A Ranger's Christmas (Lone Star Ranger Book 4) Read online

  “You heard him, boys,” Quincy said. “Let’s get to work.”

  ****

  “Nate, follow me,” Jim ordered. He went over to where his palomino, Sundrop, was standing ground-hitched, took his canteen off the saddlehorn, and got the bag containing his medical supplies out of his saddlebag. Then he and Nate went to where George had been placed. The cook was still unconscious, the lower half of his left leg bent at an odd angle. His face was coated with blood. Most of the skin had been scraped raw when he was pitched onto the gravelly soil. Jim knelt alongside him.

  “As you can see, Nate, George is still out cold,” he said. “The first thing we’ve gotta do is try and bring him around. Open my kit and hand me one of the cloths from it, will you?”

  “Sure,” Nate answered. He did as requested, opening the leather bag and rummaging around until he came up with a square piece of clean cloth. “This the one?”

  “That’s just fine,” Jim said. “I’m gonna pour a bit of water over George’s forehead. With luck, that will wake him up. I wish we had some cold water, but that can’t be helped. His breathin’s good and steady, so I don’t think he’s got any kind of severe brain injury, or a bad concussion. At least, I sure hope not. Then I’ll hand you my canteen. Wet the cloth with some of the water. Not any more’n you have to, though. We’ll need every drop we can spare if the water barrels got busted up when the wagon went over.”

  “Okay, Jim.”

  “Here goes.” Jim poured a bit of water onto George’s forehead and scalp, then handed his canteen to Nate. The water had the desired effect. George’s eyelids flickered open, and he began to splutter.

  “What the devil are you doin’, Jim? Are you tryin’ to drown me? Lemme up.”

  He tried to sit up, but Jim put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Just take it easy,” he urged. “You took a bad spill when the wagon flipped. Don’t try’n move until I see just how bad you’re hurt.”

  “I gotta get to my mules,” George insisted, struggling to rise. He screamed in agony when unbearable pain shot through his leg. He quit fighting Jim’s grip.

  “My leg. Feels…like it’s…busted.” George’s voice was tight.

  “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, pard,” Jim said. “I’m almost certain your leg is broke. And I don’t know yet how bad you might be busted up inside. I don’t want you movin’ until I’ve had the chance to look you over. So stay still while I do just that. Nate’s here to give me a hand.”

  “Nate? He’s just a kid,” George said.

  “But he’s a kid with a lot of guts,” Jim answered. “You know that. Now shut up and let me get to work. I’m gonna clean up your face, first. It got scraped up pretty bad. Nate, hand me that cloth.”

  “Sure,” Nate passed him the dampened rag. Jim used it to carefully wash blood and dirt from George’s face.

  “You’ve got some pebbles stuck under your skin. I’m gonna have to pull those out,” Jim said. “First, I’ve got to pour some whiskey over your face to sterilize it. That’s gonna sting like blazes.”

  “You think you could manage to trickle some of that red-eye into my mouth, long as you’re at it?” George asked.

  “I think that could be arranged,” Jim answered, chuckling. “Just a bit, though. Most of my medicines and bandages were in your wagon. I’m not certain how much of them survived the spill, so I’ve got to conserve what I have. Nate, there’s a small flask of whiskey in my bag. I’ll need that, and the tweezers.”

  “Okay.” Nate pulled out the requested items, and handed them to Jim, who uncorked the bottle and dribbled a meager amount over the scrapes on George’s face. He allowed George a small sip, then dipped the tweezers into the whiskey.

  “Keep as still as you can, George,” he urged. “I know it won’t be easy, but try. Nate, get behind him, and hold down his shoulders if you need to.”

  As soon as Nate was in position, Jim set to work, carefully removing several pebbles from under George’s skin. Once finished, he poured some whiskey onto the cloth, and gently wiped that across George’s face.

  “There, that’s done,” he said. “Now, George, I’m just gonna poke and prod at you a bit, to see if you might have any broken ribs, or internal damage.”

  “Just get at it, will you?” George grumbled.

  “All right.” Jim pushed on George’s sides, thumped his chest. He pressed down on his belly, then punched it with the side of his fist, lightly.

  “Any pain here? Here? How about here?”

  “No,” George answered, to each question.

  “That’s good news,” Jim said. “At least it seems you don’t have any internal injuries. There’s no bleedin’ from your mouth, nose, or ears, either, which is another good sign. Now, the easy part’s over. I’ve got to start on your leg. It’s most likely gonna have to be set. Nate, I’ll want you to…”

  Jim was interrupted by a shout from a short distance behind the chuck wagon. Carl was standing atop a small boulder, waving his arms over his head and yelling, frantically.

  “Jim! Over here! We found Dan! He’s still alive! Hurry up!”

  “I’ll be right there,” Jim called back.

  “Dan’s alive?” Nate said. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

  “What happened to Dan?” George asked.

  “No time for that now. I’ll explain later,” Jim said. “Can you hang on a bit longer?”

  “Yep. Reckon I don’t have a choice, anyhow,” George said. He managed a wan grin. “Go take care of Dan.”

  “Thanks, George. Nate, let’s go.”

  Jim and Nate ran for Carl as fast as their legs would carry them. Carl had climbed down off the boulder, and was now with Joe. Both of them were hunkered alongside a very battered Dan Morton. His clothes were in shreds, his hat gone, every bit of exposed flesh a mass of cuts and bruises. Blood trickled from a deep cut, just over his bruised and swollen right temple. He was lying on his back, and looked up at Jim through eyes glassy with pain.

  “Dan, I’m gonna patch you up. You’ll be just fine,” Jim said, with more confidence than he felt. “We thought for certain you were a goner. How’d you manage to avoid bein’ trampled?”

  “I don’t rightly…know,” Dan said, gasping. “Last thing I recollect…was…runnin’ for my life. Then…buffalo…hit me. Don’t…remember…a thing…after that.”

  “We found him in that little ditch, just behind the rock Carl was standin’ on,” Joe said. “It must’ve been just deep enough to protect him from that stampede. Appears as if the buffalo jumped over him, rather’n tramplin’ him to ribbons. Still, he was all curled up in a ball, and not movin’ at all, just like he was dead. It scared the livin’ daylights outta me and Carl when we rolled him over and he let out a yell. We knew we shouldn’t move him, but we had to get him into some shade.”

  “You both did just fine,” Jim said. “Dan, by lookin’ at you, I can tell you’re in bad shape. But don’t go thinkin’ you’re a goner. You ain’t, not by a long shot. Now, I’m gonna start checkin’ you, all over.”

  Jim knelt alongside Dan, and held up his right hand, with two fingers extended.

  “How many fingers do you see, Dan?” he asked.

  “Two,” Dan answered.

  “That’s good. Your vision hasn’t been affected, which means there probably isn’t any brain injury. That cut on your head’s mighty deep. It’ll need some stitches. I want to see if you’re hurt anywhere else, before I start in on that.”

  As he’d done with George, Jim poked and prodded Dan’s body. When he pressed against Dan’s left side, he howled with agony.

  “That hurt just a bit, Dan?” Jim asked.

  “Just a bit? You like to killed me, Jim, you…” Dan let loose with a string of curses.

  “You ain’t hurt all that bad, if you can cuss like that, pardner,” Jim said. “However, as I suspected, you’ve got a couple of broken ribs. Now, I don’t see any froth bubblin’ from your mouth, and your b
reathin’ ain’t raspy, so I don’t believe any of those ribs have punctured a lung…yet. But I’ve got to bind ’em up real tight to make sure they don’t. That means I’ll need some long strips of cloth. I can’t use your shirt, since it’s tore up so bad, so I reckon that means I’ll have to use mine.” He shrugged out of his shirt, revealing several old scars across his back. Despite himself, Nate gasped, involuntarily.

  “Somethin’ wrong, Nate?” Jim asked.

  “No. Not really,” Nate fibbed.

  “Those scars on my back startle you?” Jim said. “Don’t let ’em. I got those when I was a prisoner of the Yankees durin’ the War, and they thought they could whip some information outta me. It didn’t work. They found out us Texas boys don’t break that easy. But, those days are gone, and best forgotten. Now, I need you to slice up my shirt.”

  He handed the garment to Nate. While Nate cut it into strips, Jim cut off what was left of Dan’s shirt.

  “Carl, Joe, I’ll need you to sit Dan up, and hold him there until I’m finished,” he ordered. “Nate, I’ll need you to hand me the bandages when I ask, and to help keep them good and tight while I tie them around Dan.”

  Dan was helped to a sitting position. Carl and Joe supported him while Jim wrapped the bandages around his middle, pulled them tight, and knotted them in place.

  “How’s that feel?” he asked, once the last knot was tied.

  “I can’t hardly breathe,” Dan answered.

  “Good. That’s how you’re supposed to feel,” Jim answered. “It’s especially important you don’t start coughin’, but if you do, it’s the bandages which will prevent worse damage. I’m plumb sorry those bandages have to be so tight, but it can’t be helped, not unless you want to chance one of those busted ribs pokin’ a hole through your lungs. Now, I’ll need you to keep sittin’ up while I stitch up that cut on your head. You’re not feelin’ faint, or dizzy, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. Just kinda like I got the stuffin’s kicked outta me,” Dan said.

  “Which you pretty much did,” Jim replied. “It’s also gonna hurt when I stitch that cut.”

  “I know that,” Dan said. “I’ve been sewn up before. I’ll get through it.”

  “Good,” Jim said. “Now Nate, I want you to watch carefully while I fix this cut. Just about every man out here knows how to stitch up a wound, and you should, too. And don’t be ashamed if you get kinda sick to your belly while you watch. That happens to most men the first time they work on a deep wound like this one.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Nate answered. “At least, I think so.”

  “That’s the spirit, kid,” Jim said. He gave Nate a reassuring grin. “Now, in my kit there’s a heavy needle, along with some thick surgical thread. There’s also a scalpel, which is kind of a long, sharp, skinny knife. Take those out and give them to me. Another cloth, too.”

  Nate found the needle and thread, as well as the scalpel and cloth. He gave them to Jim.

  “Now, just like you should always do, you need to clean and sterilize whatever instruments you’re using. Your hands, too. Sometimes that means heatin’ a knife blade until it’s good and hot, soakin’ cloths in boilin’ water, or dippin’ them in alcohol or whiskey. Sometimes all of those things. You should also make certain the wound is as clean as possible.”

  Jim took the cloth, and doused it liberally with whiskey. He used it to wash dirt and dried blood out of the gash in Dan’s scalp. He then poured more of the whiskey over the scalpel, as well as his hands.

  “Nate, pay close attention, now,” he ordered. “With a wound like this, you’ve got to cut away the ragged edges before you can suture it. Otherwise, you won’t have good skin, which you need to hold the stitches. I’m also going to shave as much hair away from the wound as possible. You don’t want hair left in any kind of wound, if you can help it. Dan, you ready?”

  “As much as I’ll ever be.”

  Jim took the scalpel, shaved the hair from around the cut, and sliced away the rough edges of the wound.

  “It’ll bleed some, of course, but that’ll stop in a minute. Once it does, I’ll take my stitches. While I’m waitin’, I’ll sterilize the needle and thread.”

  Jim dipped the needle and thread in the whiskey, then wiped away the fresh blood from Dan’s scalp.

  “Now watch close, Nate. You push the edges of the wound together, then take your stitches. Just like sewin’ up your shirt or britches.”

  Efficiently, Jim sewed up the wound. He knotted off the thread after the last stitch, then cut away the excess.

  “There, Dan. That wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked.

  “No. It wasn’t all that awful,” Dan answered.

  “I probably shouldn’t say this,” Nate said, “But remember when you were needlin’ me and Andy after we landed in those cactus, and had to get the spines pulled out of our butts, Dan? Now I guess I can needle you.”

  “Those buffalo might not have killed me, but your jokes sure will, Nate,” Dan said, with a groan.

  “Enough of that,” Jim said. “Dan, I’ve done all I can do for now. Nate and I have to get back to George. He’s got a busted leg I’ve got to set. Carl, Joe, help Dan to where the rest of the men are. Don’t put any more strain on his ribs than you have to. As I said, we don’t want one of them shiftin’ and puttin’ a hole through a lung. I’d rather he was carried on a litter, but there’s none handy. Dan, I’ll check on you later, just to make certain there isn’t somethin’ I missed. Nate, let’s go.”

  Dan was helped to his feet, and, with his arms draped around Carl and Joe’s shoulders, headed for the mesa’s base. Jim and Nate went back to where George still waited. When they reached him, he was still conscious, but sweat beaded his forehead. It was apparent he was in pain, and becoming feverish.

  “How’s Dan?” he asked. “And where’s your shirt, Jim?”

  “Dan’s pretty busted up, but I think he’ll be all right,” Jim answered. “He’s got some broken ribs, a deep cut on his head, which I had to stitch closed, and a whole mess of other hurts. I had to cut up my shirt for bandages to bind his ribs, to answer your other question. Now, it’s time to set that leg. And I don’t need to warn you, George, it’s gonna be pure agony when I do. You’ve seen broken bones set before.”

  “Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know,” George said. “Just gimme a minute to take my bandanna off, so I can shove it in my mouth and bite down on it.”

  “Of course.”

  George removed his bandanna from around his neck, rolled it up, and tied a knot in the middle. Biting down on the knot while Jim worked on his leg would alleviate at least some of the pain. It would also help George keep from screaming.

  “George, I hate to do this, but I’m gonna have to cut open your pants leg to have a look at your leg,” Jim said. “It’s either that, or pull ’em off. And you won’t be able to put ’em back on once that leg is splinted.”

  “Uh-uh. That ain’t gonna happen.” George shook his head. “The only one who takes my pants off, besides me, is my wife Rosita back in Austin. They stay right where they are, thank you very much.”

  “Then I’ll have to rip them open. Nate, there’s a pair of scissors in my bag,” Jim said. “Get them for me, will you?”

  “Sure, Jim.” Nate opened the bag, removed the scissors, and handed them to Jim, who quickly cut open George’s denims’ left leg, along the seam. While George’s leg was clearly broken, at least no bone protruded from the flesh.

  “How bad is it?” George asked.

  “Not quite as bad as I was afraid it was,” Jim answered. “It’s busted, but at least the bone didn’t break through your skin. I’m gonna have to jerk the pieces back in place, then splint your leg until it’s healed. You’ll be laid up for quite a spell, and you might well end up with a permanent limp.”

  “But you won’t have to saw off my leg? I couldn’t stand that.” George’s voice shook with worry.

  “No, I won’t. It’s nowhere near
as bad as that,” Jim assured him. “Now, I’ll need somethin’ to splint it. However, there’s no wood around here. That’s a problem.”

  “Jim, how about a piece off the chuck wagon?” Nate suggested. “There should be some I could pry off.”

  “No! You ain’t bustin’ up my wagon,” George protested.

  “George, I hate to point this out to you, but your wagon already is busted up,” Jim said. “Nate, that’s a good idea. I’d bet there’s already some loose pieces I could use. They need to be straight, a little shorter than George’s leg, and not too wide. Any of the planks will do. Also, grab a blanket from the rig. We’ll need that to pad the leg, and some strips off it to hold the splint in place.”

  “I’ll be back quick as I can,” Nate promised.

  ****

  When Nate reached the wagon, it had been pushed back upright, and was standing on its wheels. Jake and Jill had been untangled from their harness and removed from the traces. They were tied to the wagon’s tail gate. Captain Quincy and the men helping him were picking up the scattered supplies, salvaging what they could, leaving the rest to the desert.

  “Nate,” Quincy said. “Carl and Joe told us Dan’s gonna be all right, praise the Lord. How’s George?”

  “Jim thinks he’ll be fine too, Cap’n, but he’s got a broken leg,” Nate answered. “He sent me for some wood to splint it. We figured a couple of pieces from the wagon will have to make do. Oh, and I need a blanket for paddin’, too.”

  “Of course. Ken.” Quincy called to Ken Demarest, who hurried over.

  “Yeah, Cap’n Dave?”

  “Nate needs two pieces of wood, so Jim can splint George’s leg. Help him with that, will you? Also, get him a blanket from the wagon. Then, after you’ve done that, see if you can help Carl or Joe find Dan’s rifle and six-gun. They’re probably in pieces, trampled into the dirt, but he asked ’em to find them, if they could.”

  “Sure, Cap’n,” Ken answered. “C’mon, Nate. Those buffalo broke up the wagon pretty bad, so we won’t have any trouble findin’ what you need.”

  It only took Nate and Ken a few moments to find the right sized pieces to splint George’s leg. One was lying on the ground, where it had been splintered off, and they pried a second from the tail gate.