Chief knelt beside Cassie and ran his hands over the leg. “We will set it now.”
“Set it?”
He nodded. “Before she wake up.”
If she wakes up. Cassie’s mind finished his statement.
“Let me get some wrappings. What can we use for a splint?” She’d watched the doctor who’d accompanied the Wild West Show care for those who got injured and sometimes helped him, so she had a smattering of medical knowledge. Broken bones happened often to rodeo riders. But then there wasn’t this lag time between the break and the setting. What could they do?
Chief thought for a moment. “Micah, pull one board off storage box under wagon.”
Micah and Cassie both climbed up the side of the gully and ran to the wagon. While Micah got the board, Cassie rushed to drop the steps and tripped going up. Saved by the door, she thought as she pushed into the wagon and pulled open a cupboard that held the bedsheets and some other linens. Good thing that Uncle Jason liked the finer things of life. She threw one sheet on her bed and, with the other in her arms, hustled back to the woman. Chief took out his knife and cut the edges so she could rip the sheets into usable widths. When Micah returned with a board—one that wasn’t essential for the integrity of the storage box, he assured her—she wrapped some of the strips around it quickly.
“Ready?” Chief looked at Cassie and at Micah, and both nodded. Cassie chewed on her bottom lip. What if they made it worse? What if they killed her while trying to help her? God, please. She had no time to continue praying or thinking.
Cassie instructed the chief to kneel by the woman’s leg while Cassie knelt by her foot and Micah by her head. “Micah, put your hands on her shoulders and hold her steady.”
“You’ve done this before?” he asked.
“I’ve helped the doctor.”
“Good.” Micah swallowed hard.
“Chief, get a good grip on her thigh.”
Chief grasped the woman’s thigh while Cassie gripped her ankle with both hands.
“I’m going to pull hard but not jerk.” Cassie felt sweat break out on her forehead and neck. “Ready?”
Both men nodded.
“One, two, three.”
Cassie pulled, the woman jerked, and the leg gave a muffled snap. Chief probed the shin again and nodded. The leg lay straight and the woman was still breathing. Laying the padded board along the outside of the swollen leg, Cassie began wrapping the board to the leg. Since their splint was longer than the leg, she wrapped the two together so that the board ended at the sole of the woman’s foot with the other end nearly to her waist. When she tied the final knot, she nodded and the two men carefully moved their patient to the blanket.
Cassie glanced at Micah and saw that his face had gone white. She hoped hers had not done the same as she wiped the sweat away with the back of her hand. “We’ll put her on my bed. I’ll go get it ready. You bring her as gently as you can.” She slipped on the gravel going up the gully wall but grabbed a bush for balance and kept on moving. Hearing the dog growling again, she ran faster. They didn’t need another injury to go along with this one. In the wagon she pulled off the blankets and smoothed out the sheet on the bed. They’d use the clean one over her and add the quilt on top of that. They had to get her warmed up. People could die from exposure to the cold, let alone an injury this severe.
A yelp from outside and an expletive she didn’t understand brought her to the doorway. Chief had his back to her, hands gripping two of the blanket corners, thus supporting the woman’s shoulders and head as they started up the steps. Micah carried the woman’s feet, trying to keep the blanket firm enough to keep the splint from putting more pressure on the woman’s body. Slowly Chief found his footing and backed into the wagon, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. When Micah was in the now crowded wagon, they eased their patient onto the bunk bed.
A suffocating odor made Cassie gag and head for the open door. Staring out at the sage- and juniper-covered land and sucking clean air, she tried to figure out what to do. They had to clean the Indian woman up. But how to get her clothing off and bathe her in the cramped space of the bunk bed? All without vomiting from the stench. The cotton skirt would be the easiest part. Could she ask the men to help her? It certainly wouldn’t be proper and might scare the woman to death if she awakened while they were undressing her.
She stepped back in at hearing some lids clatter.
“We pull off the road and stay here tonight.” Chief nodded to Micah, who slipped out the door and climbed up on the wagon seat. He backed the wagon and then clucked the team ahead.
Wind Dancer. Without a thought Cassie jumped out the door and landed running. Her horse, still tied to the same bush, nickered when he saw her. Othello trotted beside her. “Where’s the other dog?” Cassie asked, as if Othello could answer.
She untied the reins and led Wind Dancer back to the wagon, which had now been pulled off the road onto a level space, and tied him up at the wheel. A growl from under the wagon answered her question.
Inside the wagon Chief had the fire going and a pot of water on to heat.
“Has she responded?”
He shook his head.
“I’m going to clean her up. If I need help removing her clothes . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Cut them off.”
“Oh.”
He handed her his knife. “I will round up cattle.”
Cassie swallowed against the lump that had taken up residence in her throat. Vomiting was not to be tolerated. She watched Chief leave the room and turned her attention to the woman. “Who are you?” she whispered, laying the back of her hand against the woman’s forehead. Her dark hair lay twisted in two braids. Cassie gently probed the woman’s head and found a lump the size of a duck egg on the back. Wishing she could see if there was any blood, she dipped a cloth in water and applied it to the spongy lump. The cloth showed dirt but no blood. Was this head injury the reason she was sleeping on instead of screaming out the pain when they set the bone and then moved her?
Before the water was too hot, Cassie used the soap from her trunk and washed the woman’s face and her hands. Her skirt was badly torn, so that made it easier to rip and remove. Several scrapes had scabbed over on her legs. By the time Cassie was finished, she and the room were hot from the heat of the stove, and she had a second kettle of water heating. She collapsed onto a chair, wiping the sweat that was starting to drip into her eyes and stared at her charge.
Chief entered the wagon and pulled the rabbits out of one of the pans. “Cook outside. Cattle are grazing while Micah guards.”
“Good. Would you please open the hatch to air it out in here?” At his nod, she picked up the sparse mound of clothing and dumped it outside to be scrubbed later. The woman slept on. Was there a difference between being unconscious and regular sleeping? Cassie watched the woman breathe. Her lungs seemed to be working all right. Was this normal for a head wound and a broken leg?
If only she could ask Doc her questions. If he were there, he would tell her what to do. That thought took her right back to the Wild West Show. Even as a little girl she had been fascinated by medical things, dogging the doctor when he took care of the troupe. He finally started letting her help with simple things like bringing water for a patient to drink or sweeping the tent floor or rolling bandages. When she progressed to holding a patient’s hand, the smiles as they thanked her were her reward. After nursing her father once when he was sick, she was called on to sit with the wounded or injured even more. While her mother had figured this interest kept her out of trouble, Doc had come to depend on her for simple nursing care of his patients. But nothing like this.
She had to get the wet sheet out from under the woman and a dry one in place. Finally she rolled the wet sheet up from the other side of her patient, laid the dry one in place, and heaved a sigh. She couldn’t roll her over alone.
Stepping out the door, she called Chief and asked him to help. She covered the woman with a
blanket, and the two of them rolled her over onto the dry sheet, pulled out the wet one, and tugged the dry one under her. Cassie cracked her head on the bunk above her and stepped back to rub the sore spot.
“Thank you. I hope we don’t have to do that again.” When the woman lay clean and dry under the sheet and quilt, Cassie felt weariness roll over her in waves. What if the woman died and they had done all this for nothing? She sank onto the lone chair and propped her elbows up on the fold-down table. The breeze blowing into the wagon was turning her sweat to cold. She pushed the hatch cover up enough to free the board propping it open, and darkness took over the wagon.
When she finally stepped outside, the sun was setting, flinging banners of orange and vermilion against the clouds, setting them afire. All the horses but the one Micah was riding were grazing with the cattle and buffalo. The scene brought her a sense of peace, filling her heart and soul. The breeze bore the tang of sagebrush and juniper, blowing away the stench from inside the wagon.
The woman, if only they knew her name, would have nothing to wear unless her clothes were scrubbed and boiled. The chances of her needing clothing by the morning were so slim that Cassie decided to heat the water for washing the clothes over the campfire after supper. It wasn’t like she had a lot to wash. She would hang them in the wagon to dry. Having made that decision, she wandered over to the fire, where Chief had the rabbits sizzling on sticks over the flames.
“My, but that smells good.” She pulled in a deep breath. “It’ll probably bring coyotes from miles away. We better watch the dogs tonight.”
“That one hasn’t left his spot since we stopped wagon.”
“Are he and Othello doing all right together?”
“Not together,” the chief said. “Othello off with Micah.”
“Oh. Did anyone give it something to eat?”
“Get bones from supper.”
“I see. If she lives, she has her dog to thank.” Cassie cupped her elbows in her hands. “What do you know about her?”
“She is Lakota Sioux.”
Cassie refrained from asking him how he knew. “She’s not very old, I think.”
“More than you.”
“We need to make her drink.”
“Drip warm water into mouth.”
“Of course.” Cassie turned back to the wagon. She should have thought of that. The clouds were turning dark purple and gray, the air colder. The spectacle was over for another day. Time to light a lamp and see if she could manage to get a little water into their guest. She moseyed back and climbed the steps. Please, Lord, keep her alive and make her well again.
The three of them took turns during the night, spooning liquid into their patient and the men checking on the herd. While it took Cassie several tries at first, now the woman opened her mouth when the spoon touched her lips. The men were already rounding up the cattle in the morning when Cassie tried again. This time the woman’s eyelashes fluttered.
“Hey, Indian woman, are you getting stronger?” When there was no response, Cassie spooned a couple more times before she stopped. Broth would be better, but what did they have to cook to make it? Between them and the dogs, they’d eaten all the rabbit. She should have kept out enough to boil into broth. How was she supposed to think of everything? Now, not only did she have to think about the cattle, but food for all of them, including two dogs and a severely wounded Indian woman. Knowing for certain where they were going might help make things easier, but perhaps not. For a person who was usually so decisive, she found herself flapping like a flag in the wind.
“You riding with her?” Chief asked later as they were ready to leave.
“I guess so. What if she wakes up and tries to get up?”
Chief didn’t answer. Just nodded and, slamming the steps in place, climbed up on the wagon seat. The jerk when they started moving was announcement enough that they were under way.
A moan came from the woman in the bed. Cassie immediately moved back to her side and soothed a hand over the brown cheek. “You are all right. You are safe now.” The eyelids fluttered, and with a sigh, the woman relaxed again. She had warmed up through the night, but she wasn’t overly warm. Cassie slid her fingers under the woman’s head to feel the lump. It had definitely shrunk. The rocking of the wagon made spooning water impossible. So what could she do?
Her gaze fell on the skirt hanging on the line above the stove. After making sure it was dry, Cassie retrieved her sewing kit from the drawer where she had stashed it and sat down in the square of light from the small window in the door. After several attempts, she was finally able to thread the needle. She knew she’d never win any sewing contests, but she could make the skirt wearable again.
Stitch by stitch she sewed the cut and ripped pieces back together. When finished, she held the skirt up and turned it this way and that. Satisfied, she folded it and laid it at the bottom of the bed. Cassie turned her attention to the woman’s shirt, which had at one time been white or a light color. Now, stained gray was the only description possible. It was a shame she didn’t have any bluing to soak it in. Nor had she brought flatirons for ironing.
The wagon lurched to a stop and Cassie could hear the steps going down before Chief opened the door. “How is she?”
“She moaned and I thought she might be waking up, but . . .” Cassie pointed to the bunk and shrugged. “I’ve been mending her clothes.”
Chief grunted. “Watering here.”
“Good. You want something to eat?”
He shook his head, giving her a feeling of relief. What did she have to offer the men? They’d dunked the rock-hard biscuits in their coffee for breakfast.
“Come out. Walk around.”
Wind Dancer nickered as soon as he saw her. What she wouldn’t give to be riding him in the glorious sunshine instead of being cooped up inside the dim wagon. She stretched her arms above her head and bent from side to side. If she didn’t work through some of her routines fairly soon, she’d be too stiff and out of practice to make it through even one repetition. But what was the sense in practicing? If those days were really behind her . . . The thought made her blink. Her throat caught on a swallow, and she coughed to clear it.
“We will go hunting tonight.”
She nodded. Hopefully it would be too dark to actually shoot at another deer. As Othello was her nose in the wilds here, was she supposed to be Chief’s eyes? Micah rode up and leaned over to talk more easily. “How is she?”
“Same.”
“Must be rough, riding in the wagon.”
Did he mean for Cassie or the Indian woman?
“Would you rather guard the stock?” he asked.
She shook her head. She wanted to be near when the woman opened her eyes.
“Ready?” Chief swung up onto the wagon seat. Cassie climbed inside so Micah could lock the steps in place. And with another jerk they were off.
She rapped on the small door behind where Chief sat. When he opened it, she hollered, “Is her dog still with us?”
“Beside the wagon.”
“Good.” She wasn’t sure why she was so concerned about the dog, but she wanted the woman to have something of her own when she woke up. Something familiar. Sewing now on the woman’s vest, which had some beading along the front edge, she studied her patient. The two front pieces of the vest were soft leather, while the back was cotton. She’d cut the back to pull it off the woman. What was she going to do when this chore was finished?
The rocking of the wagon answered her question. She fell asleep and nearly fell off the chair. A nap in the hammock sounded better than on the floor, so she climbed up in it and instantly fell asleep.
Something woke her. She lay there and listened. The wagon was still moving. She heard Micah say something to Chief, but what had awakened her? The mumble came again. She slid out of the hammock and knelt beside the bed. Sure enough, the woman was making sounds. Not English, that was for sure, and since Cassie didn’t know any Indian words, if the woman said
something discernable, Cassie would be no help. She rapped on the small door again and told Chief what had happened.
“You come drive and I will listen.” He stopped the wagon, and they changed places. Cassie hupped the team and they continued south another hour or so. Off in the distance she saw smoke rising. Maybe it was a ranch and they could buy some supplies. She opened the little door.
“Ranch ahead.”
“Trade places.”
She stopped the team and climbed down to lower the steps. She’d heard about western ranch hospitality. Would they be welcomed as she’d heard if they went there, or were they taking a chance? Chance of what, she wasn’t sure, but . . .
11
So do we go visit that ranch and see if they will sell us some supplies?” Cassie looked from one stoic face to the other. Micah shrugged and Chief seemed to be thinking on it. She sipped from her coffee cup. What if they could buy eggs and butter, grain for the horses, meat other than rabbit? Surely they would be coming to a town where they could buy a real ax—or maybe two. She thought of the roll of money Jason had handed her. She had no idea how many fifties it contained but that’s what was on top. If it were all fifties, they would buy two axes for sure.
“Might be better for one to go, not take the wagon and animals down there.”
Cassie tried to understand if he was warning her about something. Better to ask than be caught dumb. “Why not all of us?”
Chief nodded to the wagon. “People might think Gypsies. Don’t like Gypsies. Not Indians either.”
“Why?” She knew he didn’t like a lot of questions, but she needed to understand.
“Gypsies steal. They think Indians do too.”
“So people think all Gypsies are thieves? And Indians?”
He nodded.
Cassie heaved a sigh. “So I should go.”
“Not by yourself.”
Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01] Page 9