Free Showdown by William W. Johnstone Page A

could not. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me look at the wound.”
    â€œGive me somethin’ for the pain, Doc!” Jimmy begged.
    â€œLet me look at the wound.”
    â€œNo!” Jimmy screamed. “If I move my hands my guts will fall out.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous!” Raven snapped. “Your intestines are not going to fall out.” He looked up at the men gathered around. “Some of you grab him and stretch him out on the floor. I’ve got to see about this wound.”
    Jimmy was forcefully laid out on the floor and his hands moved away from the bullet wound. Doc Raven looked at the wound and grunted softly.
    â€œIt’s bad, ain’t it, Doc?” Jimmy moaned.
    â€œIt isn’t good.”
    â€œAm I going to die?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œAh ... hell, Doc!” Jimmy cried out. “I’m too young to die.”
    There was really nothing Raven could do. He’d seen men gut-shot live, but they were the exception, not the rule. The entry wound in Jimmy’s stomach was huge and the bleeding was copious. There was no way of knowing what other damage the bullet had done, and no real way of telling for sure. Raven cleaned the wound and packed it closed, then stood up.
    â€œIs that all you’re gonna do?” Jimmy asked.
    â€œThere is nothing else I can do,” Raven told him. “I’m sure the lining of your stomach has been perforated.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Jimmy asked with a groan.
    â€œIt has a big hole in it.”
    â€œOh, Lord. I’m really gonna die, ain’t I?”
    â€œYou want me to get a minister for you?”
    â€œCan he fix the hole in my gut?”
    â€œNo. But he can comfort you with prayer.”
    Jimmy very graphically told Doc Raven where he could stick his suggestion.
    Raven shook his head and stood up, disgust on his face and in his eyes. He looked down the bar at Frank, then turned his attention to the bartender. “Get me a cup of coffee, please.”
    â€œComin’ right up, Doc.”
    Doc Raven joined Frank at the bar. “What a mess.”
    â€œAnd it’ll get worse, Doc. Bet on it.”
    â€œHorace Vanderhoot has opened Pandora’s box, Frank.”
    â€œI’ve read about that, Doc. Yes. You’re right. The undertaker is going to be very busy for a time.”
    â€œI’ll suggest this one more time, Frank. Get clear of here.”
    â€œDoc, you’re the man who runs this town. If you order me to leave, I’ll do so. But not until then.”
    â€œI won’t order you out, Frank. I’ve told you that.”
    â€œWhat if locals start getting hurt, or killed?”
    â€œThe people will handle it then.” Raven smiled at Frank’s expression of doubt. “Frank, this town is filled with veterans of the War Between the States, ex-buffalo hunters, Indian fighters, and early settlers. Believe me, when the locals get enough, they’ll handle it. Have you ever heard of a Western town being totally buffaloed?”
    â€œNot many, for a fact.”
    â€œThis one won’t be either.”
    The gut-shot Jimmy began moaning and hollering in pain. “Doc! It’s hurtin’ real bad. Help me.”
    â€œCan you do anything for him?” Frank asked.
    Doc Raven shook his head. “No. Nothing. Probing for the bullet would be useless, even if I could locate and remove it. I can’t cut him open and repair his stomach.”
    â€œSomebody get that crybaby out of here,” a gunslick said. “I’m gettin’ tarred of listenin’ to him holler.”
    â€œYou know that insensitive lout?” Raven asked in a whisper.
    â€œJack Miller,” Frank replied. “Back-shooter out of Arkansas. I thought he was long dead.”
    â€œSomethin’s wrong with me, Doc!” Jimmy yelled. “It’s gettin’ hard for me to breathe and the light is