West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels

by James Reasoner

  The bunched horses, panicked by the gunfire, broke for freedom and galloped up the creek. One of the remaining horse thieves screamed in terror when the herd raced straight for him. His cries were cut off when the horses ran right over him, trampling him into the sandy soil.

  A bullet from the last man whined past Turnbo's head. Turnbo's two return shots took the man in the stomach, the slugs punching clean through and emerging from his back. Turnbo turned to Baker. The cowboy was flat on his back, but struggling to rise.

  "Take it easy, Tanner," he said. "How bad you hit?"

  "Dunno for certain, but don't think all that bad. Hurts like hell, though," Baker answered.

  "You just wait here," Turnbo ordered. "I'm gonna check those hombres, make sure they're all done for."

  "Un-uh. Nothin' doin'," Baker replied. "I've gotta round up my horses. My entire ranch is tied up in that stock."

  "You'd best hold on a bit while I check that wound first," Turnbo advised. "Just gimme a minute to make sure none of these hombres are playin' possum and waitin' to put bullets in our backs. Your horses won't run all that far. Probably already stopped and grazin'."

  Baker fell back, wincing when pain shot through his chest.

  "Reckon you're right, Ranger," he said, with a gasp. "Don't take too long, though."

  "No longer'n I have to," Turnbo answered. He headed down the bank to examine the rustlers. He checked the five nearest, finding all of them dead. He then walked a short way downstream to where the body of the sixth man had hung up on a sandbar. He dragged the man out of the creek, and confirmed he had also died quickly, either from the bullet in his guts or by drowning. Certain there was no longer any threat from the men, Turnbo headed back to where Baker laid waiting. He hunkered alongside the wounded man.

  "Like I figured, they're all dead. Better let me have a look at that," he said.

  "All right," Baker answered.

  Turnbo opened Baker's shirt to reveal the blood-oozing hole in his chest.

  "You're bleedin' pretty good, Baker," he said. "Bullet's in too deep for me to get at it. I'll try to plug that hole best as I can, until we get to some help." He whistled sharply, twice, and a moment later Hat came trotting up.

  "Good boy," Turnbo told the paint, with a pat to his shoulder. He then dug in his saddlebags and removed a spare bandanna and flask of whiskey.

  "Gonna pour some of this in that bullet hole, then tie this bandanna in place to try'n slow the bleedin'."

  "Quit wastin' time and just get it done," Baker said. "Soon as I'm bandaged up I'm goin' after my horses."

  "Can't stop you if you're that determined," Turnbo replied. "I'll give you a hand roundin' up your stock. Where's the nearest place I can find you some medical attention?"

  "Closest is back at my spread," Baker answered. "Once we reach my place you can ride into town for the doc. What about those horse-stealin' sons, though? You gonna just leave 'em here?"

  "Got no choice," Turnbo answered. "Gettin' that slug dug outta your chest is far more important than draggin' a bunch of dead horse thieves back to town. We'll round up their horses and drive 'em along with yours. Figure that's at least a bit of repayment for your trouble. Once I get back to Abilene, I'll let Sheriff Morton know where to find the bodies. It'll be up to him whether or not he wants to send some men out to retrieve what's left of 'em after the coyotes and buzzards are finished. I'm gonna pour some of this whiskey in the hole now. It's gonna sting somethin' fierce."

  Baker grimaced in pain and let out a groan when Turnbo poured a generous splash of whiskey into his wound.

  "Sorry, but it had to be done," Turnbo said.

  "No need to apologize," Baker answered.

  Turnbo took his sack of Bull Durham from his shirt pocket and sprinkled a good amount of the tobacco into the bullet hole. That done, he took the folded bandanna, placed it over the wound, removed the bandanna from his neck and tied it in place. He helped Baker sit up.

  "You gonna be able to straddle a horse?" he asked.

  "It'll take more'n one bullet to stop Tanner Baker from forkin' a bronc," the cowboy answered. "I could take slugs in both legs, both arms, both lungs and my belly and still outride you, Ranger."

  Turnbo had to laugh.

  "All right, I ain't gonna argue with you. I'll get your horse and bring him here. We'll round up the others, then head for your place."

  "Much obliged."

  Turnbo shoved the whiskey bottle back in his saddlebag, then mounted Hat. It only took a minute to get back to where Baker's horse stood, still ground-hitched and patiently waiting. He picked up Woody's reins and led him back to Baker, who had struggled to his feet. The cowboy pulled himself into the saddle and sat hunched over, gasping for breath.

  "You sure about this, Tanner?" Turnbo asked.

  "I'll be fine. Just need to catch my breath," Baker said. He straightened up and touched Woody lightly with his spurs. "Let's go."

  They located Baker's horses about five hundred yards away, contentedly grazing on a grassy flat. The outlaws' horses had also panicked at the bullets striking around them and were scattered among the T Bar L stock.

  "We'll leave the gear on those horses," Turnbo said. "I'll tie the reins and loop 'em over the saddlehorns, then we can drive 'em back to your place."

  "All right."

  The outlaws' horses were still skittish, so Turnbo had to rope them before he could secure their reins. By the time he was done, he was soaked with sweat. However, with both he and Baker being experienced horsemen, they made short work of bunching the herd and putting them into motion, heading for Baker's ranch.

  "How long's it gonna take us to get to your place?" Turnbo asked.

  "We can cut across country some and save time," Baker answered. "It'll take a couple of hours."

  "You sure you can ride that far? How're you holdin' up?"

  "I'm managin'. Chest still hurts like the devil, but the bleedin' seems to have slowed considerable. Lord willin', I'll make it home."

  "Bueno. But if you think you're gonna fall outta your saddle, you let me know."

  "Will do, Ranger."

  * * *

  Between pushing the horses and the necessity of moving slowly to avoid reopening Baker's wound, it took considerably longer than he had estimated before they reached the T Bar L. It was full dark, with a waxing gibbous moon just looming on the eastern horizon, when they finally reached Baker's home. Hearing the approaching horses and riders, Laura emerged on the front porch. She held a shotgun at the ready.

  "Tanner? Is that you?" she called.

  "It's me and the Ranger, honey," Baker answered, his voice raspy. "We've got our horses. Just gonna put 'em in the corral, toss 'em some hay and water 'em, then we'll be in."

  "I'll give you a hand."

  "No, we'll be fine. Just need coffee and grub, if it's ready."

  "Been holdin' supper for you."

  "Thanks, Laura. We'll be right in."

  "You mean I'm gonna feed and water the horses after I get you in the house," Turnbo said. "You're done in. These cayuses can wait a few minutes while you're tended to."

  "All right, Ranger. I'm too bushed to argue with you." Baker was riding slumped over in the saddle, weary from his exertions and weak from loss of blood.

  The horses were run into the corral, and then Turnbo and Baker dismounted, stripped the gear from their mounts and tossed it on the fence, then ran Hat and Woody in with the others.

  "Reckon I could use your help gettin' to the house," Baker said as he closed the gate. "Can't hardly stand."

  "Lean on me." Turnbo draped Baker's arm over his shoulders and supported the wounded man as they crossed the yard, climbed the steps, and stumbled into the house.

  "Tanner! What happened?" Laura cried.

  "Nothin' to worry about, honey," Baker said. "Took a bullet, that's all. But those hombres who stole our horses got worse. They're all shakin' hands with the devil right about now."

  "Ranger, put him on the couch, right ove
r there," Laura said.

  "All right."

  Baker was laid on the horsehair sofa. His breathing was shallow, skin pale as the moonlight. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He sighed, and his eyes closed.

  "Ranger, how bad is Tanner hurt, really?"

  "Dunno for certain. He's got a bullet in his chest," Turnbo answered. "It's in too deep for me to get to it. Wanted to take him straight to the doc, but he wouldn't hear of it. Insisted we had to round up your horses first. Cost him a lot of blood. I'm goin' for the doc now."

  "Wait just a minute," Laura said. She opened her husband's shirt, then removed Turnbo's makeshift bandages and studied the wound.

  "He'll never last long enough for the doctor to get here," she said. "He's already got a fever, and he's still losing blood. That bullet has to come out right now. I'll have to do it."

  "You?" Turnbo said, his eyebrows raised. "Can you?"

  "My aunt was a nurse for the Confederate Army during the war," Laura said. "She taught me quite a bit about treating bullet and knife wounds. I also convinced Doctor Paerker in my home town of Centerville into being his assistant, so I've had a lot of medical training. I'm as competent in digging out bullets as any physician. I'll just need your help."

  "I'll do whatever you ask," Turnbo said.

  "Fine. I'm going to get water boiling so I can sterilize some knives and cloths. While I'm doing that, could you pull off Tanner's shirt and boots? There's also some blankets in the corner cupboard. I'll need those to cover Tanner once I'm done. Get those, too."

  "Sure."

  Laura disappeared into the kitchen. Turnbo slid Baker's shirt from underneath him, then pulled off his boots and socks. Baker awakened with a groan.

  "Ranger?"

  "Yeah, Baker?"

  "Where am I?"

  "You're on the couch in your own living room," Baker answered. "Your wife says you won't live long enough for the doctor to get here. She's gonna dig the bullet out of you herself."

  "Laura?" Baker grinned weakly. "Yeah, I reckon I'd rather have her work on me than any sawbones. You tended to the horses yet?"

  "Gotta help your wife tend to you first, then I'll worry about the horses," Turnbo answered.

  "Gonna hold you to that," Baker said. "Can't have . . . anything . . . happen to . . . my horses."

  Laura stepped back into the room.

  "Tanner? I thought I heard you."

  "Yeah, Laura. Sorry to be so much trouble."

  "Go on with you, Tanner. I've pulled lots of bullets out of lots of men's chests. You won't be any more trouble than those."

  "Yeah, but those men . . . weren't tryin' to kiss you while . . . you were workin' on them," Baker said with a slight smile.

  "Not in front of the Ranger," Laura answered with a nervous laugh. "You just rest. I'll be back in a few minutes, soon as the water is finished boilin'."

  "All right, honey. Wait . . . how's . . . how's Sunrise?"

  "Sunrise is fine. She had a beautiful filly a few hours ago. Palomino with a star and four white stockings. You can see her tomorrow."

  "That's great," Baker said. "Just . . ." He drifted back into unconsciousness.

  "The water will be done real soon, Ranger," Laura said. "Keep a close eye on him until I come back. You might say a prayer or two while you're waiting."

  "Of course."

  Turnbo settled into a chair opposite the couch. Baker lay deathly still; his only sound an occasional moan.

  "Knew I shouldn't have listened to you, Baker," Turnbo said. "Should have brought you straight back here and forgotten about the blasted horses. Reckon it's too late to worry about that now."

  A few minutes later, Laura called from the kitchen.

  "Ranger, could you help me carry the water and pans in there?"

  "Be right with you."

  Turnbo headed into the kitchen, where Laura was just lifting a kettle of boiling water from the stove. There was another pot of scalding hot water alongside that, along with several knives in a shallow bowl and a stack of clean towels.

  "If you could take that big pot, I can get the rest," Laura said.

  "Put the kettle down and I'll take both of them," Turnbo answered. "You can carry the rest of the stuff."

  "Thank you."

  When they returned to the living room, Baker had regained consciousness and was attempting to sit up.

  "Tanner, where exactly do you think you're going?" Laura asked.

  "Just wanted to check on Woody."

  "Your horse'll be just fine, Baker. I'll take care of him," Turnbo said. "However, you won't be if we don't get that slug out of you."

  "Ranger Turnbo," Laura said.

  "Yes, Laura?"

  "Since Tanner is awake, it would be far easier to work on him on the kitchen table. Tanner, can you walk that far if the Ranger helps you?"

  "Reckon I can," Baker answered.

  "I can carry you if need be," Turnbo said.

  "No need. Just help me up and into the kitchen."

  With Turnbo's help, Baker managed to walk into the kitchen and pull himself onto the table. When he rolled onto his back, his wound began bleeding more heavily.

  "I need to get started right now," Laura said. She removed a wooden spoon from the cupboard and slid it into her husband's mouth.

  "If the pain gets to be too much, bite down on that, Tanner," she ordered. Baker nodded.

  "I'll get the rest of the stuff while you work on him," Turnbo said. By the time he retrieved the supplies from the living room and returned, Laura had already wiped most of the blood from around Baker's wound and washed it out. She held a dark amber bottle over his chest.

  "This is carbolic, and it's gonna burn something fierce when I pour it into that bullet hole, Ranger," she said. "Can you hold Tanner's shoulders down and keep him as still as possible?"

  "I'll do my best."

  Turnbo took up a position at the head of the table and placed his hands on Baker's shoulders.

  "Are you ready, Tanner?" Laura asked. He nodded.

  Laura poured a good amount of the carbolic solution into the hole. Baker bit down hard on the spoon, flinching.

  Laura removed a dull-bladed knife from the shallow, scalding water filled pan.

  "Now, Tanner, you really need to hold still, no matter how much this hurts," she ordered. "If I slip, it could kill you."

  She slid the knife into the hole. Despite himself, Baker's middle jerked upward. Only Turnbo's pressing down hard on his shoulders kept his upper body relatively still and prevented him from lunging off the table. He bit down so hard on the spoon it splintered into two pieces.

  "I'm being as gentle as I can," Laura assured her husband, as she probed for the bullet. "I think I've got the slug. Should have it out in a minute."

  She slid the knife a bit deeper into Baker's chest, then twisted it around when it struck something solid. Carefully, she fished the bullet out.

  "There it is," she said, showing him and Turnbo the battered chunk of lead, and then tossing it aside. "Now I'm going to pack the wound, stitch it up, and bandage it."

  She picked up a blue bottle. "This is sulfur powder," she said. "It will help stop the bleeding and should prevent the wound from festering and becoming infected. Tanner, how are you doing?"

  "All right," he answered; his voice barely a whisper.

  "Good. I won't be much longer."

  When Laura poured the sulfur powder into the hole, Baker screamed at the fiery pain, and then passed out.

  "It's just as well," Laura said. "He won't feel anything while I finish up."

  She poured more powder into the bullet hole, then took a heavy needle and thread and sewed it shut. Finished, she placed a thick, square cloth over the wound and tied it in place.

  "I'm done for now, Ranger," she said. "Could you take Tanner into the bedroom?"

  "Of course." Turnbo picked up the lanky cowboy, carried him to the bedroom, and laid him carefully on the bed. Laura covered him with sheets and a thick blanket. She place
d a cool, damp cloth on his forehead.

  "All we can do now is watch and wait . . . and pray," she said.

  "Reckon so," Turnbo agreed. "I'll go take care of the horses, then be on my way. I'll fetch the doc and send him out soon as I hit town."

  "There's no need to leave until morning," Laura said. "I've done everything that can be done for Tanner, for the moment. It's late, so you won't reach town until much before sunrise anyway. I'm sure you and your horse both need rest. Spend the night here. I'll fix you some supper, then you can get some sleep and start out fresh in the morning."

  Turnbo rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

  "Reckon that'll be all right. I'll see to the horses, then roll my blankets out on the porch."

  "You can sleep on the couch if you prefer," Laura said.

  "Appreciate that, but the porch will be fine," Turnbo answered. "Usually sleep better outdoors anyway."

  "All right. By the time you have the horses settled, I'll have supper waiting."

  "Sounds good."

  Turnbo headed for the corral. He removed the saddles and bridles from the dead outlaws' horses, then grained all the animals and forked a good amount of hay into the corral. He made sure the water troughs were full, then bade goodnight to Hat.

  "You get some rest, pal," he told the paint, tweaking his ears. "We're gonna get another early start."

  Hat whickered, and then went back to munching his hay.

  Laura had prepared a supper of beef stew, homemade bread and freshly churned butter, and dried-apple pie. Turnbo, more famished than he'd realized, gulped down the meal, along with several cups of black coffee. After a final smoke, it was with a feeling of satisfaction that he settled into his blankets on the porch. At least one gang of rustlers wouldn't be stealing any more horses.

  * * *

  The next morning, Turnbo helped Laura tend to the horses, and at her insistence ate a hearty breakfast before departing for Abilene. As expected, Baker's fever had worsened, but he had spent a relatively quiet night. Turnbo assured Laura he would send Doctor Somerset out as soon as he found him. He rode out about an hour after sunrise. Despite the many miles of hard riding yesterday, Hat was eager to run after a night's rest and good feed. Turnbo made good time on the trip to town. He located Doctor Somerset having breakfast at the Stockmans' Café. After hearing what had happened to Tanner Baker, the doctor hurriedly gulped down the rest of his meal, then rode out for the T Bar L. Turnbo next headed for the marshal's office, pausing only long enough to allow Hat a drink from the trough in the town square.