Clyde strode over, pushing Beau ahead of him with the gun in his back. "Bart Maverick killed my father," he said. "So we had the right man all along."
"Nobody's perfect," Beau remarked, tossing the canteen to Bret. "In fact, it's an easy mistake to make; 'Bret' and 'Bart' both have one syllable, both begin with 'B', both end with 't', and both have four letters. In fact, so does mine, except that I don't have a 't' at the end..."
"Shut up!" Clyde said, knowing that Beau was trying to stall. He pushed Beau past the Maverick brothers and pointed his gun at Bart. "Move away from him," he said to Bret, ready to take his revenge.
Bret's heartbeat sped up and he leaned over his brother to protect him. "No," he said. "If you're going to kill him, then you have to kill me too."
"Fine with me," said Clyde, as he pulled back the hammer on the gun.
Suddenly, Beau took a flying leap and tackled Clyde, taking the man by surprise. The gun went flying, and for the first time since Bret had arrived, he let go of Bart's pulse to grab the gun.
Beau punched Clyde, angry for what he'd done to Bart, and Bret quickly ran over and shoved the gun into Beau's hands so he could grab Clyde and take over.
Clyde never knew what hit him. Within seconds, he was lying on the floor, unconscious.
Bret stood over him breathing heavily for a minute before turning and going back over to Bart, where Beau was kneeling.
"I think he's waking up," said Beau.
That was indeed the case; Bart's breathing was coming too fast again and his eyes were squeezed shut.
"The wagon outside is ready," Beau said.
Bret nodded, his fingers once more on his brother's erratic pulse. "Bart? Can you look at me?"
Bart opened his eyes.
Bret tried to smile at him, but it wasn't easy while looking at his brother's grayish skin. "We're getting you out of here; have some water." He slid his arm under his brother and pulled him upright only far enough to drink.
The way Bart was breathing, swallowing wasn't easy, so Bret fed him tiny sips until his brother was satisfied.
"I assume we're carrying him out?" Beau said.
Bret nodded. "I don't want his heart to have to do any work." I don't know if he'd survive it, he left unsaid. He tightened his arm around his brother's back and slid his other arm under his brother's knees before standing, glad that Bart was the lightest of the Mavericks.
Bart made no protest, which was alarming in itself.
Beau went ahead and opened the door before helping Bret get Bart situated in the wagon. "I'll go tie up Clyde."
The mere mention of the name made Bret angry. "Hurry," he said.
Beau dashed in and obeyed, hog-tying Clyde with enough rope for two people before looking at Ned and Emmet, who'd silently watched from their own tied-up positions. Letting his anger show in his eyes, Beau said nothing before hurrying back outside.
Bret had tethered his and Beau's horses to the wagon while he'd waited, and made Beau drive it while he stayed in the back with Bart. It was torture watching his brother fight for breath, and he was grateful that Denver had a real hospital.
The trip there, however, seemed like the longest ride he'd ever taken.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
When Bret carried Bart into the Denver hospital, a doctor happened to be standing just inside the door. He quickly led Bret to a room where he made him lie Bart on a bed before shooing him out. Bret sighed and looked at Beau.
"I'll go see if the sheriff is back in town," said Beau. "If not, I'll see if I can round up a posse to bring those three to the jail. The sheriff must've left his keys to the cells behind!"
Bret sighed, grateful to his cousin for taking over that part of the situation so he could stay with Bart. "Thanks, Beau," he said, squeezing his arm.
"We can't let those men get away after what they did," Beau angrily said. "Just…tell Bart that I'll be back as soon as I can."
Bret nodded, knowing what his cousin was really saying: don't let him die while I'm gone. "I will."
Beau nodded too, before quickly heading away.
Bret sighed again and started to pace. It was quite a while before the door opened and the doctor came out. "How is he, doc?"
The doctor sighed. "Lucky to be alive. His heart is under tremendous stress."
"Will he live?" Bret asked, terrified of the answer.
The doctor hesitated. "It's hard to say. I don't know if there's any permanent damage to his heart; we won't know that until the chloroform has a chance to get out of his bloodstream, which will likely take days. It's possible that his heartbeat will return to normal then."
Bret wasn't sure whether to be further afraid by the doctor's words or hopeful. "Can I see him?"
The doctor nodded. "You can spend as much time with him as you'd like," he said, never dreaming of splitting the brothers up when one of them might die.
They both entered the room again, to find that Bart was unconscious once more.
"That's normal, under the circumstances," said the doctor. "It could be from either one of the chloroform overdose, or the irregular heartbeat."
Bret sighed and sat in the chair beside the bed. His brother still looked terrible, and was lying at an incline to aid his breathing. "Is there any kind of treatment that would help him?"
The doctor nodded. "We can give him oxygen." He pointed at a covered bucket on the floor that contained the chemicals. "I did so when he was awake."
"Did that make it easier for him to breathe?" Bret asked. "Why did you stop?"
"We can only give oxygen to a patient for five minutes at a time," the doctor told him.
Bret frowned. "Why is that?"
"It's believed that it makes a healthy body age faster."
Bret blinked. "What kind of nonsense is that? Does he look healthy right now?" he asked, pointing at Bart, whose skin still looked gray.
"We'll see how he is when he wakes up," the doctor told him. "There's nothing that we can do while he's unconscious."
Bret sighed. At least Bart didn't struggle for air when he was out cold.
The doctor checked his patient's pulse again, fussed with the blanket, and eventually left.
Bret pulled the chair closer and reached over to clasp Bart's hand, where it lay on the bed. "I dunno if you can hear me, Bart, but I'm telling you right now that you better not die on me." He gave a humorless laugh. "Pappy would never be able to accept that his boy is gone…and neither would I." He had to stop and swallow for a second when he suddenly couldn't get out anymore words. "I can't live without you, little brother, so don't get any stupid ideas of leaving this world so young, you hear?"
Bart naturally, gave no reaction.
Bret sighed heavily and closed his eyes, hanging his head. He suddenly heard Bart's breathing increase, and looked up.
"Not…going…anywhere…Bret," Bart managed to say.
Bret jumped to his feet and immediately grabbed the bucket of oxygen and opened it, before trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. He sat it on the chair and grabbed the towel off the nightstand and started to wave the fumes towards his brother.
Bart's breathing wasn't as gaspy, and he seemed less panicked as he tried to breathe.
"Is this helping?" Bret asked, wanting to hear it from Bart's own lips.
Bart nodded, closing his eyes.
Bret was relieved, and kept it up.
It was a minute before Bart reopened his eyes again, and he appeared to be more aware. "Where?" he asked.
Bret understood. "The Denver hospital. Try not to talk, Bart, I'll try to anticipate your questions, okay?"
Bart nodded, still breathing heavily, but in a more-controlled manner.
"The doctor said that your heartbeat might return to normal once the chloroform is out of your bloodstream."
"Might?" Bart echoed.
Bret sighed. "He said it's too early to know for sure." He deliberately left out the part about not knowing whether or not Bart would live. "This is oxygen, obviously."
Bart nodded.
"Beau went back to the shack with a posse to bring those three to jail," Bret told him next. "They won't get away with this."
Bart nodded again.
"Did I answer all of your questions?" Bret asked, still waving the oxygen fumes towards his brother.
Bart shook his head.
"Can whatever it is wait until you can actually speak a full sentence?" Bret asked.
Bart closed his eyes and shook his head again.
"What is it then, in as little words as possible?" Bret asked.
Bart reopened his eyes and looked at him. "Why?" he asked.
Well, that was definitely the least amount of words! "He said that you killed his father in Kansas City six months ago after a poker game."
If Bart had enough breath, he would've sighed. "Self-defense," he said.
Bret nodded. "Of course. Now no more talking."
Bart closed his eyes, still breathing heavily. His skin was still gray.
Bret kept up with the oxygen, not caring about the ridiculous five-minute rule. All he knew was that the oxygen was helping his brother breathe, so how could he stop giving it to him? He kept it up even after his arms started to hurt, and even when his arms felt like they would fall off.
Bart eventually passed out again.
When Beau came back, he was afraid of what he would find. Please don't let Bart be dead, he prayed. Please! Running down the hall to Bart's room, he opened the door to see Bret waving a towel towards the bed.
Bret turned when he heard him come in.
"Alive?" Beau asked, before holding his breath for the answer.
"Alive," Bret replied, with a slight smile.
Beau sighed with relief and came over to the bed.
"Clyde in jail?" Bret asked.
Beau shook his head. "No, even better…he's dead."
TBC
That five-minute-rule was really what they thought in those days! They were so misguided!
