Joe and Bill darn well knew it. It was difficult to watch Bill pull a big needle meant for leather through Sage’s scalp and through the deep gash on his arm, sewing his flesh together with cat gut. They’d gone through half a bottle of whiskey dousing the wounds in hopes of staving off infection. Sage drank the other half and then some, and Maggie couldn’t be sure his unconscious condition now was from loss of blood, or from being passed out from drink.
“Do you think Sage will be all right?” she asked Bill as he and Joe managed to tie Sage onto the travois.
The short, slender man faced her with true concern in his brown eyes. “I reckon if anybody can get over wounds like that, it’s Sage Lightfoot. He’s the toughest buzzard I ever knew. He was such a bloody mess you probably didn’t notice the other scars from an old gunshot and a couple of knife wounds. His toughness comes from the Indian in him.” He checked to be sure Sage was secured tightly to the travois. “I swear, human or not, an Indian is harder to kill than a white man, just like wild animals are harder to kill.”
So he was part Indian, just as Maggie suspected. “What tribe runs in his veins?” she asked.
Bill shrugged. “Cheyenne, I think. He don’t talk much about it, and he don’t like bein’ asked, so I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He looked her over curiously. “Ma’am, Sage told us not to ask any questions, but I figure if he run into you out there on the trail, then them outlaws he was after did the same. Me and Joe know what they was like. You ain’t complained none, and we’re kind of surprised on account of you’re limpin’ some. You’re pretty bruised up. Them men hurt you?”
Maggie turned away, embarrassed. She walked over to Nell. Joe had saddled the mare for her. He decided that Sage’s gelding should simply be led by a rope with no weight on him because of his wounds. “They killed my husband, stole our mules, and took a good share of our supplies,” she told Bill. “When Sage came upon me, I was burying James.” She mounted Nell. She refused to add anything more, suspecting both men had a pretty good idea what else had taken place. “I’m limping because I got kicked by a horse back at Wolf Canyon.”
She heard Bill heave a sigh. “Well, ma’am, I noticed you didn’t sleep much last night, and I thank you for helpin’ watch over Sage. You must surely be bone tired. Sage mumbled somethin’ about you bein’ up most of the night before last keepin’ the horses calm, while he staved off some hungry wolves. Be assured you can rest up good when we get to the ranch house, other than helpin’ nurse Sage, and maybe do some cookin’ for him. The rest of us will have to get on with ranch work and roundup.” He climbed onto his own horse. “I’m right sorry for all that has happened. Sage already told us the location where he found you—said we should go back and get your wagon once we get you to the ranch.”
Maggie still could not meet his eyes. “I appreciate that. And if you could put some kind of marker on my husband’s grave, I’d be grateful for that too.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that.” Bill rode up beside her, leading a packhorse. The very hefty Joe rode behind them on a huge black gelding, leading the fourth horse Maggie had seen in the shed the night before. Sage’s travois was fixed to straps tied around its belly.
“Main thing now is that Sage doesn’t take a bad infection,” Bill told Maggie as they left the line shack. “I’ve seen small wounds take down big men just because they festered into somethin’ that ate up their whole body. You’ll have to keep a good eye on those wounds and keep them constantly cleaned. Reason I said you’ll have to do the cookin’ is because the ranch cook is miles away with the cook wagon, way over to the northeast, I expect, where most of the hands are searchin’ out the biggest share of the herd. We’ve lost a lot of them because of
“Do you think Sage will be all right?” she asked Bill as he and Joe managed to tie Sage onto the travois.
The short, slender man faced her with true concern in his brown eyes. “I reckon if anybody can get over wounds like that, it’s Sage Lightfoot. He’s the toughest buzzard I ever knew. He was such a bloody mess you probably didn’t notice the other scars from an old gunshot and a couple of knife wounds. His toughness comes from the Indian in him.” He checked to be sure Sage was secured tightly to the travois. “I swear, human or not, an Indian is harder to kill than a white man, just like wild animals are harder to kill.”
So he was part Indian, just as Maggie suspected. “What tribe runs in his veins?” she asked.
Bill shrugged. “Cheyenne, I think. He don’t talk much about it, and he don’t like bein’ asked, so I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He looked her over curiously. “Ma’am, Sage told us not to ask any questions, but I figure if he run into you out there on the trail, then them outlaws he was after did the same. Me and Joe know what they was like. You ain’t complained none, and we’re kind of surprised on account of you’re limpin’ some. You’re pretty bruised up. Them men hurt you?”
Maggie turned away, embarrassed. She walked over to Nell. Joe had saddled the mare for her. He decided that Sage’s gelding should simply be led by a rope with no weight on him because of his wounds. “They killed my husband, stole our mules, and took a good share of our supplies,” she told Bill. “When Sage came upon me, I was burying James.” She mounted Nell. She refused to add anything more, suspecting both men had a pretty good idea what else had taken place. “I’m limping because I got kicked by a horse back at Wolf Canyon.”
She heard Bill heave a sigh. “Well, ma’am, I noticed you didn’t sleep much last night, and I thank you for helpin’ watch over Sage. You must surely be bone tired. Sage mumbled somethin’ about you bein’ up most of the night before last keepin’ the horses calm, while he staved off some hungry wolves. Be assured you can rest up good when we get to the ranch house, other than helpin’ nurse Sage, and maybe do some cookin’ for him. The rest of us will have to get on with ranch work and roundup.” He climbed onto his own horse. “I’m right sorry for all that has happened. Sage already told us the location where he found you—said we should go back and get your wagon once we get you to the ranch.”
Maggie still could not meet his eyes. “I appreciate that. And if you could put some kind of marker on my husband’s grave, I’d be grateful for that too.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that.” Bill rode up beside her, leading a packhorse. The very hefty Joe rode behind them on a huge black gelding, leading the fourth horse Maggie had seen in the shed the night before. Sage’s travois was fixed to straps tied around its belly.
“Main thing now is that Sage doesn’t take a bad infection,” Bill told Maggie as they left the line shack. “I’ve seen small wounds take down big men just because they festered into somethin’ that ate up their whole body. You’ll have to keep a good eye on those wounds and keep them constantly cleaned. Reason I said you’ll have to do the cookin’ is because the ranch cook is miles away with the cook wagon, way over to the northeast, I expect, where most of the hands are searchin’ out the biggest share of the herd. We’ve lost a lot of them because of
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