"The bullet pierced his left lung," Surrey said. "But it was a shoot-through, luckily, so I didn't have to dig in there and pull it out. Many a doctor has killed a pistol-shot man that way."
Nancy took a step toward the doctor. He was her only hope, and she would not let him escape.
"Aside from not killing him, Doctor, what have you done for him?"
"I packed the wound with cotton, front and back, to stop the bleeding. I put dressings on. I told Mrs. Hopkins how to change the cotton and dressings. And now he is in the hands of the Almighty."
Earthmaker, Auguste would say.
"I hope the Almighty guided your hand, Doctor."
"Knowing your father was a man of the Lord, I'm sure your prayers for Auguste will be heard. He's got to stay where he is, in his grandfather's bed, and fight for his life. I expect he'll take a fever, maybe pneumonia. The punctured lung is of no use to him. He'll draw breath with the other one. He'll be delirious, and you've got to get some food into him—soup's the best, because he'll probably be able to swallow that. His body will fight while his mind sleeps. I'll be back to see him every day."
Through tight lips she said, "Tell me the truth, Doctor. Do you think he'll get better?"
"One man in four survives such a wound, Miss Hale."
Nancy's shoulders slumped. This man could do nothing more.