The Ranch at the Wolverine

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE HOOKIN'-COUGH MAN

  Billy Louise waited another minute or two, weighing the possibilities.She saw Ward's fingers drop away from the gun, but they remained closeenough for a dangerously quick gripping of it again, if the whim seizedhim. Still--surely to goodness, Ward would never get crazy enough tohurt her! Perhaps her feminine assurance of her hold on him, more thanher courage, kept her nerves fairly steady. She bit the pencilabsently, watching him.

  Ward turned his head restlessly on the pillow and coughed again. BillyLouise got up quietly, went close to the bed, and laid her hand on hisforehead. His head was hot, and the veins were swollen and throbbingon his temples.

  "Brave Buckaroo got a headache?" she queried softly, stroking histemples soothingly. "Got the hookin'-cough, too. Get every measlything he can think of. Even got a grouch against the Flower of theRanch-oh!" Her voice was crooningly soft and sweet, as if she weremurmuring over a sleepy baby.

  Ward closed his eyes, opened them, and looked up into her face. Onehand came up uncertainly and caught her fingers closely."Wilhemina-mine!" he said, in his hoarse voice. His eyes cleared tosanity under her touch.

  Billy Louise drew a small sigh of relief and reached unobtrusively withher free hand for the gun. She slid it down away from his fingers, andwhen he still paid no attention, she picked it up quite openly and laidit against the footboard. Ward did not say anything. He seemedaltogether occupied with the amazing reality of her presence. He clungto her fingers and looked at her with that intent stare of his, as ifhe were trying to hold her there by the sheer power of his will.

  "Well, how am I going to doctor you and feed you and make you allcomfy, with one hand?" asked Billy Louise with quavering flippancy.

  "Kiss me!"

  "Ah--might catch the hookin'-cough," bantered Billy Louise, leaning abit closer.

  "Kiss me!"

  "Oh, well, I s'pose sick folks have to be humored." Billy Louiseleaned closer still. "Mighty few kissy places left," she observed withthe same shaky flippancy, a minute later. "Say, Ward, you look for allthe world like old Sourdough Williams!" Sourdough Williams, it may beremarked, was a particularly hairy and unkempt individual who lived amore or less nomadic life in the hills, trapping.

  "You look like--" Ward groped foggily for a simile. Angel wasaltogether too commonplace.

  "Like the lady who's going to get busy right now, making you well.What have you been doing to yourself? Never mind; I don't want youtalking yourself crazy again. Do you know you tried to shoot me upwhen I came in? And you made me start in to write a record of my sins.But that's all right, seeing you've got the hookin'-cough, I'll forgiveyou this once. Lie still--and let go my hand. I want to put a wetcloth on your head."

  "Did I--"

  "You did; and then some. Forget it. You've got a terrible cold; andfrom the looks of things, you've had it for about six months." Hereyes went comprehensively about that end of the cabin, with thedepleted cracker-box, the half-emptied boxes of peaches and tomatoes,and the buckets that were all but empty of water. She was shocked atthe pitiful evidence of long helplessness. She did not quiteunderstand. Surely Ward's cold had not kept him in bed so long.

  "Well, this is no time for mirth or laughter," she said briskly, tohide how close she was to hysteria, "since it looks very much like 'themorning after.' First, we've got to tackle that fever of yours." Shepicked up a water-pail and started for the door. As she passed thefoot of the bunk, she confiscated the two revolvers and took themoutside with her. She had no desire to be mistaken again for BuckOlney.

  When she came back, Ward's eyes were wild again, and he started up inbed and glared at her. Billy Louise laughed at him and told him to liedown like a nice buckaroo, and Ward, recalled to himself by her voice,obeyed. She got the wash-basin and a towel and prepared to bathe hishead. He wanted a drink. And when she held a cup to his lips and sawhow greedily he drank, a little sob broke unexpectedly from her lips.She gritted her teeth after it and forced a laugh.

  "You're sure a hard drinker," she bantered and wet her handkerchief tolay on his brow.

  "That's the first decent drink I've had for a month," he told her,dropping back to the pillow, refreshed to the point of clear thinking."Old Lady Fortune's still playing football with me, William. I've beenlaid up with a broken leg for about six weeks. And when I got gay andthought I could handle myself again, I put myself out of business forawhile, and caught this cold before I came to and crawled back intobed. I'm--sure glad you showed up, old girl. I was--getting upagainst it for fair." He coughed.

  "Looks like it." Billy Louise held herself rigidly back from anyemotional expression. She could not afford to "go to pieces" now. Shetried to think just what a trained nurse would do, in such a case. Herhospital experience would be of some use here, she told herself. Sheremembered reading somewhere that no experience is valueless, if oneonly applies the knowledge gained.

  "First," she said cheerfully, "the patient must be kept quiet andcheerful. So don't go jumping up and down on your broken leg, WardWarren; the nurse forbids it. And smile, if it kills you."

  Ward grinned appreciatively. Sick as he was, he realized the gamenessof Billy Louise; what he failed to realize was the gameness of himself."I'm a pretty worthless specimen, right now," he said apologetically."But I'm yours to command, Bill-the-Conk. You're the doctor."

  "Nope, I'm the cook, right now. I've got a hunch. How would you likea cup of tea, patient?"

  "I'd rather have coffee--Doctor William."

  "Tea, you mean. I'll have it ready in ten minutes." Then she weakenedbefore his imploring eyes. "You really oughtn't to drink coffee, withthat fever, Ward. But, maybe if I don't make it very strong and put inlots of cream-- We'll take a chance, buckaroo!"

  Ward watched her as intently as if his life depended on her speed. Hehad lain in that bunk for nearly six weeks with the coffee-pot sittingin plain sight on the back of the stove, twelve feet or so from hisreach, and with the can of coffee standing in plain sight on the roughboard shelf against the wall by the window. And he had craved coffeealmost as badly as a drunkard craves whisky.

  The sound of the fire snapping in the stove was like music to him.Later, the smell of the coffee coming briskly to the boiling-point madehis mouth water with desire. And when Billy Louise jabbed two littleslits in a cream can with the point of a butcher knife and poured athin stream of canned milk into a big, white granite cup, Ward's eyesturned traitor to his love for the girl and dwelt hungrily upon theswift movements of her hands.

  "How much sugar, patient?" Billy Louise turned toward him with thetomato-can sugar-bowl in her hands.

  "None. I want to taste the coffee, this trip."

  "Oh, all right! It's the worst thing you could think of, but that'sthe way with a patient. Patients always want what they mustn't have."

  "Sure--get it, too." Ward spoke between long, satisfying gulps."How's your other patient, Wilhemina? How's mommie?"

  "Oh, Ward! She's dead--mommie's dead!" Billy Louise broke downunexpectedly and completely. She went down on her knees beside the bedand cried as she had not cried since she looked the last time atmommie's still face, held in that terrifying calm. She cried untilWard's excited mutterings warned her that she must pull herselftogether. She did, somehow, in spite of her sorrow and her worry andthat day's succession of emotional shocks. She did it because Ward wassick--very sick, she was afraid--and there was so much that she must dofor him.

  "You be s-still," she commanded brokenly, fighting for her former safecheerfulness. "I'm all right. Pity yourself, if you've got to pitysomebody. I--can stand--my trouble. I haven't got any broken legand--hookin'-cough." She managed a laugh then and took Ward's handfrom her hair and laid it down on the blankets. "Now we won't talkabout things any more. You've got to have something done for that coldon your lungs." She rose and stood looking down at him with puckeredeyebrows.

  "Mommie would say
you ought to have a good sweat," she decided. "Gotany ginger?"

  "I dunno. I guess not," Ward muttered confusedly.

  "Well, I'll go out and find some sage, then, and give you sage tea.That's another cure-all. Say, Ward, I saw Rattler down the creek.He's looking fine and dandy. He came whinnying down out of that draw,to meet us; just tickled to death to see somebody."

  "Don't blame him," croaked Ward. "It's enough to tickle anybody." Hervoice seemed to steady his straying fancies. "How're--thecattle--looking?"

  "Just fine," lied Billy Louise. "You're the skinniest thing I've seenon the ranch. Now do you think you can keep your senses, while I goand pick some nice, good meddy off a sage bush?"

  "I guess so." Ward spoke drowsily. "Give me some more coffee and Ican."

  "Oh, you're the pesteringest patient! I told you coffee isn't good forwhat ails you, but I suppose--" She poured him another cup of coffee,weakened it with hot water, and let him drink it straight. After all,perhaps the hot drink would induce the perspiration that would breakthe fever. She pulled up the wolf-skins and the extra blankets he hadtossed aside in his feverish restlessness and covered him to his chin.

  "If you don't move till I come back," she promised, "I'll maybe giveyou another cup--after you've filled up on sage tea." With thatqualified hope to cheer him, she left him.

  She did not spend all her time picking sage twigs. A bush grew at thecorner of the cabin within easy reach. She went first down to thestable and led Blue inside and unsaddled him. Rattler was standingnear, and she tried to lead him in also, but he fled from her approach.She found the pitchfork and managed to scratch a few forkfuls of haydown from a corner of the stack; enough to fill a manger for Blue andto leave a little heap beside the stable for Rattler.

  When she was leaving the stable to return to the house, however, shechanged her plan a little. She went back, carried the small pile ofhay into the stable, and filled another manger. Then she took down thewire gate of the hay corral and laid it flat alongside the fence.Rattler would go in to the stack, and she would shut him in. Thatwould simplify the catching of him when he was needed. She would findsomething in which to carry water to him, if he was too frisky to leadto the creek. Billy Louise was no coward with horses, but sherecognized certain fixed limitations in the management of a snuffybrute like Rattler. He was not like Blue, whom she could bully andtease and coax. Rattler was distinctly a man's saddle-horse. BillyLouise had never done more than pat his shoulder after he was caughtand saddled and, therefore, prepared for handling. She foresaw someperturbation of spirit in regard to Rattler.

  Ward was lying quiet when she went in, except that he was waving herhandkerchief to and fro by the corners to cool it. Billy Louise tookit from him, wet it again with cold water, and scolded him for gettinghis arms from under the covers. That, she said, was no nice way for ahookin'-cough man to do.

  Ward meekly submitted to being covered to his eyes. Then he wriggledhis chin free and demanded that she kiss him. Ward was fairly drunkwith happiness because she was there, in the cabin. The dreary weeksbehind him were a nightmare to be forgotten. His Wilhemina-mine wasthere, and she liked him to pieces. Though she had not affirmed itwith words, her eyes when she looked at him told him so; and she hadkissed him when he asked her to. He wanted her to repeat the ecstasy.

  "Ward Warren, you're a perfectly awful hookin'-cough man! There. Nowthat's going to be the very last one-- Oh, Ward, it isn't!" She kneltand curved an arm around his face and kissed him again and yet again."I do love you, Ward. I've been a weak-kneed, horrid thing, and I'mashamed to the middle of my bones. You're my own brave buckarooalways--always! You've done what no other man would do, and you don'twhine about it; and I've been weak and--horrid; and I'll have to loveyou about a million years before I can quit feeling ashamed." Shekissed him again with a passion of remorse for her doubts of him.

  "Are you through being pals, Wilhemina?" Ward broke rules and freed anarm, so that he could hold her closer.

  "No, I'm just beginning. Just beginning right. I'm your pal forkeeps. But--"

  "I love you for keeps, lady mine." Ward stifled another cough. "Whenare you going to--marry me?"

  "Oh, when you get over the hookin'-cough, I s'pose." Once more BillyLouise, for the good of her patient, forced herself into safeflippancy--that was not flippant at all, but merely a tender pretense.

  "Now it's up to you to show me whether you are in any hurry at all toget well," she said. "Keep your hands under the covers while I makesome tea. That fever of yours has got to be stopped immediately--toonce."

  She went over and busied herself about the stove, never once lookingtoward the bed, though she must have felt Ward's eyes worshiping her.She was terribly worried about Ward; so worried that she put everythingelse into the background of her mind and set herself sternly to theneed of breaking the fever and lessening the evident congestion in hislungs.

  She hunted through the cupboards and found a bottle of turpentine;syrupy and yellowed with age, but pungent with strength. She foundsome lard in a small bucket and melted half a teacupful. Then she toreup a woolen undershirt she found hanging on a nail and borerelentlessly down upon him.

  "You gotta be greased all over your lungs," she announced with amatter-of-factness that cost her something; for Billy Louise's innatemodesty was only just topped by her good sense.

  Ward submitted without protest while she bared his chest--as white asher own--and applied the warm mixture with a smoothly vigorous palm."That'll fix the hookin'-cough," she said, as she spread the warmlayers of woolen cloth smoothly from shoulder to shoulder. "How doesit feel?"

  "Great," he assured her succinctly, and wisely omitted any love-making.

  "Will your game leg let you turn over? Because there's some dope left,and it ought to go between your shoulders."

  "The game leg ought to stand more than that," he told her, turningslowly. "If I hadn't got this cold tacked onto me, I'd have beentrying to walk on it by now."

  "Better give it time--since you've been game enough to lie here allthis while and take care of it. I don't believe I'd have had nerveenough for that, Ward." She poured turpentine and lard into her palm,reached inside his collar and rubbed it on his shoulders. "Good thingyou had plenty of grub handy. But it must have been awful!"

  "It was pretty damned lonesome," he admitted laconically, and that wasas far as his complainings went.

  Billy Louise then poured the water off the sage leaves she had beenbrewing in a tin basin, carefully fished out a stem or two, and madeWard drink every bitter drop. Then she covered him to the eyes andhardened her heart against his discomfort, while she kept thehandkerchief cool on his head and between times swept the floor with acarefully dampened broom and wiped the dust off things and restored theroom to its most cheerful atmosphere of livableness.

  "Wan' a drink," mumbled Ward, with a blanket over his mouth and araveled thread tickling his nose so that he squirmed.

  Billy Louise went over and laid her fingers on his neck. "I can't tellwhether it's grease or perspiration," she said, laughing a little."What are you squinting up your nose for? Surely to goodness you don'tmind that little, harmless raveling? If you wouldn't go on breathing,it wouldn't wiggle around so much!" Nevertheless, she plucked thetormenting thread and threw it on the floor.

  "Gimme--drink," Ward mumbled again.

  "There's more sage tea--"

  "Waugh!"

  "I suppose that means you aren't crazy about sage tea! Well, I mightgive you a teenty-weenty speck more of coffee. You can't have wateryet, you know. You've--you've got to sweat like a nigger in a cottonpatch first." (Billy Louise could talk very nicely when she wanted todo so. The Billy of her could also be humanly inelegant when she feltlike it, as you see.)

  Ward grunted something and afterwards signified that he would take thecoffee and call it square.

  The next time she went near him, he was wrinkling his lean nose becausebeads of perspi
ration were standing there and slipping occasionallydown to his cheeks.

  "Fine! You're two niggers in a cotton patch now," she announcedcheeringly. "And Mr. Hookin'-cough will have to hunt another home, Ireckon. You weren't half as hoarse when you swore that last time."

  It was physically impossible for Ward to blush, since he was alreadythe color of a boiled beet; but he looked guilty when she uncovered therest of his face and wiped off the gathered moisture. "I didn't thinkyou'd hear," he grinned embarrassedly.

  "I was listening for it, buckaroo. I'd have been scared to pieces ifyou hadn't cussed a little. I'd have thought sure you were going todie. A man," she added sententiously, "always has a chance as long ashe's able to swear. It's like a horse wiggling his ears."

  The comparison reminded her that she intended to shut Rattler in thehay corral; she dried Ward's hands hastily, pulled the wolf-skins offthe bed, and commanded him to keep covered until she came back. Sheran down bareheaded to the stable, saw Rattler industriously boring hisnose into the stack, and put up the gate.

  When she went into the cabin again, Ward gave a start and opened hiseyes like one who has been dozing. Billy Louise smiled withgratification. He was better. She knew he was better. She did notspeak, but went over to the stove and pretended to be busy there,though she was careful to make no noise. When she turned finally andglanced toward the bed, Ward was asleep.

  Billy Louise took a deep breath, tiptoed over to the bench beside thetable, sat down, and pillowed her head on her folded arms. She wantedto cry, and she needed to think, and she was deadly, deadly tired.