Jodi's Journey (22 page)

“What?” He nearly laughed until he saw her
face, then realizing she was as strung up as some of the cows, he
nodded. “Only to you, Jodi…only to you.”

And with that, he cradled her, and sang her a
lullaby. His baritone voice was so smooth, so tender. She smiled a
little and cuddled against him.

It was the most peaceful sound she had ever
heard and it did soothe her. So much so she went straight to sleep
in his arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

If Hunt thought his problems were over, he
had another think coming. As he rode ahead to the other herd he was
helping, he realized they had had visitors too. Indians. However,
these cowboys hadn't used their heads and the Indians had stampeded
their herd. Had they followed his advice, this never would have
happened.

“Why aren't you out after the cattle?” Hunt
asked, his voice belying his anger with them.

“Two of my men got shot up last night, lost
five horses and about fifty cows,” the cowboy responded.

“Have you sent anyone after them?” Hunt
inquired, glancing about the camp and seeing a lot of men standing
around doing nothing.

“Everyone's beat, we been chasing them all
night long.” The cowboy leaned against the chuck wagon
negligently.

Hunt sized them up quickly. Without a good
boss, drovers often got like this. Everything was too dangerous, or
too much work.

“Now you don't look like greenhorns to me.
You know what you have to do. Those cattle need to be rounded up
while you can still track them. We're in dangerous territory. You
got farmers here in Kansas that don't want you on their land, and
Indians that want beef, weather that won't let up. But you are
seasoned drovers, the lot of you. This is what you do. You don't
lay down on the job. You get your butts up and in the saddle. You
find the cattle and push on. There are three herds behind mine and
everyone has the same destination. But no one is going do this for
you. Now, get going,” Hunt demanded, making all of them jump.

“You ain't our boss,” one of the men
commented as he sauntered about the camp.

“No, well, somebody has to be. And it sure
looks like I'm elected. Now get in the saddle or leave this camp
and don't come back,” Hunt muttered thickly, his legs wide apart,
his gun ready.

When they barely started to move, Hunt pulled
his gun. “All right, whose outfit does this belong to?”

“We're takin' it to Young and Company,” one
of the drovers shouted and snickered, “But they belong to Miller
and Company back in San Antonio.”

“How many cattle do you have?”

“Twenty-five hundred.”

“They been inspected and road branded?” Hunt
asked.

“Yeah, everything is legal. But it looks like
we won't be taking orders from you,” the smart young drover
added.

“Then get your gear and get out. You'll draw
pay if the owner says so.” Hunt aimed his gun straight at him.

“You crazy?”

“Nope, just determined to get this bunch out
of my way. So, if you don't move right now, I'm going to stampede
them again and you'll be another two days getting them back in
line. Now move it, cowboys.” Hunt raised his pistol.

Before he knew what had happened, a Mexican
came up from behind, fired a shot at Hunt, and the cows stampeded.
Hunt was hit in the side. He recoiled from the hot, burning pain,
but he showed no outward signs of it. Instead, he steadied himself
and pointed the pistol at the smart-mouthed cowboy. The Mexican had
lit out in the confusion. “If you want any pay, you better get
after it, 'cause I know the outfit you're working for and they'll
expect you to deliver those cows.”

The cowboys began to mount and run with the
cattle.

The cows had been bedded along a hillside
full of prairie dog holes. Some of the cattle were shrieking with
pain and agony, crippled from stumbling into the holes. Hunt rode
out to the lead and stayed with them for a full day. The drovers
couldn't believe he was still in the saddle, knowing he was shot.
But seeing he was not just a talking boss but an action man, the
cowboys began to move.

That was only the beginning of their
troubles, though. Some of the cattle had run into a sandbar and
several were bogged down. Hunt ordered two of the drovers to follow
him as they stopped to dig the cattle out, all the while Hunt was
bleeding and hurting. With every thrust of the shovel, blood oozed
from his wound. The white-hot pain was something he tried to purge
while he continued to work as though nothing had happened. He
wasn't trying to be a hero. He just wanted to get this outfit
working correctly so he didn't have to worry about them any longer.
He knew setting an example was important, but he wasn't sure how
long he'd last.

It was mid day when the herd quieted down on
a prairie not far from a huge buffalo herd. Hunt knew the buffalo
had to be stampeded into getting out of the way. It was a large
herd and it would take several men to get them on the run, but they
would swarm like bees over the hills in no time once they got
started.

Hunt quickly cleared the way for the cattle.
He was injured, but he couldn't stop long enough to see about
himself. He concentrated on his duty and forgot the pain. It nearly
overtook him several times and he deliberately pushed himself to
finish the job.

He knew the longer he stayed out there, the
worse things would be for him, but it was his job to see his cattle
through. And unless he got these people moving, he couldn't do
anything about his own. He was going to have to stop soon, though.
He felt ready to black out. Still, the cattle had to be taken care
of, and unless he set the example, these cowboys weren't going to
work.

Once the last buffalo ran over the farthest
hill, the last thing he thought of as he collapsed was he wished
Jodi was there.

≈≈≈

The men carried him back to his herd, their
heads hanging.

Jodi spotted them and ran toward the group.
Her face was a mask when she saw Hunter bent over a horse.

“What happened?” she demanded. She felt her
face pale when she saw how injured Hunt was. She gasped and rushed
to help him down off the saddle. Jodi saw how the blood had already
dried on his shirt and knew it had been there for some time, but
there were no explanations. Her first reaction was one of shock,
and anger, but she knew how Hunt felt about quarreling during the
drive.

“We had a little trouble is all,” a cowboy
told her. As for apologies, he had none. But he did finally tell
her, “We'll get our herd down the trail now.”

“That's good because he isn't helping you any
longer. You men know what to do. What is wrong with you? Get out of
this camp before I have my men take you out.” She stared after them
as they slowly left the campsite, never once looking back.

Since Josh and Matt were close by, they
helped Hunt into the wagon. Jodi checked the wound and knew it was
bad, a bullet lodged in his side. It needed to come out. He had
bled much too much from the looks of his shirt. She ripped it off
and checked the wound. She grimaced as she faced him.

“I've got to get the bullet out, Hunt,” she
cried, a tear falling down her cheek.

Barely conscious, Hunt nodded. “You can do
it, Jodi.” He sighed.

“I'm not sure I can,” she barely
whispered.

“You have to do this,” Hunt said with great
effort. “We can't sit here forever. We're right smack dab in Indian
Territory. They might let us pass, but they won't stand for us
staying here. You have to get the bullet out, and then we have to
get rolling, boys.”

Concho rode up and entered the wagon,
overhearing Hunt’s words. He sized the situation up quickly. “He's
right, Señora. We must get the bullet out tonight and then move on
quickly.”

Never had Jodi felt such panic. She was a
good cook and could ride a horse as well as any man, but taking a
bullet out of Hunt? That was asking too much. What if she killed
him? She couldn't bear the thought. As much as she’d tried to
remember these last few days, that he was a coward and not worth
loving, she seriously doubted she believed it now. She had grown to
know the man; now, to operate on him and try to save his life?
Could she do it?

She leaned against the side of the wagon,
holding herself for a few minutes, her doubts swarming her.

The big question was….did she really have a
choice?

Jodi cleared a place to operate on the
ground, laying a bedroll for him, numbly going about the
preparation as her mind warred with her actions. Josh and Matt
helped Hunt out onto the bedroll before stepping out of the
way.

She quickly realized she was going to need
the laudanum, and after getting it out of the wagon, she built a
fire. Hunt lost consciousness a couple of times. Jodi silently
prayed that she would have a steady hand, and that he would stay
knocked out while she tried to get the bullet out.

His last waking words were to her, “You can
do it, darlin'.” He smiled, then those long lashes closed over
those beautiful sapphire eyes of his and he was asleep again.

“Give him a big dose of that Laudanum,” she
said as she went to disinfect the knife. First she heated it, then
she poured the last of a tad of whiskey over it.

“I will help, Señora,” Concho insisted.

“Thanks, Concho,” Jodi said as she neared
Hunt again. She'd never operated on anyone before. She'd seen Clem
do it, but she hadn't. Her hands shook as she looked at the knife,
and then at Concho.

Concho nodded at her.

“Give him a big sip of the Laudanum; it'll
help numb the pain of it,” Jodi cried.

Josh held Hunt up long enough to get the
Laudanum in him. Then, gently laid him down and nodded at her.

“Hold him,” she wept. “For God's sake, hold
him.”

“Don't cry, Señora. You can't see if you
cry.” He smiled.

Jodi nodded, wiped her eyes, and took up the
knife. She cut into the wound, moving the knife only so much till
she found the bullet with the tip. She tried to push back the skin
to get a better grip at the bullet. It was deep in his side and she
was afraid she would cut the wrong thing and hurt him more. With
sheer determination, she flicked at the bullet, but it didn't move.
She withdrew and moved back away from him. The blood gushed. “I
can't do this,” she muttered miserably. She felt faint. She wanted
to escape from this. She wasn't a doctor. How could they all expect
her to do this? It was the hardest thing she had done in the
world.

“Si, you must,” Concho coached her.

“I need something smaller,” she insisted,
turning away from the wound so she couldn't see it. “I can't get in
there with that knife.”

Concho pulled out a pocketknife. “This should
work, Señora.”

Jodi nodded and, grimacing, she began again,
this time with more success. In seconds she had the bullet out. She
was numb; there was no feeling anywhere. She wanted to crawl in
some hole and disappear, but only after she knew for sure that Hunt
was okay.

Concho smiled. “Now you must seal the
wound.”

“How? I doubt I have enough cat-gut or
thread.” Her eyes rounded on Concho as though he had slapped her.
How much more could she endure?

“Hold the knife over the flame, heat it well,
then sear it against the wound. It is the only way to seal it so he
doesn't bleed to death,” Concho instructed.

“How do you know this?”

“I was in the war with Mexico and I was
assigned to work for the doctor. I watched him many times. You did
exactly right, but now you must seal the wound. It is hard, I know,
but it must be done so he doesn't die from the bleeding.”

She looked hard at Concho, and saw the worry
and understanding in his eyes, then nodded. “Okay…”

All the men who weren't tending cattle
gathered about her, confident that she could do this. They would
offer a kind word here and there, and she thought she heard them
pray, but she couldn't be sure. Her thoughts were on Hunt right
now. She might kill him and she knew that she didn't want him to
die. The realization that she cared for this man hit her hard. Too
proud to tell him, too weak to walk away from him.

So she proceeded to sear the wound closed. As
the smell of singed skin permeated the air, she felt sick.

When she was finished, Hunt was out cold. He
had flinched like a cow when she first touched his skin, and
unbidden tears streamed down her cheeks, knowing she had hurt him
and that he would always bear the scar. Never had she done such a
thing to anyone. She felt weary, almost as though she might
collapse, herself. She mopped her own sweat with the back of her
arm and threw down the knife. Wearily, she trudged back to the
wagon and leaned on it for support.

“He will live now. He is a tough hombre.”
Concho laughed as he joined her. There was relief in his voice, and
she saw for the first time how worried he had been, how worried all
of the men had been. Strange how things had turned out, she mused
as she leaned her head against the wagon and watched as everyone
got a cup of coffee and stood around.

“I hope so,” she cried, and she wasn't
ashamed to let Concho see her tears.

“You have feelings for him now?” Concho
smiled knowingly.

Jodi's head came up and she wanted to deny
it, but she couldn't fool the men now. Her feelings mirrored
everyone's in camp. Somehow, this man who had once been a disgrace
to Esser Crossing was now respected and revered. How could it be?
And yet, it was, she knew.

“He is my husband.”

“Si, he is.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As soon as they could load Hunt into the
wagon, Jodi decided to push on. The men were with her. They knew
that Hunt would want it that way. He wasn't awake yet, but they
made him a bed in the wagon and he was resting well. So far he
hadn't gotten a fever.