“Stay under the steps!” The reply came from behind a huge pine trunk. Buck! Yes, it was his voice! He’d come!
Suddenly he darted from behind the tree, running to another. She saw the flash of the sun against his gun barrel, then heard a shot. The man at the corner of the cabin cried out and fell forward, but just then another shot was fired, and Buck’s whole body was thrust forward, his rifle flying from his hands.
“Buck!” she screamed. “Oh, God!”
He lay flat on his stomach, arms outstretched. Harmony ran from under the steps toward the sluice to get her own rifle, and as she did so Buck suddenly lurched forward, grabbing his gun and managing to cock it. He quickly rolled onto his back, and when Harmony turned to aim at the last man, who was heading toward Buck, ready to finish him off, Buck’s own gun fired at the last minute, and the man flew backward, his face exploding in blood.
Buck laid his head back then, groaning and rolling to his side, and Harmony ran to him. As she knelt beside him she saw that the back of his buckskin jacket was already covered with blood.
“Buck! You’re shot!”
“Watch them!” he groaned. “They might…still be alive.” He moaned, then struggled to his knees as she looked around desperately, seeing no movement.
“I…I think they’re all dead, Buck. This one is, and the one by the steps is! The others haven’t moved! Oh, God, Buck, you’re shot! What should I do!”
“Help me…inside,” he muttered, his voice already weak.
She grabbed his arm and gave him support as he got to his feet, throwing back his head and grimacing. “I’ve got…to get inside…and you’ve got to get it out of me!” he muttered.
Her eyes filled with tears, and her heart with panic. “Me? Buck, I don’t know anything about taking out bullets!”
His breath came in desperate pants, and he looked down at her, putting a hand to her hair. “You…want me to die?”
Their eyes held, and she carefully hugged him around the middle. “Oh, Buck, I love you! I do! I don’t want you to die! You came back! You came back!”
He held her with the arm that hurt less. His whole body seemed to be exploding with pain, from just the one bullet which had entered under his right shoulder blade. He guessed no vital organs had been hit, or he’d never have been able to get to his feet, but a bullet was a bullet. It had to come out—fast.
“Time for talk…later, Shortcake,” he said in a near whisper. “But that’s all I need to hear…to hang on. Now help me inside…and fill me up with whiskey…and get this damned bullet out of me, or there will be five men to bury instead of four.”
She felt his weight pressing on her as he weakened and seemed ready to pass out.
“Oh, Buck—”
“Pick up our rifles,” he told her. “Let me…lean on you…till we get inside. Get me some whiskey…and then come back out here and pick up every weapon you can find…while I drink up. After that…stoke up your fire, and lay your best knife in it…understand? You’ve got…to do everything…fast as you can.”
She wiped at her tears and nodded her head, quickly bending to pick up their two rifles. He put an arm around her shoulders.
“Did they hurt you bad, Shortcake?” he asked, as she helped him toward the steps.
“No. Not bad. They didn’t have a chance.”
“I saw that big one…hit you.”
“I’m okay. Really, Buck. You’re the one to worry about.”
“He…mauled you.”
“I’m all right, Buck. Please don’t talk so much.”
They reached the steps; the fat man still lay on them.
“I wish…I could have had time…to make him suffer,” Buck hissed.
Harmony shuddered. “I’ll…get him down somehow later,” she declared. “Please get inside, Buck.”
He groaned as he slowly mounted the steps, and Harmony struggled to hang on to him as they made their way around the fat man. “Later,” Buck muttered. “Just…drag them to one side for now…if you can even do that. It will be…hard, Shortcake. You’re so…small. Don’t try…to bury them. I’ll do it…later, when I’m better. It’s cold…will be for a long time. They’ll keep.”
She felt a chill at the thought of four dead men lying around the cabin, but she could never dig a hole big enough to bury them all. She had no choice but to do what he said, and she was glad it was winter.
“Buck, please stop talking.” She got him inside, and he stumbled to the bed, flopping face-down on it. He groaned again, as he wriggled to get his legs onto the bed. Then he turned onto his side at her prompting, so that she could unbutton his coat and flannel shirt and the top half of his long johns. She managed to get the sleeves off one arm, then rolled him onto his other side to get the other sleeves off, throwing aside the coat and shirt and peeling the underwear down to his waist.
“Hurry, Shortcake,” he muttered. “Hurts bad.”
“Buck, I can’t cut into you! I’ll kill you! I don’t know what to do!”
“Just…heat the knife…like I said…and dig till you find the bullet and get the damned thing out of there. Then just…throw whiskey in there and wrap it tight. That’s all you can…do, honey. I’m strong. I’ll…heal…after a time.”
She fought new tears as she scrambled to find her knife, then laid it into the hot coals inside her stove. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took it to him.
“My horse…Indian…down the creek a ways,” he mumbled. “Left him…behind…no noise. Get Indian.”
“I will! I’ll get him soon as I’m through with you!” she replied.
“Get the bodies…together. I’ll drink…some whiskey.” His back was covered with the blood that oozed from a small hole beneath his right shoulder blade. She wondered if she would vomit.
“Buck, I can’t!”
“Got to.” He rolled to one side again and took the whiskey from her, trying to smile for her. “You’ve learned to do…everything else. Might as well learn to take out a bullet.” His face was covered with perspiration as he pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and took a long, long swallow. She watched him, staring apprehensively. She had hated him for drinking that night he’d taken advantage of her, and for making her drink. Now the whiskey would be a godsend. His blue eyes moved over her, from head to toe, then back to her face, on which a bluish-red welt was appearing. “I should be…helping you, Shortcake…not the other way…around.” He took another long swallow.
“I’m okay, really, Buck.”
He gripped the bottle tightly as hot pain ripped through him. “Go see…about the bodies,” he told her. “And get Indian…quick. I left the mules…at another man’s cabin. He told me men were headed this way. I had to…hurry. Mules would’ve slowed me down.” He took another long swallow, then fell face forward, his arm hanging down over the side of the bed but still clinging to the whiskey. “Hurry, Shortcake!” he groaned.
Her breathing was quick and labored. How could she do what he was asking? She fought panicky tears and ran out the door, grabbing the fat man and yanking as hard as she could, grateful now for the snow, for once he’d tumbled down the steps, the snow made it easier to move him. But she still had to use all her strength to get him to the corner of the cabin where the body of another man lay. It filled her with horror to think she’d have dead men lying so close to her door, but there was no way she could tug the fat man any farther. She went back for the first man who’d been shot. He still lay at the base of the steps. She pulled and tugged at him also, until she had him near the first two. The fourth man, who lay farther in the woods where Buck had shot him, she would just leave him alone. At least he was farther from the house.
She ran down the hill then, following the creek until she found Indian. She untied the stallion and rode him back to the cabin, tying him on the opposite side of the shack from the bodies so he could not see them and get skittish.
“I’ll tend to you later, Indian,” she said quickly. “I just hope your owner liv
es to ride you again!”
She removed Buck’s canteen and bedroll and ran back inside, closing and bolting the door. Buck lay quiet, not moving. She wondered if he was dead. “Buck?” She moved closer. The bottle lay on the floor, its contents spilled around it. “Buck?” she cried.
“Leather,” he groaned. “Get me…something leather…to bite on.” His voice was barely audible. She was relieved that he spoke at all, but the thought of cutting into him and bringing him more pain tore at her heart. She looked around the room, then remembered an old bridle that had hung on the wall when she’d first taken over the cabin. She had stuck it under a cupboard. She hurried to the cupboard and took it out; then she took her butcher knife and hacked off a piece of the thick leather. She dunked the leather in the washbowl, wiped it with a piece of cloth, and hurried back to Buck. She bent over him, for his eyes were closed and he didn’t even seem aware of her presence.
“Here, Buck. Put this in your mouth.”
“Tell me…again first…” he mumbled. “Tell me you…love me.”
Her eyes teared. “I do! I…I didn’t know it till you left, Buck. And I don’t know what I’ll do if you die on me! Please don’t die, Buck!”
He grinned a little. “After…hearing that? I’ve got…some lost time to make up for…with my Shortcake.” He grimaced then. “Use…lots of whiskey on it…and don’t pay attention…to me if I…yell. Just dig…and douse it with whiskey. Give me that rawhide…to chew on, Shortcake…and get busy.”
“Buck, you should swallow some laudanum.”
“No…might put me out. I should stay awake…help you know what to do. Give me some laudanum…when you’re done. Come on. Let’s…get this over with.”
She swallowed and touched the leather to his lips. When he opened his mouth, she shoved it inside so that he could bite on it. She went to the stove then, taking a towel and grasping the handle of the knife, which was very hot. She dipped the handle into the washbowl to cool it, being careful not to get the blade into the water.
She laid the knife on the edge of the table, leaving the blade over the edge and untouched, while she hurriedly moved one of the log chairs to the edge of the bed. Then she poured some heated water from the stove into a pan and set it on the log. Putting some whiskey into another pan, she put that nearby before taking some bandages from a saddlebag that hung on the wall. These she set on the bed near Buck, putting a towel under his right shoulder. Her heart pounded with dread when he moaned from the slight movement.
She did everything as quickly as possible. Her mind racing, she struggled to keep back tears that would blur her vision. There would be time later for crying. Buck needed her. He’d risked his life for her, and now she had to try to save that life. What else could she do? If she didn’t try, he’d probably die anyway. She forced herself to concentrate. The whiskey. She grabbed the second bottle from the table and poured some of it over the wound. Buck jumped and moaned, and her breathing quickened. What would he do when she cut into him?
“Dear God, help me!” she whimpered. She dipped a clean cloth into the hot water, wringing it out and gently washing away as much blood as possible from the wound so she could see it better. The bleeding had slowed, and she was thankful for that. She dropped the cloth back into the water, which quickly turned red. Then she dipped her fingers into the pan of whiskey before picking up the knife from the table. Nothing had touched the blade. She knew that whatever she did must be done with clean hands and a clean knife. Infection was the biggest danger, if she got the bullet out without killing him.
She gently felt around the hole, but could feel no foreign object. She would have to cut into the wound, make it wider, then feel inside with her fingers. She could think of no other way.
“Buck, I’m ready,” she told him.
His right hand grasped the support board of the bed tightly, and his left hand grasped the quilt. She closed her eyes and said a short prayer. She must be quick, for the pain would be terrible. She dare not hesitate or be afraid to cut deeply. If she didn’t go down far enough, she’d have to cut him again, and she didn’t want to do that. She thought about the force she’d had to use cleaning rabbits and squirrels. Surely a man’s muscle would take the same force, if not more.
She struggled against the terrible urge to scream and cry and run away. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t desert him. She placed the point of the knife at the center of the wound, then cut in and down, deeply, quickly, before she could vomit and run away from it all. Buck grunted, then moaned pitifully, biting hard on the leather, his fist completely white where he grabbed the board. Sweat immediately poured from his face, and he shook.
“Oh, dear God!” Harmony whimpered. “God! God help me!” She threw the knife into the pan of whiskey, quickly dipping her hand in it again before gritting her teeth and exploring the enlarged wound with her fingers while Buck groaned. She felt a strange object nearly two inches down, and she grabbed it. It came out easily.
“Buck! I got it! I got it!” She dropped it into the whiskey pan and rinsed her fingers once more. Then she took the bottle of whiskey and poured some over the wound, relieved that as far as she could tell, she’d cut into only muscle and had not interfered with any vital organs. She doused the wound with whiskey once more before setting the bottle aside, after which she rinsed the cloth in hot water, folded it and laid it over the wound to soften some of the dried blood around it. She’d wash it good, then bandage it.
“Buck, it’s out! It’s out! I did it!” She leaned down, noting that his eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open, the leather strap hanging loosely from it. She gently removed the strap. “Buck?” There was no reply, and her heart pounded. Had she killed him? She bent close, her cheek against his mouth and nose. She could feel a shallow breathing. Apparently he had passed out. She wasn’t sure whether he’d lost consciousness before or after the bullet had come out.
Quickly she washed the wound. It would be harder to bandage it while he was unconscious—he couldn’t sit up for her—but she picked up the bandages and struggled to roll him onto his left side. Then she placed her knee against his chest so he would not slip down again. She placed the bandage across his left shoulder, bringing it around and under his right arm and then crosswise up and over the wound under the right shoulder blade, winding it around the top of his left shoulder again, having to lift his drooping head slightly each time. She wrapped and wrapped, lifting his head each time, struggling to keep him from rolling onto his back or his stomach until the bandage was heavily wrapped around him. Finally she split the end, put one edge under the bandage, brought it up, and tied it tightly to the other split end. As she gently let him roll back onto his stomach, she realized he was still wearing his boots and gun.
“Oh, dear!” she lamented. He needed to rest, and such impediments wouldn’t help. She gently worked off each boot, then reached under him to unbuckle the gun belt. Having carefully removed that, it occurred to her then he’d rest even better if he wore only his long johns. Even though he was unconscious, she reddened as she reached under him again, unbuckling the belt securing his trousers, and unbuttoning them.
Memories of their time together rushed through her mind. She had known this man, and the woman in her knew she must know him again, if and when Buck Hanner ever got well. She wasn’t afraid anymore. There were men like Jimmie and those who had attacked her, and there were men like Buck Hanner. She carefully pulled off his trousers, then brought some extra quilts and gently laid them over him. It was very cold outside, and she worried about what a chill might do to him so she stoked up the fire in the stove, adding plenty of wood. That done she pulled off her own boots and eased herself under the quilts. Snuggling up beside him and putting her arm around his waist, she kissed his left shoulder.
“You’ll be all right, Buck,” she said softly. “It’s all over now. I won’t hurt you anymore, and I’ll stay right here beside you and keep you warm till you wake up.”
She kissed hi
s shoulder again, pondering its firm muscle, very aware of the masculinity of Buck Hanner. Yes, she loved him. And she wouldn’t let him die. She lay as close to him as she could, closing her eyes and praying again. Then the tears came. She struggled not to cry too hard, for each sob racked her body, making the bed shake.
“Don’t you die on me, Buck!” she whimpered. “Don’t you dare die on me!”
Chapter Fourteen
For the rest of the day and throughout the night Harmony lay beside Buck, keeping him warm, praying, crying, waiting for a sign of recovery. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that he stirred, groaning as he did so. She rose a bit.
“Buck?”
He moaned her name in reply.
“Buck, I’m right here. I’ve been right here beside you all the time. You awake, Buck?”
He managed to raise himself just enough to turn his head to face her, but winced and broke into another sweat as he did so. “You…get it out?”
She smiled and lay back down, her face close to his. She kissed his cheek.
“I did, Buck! I got it out! I think you passed out before it even happened.”
He studied her green eyes, her beautiful face. “I wish to hell I felt better right now. You’re a hell of a pretty sight to wake up to…and me all…full of pain and not even able…to move.”
She smoothed back his thick, sandy hair. “That’s all right. You’ll get better.”
He managed a faint grin. “And then?”
Their eyes held. “I love you, Buck. I just want you to live.” Her eyes teared. “I was so scared you’d die on me.”
“After hearing…what I think I heard, and now hearing it again? You sure, Shortcake?”
She sniffed. “I missed you so much,” she whimpered. “I’m almost glad you got hurt, because now you have to stay a long time.”
His grin widened. “I didn’t need a bullet in me…to make me stay.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve never…had anything hurt like that before.”
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