But Now They're Found
Doc pulled his buggy up as close as possible to where Matt and Pete were tied. Rod Gilbert stopped his wagon along side the doctor's rig. All four of them thought the worst because neither man nor child reacted to their approach. Doc, grabbing his medical bag, was the first to approach the ransomed pair followed closely by Kitty, Rod and Cora, everyone hoping things weren't as bad as it seemed. Still, the scene before them wasn't unexpected. Kidnappers, especially those who'd robbed and murdered in front of their victims, tended not to leave them alive to bear witness.
Peter Patterson opened his eyes the moment his uncle stepped behind the tree and cut the rope binding him to it to look into the concerned, kind face of the aunt he'd never laid eyes on until now. In his dazed state he nearly mistook her for his recently deceased mother. She wasn't quite his mother's twin, but they shared the same wavy blond hair and sparkling blue eyes, although Martha Patterson's eyes lost their luster as her disease gained the upper hand. Nothing so uplifting to their spirits greeted Doc and Kitty when they reached Matt.
"Aunt Cora, don't fret none about me. It's Marshal Dillon who needs help," Pete said as he noticed the mismatched couple, at least to his young eyes, tending to the marshal. "I owe him my life. If I hadn't been along he'd rather have died than take what he did from the outlaw boss Shumway. Sir, the key to those cuffs is in the marshal's right vest pocket," the lad told the obviously upset doctor. I saw him put it there when he took 'em off pa's wrists. The guards used their own pair when they took pa back to prison. That mean Shumway never looked. He musta thought the key was in Mr. Dillon's saddlebags or else he'd have taken it with him just to add one more insult."
While Kitty helped balance the unconscious lawman against the tree that until recently had held him in a sitting position, Doc plucked the key from Matt's vest pocket to quickly release his friend's hands. Once they were free, he gently moved the big man's arms to a more natural and far more comfortable position before examining the damage done by the bullets and blow to the head. He looked up momentarily from his examination at Kitty's questioning look, but quickly turned back to the wounds because he didn't know what to tell her.
"How bad off is the marshal, Doctor Adams? We can take him in our wagon to wherever you think best – Dodge, the fort or our home."
"Fort Dodge is closest and their infirmary has all I might need. The trip to my office is far too risky. Take my buggy to your home Rod while Kitty and I drive your wagon to the fort so you can get Peter settled. I'll stop by to check on him once Matt's stable and return your wagon."
"Doc, I told Chester to meet us at the Gilbert farm in case we couldn't bring Matt home. Can he make it there?" Kitty asked. "It's closer than Dodge and only a little farther than the fort."
"His pulse is stronger now that his head and leg ain't bleedin' and the flow from his shoulder wound has slowed considerably since his arm's no longer pulling on it. He's also breathing a bit easier. He'd probably be more comfortable there than in an army infirmary. It's worth the risk if you get this list of things I'll need from the medic, Rod," he added, handing a sheet of paper to the farmer.
"Peter, once the grownups get Mr. Dillon onto the soft hay in the wagon bed, I'll give you a boost up," his uncle told him as they prepared to leave. "Do you want to ride in back with Miss Russell and Doctor Adams or on the seat with your aunt?"
Matt was still unconscious, but seemingly no weaker when they arrived at the Gilbert farm an hour later thanks to a considerable slowing in the rate of blood loss. Pete jumped down from the wagon seat as soon as they arrived and ran to open the door, followed by Cora, while Doc and Kitty remained in the wagon with the man they cared about so much until a bed was ready for him.
The farmwife sent her nephew, who was soaked from the waste down, to change into dry clothes from among those he brought with him from Brookville in his valise and carpetbag. Pete's clothing was neatly arranged on a cot in one corner of the kitchen, which is where the adults left him on his own. Being chilled and hungry it didn't take him long to don new apparel and spot the plate of cookies on the table next to an empty glass. Accustomed as he was to the ways of a farm kitchen the boy easily spied the icebox. Once he'd poured milk into the glass and returned the pitcher to where he'd found it, Pete put a large pot of water on the stove to heat knowing that even if the doctor didn't need it, the grownups might want tea. Just in case, he also filled the coffee pot and set it on the stove to boil as well.
All of this activity on her nephew's part occurred while Cora Gilbert quickly made up the bed that had been her rather strapping 12-year-old son's for Matt that would later be Pete's. Linens for the spare bed, they would carry in from the room where their nine-year-old daughter had slept, could wait until the marshal was made comfortable. She and Rod understood loss and children all too well. She knew the lad was much too keyed up to sleep just yet, so making up his temporary bed in the kitchen could wait as well. As much as she knew he needed attention, Pete would have to make due with what was there until the doctor and Miss Kitty no longer needed her help.
Rod arrived with Major Honeywell and the supplies Doc wanted as Chester rode into the yard. By then Doc, with Kitty and Cora's help, had removed or cut away the injured man's blood and water soaked clothes, cleaned his not as serious as feared head wound and sutured the holes left by the bullet passing through his lower right leg without breaking either bone. He was probing for the bullet in the lawman's left shoulder when three men, directed there by a very restless boy, stepped quietly, but not entirely unheard, into the room.
"Put the bandages and laudanum on that table, Rod," Doc mumbled without looking up. "I've found it Kitty, the bullet's lodged against his clavicle. Hand me the forceps. I won't know for sure until I remove it, but the bone may be bruised rather than broken. Either way, he'll need to keep his arm in a sling for at least a month."
"It doesn't appear Matt will be going after those outlaws anytime soon, let alone identifying them," the major whispered to Chester unaware of the child standing behind them trying to see into the room.
"Mr. Dillon can't tell you anything right now, but I can," Pete boldly declared. "I know exactly what they look like and where they're headed. They didn't know I heard them talkin' when I was cleanin' up their supper and breakfast. They're headin' for the Dakota badlands but plan to rob more folks along the way, startin' in Hays."
Doc and Kitty paid little attention to what Pete had said. They were too busy trying to save Matt's life, but Major Honeywell and Chester did. Briefly telling the Gilbert family he'd return tomorrow the marshal's assistant rode off to Fort Dodge with its commanding officer to send off a telegram to Frank Reardon, the sheriff in Hays, and a follow-up wire to the stage company with the description of the men and their crimes, which Pete provided, boiled down to the essentials.
Ten minutes later Doc had sutured and bandaged the final and most serious wound. He then placed Matt's left arm in a sling before listening yet again to the big man's chest through his stethoscope and frowned.
"Doc, what's wrong?" Kitty asked of the man who'd become more of a father to her than the man who sired her ever was. "Matt's gonna be okay, isn't he?"
"I hope so. We'll be taking him home in a couple of days, barring infection and fever. It's just that what I heard doesn't make sense. It sounded to me like he has some water in his lungs."
"Doctor Adams, I can explain it," Pete insisted while pulling at the man's sleeve. "Marshal Dillon nearly drowned when we crossed the river to get the money. He would have if I didn't get his face out of the water when the man called Flint let the rope holdin' me go slack enough to let me get over to him. Then Gord, the other one, jerked on the rope 'round Mr. Dillon a second time, hard enough to pull him upright. The first time is what caused him to go under."
"Thank you for the explanation. I'd like you to answer another question. How long has it been since Matt had anything to eat or drink?"
"I know Mr. Dillon didn't eat nothin' after Larned. He mighta drunk some water when we stopped in Spearville, but I ain't sure."
"Pete, bring me a glass of water," Doc ordered in response to what the boy told him. "Kitty," he added as soon as the boy returned. "I'll hold up his head. See if you can force his lips open so he gets a few sips of water down his throat."
Although not really conscious, Matt seemed aware enough to part his lips when he felt the rim of the glass against them, reflexively swallowing the water. It seemed to be the signal for Pete and the Gilberts to leave what would become the lad's bedroom so Doc and Kitty could take up their vigil. The second bed, now moved in from the deceased little girl's room, would allow them to take turns resting while the other remained alert for any sign of change in the wounded man's condition. Until Matt could be moved, the uprooted child would have to be content with bedding down on the cot in the kitchen and being mostly ignored.