Bad Medicine by Paul Bagdon Page B

can.”
    Will looked at his friend more closely. He had a tightly strung bow across his chest and a quiver with ten or so arrows in it draped over his shoulder. “I didn’t know you could handle a bow,” he said.
    â€œMight could be lotsa things ‘bout me you don’t know, Will. Come on—let’s ride.”
    They rode slowly, barely beyond an extended walk, until there was enough light to see prairie-dog holes, half-buried rocks, rattlers out seeking morning warmth, and the other natural traps that awaited the unwary horseman.
    With the sun came the searing heat; by nine in the morning the men and the horses were sweating copiously. Every so often one of the men would turn in his saddle and gaze at their backtrail. Miles back there was some dust rising into the air, moving at what seemed to be a steady pace toward them.
    About noon they came to a wagon-wheel-sized puddle of brackish water. They loosened their cinches and let their horses drink, and they themselves sucked at their canteens, ate some jerky, and rolled smokes. Austin noticed that Will was scattering tobacco around where he sat and that he couldn’t seem to get a decent crease in a paper. “Lemme see your paw,” Austin said.
    â€œNothin’ to see. It’s comin’ good.”
    â€œHold it out.”
    Reluctantly, Will did so. “Jesus God,” Austin whispered. The tourniquet had stopped most of the bleeding, but Will’s fingers had turned into fat, shiny white-skinned sausages, and he couldn’t have formed a fist if his life depended on it. Worse yet, tiny lines of red had begun traveling from Will’s palm up toward his elbow. “Hurt much?”
    â€œSome.”
    â€œSome, my ass. What we gotta do is free up the latigo, let some blood get to the bite. Could be some fresh blood’ll clean her out a bit.”
    â€œIt ain’t nothin’ but a little bite. It’ll clear up. We ain’t got time to screw around with it now.” He nodded toward the dust behind them. “They’re gettin’ closer.”
    â€œThey’ll kill their horses ’fore they catch us,” Austin said. “What they probably done was leave their worst drunks an’ cowards to watch over the cattle an’ horses, an’ One Dog brought his best braves an’ fighters with him. They’ll ride hard ’til their horses drop an’ then come on foot ’til they can steal some more somewhere.” He looked back at Will. “Lemme loosen that latigo.”
    â€œIt’s just a—”
    â€œLookit here,” Austin answered, almost in a snarl. “Ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than a human bite, ’specially from scum like them. A dog’s or wolf’s teeth are a lot cleaner’n a man’s, an’ I know that to be a fact. A friend of mine got bit by a Arapahoe on his shoulder an’ it got all swole up—like your hand—an’ he croaked in four days.” As he spoke Austin released the knot of the tourniquet. “Let it hang at your side now.”
    Will did so. After what seemed like an interminably long time, some pus and blood began to drip onto the sand. Its odor was rancid, enough to make a man gag. “We gotta take the wrap off an’ put a fresh one on,” Austin said. “ ’Fore we wrap her again, I’ll pour what booze we got left into the cut—might help some.”
    Before Will could reply, Austin began taking turns of the sleeve around the cut. When he got to the final wrap, he warned, “Now this one’s gonna be a pisser, but we got no choice. See, the cloth is kinda glued in there an’ it’s gotta come out. You ready?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell hell,” Austin said and tore the final turn of sleeve free. Will fell to his knees, his teeth grinding against one another with the pain. He didn’t yell out or scream, but the deep whimpering sounds that