broken leg. He's had a bit of a fever, but he'll be fine."
Thomas, feeling suddenly confined, tried to raise himself up on his elbow, but lay back with a groan.
The woman frowned, put her cloth down. "Don't do that again. You were beat up pretty badly, Lieutenant. Is it all right if I call you that? Your friend Lincoln keeps calling you that in his delirium."
Thomas frowned, then nodded.
"I've got some soup on the kettle, I can get you some if you'd like."
Thomas nodded again. "Thank you," he tried to say, but the words came out garbled.
"Your lips are swollen," the woman said. She put the cloth down in the dish, turned, and left the room.
Thomas heard other noises. He was in a room which would normally be bright, with a large window next to the bed, now covered by a sheet. There was flowered wallpaper on the walls, shelves of knick-knacks, tiny potted cactus plants. A shelf of books lined the far wall.
A child's voice grew loud. Thomas turned toward the doorway to see a boy of four or five staring at him, eyes wide.
"The beat-up man is alive!" the boy exclaimed.
Thomas frowned at him. The boy turned and ran under the woman's arm as she re-turned, bearing a tray.
"Joshua, don't bother the Lieutenant!" she called after him. She added, "And your friends can't come in and look!"
"He's awake! He's alive!" the boy's retreating voice cried. Then Thomas heard the bang of a screen door.
"I'll try to keep him away from you," the woman said. She put the tray down on the table, started to spoon some of the soup out of a bowl so Thomas could eat it.
"I'll do that," Thomas said in a slur, having had enough of the nursing already, raising himself up on his elbows and staying there this time.
The woman hurriedly put the soup spoon down, reached out to help him. "I told you, you shouldn't â "
"Please," Thomas said, trying not to sound testy. He let the woman help him sit up, put a pillow behind his head.
The world momentarily spun, settled back into place.
"Lord . . ." Thomas muttered, hearing the word come out garbled.
"Your friend told me you were stubborn," the woman said disapprovingly.
Thomas found he could stay where he was without blacking out.
The woman lifted the tray, put it on his lap. When she tried to lift the soup spoon to his lips, Thomas reached out to take it from her.
"Please, I canâ¦"
"All right!" the woman said. She put the spoon down, threw up her hands. "If you need anything, call me," she said. "I'll be out front."
Trying to sound grateful, Thomas mumbled out, "Thank you. . ."
The woman left the room, shaking her head.
On the second try, Thomas managed to get some of the soup to his mouth. His hands, his arms, didn't want to work. He felt as if his body had been rolled over by a heavy rock.
"Lord . . ."
The soup was good, though. Soon Thomas had regained some control over his limbs. He took a deep breath. His ribs hurt, too. Forsen had done a job on him, after all.
Outside the window, he heard children's whispering voices.
"He's in there, Nicky," one said. "He's right in there â and he's alive!"
"No way," another urgent whispering voice answered. "You made it all up, Joshua."
Wincing with the pain in his ribs, Thomas leaned over to the window and threw the shade up. He was met by two startled young faces.
He growled, making a face, then laughed as the two boys tore off away from the house.
"Can't be feeling too badly if you're up to scaring children," an amused voice said behind him.
He turned in bed to see Murphy in the doorway.
"Hello, Marshal," Thomas said.
Murphy said, "If it helps any, I've put a warrant out on Forsen. I've had him in here before. I'm sure when I get him again, he'll tell me who the other two with him were âthat's the kind of man he is."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Murphy said. "Because when you hear what I have to say next, you won't think so kindly of me. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave off looking for Bill Adams's
Thomas, feeling suddenly confined, tried to raise himself up on his elbow, but lay back with a groan.
The woman frowned, put her cloth down. "Don't do that again. You were beat up pretty badly, Lieutenant. Is it all right if I call you that? Your friend Lincoln keeps calling you that in his delirium."
Thomas frowned, then nodded.
"I've got some soup on the kettle, I can get you some if you'd like."
Thomas nodded again. "Thank you," he tried to say, but the words came out garbled.
"Your lips are swollen," the woman said. She put the cloth down in the dish, turned, and left the room.
Thomas heard other noises. He was in a room which would normally be bright, with a large window next to the bed, now covered by a sheet. There was flowered wallpaper on the walls, shelves of knick-knacks, tiny potted cactus plants. A shelf of books lined the far wall.
A child's voice grew loud. Thomas turned toward the doorway to see a boy of four or five staring at him, eyes wide.
"The beat-up man is alive!" the boy exclaimed.
Thomas frowned at him. The boy turned and ran under the woman's arm as she re-turned, bearing a tray.
"Joshua, don't bother the Lieutenant!" she called after him. She added, "And your friends can't come in and look!"
"He's awake! He's alive!" the boy's retreating voice cried. Then Thomas heard the bang of a screen door.
"I'll try to keep him away from you," the woman said. She put the tray down on the table, started to spoon some of the soup out of a bowl so Thomas could eat it.
"I'll do that," Thomas said in a slur, having had enough of the nursing already, raising himself up on his elbows and staying there this time.
The woman hurriedly put the soup spoon down, reached out to help him. "I told you, you shouldn't â "
"Please," Thomas said, trying not to sound testy. He let the woman help him sit up, put a pillow behind his head.
The world momentarily spun, settled back into place.
"Lord . . ." Thomas muttered, hearing the word come out garbled.
"Your friend told me you were stubborn," the woman said disapprovingly.
Thomas found he could stay where he was without blacking out.
The woman lifted the tray, put it on his lap. When she tried to lift the soup spoon to his lips, Thomas reached out to take it from her.
"Please, I canâ¦"
"All right!" the woman said. She put the spoon down, threw up her hands. "If you need anything, call me," she said. "I'll be out front."
Trying to sound grateful, Thomas mumbled out, "Thank you. . ."
The woman left the room, shaking her head.
On the second try, Thomas managed to get some of the soup to his mouth. His hands, his arms, didn't want to work. He felt as if his body had been rolled over by a heavy rock.
"Lord . . ."
The soup was good, though. Soon Thomas had regained some control over his limbs. He took a deep breath. His ribs hurt, too. Forsen had done a job on him, after all.
Outside the window, he heard children's whispering voices.
"He's in there, Nicky," one said. "He's right in there â and he's alive!"
"No way," another urgent whispering voice answered. "You made it all up, Joshua."
Wincing with the pain in his ribs, Thomas leaned over to the window and threw the shade up. He was met by two startled young faces.
He growled, making a face, then laughed as the two boys tore off away from the house.
"Can't be feeling too badly if you're up to scaring children," an amused voice said behind him.
He turned in bed to see Murphy in the doorway.
"Hello, Marshal," Thomas said.
Murphy said, "If it helps any, I've put a warrant out on Forsen. I've had him in here before. I'm sure when I get him again, he'll tell me who the other two with him were âthat's the kind of man he is."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Murphy said. "Because when you hear what I have to say next, you won't think so kindly of me. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave off looking for Bill Adams's
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