“I understand, Let’s clean up, get him moved to the bed in the corner, where we can keep an eye on him,” Steven suggests.
“Sounds good,” Harris is unable to stop thinking about the green eyes. “I’ll take the first shift.”
Steven doesn’t argue, they have treated over two dozen wounded volunteer “soldiers,” but none of them spoke of the battle they’d been in. Some had knife wounds, puncture wounds, and broken bones. As soon as they are treated, they leave, some go home others take trains or stagecoaches to where ever they came from. His job as the Doctor was to address the injuries and mind his own business.
Harris has seen first-hand how the skirmishes between the soldiers and Indians are escalating. A frown creases his brow as Steven leaves calling back, “I’ll have dinner sent over from the saloon.”
“Thank you,” he replies as he glances at the restless patient and finishes wiping down the exam table.
Simon watches him from the bed along the back wall. “Never knew we were coming…” he mumbles.
Harris turns and walks to his bedside, grabbing a cup of water on the way.
“Who, Simon?” He helps Simon sit up and supports him when he has another coughing fit.
“Shoshone…”
“What?” Harris jerks as if slapped, “Where, Simon?”
Simon laughs semi-hysterically, “It’s too late they killed them all!”
“Where?” Harris demands loudly and runs a hand over his face and beard.
Horror filled eyes meet his and tears flow, “Snake River,” Simon gasps and starts coughing.
“No!” Harris jumps up, pacing frantically as he thinks. He runs a trembling hand through his long dark wavy hair, “The Spring Tribal is at the Snake River.” It’s a three-day ride if you have a fresh horse, and don’t stop. Kimani is with her family…
He whirls around to Simon and finds him staring at him. “Tell me, what happened. Were there any survivors?”
“We surrounded them. We watched the tribe until the weather changed. A snowstorm was coming, and General Barclay didn’t want to take a chance for anyone to escape. He said no survivors. No prisoners.” He glances away and glares back at Harris. “I don’t kill children and woman… Doc…” he coughs, “Boy he didn’t like that.”
“No, you just stood back while they slaughtered innocent people!” Harris shouts wondering why he is trying to ease this man’s pain.
“It was kill or die. I killed.” Simon looks away in shame. “Barclay said they stole guns, from soldiers.” His eyes close for a second, before he starts rambling again, “Weren’t no guns. They put me at the end West end of the river to collect…” Simon winces as a wave of pain rips through his body. Harris watches him as memories of the tribe floods his mind.
Chief Nashoba and his tribe of Shoshone have shared the land with the River’s family for years. He grew up with them, and as a doctor, he had spent a great deal of time with them.
“To collect what?” Harris demands as he grabs the morphine again.
“The Gatling guns did the job, Doc. The bodies flow with the fast-moving water. You understand I had to collect them and kill any that need killing.”
Harris blanches and pushes away the images of the people he had come to love and respect over the years.
“She didn’t need killing,” Simon coughs again, and this time the cough produces blood.
“Morphine?” Harris offers.
“No, need to tell you…” he wheezes and waits for the spell to pass. “Found a girl. She was wounded, almost drowned, can’t believe she was able to climb out of the rapids. I watched her,” he coughs, gasping and vomits the little bit of water he took.
“Easy, now, no more talking. Just rest.” Harris orders and cleans him up.
Simon sits up and clutches at his arm, spittle flying he is desperate to be heard. “I watched her climb… over a mountain of death and fight to live and I raised my gun… I couldn’t do it. She collapsed on the river banks and passed out.”
“What then? How did you get shot?” Harris sits next to him, so he can hear.
“I dressed her in the clothes of a dead soldier. Her body was beaten, bloody, she had a wound on her leg…” he falls silent wondering if she will be hurting as much as he is. Harris waits quietly for him to continue, afraid to stop him.
“Then she woke up and fought me, Doc!” Simon turns back to him, “I slammed her on my horse, gave her a pistol and… she shot me.” Simon grins, and Harris sits back stunned.
“Why is that funny?”
“Those green eyes flashed behind me, and she shot me in the arm to protect me.” Simon chuckles which leads to another coughing fit before he closes his eyes thinking of the sight she made.
“Green eyes?” Harris asks gruffly. “Damn,” he jumps up and frantically paces. There can be no mistaking it now.
“Doc?” Simon calls. Harris pauses and looks at him. “I told her to ride south, that was … four... days ago.”
“What did she have with her?” Harris drops beside him on his knees. Desperation fills his eyes and Simon realizes for the first time that the girl has a chance.
“My horse, saddlebags had ammo and rations for two days, but … she was injured. Not sure how long she could stay on the horse.”
“She’s stubborn, that horse will wish she’d fall off before she does,”
Simon interrupts him by grabbing his hand, “They are tracking her, Doc. No survivors… he said.”
“Who’s tracking her?” The thought of someone hurting her has a determined glint entering his eyes.
“General sent two trackers. The Newton Brothers, best trackers we have.”
“What are their orders, Simon?”
“No witnesses, Doc,” he explains softly.
Harris
