trunk and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He removed the cork and took a swig. His sun-weathered face was noticeably paler than it had been moments before, setting off the redness of the scar. He finished taking a drink and caught me staring. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said nothing.
“Are you light-headed?”
“A little.”
So am I, I thought. “Maybe you should lie back.”
“No.”
“As you wish.” I cut his pants around the wound to clear the field. I cleaned the leg around the arrow with the whisky-soaked cloth.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Not much call to remove arrows in…London. Have you?”
“Once or twice.”
“What would you recommend?”
“You have to cut the arrow out.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip.
“Do you have the tools necessary? I have a knife in my boot, if not.”
“No, I have the tools.”
“Is there a problem?”
I looked up from his leg. I didn’t want to admit to him my idea had been to yank the arrow out, check the bleeding, and assess my options. “No.”
Lieutenant Beau Kindle came around the wagon.
“There are no other survivors,” Beau said. He looked at me. “Are you sure they took Anna?”
I nodded.
Ester and Amos’s voices echoed in my head. The sights, sounds, and smells around me validated their stories of the Comanche, but about what happened to abducted women they had always remained silent. A shake of the head and, “Better to be dead” was all anyone ever said.
“Should I form a party to go after them?” Beau asked.
“We cannot,” Captain Kindle said.
“Sir, we must.”
“We don’t have the men. We must bury the dead. There is a storm on the way, and it will be dark soon.”
“Sir, allow me to take some men and follow the war party.”
“Did West Point teach you how to track Indians, Lieutenant?”
“No, but one of your men…”
“No one in this group can track a band of running Indians. You need a scout, which we do not have.”
“Uncle…”
“In the Army, you are a lieutenant under my command, not my nephew. You will address me as Captain or I will have you reassigned to a clerking position in Saint Louis. If you argue with my orders again, I will have you court-martialed. Do you understand, Lieutenant Kindle?”
The young man’s face was red, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Washington.”
“Yes, suh.” A large Negro soldier stood a few feet away.
“What’s the situation?”
“There’s two animals fit to pull a wagon. This is the only wagon standing, though we can probably salvage another. The rest are busted.”
“Do we have any horses that aren’t blown?”
“Yours and mine, suh.”
“Lieutenant Kindle, take Corporal Oakes to the fort immediately and relay our predicament to the commander. Inform him of the abductions. Tell him we will wait here for reinforcements.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man saluted, turned on his heel a bit too precisely, and left.
The shaking in my hands had moved to my legs. Try as I might, I could not keep them from trembling beneath me. I climbed into the wagon and sat down in the guise of readying my instruments to perform surgery on Captain Kindle’s leg. Sitting did not help. My entire body shook as if overcome by chills. Already Maureen’s pleasant countenance was being replaced in my memory by her death mask. I heard my name being screamed through the din of battle and saw myself cowering in the buffalo wallow while, one hundred yards away, an Indian chopped Maureen’s face apart to silence her.
Far away I heard the discussion of burying the dead. Sergeant Washington and his men had placed the bodies in a broken wagon bed they would lower into a large grave en masse.
“Doctor?” Captain Kindle’s voice was full of concern.
I took a deep breath and stood. I grasped the metal rib of the wagon cover and placed a protective hand over my roiling stomach, swallowing the urge to vomit. I needed to
“Thank you.” He removed the cork and took a swig. His sun-weathered face was noticeably paler than it had been moments before, setting off the redness of the scar. He finished taking a drink and caught me staring. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said nothing.
“Are you light-headed?”
“A little.”
So am I, I thought. “Maybe you should lie back.”
“No.”
“As you wish.” I cut his pants around the wound to clear the field. I cleaned the leg around the arrow with the whisky-soaked cloth.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Not much call to remove arrows in…London. Have you?”
“Once or twice.”
“What would you recommend?”
“You have to cut the arrow out.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip.
“Do you have the tools necessary? I have a knife in my boot, if not.”
“No, I have the tools.”
“Is there a problem?”
I looked up from his leg. I didn’t want to admit to him my idea had been to yank the arrow out, check the bleeding, and assess my options. “No.”
Lieutenant Beau Kindle came around the wagon.
“There are no other survivors,” Beau said. He looked at me. “Are you sure they took Anna?”
I nodded.
Ester and Amos’s voices echoed in my head. The sights, sounds, and smells around me validated their stories of the Comanche, but about what happened to abducted women they had always remained silent. A shake of the head and, “Better to be dead” was all anyone ever said.
“Should I form a party to go after them?” Beau asked.
“We cannot,” Captain Kindle said.
“Sir, we must.”
“We don’t have the men. We must bury the dead. There is a storm on the way, and it will be dark soon.”
“Sir, allow me to take some men and follow the war party.”
“Did West Point teach you how to track Indians, Lieutenant?”
“No, but one of your men…”
“No one in this group can track a band of running Indians. You need a scout, which we do not have.”
“Uncle…”
“In the Army, you are a lieutenant under my command, not my nephew. You will address me as Captain or I will have you reassigned to a clerking position in Saint Louis. If you argue with my orders again, I will have you court-martialed. Do you understand, Lieutenant Kindle?”
The young man’s face was red, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Washington.”
“Yes, suh.” A large Negro soldier stood a few feet away.
“What’s the situation?”
“There’s two animals fit to pull a wagon. This is the only wagon standing, though we can probably salvage another. The rest are busted.”
“Do we have any horses that aren’t blown?”
“Yours and mine, suh.”
“Lieutenant Kindle, take Corporal Oakes to the fort immediately and relay our predicament to the commander. Inform him of the abductions. Tell him we will wait here for reinforcements.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man saluted, turned on his heel a bit too precisely, and left.
The shaking in my hands had moved to my legs. Try as I might, I could not keep them from trembling beneath me. I climbed into the wagon and sat down in the guise of readying my instruments to perform surgery on Captain Kindle’s leg. Sitting did not help. My entire body shook as if overcome by chills. Already Maureen’s pleasant countenance was being replaced in my memory by her death mask. I heard my name being screamed through the din of battle and saw myself cowering in the buffalo wallow while, one hundred yards away, an Indian chopped Maureen’s face apart to silence her.
Far away I heard the discussion of burying the dead. Sergeant Washington and his men had placed the bodies in a broken wagon bed they would lower into a large grave en masse.
“Doctor?” Captain Kindle’s voice was full of concern.
I took a deep breath and stood. I grasped the metal rib of the wagon cover and placed a protective hand over my roiling stomach, swallowing the urge to vomit. I needed to
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