He found where Deacon had slept. It was a ways from where the fire had been. If someone had been attracted to the area by the light thrown off by dying embers, they would not have found the camper easily. Rawley nodded approvingly. That was a good way to avoid any nasty surprises in the middle of the night.
A few more moments of looking around and Brawley deduced that the visitors had come from the north— the direction of the town of Duncan Where Big Ed MacWilliams kept his Deep River Saloon. Rawley nodded. Whoever those people were, they were undoubtedly the ones who’ d given Deacon the hundred dollars to put a slug in him.
Rawley decided to ignore whoever had come from town. Instead, he searched the ground some more until he was able to find where Walt Deacon had come in from. The trail led off toward the west. Rawley put his foot in his stirrup and swung up over the saddle. The sudden effort sent a wave of dizziness sweeping through him with such force that his vision blurred. The shoulder flared up, and for a moment he thought he was going to vomit.
Taking deep, even breaths brought him back to normal. Cursing Deacon and his rifle, Rawley urged his horse on as he began following the track that led out across the sweeping panorama of the Diablos Range.
By then the clouds had begun to break up, letting the hot rays of the sun shine through the thinning layer. The weather gradually warmed, growing hotter as the brightness increased. Dryness attacked Rawley’s throat with an intensity he hadn’t known since he’d ridden across the arid Staked Plains of New Mexico. He took frequent drinks from his canteen, but it didn’t seem to help much.
Rawley licked his lips and reached up to rub his hand across his brow. As hot as he was, he should have been sweating profusely, but his skin was hot and dry. Now concerned, and pretty sure about what was happening, Rawley touched his wounded shoulder. It was so warm it seemed a fire burned there. At that moment he knew the worst. The injury had gotten infected. There was nothing to do but return to camp and turn himself over to Chaw’s less-than-tender medical care. But what the old man lacked in gentleness, he made up with real practical knowledge in the treatment of all sorts of hurts and sickness.
Rawley had pulled on the reins to change the direction of travel when the voice off to the side startled him.
“Hold it, mister!”
Rawley snapped his eyes to his right and saw an armed man with a bandanna across the bottom of his face. There was only one reason why he would be out that far on the Diablos. He was one of the raiders. Undoubtedly a lookout, he probably didn’t have his hood with him, so he’d used his kerchief to hide his face. Rawley decided to play dumb. “Hell! I ain’t got no money.”
“I seen you before,” the man said, keeping his carbine barrel trained straight on Rawley. “You’re that feller from the cattle camp.”
Rawley, the increasing fever burning in his brain, had to think fast. Grimacing with pain, he edged his arm out of the sling so he could get his hand down to the backup derringer in his belt. “I ain’t from no cattle camp,” Rawley said. “I’m crossing this range on my way to—” He pulled the derringer and fired the first barrel. He missed.
The gunman, startled and angered, blasted a shot at Rawley that zipped harmlessly past his face. He worked the cocking lever to chamber another of the big .44-caliber bullets.
Rawley cut loose with the second barrel of the small pistol. The slug slammed into the man’s chest, turning him slightly. He dropped the carbine and sank to his knees. Shouting in the near distance caught Rawley’s attention. He saw a half-dozen men riding toward him. Digging the spurs into his horse, Rawley bolted for safety. His horse collided with the kneeling man, bowling him over as Rawley began a run across the range.
Now Rawley was in one hell of a bad way. His infected shoulder burst into agonizing spasms of pain as the arm bounced loosely at his side. Nausea and dizziness swept over him, making breathing difficult as he fought the urge to vomit. Gritting his teeth, Rawley held onto the reins with his good hand and concentrated on keeping his seat in the saddle during the wild ride.
Bullets split the air around him as Rawley continued his galloping escape. The pounding of hooves and jerking around in the saddle caused his fever-induced confusion to increase until for moments at a time he actually was unaware of what he was doing. Rawley’s vision clouded over and he could no longer focus his eyes. The world around him turned into a blurry mass and his breath came in hot gasps. But deep inside his brain, the strong will to survive kept a spark alive that helped him stick to the back of the horse even when the ride carried him and his pursuers onto a rolling, dipping portion of the Diablos.
His mind was barely aware when the sound of shooting increased and the shadowy figures of riders seemed to be flitting all around him. Once again he fought the waves of nausea and fainting as best he could, but finally it was all too much.
Rawley didn’t feel the ground when he hit it, nor was he aware of bouncing and rolling. He lay on his back, blinking his eyes, trying to bring himself back into some sense of balance or awareness. A blurry face appeared above his, and Rawley tried to speak. But all he could do was gasp.
“Well,” said Chaw’s welcome voice. “Looks like you just did one more dumb thing.”
Sixteen
Rawley opened his eyes. Although he had a slight headache, he was strangely comfortable and cool. He was in the shade, without the hot sun glaring down on him to increase the fever that racked his brain. Then he realized there was no burning in his head and he was also no longer outdoors. Rawley could see a white ceiling above him.
The injured man tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him down. But the effort showed him that he was lying in a nice bed between clean sheets. A door opened, and he turned his face toward the sound.
“You’re awake!” Nancy Hawkins exclaimed.
Rawley said nothing, only staring incredulously at this most welcome sight of the woman he loved.
“Can’t you speak?” she asked with a concerned expression on her face.
“Yeah,” Rawley said. His voice was strangely weak, no more than a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah.” That sounded better. “I’m awake, but I sure don’t know what’s going on.”
Nancy had a pitcher of water and a towel with her. She walked over to him and kissed him lightly on the forehead before turning to the nightstand and filling a glass that sat there.
“That looks mighty inviting,” Rawley said.
“Let me help you,” Nancy offered.
Rawley struggled as she aided him in sitting up enough to take a drink. The water was delicious in his dry mouth and he swallowed eagerly.
“That’s enough for now,” Nancy said. She gently lowered him back down. She dampened the cloth and laid it across Rawley’s forehead. “Now you should feel a little better.”
“I feel a whole lot better,” Rawley said. He frowned in puzzlement. “How did I get here? I’m in the ranch house, ain’t I?”
“Yes,” Nancy answered. “Chaw and the boys brought you in.”
“When was this?” Rawley asked.
“Two days ago,” Nancy answered. “Now you relax and I’ll tell you what happened.”
Rawley listened as the young woman related what she’d heard from the Circle H Bar cowboys when they’d brought him in. He’d been chased quite a ways by some of the masked outlaws, and had just managed to stay ahead of them when the rest of the drovers arrived on the scene after hearing all the shooting.
“I think I remember a sorta shootout with a feller,” Rawley said.
“When they found you, you’d fallen from your horse,” Nancy explained. “Chaw checked you over and found your shoulder wound had gotten infected. It was so bad, he insisted that you be brought in.”
Rawley smiled weakly. “I reckon he had to argue with Tim about that, right?”
“I’m afraid so,” Nancy said. She sat down carefully on the edge of the bed to keep from shaking him too much. “Frankly, Chaw didn’t know if you would mak
e it or not. And to complicate things, Tim wanted to put you in the bunkhouse, but I had them bring you here into Papa’s room.”
Rawley looked at his shoulder. “It don’t feel too bad now. Ol’ Chaw musta done a good job o’cleaning it out.”
“I took care of it,” Nancy said. “I used carbolic acid.”
“What in the world is that?”
“A doctor passing through left some,” Nancy said. “It’s good to keep wounds from festering, He let us have a few other things we’d need since there’s no doctor anywhere on the Diablos or in Duncan. He explained that carbolic acid is supposed to be used to clean a hurt when it’s fresh, but it gets rid of infection too sometimes after a wound hasn’t been tended to for a while.”
“Well,” Rawley said. “I got to admit my shoulder feels better’n it did a coupla days ago.”
“You had a lot of fever, but it broke last night,” Nancy said.
“Last night? Was you with me all night?”
“Last night, yesterday, the night before, and most of the first day,” Nancy said. “That’s when they brought you in.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “I was pretty worried.”
“You were, huh?”
“At least until the fever broke,” Nancy said. “Then I knew for sure you’d be all right.”
“It looks like we’re gonna spend some time together we didn’t know we’d have,” Rawley said.
“That’s the blessing part of you getting hurt,” Nancy said. “You won’t be getting out of bed for at least three or four more days.”
“I’m gonna have to get back to the cattle camp,” Rawley insisted.
“Sure,” Nancy said. “Do you want me to go out and saddle your horse for you right now?”
The words emphasized his physical weakness to him as he lay in the bed. Rawley slowly shook his head and grinned. “I reckon not. I don’t think I could pull myself out of this bed right now.”
She gave him another drink. “You’ll be needing the night pot now that you’re going to be drinking water.”
Rawley’s face reddened a bit at the thought of urinating into the container under the bed. But he knew he’d have to sooner or later and it would be up to Nancy to empty it for him.
“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed!” she said. “I’ve got a father and a brother, and I’ve had to look after them when they were ailing from time to time. We’ll be married soon anyway. So there won’t be any secrets of that sort between us.”
“By the time I need the outhouse, I’ll be able to walk, believe me!” Rawley exclaimed.
“You’ll have to eat first,” Nancy said. “Do you feel hungry at all?”
“I can’t say that I do,” Rawley answered. “Is that a bad sign?”
“There’s nothing to worry about. It’ll take a day or so for you to get your appetite back,” Nancy said. “You’re so dried out from fever that it’ll be water that you need first.”
Rawley started to speak again, but a wave of fatigue swept over him with such suddenness it almost frightened him. “Dang me! I don’t know what happened. But in just the flicker of an eye I’ve got so— so tired.”
Nancy gently laid her hand on his brow. “Sleep then, dear. That’s what you need more than anything. Lots of rest to build up your strength.”
Rawley fought to stay awake, but his eyes closed as if by their own independent will, and he drifted off into a deep, dreamless, and restful slumber.
When he awoke later it was dark outside. Rawley turned his head slightly, and could see the dancing light of a lantern out in the hall that led to the kitchen. He licked his dry lips, and was about to call out for a drink of water when he head Tim’s voice in the other room.
“How long is he gonna be laid up there?”
“As long as it takes him to get well!” Nancy snapped back at her brother.
“The cattle drive is only a couple of weeks away,” Tim said.
“He’ll be ready by then,” Nancy said. “Don’t worry.”
“He better be,” Tim said sullenly. “I’ll see you later.”
“I see you’ve taken a bath and changed clothes. I suppose that means you’re heading into town,” Nancy said.
“Yeah,” Tim said. “But not before I say a nice howdy to good ol’ Rawley Pierson.”
“He’s sleeping,” Nancy said.
“If he is, I won’t wake him up,” Tim growled. “I just want to see how he looks.”
“Not out of concern, I imagine,” Nancy said.
“Not much,” Tim replied.
Rawley could hear the heavy tread of Tim’s boots as he walked toward the bedroom. The door opened and Tim stepped inside. “Well, Pierson. Looks like you’re awake.”
“Are my eyes open?” Rawley asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’m awake,” he said.
“That’s pretty damn funny,” Tim said sarcastically. “Are you planning on staying in that bed for the rest o’ your life, or are you gonna be giving me and the boys a hand? We still got raiders to deal with and a cattle drive to make.”
“I’ll be up before long,” Rawley said. “You can stop my pay while I’m laid up if you want.”
“I oughta,” Tim said. “But I wouldn’t want you to think I was being mean to you.” He turned and walked back to the living room where Nancy was. “Looks like he’s gonna, live.”
“I hope that doesn’t bother you, Tim,” Nancy said coldly.
“I’m always a happy man,” Tim replied. “Well, I’m leaving now. I’ll be back before morning.”
“Suit yourself,” Nancy remarked.
Tim hurried out of the house and mounted his horse. After a glance at the window of the bedroom where Rawley lay recuperating, Tim rode out to the road and turned toward Duncan.
He rode easily for an hour, a feeling of apprehension building up in him as it always did lately. Before, when he’d been a surefire winner at poker, he’d gone into Duncan feeling so happy he was almost giddy. But his self-confidence had been badly rattled by his losses at the gaming table and the growing debt to Big Ed MacWilliams.
Tim rode into town, passing Mrs Malone’s boardinghouse. He went straight up to the front of the Deep River Saloon. Big Ed and his friend Calvin Witherspoon sat in chairs on the porch. Shorty Clemens stood beside them, leaning up against one of the posts that supported the roof overhead.
Tim dismounted and walked up to them. “Howdy. It looks like you boys are enjoying the season’s nice weather.”
“Yeah. The spring is always nice after a long winter. And how’re you doing, Tim?” Big Ed asked with a wide smile. “And how’s Pierson doing?”
“I reckon he’ll make it,” Tim said.
Shorty spat a stream of tobacco juice. “I thought them raiders had done you a favor on him.”
“He’s a tough sonofabitch,” Tim said. He nodded to Cal Witherspoon. “Howdy, Mr Witherspoon.”
“Hello, Tim. Are you going to try your luck at cards again?” he asked. “You came mighty close the other night.”
“I’m getting luckier,” Tim said. “I can feel it in my bones.” He tried to put a cheerful tone in his voice. “Are you playing tonight, Shorty?”
“Sure! Let’s get going,” Shorty said. He walked toward the door.
Tim followed as Big Ed got out of his chair and accompanied him into the saloon. They went through their usual procedure of going to the office. But Big Ed had no money to give Tim from the safe. Instead he passed a hundred dollars to him that he pulled out of his own pocket.
“How much does this make, Big Ed?” Tim asked.
Big Ed smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Tim. We’ll square it all in the end.”
“I really appreciate this,” Tim said. “And you’ll get ever’ cent back, believe me.”
“I believe you, Tim,” Big Ed said with a smile.
Tim went back out to the table, where a game was already in progress. After the hand being played was settled up, he grabbed a chair. “What’s the ante
, boys?”
“Five dollars,” Curly Brandon said. It was Curly’s turn to deal. “And the name o’ the game is draw poker. Open on jacks or better.”
Tim sat sullenly as his five cards slid across the table from him. When he had them all, he picked them up. He had a pair of kings, an ace, an eight, and a three. Nobody else could open and he started out cautiously. “Five dollars, boys.”
Hank DeLong eyed him carefully. “Sure, Tim. Let’s just play along with that.”
There were no raises and Tim turned in the eight and three. He got back another pair of kings for his trouble. Trying to look nonchalant, he bet cautiously. “How’s about keeping that to five dollars?”
Hank raised it another five, then Joe Black did the same. When the cards were laid down, Tim raked in a pot of eighty dollars.
Tim grinned slightly. “Well! That ain’t a bad start, is it?”
“Damn, Tim!” Shorty said. “You ain’t going back to your old ways, are you?”
Rosalie and Hannah walked up to the table to watch as the pasteboards began to be played seriously. Big Ed produced a bottle, and the drinks were taken steadily as the evening’s poker activity rolled on.
And Tim Hawkins could do nothing wrong;
His winnings had gone up to over five hundred before Shorty Clemens finally stood up. “I’m going out for some fresh air before that damn Tim wins all that too.”
Tim, half drunk, laughed. “You better watch out, all right! Me and these here playing cards is singing pretty together tonight. Yes, sir!”
Shorty passed Big Ed coming in to see how the game was going. The saloon owner winked at his hired gun. “How’s it panning out, Shorty?”
Shorty grinned. “We’re giving him a taste o’ the good of days, Big Ed. He’s lapping it up like a thirsty cow at a rangeland creek.” He walked outside to the porch and pulled a cigar from his leather vest.
Calvin Witherspoon glanced at him. “It sounds like young Tim Hawkins is having quite a night.”
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