by Edward Gates
That night, a soft glow from the fires at the Indians’ camp illuminated the western sky. He thought that maybe, being a single rider, they wouldn’t notice him or would just leave him alone. Or, maybe he could stay in this oasis for a few more days until the supply wagons came along. Or, maybe he could take a more southern route to avoid the Indian camp. But he knew that if he got off this trail he’d be lost.
After another restless night, Charlie packed up and saddled Bandit. He decided to risk riding the trail to Fort Chadbourne. His anxiousness to get to the fort overcame his fear of the Indians. He headed west, following the path, hoping he wouldn’t be discovered.
About an hour after sunrise, a large dust cloud appeared along the horizon. Maybe the Indians were on the move… away from him. When he got close enough to see what was raising all the dust, he pulled Bandit to a stop. Forty to fifty uniformed riders flying the Sixth Cavalry flag rode ahead of the dust. Charlie watched them as they stopped just shy of a ridge and formed two lines of mounted soldiers side-by-side. Once in position, an officer gave a series of commands. The soldiers readied their weapons and charged forward at full gallop. The army disappeared over the ridge and moments later Charlie heard multiple gunshots.
This would have been the perfect time for Charlie to get as far away from this melee as he could, but his curiosity got the best of him. He nudged Bandit to a full gallop in the direction of the cavalry and stopped at the top of the ridge. He watched as the army charged through the Indian camp firing as they went. They regrouped on the other side of the camp and charged through it again shooting at whatever they saw. A few of the Indians returned fire, dropping some soldiers from their saddles. Many older Indians, women and children were cut down. Charlie was shocked at the random killings of defenseless people. He didn’t see any younger Indian men around at all.
When Charlie finally heard the large group of horses approach from behind, it was too late. The younger Indian braves that made up this group appeared to be returning to their camp. They fired at him. He pulled Bandit to his left and kicked his heels into the horse’s side. Bandit took off on a fast gallop but headed directly at the oncoming Indians. Charlie pulled his pistol and fired two quick shots before he finally got Bandit to turn west. He heard bullets whiz past him and felt a sharp pain in his leg like he’d been punched. He kept Bandit at a full gallop until he glanced over his shoulder and saw that no one was following him. He pulled Bandit to a stop.
With the gunfire from a large battle echoing across the open range, Charlie looked at his leg where he felt the pain and noticed a bloodstain on his pants. His leg began to throb. He removed his neckerchief and tied it around the gunshot wound to try to stop the bleeding.
“Let’s move on, Bandit. That’s none of our concern back there. There has to be some shade and water up ahead.”
The afternoon sun beat down on them as they rode. Charlie dismounted but, as soon as he put his weight on his injured leg, the pain got worse.
He poured some water into his hat and let Bandit drink. “That’s all you get until we find our next water source.”
Charlie limped alongside the black horse for a while, but the pain got to be too much for him. He pulled himself back into the saddle and walked Bandit slowly along the trail. They passed by several dry creeks and washes but there was no sign of shade, water or Fort Chadbourne. They kept riding.
It was early evening when they finally came to Fort Chadbourne. Charlie was exhausted, dehydrated and in pain. The guard directed him to the commander’s office, where the night duty officer welcomed Charlie.
“Is a doctor available?”
“We do have a doctor here, but right now the doctor is travelling with the troops,” the officer replied. “They’re supposed to be back tomorrow.”
“I got shot this morning while the rest of your troops murdered an Indian village.”
“Our troops shot you?”
“No. The Indians were shooting at anything that wasn’t an Indian. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Charlie looked at the officer. “Didn’t you hear me? I said your soldiers gunned down an entire village for no reason.”
“Savages. They have no business being here and they know it. They have their own land up north. They randomly attack settlers and destroy or steal livestock and property. If they don’t go back to their own land, then they need to be eliminated.”
Charlie stared at the officer in disbelief. He couldn’t understand the brutality of these times. This racist mindset was so foreign to him. Finally, he looked away and sighed. The conversation would go nowhere but downhill from here and he needed this officer’s help.
“Is there any medical person around that I could see?”
“We have a corpsman here. I’ll see if he’s available.” The officer stood. “You can put your horse in the stable, and bunk in the troops’ quarters for the night. Most of them are out right now.” He waved to Charlie to follow him.
Charlie unhitched Bandit from the porch railing and slowly limped after the officer across the compound to a long single-story building with several doors facing the parade grounds. The officer pointed to the barn at the end of this long building.
“That’s the stable. I’ll have your mount taken care of for you. We’ll get him fed and watered.”
Charlie tied Bandit to a hitchrail and took the valise and saddlebags with him. The officer helped him to the last door off the sidewalk and opened it. A young soldier sat behind the desk. When he saw the officer enter with Charlie he jumped to attention.
“Private. This man needs medical attention. See what you can do for him.”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer turned to Charlie. “He’ll take care of you. After that, you can turn in. The commander will want to talk to you in the morning.” He left.
Charlie sat in a chair next to the desk while the private turned up the lantern for more light. The corpsman removed Charlie’s neckerchief from around his leg and ripped open the pants to expose the bullet hole.
“Gunshot, huh?” he said, more to himself than to Charlie. He began to assemble a few instruments, a bottle labeled Alcohol and some cloth bandages.
“When were those instruments cleaned last?” Charlie asked.
“I cleaned them this afternoon. Why?”
“How were they cleaned?”
“I just washed them down with some soap and water. Why are you so worried about cleaning these things?”
Charlie looked at the corpsman. “How many of your patients end up with infections?”
“Most of them, I guess. But most times it goes away.”
“I’m going to give you a bit of advice. Most of those infections are coming from the water, and from those instruments.”
The corpsman stared at Charlie with a confused look on his face.
“Boil any water you use for cleaning and throw those instruments in the water for a few minutes after every use. I guarantee those infections will diminish considerably.”
The corpsman stared at his instruments and then back at Charlie, obviously at a loss for words. Then he smiled, which turned into a chuckle. “You’re funnin’ me now, ain’t ya?”
Charlie shook his head. “I’m not going to let you touch my wound unless you boil those instruments. You can pour some of that alcohol on my wound and bandage it up. Then I’m going to bed.”
The private shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself.”
He poured some alcohol on a cloth and cleaned the wound. Charlie gripped the sides of the chair and gritted his teeth. The corpsman then bandaged the wound.
Charlie said he’d be back when the doctor returned. He gingerly walked out of the medical office, favoring his injured leg, and headed to the soldiers’ barracks. When he entered, there were only a few soldiers inside the long open room. Double wooden bunks lined both walls. The soldiers stopped whatever they were doing and looked at Charlie.
“That officer told me I could bunk in here for the night,” Charlie an
nounced.
One soldier pointed to a bed in a corner. “That one’s free.”
Charlie thanked him and stashed his saddlebags and valise under the bed. He rolled out his bedroll on the thin straw mattress and lay down. Staring at the ceiling, Charlie tried to clear his mind of the three-day trip and his brush with death.
His thoughts drifted to how he ended up in an army barracks in northwest Texas in 1867. He had only been in the nineteenth century for a little over a year and his journey was filled with interesting people, dangers and challenges -- all of which were learning experiences. It amazed him that he not only survived in this era but adapted and flourished. He smiled at his accomplishments. He thought of Clemens and Jed. He would have perished without their kindness and tutelage. He thought of Max and the opportunities he afforded him. He thought of the old men he drove freight with for eight months. He couldn’t have had four better role models to learn how to live in these times. The memories continued until Charlie fell asleep with a heart full of gratitude.
70
Rangers
The harsh blast of a bugle brought Charlie out of a sound sleep. He rolled over and watched the few soldiers in the barracks scramble to dress and run outside into the approaching dawn. The night’s rest hadn’t helped Charlie’s pain; in fact, it seemed worse. He was concerned about an infection. He limped to the open door, where he leaned against the doorjamb and observed the soldiers assembling into lines. The bugler played as the flag was raised to the top of a pole.
Charlie was anxious to continue his travel to meet up with the Rangers. Returning to his bunk, he sat down and wondered when or if the doctor would return. He’d have to ask the commander when the troops were scheduled to return. He didn’t like the idea of riding for a few days with a bullet lodged in his leg; but, then again, waiting around here for a doctor to show up wasn’t exactly on the top of his wish-list either. He packed up his bedroll and left his belongings under the cot.
He limped his way across the parade grounds toward the commander’s office, but before he got there he heard a few soldiers shout something from the front gate. Charlie turned and watched as a column of mounted soldiers rode in formation through the gate, followed by their wagons. The soldiers continued through the fort to the parade grounds where they lined up side-by-side in single file. They were addressed by an officer and then dismissed to care for their mounts.
All the wagons pulled up to the long building that housed the medical office. An officer wearing a white uniform coat climbed down from the first wagon and was met by the corpsman. Charlie guessed him to be the doctor. The wounded soldiers were helped from the wagons and into various rooms of that building. The last wagon began offloading the bodies of the soldiers killed in the skirmish.
Charlie hobbled to the medical office and watched as the doctor and the corpsman visited each soldier ascertaining his condition. He sat on a bench on the sidewalk outside one of the rooms.
When the doctor passed by Charlie, he stopped. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Charlie Turlock, Texas Ranger.”
“Ranger, huh? Were you on this raid?”
“Unintentionally. I happened to be in the area when the raid started and I got shot in the leg.”
“He came in last night, sir. I cleaned the wound for him,” the corpsman said.
“Is the bullet still in there?”
The corpsman and Charlie both answered, “Yes.”
“Well, looks like you’ll keep for a little while longer. I got some boys need attention ahead a you.” The doctor turned to the corpsman and instructed him on which patients he’d see first. Then he turned back to Charlie. “Have you seen Bennet?”
“Captain Bennet?” Charlie asked. “Of the Rangers?”
“Yep. He was on the last patrol. About ten of them rode in here a few days ago.”
“They’re here? Where might I find them?”
The doctor pointed to a small building standing off by itself behind the barn and stables. “That’s where they stay when they come here. But I don’t see their horses. Looks like they’re all gone.”
“They come here a lot?”
“Oh, yeah. This is the last stop on their scout patrols. About every week to ten days a group shows up,” the doctor explained. “They usually stay a few days. Recoup, resupply and then head back to Concho.” He looked at Charlie. “Another group’ll be by here in a week or so.” The doctor walked to his office. Charlie sat back down on the bench to wait his turn.
It was a few hours before the corpsman came out and escorted Charlie into the doctor’s office. He sat on the chair next to the desk and watched the doctor clean up from the previous patient.
“So, I hear tell you don’t like my instruments.” The doctor sat down at his desk. Charlie didn’t answer. He became a little nervous. “The corpsman told me what you said to him last night.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Now you tell it to me.”
Charlie felt uneasy. How could he explain infectious bacteria before they were even discovered? He looked out the window, stalling for time. “I was just curious about how many infections you deal with. That’s all. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” The doctor paused. “He told me that you said the instruments caused the infections. Is that what you said?”
“Not exactly.”
The doctor stood. “Well, it got me thinking.” He looked at him. “Those instruments are the only common thread between most of the infections. I want to hear more about it.” He stared at Charlie, waiting for an explanation.
Charlie gazed back out the window, trying to think of anything he could say that wouldn’t affect history. “I really don’t know, Doc. All I can tell you is that I’ve seen people get sick from drinking the water. If you’re using the same water to clean instruments, then it might cause a problem. I know that if you boil the water, for coffee or cooking, it makes it safe to drink. And if it’s safe to drink, then it’ll be safe to clean your instruments. In fact, it seems as if the easiest way to clean your tools is to just throw them into a pot of boiling water. That’s all I know, Doc. I swear.”
The doctor stared past Charlie, obviously in thought. “It almost makes sense,” he mused. The corpsman came in carrying a small caldron of steaming hot water. “Set it in that back room.” He turned to Charlie. “What the hell. I’ll try anything to keep these poor boys from losing limbs because of infections and gangrene.” The doctor picked up a number of instruments and dropped them into the hot water. He looked back at Charlie.
“I’d leave them in there for a few minutes. When you take them out, set them on a clean towel.”
“You a doctor, son?”
“No. I’m not a doctor.”
“I’m a bit curious about how you know these things.”
“I studied the sciences in school back east. I guess I’m an attentive person.”
The doctor pulled the hot instruments from the water with a pair of tongs and set them on a clean towel. “You ready to get that lead out of your leg?”
“No. But… it ain’t going to come out on its own, so I guess this is as good a time as any.”
The doctor directed him to lie down on the bed while he pulled a small blue bottle from a cabinet and assembled the now-sterile instruments. Charlie looked at the ceiling, dreading the doctor’s probing without any anesthetic. He clenched the side of the mattress ready for the doc to start digging. He began to tremble.
“I’m gonna give you something called chloroform. It’ll knock you out. This way you won’t feel nothing and I’ll be able to work better.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. The shakes stopped. He smiled. “Chloroform?”
The doctor nodded. He placed a twice-folded small dry cloth over Charlie’s nose and mouth and slowly dripped a few drops of chloroform onto the cloth. “Just take a few deep breaths and you’ll fall asleep.” Charlie did as the doctor instructed and in no time he was unconscious.
Charlie awoke nauseated and in great pain. He was lying on a cot in a different room from the doctor’s office. His leg burned and throbbed around his wound. He called out for the doctor. The corpsman entered with a mop and a bucket. He smiled at Charlie.
“You’re awake. Are you sick?”
“Yes, I feel sick.”
“Well, don’t fret about that. Everybody who gets that chloroform gets sick afterwards.” He set down the bucket next to Charlie’s bed.
Charlie sank back onto the cot. “Did he get the bullet out?”
“Oh, yeah. Doc Tarpin’s the best. Only took him a couple of minutes to find it. Then he went back in and yanked it right out.” He looked at Charlie. “I s’pose it hurts like the dickens.”
Charlie nodded. “Tarpin?”
“Yes, sir. Major Henry Tarpin. One of the best field surgeons the army has.”
“Never heard of him. But, I’m glad I got the best. Still hurts like hell, though.”
“Well, it should start feeling better tomorrow. You can lay up here for a few days and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
“A few days?” Charlie sat up. “I have to get to Camp Concho and meet up with Captain Bennet and the Rangers.”
“Why don’t you just stay here and wait for them to come back?” the corpsman said. “They’ll be back here within a week. By that time your leg will be fine and you can head out with ‘em.”
Charlie lay back down; the corpsman made a lot of sense. Within a few minutes, he fell back asleep.
Doctor Tarpin woke Charlie around dusk. “How you feelin’, son?”
Charlie cleared the cobwebs from his mind and looked at the doctor. “It’s pretty damn sore.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. It should start feeling better in a day or so.” The doctor stood. “Are you hungry? I can have some food brought in.”
Charlie thought for a moment. “No. I’m not hungry. Thirsty, though. Can I get some water?”