Free Forty-Four Caliber Justice by Donald L. Robertson Page A

went all the way through your neck, and one side of the blade lodged in your jawbone. You’ll be sore for a while, but you’ll recover. Even your voice should return to normal. You’re one lucky young man.”
    Clay could feel reality returning. He looked around. He was in a bed in the infirmary. There were two or three soldiers scattered in the other beds. The bed felt good. It felt so good he thought he’d close his eyes for a moment. Just a moment, then he’d talk to the doctor again.
    He was alive.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I t was still daylight when he awoke. He looked around. Only two soldiers were in the other beds. He felt stronger. Gripping the sides of the bed, he pushed himself up against the wall. It felt good to sit up. His right hand went to his throat. He was bandaged from his chin to his chest. His neck hurt like the dickens. He tried to yawn, but his jaw was almighty stiff. The jawbone just below his ear felt like he ’ d been kicked by a mule, and he had a major earache.
    Clay gradually remembered what had happened. Hayes had stashed another knife in a scabbard behind his neck. What an idiot. Jake had said to be careful. He needed to learn, to build experience. I guess this is building experience the hard way, he thought.
    The door opened at the end of the infirmary and the captain walked in. He was carrying a pad and pencil, and was accompanied by Colonel Mackenzie.
    “Looks like my patient is feeling better,” the doctor said. “You shouldn’t be talking, but you can write. You can read and write, can’t you?”
    Clay nodded.
    “Mr. Barlow, I’m glad you are alive,” Colonel Mackenzie said. “Hayes knifed and killed one of our orderlies and escaped. At least, he escaped until he got to his horse.”
    Clay’s eyebrows went up.
    “Oh, yes, our Indian scouts were able to tell us exactly what happened. You can correct me if I’m wrong. Although, I doubt that my account will be anything less than accurate.
    “You captured Hayes and went west with him. When you reached Maverick Creek, you stopped and interrogated him. I would be grateful if, when you feel up to it, you would write down everything he told you. But having a kind heart, you cut him down from where he was tied. Tying him as you did was an excellent idea. However, cutting him down was your second mistake and led to your undoing. The first was not thoroughly searching him. He was able to stick a throwing knife into your throat, and with more luck than anyone deserves, the knife missed anything vital. Hayes made away with your horse and guns and left you to die. That was your second great piece of luck. He didn’t outright kill you. Your third piece of luck arrived in the form of our patrol. Again, thanks to our Seminole scouts. Your fourth piece of luck was our having Captain Dixon with the patrol. He would not have normally been there. But he successfully presented his case to me that he should be allowed on some of the patrols to provide him with more experience. Had he not been there, you would probably have died. So, young man, I take my hat off to you. With all these coincidences, I feel you were meant to stay on this Earth.”
    Clay couldn’t help but agree. He should have died. Thanks to everyone who was involved, he thought, I am still here today, listening to Colonel Mackenzie tell me how lucky I am. He started to swing his feet out of bed and stand up.
    Captain Dixon stopped him. “No, no, no. You cannot be up by yourself for several more days. You’ve lost too much blood, and you’re extremely weak.”
    Clay settled back down and picked up the writing pad and pencil. How long? he wrote.
    Captain Dixon picked up Clay’s legs and swung them back on the bed. “At least a week, maybe more. You can stay here until you’re well enough to leave.”
    “That’s right, Clay,” Colonel Mackenzie said. “You’re welcome to stay here until you’re fit enough to move out.”
    Clay wrote again. What about my horses and gear?
    The