. Musta cost a little money.”
“Yeah, I reckon,” Cam said. “But it ain’t to my particular taste, too fancy to suit me.”
“You ever think about sellin’ it?”
“I don’t know,” Cam said, pausing as if considering the idea. “I might, if I was to get a fair price for it.”
“I don’t need a saddle myself,” Freed said, “but if you’re just lookin’ to get rid of it, I’d give you twenty-five dollars for it.”
Cam laughed. “I don’t figure I’ll give it away. I’ll just keep it before I do that.” He waited a few moments while Freed examined the hand-tooled saddle more closely. “Some fine handiwork on that saddle skirt, ain’t it?” When Freed agreed that it was delicately done, Cam nodded slowly, as if making up his mind. “I’ll tell you what, if you like that saddle, I’ll let you have it for forty dollars, and that ain’t even half what that saddle cost.” When he saw Freed’s eyes light up, he added, “Course, that’s along with the bill for boardin’ these horses overnight.”
“Done!” Freed said, and extended his hand to seal the deal. Both men were pleased. Freed got the fancy saddle for a third of what he figured it was worth. Cam got rid of an extra saddle he didn’t want. Now he could load their packs more efficiently with Rafer’s saddle out of the way, and he had an extra forty dollars in his pocket.
• • •
It was still early in the evening when Grace and Emma came in the front door of the stable, looking for him. “Back here,” he called out from his seat on a cushion of hay, his back against the wall of the stall. They hurried to him, Grace carrying a dinner pail filled with stew, and Emma holding a slab of corn bread wrapped in a checkered napkin. They sat down on either side of him while he ate.
He was only halfway finished when Mary appeared at the front entrance, carrying a cup of coffee. When she saw the three of them seated outside the stall in the back, she headed toward them, stepping carefully in an effort to avoid spilling the coffee.
“Ma’am,” Bill Freed said when she passed by the open door of the tack room. Surprised, for he assumed she was looking for him, he stuck his head out the door to get another look. Strange people, he thought when it was obvious that she was looking for Cam and the two girls.
“Good evening,” she tossed back at the stable owner, but kept walking. When she got to the back of the stable, she held out the coffee cup. “I know how you love your coffee,” she said cheerfully. “I hope I didn’t spill much of it. That street’s pretty rough.”
Cam smiled his appreciation. “I surely thank you for your trouble. You’re right about that, I do truly love a cup of coffee.” He took the cup, being careful not to spill any on Emma, who had snuggled up close to him.
Mary glanced down at her youngest, then back to Cam again. “I hope they’re not too much of a bother to you.”
He smiled. “No, ma’a—” he started, but caught himself. “No, they ain’t a bother at all.”
A wicked smile spread across Mary’s face, and she was unable to resist telling him, “Well, you might be in more trouble than you realize. Emma told me she was going to marry you when she grew up.”
“Mama!” Emma exclaimed, and jumped up, bumping Cam’s coffee cup and causing him to splash some of it in his lap. “That was a secret. You weren’t supposed to tell! I’m never telling you another secret.” Thoroughly shamed, she went behind her mother to hide.
Cam grinned broadly. “Is that a fact?” he teased. “Well, that’s all right with me, Skeeter. I’ll wait for you.” He looked up at Mary and winked. She answered with a smile. They were interrupted then by Bill Freed.
“If you folks don’t’ mind, I’m fixin’ to lock up and go home a little early tonight. I hate to break up your little party, but I’m thinkin’ right smart ’bout my own supper.”
“Come on, girls,” Mary said. “Let’s let the man close up.” Cam got to his feet to walk them to the front door. Mary paused briefly to say, “Thank you for guarding our future. I’m sorry you have to sleep in the stable.”
“Honest, Mary, I don’t mind one bit. You folks get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you in the mornin’.”
Freed helped Cam move his horses inside before leaving him for the night. “If you have to go outside for any reason, you can get out by the hayloft. Just don’t forget to leave that rope hangin’ so you can get back in. I generally come in about five o’clock.”
“Much obliged,” Cam replied. “I doubt I’ll wanna get out before you come back in the mornin’.”
• • •
The night passed peacefully enough. Cam was aroused from sleep only when Freed unlocked the stable doors. He went to work right away, loading the horses and saddling the three to be ridden. When he was through, he shook hands with Bill Freed and led the horses down to tie them in front of the hotel dining room windows. When the dining room opened at six, he went in and seated himself facing the windows where he could keep an eye on the horses while he waited for Mary and the girls to appear. In a few minutes he saw the little Japanese woman, who always rendered Bob Allen tongue-tied, walk in from the kitchen. He remembered
her name, Atsuko. She glanced his way as she carried a tray of clean coffee cups to place on a sideboard. Then remembering him, she looked again and gave him a smile.
She put the cups down, then came over to speak to him. “Good morning,” she greeted him, a musical lilt in her voice. “You come in with Bob Allen before.”
“That’s right,” he said, returning her smile. “Have you seen Bob lately?”
“Yesterday,” she replied. “He drive stagecoach, heading north.”
“Was Larry with him?”
“Yes, Larry with him.” A mischievous smile appeared on her face. “Bob’s getting up his nerve to talk to me. I think he wants me to leave this place and just cook for him.” She giggled then. “Maybe I do it.”
Cam laughed. “I think you’re gonna have to tell him that. I don’t think he’ll ever get up the nerve to ask you.”
“I think you right,” she said, then changed the subject. “I see your lady friend and the two little girls last night. You wait for them?”
“Yep, I expect they’ll show up sometime to get some breakfast.”
“I’ll get you some coffee,” she said. “You want breakfast, or you gonna wait for them?”
“I’ll wait on the breakfast,” he answered. “Just bring me the coffee.”
His wait was not as long as he had anticipated. In less than half an hour, Mary and the girls appeared in the doorway leading from the hotel’s front parlor, she carrying the larger suitcase, Grace with the smaller one, and Emma carrying the carpetbag. They were apparently eager to get started. “Morning,” Mary greeted him. She had a look of concern. “Are the horses still at the stable?”
Long Road to Cheyenne Page 9