Doc Bradley dropped the bullet into a rag and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "It's out, but I'm not sure what kind of damage I had to do to get it," he announced to Bart, who was standing in the corner of the room waiting for the doctor's declaration of success. He walked to Bret's bedside and wiped the beads of sweat from his brother's forehead.
"Whatta ya think?" he asked.
Doc set down his forceps and picked up a clean rag, wiping off his entire face. The removal of the bullet had proven to be more time-consuming and arduous than he'd at first expected. "Don't know," Bradley answered. "I had to do some digging to find it; not sure what I might have damaged in there. It's gonna be sore and hard to use for a while, that's for sure."
"But he's gonna be alright?"
The doctor put his hand on Bart's shoulder. "Yes, son, he's going to be alright. As long as it doesn't get infected. He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"
"Yeah, Doc. Thanks."
"Let me get this stitched up, then I want to see your hand."
"It's fine."
Bradley chuckled. "Let me determine that, will you? Just give me a few minutes." He stitched Bret's wound expertly, then turned his attention to Bart. "You're right, it's not bad. But it could use a couple stitches. You alright with that?"
Bart grimaced but nodded. "Go ahead." The doctor did his minimal stitching and bandaged the wound when he finished. "Keep an eye on that," he told Bart as he gathered his equipment. "I'll come out tomorrow morning to see how his shoulder's doing. Keep him still for a couple days, if you can. Give those stitches a chance to hold. I'll send Molly back in."
Bart nodded again and Doc Bradley left. Molly appeared in the doorway. "How is he?"
Bart chuckled just a bit. "Doc says he'll be alright if we can keep him down for a few days."
"And your hand?"
"Two stitches. Told you it was nothin'."
Molly pulled a chair over by the bed. "You saved his life."
"Yeah. We've developed a habit of doin' that for each other."
"That was the attack you were expecting."
"Yes, ma'am. You recognize either of those two outside?"
"I did. Both of them worked for Nance Tesson. Sam's ridin' back into town with Doc; him and Jason loaded the bodies in the wagon."
Bart sat down on the edge of Bret's bed, careful not to disturb the wounded man. "It's not enough, ya know? To get Tesson arrested, I mean. Specially if Sanders is in on this, like we expect."
"It's not worth it, Hancock. Joe almost got killed, you were hurt; maybe I should just give up and sell to the consortium."
Bart looked carefully at the girl – she seemed small and fragile right now. Very gently he asked, "Is that what you really want to do, Molly? Really?"
The answer came back quickly, but quietly. "No."
"If you sell your ranch to 'em, and it's not what you wanna do, then you let 'em win. What would your father do?"
She looked up from the still figure in the bed and stared at the man in front of her for a minute. "He'd fight."
"And you?"
"I don't know. I can't ask you to stay here and help me. There's no reason for you to do that, and Delacroix's hurt. Why would you two want to be involved in something that could get you killed?"
What escaped from Bart sounded like the wry little laugh she'd heard from him once or twice before. "We don't. Wanna get killed, I mean. We already talked about it and decided we were here no matter what it took. That won't change – so it's all up to you. If you stay, we stay. If you sell, I'll pack Joe in a wagon an get him outta here." He stopped for just a minute and looked straight at her. "What is it that you wanna do, Molly?"
The girl sat up and straightened her shoulders. Her voice was still quiet, but it was firm and clear. "I want to breed horses for the army."
Bart grinned at her. "I thought you might."
XXXXXXXX
The meeting at Bircken's house was much different than the last several had been. Nance Tesson was quiet and subdued, still trying to work out an alternate plan for Molly Hooper and her two foremen. Burns Wolcott had been warned by Jeremiah to keep his mouth shut and do nothing to aggravate Nance, and the Mayor had given up all hope of success. Only Conrad Sanders seemed to be in a reasonably good frame of mind, and Jeremiah had to assume that the marshal had something up his sleeve.
"What do we do now?" Branch Haven finally broke the silence.
"I'll come up with something. I still think we have to kill 'em. Nothin' else has worked."
"Neither has that, Nance," Conrad reminded him. "All it got was two of your men killed."
"You got a better idea, Marshal?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. This is what I think we should do . . . . . . . "
XXXXXXXX
Bart shifted in the chair, knowing that he wasn't going to be comfortable no matter what position he lay in. He sat up to check on his brother; Bret was still asleep and Bart was grateful for that small favor. He pulled out his watch and read the time – it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon. He could feel someone and turned around to see Molly standing at the door.
"Still sleeping?" she asked.
"Yeah. That's the best thing for him."
"If I make some food, will you eat it?"
"And coffee?"
"And coffee."
"Yes, ma'am. Will you come in and sit with us for a while?"
Molly nodded. "When I bring in your supper."
"I'll be here," Bart answered. The girl left and Bart sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, and watched his brother. One or the other of them had been in this position too many times. Then he thanked God that he was sitting here instead of digging a grave. He closed his eyes for just a minute and must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew Molly was back with a cup of coffee and a plate of food. "Sorry."
"For what? Falling asleep? You've been up with him since yesterday; I think you're entitled. Here, eat this and then I'll give you the coffee."
The gambler chuckled softly. "What, you don't like my eatin' habits either?"
"You're much too thin."
"Funny, that's what . . . Joe always says."
"We talked about you, you know. When they beat you."
"You did?" He stopped eating, curious.
"He said he practically raised you."
Bart almost choked when he started to laugh. "No practically about it. He's probably the only reason I'm still here. Almost got in bad trouble when I was fifteen. Coulda gotten killed."
"He stopped you?"
"The thought of diappointin' him stopped me. Can I have that coffee now?"
"Oh, sure," as she handed him the cup. "So you're like brothers?"
"Just like brothers." That was certainly true.
"That's what Joe said, too."
"See there? We been around each other so long we think alike."
"What if one of you met somebody . . . and wanted to stay someplace?"
"Then we would, I guess. Why?"
"No reason. Just curious."
Bart handed her back his plate; he'd eaten most of what she'd given him. He drank the rest of the coffee and looked at the man asleep in the bed, then back at Molly. Was there more going on here than he knew about?