Free Back in her time by Patricia Corbett Bowman Page B

hospital, pal. There’s no way I can get all these pieces out. You won’t be able to sit on a horse for a while, cowboy. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to see you again if they send you away, so try to remember what I’m telling you. You will find a great girl with black hair to marry and all your children will have dark hair. You won’t have any redheads in the family like you until you have grandchildren. You’ll do very well at the Calgary Stampede for a few years and then gradually get into management there. Several years of hard work later and you’ll be in charge of the whole thing. Your first car will be a used 1947 Hudson that you’ll crack up in a serious accident where you’ll injure your legs. You’ll still ride and will encourage others with handicaps to do so. That’s all I can tell you as that’s all I remember Pops telling me about you.”
    Taylor stared as two shoes appeared in front of her. She had been so intent talking to Red she hadn’t noticed. She looked up into the face of her young grandfather.
    â€œHi, Sarge.”
    â€œWe’ll discuss your part in this later. How bad is he hurt?”
    â€œI think he’s going to need more help than we can give him, Sarge, but I’m no medic.”
    â€œI heard your little speech, Junior. Who is Pops? Your ghostly medium?”
    Taylor pulled herself up. “That can wait. Let’s get Red some decent help.”
    Sarge sent Taylor for a stretcher, and she returned quickly with it and two sober soldiers. They gently hoisted Red onto it on his stomach and carted him off. As they passed Taylor, Red called out in an amazed voice, “Me, the Chief of the Stampede.”
    Taylor mock-saluted her friend and watched him being carted away.

Chapter Fifteen

    Early the following morning, three of the brandy drinkers were roughly awakened and sent down the mountain to get some items from the supply truck. They were to replace the monks’ stolen and damaged horde. They returned much later in the day, exhausted, but with several pairs of leather boots, which were ceremoniously awarded to the monks. The monks stared at their own sandalled feet but graciously accepted the trade and the cleanup job that Taylor and company did in the brandy cellar.
    Sarge could be seen laughing and sharing something with the lieutenant and corporal the next evening. It looked suspiciously like a brandy bottle.
    Red was bandaged up, but blood continued to seep through, so he was sent on to the nearest field hospital for treatment. Taylor was saddened by the loss, unsure if they would meet again.
    Back on the road, Whitey and Mac were quiet, too. They marched steadily down the mountain until they came to a broad river. The engineers were called, and a Bailey bridge constructed after several hours. The crossing was uneventful.
    The men marched all day, with brief stops, and finally came to a small, bombed-out village. They were ordered to find shelter for the night. After the usual dinner of M and V and some dark, hard bread scrounged from some locals, most of the men settled in where they could find an overhang.
    A shapely, dark-haired woman of about twenty approached Mac, Whitey, and Taylor as they were searching doorways for an abandoned building. “Me spick englash. Coma mi casa and spick englash mi papa. Veni.”
    The boys and Taylor looked at each other, nodded, and followed the attractive woman to an intact house that was a mansion by any standards. They were led inside to a grand parlour and introduced to an elderly, stout man who rose when he saw them. “Welcome, welcome. My friends, la mia casa è sua casa . Bette, get these good soldiers some drinks. What will it be, gentlemen?”
    â€œWhatever you have the most of, sir,” said Mac.
    â€œWhisky then, Bette. Get the whisky. Hurry, these men are in need of some libations. Sit, please.”
    â€œSir, your English is excellent.