The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (9 page)

“Don't worry, I'll clear things up,” answered Caleb.

“Move on out of the way, missy,” Dodder said with a sneer. “Boy was caught stealing!” Then he forced Caleb into Sheriff Ed's office. Julie went white as a ghost, struggling with this horrible turn of events. Then quickly she turned on her heel and ran down the street toward the wagon.

***

Caleb stood before Sheriff Ed, his head hanging in shame. He was devastated that he had now caused more of a problem. He shifted nervously, trying to figure a way out of the mess he was in.

“So this is it?” asked Sheriff Ed as he held up the can of beans. He shook his head and stroked his gray beard at the trivial nature of the so-called crime. “This is your evidence?” One deputy, lounging on a cot in the jail and eating his lunch, began to snicker. The other deputy leaned against the wall cleaning his pistol. He eyed Caleb with amusement as he raked his hand across the cylinder of the six-shooter.

“That's it!” answered Mr. Dodder. “Caught him red-handed. Do your duty, Sheriff!”

“Who is this boy, anyway?” Sheriff Ed shuffled through some papers on his desk.

“Never seen him before,” answered Dodder.

“What's your name, son?” Caleb hesitated until the Sheriff poked a finger in his chest and looked him square in the eye. “Boy, give me a name.”

Caleb stood still and silent, unwilling to tell his name.

“Young girl over at Jefferson's called him Caleb. Sheriff, I could tell he was up to no good the minute he came into my store,” sniffed Dodder, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

“Shut up, Horace,” snapped the Sheriff. “I am sick and tired of you bustin' in here over every little thing that goes on in your dad-burn store. This ain't nothing, hear me? Now here's your gall-darn can of beans. I'm just gonna let him go.”

“I remind you of your duty, Sheriff!” squawked Dodder. “I'm on the election committee, and if you want to stay Sheriff, you arrest this young criminal!”

“Dad gummit, Horace! I got bigger fish to fry. I got Indians stealing from ranchers and burning down telegraph poles, ranchers shooting Indians, thieves, drifters, and drunks!” Sheriff Ed snatched up some papers and started peeling them off, shaking them at Dodder. “On top of it, I just got a wire telling me to be on the lookout for a murderer on the loose in these parts who happens to be none other than William Henderson. Sheriff Blackstone says he shot one of his brothers in Dobytown. And that's after he killed some folks in Great Bend, according to a Sheriff W. W. Winstead. Looks like he's headin' this way with three kids and a dog packed into a wagon, and if you think young Caleb here is so all-fired important, you can have this job!” Suddenly, Sheriff Ed stopped and stared at one of the papers. Then he leveled his gaze at Caleb. “Caleb, huh? Last name wouldn't be O'Toole would it? The same Caleb O'Toole out of Dobytown?”

Caleb's heart sank while his mind raced. Sheriff Wayne was also a Blackstone brother! And now they all knew their names and where they were headed! Old Farmer Whitticker, not to mention Red from the Dobytown Saloon, must have been talking. Sheriff Ed rose from his desk and peered into Caleb's eyes.

“Well, now, Caleb,” said the Sheriff. “I don't suppose you have an ugly dog with a big mouth with you, do you?”

“He sure does!” squealed Dodder. “Darn near bit my leg off.”

“Would that be Henderson over at Jefferson's? Says here he was shot up pretty bad. He over there getting himself patched up, boy?” Sheriff Ed leaned hard on Caleb. “You tell me now, make it easy on yourself.”

“It's my sister,” replied Caleb. “She's got cholera.”

“We'll see.” Sheriff Ed took Caleb roughly by the shoulders and marched across the room to the jail cell. He shoved Caleb inside and slammed the steel bars closed. “You can stay in there 'til we straighten things out. Men, I think we got ourselves a murderer here in town.”

Instantly the two deputies began to check their guns as the Sheriff reached for his Winchester. “Horace, you head over to the Hickory Saloon and get some of the boys. Tell them we're lookin' for a killer that might be shot up some. Start at the south end of town and work your way north. I'll check the doc's. One way or the other, we'll find this Henderson son of a snake!”

“Don't bother. You've already found him,” said a deep voice coming from the doorway.

Three shots blasted the Sheriff's office and the deputies scrambled for cover. Sheriff Ed, Winchester in his hand, spun around and faced the smoking barrel of Henderson's Colt pointed straight at his head. The smell of gunpowder filled the room. Caleb dove under the cot he was sitting on. After a few seconds, he peered out to see Henderson, white as a sheet, blood seeping from his side and his leg, limp toward the Sheriff.

“You men drop your guns if you want this man to live.” Henderson kept his pistol pointed right at the Sheriff. Instantly, the deputies dropped their guns. Sheriff Ed laid down his rifle. Mr. Dodder, his Adam's apple working overtime, held on shakily to his Winchester. “You too.” Henderson lashed out with his Colt and knocked the skinny man on his head. Dodder dropped his rifle and crashed into a heap.

“You'll hang for this, Henderson,” said Sheriff Ed.

“Then you'll be hanging an innocent man, not that it matters,” growled Henderson. “Open up that cell and let the boy out.”

“Julie's over with the doctor. He's bleeding Tilly,” said Caleb as he picked himself up off the jail floor. Sheriff Ed opened the steel bars and let him out.

“Not anymore, he's not,” muttered Henderson. “Darn fool near killed her. Julie's got her in the wagon.” Henderson nodded toward the Sheriff. “Caleb, take his keys. Lock 'em all up.”

Caleb took the Sheriff's keys. Henderson gestured toward the jail cell, and the four men crowded inside. Then Caleb locked the steel bars and stepped away. Henderson swayed on his feet as he backed away to the door.

“Come on, boy,” said Henderson. Caleb hustled to the gunfighter just as he sank toward the floor in pain.

Caleb helped Henderson over to Pride. Several townspeople ducked for cover as Henderson blasted two more shots in the air. Julie pulled up in a rush with the wagon. Tilly was laid out in the back. Henderson whistled and Pride went down to his knees, bending low so Henderson could climb onto him. Then Henderson lashed his left hand to the saddle horn. Satisfied he was secure on Pride, he whispered to Caleb. “No matter what, follow Pride and don't stop for nothing. Tilly's got one chance.” Pride rose to his feet proudly as Henderson circled him to the north.

“What?” cried Caleb as he jumped aboard the wagon and grabbed the reins from Julie. Julie leaped in back and held Tilly. “Where are we going?”

“An old friend.” Lashed to Pride, Henderson shot down the main road north.

***

Caleb pulled Dusty to a sudden stop a mile outside Cottonwood Springs. There was one thing he had to do. Caleb reached for the Sharps rifle and crammed a shell into the breech. He pushed the sight up and searched high on a telegraph pole about a hundred feet away.

“Caleb! We'll lose Henderson!” cried Julie, seeing Pride gallop away on the northern road.

“One last thing.” Caleb spotted the telegraph wire connected to the pole some fifty feet up. He aimed and fired the big rifle. The first shot nailed the connector, but the wire was still hanging. Quickly he slammed another bullet into the Sharps. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. The telegraph wire split and flew off the pole. “That'll slow them down,” he said, stashing his rifle. Then he grabbed the reins and gave them a great shake. “Dusty, ya!”

I see him!” Caleb shouted from the rocky cliff above. Julie waved from the wagon below. She held Tilly and bathed her forehead gently, trying to keep her cool. Caleb said a silent prayer as he hurried back down the steep, rocky slope toward his sisters, grateful that he had finally caught up to Henderson. They hadn't seen Pride for over an hour. The big warhorse had disappeared down a ravine. Finally they picked up its signs. Tracking had been difficult. The barren landscape had afforded them little cover in their flight along a little-used road miles south of the Oregon Trail. They had lost Henderson several times during the past day and a half, but Caleb was able to make the right decisions tracking Henderson. Sometimes it was a blood trail left on a bush, or a hoofprint in the mud. He had noticed Pride had part of his right front hoof missing. More and more, Caleb's senses came to life on the trail. He knew they had turned west and his guess was they were headed toward the craggy rock peaks far off in the distant sun, so he kept driving the wagon to where he figured Pride was taking them. The guess paid off.

A half hour later, Caleb pulled Dusty through the sagebrush and into a circle of scrub pine trees that guarded what looked like a pass between the low hills. He guided Dusty through the pass, following Pride's hoofprints in the sand. There stood Pride, in the middle of a clearing. Henderson lay unconscious across the saddle, still lashed to his huge black horse.

“Caleb,” asked Julie breathlessly. “I don't like it.” She pulled Tilly to her and cradled her in her left arm. Then she took out the Colt.

“I don't like it either.” Caleb grabbed his Sharps. Suddenly the
CLACK
CLICK
of many guns cocking filled the air. Caleb whirled around and aimed his rifle at the sounds.

All at once, they were surrounded by Indians on horseback who emerged silently from the scrub trees and rocks. Several ponies were loaded with game from a hunt. They slowly circled around the wagon, rifles and bows pointed at the O'Tooles. Caleb decided to drop his gun and raise his hands. He nodded to Julie and she dropped her Colt. They were no match for a dozen or so rifles, and offering themselves peacefully was perhaps their only chance of staying alive.

A barrel-chested Indian Chief, dressed in an old U.S. Army coat and wearing a single hawk feather in his long black hair, rode slowly from the boulders. He got off his horse and held his hand out to Pride. Pride pawed the earth and, to Caleb's amazement, walked slowly to the man and sniffed his hand. Carefully, the Indian checked out Henderson, talking low to the gunfighter and gently shaking his shoulder. Henderson finally managed to turn his head to the Chief. Caleb could hear him mumble something. Then he said something to the rest of the Indians. The Chief gave a signal and one of the hunters leaped off his horse and walked to the wagon. He held out his arms to Julie.

“Give us the child,” said the Chief. “Have no fear. We will help you. This Henderson and I are old friends.”

Julie looked to Caleb, her desperate eyes searching her brother's. “It's our last chance, Caleb. They're Pawnee, so it should be all right.” Caleb nodded and she handed little Tilly to the hunter, who quickly mounted his horse. The others grabbed Pride's reins and they disappeared through the winding pass with Henderson. Then the Chief leaped onto his horse and advanced to the wagon.

“I am Blue Hawk,” said the Indian. “Come.”

***

Caleb and Julie followed Blue Hawk through a series of cuts in the ravine. They rode along a river for a few miles until they came to a modest cluster of scrub pine trees. As they entered the grove of trees, the chattering of voices could be heard. Gradually the sound grew until they came to a clearing overlooking a peaceful Indian village. All around were earth huts built near the side of the rocky river. The mud homes blended into the sparse clumps of trees and bushes of the prairie. Caleb was surprised to see so many Pawnee people, as most had been moved to a reservation in Oklahoma after a big battle with the Sioux at Massacre Canyon. Many of the women and children were tending to the crops that grew in the mud banks. They ceased their labor and watched curiously as the hunting party drew near. Some drew their children closer as they saw Henderson atop Pride, wary of any danger the new visitors might bring into their midst. The hunters dropped off their kill and immediately the Pawnee women took the game away to be processed.

Blue Hawk dismounted and began to speak in Pawnee to several of the women. One of the women pointed and ran upriver, while the others took Tilly from the hunter on horseback and disappeared into a hut. Henderson was carefully gathered from his horse and taken inside.

“Don't worry, they will be safe. We have sent for Talking Crow.” Then Blue Hawk shouted to the others. The Indians took Pride, Dusty, and the wagon away and led Caleb and Julie to another hut. “First, you must bathe. Then you will eat and rest.”

***

Caleb lay in the animal furs, drinking from a gourd. He was getting used to the earthy blend of nourishing herbs. He had bathed in the cool river, his first bath in many days, and he began to feel better. Several of the women had taken Julie to another part of the river where she bathed unseen by the men. They had slept for twenty-four hours straight. Julie lay quietly next to him. Their clothes had been washed, scrubbed, and returned to them clean. Tumble was given food, and he snored with contentment in the corner on his own patch of fur. Suddenly, the cloth curtain over the entrance was drawn aside and a beautiful woman with raven-colored hair and dark eyes came in, dressed in rugged pants, boots, and a bloodstained man's shirt. She was tall, slim, and maybe thirty years old or so. A little younger than Caleb's mother, he thought.

“They call me Talking Crow,” she said in perfect English. “My real name is Anna Maria Consuela Kathleen Sullivan. You can call me Doctor Sullivan if you must. Or Kathleen. What is the little girl's name?”

“Tilly,” answered Julie, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I'm Julie, and this is Caleb.”

“Well, Julie and Caleb, I am doing what I can for Tilly. She is lucky to be alive at this point. She needs rest and fluids. I think I can help her. Cholera can kill in a few hours or it can take time, but my hunch is she'll be all right in a few days.”

“Oh, thank the Lord. I mean, thank
you
,” Julie cried happily.

Caleb felt a great relief wash through his body. “The doctor in Cottonwood Springs wanted to bleed Tilly,” he said.

“Doctor Jefferson, I know him. He's an old fool. He could have killed her. No, a mixture of herbs with water, rice, bitter gourd, citrus, and onion should do it. My father read up on the experiments curing cholera using hydration and herbs. He figured out how to fight it from the latest news from Europe and told him, but Jefferson wouldn't listen. That old crackpot will bleed anything. It's his stubborn way.” She held her hand out and Tumble ambled over to give her a sniff.

“Your father was a doctor?” asked Julie.

“An Irish doctor married to a Mexican woman, my mother. He was a legend. Killed by a Sioux arrow a few years after my mother died. The Pawnee loved him when he pretty much cured the cholera around here. He had heard about Louis Pasteur of France and his new theory about heating water to kill off germs. He figured out it was probably contaminated water that spread cholera, though many disagreed with him. But my father felt he was right. You should stay away from drinking river water or water near where there are people.”

“We were all drinking water from the Platte,” said Caleb.

“Well, you're lucky then,” said Dr. Sullivan. “Around here, Blue Hawk has them boil it. Smart.”

“And now you're a doctor too?” asked Julie.

“You find that hard to believe?” sniffed Dr. Sullivan, raising her eyebrow. “Most do. Pretty rare they say.”

“I've never heard of a real woman doctor,” offered Julie curiously.

“Learned by my father's side, but it was my beloved mother who put it into my head to do it. She was quite a lady. Got my degree in Cincinnati, Ohio, at the University. It's one of the few places there are for women to do that sort of thing.”

“I didn't know you could do that. Most girls I know would never have dreamed of it.”

“Well, get used to it. It's coming. Who knows, you might have the gift of it.” She winked at Julie. “I was raised to think I could do anything I want if I put my mind to it.” Dr. Sullivan laughed. “Part of being the daughter of two very opinionated people. Irish and Mexican and they fought all the time. And loved. With them, it was the same.”

“What about Henderson?” asked Caleb.

“Henderson's another story. I stopped the bleeding but the infection is everywhere, and he's been shot so many times, it's a miracle he's still among us. Just pulled out two slugs and I'm working on the third one. The bullet nearly shattered the bone clear through. Most doctors would amputate the leg right away, but I'm thinking I might not have to. They're cleaning him up right now. He's pretty weak, but he's putting up a fight. How did you end up in the company of a man like that?”

“It's a long story,” said Julie.

“Good! I like conversation.” Dr. Sullivan reached out her hand to Julie. “Come, I could use your help. If you can handle it, you might learn something.”

“My help?” asked Julie as Dr. Sullivan pulled her toward the door.

“It's a long shot, but I'm going to try to save Henderson's leg, set it, and stitch him up. Fought me over the chloroform, but he should be about ready with all the whiskey I gave him. It's going to hurt. Caleb, you come too,” ordered Dr. Sullivan. “I might need you to hold him down.”

***

“Son of a skunk!” roared a staggering Henderson as he broke away from Caleb and two of the Pawnee women. “Get your daggone hands off me!” he cursed as he hobbled around the hut like a wounded buffalo in a drunken rage. Part of his leg bone poked out through his skin. Henderson crashed to the earthen floor, writhing in pain. Immediately, Caleb grabbed Henderson by his good leg and the two Indian women jumped on his arms. Dr. Sullivan took hold of the broken leg by the thigh.

“Listen to me, Henderson!” ordered Dr. Sullivan. “Your choice is lose the leg or let me get the bullet out and try to set it. If you don't calm down, we will have to just knock you out, and I will have to amputate. You will hobble around the rest of your life, if you manage to live through it. And that is a big if. The infection may kill you. Do you understand?”

“I'm not gonna let some woman doctor butcher me!” growled Henderson.

“I ought to let you just die on your own for that rather ignorant remark,” answered Dr. Sullivan as she folded her hands across her chest and stared hard at the gunfighter. “Maybe the sawbones you were used to during the war would do a better job? All right then, so be it. You're on your own.”

“Fine!” Henderson stuck an arrow in his teeth and bit down hard. “Set it then.”

“Good, let's get to work. Caleb, take hold of his broken leg at the ankle. When I say, pull hard as you can and twist to the left,” said the doctor. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” answered Caleb as he gripped Henderson's ankle. He watched in fearful fascination as the doctor grabbed a sharp knife that a Pawnee woman had taken from a pot of boiling water. She carefully sliced the skin around the broken bone. She then poured some of the boiled water into a small pot and set it near Henderson's leg, instructing Julie to clean the wound with a cloth. Julie's face colored for an instant and she hesitated.

“There'll be a lot of blood. If you can't take that, you're not for this business,” snapped Dr. Sullivan.

Julie nodded and began to clean Henderson's wound, her squeamishness gradually giving way to brave determination. Dr. Sullivan pointed out some bone fragments and Julie plucked them out carefully. Together they sterilized the wound with alcohol. “See there?” Dr. Sullivan poked into the leg deeper.

“The bullet!” exclaimed Julie. Dr. Sullivan dug into Henderson's leg with a pair of long tweezers and pulled out a large piece of lead. “All right now, Julie, you hold on to Mr. Henderson's good arm, and Caleb? Are you ready?”

“Yes, ma'am! Pull hard and twist left!” Caleb tightened his grip on Henderson's ankle as Julie took hold of Henderson's arm.

“Lord,” said Henderson weakly. “Hurry up, dang it!”

“Now, Caleb!” ordered Dr. Sullivan as she held on to the upper part of Henderson's leg. With a mighty pull and a twist, Caleb popped Henderson's leg back into place with a
SNAP
. Henderson let out a groan and went limp, passing out from the pain. “Good job,” said the doctor as she inspected the leg. “Caleb, thank you. You can go now and check on Tilly if you want. Make sure she drinks more of this.” She handed Caleb a jug of the earthy-tasting herb water. “Julie, pass me the needle and the stitching thread. This you'll want to learn. When we're done with that, we'll make a splint.”