The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole by Eric Pierpoint Page A

huts built near the side of the rocky river. The mud homes blended into the sparse clumps of trees and bushes of the prairie. Caleb was surprised to see so many Pawnee people, as most had been moved to a reservation in Oklahoma after a big battle with the Sioux at Massacre Canyon. Many of the women and children were tending to the crops that grew in the mud banks. They ceased their labor and watched curiously as the hunting party drew near. Some drew their children closer as they saw Henderson atop Pride, wary of any danger the new visitors might bring into their midst. The hunters dropped off their kill and immediately the Pawnee women took the game away to be processed.
    Blue Hawk dismounted and began to speak in Pawnee to several of the women. One of the women pointed and ran upriver, while the others took Tilly from the hunter on horseback and disappeared into a hut. Henderson was carefully gathered from his horse and taken inside.
    â€œDon’t worry, they will be safe. We have sent for Talking Crow.” Then Blue Hawk shouted to the others. The Indians took Pride, Dusty, and the wagon away and led Caleb and Julie to another hut. “First, you must bathe. Then you will eat and rest.”
    ***
    Caleb lay in the animal furs, drinking from a gourd. He was getting used to the earthy blend of nourishing herbs. He had bathed in the cool river, his first bath in many days, and he began to feel better. Several of the women had taken Julie to another part of the river where she bathed unseen by the men. They had slept for twenty-four hours straight. Julie lay quietly next to him. Their clothes had been washed, scrubbed, and returned to them clean. Tumble was given food, and he snored with contentment in the corner on his own patch of fur. Suddenly, the cloth curtain over the entrance was drawn aside and a beautiful woman with raven-colored hair and dark eyes came in, dressed in rugged pants, boots, and a bloodstained man’s shirt. She was tall, slim, and maybe thirty years old or so. A little younger than Caleb’s mother, he thought.
    â€œThey call me Talking Crow,” she said in perfect English. “My real name is Anna Maria Consuela Kathleen Sullivan. You can call me Doctor Sullivan if you must. Or Kathleen. What is the little girl’s name?”
    â€œTilly,” answered Julie, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I’m Julie, and this is Caleb.”
    â€œWell, Julie and Caleb, I am doing what I can for Tilly. She is lucky to be alive at this point. She needs rest and fluids. I think I can help her. Cholera can kill in a few hours or it can take time, but my hunch is she’ll be all right in a few days.”
    â€œOh, thank the Lord. I mean, thank you ,” Julie cried happily.
    Caleb felt a great relief wash through his body. “The doctor in Cottonwood Springs wanted to bleed Tilly,” he said.
    â€œDoctor Jefferson, I know him. He’s an old fool. He could have killed her. No, a mixture of herbs with water, rice, bitter gourd, citrus, and onion should do it. My father read up on the experiments curing cholera using hydration and herbs. He figured out how to fight it from the latest news from Europe and told him, but Jefferson wouldn’t listen. That old crackpot will bleed anything. It’s his stubborn way.” She held her hand out and Tumble ambled over to give her a sniff.
    â€œYour father was a doctor?” asked Julie.
    â€œAn Irish doctor married to a Mexican woman, my mother. He was a legend. Killed by a Sioux arrow a few years after my mother died. The Pawnee loved him when he pretty much cured the cholera around here. He had heard about Louis Pasteur of France and his new theory about heating water to kill off germs. He figured out it was probably contaminated water that spread cholera, though many disagreed with him. But my father felt he was right. You should stay away from drinking river water or water near where there are