Storm in Paradise Valley

by Charles G. West

  All were deeply concerned, but one more than the others. “Where is he?” Roseanna asked, her face a mask of worry.

  “I left him at that place he built up on Blind Woman Creek.”

  “You left him there by himself?” Roseanna demanded with no effort to hide her distress.

  “Well, there wasn’t nothin’ else I could do for him. I left him food and water. He was the one that insisted I leave him and come to make sure you folks were ready in case they hit Paradise again.” He glanced over at Mike. “We heard shots back where I left you and we didn’t know if you’d got shot or not.”

  Young Taylor grinned sheepishly. “I took a shot at them, but I didn’t hit nothin’. They started after me, so I hightailed it outta there. I took off up the back side of the canyon so I wouldn’t lead ’em back here.”

  “They’ve got the cattle,” Arnold Poss said. “Why would they come back here?”

  “I can think of a few good reasons,” Gus Hopkins said. “Because they didn’t have the chance to clean us out the first time, and revenge for us killin’ their friends, and the fact that Jason Storm ain’t here to stop ’em. This time we’d better be ready, ’cause if we ain’t, they’re gonna wipe us out.”

  “What about Jason?” Roseanna asked, pulling the discussion back to her concern. “We have to help him.” She turned to beseech Dr. Taylor. “He needs a doctor. He needs our help. We owe him that—and a lot more.”

  “I reckon I could ride out there to tend to him,” Dr. Taylor said, “but I haven’t any idea where to find his cabin.”

  Mike spoke up. “I know where it is, Pa. I can take you there.”

  “All right,” the doctor said when he could think of no good reason not to.

  “I’m going with you,” Roseanna stated emphatically.

  Lena Hatfield at once looked alarmed. “Honey, are you sure you want to? It might be better to just let Dr. Taylor go. He’ll take care of him.” Although Gus Hopkins had told them that Jason was a retired lawman, Lena could not release her concern about Roseanna’s apparent infatuation with Jason.

  “Every time I’ve needed Jason Storm, he’s been there. The least I can do is try to be there for him,” Roseanna replied in a tone of finality. It was settled, then. Roseanna hurried back to the house to gather some things to take with her. In less than a half hour’s time she climbed into Dr. Taylor’s buggy and, with Mike leading them on his horse, they were off, hoping to reach Blind Woman Creek before it was too late.

  Chapter 12

  “Ain’t this a pretty mess?” Jason Storm muttered painfully to himself. He couldn’t remember feeling more helpless in his life. Propped up on the bunk he had made that summer, with his back against the wall, he berated himself over and over for getting shot. He could not say how serious his wound might be. When he had first been half carried into the cabin, he was convinced that it might be the one that put him down for good. Now he was beginning to think that maybe the slug had not hit anything vital. But there had been a lot of bleeding and he felt weak as hell. It was going to take some time to get back on his feet. He just hoped the people of Paradise had that much time. Once again Mace Cantrell had managed to escape him, and that fact did little to improve his disposition. “I’ll just keep feeding myself this deer jerky,” he announced to the silent cabin, “and try to rest, and we’ll see what happens.”

  He felt pretty confident that Cantrell and his new gang would have to be damn lucky to find this place—if they were looking for him. He had an idea that the murdering outlaw figured he had killed him, since he hadn’t bothered to hang around after he’d shot him. Jason’s sense of responsibility to the people of Paradise tended to worry him some, but he knew that there was nothing he could do to help them now. They were going to have to band together to fight this new threat to their peace if Cantrell had it in mind to raid the town again.

  His thoughts were interrupted by an inquisitive whinny from Biscuit outside. He tried to force his senses to become alert. Had they found him so soon? He pushed himself as upright against the wall as he could manage and picked up the pistol beside him. Ready to give any uninvited visitors a warm welcome when they came in the door, he waited. In a few minutes’ time, he heard a woman’s voice.

  “Jason!” Roseanna called.

  Wary of the very welcome Jason was prepared to give, Dr. Taylor called out as well. “Jason, it’s Dr. Taylor. We’ve come to help you.”

  Inside, Jason sighed in relief. “Come on in, then,” he said. Moments later, Roseanna hurried through the doorway, followed by the doctor and his son.

  “Oh, Jason . . .” Roseanna cried in distress when she saw him. He was always a tower of strength and power, and she was alarmed to see him in such an apparent state of helplessness. Rushing to his bedside, she said, “We’re going to take care of you.”

  After giving her a moment, Dr. Taylor gently pulled Roseanna aside to give himself room to examine Jason’s wound. “Maybe you can build a fire in the fireplace, so we can heat up some water,” he said, finding something for her to do. Mike volunteered to get the wood for her. “Good,” Dr. Taylor said. “Now give me some room so I can see what we’ve got here.” Turning his attention back to his patient, he started pulling away the wads of material that Jason had stuffed against his chest to stop the bleeding. “Damn, what a mess,” he scolded.

  “It stopped the bleedin’,” Jason replied weakly. He was still astonished by the arrival of the three of them. He had been preparing himself to gut it out and let nature, or fate, take its course.

  While she waited for Mike to bring in the wood, Roseanna looked around the cabin that Jason called home. Except for the clutter around his bunk, the house was neat and clean. Nodding her approval to herself, she focused then on the saddlebag filled with dried jerky and the bucket of water next to it. Flabbergasted, she picked the bag up and looked inside. “You intended to nourish yourself with this?” she demanded, her expression conveying her disapproval.

  “It’s all I had,” he said.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I came,” she said. “I brought some beans and side meat, and some coffee, in case you didn’t have any.”

  “We could all use some coffee,” Dr. Taylor said. He was glad to see that Roseanna had seen fit to bring food. He had also noticed that she had brought a satchel with a change of clothes, but thought it best at the time not to comment on it. It appeared that she was planning to stay with Jason. It was a good thing, he thought, after examining Jason’s wound, because it would be difficult for Jason to take care of himself. “If that bullet was a little bit farther toward your shoulder, I’d say just leave it in there. But the way it’s lodged up close to your ribs, I think I’d best try to get it out in case it might move around and cause some trouble later on.”

  “Whatever you say, Doc,” Jason replied.

  “It’s gonna hurt like hell,” Taylor warned. “Have you got any liquor? It might be easier if you were drunk. I brought a couple bottles of laudanum, but that’ll just ease the pain a little afterward—works a little better if you mix it with some whiskey.”

  “On the shelf by the kitchen window,” Jason said, and Roseanna went to fetch it.

  She found a full bottle where he said it would be, then looked in vain through the roughly built shelves for a glass or at least a cup. “There’s nothing here to drink out of,” she said. “Don’t you have a glass?” Before he could answer, she said, “I don’t see any dishes. What in the world were you eating on?”

  “I don’t need any dishes,” Jason said, his voice beginning to show the strain of answering questions. “There’s a couple of tin cups on the table and a couple of plates. I never threw many dinner parties. Just bring the bottle.” He was rapidly becoming tired and impatient with the pain brought on by the doctor’s examination—and he hadn’t even started probing for the bullet.

  Preparations for the surgery got under way with the uncorking of the bottle. Dr. Taylor continued to pour whiskey into his patient until int
oxication was complete. It was difficult to tell exactly when that state was reached because Jason’s drunk was not a noisy one. He just became more and more quiet, his eyes focused steadily on the doctor’s face as if in a trance. When Taylor deemed it had to be enough, he began to probe the wound to dislodge the rifle slug. The only sound from his patient was a low grunt and a tightening of his body as he made the initial thrust. He fully expected Jason to pass out as he probed deeper and deeper, but his patient remained awake, his eyes half closed, staring the pain in the eye. Only after it was over, and the slug removed, did he release his conscious state and slide into a deep sleep.

  “Damned if he ain’t a grizzly bear,” Dr. Taylor commented as he fixed a bandage on the sleeping man’s chest. “That had to hurt and he stayed awake the whole time I was cutting into him.” He turned to talk directly to Roseanna. “I could use some of that coffee. . . . I guess I’ll take a chance on using one of those cups on the table.” When she brought him the coffee, he said, “He’s gonna feel like hell when he wakes up, but I guess he’ll be able to take care of himself.”

  She answered as he had anticipated. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “Are you sure you wanna stay?” he asked softly. “What will I tell Fred and Lena about how long you’ll be here? It’s gonna be a while before he’s on his feet again.”

  “I’ll stay as long as it takes. I owe him that. I can’t leave him here with nobody to take care of him.”

  “All right, then. You seem to know what you’re doing,” he said. He gave her some instructions on how to care for the wound and what to do if it appeared to become infected. When he was satisfied that he had done all he could for patient and nurse, he closed his bag and took his leave. “Come on, Mike, it’s gonna be close to dark by the time we get home.”

  She walked outside the cabin to see them off. “Thanks for coming, Dr. Taylor,” she said and stood back to watch them leave. She stood there long moments after she could no longer hear them, thinking about the decision she had made. What if Jason doesn’t pull through? she asked herself, then quickly chastised herself. He will pull through. I won’t let him die. She imagined that Lena would be distressed when she did not return with Dr. Taylor. There was no way she could explain to Lena why she wanted to take care of Jason. She wished she could make her friend see the decent soul of Jason Storm. Lena could only see the violent side of the man who appeared to live by the gun, and Roseanna knew that Lena was only concerned for her—afraid she was throwing herself at a man incapable of tender feelings or human compassion. To Lena, he was a killing machine, not so different from Mace Cantrell and his ilk, even though he had been on the side of the law. But Roseanna had looked into his eyes and seen the calm decency that dwelt deep within the man. Being completely honest with herself, she admitted that she had been drawn to him almost from the first—so much so that she had prayed for forgiveness for her feelings so soon after John’s death. “What’s to become of you, Roseanna?” she whispered softly to herself. Then, feeling a slight chill on her bare arms, she returned to tend to the fire.

  After placing another piece of wood on the fire, she moved to the side of the bunk and stood gazing at the sleeping man. Like a baby, she thought. Lena should see her fearsome gun-fighter now. There were no chairs in the rough abode, only a stool next to the table, so she wrapped the one blanket she found around her shoulders and sat down against the wall by his bed. Her intention was to remain awake in case he awoke and needed something. But he seemed deeply drawn into his alcohol-induced sleep, and after a while, she dozed off herself.

  She was awakened a short time later by his voice calling for someone to throw down their guns. Realizing that he was dreaming, she placed a hand on his forehead. He felt feverish, so she went to the water bucket, wet a cloth she had brought with her, and placed it on his forehead. His eyes flicked open for a few moments and he spoke. “Is that you, Mary Ellen? What is it?”

  “Nothing, Jason,” she answered softly. “Go back to sleep now.” Mary Ellen, she thought. A wife? A lover? His outcry troubled her, but she quickly reprimanded herself. A man his age, she thought, of course he had known a woman in his life, maybe more than one. It would be unusual if he had not. After all, she had been married. She admonished herself not to make a judgment until she knew all the facts. It took a little while, but she finally managed to fall asleep again.

  When she emerged from a fitful night, sunlight was already shining through the front window of the cabin. She took a moment to blink away the sleep from her eyes, and when she got up to check on her patient, she found him staring wide-eyed at her. Surprised to find him so alert, she was too startled to speak.

  Obviously as surprised as she, he asked, “Dr. Taylor still here?”

  “No,” she replied. “Dr. Taylor and his son left last night.”

  “But you stayed?”

  “Somebody had to stay and take care of you,” she scolded playfully. “Go out and get yourself shot—you need somebody to look after you.” She felt his forehead. “Fever’s gone. How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know which hurts most,” he groaned, “my chest or my head. I don’t believe I’ve ever drunk that much whiskey at one time in my whole life.” He closed his eyes for a second as if reminded of the huge hangover. When he opened them again, he shook his head slowly as he gazed into her eyes. “You shoulda gone back with Dr. Taylor. I ain’t in no shape to take care of you here.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and gazed back at him in mock disgust. “You’re not in shape to take care of anybody,” she scolded. “Certainly not yourself. I’ll be taking care of you, and you’d better not give me any trouble.”

  He wanted to tell her how happy he was to see her, but he felt sure she was there because she thought she was obligated to repay him, and he didn’t want to cause her any embarrassment. So instead of expressing his real feelings, he said, “You don’t owe me anything, Roseanna, and you might wish you hadn’t stayed before it’s over. As soon as I can I’ll try to see you safely home, but right now there are some things I’ve gotta do by myself, and it ain’t gonna be easy.”

  “You’re talking nonsense,” she chided. “What kind of things have you got to do that I can’t help you with?”

  “Well, for right now, I’m about to bust my bladder with all that damn whiskey I downed last night, and you sure as hell ain’t gonna help me with that.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’ve seen a man pee before.”

  “You ain’t seen this man pee,” he responded emphatically.

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Well, what are you gonna do? I don’t think you can get up by yourself.”

  “Maybe I won’t have to get up. There’s another bucket by the back door. Bring it to me, then you can take a walk or somethin’ while I tend to business.”

  Having needs of her own, she laughed and said, “I need to take care of business, too. I’ll go to the outhouse while you’re peeing.”

  “Good idea,” he said, “ ’cept there ain’t no outhouse.”

  That stopped her for a moment. “No outhouse? Then where . . . ?” She didn’t finish her question, realizing that a man who lives alone probably wouldn’t place much importance on having an outhouse. Shaking her head again in exasperation, she went to get the bucket by the back door. “I’ll go to the woods. When I get back, I’ll fix some breakfast for you.” She started out, but stopped to add, “And then I’ll empty your chamber pot.”

  “No, ma’am,” he quickly retorted. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “How are you gonna do it? You can’t stand up yet.”

  “It’ll just stay right under my bunk here,” he said. “In a day or so, I oughta be feelin’ fit enough to get outta bed. I’ll empty the bucket then.”

  “I see,” she replied, nodding her head in exaggerated fashion, then turned and left him to his toilet.

  When she returned, she made the coffee and fixed him breakfast of bacon and beans. Mostly in ne
ed of the coffee, he ate a little of the breakfast before becoming tired from the effort. She reached over and took the coffee cup from his hand just as he began to doze off. She washed the two plates and cups and the few utensils. Then, when she was sure he was asleep, she removed his bucket from under the bunk and took it outside to empty. She rinsed the bucket in the stream and left a little water in the bottom so he wouldn’t know she had emptied it. I don’t fancy the notion of smelling a bucket of pee while it ages, she thought to herself.

  Startled when she heard a snort behind her, she was surprised to discover a few of Jason’s cows approaching the creek to drink. She should have presumed that he had some cattle and horses, she told herself. This was his intention when he bought the land from Raymond Pryor. She wondered how many more were scattered in these mountains because he had seen fit to help the people of Paradise.

  On the second day of his recovery, he decided that he was able to get off the bunk. He managed to stand for a few minutes before he started to sway and he would have fallen had not Roseanna been there to support him. Angry at himself for his weakness, he swore that he would make it the following day. He was as good as his word, for the third day saw him able to not only stand but walk to the kitchen table and sit on the stool while he drank his coffee. On the fourth day, they had a visitor when young Mike Taylor showed up about midday.

  Jason wanted to know what the news was in Paradise, and Mike reported that they had readied themselves to defend the town, but so far there had been no sign of Cantrell or the others. “I brought you some things from Mrs. Hatfield,” he said after they had chatted for a while. “She sent some flour and lard, some cornmeal, and some more coffee beans.” He looked at Jason with a wide grin and said, “I swear, I sure am glad to see you alive. I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it the last time I saw you.”

  “I reckon you can credit Roseanna for that,” Jason said. “I wasn’t too sure of it myself when you folks showed up that night. I guess Doc did a good job, ’cause I’m gettin’ stronger every day.”