Damn! Sykes swore to himself, thinking that he’d better put a lid on that. Roberta would be fit to be tied if she knew Yeager had found out she had any connection to him or McCloud. “You’ve been drinkin’ too much cheap whiskey,” he said. “There ain’t no damn woman, and I sure as hell ain’t rode down to meet no stage.”
“All right, then,” Yeager replied after a long pause. “I reckon it was somebody else.” He could see that Sykes had no intention of sharing whatever he had working, so he pretended to be done with the matter. I’ll just keep a sharp eye on you, you lying little son of a bitch.
After a few minutes more, Sykes announced that he had to be getting along—he had other business to attend to. “You can keep the rest of that bottle,” he said. “I’ll look you up if I need you again.”
“You do that,” Yeager called after him as he headed for the door. He sat there for only a moment until Sykes had gone out the door. Then, grabbing the half-empty bottle, he quickly followed. Standing in the doorway, he paused to watch Jack make his way across the muddy street, then turn toward the hotel at the end. “Stayin’ in a hotel,” Yeager murmured to himself when Sykes stopped in front of the building and looked back toward the way he had come before going inside. “Yep, ol’ Sykes is come a long way since sleepin’ in the cell next to mine at Deer Lodge. Well, he might as well make up his mind he’s got a new partner.”
Chapter 9
Cody could only guess where the two outlaws might have gone after leaving Blodgett Canyon. Sheriff Tyler in Stevensville had certainly been no help, but Cody figured he couldn’t really blame him. If Roberta’s two abductors had not shown up in town, there was little Tyler could do. The thing that worried Cody now was the likelihood that the lady might have already met with a tragic fate. The two men would certainly avoid Fort Missoula if Roberta was still alive, but where else would they be heading? The more he thought about it as he rode into Missoula, the more he suspected he should have gone back to try to pick up Cullen’s trail, for now he was simply trusting to luck. Regardless, there was little choice left to him except to ask around. Missoula was not that big a settlement, even with the additional folks seeking protection from the Nez Perce. Someone surely must have seen two men fitting Burdette’s and Crocker’s description, or maybe Cullen’s. Thinking that his brother might have gone to the fort’s commanding officer for help, he decided to try there first.
Captain Charles C. Rawn looked up when his company clerk came to his door to announce that there was a civilian wishing to speak to him. He was not inclined to spend much time listening to the problems of another civilian. Things were still uneasy in this part of the valley even after the threat of Indian attacks had passed. His decision to accept the Nez Perce chiefs’ word that they would pass through the valley peacefully had proven to be a wise one. With his troops in reserve, he had backed away from the Lolo Trail and taken no action when the Indians descended the trail and started their peaceful trek to the south. Had he tried to stop the tribe’s advance, it would have more than likely resulted in the loss of his entire command, especially since most of the civilian volunteers had left to return to their homes. Now with the Nez Perce already past Missoula and moving up the Bitterroot Valley, he was still concerned that there might be some minor incident that would spark an attack. They were not out of the woods quite yet.
“Another McCloud brother,” Rawn remarked when told the visitor’s name. “Well, send him in.” He rose from his chair to receive Cody. “What can I do for you, Mr. McCloud?” When told that Cody was looking for his brother, Rawn said, “I tried to talk your brother into scouting for me, but he said he was trailing a woman, and I think she took the stage to Butte.”
This only served to confuse Cody, since there was no mention of the two men who had abducted Roberta. Had she somehow managed to escape? This would be welcome news, indeed, if that were the case. Maybe the absence of the two outlaws was Cullen’s doing. It would not have surprised Cody. Then a thought occurred that caused him to grin. Maybe Cullen was now following Roberta for another reason. There was no doubt that his older brother had been unsuccessful in hiding his infatuation for the handsome woman. As Cullen had been before him, Cody was surprised to hear of the stage line between there and Butte. He thought it a good idea to see if he could make sure the lady who had taken the stage was in fact Roberta.
“Next to the stables,” Rawn replied when Cody asked directions to the stage office. “Say, you aren’t looking for a job as a scout, are you?”
“Reckon not,” Cody answered. “Might later on, though.”
Bill Sawyer turned through the pages of his passenger log, pausing to run his finger down each page, searching for the name. “You’re the second feller wantin’ to know about that woman,” he said as he continued his search. “She must be a special lady.”
“You could say that,” Cody replied. “This other fellow, was he a tall man, clean-shaven, ridin’ a light bay?”
“That sounds like the feller. Friend of yours?”
“He’s my brother.”
Sawyer looked up to scrutinize Cody a little closer. “You don’t favor him that much.” Then he halted his finger on a name. “Here it is—last Thursday—Mrs. Roberta Lawrence,” he said.
“Lawrence?” Cody responded, confused. “You mean Morris, don’t you?”
“Lawrence is what she gave me,” Sawyer said, and shrugged indifferently. “Your brother didn’t say anything about it. He just took off after her.”
Cody nodded solemnly, trying to make sense of the many confusing thoughts in his head. Something wasn’t right, and he felt an urgency to find his brother and straighten the jumble of facts that he had encountered. Morris, Lawrence; Mrs., Miss, he wondered, hoping Cullen could explain. “Much obliged,” he said, and started out along Clark Fork, heading for Butte.
Fred Sullivan was almost disappointed to find their patient still breathing the next morning. It would have made things a good deal less complicated for him if his only obligation was to dig a hole and bury the man. When he walked into the dark barn, he was surprised to see the glow from a lantern in the back stall, and Marcy already there. “You’re here mighty early,” Fred greeted his daughter. “How’s he lookin’ this mornin’?”
She saw no point in telling her father that she had remained by Cullen’s side for most of the night. “I don’t know, Papa,” she replied. “He doesn’t look much different from when we carried him in here last night.” She glanced again at her patient. “He is still alive, though. Right now he’s sleeping. Even when he’s awake, he just lies there real quiet. He doesn’t moan or say anything, just lies there with his eyes kinda half open.”
Fred stroked his chin whiskers as he stared at the unconscious man, hoping he would see some sign of change, either for the better or worse. “Well, I think he still looks too near gone to haul him ten miles over to the doctor.” He studied the problem for another few seconds before deciding. “We’ll let him be for another day, and see if there’s any improvement in the mornin’. If he shows some signs of knowin’ where he is and looks like he might be gettin’ better, me and Jimmy will haul him over to see Dr. Hicks.”
“What if he’s not any better?” Marcy replied.
“Well . . .” Fred hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see tomorrow.” He cocked an eye at his daughter. “Don’t you be gettin’ all softhearted over this feller. He ain’t one of your stray animals you’re always tryin’ to rescue.”
She frowned indignantly. “I’m not getting softhearted or anything else. The man deserves the best care we can give him. At least his wounds aren’t bleeding anymore, so that’s got to be an improvement.”
“I reckon so,” Fred replied, still unsure. “We’ll see how he makes it through the day, then decide tomorrow.”
Reluctant to drag herself away from her patient, Marcy nevertheless had chores to do, so she attended to her duties, but managed to check on Cullen’s progress throughout the d
ay. Without intentionally doing so, Myra gradually deferred most of the patient care to her daughter, so that after only that one day, Cullen became Marcy’s patient. She eagerly accepted the role.
Unaware of the discussion regarding his health, Cullen seemed suspended somewhere between life and death. There was no conscious concern for the direction fate might take him—recovery or death—it seemed so unimportant to him that he didn’t care which was the final destination. He wasn’t sure where he was, but it was a soft bed, much like a nest. When he was conscious, he lay as still as he could because even the slightest movement of his body brought on sharp spasms of pain. He was aware that it was always dark, not realizing that he was in a barn and his eyes were only half open. The voices he heard were soft—maybe the voices of angels, he could not be sure—especially one. He had no idea of the passing of time, but it was the morning of the second day that he became fully aware of the pain caused by his wounds, and the image of the scarred face of his assailant returned to bring his mind back to recall, Tell him Bob Yeager sent you. The words came back to jar his memory. His reaction automatic, he immediately tried to sit up, but dropped back in an overwhelming grip of pain.
“Easy, easy now. You have to lie back.” It was the soft angelic voice he had heard before, and he could feel her hands on his shoulders, gently restraining him. Realizing then that he was in no immediate danger, he relaxed, his eyes blinking open wide for the first time since he’d been shot. As if he were awaking from a dream, things gradually began to come into focus, and he found himself gazing into the smiling face of Marcy Sullivan and he felt her hand on his forehead. “You lie real still,” she said, “and I’ll be right back with some water and a cool cloth.” She left him then and he heard her calling out as she ran from the barn, “Papa! He’s awake! He’s gonna be all right.”
A short time later, Marcy and her mother and father were standing over him, all three studying him intently. He wanted to speak, to thank them, but it seemed difficult for him to form the words, so he tried to smile instead. Fred was the first to speak, and he was not as encouraged as Marcy had been. “It’s still too hard to tell if he’s gonna be all right or not,” he said. “Those wounds still look pretty bad and I don’t think it’d be safe to try to move him. What do you think, Myra?”
His wife shook her head slowly while gazing at the unfortunate man. “He’s a long way from getting out of the woods. He needs to see a doctor and get those bullets out of his body, but I don’t see how he could make it that far in the wagon.”
“I’ll go fetch the doctor,” Jimmy volunteered, having just entered the barn to find them all standing over the patient.
“All right, son,” Fred replied almost reluctantly. “That’s his best chance of livin’, I guess. I’ll help you saddle up. If you get started right away, you oughta get there and back before dark.” Relieved to have the decision made for him, he followed Jimmy out of the stall.
“Thank you.”
The voice was weak and a bit shaky, but the unexpected suddenness was enough to startle her. Marcy paused to smile at her patient as she applied a fresh bandage to one of the wounds in his shoulder that had started to bleed again. “So you’re finally back, Mr. McCloud,” she said. “I’m happy to see you can talk again.”
“Cullen,” he said, correcting her. “How did I get here?” His words came with great effort.
“My brother found you beside the road to Helena,” she said. “He and my father brought you here.” Her expression changed to one of concern. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I thought I was dead.”
She laughed. “You looked like you were dead, but I’m going to take care of you and you’ll be all right. Jimmy went to Deer Lodge to fetch the doctor. He should be back before long.” A thought popped into her mind then. “Do you know where you are?”
“I think so,” he said. “I know I remember you.”
His answer pleased her. “Good,” she said. “Now you lie back and rest a while.”
He did as she instructed and was able to fall asleep again. A little after dusk, Jimmy returned from Deer Lodge. He was alone, which surprised no one, because Fred didn’t expect Dr. Hicks to come until morning, so he would have enough time to see the patient and return home before dark. This was not the case, however, for Jimmy told them that Dr. Hicks was not coming. “He said he couldn’t ride all the way down here,” Jimmy related. “He said he was too busy to leave for the whole day, and we’d have to bring Mr. McCloud to Deer Lodge. That was the only way he could take care of him.”
This was not good news to Myra or Fred, and Marcy was appalled. “Did you tell him how serious his wounds were?” she asked. Jimmy replied that he had. “Did you tell him he had been shot three times?” she implored. Jimmy nodded in response. “How could he be so indifferent?” she demanded.
“Take it easy, Marcy,” Fred advised. “It don’t surprise me none. We’ll just have to take care of him the best we can. Maybe he’s strong enough to pull himself through on his own.”
“He needs a doctor,” Marcy commented to no one in particular. Then turning back to her patient, she said, “Maybe we can at least move him into the house.”
Her suggestion brought an immediate, although weak, response from Cullen. “If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon stay right where I am.” His reaction was not entirely due to a desire to cause as little trouble as possible. Every move he made caused excruciating pain, and he didn’t relish the idea of being hauled into the house by the four of them. There was also the matter of answering nature’s calls. Cullen was a very private man and he speculated that this could be accomplished much easier where he was. All he needed was a bucket and the cooperation of Jimmy to empty it for him.
Marcy was the first to object and insisted that it would be unthinkable to keep him in the barn like a sick animal. She was met, however, with Cullen’s feeble protests that the barn was where he wanted to be. “It don’t seem fittin’,” her father said, “but he may be right. It might be best not to move him till he’s a little stronger. Then we can take him in the house.”
Reluctantly, Marcy gave in, but promised Cullen that she would continue to check on him frequently. “Now,” she said, “I’m wondering if you’re strong enough to take a little something to eat.” He had had nothing but a few sips of water since they had brought him in, and there had been no signs that any internal organs had been struck by the bullets. So she thought some form of nourishment might speed up his recovery. “Maybe you could handle some broth with a little meat in it,” she suggested.
Cullen attempted a smile for her benefit. “I could handle a little coffee,” he said.
Pleased to notice a bit of fortitude, she replied cheerfully, “Coming right up. Then we’ll see if you can eat something.”
He was to find that, miserable as he felt, he was not to suffer from lack of company. Thankfully, he slept much of the day, and it seemed that almost every time he awoke, it was to find Marcy smiling down at him. It was after one of these catnaps in the afternoon that she appeared carrying a bucket of hot water, a washcloth, and towels, causing his immediate concern. “Just leave’em beside me,” he said. “I can manage.”
“Fiddle-de-dee,” she replied. “You men don’t know how to wash yourselves even when you’re not shot up, and I intend to see that’s it done properly. Now sit up a little, so I can get you out of that shirt. I’ll help you. Just hold on to my shoulders. We’ll get that shirt off and you can wear this one of Papa’s.”
“Really,” he protested, “I can take care of it myself. I’ve already ruined one of your pa’s shirts.”
“I don’t want any sass out of you,” she insisted cheerfully. “And I don’t see how you can change those bandages. So if you just do as I tell you, and don’t give me any trouble, we’ll have you all cleaned up and feeling better in no time.”
Realizing that it was useless to protest for the sake of his modesty, he surrendered t
o the care of his attending angel. She tenderly applied the washcloths after removing his bandages, cleaning around the wounds as best she could without causing him too much pain. It was obvious to her, however, that his wounds were showing signs of festering, and it worried her to admit that he needed a doctor’s care.
After tying fresh bandages on, she completed the bath of his torso, down to his belt buckle where she was stopped by his hand on hers. “I reckon I’d best do the rest, myself,” he said. “Just leave me the bucket of water.”
“Oh, fiddle,” she scoffed. “You don’t have anything too precious to see.” She started to pull her hand out of his grasp, but was surprised by the strength in his grip.
“I’d best do it,” he repeated softly.
“I expect he’s right,” Fred Sullivan said, entering the stall at that moment. “I can help him with that part.”
“Much obliged,” Cullen said, “but I reckon I’ll manage it myself.” Fred was visibly relieved.
“Silly men,” Marcy remarked. “Here, let me unbuckle your belt and unbutton your pants. Then we’ll spread the quilt over you and Papa can grab your pants legs and pull them off. All right?”
With all parties in agreement then, they left Cullen alone with the task of cleaning himself. “I’ll have Jimmy get rid of all the wet hay and put in some fresh,” Fred said in parting. Outside the barn, he spoke to his daughter. “Those wounds need some attention. They ain’t gonna heal on their own.” It was an unnecessary comment, for she was already of the same opinion. “And, Marcy,” he continued, “it’s best if you don’t go gettin’ yourself too wound up in takin’ care of that man. He seems a nice enough fellow, but we don’t know anythin’ about him. There must be some reason somebody shot him.”
“Oh, Papa,” Marcy responded impatiently, “I’m not wound up in anything. We’d take care of anybody in his condition.” Even as she said it, she knew inside that she would probably not give as much attention to the average person.
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