One More Sunrise (12 page)

“Tell you what, Wally. The hotel room isn’t necessary. You can stay in one of our guest rooms tonight. We live about six miles out
of town in the country. If you can occupy yourself until five o’clock this afternoon, be here then and I’ll lead you to our place. I keep my horse in the stable out back.”

Wally grinned. “I can occupy myself, all right. I want to look this town over good before I head for home. So you live in the country, eh? Good! Then this ol’ farmer will really feel at home!”

Wally thanked all of the Brockman family for their kindness, then left, saying he would be back at the office a few minutes before five o’clock.

Breanna moved to her husband with a sweet smile on her lips. “Well, Mr. John Stranger, Mrs. Stranger and these little Strangers need to get home so we can prepare for our big evening.”

Raising up on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on John’s lips. He hugged her. Ginny was next to get a hug, then Paul did the same.

As they started for the office door with John following, Paul said, “I really like that, Mama! I think it’s neat being a ‘Little Stranger’!”

B
reanna Brockman guided the trotting team south along Broadway with Ginny sitting on the wagon seat between her and Paul. The children were talking about Wally Talbot and all the other people their father helped out of trouble when he rode the West as The Stranger.

Breanna smiled. Paul, especially, was intrigued with his father’s mysterious past and talked about it often. He was fascinated with all the stories he had heard from his father’s admirers how John Stranger faced so many of the West’s fastest gunslingers who found themselves compelled by their egos to challenge him to a quick draw. Only a few months ago, Breanna had heard her son comment when he had heard one of the stories from an old former lawman from Arizona: “Yep! All those gunslingers thought they could outdraw my papa. They’re gone and Papa is still here. Guess we know who was the fastest!”

When they were past the residential area, Paul was telling his little sister what she had heard so many times before; he was going to grow up to be a lawman just like Papa.

The wagon came to a fork in the road, and Breanna took the fork to the right, heading southwest toward the foothills of the Rockies. They had gone some two miles from the edge of town
when they saw a wagon coming toward them with the team at a full gallop, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

“Isn’t that the Fordhams, Mama?” said Paul. “It looks like their horses.”

Breanna focused on the two people sitting in the seat of the fishtailing wagon. The man was slumped on the seat, holding what appeared to be a bloody towel to his head. His face was covered. The woman was driving the team.

“Yes it is, honey,” responded Breanna. “And it looks like Mr. Fordham is hurt.”

“Look, Mama!” exclaimed Ginny, pointing. “Mrs. Fordham has spotted us and is waving for us to stop.”

Breanna put the team to a gallop for a few seconds to close the gap between them as quickly as possible, then pulled back on the reins.

The two wagons quickly drew abreast and came to a halt. Gayle Fordham’s horror-stricken eyes were fixed on Breanna as she cried, “Bob got kicked in the head by one of our draft horses! He’s bleeding badly, Breanna. I’m taking him to the hospital, but when I saw you coming toward us, I told him maybe we should stop you and see if you could slow down his bleeding. I remember you told me once that just like any doctor, as a nurse, you always carry your medical bag with you.”

Breanna was already climbing down from the wagon seat. “Yes, Gayle, I have it right here.” She reached into the wagon bed just behind the seat, grasped the handle of her medical bag, and headed around the rear of the Fordham vehicle.

Gayle tried to help Bob climb from the seat into the bed of their wagon. He pressed the bloody towel to the right side of his head as he struggled weakly to accomplish the task.

Paul jumped down. “I’ll help you get him back there, Mrs. Fordham.” He ran to the rear of the Fordham wagon, pulled the
lever to drop the tailgate, then bounded into the bed and hurried to Gayle’s side to assist her.

Ginny was looking on from her place on the Brockman wagon seat, eyes wide.

Breanna set her medical bag in the wagon bed, climbed in, and made her way to the spot where Gayle and Paul were helping Bob lie down.

As Breanna knelt beside the injured rancher, pulled the towel from his fingers, and began examining his bleeding head, Gayle said, “He was unconscious when I found him in the barn. I threw a bucketful of water in his face, and he came to. He insisted on climbing up onto the seat.”

“Well, we’ve got him where we need him now,” said Breanna, opening her medical bag.

Bob’s eyes were closed, and he was gritting his teeth in obvious pain.

“How bad is it, Breanna?” asked the rancher’s wife. “I couldn’t tell exactly where he was hit; there was so much blood.”

The nurse was taking out needle and thread. “The sharp-shod toe calk of the horse’s shoe struck him just above the right temple at his hairline, Gayle. Pretty bad gash, here. Didn’t crack the skull, but there’s a three-inch split in the scalp I’ll have to stitch up.”

She reached back into the medical bag and drew out a bottle of wood alcohol. “Bob, brace yourself. I’ve got to put alcohol on it before I start the stitching process. It’s going to burn like fire.”

Bob jerked and howled when the liquid touched the open gash, then settled back down. Working adeptly, Breanna stitched up the gash in a matter of ten minutes, then took a roll of bandage from the bag and wrapped it around his head. As she cinched it with a tight knot, she sighed. “There! The bleeding is stopped. You need to take him on into the hospital, Gayle. Be best if one of the doctors looks him over, and I’m sure they’ll want to keep him for observation for a day or two. He’s had a pretty bad blow to his head.”

“Thank you so much, Breanna,” said Gayle while scraping some straw from the floor of the wagon bed and placing it under her husband’s head. “Send me your bill, okay?”

Breanna smiled. “Oh yes. And it’ll be a big one too.”

Bob looked up with dull eyes. “Breanna, we’re not kidding. How much do we owe you for this?”

Breanna shook her head. “No money. Both of you promised John and me a month ago that you’d visit our church services. You haven’t come yet. Please think about the Scriptures we showed you on the subject of salvation that evening we visited you, and please come to church as soon as you’re feeling better, Bob. Okay? Okay, Gayle?”

Bob nodded. “We’ll do it.”

“Yes, we will,” said Gayle.

Moments later, the Fordhams were on their way toward Denver, and Breanna and her children were headed toward home.

At the same time at Cheyenne’s Memorial Hospital, Drs. Jacob and Dane Logan were standing over seventy-two-year-old Bertha Ballard, who lay on her bed in a private room. She was sleeping under the influence of a heavy dose of laudanum.

Dr. Dane was carefully examining Bertha’s broken hip while his father looked on. When he finished, he covered her up and said, “Well, Dad, if Bertha and her son will give consent, I’ll do it. I know I can help her.”

Jacob smiled. “All right, son. Let’s go talk to Clyde.”

Both doctors entered the corridor and walked to a nearby waiting room. Clyde Ballard and his wife, Frances, both rose to their feet as the doctors entered the waiting room.

“So what’s the verdict?” Clyde set his gaze on the older man.

Dr. Jacob took a step closer to the couple. “I didn’t want to
comment on Bertha’s condition till I had talked with Dane and he had the opportunity to examine her hip. I’ll let him give you his prognosis of the situation.”

Frances took hold of her husband’s hand, fearful that they were going to hear bad news.

Dr. Dane gestured toward the group of straight-backed wooden chairs that stood in one corner of the room. “Let’s sit down.”

Clyde and Frances exchanged apprehensive glances as they moved toward the chairs.

When the four of them were seated so the doctors were facing the nervous couple, Dr. Dane said, “Clyde, your mother is going to be crippled the rest of her life and be confined to a bed and a wheelchair unless she has a hip replacement.”

Frances frowned. “I didn’t know this could be done. I’ve never heard of a hip being replaced.”

“I haven’t either,” put in Clyde.

“It’s relatively new, yes,” said Dr. Dane, “but it is being done, and I can do it, I’m sure.”

Clyde’s brow furrowed. “Have you done this before?”

“No, but let me explain why I’m sure I can.”

“All right.”

Dr. Dane cleared his throat gently. “There is an eminent surgeon in France named Dr. Louis Ollier who began doing elbow replacements some ten years ago.”

Clyde’s eyebrows arched. “Really? Actually replacing elbows?”

“Yes. About five years ago, a German surgeon, Dr. Theodore Gluck, spent a full month in Paris with Dr. Ollier, learning his elbow replacement technique. Dr. Gluck returned to Germany, and applying this knowledge to what he already knew about orthopedics, he worked at developing a technique to replace hips in older people with arthritic hips, and people of any age who have bad hips from accidents of various kinds.”

“And I assume he has been successful,” said Clyde.

“Yes, sir.”

Frances’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Tell us more.”

“Well, at first, Dr. Gluck began to replace hips with an iron ball, which was attached to the femur with a screw. However—”

“Pardon my ignorance, Doctor,” cut in Clyde, “but what’s the femur?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. The femur is the long bone of the thigh.”

“Oh, of course. I’ve heard that. A long time ago. I’m sorry, Doctor. Please go on.”

Dr. Dane smiled. “As I was saying, at first Dr. Gluck began by replacing hips with an iron ball, which was attached to the femur with a screw. However, when the patient began walking, the weight of the ball on the femur caused more breakdown of the bone tissue, so that when it rubbed against the hip socket, even the slightest pressure was extremely painful. Dr. Gluck knew he would have to come up with something different than the iron ball.

“He soon came up with the idea of replacing a hip with an ivory ball-and-socket joint that he cemented and screwed into place. The ivory, being so much lighter than an iron ball, made it a success.”

Frances smiled and patted her husband’s arm.

Clyde smiled back.

Dr. Dane said, “The reason I know I can do the hip replacement for your mother, Clyde, is because during my last year at Northwestern University Medical School, Dr. Theodore Gluck came to lecture on the subject. He had been there in previous years to lecture on other medical subjects.

“In his first lecture, he gave us some history about orthopedics. The first orthopedic procedure—which dates back over four thousand years—involved placing wooden splints of bark, held in place with heavy cloth, on opposing sides of a broken bone. It was really interesting. Dr. Gluck told us that doctors who treated bones were held in low esteem for centuries by others in the medical profession. Orthopedists were called ‘gorillas with shaven arms.’ ”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” said Frances. “They don’t feel that way any more, do they?”

“No. And Dr. Gluck’s successes have been the main reason for this change. The quality of life today for people with bone problems has been emphatically improved. And now, with Dr. Gluck’s hip replacement technique, so many people with arthritic hips who would have spent the last years of their lives bedridden and in terrible pain now can walk again, and because of the ivory balls, can do it without pain.”

“This is marvelous, Dr. Dane,” said Clyde. “And you feel certain that even though you have never done a replacement, you can do it on my mother?”

“Yes. Dr. Gluck taught us about his ivory hip replacement technique, then actually did one on a man in his sixties while we students looked on. I took notes at the time, wrote down the exact procedure of sizing the ivory ball for the individual, and precisely what Dr. Gluck did from start to finish in the surgery. I’m sure I can do it for your mother, but I will need her consent as well as yours.”

“You can obtain the ivory?”

“Yes. They have quite a supply at Northwestern because the school is having Dr. Gluck come from Germany once a year to teach this procedure. I can get the ivory without a problem.”

Clyde and Frances looked at each other.

“Give your consent, dear,” said Frances. “Give Mother this opportunity to walk again.”

Clyde turned to Dr. Dane. “If Mom will give her consent, I will too.”

The older Dr. Logan stood up. “She’s probably awake by now. Let’s go see.”

The four of them moved down the corridor, and when they entered the room, a nurse was standing over Bertha, giving her water with a teaspoon.

“How’s she doing?” Dr. Dane asked the nurse.

The nurse smiled. “As well as can be expected, Doctor. I’m almost through.”

The nurse dipped the spoon into the cup of water she held in one hand, and gave Bertha several more sips. When she had all she wanted, the nurse excused herself and left the room.