We next examined the cave-room where Ty had made his last stand. It was fair-sized an’ well stocked, and also had half a dozen extra guns in it. When I saw these fresh guns, I gave a low whistle to think what a lot o’ suckers we’d been to discard our own trumps and set in a game against a marked deck; but as the Friar allus said: “Wrong feeds on death and Right feeds on life; so the’ can’t be no doubt as to the final result, even though things do look blue sometimes.”
There was a fine spring in the corner o’ this room—the same spring which afterwards came out near the mouth of the ravine and was piped into the old cabin. The wounded Cross-brander was still babblin’, so we fed him some water and eased him around a little.
Next we went outside and nailed some pieces to a couple o’ light poles, and we were mighty glad to have enough left to man this vehicle when it was finished, for we were all purt nigh used up, Tillte, the two Simpson boys, and myself carried the litter, while Horace ran the illumination, and Olaf tended to Pepper and the Chink.
We took ’em all out, even to the dead; and the one at the foot of the stairs turned out to be the boy, just as I’d thought. Next to the woman, with the Friar walkin’ beside her his head on his breast, this trip with the boy cut me worse ’n any. Promotheus got off three average good jokes while we were packin’ him out, and cheered us up a lot; but we put Ty Jones down with the dead. As we straightened him out he gave a groan which made us all jump. The whole thing had become a nightmare, and we staggered about like the ingredients of a dream.
The woman’s head was shattered on top an’ the’ wasn’t any hope for her; but still, it gave the Friar comfort to work over her, so we acted as though we thought she had a chance. The nearest doctor was at Meltner’s stage station, a full day’s ride. Tillte went after him, while Dan Simpson rode over to his father’s to break the news and bring back Kit. What with the prisoners still on our hands, the dead to bury, and the wounded to wait on, we were in chin-deep; and the worst of it was, ’at we didn’t want the news to get out. We had tried to settle things without botherin’ the law, and we preferred to finish that way if possible.
We buried the four Cross-branders across the crick and down stream from the lower ford, and we buried Tim Simpson just a little way above the upper ford. The Friar went along and helped dig the graves and carry them to it; but he didn’t preach nor sing, and his face was drawn with sorrow.
By evenin’ we had got things to some system. Spider, Tank, Slim, and Horace were able to help quite a little; but Oscar, Tom Simpson, and Promotheus were in bad shape; while we had seven prisoners, countin’ the Chink, and seven wounded enemies to look after. The feller Horace had shot, up on top, got out o’ the country, I reckon. Anyway they left him above with the horses, and we never heard of him again.
Ol’ man Simpson, Kit, and the boy arrived durin’ the moonlight, and we were all mighty glad to see Kit, though we hated to face the old man. Still, he was game, and took it mighty well. Tillte had got a fresh hoss at Meltner’s and had started right back with the doctor; so they arrived a little after seven next mornin’. The doctor was purty young lookin’ to me; but he had a bagful o’ shiny instruments, and he made himself at home without any fuss. He had been in a Colorado hospital for two years, a minin’ hospital, and he was as familiar with a feller’s insides, as a pony is with the range he was foaled on. He had took a claim near Meltner’s, and was able to talk a long time on why it was better for a young doctor to come west.
He praised the Friar’s work to the skies—and then turned in and did it all over to suit himself. He said that all the wounded stood a good show except the woman, Promotheus, and Ty Jones. We none of us thought ’at The was in much danger; but the doctor shook his head. Ty’s spinal column had been unjointed near the base, and he was paralyzed from the hips down; but in all that skirmishin’, he was the only one who hadn’t lost a drop o’ blood. The Friar, himself, had two flesh-wounds beside the one Ty had give him.
I was with the doctor when he started to work on the woman’s head; but I couldn’t stand it. I’m not overly squeamish; but I own up I couldn’t stand this; so I backed out, leavin’ the Friar with his face like chalk, to hand instruments while little old Kit held a basin. I hated to leave ’em; but I didn’t take a full breath until I was beside Promotheus again.