Lucas stood over the unconscious renegade and shoved his gun back into his holster. He picked up his hat and put it on his head in a purely automatic gesture. He could feel the wetness of blood inside his clothing, and the ache in his head throbbed heavily. His eyes searched the area, and his heart began to pound with wild, desperate fear.
“Oh, God! Oh, God!” he muttered hoarsely and began to run.
The dying mule struggled in its harness beside Tucker’s overturned wagon. She was on her hands and knees, numb with shock, her hair in wild disorder, her clothing ripped.
“Laura!” she called frantically. “Laura!” She looked up at Lucas when he knelt beside her. “I can’t find Laura,” she cried.
Blue was whining. Tucker, on her knees beside the overturned wagon, could hear the forlorn pup.
“Laura!” She fought down the ugly taste of fear in her throat. “Laura! Can you hear me? Help me!” she cried. “Somebody help me.”
Lucas cut the dying mule free of its harness and unhitched its teammate. People were coming from all directions in answer to Tucker’s cries. They lined up alongside the wagon and lifted the heavy box. Blue came scampering out. Lucas crawled through the torn canvas and crushed boxes. He found Laura lying crumpled and still, the whip clutched in her deathly white hand. He grasped her carefully under the arms and pulled her free of the rubble.
Her face and head were bloody, her shirt badly torn. Tucker dropped to her knees beside her and grasped her hands, trying to squeeze life into them.
“Laura! Laura!” she screamed over the still, silent form. “Laura, answer me!” But there was no response. “Laura, wake up. Oh, Laura, don’t die. Please don’t die. You’re not dead! You can’t be!” she
moaned. She tried to wipe the blood from Laura’s face with her hands. “Laura!” she sobbed. “Please be all right.”
Lucas felt weak and remembered his own wound. At first he had thought it was no more than a small cut; now he wasn’t sure. He took a step to comfort Tucker and knew he was bleeding heavily. He paused long enough to take the kerchief from around his neck and tie it about his thigh. He took Tucker firmly by the shoulders and led her away sobbing as someone came to carry Laura to Marie Hook.
Fifteen minutes later the camp was in some semblance of order. Two drovers and Chata had been seriously wounded. Several others, including Mrs. Shaffer, were injured slightly. Four of the raiders lay dead and two were dying. Marie and Rafe, with Billy’s help, had spread bedrolls beside Rafe’s wagon and were caring for the wounded. Laura had been moved there and lay in Rafe’s bunk with Tucker sitting beside her.
It was only a little past the middle of the afternoon and so much had happened! Lucas walked his horse around the circle and looked toward the southwest for the hundredth time. His anxiety for Buck was now overriding his other concerns.
Someone had started a fire and a slow finger of smoke was pointing upward. There was something so everlastingly normal about starting a fire and boiling coffee. How many times had he seen his mother start a fire and begin to cook when the first shock of disaster was over, be it a death, a storm, or a sudden
accident. It was so simple, a lighted fire, yet it gave a man comfort and security.
Lucas shaded his eyes and watched the movement on the hillside. Minutes later the movement materialized into three horses, two of them riderless. One broke away from the others and raced toward camp. Soon Lucas recognized Buck’s sorrel, riderless, and a sense of grief, loss, and anger rose up to consume him.
Then the rider leading the extra horse whipped his mount and they thundered recklessly down the slope. A wave of relief washed over Lucas. No man could sit a horse coming down a slope like Buck. He rode out to meet him.
“Damn you! You scared the hell out of me letting Dolorido come in riderless.”
“What’s happened here? I heard the shooting.”
“Renegades charged us from the rear. That Parcher’s horse?”
Buck nodded. “He won’t be needin’ it. Anyone hurt here?”
“Chata, Valdez, and Cutler were hit pretty bad. Others not so bad. We killed four, two are dying, and two ran off.”
Buck started to ride past him. Lucas knew his eyes were searching for Laura. Goddammit, he thought. There’s no easy way to say it.
“Buck, wait. . . . Laura was hurt. The wagon jackknifed and rolled over. . . . She was under it.” Buck stared straight ahead and Lucas wondered if he had heard him. He spurred his horse and trotted up beside
him. Buck sat stonily, his eyes shut. “She has several cuts on her head and she’s scratched and bruised. No broken bones that Marie can find,” he said, seeking to comfort his friend, but he was forced to add, “she’s unconscious.”
“Where is she?”
“In the Blanchet wagon. Tucker is with her.”
Buck dropped the lead rope and slid from the saddle. He went to the end of the Blanchet wagon without seeing the wounded lying beside it. The canvas was folded back to allow the air to circulate. He looked in and saw Tucker sitting on a stool beside the bunk fanning Laura with a cardboard fan. Fear flooded over him like an icy wave.
He climbed inside. His heart contracted painfully at the sight of her scratched face and the deep gash on the side of her head. She was so pale, so still and so small. Her body scarcely showed beneath the sheet that covered it. A wet, bloody cloth lay against her forehead.
Tucker looked up with tearful, red-rimmed eyes. “She’s been just like this. She hasn’t moved,” she whispered, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
Buck looked down at Laura with bleak eyes and remembered the words she had whispered to him last night.
Hold me tight, Buck. Don’t let me go.
Oh, God! If he could only hold on to her now and keep her from slipping away from him!
Tucker stood up and moved away from the bunk. “Do you want to sit with her for a while? I’ll get fresh
water and wash these rags.” She piled the bloody rags in a wash basin.
Buck sat down on the stool and began to fan Laura with his hat. Tucker left the wagon. She wanted to be alone so she could cry freely. Cry for Laura, who had been so happily in love; cry for Buck, who looked so stricken; and cry for herself, because she felt she couldn’t bear it if Laura should die and be left behind in a prairie grave like Cora Lee.
At sundown one of the raiders died and was taken away to be buried beside the others. Working tirelessly, Marie tended to the wounded. Her quiet, efficient manner instilled confidence in the others and she had only to ask for a basin of water, a clean cloth, or the whiskey she used to sterilize the wounds for someone to jump and put it into her hands. Rafe had proved to be quite handy with the patients. He helped to set Chata’s broken arm as well as hold him while Marie probed in his side for a bullet. The injured men looked on Marie as almost godlike. Her decisions were not questioned. When she looked back on this day, she would recall it was the first time she had been accepted as a doctor first and a woman second.
“Marie.” Rafe took her elbow and helped her to her feet. “I know I should call you doctor, but may I call you Marie, just this one time?”
“Of course. I call you Rafe.”
“Go along to the wagon and get some supper. I’ll be here and I’ll call out if you’re needed,” he urged gently.
“I think I will.” She smiled. “You and Billy can take care of things for a while.”
She walked away with the smile still on her face. Oh, my dear Rafe, she thought. This is the final day and you’re all right! I gave myself two extra days from the time you were attacked by the bull, and they have passed. Someday I’ll tell you about it, but not now. It’s too soon!
During the early evening the other raider died, but not because Marie had not done everything she could to help him. Lucas had to submit to having the cut in his thigh cleansed and stitched closed. Parts from the wrecked wagon that could be used again were removed, and trunks and boxes were restored to order. The evening meal was eaten. The camp settled down around a large campfire to talk about the raid and to wait for news about Laura.
Emma Collins had accounted for two of the raiders. She and Maudy now sat chatting with the other members of the train. It seemed the Louisiana woman had come alive now that the overbearing presence of her husband had been removed.
Alice Taylor sat beside her husband saying little. He had conducted himself admirably, in her estimation, and his own self-esteem had risen to the point where he was entering into the discussion freely. She was proud of him. She had always known that someday, somewhere, he would find himself. She believed he had found his place, here in the west.
Thoughts of Laura were uppermost in everyone’s minds. She was much more than just a member of the
train. Her courage, her confidence, and her cheerful disposition had earned her the affection of every man, woman, and child among them. Secretly each felt that if Laura with her sightless eyes could endure the hardships on the trail, they could, too. Marie did not build up false hopes about her recovery. She explained that Laura had suffered a stunning, damaging blow to the side of her head, and the swelling could cause injury to the brain. All they could do was keep her as still as possible and keep cold, wet cloths on her head to help hold down the swelling.
Buck sat beside Laura all through the night, moving aside only occasionally to make room for Tucker or Marie. Outside, firelight played shadow games on the white wagon covers. There was no shortage of firewood due to the wrecked wagon, and people moved around camp quietly as if by doing so they were in some way helping Laura.
The night was pleasantly cool. The storm that had threatened had moved to the south and the sky was clear. Far off a coyote serenaded the night with plaintive music. Buck’s moccasins crunched on the gravel as he walked out from the wagon. The mules flicked their long tails and continued cropping the lush grass. These were familiar sounds. Buck’s ears had learned to sort the sounds, to pick out the strange, different ones from among all the others. Now he heard only the low murmur of voices coming from the wagon where the center of his world lay fighting for her life. Never had Buck encountered an absolute defeat, one that he couldn’t cope with or turn aside from without
regret. It had simply never occurred to him that a woman would bring him to the point where, if he lost her, his life would be over.
He returned to the wagon and took up his vigil beside the cot. Leaning over, he kissed the still lips tenderly. Tucker couldn’t bear to watch. He wasn’t even aware he was whispering to Laura that he loved her . . . over and over.
The hours before dawn were the slow hours. The minutes seemed like hours, the hours like days to those who waited. Tucker and Buck waited together. Lucas slept in snatches on the bedroll he’d flung out beside the wagon. Marie and Rafe sat with the injured, at times nursing cups of hot coffee in their hands.
Morning finally came, and the camp stirred. There would be no traveling today. It didn’t need to be said. The day would be warm and sunny, but a gentle breeze rippled the tops of the wagons and promised relief from the heat. A canvas shelter was raised over the injured men to shade them from the sun.
Lucas went to the end of the wagon and called to Tucker. “You’re dead tired, sweetheart.” He lifted her down from the wagon and she clung to him.
“She hasn’t moved, not even once, Lucas,” she said wearily.
“Lie down and get some sleep.” He pressed her down onto his bedroll. “I’ll wake you if there’s any change.”
Tucker lay down obediently and her exhaustion overcame her. She drifted off to sleep.
In the middle of the morning the stage passed. Lucas rode out to stop it and send word of the attack back to Fort Davis. Shortly after that he woke Tucker, and she took up the vigil beside Laura. Buck went to the water barrel and poured several dippers of water over his head, washed, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He went to the other side of the wagon and sat down, leaned his back to the wheel, and looked off toward the mountains. His eyes filled with tears that rolled down his cheeks unchecked. He sat there not caring how much he might be exposing his human frailty to anyone who happened to pass by.
Shortly after Buck left her, Laura began to move her hands restlessly. Tucker changed the wet cloth on her head and noticed that her lips were moving slightly and that she seemed to be breathing more deeply. A frown puckered her brows, seemingly from pain, when she moved her head suddenly. Tucker called out to Marie.
Marie bent over Laura and listened to her heart, then held her fingers to the pulse at her wrist.
“She may be about to wake up. Hold the pillows on each side of her head so she can’t turn it.”
Tucker moved to the head of the bunk and Marie took the stool. Together they waited.
“Oh,” Laura murmured. She tried to lift her hand to her head and Marie gently intercepted it. “Oh, my head!”
The words were clear and they filled Tucker with sudden hope. Laura’s eyelids quivered and she opened her eyes, shut them, then opened them again.
She blinked as if she was trying to wake up. Tucker started to speak, but Marie shook her head, so she remained silent. “Is the fighting over?” Laura asked suddenly.