It was still early, just past 7:00, when Gus and Bridget dismounted near a gully about a half mile from the damaged fence. They had tracked cattle and horses, which meant the cattle hadn’t wandered off because of a break in the fence. Someone—two people, actually—had damaged the fence and driven the cows off.
Once he knew they were dealing with rustlers, Gus had ordered Bridget to go back to the ranch. She had looked at him like he was crazy.
“Gus, I can probably shoot better than you, and I’m just as good a rider. You can’t do this alone, and Jeff and Marty went to Vale for supplies. Unless you want me to go get Per instead, I’m your help today.”
At least the feisty Bridget was back. He had been concerned about the mopey version of his wife’s cousin. But he didn’t want to put her in any danger. It would take two days to get the sheriff back here, he imagined, and by then the cattle could be in China. Their ranch was small potatoes in this neck of the woods. He sighed.
They tied their horses to some sturdy bushes and made their way toward the gully, where they had spotted smoke at the far end. And then they heard cattle lowing. They exchanged a look. It might not be all the cattle that were missing, but they would retrieve what they could find. Why hadn’t the rustlers taken off? They should be long gone by now. Perhaps they were overconfident. By Gus’s token, at least a dozen cows had disappeared two different times from two separate breaks in the fence. The cattle they heard now could be all of them or just the second batch taken. Well, the rustling days of these hombres were about to end. Gus was still uncomfortable letting Bridget participate in this confrontation, yet almost chuckled at that. There was no “letting” Bridget do anything. She was as uncontrollable as his wife, and he wouldn’t change a thing about Per, so he could hardly fault her cousin. Too much.
Gus whispered that he would head toward the other end of the gully, between the men and the cattle. She should slowly approach, and wait until he made his move. Then they would face the thieves from both sides. If it turned into a gun battle, they would have an advantage.
“Just don’t shoot me,” Gus whispered.
“Same goes,” Bridget whispered back.
The plan worked well as they closed in on the two rustlers. The men looked like they had ridden a rough trail. They were unkempt, unshaven and just overall appeared hard and badly in need of baths. And they were caught dead to rights, drinking coffee and smoking cigars. They didn’t even have a chance to draw their pistols. Bridget was feeling an inward sigh of relief when a third man came out of the woods and all hell broke loose. He began firing, and when Bridget and Gus turned their attention to the immediate danger, the two other outlaws dove to the side and drew their pistols. Bridget took down one of them with a bullet to the leg and felt a sting in her side as she threw herself to the ground. Gus winged the third outlaw, who disappeared through the woods, and both of them shot the other man. One bullet hit him in the leg and other in the chest. Meanwhile, the cattle at the far end of the ravine got spooked and started bawling, trying to climb out of the gully.
“Bridget, are you all right?” Gus backed up and tried to settle the cattle down as he waited for her answer.
“I’m fine,” she called back. “You?”
“I’m good.”
Bridget picked up the pistols from the two men near the campfire. One was writhing and bellyaching about his leg wound. The other’s breath was raspy, blood spreading across his chest and trickling out of his mouth. As she turned to him to see if she could help him, he took a last rattled breath and his head fell to the side. She checked the pulse on his neck. There was none. Although he had done wrong, she said a quick prayer for the dear departed.
The other cowboy watched. “You kilt Hobie’s brother. He’s gonna be pissed.”
“We didn’t want to kill anybody. You shouldn’t have stolen our cattle. In most places, you know, they hang rustlers.”
“What do you need with all them cattle?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To feed our family maybe? To make an honest living?”
She shook her head as Gus approached. “Give me your bandana,” she instructed.
He untied it and handed it to her. She folded it up and pressed it against the surviving outlaw’s wound. He bellowed.
“Do you want me to stop the bleeding or not?”
That shut him up. She took off her own red bandana and tied the padding in place. Then she looked up at Gus. “What about the third one?”
“I tracked him a little ways. He had a horse and took off.” He eyed the wounded outlaw. “Your pal deserted you.”
“You’ll be hearing from him,” the man said through gritted teeth. “You kilt his brother.”
Bridget didn’t know which of them had fired the fatal shot. The man had turned both ways firing at them, and it had all happened so fast. She felt sorry that he was dead, that a life was wasted, but not too guilty that she may have killed him. Still, it was better not knowing.
“I need to take this one,” Gus motioned toward the wounded man, “and that one to the sheriff, but I don’t want you to have to ride back alone. Maybe you should come with me.”
Bridget shook her head. “Someone needs to drive the cattle back to the north pasture, and you can’t be two places at once. I’ll do that.”
Reluctantly, he nodded, and Bridget headed toward the horses at the other end of the gully. Now that her adrenaline level had eased off, her side started to hurt. She looked down, opened her brown vest and saw blood spreading along her blouse and riding skirt and was actually surprised. She had been shot. With her heart rate and her heightened concentration level getting back to normal, she could feel it. The bullet went through the vest, which was why the blood wasn’t that obvious. If Gus had seen it, he would have had a fit.
Well, he had enough on his mind. He didn’t need to be worrying about her. The first thing she did was feel around her back for an exit wound. There wasn’t one; the bullet was still in her. That was not good. Next, she needed to stop the blood flow but wasn’t wearing a petticoat to rip. Ah, she had a spare shirt in her saddle bag. That would do the trick. Once she reached her horse, she ripped the shirt into a couple of strips. She folded up one to use as a pad and tied it on with the other, flinching as she secured the knot. That really hurt. She blew out a breath and called on her inner strength. She needed to get those cattle back. They wouldn’t stay in the ravine forever and might be impossible to find if they strayed too far.
She covered the wound and bandaging with her vest and mounted, intent on showing Gus she was fine and capable. She pulled Gus’s horse along with her. At the campsite, he had bound the prisoner’s hands behind him and tied him on his horse. The man was still whining and complaining. He really made a poor outlaw. She watched as Gus hefted the dead man onto his horse after rolling him in a blanket. He pulled out another length of rope and began tying him to the saddle.
“Tell Per I’ll spend the night in town. I won’t be able to ride very fast, and it’ll be too late by the time I’m done there. I’ll probably pass the boys on their way back.”
“All right. Watch out for that other fellow.”
“You too. Don’t take any chances, Bridget.”
“I’ll say the same to you, Gus. Per would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
He snorted and she headed off to the other end of the ravine to start driving the cattle. Although her side ached, the pain was manageable. Driving eight head of cattle was a little less manageable. She finally coaxed them out of the gulch only to have one or more wander this way and that. Every time she turned her horse to force them back on track, her side hurt like the devil. By the time she got to the recent break in the fence, she was panting and sweating, not feeling very well at all. She climbed down, grabbing onto her saddle as her knees buckled. After a few moments, she gathered her strength and widened the break in the fence, then led the first couple of cows into the pasture. After that, it was fairly easy to drive the others in.
She wouldn’t have had the strength to repair the fence even if she’d had the proper tools. Instead, she took a length of rope from behind her saddle and tied a couple of stout sticks across the break, which would prevent the cattle from escaping. Now, if she could just make it home. Home. It really is my home now. She smiled, then cringed in pain as she turned her horse toward the ranch.
Now every beat of her horse’s hooves shot a pain through her side. She looked down, not surprised to see the wound had bled through her bandaging. She was torn between urging the horse into a gallop to get to the ranch house sooner and slowing her down to a walk so she would feel less jarring. She settled for a canter, praying she could hold on until they reached the house.
Just half a mile now, then a quarter of a mile. She could see it in the distance, and Karl’s cabin beyond that. How long ago it seemed that she had arrived to find him hurt and suffering, growling like a wounded bear. She smiled at that. He was her wounded bear. Her stubborn, grouchy, beautiful wounded bear. And in that moment, as she felt her strength ebbing, she realized she loved Karl Burgen. Why? She might not even be able to explain it, but he had somehow grouched his way into her heart.
It was probably less than an eighth of a mile now, and she didn’t think she could make it. She couldn’t sit up in the saddle anymore and was leaning forward, both hands on the pommel. By the time she got to the ranch house, her head was swimming, and she did the drunken cowboy dismount, falling to the ground in a heap. Just when she thought her side couldn’t hurt any worse, that took her breath away, literally. She needed to get up and take care of the wound. Well, maybe she would just take a wee nap first.
At that point, Per, who had just put the baby down, came outside in response to the thump she had heard.
“Bridget!” She rushed to her cousin’s side, quickly assessing the situation. “Where’s Gus?” Her heart was in her throat.
It was a struggle to speak. “He…he’s fine, Per. Rustlers. He took them…to town. He’s…he’s staying there overnight.”
She helped her cousin sit, although Bridget held her side and groaned. “And left you to make it back here hurt?” She couldn’t believe her husband could be so thoughtless.
“He…he didn’t know I was shot. I didn’t tell him. Just let me rest a minute.”
She laid back down.
“Karl! Karl! I need you!”
Bridget could hear the panic in her cousin’s voice. She must be even worse off than she thought. Karl also heard the desperation in Per’s call and came out of his cabin at a run, barely limping at all. When he saw Bridget lying on the ground, bleeding, his heart nearly stopped. He dropped to her side.
“She’s been shot.”
She winced as he gently scooped her up and strode up the steps into the ranch house.
“You’re…you’re out of the cabin,” she said dumbly. “You’re not limping. Give a care to your arm.”
He was surprised that he barely felt a twinge in his leg or his arm, although the arm splints were a little unwieldy while carrying Bridget. Well, needs must.
“You didn’t have to get shot. I would have come out if you’d asked.”
She smiled weakly at that. “When have you ever done anything I asked?”
He looked over his shoulder at Per. “Where should I put her?”
“Your old room. It’s Bridget’s room now.”
That somehow gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling.
It occurred to Bridget in her muddled mind that she knew more about healing than the two of them put together. She had to gather her thoughts before she passed out. Karl was about to lay her on the bed when she stopped him.
“Wait. Set me down on the bare floor while you find some towels to put down. No sense ruining the bedding with my blood.”
He looked at her like she was insane but didn’t miss the dogged look in her eyes.
“While you do that…tell Per to heat up some water and make some willow bark tea. When you come back with the towels, get…get my medical bag out of the armoire. And hurry.
“Yes, general,” he said as went off in search of towels.
She didn’t tell him she wanted him to hurry because she was struggling to maintain consciousness. She had to stay alert until she could tell them how to extract the bullet. It seemed barely a minute before Karl returned and picked her up to lay her on the bed. The pain was getting unbearable.
“My bag,” she barely whispered.
He quickly retrieved it.
“Find…the long tweezers, the carbolic acid and the healing salve. And needle and thread. Then go ask Per for a bottle of whiskey. Hurry!”
He quickly retrieved the items from the bag, and also grabbed a bottle of laudanum and rushed off, returning only a minute or two later with a laudanum-laced glass of water. Her eyes were closed. He felt near to panic.
“I’ve got the whiskey.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Here. Drink this.”
He felt a moment of satisfaction in dosing Bridget, but just a moment.
She drank the laudanum-laced water and just stared at him for a moment through glassy eyes before focusing. “Dump the water in the bowl out the window and…and fill it with several inches of whiskey. Then put the tweezers, needle, a good 10 inches of the thread and your hands in the whiskey.”
“My hands?”
“Yes. You’re going to…sterilize the wound and then dig the bullet out.”
“Me?”
If she had enough strength, she would have laughed at his horrified look. “Well, I can’t do it, can I?”
“What about Per?”
“You want…want to draw straws or are you just going to do it?”
“All right, all right.” After following her directions with the stale water, he poured the whiskey in the bowl and put the items in and then his hands, although immersing the hand with the splints was awkward. He looked up as Per arrived with a kettle of hot water.
“Wash the wound with the hot water,” Bridget instructed.
Karl couldn’t help but notice she was deathly pale as Per did the washing. If anything, her skin got even whiter.
She looked at Karl. “Now pour some whiskey on the wound. Per, you...you hold my shoulders.”
Karl did the pouring, feeling like a heel when Bridget could not stop herself from moaning piteously. She was perspiring now and breathing heavily.
“All right. Per, you…you continue to hold me down. Don’t…don’t let me move. Karl, take the tweezers and get the bullet out. If I…if I pass out, after the bullet is out, clean the wound with carbolic acid, then stitch it up. Cover it…with my healing salve and bandage it.”
She closed her eyes. He willed her to be unconscious for his probing. He wanted to wait, but knew he couldn’t. Christ, I can’t do this.
“You…you can do this, Karl.”
Was she reading his mind? He took a deep breath. The sooner he got on with it, the better chance she had of recovering. He picked up the tweezers and turned toward her. Again, she wanted to laugh but could not summon the strength to do so. He looked like he was marching into battle. Perhaps he was.