Free Slocum 420 by Jake Logan Page A

back down the road from which he’d come. “No. I wasn’t on my own. Abner was out there as well! Oh God! He’s still out there!”
    â€œAbner? Abner who?”
    â€œThat’d be Abner Woodley,” Mr. Womack said as he forced his way through the considerable crowd that had gathered around the cart. “He was out there scouting for the next batch of timber to be cut down. Been doing that for years . . . among other things.”
    â€œI didn’t want to leave him there,” the driver insisted. “He helped me get these men loaded and refused to come along. Said he’d only be slowing the cart down.”
    â€œWas that animal or whatever it was that hurt these men still out there when you drove off?” Slocum asked in a tone that was a bit harsher than he’d intended.
    The driver shook his head meekly. “I can’t say for certain. I imagine so. Abner said something about going after that thing as well.”
    Mr. Womack, the mill owner, walked up to the gathering. “You did the right thing by getting here as quick as you could,” he said to the driver. “Now I want all of you men to step away from this cart!” The men responded to the sound of their boss’s voice out of pure instinct and moved back. Turning again to the driver, he asked, “Can these men be moved out of there?”
    â€œI’ll need some help, but yes.”
    â€œYou’ve got plenty of extra hands.” Womack gathered up enough men to carry the wounded out of the cart and into the bunkhouse behind the mill. Slocum joined in the effort.
    â€œI want some clean clothes, blankets, anything at all that can be used as dressing for them wounds,” Womack continued as the injured men were carried along. “Doc Reece will need all he can get and I don’t want him to have to wait for anything. Speaking of which, let’s gather up some water or anything else you think those men might need.”
    Slocum helped carry the man with the majority of his wounds on the front of his body. Before making it halfway to the bunkhouse, the wounded man started to squirm and groan in agony. Hearing his suffering was bad enough, but the blood covering every inch of him made it difficult to maintain much of a grip. It was all Slocum could do to keep his hold before finally reaching the first room in the bunkhouse. The men carrying the other wounded fellow arrived at about the same time, and Slocum directed them to set the men down as gently as possible.
    Along the way, he could tell that both men’s wounds covered more than half of their bodies. There were cuts and scrapes all over them, but not nearly as serious as the side that had been visible at first glance. The driver was one of the men helping Slocum and he could not stop babbling for the duration of the entire walk.
    â€œOh my Lord,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
    â€œTake a breath,” Slocum said. “You may have saved these men’s lives.”
    The driver nodded, but didn’t seem to take much comfort from those words.
    Once both men were lying on beds and several other workers had scattered to collect the things Womack had requested, Slocum placed an arm around the driver’s shoulders and led him outside, where the air was a whole lot fresher. He pointed him away from the cart and most of the crowd so the main thing in the driver’s line of sight was the surrounding woodlands. There was a barrel of water nearby and Slocum went to it so he could scoop up a drink with the tin dipper and bring it over to where the driver stood trembling.
    â€œHere,” Slocum said while handing the dipper over. “Take this.”
    When the driver didn’t make a move to accept the dipper, Slocum snapped his wrist to splash the water into the other man’s face. That yanked the driver out of his own thoughts and dropped him squarely