Love's abiding joy (Love Comes Softly #4) Page 10

  He turned to the boy who leaned against the rock outcropping, staring at the gaping hole that had caused all of their misery.

  "Boy," he said, "do ya live 'round here?"

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  "In town," he answered.

  "This yer brother?" asked Willie, indicating Andy on the ground.

  "My friend. My brother--he's still in there."

  "Yer folks be worryin'?"

  "I reckon."

  "Do ya think thet ya should ride on home an' tell 'em? Yer

  pa might want to git on over here an' help git yer brother out." The boy looked surprised that he hadn't thought of that. "Yah," he said and headed for his grazing horse.

  "An' git word to the folks of this here boy too, will ya, son?

  They can come over and see what they can do to make 'im

  more comfortable."

  The boy cast a backward glance at his friend and hurried

  off.

  From then on there was nothing for Willie to do except watch the entrance of the mine and pray that there would be no more cave-ins. Occasionally he talked to the half-conscious boy or gave him sips of water. The broken foot was painful, but as Willie examined it with his eyes, not wanting to move it, he thought that it looked like it might heal properly. He could see no protruding bones or broken skin.

  There was nothing to speed up the minutes as Willie waited. Time after time he started down the mine tunnel, only to think of Scottie's words and turn back.

  After what seemed like an eternity, another wagon pulled up. A man whom Willie had seen only once before jumped to the ground before the wagon even stopped rolling. He stopped briefly to touch the face of Andy, give a brief nod to Willie, and then he ran into the entrance of the mine. He did not even carry a lantern.

  A woman approached more slowly. Already her face was tear-streaked and her eyes swollen from weeping.

  "Is this yer son?" asked Willie with concern in his voice.

  The woman knelt beside the boy and smoothed his hair with her hand and wiped the dust from his face with an edge of her simple gown.

  "No," she said, her voice trembling. "It's my boy still in there."

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  "I'm sorry," said Willie.

  "We've told 'em--over an' over we've warned 'em. 'Don't go near those mines,' we've said. 'They're not safe.' But being' boys they jest gotta find out fer themselves." She was sobbing softly, not bothering with the tears that ran down her cheeks.

  "Somebody should do something 'bout those caves," the woman went on. "Ya never know whose child might be next."

  Willie thought of his own two boys. "We'll git a permit to dynamite 'em, ma'am, jest as soon as we git these folks out."

  The boy stirred and the woman spoke to him. "It's okay, Andy. Casey has gone fer yer ma an' pa. They should be here anytime now. They'll git ya on home an' look to thet foot."

  Andy, relieved, closed his eyes again.

  Willie scanned the hills again and could see another wagon approaching in the distance. It was not long until Andy's folks arrived and the mother was running to him with shrieks and cries. Willie feared that she was going to have hysterics, but her husband calmed her. She fell on the ground beside her son and alternated between scoldings and endearments. The man knelt over the foot and began to prod the ankle. The boy cried out in pain, and the father grimaced and then went about preparing a makeshift cast. It was not a pleasant task. The boy screamed again and again as the foot was straightened and bound. Everyone present had broken into a cold sweat before the ordeal was over. At length the father's gruesome task was done and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. And still there was no sign of life from the mouth of the mine.

  "How long they been in there?" asked one of the mothers.

  "I've long since lost track of time," answered Willie. "Seems forever. At least there's been no more rumbles. Thet's a good sign."

  He paced back and forth and again ventured into the cave a short distance; and then he heard the scraping and sliding of scuffling feet, and as he strained forward he could see the faint light of a lantern reflecting off the tunnel wall.

  He pushed forward more eagerly and soon was face to face with Scottie. Scottie carried the front end of a makeshift stretcher made from broken timbers and Lane stumbled along behind carrying the other end. On the stretcher lay Clark. His

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  face was deathly white and blood-smeared, and the arm that dangled at his side swung lifelessly back and forth.

  "Oh, dear God," prayed Willie, and then to the men, "Is he dead?"

  Scottie did not answer. Lane finally dared to voice a quiet, "Not quite."

  Willie took the lantern that swung from one corner of the stretcher and led the way. As he turned to check on the progress of the men behind him, he noticed the third man. It was the boy's father, and he too bore a burden. In his arms he carried his boy. Willie's eyes asked the question, and this time Scottie answered. "No," was all he said.

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  Chapter Fourteen

  A Day of a Million Years

  They took Clark to the ranch on a makeshift bed in the wagon. Even in his unconscious state, he groaned occasionally. They tried to drive as carefully as they could, but the jarring vehicle was distressful at best and a torment at its worst.

  Scottie guided the team, turning this way and that as he snaked a pathway home, trying his best to miss chuckholes and bumps. Willie sat with Clark, steadying him and bathing his face with water from the canteen. Except for the lump on his head from the falling beam and the badly injured leg, Clark seemed to have no other wounds. Willie dared to hope that the head injury would be a mild concussion and that Clark would not suffer any serious effects from it.

  The leg was another matter. As Willie looked at the severely broken leg with the bone splinter projecting from the skin, he shuddered. How could such a leg heal without the help of a doctor? "Oh, dear God," prayed Willie, "please show us what to do."

  As the wagon neared the ranch, an anxious Marty and

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  Missie hurried out into the yard. Willie chided himself for not thinking to go ahead and prepare his womenfolk, and he jumped from the slow-moving wagon and asked Lane to watch Clark, and Scottie to drive as slowly as he knew how. Then Willie quickened his stride and reached the women slightly ahead of the wagon.

  "Clark been hurt?" gasped Marty.

  Willie nodded.

  "Bad?" cried Missie.

  "Pretty bad," answered Willie, "but not as bad as it will first seem. He took a knock on the head so he ain't conscious jest yet."

  "Oh, dear God," whispered Marty, her hand fluttering to her throat, but Willie thought he saw relief showing in her eyes that at least Clark was alive.

  "Did ya git the boys?"

  "Yes," Willie nodded.

  "Thank God," breathed Marty.

  Just before the wagon rolled up, Willie placed an arm around each of the women. He wanted just another minute to prepare them.

  "Yer pa also has a broken leg," he said to Missie. "We'll need to fix his bed right away. Then fetch some hot water and towels from the kitchen. We want to move him as gentle as we can. Will ya see to it? An', Ma, could ya check to see what we might have around in some disinfectant--he's got some scratches thet we should look after."

  With a quick glance toward the now-stopped wagon, the two women ran toward the house to do Willie's bidding. Willie moved forward.

  "Quick," he said to Scottie. "I want him in there an' settled 'fore the women . . ." He did not finish. He did not need to. Scottie understood. Lane rushed out to help them, and with the three men manning the makeshift bed, they got Clark to the house. Missie had already turned down the bed in readiness, but just as Willie had hoped, neither of the women were in the room.

  The men laid Clark on the bed and removed his shirt. Willie

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  found scissors and cut the pant leg from the broken limb. Scottie had removed the shoes and socks.

 
"We should bundle him warm against shock," said Lane, and Willie reached for a flannel nightshirt which they struggled to slip over Clark's head.

  "What we gonna do about thet leg?" It was a question they all had been asking themselves, but it was Lane who finally voiced it.

  "For now we'll jest protect it all we can an' let the women see him fer a minute," Willie said.

  Marty was the first one through the door. She cried out at the sight of Clark and went to kneel beside him, brushing at the dirt streaks and bloodstains on his pale face and running her fingers through his hair. Willie remained silent for a few minutes and then asked quietly, "Did ya find some disinfectant?"

  Marty held up the forgotten bottle.

  Missie arrived with a basin of hot water and some towels. Willie took them from her and she rushed forward to kneel by her mother. She lifted one of Clark's limp hands and began to stroke it, willing it to become strong and independent again.

  Willie remained silent for a moment and then passed Marty a small towel.

  "Ya want to clean up his face some? Make sure thet the water isn't too hot. He won't be able to warn ya, and we don't want a burn."

  Marty and Missie both came to life then.

  "I'll go fetch a pitcher of cool water," said Missie and fled from the room. Marty turned to the business of cleaning Clark up. She looked at his dirty, blood-caked hands, exclaiming over the bruised knuckles and the palms scratched and dirt- stained. His nails were broken and dirt-filled from digging with his fingers.

  "My, they be a mess," said Marty, new calmness in her voice as she set about her task.

  Willie sighed with relief and lifted the basin from the chest so that Missie could add the cold water she had just brought into the room.

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  The two women soaked and cleansed the damaged hands and then applied the disinfectant that Marty had produced. They wiped his face and found that, except for a couple of minor scratches, there were no open wounds there. Clark did not stir. Willie observed Marty slyly feeling for a pulse and looking relieved when she actually found one. After Willie was sure that the women had spent enough time with Clark to reassure them, he turned to Missie. "I'm gonna have to ask ya fer a favor now. I know thet it'll be hard to leave yer pa, but I do need to ask ya to care fer a few things fer me."

  Missie's eyes widened, but she nodded in agreement.

  "Some of the boys were out there diggin' most of the afternoon. They're hungry an' Cookie's already cleared away from the last meal. Could you rustle up a bunch of sandwiches an' some hot coffee fer 'em?"

  Missie, surprised, hesitated only a moment. She had never been asked to fix anything for the ranch hands before; Cookie always cared for them no matter what time they came in. But she did not question Willie, only moved to obey.

  "Do ya mind givin' her a hand?" Willie asked Marty. Marty was about to protest and then rose to her feet. Surely this was not too much for Willie to ask.

  "The boys have a shift change soon an' gotta git on out to the cattle," Willie went on.

  Marty nodded and moved from the room. Willie quickly left the room and went to the boys' room. Josiah was napping and Nathan was playing quietly. Missie had asked him to go to his room before Clark was carried into the house so the small boy would not be unduly frightened concerning his grandfather.

  "Hi, fella," greeted Willie as cheerily as the occasion would allow him. "Would ya mind doin' a little chore fer yer pa?"

  "Mama said thet I was to stay here 'til she came for me," answered Nathan. And then in deep seriousness he went on, "Did Grandpa git the boys out, Pa?"

  "He sure 'nough did," answered Willie, roughing the boy's hair. "But I need ya now. I'll tell yer ma thet I had a job fer ya.

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  I want ya to run real quick an' tell Cookie an' Scottie thet I need 'em at the house. Tell 'em I need 'em now. Then come right back here to yer room. Okay?"

  Nathan laid aside his book and ran as his pa bade him. Scottie and Cookie quickly arrived at Clark's room.

  "Quick," said Willie. "I've got the ladies busy in the kitchen fixin' a lunch fer the hands."

  "Lunch fer the hands?" repeated Cookie in disbelief.

  "It was all thet I could think of to git 'em from the room. Now we gotta clean up thet leg, an' we gotta do it quick-like."

  The two men nodded and Willie threw back the blankets. The sight that met their gaze was not a pleasant one. For a moment, Willie wished that he could just throw the blanket over the leg again and walk away.

  Cookie forgot himself and swore under his breath. " 'Bout the worst one I ever seed," he said. "Even worse shape then my hip was."

  "Well, we gotta do what we can. Pass thet there basin." The three men worked over the wound, soaking and cleaning it and then pouring on the whole bottle of disinfectant. Willie tried to straighten the leg so that it didn't lay at such a bizzare angle, but they knew there was nothing they could do to set the bone. After the thorough cleansing, they fixed a loose, makeshift splint and wrapped the damaged leg in it, more to conceal the injury than to do it any good. They were just finishing when Willie heard Missie's quick, light step.

  "I take it thet lunch is ready," he whispered to the other two. "Ya go on out an' find someone--anyone--to eat it."

  Cookie nodded and went out to round up some cowboys. Scottie, at a nod from his boss, also left the room. He met Missie in the hall.

  "I hear tell thet ya fixed some sandwiches, ma'am. Ya mind I wash some of the dirt off me at the cookshack an' I'll be right in. Mighty nice of ya, an' I sure am in need of a cup of coffee. Mighty obliged, ma'am."

  Willie covered Clark carefully and picked up the basin with the dirty, bloody water. He held it up high so that Missie couldn't see into it.

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  "Yer pa seems to be restin' a mite easier now. Thanks fer feedin' the men, Missie. Ya might tell yer ma thet if she wishes to sit with yer pa, the fellas can care fer themselves in the kitchen. An', Missie, I think thet Nathan might need a little reassurance. He must be wonderin' jest what's goin' on. I sent him on a little chore fer me, an' he was 'fraid you'd scold him fer leavin' his room unbidden. Ya might like to peek in and sorta calm him some. I gotta run. Gotta make a little trip. Won't be long."

  Missie looked dumbfounded at Willie's announcement, but she nodded mutely and moved toward the boys' room. Willie ached to hold her for a minute, but his hands were occupied with the basin and dirty towels. He sensed that his wife was still in shock.

  "Missie," he said softly, "he's gonna be all right. He's tough. As soon as thet little bump on his head . . ." His voice trailed off. Then he went on. "Tell yer ma not to let him move. Iffen he wakes up an' thrashes 'round, call fer Scottie. We couldn't set thet there leg yet, an' he might hurt hisself."

  Again Missie nodded silent assent. Willie moved on by her with the basin.

  "An', Missie. Try not to worry. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  He passed through the door and headed for the bunkhouse and cookshack. He tossed the dirty water to the side of the path. When he reached the cookshack he found Cookie.

  "Could only find three riders," said Cookie, "an' even they weren't hungry. Told 'em to eat or else."

  "Lane an' Scottie should be hungry," said Willie. "They ain't had anythin' since--"

  "This sort of thing takes one's appetite," answered Cookie. "But they'll eat. They'll eat all right, an' they'll drink the coffee. They need the coffee."

  Willie passed Cookie the blood-soaked towels. "Think thet ya can clean 'em up some 'fore the ladies see 'em ag'in?"

  "Shore," said Cookie and tossed them in a corner.

  "Tell Scottie thet I had to go into town. Tell 'im thet I want an eye kept on thet house. Iffen those women need help, I want someone to be there."

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  Cookie said nothing but his eyes assured Willie that the order would be followed.

  Willie strode on down to the corral where he lifted a rope from a post and snaked out his saddle horse. In a few mi
nutes' time the sound of pounding hoofbeats was echoing in the yard.

  Marty had had a hard time concentrating on fixing a lunch for the men with Clark lying in the bedroom in his present condition. She couldn't remember how many scoops of coffee to put into the pot nor could she remember where to find bread and butter. Missie's memory didn't seem to be much better, even if it was her own kitchen. Wong was down in the garden selecting vegetables for supper and neither of the ladies thought to call him.

  Numbly they went about searching out sandwich materials and spreading the bread. Neither talked, although both were troubled with anxious thoughts that would not be stilled. They worked on in silence until Marty noticed Missie fighting back the tears. She went to her then and took her in her arms.

  "He'll be all right. God won't let anythin' happen to 'im. He'll be fine." Oh, how Marty wanted to believe her own words! They have to be true. They just have to. If anything happens to Clark . . . Her arms tightened around Missie and she began to pray aloud.

  "God, Ya know how we need Ya now. Ya know how we love Clark. Ya know how he has served You. He loves Ya, Lord. An' now we're askin' thet Ya lift him up. Thet Ya give 'im back his mind an' body, iffen it be Yer will, Lord. Amen."

  Missie looked at Marty, her eyes wide and the tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Ma!" she cried, "don't pray like that. Of course it be His will. Of course it is. He's gotta heal 'im. He's gotta."

  Marty too was crying now. "Yer pa always prayed, `Yer will be done.'

  "You can pray thet iffen ya want to," said Missie insistently, "but I'm gonna tell God exactly what I want. I want Pa. I want him well an' strong ag'in. What's wrong with tellin' God jest what ya want Him to do?"

  "Yer pa always says thet we don't be orderin' God; we ask."

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