Firefly (58 page)

"When I saw you," she whispered to Morgan, "all I saw was the blood on the front of your shirt.  I thought you'd been shot in the chest and were dead."

He lifted his good right arm and touched her cheek, wet with her tears.

"I almost thought so, too," he managed to laugh, though the pain, dulled by the first shock, was becoming almost more than he could bear.  "Pull that tourniquet tighter," he ordered.  "Let's get this damn trial over with first, and then you can worry about digging the bullet out, all right?"

"You can't be serious! Del, this isn't a splinter in your thumb or an eyelash in your eye."

"No, I know it isn't.  But it won't take more than a few minutes to wind this up, and I'd just as soon finish what I've started."

Grace Fulton shouldered her way through the crowd with a basin of water and set it on the chair beside Morgan.

"I figgered no one'd think to get any water," the midwife said, "so I went to the kitchen."

Julie nodded her thanks and dipped another towel in the water.  Once again she tried to talk Morgan into letting her, with Grace Fulton's assistance, take decent care of the injury, but he adamantly refused.  Pushing both women aside, he got to his feet and started toward a white-faced Wilhelm Hollstrom, who hadn't budged from the witness stand.

He could feel the warm blood seeping through the towel wrapped around the wound and knew that the blood loss was making him dizzy.  He didn't know how much longer he could stay on his feet with the pain washing over him like the Ohio River in spring flood, but he had to end this whole mess once and for all, bullet or no bullet.

"Dr. Morgan, let me explain," Wilhelm begged, his face as pale as though he had been the one shot.

But before Morgan could begin the oration that he hoped would bring Wilhelm Hollstrom to his knees, an enormous voice interrupted from the rear of the courtroom.

"Hey, kin somebody help me? I got a guy here with a couple fingers shot off."

Julie recognized Thaddeus Burton at once.  And the man draped over his shoulder had to be Hans.

*   *   *

Judge Booth took advantage of what he knew was only a temporary calm to order the courtroom cleared.  Almost as fast as people left the hotel, they gathered outside in little knots and the more curious scurried down the alley to peer in the windows until Garroway drew the curtains.  When the onlookers protested, he closed the windows, too, to shut out their squawks.

In the gloomy ballroom, an eerie silence descended.  Ted Phillips went to Burton's aid and the two of them carried the unconscious Hans to the front of the room, where they laid him out on the floor.  His nose as well as his hand was bloodied.

"Did I interrupt somethin'?" Burton asked softly, or as softly as he could.

"Yes, thank God," Morgan laughed.  "A murder, I think."

"Well, I was comin' to find out what this here trial was all about, and I seen him pointin' that rifle in the window.  I didn't figger that was quite the thing to be doin', so I hollered at him."

"Please, Mr. Burton," Julie interrupted.  "Let Dr. Morgan finish his speech and you can give us your explanation later."

She tossed another of the towels to Grace Fulton, who knelt beside Hans and lifted the mangled hand.

Morgan turned to the judge, but it was Ard Hammond who spoke first.

"I don't think Del needs to say another word," the mortician intoned.  He turned to his fellow jurors and asked, "Any o' you gentlemen have any objections to a verdict of not guilty?"

Eleven heads shook the unanimous answer.

"Then, Your Honor, we find the defendant innocent."

There was no rejoicing.  Morgan had already succumbed enough that he did not protest when Ard Hammond slipped a supporting arm around his waist.  With Phillips' help, the undertaker steered Morgan toward the table in front of the judge.  Booth, seemingly unperturbed by this highly unorthodox turn of events, cleared his own papers out of the way.  Clark Garroway brought two lamps and lit them to dispel the shadows.

"Wouldn't it be better to take him to the surgery?" Julie asked of no one in particular.

Morgan answered her, "No, just send someone for my bag.  I'm afraid I'll pass out if you try to get me that far."

He was weak and in considerable pain, his eyes tightly closed against it.  He sat down on the table and then lay back slowly with a soft gasping cry of agony that he couldn't halt.  Julie took the hand he reached up to her and squeezed it reassuringly.

"You can do it, Firefly.  I know you can."

Grace Fulton, anticipating correctly, had already gone to the doctor's office and brought back the satchel with his instruments--and a full bottle of scotch.

"You know what you're doin'?" she asked Julie.

"I think so."

She started to pull the cork from the bottle, only to have Morgan snatch it away from her.

"No anaesthesia, Julie," he commanded.  "I gotta be awake in case you need me."

"But I can't--"

"You have to.  Grace will help, won't you, Grace?"

The grey head nodded solemnly, though Morgan's eyes stayed closed and he didn't see.

"All right, then, ladies, get the rest of these spectators out of here and let's get to work.  Is Hans gonna be all right?"

The jurors filed out with Booth behind them like a shepherd guiding his flock, and then Ted Phillips quietly hustled Wilhelm and Katharine out the door as well.  Only Thaddeus Burton remained, and his size told the marshal not to waste time trying to evict him.

While Grace laid out the instruments on a towel within Julie's reach, Morgan kept up a steady stream of instructions and conversation in an effort to hold onto consciousness.

"The bullet must have ricocheted," he said, "Even a twenty-two should have done more damage fired at that close range." He tried to open his eyes but couldn't.  Or maybe he did and everything was black anyway.  "See if you can find the bullet first with your fingers.  If it isn't lodged in the bone, maybe you can just pull it out.  I don't think there's any nerve damage; I can still move my fingers.  If it did stick in the bone, check for a break."

Swallowing a rising nausea, Julie took a deep breath and then ventured to examine the wound while he continued to talk.  When she probed with a slender finger for the bullet, he winced and jerked convulsively, his back arching off the table, and sweat poured from him.  Julie withdrew and wiped her own forehead on her sleeve.

"I found it," she whispered.  "The bone's not broken, and I didn't feel any chips."

"Good job, love.  Can you get it out with your fingers?"

"No, I don't think so.  I tried, but it's--"

"Too slippery," he finished for her.  "Damn little buggers usually are.  But that's all right.  Just use the forceps.  Go ahead; I'm ready."

But I'm not
, Julie wanted to scream. 
God, help me.  Help him
.

She was grateful for Grace Fulton's strength to hold Morgan still while Julie did what she had watched him do to Thaddeus Burton.  The long body thrashed against the screeching agony, and Julie knew that without Grace to restrain him, Morgan would have fought free of Julie's awkward fumbling.  Twice she got the blades of the forceps into the hole in his arm only to have his body react and escape.  The third time, she managed to grasp the bullet but couldn't remove it.  She was crying now, with the awful confusion of frustration and anger and fear and relief.

"Oh, Del, I can't get it out!" she cried.  "And I can't leave the tourniquet on much longer.  Your arm's turning blue."

"It'll be all right.  One more try," he ordered, his voice softer now, or perhaps just weaker.  "I'm sorry, love.  I've been so damn much trouble to you."

"No, you haven't." She gritted her teeth and slipped her fingers back into the handle of the instrument.  "I'll get it this time."

Her hand trembled, and the perspiration she couldn't wipe away stung her eyes.  Grace had to stretch her body across Morgan's to hold him still, but finally Julie withdrew the forceps and dropped them to the table.  The bullet was clenched between the blades.

"I got it!" she breathed.

Julie's triumphant declaration brought a faint smile to Morgan's lips, but it was some time before he could speak again.

"Now get me sewn back together and we'll take a look at Mr. Wallenmund," he told her when he found his voice.  "And don't worry about the embroidery."

"You take your time with Del, Miss Hollstrom," Grace Fulton countered.  "I can take care of 'Mr. Wallenmund.'  I've stitched up shot-off fingers before and I can do it again." When Morgan tried to argue, she shushed him and went on.  "I'm gonna send this big galoot that brought Hans in back over to your place for a stretcher and then him and the marshal are gonna tote you home.  You ain't doin' no more doctorin' today.  You ain't doin' nothin' but restin'."

Grace picked up a needle and threaded it with a length of catgut and then handed it to Julie.

"I hear you're quite a seamstress.  Mebbe you could give me a few pointers."

After the unbearable pain of extracting the bullet, the pinpricks of the stitches were nothing.  Morgan lay still, only his clenched teeth to indicate he felt even the jabs of the needle and the pulling of the thread through muscle and then skin.  When Julie had finished and removed the tourniquet, she was pleased to notice that there was very little bleeding.  And the bloodless hand that had grown so blue and cold now flushed with a healthy pink and warmed in her own grasp.

Though he argued that he was perfectly capable of helping Grace with Hans, Morgan did not get up from the table when Julie placed a hand on his chest and ordered him to remain right where he was.

"Mrs.  Fulton is right.  You need your rest," she told him.

Thaddeus Burton hesitantly approached and added his own insistence.

"You do like Miss Julie says, Doc, or I'll flatten you just like I flattened that fella what shot you."

Morgan laughed.

"I expect you would at that.  But I thought you shot Hans."

"Oh, I shot him all right.  I walked all the way from the livery, though, and my leg was achin' pretty bad.  I guess that's what threw my aim off.  When I saw him standin' there at the window, I hollered, but I had a feeling it was too late.  I just pulled up the gun and fired.  I meant to hit the barrel, so just in case he got his shot off it'd go sideways or somethin'.  I hit his hand instead and probably the trigger, too.  Maybe it's all my fault."

"You didn't shoot twice, did you?"

"Nope, just the once."

"Well, then, it wasn't your fault," Morgan assured him.  "I heard the two shots, his and then yours.  If I hadn't turned when Julie screamed, I'd have taken it in the chest.  I don't know what threw
his
aim off, whether it was her scream or your holler, but--"

"But that's enough, you two," Julie cut in.  "Mr. Burton, I think the doctor needs to rest now."