Chapter 6
Coyote Canyon, Texas - July 1872
Libby watched wide-eyed as her older sister knelt beside the unconscious man sprawled on the rough wooden table. Blood stained his white shirt.
"Who is he, Honor?" Libby's voice barely rose above a whisper, laced with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.
Honor, her brow furrowed in worry, shook her head. "I don't know, Libby."
Libby's barrage of questions began, each one punctuated by Honor's strained replies.
"Is he going to die?"
"I don't know."
"Why did Justice put him here?" Libby continued. "Don't you think he'd be more comfortable in a bed?"
"I don't think he cares too much at this point."
"Is he an Indian?"
"I think so."
"Why isn't he dressed like an Indian?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe he used to be an Indian."
"You don't stop being an Indian Libby."
"Well then how come he ain't dressed like one?"
"Libby, can you please stop for a minute?" Honor finally pleaded, her voice tight. "The doctor will be here soon, and we need to be quiet so he can help him."
Libby, sensing the urgency in Honor's voice, clamped her lips shut, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. The room lapsed into an anxious silence broken only by the man's shallow breaths. Then, a flicker of movement. His eyelids fluttered open. He let out a soft groan, the sound raw with pain.
Honor leaned closer, her touch gentle as she stroked his forehead. "Shhh," she soothed. "It's alright. You're safe now. The doctor will be here soon."