“Where are the others?” Tom asked when he rode up to them.
“Smoke, Matt, and Falcon went after the outlaws,” Clay said. “Dusty is dead.”
“Dusty is dead? Oh,” Tom said. “Oh, I hate that.”
When Smoke, Matt, and Falcon returned, they found the cattle standing in place. Clay, Duff, Dalton, and Tom were all together.
“The outlaws?” Clay asked.
“We won’t be having any more trouble with them,” Falcon said. “Good to see you, Tom, I was afraid we might have lost you as well as Duff.”
“I was on the other side of the herd,” Tom said.
“The cattle aren’t going anywhere,” Clay said, “at least, not for the rest of the night. But some of us need to get back to the camp. I don’t feel good about leaving the women there alone.”
“How far do you think we’ve come?” Dalton asked.
“Four, maybe five miles,” Clay answered.
“Clay, why don’t you, Smoke, and maybe Tom, go back to check on the women?” Falcon suggested. “Like you said, these cows aren’t going to go anywhere tonight. Duff, Dalton, and I can bring them back in tomorrow morning.”
“Good idea,” Clay said. “Smoke, Tom, let’s go back. That is, if we can find our way back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At first, they couldn’t even see the wagon when they approached what had been the camp. Then Smoke pointed to a hillock of snow to which a mule was attached. As they drew closer they saw that it was, indeed, a wagon, though the snow completely covered the wheels and the wagon seat. Only the arched canvas protruded from the snow, but the canvas was white so that upon first sight, even it appeared to be snow.
A single mule stood beside it, only the top of its body and its head and neck clear of the snow. As the men approached, the mule turned toward them and began to bray, complaining bitterly about the cold.
“Where are the women?” Clay asked, anxiously. “Maria?” he shouted. “Maria?” he called again.
“One of the mules is gone,” Smoke said. “Maybe they went off looking for shelter.”
“The baby,” Clay said. “I’m worried about the baby.”
“The baby? What baby?” Smoke asked.
“Maria is pregnant,” Tom said.
“Wait a minute, how did you know that?” Clay asked. “She has been keeping it covered up.”
“I don’t mean this as a criticism, Clay, but what is she doing here if she is pregnant?” Smoke asked.
“She didn’t want to stay home alone. The baby isn’t due until February,” Clay said.
“She’s much further along than that,” Tom said. “I’d say she is due within another week or two at the latest.”
“Oh my God! She may be having the baby somewhere right now! We’ve got to find her! Smoke, I’ve heard that you are the best tracker there is. Please, find them,” Clay begged.
“The snow,” Smoke said, shrugging his shoulders. “It has everything covered up, I don’t know. It would only be a guess.”
At that moment they saw a rider approaching the camp, and Clay, thinking he might be another thief, fired at him, but the rider made no attempt to dodge the bullet. Instead, he kept coming as if nothing had happened.
Clay started to shoot again, but Smoke held out his hand.
“Hold it, Clay,” Smoke said. “I don’t think he is any danger to us.”
When the rider got close enough they saw that he was a black man wearing a white buffalo robe.
“Are you gentlemen looking for three ladies?” he asked.
“Yes,” Clay replied quickly. He had started to put his pistol away, but hearing the rider mention the three women, he became suspicious and held the gun in his hand for a while longer. “Do you know where they are?”
“I know where they are. If you will follow me, I can lead you to them.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Balthazar. Follow me. You are needed.”
“Is something wrong?” Clay asked anxiously.
“You are needed,” Balthazar said again.
Balthazar lead them on, his horse easily breaking a path through the snow so that the others could follow. After no more than fifteen minutes they saw a column of white smoke and rising, glowing, red sparks making a beacon against the dark sky, leading them on until they reached a partially collapsed barn. Three men came out of the barn to meet them.
“Are there women here?” Clay asked.
“Yes. They are in the barn,” one of the three said.
“Who are you?” Smoke asked.
“My name is Gaston.”
“Clay Ramsey, go inside quickly. Your wife needs you,” Balthazar says.
Without stopping to wonder how Balthazar knew his name, or even how he knew that Maria was his wife, Clay hurried inside. In the light of the same fire that had sent up the beacon of sparks, he saw Maria lying on a bed of straw. Sally was on one side of her and Rebecca on the other, both holding her hands, and both with very worried looks on their faces. Maria’s face was contorted with pain. The only good thing about the situation was that the small fire inside was keeping the stable warm.
“Maria! Are you all right?” Clay asked.
“She is going to have a baby, but she is having a very hard time,” Sally said. “The baby is trying to come out backwards.”
“A breech,” Tom said.
“The mother and her baby need your help, Doctor Whitman,” Balthazar said. He was looking directly at Tom.
The others looked first at Balthazar, then at Tom.
“Tom, why did he call you Doctor Whitman?” Clay asked.
“Because I am—that is, I used to be—a doctor.”
“You know what she needs, Doctor,” Balthazar said.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you know,” Balthazar said.
“All right, she needs a Caesarian. Are you happy now? She needs a Caesarian, but I can’t do it,” Tom said. “In a stable? It is impossible.”
“Yes, you can. I know that you have the skill that is needed.”
“If you know that much about me, then you know what happened, why I can’t do this,” Tom said.
“You are concerned, Dr. Whitman, because you lost your wife, Martha, and the child. But I say this to you. Have no fear, for you will do this thing, and it will be good.”
“No, I will not,” Tom said. “I cannot.”
“Tom, if you really are a doctor, you can’t just turn your back on Maria when she needs you so,” Rebecca said.
“You don’t understand, Rebecca. I’m not a doctor anymore,” Tom said. “Not since I killed my wife and child.”
“Tom, please, I beg of you,” Clay said. “If you can do something, you must help her!”
“Didn’t you hear what I said, Clay? I can’t do it! This requires a Caesarian, and I killed my wife and child trying to do a Caesarian. That is a very difficult and invasive operation that fails eighty-five percent of the time. And that is under the very best of conditions. If I were to try such a procedure here, in a barn, in unsterile conditions, and without the proper equipment, it would be little more than murder!”
“Try, Doctor, please try! For God’s sake, you must help her!” Clay begged.
