CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE RIDE BACK to Tascosa was long and painful for Clay. In and out of consciousness, he was unable to stay on his horse. After a short distance, they stopped while Jonesy found a couple of straight mesquite limbs and, using ropes and Clay’s saddle blanket, fashioned a sled that his horse could pull.
“I fear this ain’t gonna be a very comfortable ride,” he said as he helped Breckenridge down onto the blanket.
The constant jostling caused the bleeding to start again, and by the time they reached the livery, Clay was too weak to say anything but “It’s over.” His voice was barely a whisper.
Price’s wife, Anna, normally even more quiet and reserved than he, had assumed the role of nurse in their absence, seeing that Rayburn was made comfortable. His face had been bandaged and his ribs tightly wrapped with strips of a bedsheet. He was feeling much better by the time Jonesy and Clay returned.
“Lay him on a clean blanket and get his britches off,” Anna said, “and boil some more water. I’ll also need my bottle of sulfur powder and the sharpest knife you can find.” She told her husband to hurry down to their cabin and get more freshly washed sheets. He was amazed at the manner in which she had taken command of the situation.
Clay was unconscious as she tenderly cleaned the blood from his wound and tightened a tourniquet above his knee. Jennie knelt next to him, holding his hand and whispering a prayer. Jonesy paced back and forth, then finally decided his best effort would be spent tending to the horses.
The pellets were numerous and deeply embedded. “I’ll need some help restraining him,” Anna said. “I’ve already looked everywhere, and Eli’s got no drinking whiskey we can give him to dull the pain.”
Paul had returned with an armload of sheets and a knife he used for cleaning squirrels and rabbits. He poured boiling water over the blade and handed it to his wife.
“It’s good he’s passed out,” she said. “Let’s hope he remains so.”
Jonesy held one arm and Price the other. Jennie and her grandfather held Clay’s feet. “If he gets to kicking,” Anna said, “you might need to just sit on them.”
For a half hour she carefully dug the knife into Clay’s thigh, lifting out pellet after pellet and placing them on a nearby towel. Jonesy kept count. Anna had removed more than thirty when she wiped her brow and said she was done. “Might be a few more, too deep to get to, but they don’t appear to have damaged any arteries,” she said, “so he’ll just have to carry them around with him.” She used some of Eli’s fishing line and a needle to stitch up several of the more jagged openings, then liberally sprinkled sulfur powder onto the wound.
After she was sure the bleeding had stopped, she bandaged Clay’s leg. “All we can do now is watch to see no infection sets in.” She sounded exhausted.
Jonesy positioned a saddle under the leg, then hugged Anna. “I appreciate what you done,” he said. “Where did you learn how?”
“My daddy served as a nurse for the Confederate Army,” she said. “He took time to teach me a few things.”
“God bless him,” Jennie said.
THE DANGER HAD passed, but everyone remained in the livery for several days, keeping vigil over Breckenridge. Though he was still in and out of consciousness, his color was returning, and he would occasionally ask for sips of water.
Still in pain, Rayburn had improved to the point where he could walk around, and he was getting more grouchy by the day. A good sign, Anna said.
Jonesy drove Jennie out to the farm in the buggy to tend her goats and milk cow and prepare pots of stew and vegetable soup to take back to the livery.
Several townspeople, aware of what had taken place and that safety had been restored, began visiting, bringing food and offering help. A local farmer arrived with a bottle of whiskey for Clay and Eli. “Last I got,” he told them, “but looks like you boys are needing a painkiller worse than me.”
One afternoon, as Jennie was cooking, Jonesy asked what her future plans were. “I don’t think I got to tell you how sorry I was to hear of your daddy passing,” he said. “With him gone, I’m concerned how you’ll manage.” He didn’t mention the increasingly feeble mental state of her aged grandpa.
“At the funeral,” she said, “there were some folks, Eli included, who kindly offered their help.”
“What worries me,” Jonesy said, “is how much help they can be and for how long. Folks got their own business to tend and people to watch over.”
“I know,” she said as she stirred the stew.
“And what about the mercantile? You been running it by yourself since Madge left.”
The mention of Madge changed the course of the conversation.
“In all the confusion, I’ve not even asked about her,” Jennie said.
“She’s doing fine, enjoying life in Aberdene and liking being married to Clay. Of course, I ain’t sure how pleased she’ll be to see the shape he’s in when we get back home.”
Jennie laughed for the first time in days. “I know how she feels about him. Even if she gives him what for, she’ll be pleased just to have him back. Before you leave, I want to pick out something nice at the store for a late wedding present.”
IT WAS DAYS before there was any talk about what had happened in the canyon. Even then Jonesy approached the subject grudgingly. “What’s done is done,” he said. “A bad man is finally gone, and we’re all the better for it.”
Rayburn, however, continued to press for details. So did Paul Price, who, along with Anna, was spending more time at the livery than at the laundry.
Jonesy insisted they wait until Breckenridge was feeling up to it before they discussed the matter further.
Price mentioned that he’d spoken to the Boot Hill caretaker and the bodies of Doozy and Baggett had been taken care of. “I suggested they be burned,” he said, “but they got buried instead.”
Clay’s healing was a slow process, even with the occasional sip of whiskey when the pain returned. Anna continued her role as nurse, changing bandages and applying sulfur powder twice daily. “I know you’re feeling weak,” she said, “but soon as you can, you need to stand on that leg, no matter how much it hurts. It’ll keep the stiffness away and maybe prevent your having a limp once you’ve recovered.”
Though he had little appetite, Jennie insisted that he let her spoon-feed him her soup.
Jonesy’s attitude quickly turned from sympathy to relief that his friend was going to live. “You’ll be running footraces before you know it,” he said. “And it could be that’ll come in handy once Madge learns you allowed yourself to get shot.”
“When are we heading home?” Clay said.
“A while yet, according to what Nurse Price says. She and Paul are even talking of movin’ you down to their place so you can have the comfort of a real bed.”
Eli, overhearing, spoke up. “I think that would be a fine idea,” he said. “It’s getting mighty crowded here. And I got work to do.”
Jonesy laughed at Rayburn’s foul mood. “Condition you’re in right now, you couldn’t even lift a hammer. And I see you ain’t been turning down any of the free cooking and attention you’re getting.”
Rayburn limped away without a reply. As he did so, Jonesy said, “Once you get a smile back on your face, we got us some talking to do.”
That evening, after a dinner of fried rabbit and collard greens provided by one of the women of the community, the three men gathered near the doorway of the livery to catch the breeze. Jennie had taken her grandpa home, and the Prices had washing that needed tending.
“I been talking with Jennie,” Jonesy said. He explained his concern for her situation. “She’s stuck with that goat farm with only the promise of occasional volunteer help. Then there’s the mercantile, which her grandpa ain’t capable of running. And folks need it for their shopping.”
Clay and Eli could see where he was headed.
“If you’re asking for a vote,” Rayburn said, “it ain’t necessary. It’s time we go visit the colonel and see he makes a contribution so Miss Broder can have proper funding to hire herself some full-time help with the farm and the store. And maybe someone to lend a hand caring for her grandpa.”
Breckenridge agreed. “Not but one of us currently fit to go dig it up,” he said to Jonesy, “so that’ll be your responsibility.”
“Where we going to tell her it come from?”
“We ain’t,” Clay said.
Ten days had passed since he’d been wounded, and Breckenridge was beginning to feel frustrated. Though he could walk short distances, the leg was still swollen, and the pain remained constant.
The good news, Anna told him, was that there was no sign of infection. The bad news was that it was still going to be some time before he could ride a horse.
It was midday when Jonesy appeared at the Price house and entered the room where Clay was just finishing a bowl of vegetable soup. “Got somebody here wanting to see you,” he said.
Clay rolled his eyes. “I don’t need more soup,” he said.
As he spoke, Marshal Rankin appeared in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. “I’ve come to make an arrest and haul you back to Aberdene,” he said. “Wasn’t aware you was laid up.”
Clay’s mouth hung open before he was able to form a sentence. “I can’t believe . . .”
Before he could finish, the marshal stepped aside, and Madge walked into the room. Clay tried to blink away tears, but his wife didn’t. She rushed to his bedside and threw her arms around him. They embraced silently for several seconds before Madge pulled back and placed her hands on Clay’s face. “I had to threaten to throw a hissy fit and shoot the marshal before he finally agreed to accompany me out here,” she said.
Clay turned to Rankin and mouthed the word, “Thanks.”
“I’ve learned you’re gonna live,” the marshal said, “so I’ll leave you two to yourselves and see if Jonesy can find me a cup of coffee.”
“I got plenty of soup you’re welcome to,” Clay said.
Madge was asking questions faster than he could answer them. He gave her a brief recount of chasing Baggett and the gunfight that had left him injured. He told her of Jennie’s father dying and assured her Eli would be back in good health soon. Anna Price, he said, had very likely saved his life with her nursing skills. “I ain’t never had so much soup in my life.
“The most important thing for you to know,” he said, “is that it’s now over.”
He then asked about things at home. Madge quickly went through the list. Everything at the farm was fine, thanks to Ruben. Sarge was wondering when he’d return. Same with Lonnie, who was back in school and doing better with long division. “He’s got a dog now. Named it after his pa,” she said. “Patricia’s been just as worried as I have,” she said, “and badly wanted to come with us. But the marshal and I convinced her that she needed to stay home and watch after Lonnie. We couldn’t leave him by himself for going on three weeks.”
“You need to tell Jonesy that,” Clay said. “I think he’s been about ready to head home without me.”
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Get some rest,” she said. “I’m going to go talk with him. Then, if you think it’s safe now, I might ride out and say hello to Jennie.”
Clay smiled. “It’s safe,” he said. “That’s what we came out here for.”
As she rode past the lot where her saloon had stood, Madge was surprised that she had no nostalgic feelings at all. Nothing about the town, aside from a few people, interested her. She now had a better life in a better place.
Jennie screamed and burst into tears when she saw Madge walking onto the porch. Even Grandpa Asa got to his feet and shuffled toward the door to greet her.
“We were talking about you just yesterday,” Jennie said. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed having your company.”
“And I’ve thought about you a lot, too,” Madge said. “I was so sorry when Clay told me about your daddy.”
They drank lemonade and laughed, reminisced about times good and bad, and talked of how Clay might never eat another bowl of soup once he gets out of Tascosa.
Jennie admitted her future had never been so uncertain.
“One step at a time,” Madge said. “That’s Clay’s motto—and good advice.”
TWO DAYS LATER, Marshal Rankin announced he was ready for everybody to head back to Aberdene. “If I stay away much longer,” he said, “the town’s liable to turn into another lawbreaking Fort Worth.”
Clay was delighted to hear the news, but apprehensive about how he’d be able to make it. The leg was still weak and bothering him considerably.
“Your friend Eli and a couple of his buddies have found a solution to that problem,” Rankin said. “If you can make it up to the barn, I’ll show you.”
Clay hobbled his way up the slope, stopping a couple of times to briefly rest. He felt exhausted when they finally arrived. There, in the center of the room, sat Eli’s wagon, freshly painted, its wheels greased. In the bed were blankets laid over a thick bed of straw. There were several feather pillows donated by local residents. “Ain’t exactly the way heroes are supposed to make their return home, and you’ll be facing backward all the way,” the marshal said, “but you can be assured of a fairly comfortable ride.”
There was one more thing left to do.
Clay summoned Madge to his bedside just as it was getting dark. “Jonesy’s got a chore to attend to, and I thought you might go along and keep him company,” he said.
Though puzzled, Madge agreed. Her horse was already saddled when she returned to the livery.
When they reached the entrance to Boot Hill, Jonesy handed her a torch and lit it. “I’ll need you to hold this while I do my digging,” he said.
“Oh, my stars. Dig what?”
Jonesy laughed into the warm night. “There’ll be no dead folks dug up, I promise,” he said. “The colonel’s just been keeping something for us.”
Despite the size of its headstone, it took Pate a few minutes to locate the grave site of the famous Basil Jay Hawthorne. Once he did, it took only a few minutes to unearth the strongbox that contained the canvas bag. He handed it to Madge. “Look inside.”
The sight of so many bills and gold coins took her breath away. “So this is what it was all about,” she finally said.
“For the most part, yes. Some other matters as well.”
They returned to the Price house, where Clay and Eli were waiting. They quit counting after the total reached several thousand dollars. Pate and Breckenridge insisted that Rayburn take a small portion “to make up for earnings lost while being stove-up and so grouchy.”
“Also, for the purchase of your wagon, since I ain’t planning on bringing it back,” Clay said.
Eli argued against it before reluctantly accepting. The rest went into the same saddlebags in which it had been found.
Later that night, when he was certain Jennie was asleep, Jonesy crept onto the porch of her farmhouse and left the saddlebags.