A Man Called Scar

by Jim Cox

  Daydreaming, Liz had ventured farther from the wagons than she should have and was out of calling distance. She decided to creep westward until she was parallel to the wagons and then call to her father about the Indians.

  Very carefully, she advanced until she was on a parallel ridge with the wagons. She had her hands cupped, ready to call to her father, when she spotted a mule standing over a motionless body two hundred yards away. Instead of calling out, she hunkered down and crept toward the mule. Liz knew the noon stop would soon end and she should not go farther, but her inquisitiveness encouraged her to continue anyway. Rising slightly to improve her view, Liz saw the mule, now only fifty yards away, looking back at her with pointed ears. At the mule’s feet lay a motionless body.

  She was soon close enough to see a rope tethering the mule to the body’s lifeless arm. Liz knew the person was dead or unconscious and in need of attention. Gazing northward, she saw the retreating Indians. Liz crept forward, and upon reaching the mule, observed a young boy lying on his stomach. His clothes were a mess, and his matted hair needed cutting. Her gaze froze when she saw gashes on his back through the many slits in his shirt. Each cut was several inches long and inflamed. Kneeling, she touched the side of his neck and felt warmth. He was still alive.

  Liz shouted for her papa as she ran toward their wagon for help. She was breathless and could hardly explain the situation when her father met her. They started for the boy.

  Hubert Douglas stood six foot three, had wide shoulders, and carried no fat. He had a trimmed mustache and beard with curly, dark red hair under a black derby hat. His oversized calloused hands protruded from plaid shirt sleeves, and he wore black, eastern-style boots.

  Liz’s father kneeled beside the boy and felt the side of his neck for a pulse. It was there, not strong, but the boy was alive. He gently lifted the shredded shirt away from the boy’s back and shook his head in disbelief.

  "This boy has been beaten with a rawhide whip," he said to Liz. "He’s in bad shape. His wounds are infected, and if left untreated he could die."

  "Papa, what should we do? We can't leave him here, he's so young," sobbed Liz. "Please help him, Papa."

  "I don't know if we can save him, but we'll do our best, honey," her father promised. “Roll up your apron, Liz, and place it under his head. That may give him some comfort."

  As Douglas lifted the boy's head, he exposed the terrible injury.

  "Liz, get back and don't look! Throw me your apron," he said with tight lips.

  Mr. Douglas told his daughter to run to the wagon, get a blanket, and return with four strong men. When the men arrived, they rolled the boy onto the blanket, picked the blanket up by holding each corner, and hurried back to the wagons. Liz led the mule.

  Mrs. Douglas was heating water and had two quilts lying by the wagon when the men arrived. She immediately started giving orders. "You men be careful, he's in bad shape. Place him on his stomach with his injured cheek facing up. Liz, bring me Papa's pillow, the medicine sack, and clean cloth for bandages. Herb, let me know as soon as the water steams."

  Alice Douglas was a tall, shapely woman with light green eyes that danced about as she contemplated the job at hand. She did not have time to sweep back the strands of light red hair that escaped from her bonnet.

  An expression of grave concern dominated Mrs. Douglas’ face while she carefully examined the boy’s left jaw. The gash went from his ear to his nose, barely missing his eye, and then back across his cheek to his jawbone. The injury was slightly less than an inch wide and exposed the bone. The cheek portion of the cut went completely through to his tongue. The whole left side of his face was splotched dark red, and the wound was full of pus. Mrs. Douglas shifted to examine the boy’s back. She tore the remainder of his shirt off and focused on the deep cuts across his back.

  By this time, several bystanders had come to the scene. Mrs. Douglas knew they were interested in the boy’s welfare, so she stood and gave them a report.

  "The cuts on his back are deep and present a problem, but I believe they will heal in a week or two if they’re properly tended. What concerns me is the hideous gash on his cheek.

  It’s cut all the way through to the inside of his mouth and has pus coming from it. Blood poisoning may have already set in. On top of all this, he's burning up with fever.” Mrs. Douglas paused for a moment and then continued. “We must stop the fever and treat the infection if he is to live. It’ll take several weeks for his recovery.”

  She turned from the bystanders and started to work on the boy’s back. She washed his cuts with steaming water, being extra careful with the injuries. After his back was washed, she poured carbolic acid on his cuts and wrapped his upper body with strips of clean cloth. The boy remained motionless.

  "Will he be all right, Mama?" asked Liz.

  "I don't know, honey. Most likely he'll die, but we'll do our best to save him. Don't get your hopes up, Liz. It looks bad."

  Mrs. Douglas was attending to the boy's cheek when Captain Willard rode up. Captain was their wagon train master. The captain was a neat man of medium build with graying hair at his temples, which gave him a look of distinction. He had brought several trains across this trail to the West. He was a tough man but fair and respected by most everyone, known for sticking to timelines, dates, and details.

  "We leave in ten minutes," he barked. "Better douse your fires and pack up. We need to make up the half day we're behind. It's a long trail before us."

  Liz's eyes were dancing as she looked at her father. "Papa, we can't leave now…we need to tend to the boy. He'll die if we don't care for him! Can't you get the captain to stay a little longer?"

  "I'm afraid not, Liz. The captain has a strict schedule and won’t deviate from it under any circumstances. It’s time to pack."

  "Can't we stay here for a while and catch up to the wagons when they stop for the night?" begged Liz.

  "Honey, we all want to help the boy, but we have to think of our own safety. We're in Indian Territory. If we lag behind by ourselves, there's a chance we might be attacked, and I can't take that risk," he said. "We'll make room in the wagon for the boy, but he'll have to wait until our night stop for further attention."

  The Douglases were busy moving things about when Captain Willard rode up again, leading a horse. "Pack this horse and the mule with enough items to make room for a bed in the wagon. We'll stay here for another ten minutes, but hurry." As he turned to leave, he smiled and nodded to Liz. She returned the nod with a smile.

  A couple men came to help Douglas remove items from the wagon and tie them on the backs of the horse and mule. Mrs. Douglas hurriedly spread quilts on the wagon floor and gave instructions to the men, who loaded the boy. Douglas set a kettle of hot water beside the boy and then went to the driver’s wagon seat. Liz and her mother climbed into the back and kneeled beside the boy.

  All ten wagons rolled westward with Captain Willard in the lead. Three wagons were pulled with a four-horse hitch, due to their heavy loads. Two had oxen teams, and a pair of draft horses pulled five wagons. All but two wagons had a milk cow or riding horse tied behind, and some wagons had both. Any onlooker could see the plume from the swaying bonnets in the far distance. Mile after mile, they plodded along while the temperature hovered in the nineties. A slight breeze made it bearable.

  Every hour, the horses were given a breather and their nostrils wiped clean of dust. People walked alongside their teams after every other stop to ease the animals’ burden. Men and boys wore hats of many styles, the women wore bonnets to reflect the sun's heat, and everyone had a bandana tied over their nose and mouth to filter out the dust. Their clothing was soaked in sweat.

  Inside the last wagon, Liz and her mother worked on the boy's cheek. They washed the pus oozing from the gash and applied carbolic acid. Afterward, they covered the boy’s jaw with a folded cloth soaked in the acid. Mrs. Douglas knew their efforts were only temporary. She knew the inflamed flesh on the boy’s jaw must be cut away
and his wound sewn closed as soon as possible. But for now, she wiped his forehead and neck with a cool, damp cloth in the hope of reducing his fever.

  Liz opened the bag that had hung from the mule's neck and removed its contents. Finding and opening the two small leather sacks, she said, "Look, Mama, there's three twenty-dollar gold pieces in one of the bags and a Bible in the other. He must be a believing person."

  She turned to the front pages looking for a name but found none. Flipping through, she noticed a folded paper toward the back. It was a letter, dated two years earlier, and appeared to have been written by a woman. It was addressed to Bart Carter. Liz folded the letter and closed the Bible, knowing she had no right to invade the boy’s privacy any further.

  Chapter Eight

  It was late afternoon when Captain Willard rode to each wagon giving updates and laying out plans for the evening stop. When he came to the Douglas', he said Indians were following the train and to be extra alert. Then he rode to the back of the bonnet and asked, "How’s the boy?"

  "We've cleaned his wounds the best we can, but it doesn't look good Captain," answered Mrs. Douglas. “If there’s a willow tree where we stop for the night, I’ll gather a supply of willow bark and make a strong tea. It’ll help break his fever and ease his pain. I also need to sew up the gashes on the boy’s cheek, but I don’t think the wound can be completely sewn closed because of the rotten skin. I don’t know what we can do about the infection, Captain. It looks terrible.”

  "We'll be stopping within the hour," reported the captain. "If it's all right with you, Mr. Meyers can examine the boy when we stop. He did some doctoring during the war."

  The captain was riding off when Liz jumped from the wagon and yelled, "His name is Bart, Captain! Bart Carter!" The captain turned in his saddle and called back, "That's a good name, Liz, a good name."

  The location for the evening’s stop was ideal. Willow trees lined a small stream flowing with cool, clear water. Captain Willard directed the wagons into a tight circle, placing the Douglas' next to the tree line. The livestock was taken to the creek to drink and then restricted in a nearby area with lush grass where they immediately started grazing. Men and boys filled water containers and gathered firewood from fallen tree limbs. Some of the wood would be used for their evening cook fires and some for the fire that would burn all night in the center of the wagon circle. Coffee was put on and utensils unpacked for the evening meal.

  Liz and her mother were standing by their wagon when Captain Willard and Mr. Meyers walked up. "Why don't we move Bart outside onto the soft sand?" asked the captain.

  After men had carried Bart from the wagon, Mr. Myers asked Liz to take the boy’s boots off. When Liz removed the boots, she noticed they were extremely heavy, so she looked inside them. She was stunned at what she saw and immediately carried the heavy boots to the wagon. “Mama, can you come here for a minute?” Liz called from the wagon’s bonnet. When Mrs. Douglas crawled inside the wagon, she saw twenty-four twenty-dollar gold pieces lying on the floor beside Bart’s boots. "Where did that money come from, Liz?" her mother asked.

  "It was in his boots," the girl replied. "They were extra heavy when I pulled them off, so I looked inside and saw the coins. I didn't want anyone to know what I’d found, so I brought them to the wagon and emptied them here. What should we do with the money, Mama?"

  "Put it in the bag with his other money for now. When your father comes back, we'll ask him for a safe hiding place." Liz placed the newfound coins in Bart's sack, and then Liz and her mother returned to Bart’s side.

  After examining Bart, Meyers stood with a sober expression and shook his head in a negative manner. "The boy will never make it. He can't last two days."

  "That's not true!" exclaimed Liz, in a hysterical voice. "He's going to live. I know he will. You're all just standing around…Captain, we must do something. Let Mama try to cure his wounds.”

  Captain Willard hesitated but stepped forward. "I agree with Liz. We must try something. Meyers, what's his best possible chance?"

  "I don't think nursing alone will save the boy because his injury has dead tissue around it, causing his terrible sickness. His only chance is to cut away the dead flesh and cauterize the wound with a red-hot iron."

  "Are you sure that's the only way?" asked Douglas. "It'll leave him with a terrible scar."

  "It's the only procedure I know of with any possible chance of success.” Meyers was silent for a spell and then continued. “We need to stitch the live tissue closed before the cutting begins. Mrs. Douglas, can you perform this procedure?”

  Alice Douglas gave a nod and then started giving orders. “Herb, I’ll need two long hairs from a horse’s tail. Put them in a pan of boiling water for a couple minutes. Liz, get the water started.” While Liz and her father were doing their job, Mrs. Douglas went for her curved sewing needle.

  After Douglas had plucked the horse hairs and placed them into the pan of boiling water, he went to the wagon for a straight-line branding iron and placed it in the fire. Mrs. Douglas returned from the wagon with the needle and placed it in the hot water. She also brought several pieces of material to absorb blood when the cutting began. Meyers returned with two surgical knives and a bottle of whiskey.

  Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Douglas had completed her sewing job. She had been able to sew about a third of the boy’s injury closed, but the skin around the remainder of the gash was too rotten. Fortunately, she was able to close the gash that opened into his mouth.

  The iron was starting to get red when Douglas pulled the captain aside and asked, "Captain, would you take Liz for a walk, so she can't see what's coming? It will be hard for grown-ups, let alone a young girl."

  The tip of the iron was red. It was time. Liz was reluctant to leave but finally agreed to walk with the captain. Mrs. Douglas placed a rolled-up cloth, six inches long and an inch in diameter, between Bart's teeth. Meyers picked up his knives, doused them with whiskey, and took a drink to settle his nerves.

  "I need five men to hold him down—one for each leg, one for each arm, and one to hold his head still," ordered the surgeon. Immediately, five men stepped forward. "Mrs. Douglas, be prepared to soak up the blood with your cloths when the cutting begins. I'll have to cut into live flesh where the blood is flowing, in order to cut away all the bad tissue. Douglas, be ready to hand me the iron. Men hold him as still as possible. He’ll try to move when the cutting begins."

  It was obvious Meyers had used an operating knife before as he cut a deep, careful incision around the wound. Blood gushed out but was quickly wiped clean with the cloths. Bart jerked a few times but was relatively still. "Douglas, hand me the iron. And men, hold tight." Meyers laid the red-hot rod on the injury. Smoke rose and the odor of burning, human flesh filled the air. Three of the men restraining Bart looked away, and two threw up, but they continued to hold the boy. Bart's screams were heard by everyone in the camp. Even the Indians who were camped two miles upstream heard the screams. Bart was motionless when Meyers poured whiskey on the wound.

  Mrs. Douglas wiped sweat from the surgeon’s forehead as he sat on the wagon’s tongue, shaking like a leaf. Liz came running up. "Is he all right? I heard a scream! Will he live?”

  "We don't know yet, Liz. It's a long shot," her mother said. “If he lives for three or four days and the fever breaks, there's a chance.”

  "He'll live. I know he will. We need to have faith. I'll take real good care of him. I'll never leave his side." Liz broke into sobs as she turned to the boy.

  For some reason, Liz's words were convincing. Bystanders eyed one another, and nodded their heads in agreement—the boy would surely live.

  Chapter Nine

  Mrs. Douglas stayed up all night tending Bart. She had coffee on before sunrise and was preparing breakfast when her husband crawled out from under his covers. Liz had nodded off during the night and lay under a blanket beside Bart’s unconscious body. The sky was cloudless, which meant another very hot day was in th
e making.

  Douglas roused himself and went to harness the stock. When he got back, Mrs. Douglas had three plates, heaped with fried potatoes, bacon, and biscuits, sitting on the bench. The two had finished eating and Douglas was drinking a second cup of coffee when Captain Willard walked up, leading his horse. The captain noticed the untouched plate of food and remarked, "Good morning. I suppose your daughter lost a lot of sleep caring for the boy? She’ll need to wake and eat. We’re leaving in twenty minutes. Douglas, your wagon will be in the lead today. Set a good pace because we've got some time to make up.” Before leaving, the captain looked in on the unconscious boy and the sleeping girl. He stood for a couple of minutes and then stepped up into his stirrup and said as he mounted, "Mrs. Douglas, take good care of the boy. He has a lifetime ahead of him."

  The Douglases pulled out behind the captain with the other wagons following. The women continued Bart’s care. Liz kept fresh, cool cloths against his head and occasionally wiped his neck. Her mother wrung cloths soaked with willow bark tea into his mouth, hoping to prevent complete dehydration.

  Time seemed to stand still for the Douglas family as the day passed from morning to dusk. Mother and daughter were busy trying to lower Bart's fever to no avail. They worked to keep him as comfortable as possible and held him down when he tried to turn or rise as though he were having hallucinations.

  The wagons circled on the north side of a spring-fed pond for their nightly stop. The members started their normal routine of setting up camp—all, that is, but the Douglas women, who stayed with Bart.

  After Douglas watered and hobbled his stock, he returned to find a fire blazing by his wagon and his canvas full of chips. Douglas was puzzled. He had started the evening chores when three couples from adjoining wagons came marching into his camp. Mrs. Kaiser, who walked in first, started barking out orders as if she was the sergeant of affairs. "We're taking over," she commanded in a strong, coarse voice. "You men bring the boy outside and lay him in the shadow of the wagon. Find something to support a sitting plank for Liz and Mrs. Douglas.” Her eyes went to Douglas. “You can sit down, too. We women will cook supper and care for the boy while you rest." She was not asking but telling people what to do. Everyone scattered to fulfill their assignments. Bart was quickly carried to the wagon’s shadow, and two women started nursing him. The lady sergeant, who was tall and rather plump, stood over pots of cooking food, observing all the activities and barking out orders while the Douglases sat on the bench.