“Beans, tortillas?”
“No, Senor. I want steak, eggs, and coffee.”
“Ha! Did Rosita give you some money or something? You are ordering like a rich man.”
Paco laughed, then thought of the saddlebags he had hidden in his room. In them, he had almost eight thousand dollars, counting the money he had just stolen from Schuler.
Chapter Fourteen
The battlefield was a cacophony of sound, with the tinny calls of bugles, the distant roar of cannon fire, the closer rattle of musketry, and the wailing moans of the wounded. It was also a kaleidoscope of images: flags fluttering atop carried staffs, shells bursting in air, and smoke drifting across the field.
“You’d better get ready,” the colonel said. “We have just been committed to battle. I expect there will be casualties.”
“I’m ready, Colonel.”
Overhead, there was a sound, not unlike that of an unattached rail car rolling quickly down a track. It was an incoming shell from the Yankee artillery, and it burst with an ear-shattering explosion nearby.
“Dr. Presnell?”
Dr. Presnell heard the long roll of drums, as the Tenth Georgia was called into a line of battle.
“Dr. Presnell?”
There were already too many wounded. Why were they going to attack again? He was just one doctor, he couldn’t handle everyone all by himself.
“Dr. Presnell?”
There was another cannon blast, this one so close that it woke him up.
Woke him up?
“Dr. Presnell?” someone was saying.
Outside, there was a thunderstorm in progress, and a flash of lightning turned the dimly lit room into the brightest day, but just for an instant. It was followed almost immediately by another roar of thunder. Rain, like the rattle of musketry and the roll of drums, slashed against the windows of the school building.
Doc rubbed his eyes. He had been dreaming!
“Dr. Presnell?” Harry White was saying. White, who was Sentinel’s only pharmacist, was helping tend to those who had been injured in the train wreck.
“Yes, Harry?”
“I’m sorry to wake you,” White said. “But you said you wanted to know if Mr. Carter’s fever broke.”
“Yes, thank you,” Doc said. “So, it broke, did it?”
“About five minutes ago,” White said. White smiled. “You know what? I think all the rest of them might pull through now.”
Doc stood up, stretched, then returned White’s smile. “I think you may be right,” he said. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you there.”
“Oh, my, don’t apologize,” White said. “You have been tending to these people night and day for several days now. Many of them would have died, had it not been for you.”
“I’ve had help,” Doc said. “You have been invaluable to me.”
“Thank you,” White answered.
“I guess I’ll walk around and have a look at them.”
There was another flash of lightning and roar of thunder.
“Some storm we’re having,” Doc said.
“Yes, it is. A few are disturbed by it, but I think it’s just because they are still traumatized by the train wreck.”
“Yes, I think you are right,” Doc said, as he walked up to look at the first of his many patients.
Dr. Galen Presnell was a veteran of the Civil War. He had participated in many campaigns throughout the war, but none worse than Gettysburg, where he treated battlefield wounds that ranged from mere scratches to traumatic amputations. But not since that time had he been involved with such massive numbers of dead and injured. Thirty-three men, women, and children had been killed in the train wreck. Forty more were injured, twelve of whom were seriously injured.
The number of dead had overwhelmed the town’s only undertaker, so two more undertakers had come to help Albriton, one from Stanwix and one from Mohawk Summit. Those were the next two towns west of Sentinel on the Southern Pacific line, thus making it easy for them to come over.
Seth McKenzie, who owned the wagon repair shop, had cleared a place in his warehouse for the bodies to be stored until they could be shipped back home. At the same time, the school building had been turned into a makeshift hospital, there being no hospital in Sentinel, and Dr. Presnell’s office not being big enough to handle those who required hospitalization.
Dr. Presnell stopped by the bed of each of his patients, spoke for a moment with the ones who were awake, assuring one and all that the worst had passed.
“Cannon fire,” one man said.
“I beg your pardon?” Doc replied.
