Buzzard Roost by Colin Bainbridge

Author:Colin Bainbridge [Bainbridge, Colin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robert Hale
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

Trueman opened his eyes. He was lying on a bunk, covered with a blanket, but when he tried to sit up to look around he quickly sank back with a gasp of pain. His head hurt and he felt confused, but after a few moments he remembered what had happened to him. More cautiously he began to raise himself upright again, and this time succeeded. He sat on the edge of the bunk and looked around. He was in a small cabin, almost bare of furniture except for a rough table, a couple of chairs and some empty shelves. Sunlight was streaming through a window devoid of curtains and through it he could see the outline of hills.

Very gingerly, he swung his feet to the floor and stood up. His midriff felt sore, and when he opened his shirt to take a look he saw that it was badly bruised and that someone had made an attempt to treat it: a poultice was held in place by a rough bandage which had become loose. A shard of glass on the wall served as a mirror and when he glanced at his face, he saw that it was also cut and bruised. His gunbelt hung from the back of one of the chairs; he was about to fasten it on when the door opened and Fiske entered.

‘You shouldn’t be movin’ about,’ he said. ‘Get back on the bed and take it easy.’

‘I’ll be OK,’ Trueman replied.

‘I was out feedin’ the horses,’ Fiske told him. ‘Here, take this while I rustle up some breakfast.’ He held out a flask from which Trueman took a long swig. When he had finished his face creased up in a grimace and he shook his head.

‘Hell,’ he said. ‘What is that stuff?’

‘Rotgut, but I figure it might do you some good.’ Trueman grinned and took another sip.

‘I reckon you could have a point,’ he said.

‘How does bacon and beans sound?’

Again Trueman grimaced. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘but I think I might leave it for the moment. I could do with some good strong coffee though.’

‘Comin’ right up,’ Fiske said. ‘There ain’t a lot of room in here. I never could take to these places, anyway. I got a fire goin’ outside. Why don’t you join me?’ Trueman nodded and made to go for the door when he was brought up sharp by a stab of pain.

‘Here, let me help you,’ Fiske said. Taking Trueman’s arm, he placed it round his shoulder and together they staggered outside.

Almost immediately Trueman felt better. Maybe it was his imagination, but more likely it was the crisp clean air and sunshine that made the difference; Fiske’s whiskey too. By the time he had a couple of tin mugs of thick black coffee inside him, he felt quite renewed.

‘It was lucky for me you came by when you did,’ he said. ‘I figure I owe you my life. Those thugs weren’t about to stop dishin’ out the treatment any time soon.’

‘It was my fault you got into that situation in the first place.

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