Shoot-out at Broken Bow by Charles G. West

Author:Charles G. West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Things didn’t go so well for the recovering patient during the following three days. Roy developed a fever and seemed to go in and out of his conscious mind for long periods of time, and for a while, it looked like he was more likely to die than pull out of it. A worried Junior begged Doc to save his pa, telling him that he would be well paid for the job. The fever broke on the fourth day, and Roy, weak and drained, woke up to find Doc and Junior standing over his bed. He startled them when he opened his eyes and muttered, “My hand?”

“Safe and sound,” Doc answered cheerfully. “You had me and Junior worried there for a spell, but I believe you’ve by-God whipped it. You feel like eatin’ now?”

“No,” Roy replied, and grimaced as if just then reminded of the painful stump beside him. “Get me some coffee,” he said. While Doc was getting the coffee, Roy looked his son in the eye with some of the old angry spark returning. “That son of a bitch,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill him for takin’ my hand.”

Confused, Junior thought he was referring to Garvey. “Pa, I thought you understood that was what he was gonna do. You’da died if he didn’t.”

“Buck Avery, dammit,” Roy snarled. “He’ll pay for my hand, and that damn other deputy, too. He’s the one that shot it off.”

“Casey Dixon,” Doc volunteered as he came through the door with the coffee and overheard Roy’s vow. “He’s the deputy ridin’ with Avery. Young feller, he’s the one that arrested your boy Billy over near Broken Bow. I’ve been hearin’ about him a lot here in the nations. From what they say, he’s a regular stud horse.”

That bit of information was enough to bring Roy’s blood to a boil. The old man sat up in bed, and might have gotten up if Junior had not been there to restrain him. “Take it easy, Pa,” he pleaded.

“Lemme go, dammit!” Roy bellowed so aggressively that Junior, out of force of habit, immediately obeyed and released his hold on his father’s arm. Roy threw his blanket aside and got to his feet, only to discover he was too weak to stand, which infuriated him further. He sat back on the bed, his face a rough mosaic of fury, framed by a mass of unkempt dirty gray hair; he was a menacing sight in spite of his fragile health. Junior, acquainted with his father’s frequent storms of rage, stood silently by, waiting for the calm vindictiveness to return. Doc, however, had never witnessed Roy’s unbridled rage. He stood speechless, still holding the cup of hot coffee.

After a few silent moments passed, Doc set the cup down on the table beside the bed and quickly stepped back in case another thundercloud was building. “Casey Dixon,” Roy repeated calmly, inserting the name into his permanent memory, as he stared at the stump of his left arm. “Where’s my hand?”

“I put it in the shed out back, where nothin’ can get to it,” Doc quickly responded.

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