from the chair, asking, "Can Walker have visitors yet?"
"He's on the mend. He can't get around, but he's on the mend. Why? He's not in any condition to help her, I can tell you that for sure."
"No, but maybe he can tell me whether he found Bull Calf on or off the reservation."
CHAPTER 7
"Like I said, you're too tough to die," Will Sprenger observed wryly. "Damned if it doesn't look like you've beaten this."
"Either that or I'm too ornery," Walker agreed. Sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, he looked up, and his expression sobered. "Thanks, Doc. A week ago, I wouldn't have bet two bits on my chances."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have, either," Will admitted. "I thought we'd be cutting off that leg come morning, and I figured it'd be touch and go even then. Guess it was the bromine that finally did it—that and Mrs. Bryce," he added slyly. "Woman was weaker'n an ant, and more than half sick herself, but she sat up all night with you, trying to bring that fever down one drop of water at a time. Bathed you, too." Turning around, he searched for his magnifying glasses. "Don't suppose you remember any of it, though."
"I knew I was sucking on a rag. The water tasted like laundry soap, but I was too dry to care. And I halfway came to during the bath, but I was too out of it to know who was doing the washing."
"Guess she must've thought she owed it to you." Hooking his glasses over his ears, Will returned his attention to the matter at hand. "I want to get a good look at those stitches, Hap," he murmured. "I know some of my colleagues like to leave 'em in a while, but I'm of the opinion that if they stay too long, the skin tightens around them, and you do more damage than necessary getting 'em out." Lifting the blanket and sheet covering Walker's leg, he bent closer to examine his handiwork. "Hmmm. Yeah, I'd say it looks damned good right now. When's the last time you ran a fever?"
"I don't know—Wednesday or Thursday, I guess."
"I could look it up and find out for sure, but I think it's been long enough, anyway. How's the leg feel?"
"Better than any day since the bullet hit it."
"Stand down. I want you to tell me what it feels like with your weight on it."
"It feels all right."
Will looked up at that. "You've been on it, haven't you?"
"Not until yesterday."
"Dammit, Hap! Who's the doc around here, me or you? When I give an order, it's an order!"
"It's too damned hard to use the pan with another man looking at you," Hap muttered mulishly, not meeting Sprenger's eyes. "Besides, I wanted to know if I could walk, or if I was going to be a cripple forever."
"I'm supposed to be the judge of that," Will grumbled. "All right, what did you find out? It hold you up like you want?"
"It's sore, but yeah, it holds me up."
"Youused crutches, didn't you?"
"Tried to—a couple of times, anyway. Kinda hard to get 'em in the privy with me, you know."
His mouth drawn into a thin line, Will picked up his scissors and small forceps. "If you move, I'm liable to stab you—you can sit still, can't you?"
"Barely."
Working deftly, the surgeon cut and picked out each stitch, pausing to drop the tiny pieces of silk thread onto the tray. Noting Walker gripping the edge of the mattress, he asked, "This hurt?"
"No."
"Never figured you for a liar," Will murmured, finishing up. "Now," he said, straightening, "I'm only going to say this once, and you can do what you damn well please, but you'd better stay on those crutches a week at least. If something busts open in there, I'll be damned if I'll fix it again. See that you remember that, Captain." Turning around to wash his hands in the basin, he acknowledged, "I expect it's not easy for a hard-living man like you to sit around and do nothing."
Hap took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "It's harder'n you'd ever think, Doc—harder'n you'd ever think."
"Don't like selling cattle much, do you?"
"No. Only thing good about it is I can kinda keep my eye on Clay."
"He did all right
"He's on the mend. He can't get around, but he's on the mend. Why? He's not in any condition to help her, I can tell you that for sure."
"No, but maybe he can tell me whether he found Bull Calf on or off the reservation."
CHAPTER 7
"Like I said, you're too tough to die," Will Sprenger observed wryly. "Damned if it doesn't look like you've beaten this."
"Either that or I'm too ornery," Walker agreed. Sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, he looked up, and his expression sobered. "Thanks, Doc. A week ago, I wouldn't have bet two bits on my chances."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have, either," Will admitted. "I thought we'd be cutting off that leg come morning, and I figured it'd be touch and go even then. Guess it was the bromine that finally did it—that and Mrs. Bryce," he added slyly. "Woman was weaker'n an ant, and more than half sick herself, but she sat up all night with you, trying to bring that fever down one drop of water at a time. Bathed you, too." Turning around, he searched for his magnifying glasses. "Don't suppose you remember any of it, though."
"I knew I was sucking on a rag. The water tasted like laundry soap, but I was too dry to care. And I halfway came to during the bath, but I was too out of it to know who was doing the washing."
"Guess she must've thought she owed it to you." Hooking his glasses over his ears, Will returned his attention to the matter at hand. "I want to get a good look at those stitches, Hap," he murmured. "I know some of my colleagues like to leave 'em in a while, but I'm of the opinion that if they stay too long, the skin tightens around them, and you do more damage than necessary getting 'em out." Lifting the blanket and sheet covering Walker's leg, he bent closer to examine his handiwork. "Hmmm. Yeah, I'd say it looks damned good right now. When's the last time you ran a fever?"
"I don't know—Wednesday or Thursday, I guess."
"I could look it up and find out for sure, but I think it's been long enough, anyway. How's the leg feel?"
"Better than any day since the bullet hit it."
"Stand down. I want you to tell me what it feels like with your weight on it."
"It feels all right."
Will looked up at that. "You've been on it, haven't you?"
"Not until yesterday."
"Dammit, Hap! Who's the doc around here, me or you? When I give an order, it's an order!"
"It's too damned hard to use the pan with another man looking at you," Hap muttered mulishly, not meeting Sprenger's eyes. "Besides, I wanted to know if I could walk, or if I was going to be a cripple forever."
"I'm supposed to be the judge of that," Will grumbled. "All right, what did you find out? It hold you up like you want?"
"It's sore, but yeah, it holds me up."
"Youused crutches, didn't you?"
"Tried to—a couple of times, anyway. Kinda hard to get 'em in the privy with me, you know."
His mouth drawn into a thin line, Will picked up his scissors and small forceps. "If you move, I'm liable to stab you—you can sit still, can't you?"
"Barely."
Working deftly, the surgeon cut and picked out each stitch, pausing to drop the tiny pieces of silk thread onto the tray. Noting Walker gripping the edge of the mattress, he asked, "This hurt?"
"No."
"Never figured you for a liar," Will murmured, finishing up. "Now," he said, straightening, "I'm only going to say this once, and you can do what you damn well please, but you'd better stay on those crutches a week at least. If something busts open in there, I'll be damned if I'll fix it again. See that you remember that, Captain." Turning around to wash his hands in the basin, he acknowledged, "I expect it's not easy for a hard-living man like you to sit around and do nothing."
Hap took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "It's harder'n you'd ever think, Doc—harder'n you'd ever think."
"Don't like selling cattle much, do you?"
"No. Only thing good about it is I can kinda keep my eye on Clay."
"He did all right
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