Mail Order Cowboy. Laurie Kingery
the toe of his boot in the dust and refused to meet her eyes. “Mr. Josh, he had some in the bunkhouse. He didn’t drink it very often,” he added in a defensive tone, “an’ never ’til the day’s work was done. He never would let me have any, neither. Said I wasn’t a man growed yet. He said I wasn’t to tell you, but I reckon I needed t’ break that promise.”
“That’s fine, Bobby,” Nicholas Brookfield said, taking the bottle from him. “Now go hold one of the knife blades in the fire for a minute.”
After the boy did as he was bid and returned with the knife, its tip still glowing red.
“Now you hold the hot knife, Miss Matthews—don’t let it touch anything, while you, Bobby, hold Mr. Josh by the shoulder, just so…”
Obediently, she held the knife, watching as Bobby braced one of Josh’s shoulders, holding it just far enough above the ground so that the arrow shaft was visible, while Brookfield sawed at the arrow shaft until he had cut it in two, then shifted the wounded man slightly so that he was no longer lying over the arrowhead and the tip of the shaft that was still embedded in the ground. Although Josh groaned, he did not wake up.
Brookfield and Bobby switched sides.
Caroline came from the house then, lugging a bucket of water that splashed droplets out the side with each step she took. “I thought it best to set Sarah to making up the bed in your spare room…” She stopped stock-still when she caught sight of Josh. “Heaven have mercy, he’s in a bad way, isn’t he? I was afraid she’d faint if she saw him like this.”
Milly nodded, knowing Caroline was right. She’d felt dizzy herself, just looking at all that blood, but knew fainting was a luxury she didn’t have. Josh needed her to be steady right now and help Nicholas Brookfield.
The Englishman had cut the other shaft away while she spoke to Caroline and was pouring the whiskey liberally over the wounds and his hands now. “I should have told you, but I’m going to need some bandages here as well. These wounds are liable to bleed when I pull the arrow shafts out.”
Milly raced into the house, but Sarah had made the bed and had only just begun to rip the other sheet into strips for bandages.
“Milly, how is he? Is he going to make it?” Sarah’s face was still pale, her eyes frightened.
“I don’t know, Sarah. Hurry up with the bandages, will you? We’re going to need a lot of them,” Milly said, and dashed back to where Brookfield and Caroline waited for her. “She doesn’t have them ready yet.”
The Englishman frowned. “I have a handkerchief,” he said, pulling a folded square of spotless linen from his breast pocket. “But we’ll need something for the other side.”
She knew she could send Caroline back to the house and hope that Sarah had some strips of cloth ready by now, but Caroline had sat down, facing away from the wounded man, and was looking a bit green herself. Brookfield looked at her expectantly.
“Wait just a moment,” she said, and turning around so that her back was to Brookfield, reached up under her skirts and began ripping the flounces off her petticoat. She wondered what he must be thinking. Surely the well-brought-up young ladies of England would never have done such a thing, but then, they didn’t face Comanche attacks, did they?
His cool eyes held an element of admiration when she turned around again and showed him the wadded-up flounce.
“Good thinking, Miss Matthews. Do you think you could kneel by Josh’s head and stand ready to apply the bandage quickly, as soon as I pull the first shaft out? I’ll move quickly on to the other one, then. Bobby, you hold his feet. He’ll probably feel this to some extent, and he’s apt to struggle.”
Bobby nodded solemnly, so what could Milly do but agree?
Chapter Four
What a woman, Nick marveled, after they’d carried the still-unconscious old man into the spare bedroom and settled him on the fresh sheets. Not only had Milly Matthews not succumbed to a fit of the vapors while she watched him pull out the arrow shafts and the blood welled up onto the skin, but she quickly halted her sister from doing so as well. None of the English ladies of his acquaintance would have done as well as she did. His admiration for her grew apace, right along with his desire to get to know her better.
Now, of course, was not the appropriate time to ex press such sentiments. “We’ll have to keep an eye on those bandages over the wounds, in case he continues to bleed,” he told Milly. “And watch for fever.” He knew he did not have to tell her that neither would be a good sign—though fever was almost inevitable. Right now, at least, only a very small amount of dried blood showed through on the white cotton.
“We’ll set up watches,” she said in her decisive manner. “I’ll take—”
They all tensed when the sounds of pounding hooves reached them through the open window. Nick grabbed for the shotgun, which he’d gone back outside for as soon as they’d laid the old foreman down on the bed.
“Oh, my heavens, are they back to kill us, too?” Sarah cried, shrinking into the corner.
But Milly strode over to the window and flicked aside the homemade muslin curtains. “It’s the posse from town. Maybe they’ll be in time to catch those thieving Comanches and get our cattle back.” From the slumped set of her shoulders, though, it didn’t look as if she believed it.
A minute later, the men clomped inside, spurs clanking against the plank floor, bringing with them the smells of horses and leather and sweat. Milly went into the kitchen to meet them, and he heard her telling them about Josh’s injuries and how “the Englishman” had pulled the arrows out of the foreman.
All nine of them were soon tramping back into the spare bedroom to see Josh for themselves—and to satisfy their curiosity about the foreign stranger, Nick assumed.
Milly introduced each one to him. They were an assorted lot, some were tall, some short, some had weathered faces and the lean, wiry-legged build of men who spent much time in the saddle. Others were paler and slighter, like shopkeepers. A couple seemed about the same age as Nick; three were younger, boys really, and the rest had graying or thinning hair. All of them nodded cordially to Nick, and all appeared dressed to ride except for the oldest, whom he had seen climbing out of a two-wheeled covered buggy.
“And last but not least is Doctor Harkey,” said Milly, indicating the older man now bending over Josh and peering under the bandages. Doctor Harkey straightened as his name was called, and reached out a hand to Nick.
“You did well, it appears,” he told Nick. “Doubt I could’ve done better myself, though of course only time will tell if old Josh will survive his injuries,” he added, looking back at the unconscious man. “Are you a doctor?”
“Nothing like that, sir, but I’m thankful to hear you don’t think I made things worse,” Nick said.
“He was a soldier in India,” Milly informed the doctor.
“I hate t’ interrupt, but are we gonna stand around jawin’ or are we gonna ride after them Comanches?” asked a beefy, florid-faced middle-aged man. “While we’re talkin’, those murderin’ redskins ’re gallopin’ away with them cattle.” He punctuated his words with a wide sweeping gesture toward the outside.
All the men of the posse straightened and started heading for the door.
Nick stood. “I’d like to go along, if you gentlemen don’t mind. I can use their shotgun, and I have my pistols. That is, if you feel you’ll be all right here, Miss Matthews.”
Milly nodded, obviously surprised by his announcement.
Doctor Harkey stood up. “I’m staying here at least until the posse returns. Josh needs me more than they do.”
The men of the posse looked dubiously at Nick. The beefy man found his voice first. “That’s right kindly of you, stranger, but y’ ain’t