The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (books that read to you .txt) 📕

Fred nodded gravely. “But I don’t think he’ll live the night.”

Despite the weariness that was now creeping into Zack’s muscles and bones, and the weakness he was starting to feel as blood leaked from the bullet wound in his shoulder and soaked his shirt down his back, he burst into a sprint for the house.

TWENTY-NINE

“We’ve got to get him upstairs to his bedroom,” Aunt Ginny said, and instructed Josh to take his father by the shoulders and Dusty to take the feet, and they lifted him and started up the stairs.

“Gently, boys,” she said.

Once he was in bed, Hunter managed to work Johnny’s shirt free while Ginny pushed a handkerchief against the two wounds in an attempt to suppress the bleeding. Zack stood by the bed, unable to help because his left arm was now entirely useless.

Bree stood beside him, pleading. “Zack, you’ve got to come downstairs and let someone look at your shoulder. You’re bleeding all down your shirt.”

“I’m all right,” he said.

“Listen,” she said firmly, letting the sound of her voice make it known she was a McCabe, “we can’t have you keeling over from a loss of blood. We got too much to handle right now.”

Her gray eyes were glaring at him. He couldn’t help but let a snicker escape. He said, “You’re your father’s daughter, all right. Okay, I’ll go downstairs and get my shoulder looked at. But keep me posted.”

She nodded.

“He’s shot badly,” Ginny muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “I’ve seen him take a bullet before, more than once, but never like this.”

Bree’s fussing at Zack had given her a distraction, but now she simply stood and looked at her father lying in the bed. His eyes were shut, and his face had taken on a grayish color.

Bree said, “Has he woken up at all?”

Ginny shook her head. “Dusty was at his side first. He said his eyes fluttered a couple of times, then he was out.”

Ginny tossed the blood soaked cloth to the floor, then untied her apron and began using it to push against the bullet hole in the front of his chest. It was low, just below the ribs. This seemed to be the one bleeding the most profusely. The front of her dress was streaked with blood. Bree was pushing a cloth into the bullet hole in the side of her father’s ribcage. Her sleeve was soaked with blood from the wrist to the elbow.

Dusty and Josh were standing at the doorway. One of Josh’s shoulders was spotted with blood and his shirt sleeve had been cut by a bullet, but the bleeding had stopped. His face was smeared with dust.

“This isn’t working,” Ginny said. “He’s bleeding too damned fast.”

“We’re going to need a doctor,” Hunter said.

Dusty asked, “Is there one in town?”

“No,” Josh said. “There’s one in Helena, I guess, but it’s too far away. We won’t be able to get him back here in time.”

“There is Granny Tate,” Ginny said.

“I’ll go get her,” and Josh left the doorway.

“Sabrina, I’ll need you to tear up some sheets for use as bandages. We have to control this bleeding.”

Bree hesitated a moment, staring at her father, then in a quiet voice said, “Yes, ma’am,” and headed for the linen closet at the end of the corridor.

Josh strode for the stairway, the knee he had injured now feeling numb and strangely afloat. He had also wrenched his right shoulder. Must have been in the fall, he figured. He could barely lift his hand above his gunbelt. And his shoulder smarted from where the bullet had grazed it. But none of this mattered. He had a job to do, to ride into town and bring Granny Tate back. Any son of Johnny McCabe should be able to do what was needed, regardless of any personal pain. It was no less than Pa himself would have done.

But as he started down the stairs, his knee buckled. He could not bring his right hand up to grasp the railing and keep himself from falling and he went down, driving his cheekbone into the railing.

Dusty was at his side. “Josh, are you all right?”

“Yes. Leave me alone.”

Josh tried to push himself to his feet, but his knee wouldn’t support any weight.

“You can’t go after that granny woman,” Dusty said. “You can’t even stand up.”

“I have to,” Josh growled.

“You fell off the roof, Josh. Stay here and rest up. I’ll go.”

“No!”

“There ain’t no choice. We have to get that granny woman here, before Pa bleeds to death. And you can’t even get into a saddle.”

Josh hated to admit it, but Dusty was right. Josh nearly trembled with fury at himself for not being able to get the job done.

“All right,” he said. “Go. Her son-in-law does some blacksmithing in town, and some farming. They have a small cabin not a half mile north of town.”

“Let me help you down the stairs,” Dusty said, hooking an arm around Josh’s back.

“No. I’ll be all right. Go get Granny Tate.”

Dusty hurried down the stairs out through the kitchen, and found Fred and the men were carrying off the bodies of the fallen raiders.

Fred said, “Don’t really know what to do with ‘em right now, but we can’t leave ‘em laying around in the front yard.”

“Maybe in the morning, we can search the bodies for any identification,” Dusty said. “And if there ain’t none, McCabe Town must have some sort of boot hill.”

“How’s your Pa?” Fred asked.

“Not well. They’ve sent me to go get Granny Tate.”

“Want me to round up a mount?”

“No. I can do it. But thanks.”

Dusty found a rope in the stable, and went out to the edge of the woods beyond the meadow where a horse was standing in the moonlight. The entire remuda was awake, having been scattered by the noise of the battle. Fred and the men would probably be days rounding them all up, but this animal hadn’t roamed far.

“Easy, boy,” Dusty said as he