A Man Called Sunday Read Online Free PDF

around Luke’s neck, Bob was able to hop on one foot over to a log, and stand there for a moment while Luke swept the snow off. Once he was settled, he managed to sit upright while Luke pulled the saddles off the horses and hobbled the Cheyenne pony to let them paw around in the snow to find grass. In a short time, he had a fire going close up to the cottonwood log with Bob sitting on a saddle blanket next to it, his back against the log. Luke stood over the wounded man then and said, “I reckon it’s time I took a look at that leg.”
    By this time, the leg had swollen to the point where Luke had to cut the boot to get it off Bob’s foot. Bob clenched his teeth, but could not prevent a few sharp gasps from escaping while Luke slit his trouser leg enough to reveal the twin wounds just above the knee. They looked as bad as Luke had feared, and he knew that Bob was withstanding a huge amount of pain. There were two entry wounds, but only one exit wound, which tended to confirm what Bob had thought—that his leg was broken. One of the rifle shots had gone right through his leg and was not a serious problem. The second bullet had done the damage, and had apparently struck the bone. He straightened up and gave Bob his prognosis.
    â€œIt don’t look good,” Luke began. “You need a doctor to try to fix that leg. I’ll do what you want me to. It’s your leg, but if it was mine, I’d open up those wounds and let ’em drain some of that swellin’ outta there. They’re tryin’ to heal over, and there’s one slug still in there and probably oughta come out. It’ll hurt like hell, but I expect it’ll feel a sight better afterward. Like I said, though, it’s your leg, your call.”
    â€œI need to do somethin’,” Bob admitted. “The way it’s painin’ me now, I don’t think I can stand it till I get to a doctor.”
    â€œI sure as hell ain’t no doctor,” Luke repeated. “But like I said, if it was my leg, I’d open that one wound back up before it toughens up over that bullet.”
    Bob leaned his head back and sighed. “Go to it, then.”
    Luke heated his skinning knife in the fire until he felt he had killed most of whatever had accumulated on the blade. Then, after it had cooled down enough, he set to work on Bob’s wounds. He worked slowly and as gently as possible while making the initial incisions, but when his patient passed out again from the pain, he went after the rifle slug in earnest. Reluctant to make the wound worse than it was already, he stopped probing when it became obvious that he was not going to be able to go deep enough to dislodge the bullet from the bone. “About all I can do,” he muttered. His cutting had released a great deal of bloody fluid, however, that should ease the pain somewhat—until it built up again. But by that time, with a little luck, maybe he could get him to a doctor. Heating up his knife again, he cauterized the minor wound, but hesitated over the more serious one, thinking that it might cause greater problems for the surgeon if he cauterized it.
    All done, he stood up over the unconscious man and considered his chances of recovery. In a few moments, Rivers came to, still in pain, although it was now a different kind of pain. “Damn,” he forced through clenched teeth and raised his head, trying to get a look at the result of his rough operation.
    â€œHow long has it been since you ate somethin’?” Luke asked.
    Bob had to think about it for a few seconds before recalling. “Night before last,” he said.
    â€œYou’ve lost a helluva lot of blood,” Luke said. “I need to find you some food to build your strength up. We’ve got a long ride to catch up with the army. I’m sorry I ain’t got any coffee to give you, but I’ll find somethin’ to put in your belly.” He picked up his bow