by Jake Aaron
June, Ted’s wife, huffed in disgust. “For Pete’s sake, unwrap the bandage for him! He can’t do that one-handed.” She moved to untie the red handkerchief around the gauze.
Ted laughed, “Honey, men don’t always like other men meddling in their business.” He turned to John, “Let that be a lesson to you. You’ll give that engagement ring to your fiancee and she’ll wind up leading you around by the nose with it.”
June laughed, too. “Don’t mind him, John. I’m the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knows it.”
The banter cheered John up a bit. He lost that cheer when he saw how swollen his arm was. He had hoped the needle-and-thread sutures June had put in last night were the final cure. And he had a hangover headache from the last evening’s bourbon anesthetic. Then came a distraction.
Colter, Ted’s older son, yelled from near a front window, “Dad, Andy’s let someone come up to the house. The guy’s got two horses in trail. One’s pulling a sled. He’s also got a rifle on the side of his horse!”
Ted calmly reacted. “You know Andy. He wouldn’t let anyone by without good reason. Neither would you, for that matter. I’m sure the rider is okay.”
Nonetheless, Ted put on his holster with a 1911 Colt pistol. He unhurriedly opened the door. “Howdy, can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m the marshal of the Bitterroot Valley. Just wanted to see how things were going for you all … and compliment you on that fine young man out there.” Marsh smiled wryly, “He made me toss down my sidearm before he let me near the house.”
Ted kept his guard up. “I see he let you keep the rifle …”
“Yeah, but he made me toss it down so he could clear all the ammunition before he gave it back. And, unless I miss my guess, he still has a bead on me.” Marsh almost chuckled. He opened his coat to flash his badge.
“That he does! Step down. Andy, it’s okay. Get the man’s pistol for me. Then get back to the herd,” Ted ordered, proud of his son. “Good work, Andy!” His two sons were wise beyond their years.
“Marshal of the Bitterroot Valley? Haven’t heard of that position before,” Ted sounded put off. “We’re in Missoula County. I’d expect a sheriff from Missoula County or one of his deputies.”
“You are correct, sir. It’s a new position created by the emergency situation we’re in. I also wanted to tell you martial law is in effect.”
Ted became less bristled. “Come on in and have some coffee, Marshal. You’ll have to excuse our huddled-masses look. We’re all sleeping by the fireplace at night.”
Lee saw the visitor come through the door. “Hey, Marsh, it’s me, Lee. We met back at the Denton Ranch.” Lee introduced Marsh to June and Colter.
Marsh: “Pleased to meet you all. As Lee said, we met previously at the Denton place.” He saw no harm in revealing the Denton location to Ted and knew Lee had not even considered the compromise of the location. “Hey, John, what’s with the arm?” Marsh accepted his .44 magnum from Ted with an amused look and holstered it.
Lee answered for John, recounting their journey and John’s current state. He finished, “I figured John wouldn’t feel much like explaining.”
Marsh: “I’d like to stay and visit; but given the circumstances, I think I ought to get John back home, so to speak. I’ll pull him in the game sled behind my horse. Lee, you ride the other horse.”
Lee protested, “But I don’t know how to ride.”
Ted interjected, “No problem, Lee. Andy can teach you in five minutes. He’s got a way with getting to the essentials.”
“Riding for Dummies?” Lee made fun of himself.
“Not at all,” June backstopped. “You’ll be impressed with how respectful Andy is. He’ll have you feeling at ease riding in no time. And if you want the advanced course, come back sometime, and Colter or Andy will gladly teach you more. Andy might charge you, though.”
*****
As the three made their way up the valley, Marsh shouted, “That’s a good position you're keeping. Who taught you that?”
Lee hollered back, “Zeke did ... at least for patrolling on foot. I figured it would be the same on horseback. He seems to know a little about a lot. The little is usually the important part. I think his dad was an Army Ranger.”
As many big cities in the United States had learned, people respect someone on a horse; hence, New York City's mounted police. Miscreants along the route evaporated when they saw the party come into view. Tied into the sled, John slept all the way. Feverish, he dreamed of lying in an oarless rowboat on a placid lake, mysteriously sailing around without any visible propulsion. The cushion of six inches of fresh snow added to John’s illusion of smooth sailing.
At the Denton Ranch, everyone turned out at the gate to greet them. Susan was at first gleeful, then shaken at John’s condition. Inside the house by the fire, Lee told of the decline of local civilization while Meagan and Susan cared for John in the kitchen.
Meagan came to the living room. “Brock, I think you should look at John. He’s got cellulitis in his left arm. It’s red, hot, and tender …”
“I see you all have this situation under control,” Marsh said, “I’ll let myself out.”
Thanks, Marsh! echoed around the room. Susan broke away to hug him. Her eye level barely reached his solar plexus.
Zeke accompanied Meagan and Brock to look at John. Brock checked the patient’s wound and overall condition. He reflected on the situation. He was in deep thought.
Meagan motioned Brock to follow her outside. “Brock, what do you think?”
Brock bristled at having a nurse take the lead. “I think they should have gone to the hospital in Missoula.”
“Brock, you heard what they said about the hospital. It’s chaos. It would have been a death sentence to go there. Come on!”
Brock ignored her comment. “Meagan, we need to lay open the wound, then treat with antibiotics. Has he been on aspirin?” The doctor went through his mental checklist.
“Lee said yes. Two 325’s every four hours starting yesterday afternoon through this morning.” Meagan had the same checklist.
Brock thought of his colleagues who had been sued. He had to guard himself against the possibility civilization and courts would reassert themselves. “I’m reluctant to operate on someone who’s taken that much aspirin. He could bleed out on us …”
Meagan: “Brock, if you don’t, he’s on a path to gangrene and amputation, maybe death. Do we have a choice?”
“I don’t like it. Be that as it may, Meagan, prepare the patient!”
While Brock looked pensively at the mountains through a kitchen window, Meagan asked Susan to slowly get four shots of whiskey into John. She charged Sondra with locating disinfectants. She got Karen and Anne to wash the kitchen table several times with detergent and water using different clean towels. She told them to follow that with a disinfectant. She asked Keala to find the sharpest knives she could find and sharpen them more. Meagan finished her instructions, “Everyone scrub up for surgery. I mean everyone in the room!”
Brock surveyed the kitchen operating room. “We don’t have antiseptics or antibiotics.”
Zeke overheard and offered, “How about making Dakin’s solution? We’re in business if Sondra found any bleach.”
Meagan looked at Zeke with surprise, “Where’d you learn about Dakin’s?” She recalled hearing about it nursing school — in the history of surgery.
Matter-of-factly, Zeke answered. “I think it was in a crossword puzzle about nine months ago.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“No, Meagan, I’m not. First used in World War I. We can get close to it by diluting bleach.”
“We still lack antibiotics,” Brock argued.
Meagan and Karen refused to listen to Brock’s reservations. They moved a buzzed John to the kitchen table.
“Is that a clean pillow you’re putting under his head,” Brock challenged.
“Cleanest pillowcase in the house!” K
aren answered. “And these sheets are the same!”
“Zeke, Lee, and Jed — get ready to hold him down,” Meagan ordered. She put a clean wet washcloth in John’s mouth for him to bite on. “Okay, folks, let’s roll!”
Reluctant Brock shook his doubting head and picked an appropriate knife.
Meagan wiped Brock’s forehead as he made the first incision, “It takes a great surgeon to operate under these conditions. We’re counting on you, Brock.”
Brock corrected her, "Doctor Bentley!" He remained stoic.
A minor surgery a month ago, a major risk now.
*****
That night in their room, Zeke asked Meagan, “So, how’s the patient?”
“He’s doing well. I just checked on him. He didn't bleed as badly as I expected — or Brock feared. Brock hasn’t done any general surgery for a while, as you might guess. I’ve got the first shift with John down by the fire. His fever comes and goes. I think he’ll be ambulatory tomorrow. I just came back here so Susan and John can have some time alone.”
“And maybe you wanted me to hold you for a bit?” Zeke smiled.
“If you could make that sacrifice …” Meagan kissed Zeke without finishing her words.
For a few minutes, they forgot how difficult life had become.
*****
Several doors down the foyer in their bedroom, Karen said, “Jed, I’m really proud of the way you’re teaching the city folks how to survive. At the end of the first day, I wondered whether any of them would make it. Most nearly fainted after hauling wood and ice.” She laughed. “How’s the knee?”
“The knee is still there. I think I’ll get you to grind up some pine bark for the arthritis. We’ll see whether that old Native American remedy works. As for the group, they’re coming along. We’ll make farmers of them yet. Some more than others.”
Karen raised her eyebrows, “Brock and Sondra, too?”
Jed smiled, “Others! Everybody can’t be outstanding, and everybody can’t be average.”
Karen: “I’ll keep reminding myself!”
“You doing all right, babe?”
“I’ve been better, Jed. I’m trying to keep it together for the younger women. If I fall apart, so will they.”
January 5
The consensus at breakfast was that hunting deer was a good idea before the game were thinned by hungry folks in the valley. The clever elk herds had already gone to higher country. After breakfast, Zeke and Jed left with bows and arrows. They reasoned their archery equipment would attract less unwanted attention than rifles.
Everyone else remaining at Denton, except convalescing John, sought to exploit the fresh snow. It was new, near, and plentiful — a great alternative to depleting the nearby creek ice unnecessarily. They gathered snow with shovels and containers. Everyone enjoyed the novelty of not walking so far for a source of water. Without complaint, several observed how much powdered snow it took to make just a little bit of water.
Zeke and Jed were back by noon with a buck and a doe on sleds. The snow had been good for tracking the deer and getting them back to the house. They tried to hide their path out and back from the house. They had gone circuitously and covered tracks as much as possible.
Everyone enjoyed venison during a late lunch. Preparing to get up from the table, Zeke motioned toward Karen, “I think our chef should take a bow for the great food she prepared. That was fantastic!”
Embarrassed, Karen turned the spotlight around, “Thank you very much, but I think our great hunters are the ones who should take a bow.”
Jed: “I don’t know about Zeke, but my shot was pure luck. I haven’t shot a bow since Boy Scouts.”
Zeke deflected, “I guess we should get going on cutting and gathering more wood — take advantage of the usual warm-up that came with snow.”
Lee: “I’m wondering whether those gas-powered saws in the barn will start. Sure would expedite our cutting. And we could siphon gas out of some of the vehicles for fuel, if need be.”
Anne spoke, “I think we should keep as low a profile as possible. You know we’ve been burning the driest wood during the day for that reason — less smoke, lower profile. You can hear a gas-powered saw for miles in the valley. Too big a footprint in my book!”
“I’m curious about whether the saw would even start,” Zeke offered, “but I think Anne makes a really good point. The picture Lee and John brought back from their Missoula trek emphasizes the point. We need to keep a low profile. Marsh told us that.”
John scratched his fevered head. “You know I keep thinking: How is it that, at my greatest hour of need, Marsh shows up with a sled and an extra horse?”
Lee looked at John. “I’m with you, buddy. I’ve been wondering about that as well.” Lee shrugged. “He said he was just out on normal patrol … . But an extra horse and sled? He never shows up here that way.”
“I just think it was a miracle,” Susan said, almost in tears.
“You bet it was, sister. I don’t want to offend anyone, but I was praying for John and Lee,” Karen said.
No one was sure about Sondra’s terse remark: “I’m offended!” A few wondered whether it was a real offense or just a bad joke. Sondra was like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that just would not fit anywhere.
Susan prepared to pounce on Sondra as Karen said, “Tough!” That remark sliced the tension. Karen softened her verbal jab with a forced smile. Everyone but Sondra laughed.
Seeing a needless rift about to occur, Zeke stood up. “Well, while we’re contemplating whether Marsh has extra-sensory perception, let’s get to our tasks. No, John, you stay by the fire.” He led the way, taking his plate and utensils to the wash bowl. Able bodies not doing kitchen chores or looking after John headed outside.
Just past the kitchen door, Jed reminded the wood crew, “Let’s keep the forest hearty. Leave about fifteen feet between healthy trees. Clear out the ones in-between …”
“Jed, you’re not going to hold us to that ‘sustainable forest’ crap, are you? It’s so much easier to just cut the nearest tree.” Brock chuckled at his remark. He really didn’t mind the effort and had just made what he considered a good joke. No one else found any humor in it. Some people can tell a joke; Brock couldn’t.
“Think of it this way,” inoffensive Jed replied, “it’s also fire prevention for the summer."
Sondra shot back, “If we survive that long!”
Raised eyebrows and side glances judged the comment.
Meagan: “I’m going to start sewing on my sundress after chores. The moisture should make for a beautiful springtime. Join me, Sondra?”
Sondra shook her head in disapproval, “You know the sun is not good for your skin!”
And so it went.
*****
In mid-afternoon, Zeke and Brock decided to take advantage of the snow to track deer. They chose archery equipment to minimize attracting attention of the hungry of the valley. Already the copious population of deer seemed more diminished, judging by the few tracks they found.
After two hours of tracking through the woods, the two took a hydration break. “Brock, why don’t we diversify our approach? Let’s have one of us keep tracking. The other should find a promising site and wait for the deer. I don’t care which I do. Why don’t you pick?”
“Zeke, I’m not one to sit still. I’ll keep tracking. I’ve done a lot of big game hunting in Africa. I love the hunt! I’m very good at it, the best I know.”
“Good,” Zeke said, “I hope we’re both successful. If we don’t meet before, let’s plan on rendezvousing back at the house at 5:00. The valley gets dark here early in the winter, especially with the sun going behind the mountains around 4:00.”
As the sun moved lower in the sky, Zeke found a promising location. He was downwind from a meadow and well concealed. He stayed as quiet and motionless as possible. After what seemed to be an eternity, he spotted a large buck. He drew his bow and took the deer down. Not bad for a guy who had never hunted bef
ore this morning.
As Zeke puzzled over how he would deal with getting the meat back to Denton, Brock showed up. “This is the big one I’ve been tracking,” he lied. “Never got a good shot at him. Good work, Zeke!” His tone did not match his words. He was embarrassed at not getting a deer himself, especially after his boasting. “Why don’t you go back and get the game sled. The field dressing is my expertise. By the time you’re back, I’ll have a lot of steaks and a hide for future use.”
*****
Over the venison supper, Brock regaled the group with his tales of shooting wild game on six continents.
Sondra couldn’t resist taunting her husband. “So you’re the big game hunter … and novice Zeke bags supper?” She gave Zeke an over-familiar smile.
Zeke stopped a pending marital feud. He held up his hand. “Listen, it was strictly luck of the draw. We decided to try two different tactics. I lucked out with the stationary choice. If Brock had taken it, he would have had the deer. I’m impressed with the nice cuts of steak. Nice job, Brock! You all are lucky I didn’t field dress the buck. So many ways that might have gone wrong.”
The supper crowd joined Zeke in laughter.
When that died down, Meagan got serious. “You know, we may be living here a long time. So far, we’ve just muddled through, getting things done haphazardly. We need to pick a leader.”
Karen interrupted, “How about you, Meagan. You …”
“No, no, no. I’m not making a pitch to nominate myself, Karen. I just want some discussion about my idea and a vote.” Meagan sighed.
At the speed of a quantum computer, Zeke’s mind flashed to his own experiences as a leader at New Mexico Military Institute. In his sixth year at NMMI, he was chosen as the regimental commander, the highest ranking cadet, despite a laggard freshman start. In glory, he had led the parades out of the Quad onto Stapp Field to the thumping drums of the student band. He felt a warming sensation. Then, he felt a mild stomach upset as he recalled the frustration of getting cooperation from cocky classmates. The Institute had taught him the downside of being a leader.
