It was now seven in the evening and Jonas left the Long Branch after he had a few drinks and took Kitty up on her earlier offer. She was right, however, as the drinks were making him forget about his hand for the time being. The store owner wandered along the boardwalk and then stopped as he had forgotten to look up to Doc's office to see if had returned. He paused and thought, "He'd just tell me to put ice on it," Jonas joked with himself. "I'll see him in the morning," the store owner smiled as he continued on his way home for the night. The night was now very cool. His only thought now was whether Ellen would scold for begin an hour late.
Rick Winslow did find water, as a creek ran passed the cabin. There was even an old pot left hanging from the bar in the fireplace. Before long, he had the water sufficiently heated for Doc's needs.
The doctor had removed his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves then got to work on the wounded man, even though the he knew he was fighting a losing battle. There was no way he could save Jeb, but he needed to pretend as long as he could so that he could try and make a break for it, at least that was his thinking. He was cold and hungry even though there was a fairly decent fire burning in the hearth, there was no food, nor did it look like there would be time to stop and if even if there were any.
Doc shook his head at the extent of the wound, as he probed for bone before he could clean and mend the injury.
Both Sloane and Winslow watched with interest, but Sloane watched for more. Somehow he knew that the doctor was up to something. The gunman stepped closer and made a face at the sight of the bullet hole, "He ain't moving much," he growled. "I thought you were a doctor!"
Doc's eyebrows knitted together over the comment then looked up over his glasses, "Of course he isn't. He's out cold. You're lucky he's even alive, he's lost so much blood!" he scolded the men returning his attention to probing the wound.
"Just get him ready to ride by morning," Sloane ordered. "I don't want to be sitting around too much longer. We've lost enough time as it is," he huffed.
Doc said nothing, as he pulled the probe from the wound and placed it in the pan of water. He then picked up the sutures and began closing the hold on Jeb's chest. "I'll need him rolled over in a few minutes," he said to no one in particular. He finished for the thread and placed the curved needle into the pan with the probe. "Are you going to help me, or not?" he snapped at the men.
Again Sloane kept his distance from the doctor, and motioned for Winslow to help him. The two men were able to gently roll Jeb over on the table. Doc turned the unconscious man's head to one side, as to not hurt his neck. The doctor then went to work cutting away at the vest and shirt to expose the entry wound. Doc shook his head; he was now really wondering how the man came to be shot, so he decided to ask, "How did this happen anyway?"
"We were hunting," Sloane snapped at the question.
"Then why didn't you take him to a doctor?" Doc was now standing straight, looking Frankie Sloane in the eyes.
"He didn't complain about it until just before we found you. Are we lucky?," Sloane said sarcastically.
Doc frowned; of course he knew the men were lying through their teeth. The entry wound was made with a handgun, not a rifle and based on the angle Jeb was on the ground, not on horseback. With what little Doc knew of the men and where they had been, he knew well enough that they were certainly running from someone. He didn't want to tangle with them at all. He hadn't heard of any disturbances or robberies around the area.
Quietly Doc cleared the wound and sewed it up. He rinsed his hands in the warm water before he washed the used instruments. Without at word, he walked to the fireplace and ladled more water into another dish and walked back to the table, where he added some isopropyl alcohol to the liquid – this would clean the tools enough until he could get back to Dodge and sterilize them properly in boiling water. Quickly he dried them off and placed them into the black leather medical bag.
The doctor then unfurled the blanket from his buggy and covered Jeb. "There's nothing more I can do for him now. It's up to him, if he's strong enough. If he's live by morning, it'll be a miracle and I'll be rather surprised," he said as he removed his glasses and placed them in the metal holder he kept in his vest pocket.
"You'd better pray for a miracle, then, Doc," Sloane growled as he stepped forward. There was something foreboding in the statement. Doc swallowed as he glanced at Sloane and then over to Winslow. Thoughts of escape were running thought his mind. Maybe he could try to make a brake for it, if they nodded off. Doc rolled down his shirt sleeves and pulled on his coat. Without a word, Doc walked to the fireplace and sat down near the hearth to try and get warm. The north November wind was sneaking through the cracks in between the logs of the old cabin; the motor has long fallen out.
Winslow placed another log on the fire when he noticed the doctor pull his coat collar up and held it tight to his neck.
"Keep the fire down," Sloane said from across the room as he watched both the doctor and Winslow. "We don't need to draw any attention here," he snarled as he sat down against the wall, playing with his gun.
"But its cold," Winslow grumbled as he rubbed his upper arms with this palms trying to warm himself.
"Shut up and be a man," Sloane barked.
Doc glanced over to Winslow, "Why do you let him talk to you that way?" he asked as he watched the two men.
"We're friends, its okay," Winslow grunted trying not to make a fuss over the comment.
"None of my friends order me around," Doc quipped.
"Shut up you two or I'll shut you up," Sloane growled from across the room.
Doc tucked his hands under his armpits to try and keep warm; the heat of the fire was mostly going up the chimney. He shook with a chill and moved closer to the fire. He knew it was going to be a very long night. Making matters worse, Doc's stomach grumbled; he hadn't eaten since breakfast and he was mighty hungry. Trying to sleep on an empty stomach was never easy, but he tried as he leaned his head back against the hearthstone and closed his eyes.