he thought that he'd be spending time beside the stove to thaw out his bones. Now, he was going to have to search out some cold baggage or mail car and stand guard while these two Good Samaritans tried to save the wounded outlaw's worthless life.
'Let's get this over with,' Longarm said after a long, uneasy silence. 'But Ida, if my prisoner does not survive the operation, I want you to know that you will not greatly disappoint me or any of the passengers fortunate enough to survive the Laramie Summit train wreck.'
Ida gave him a look that said she felt pity for a man so unforgiving as Longarm. With her husband in the lead, she walked down the aisle, and then was followed by Fergus, while Longarm marched along behind.
They had to go all the way back to the mail car before they could find a place to examine Fergus.
'Take off your coat and your shirt, please,' Ida requested with a smile of encouragement.
'I'll freeze to death!'
Luke moved over to the small stove and addressed the frightened mail clerk. 'Do you suppose we can stoke up the fire and get some warmth in here?'
The clerk, a thin, ascetic-looking fellow, bobbed his pointed chin like a bird. His voice was high-pitched and carping when he complained, 'They don't give me enough coal to burn. Not near enough! I really freeze in this weather, and I'm trying to ration it out to last until this train makes Rock Springs.'
Longarm went over to the coal bin and, sure enough, there was not more than a few shovelfuls. It might get the car warm enough so that you could not see your own breath, but not much warmer. 'This is all the coal you have?'
'That's right!' the clerk complained wearily. 'It's awful, isn't it?'
'I'll get you more coal at the next stop,' Longarm promised as he took the shovel and emptied the bin into the stove. 'But right now, we've got to have some heat. I'm about to freeze to death myself.'
They waited a few minutes for the stove to warm up the mail car, and then Fergus gritted his teeth and worked himself out of his coat and shirt.
'Please sit down,' Ida requested. 'I'm a head shorter than you, young man. I can't begin to examine your wound standing on my tiptoes.'
Fergus took a seat. He was shivering violently despite the new-found warmth of the crackling stove. His shoulder wound was a mess. There was just no other way for Longarm to describe the damage caused by his bullet.
'What do you think?' Fergus asked nervously. 'It's pretty bad, huh?'
'It looks worse than it is,' Ida said, shifting around the chair to probe around the area of Fergus's shoulder blade. 'I think the bullet is very near the blade bone. I believe that it can easily be removed.'
'Are you sure?' Fergus asked, looking very nervous.
'No one can be exactly sure,' Ida said. 'But that's my opinion.' She motioned to Luke. The man nodded his head and hurriedly left the mail car.
'Where's he going?' Fergus asked in a thin, reedy voice.
'To get my father's medical bags. We have a bottle of chloroform.'
Fergus gulped several times. He even looked to Longarm with a plea in his eyes and said, 'You think that I ought to let her do this, Deputy?'
'It's a long way to Reno, the first place where we're likely to find a real surgeon. If it was me, I'd give Mrs. Friedlander the benefit of the doubt.'
'I don't know about that there chloryform stuff she's talking about. I'd rather have some whiskey.'
'Too bad,' Longarm said. 'That's not possible.'
'The chloroform is better,' Ida said. 'You won't feel as bad afterward. It's a little more difficult to administer the precise dosage necessary, but I've done it many times before and I'm absolutely convinced that I will not put you to sleep permanently.'
'Well, good!'
Ida smiled. 'I should tell you that there is already suppuration leaking from the wound. It doesn't smell good, but I've some medicines that will fight the gangrene. I would not do this operation if I did not feel confident that your life can yet be saved.'
Fergus wrapped his arms around his bony torso and hugged himself to keep from shaking. He looked as white as snow, very thin and very worried. 'I just don't know what to do!' he whined.
'Do what the lady says,' Longarm advised, sure that he could also smell the gangrenous rot.
Maybe Fergus could smell it too, because he chewed his lower lip for a few seconds and then finally nodded his head. 'All right, let's get this over with. But I want whiskey, not that chloryform stuff!'
Longarm was about to tell Fergus that it didn't matter what he wanted, that whiskey was out of the question unless perhaps as a farewell drink.
But Ida said, 'I have some whiskey in the medical bag. It's a good painkiller as well as disinfectant. You can have the whole bottle.'
Fergus brightened considerably at this news. 'Now you're talking!'
A few minutes later, Fergus was guzzling whiskey and Ida was spreading out her father's medical kit. She neatly arranged the shiny surgical instruments on the mail car worktable. When everything was in readiness, she said, 'I think we had better get started, Mr. Fergus.'
The outlaw showed no interest in relinquishing the bottle of whiskey, which he had already half emptied. He eased back on the table, and his eyes burned with hatred when he stared at Longarm. Then, turning back to Ida
