Free Cotton's Devil (9781101618523) by Phil Dunlap Page B

isn’t tended to properly. I’d surely hate for something like that to happen to one of the best men I’ve ever known. You
do
understand, don’t you?”
    Emily’s hand slowly dropped to the butt of her revolver, holstered and drooping on a belt that dangled loosely around her small waist.
    â€œI, uh, understand, ma’am. I’ll do my best. You can bet on it.”
    â€œTeddy, help me get Henry inside.” The two of them lifted the Apache as gently as they could and, draping one of his arms over each of their shoulders, half-carried, half-dragged him up the steps and across the threshold into the doctor’s office. The doctor waved his hand to direct them to heft him onto a table in a room that brought back bad memories for Emily. It was where she first saw Cotton after hearing he was still alive, dangling his legs over the edge of the table, and trying to shrug into his bloody shirt. Only hours before, he’d been shot and nearly killed by one of the Cruz gang. That terrible moment brought relief only after Cotton refused to be denied the destiny he’d sworn to keep with the vicious outlaw. That destiny was finally served as Virgil Cruz lay dying from Cotton’s deadly aim in the very cabin where Emily had suffered humiliation at the hands of a degenerate gunman.
    As Henry lay on the table, the doctor began fumbling around on another table, this one laden with instruments—shiny, sharp, and unfriendly. Emily prayed that somewhere in that jumble was the one that would save Henry’s life.
    Teddy leaned on the back of a pressed-pine chair across the room. His stomach had been full of butterflies ever since he first saw Henry lying across Emily, blood flowing over her dress. When the doctor finally selected a long, thin pair of tweezers and started probing around in the wound, Teddy’s stomach began to grumble its disdain. The sight of blood was nothing new to the boy, but when it was someone heworked with and the possibility of death loomed large, he was sorely tempted to make a beeline for the door and some much-needed fresh air.
    But his feet would not move. No matter how badly he wished to be somewhere else, he felt as though his boots had been nailed to the floor. Watching the old Indian’s complete control over what Teddy could only imagine had to be insufferable pain astonished him. The Apache held perfectly still and made no sound, neither groan nor curse. Henry’s black eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling above, intensely focused, drilling through the beams, the roof, and beyond. The boy was transfixed by the man’s capacity for pain and an apparent ability to be at peace with all that had happened. Henry had waved off the doctor’s attempt at sedation with laudanum. He wouldn’t even accept a drink of whiskey. The doctor merely shrugged and went to work.
    Teddy was instantly roused from his trance by the sharp sound of a hunk of lead being dropped into a metal cup. A small bottle of powder sat nearby and the doctor sprinkled a bit of it over the wound. Teddy watched as the man, who’d been stumbling, presumably from too much libation prior to their arrival, wiped his hands on a white cloth, quickly threaded a curved needle, and began the job of sewing up the crimson hole in Henry’s shoulder, with the deft hand of an accomplished seamstress.
    After he clipped the thread and tied it off, the doctor reached for the whiskey and, after pouring a healthy amount of it over the wound, lifted it to his lips and guzzled the rest of the bottle’s contents.
    â€œKeep him quiet for a few days. If he gets up and wanders around, he could open the sutures. If he starts bleeding again, get him back here as quickly as possible. Do as I say and he’ll live.” The doctor walked from the room, out into the sunlight, and lit a cigar. He leaned on the porch railing and took a deep breath.
    Emily followed him.
    â€œI’m sorry I was a