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The pain of his body being shifted as he was lifted from the ground was so intense Dancing Cloud drifted instantly into a black void, welcoming it.
Seeing that the Cherokee had slipped into what might be a coma, Noah hurried him to his wagon. As gently as he could, worrying about the blood that Dancing Cloud was still losing from the wound, he laid him in the back of his wagon.
He covered Dancing Cloud with a blanket that he always carried with him for those times when his wife June came out into the fields and surprised him with a picnic lunch. Many a time he had stopped his planting to have time with her. She had not yet totally gotten over the loss of their eldest son. Perhaps she never would.
He patted Dancing Cloud on the leg, then went to his wagon and climbed onto it. Making a wide turn on the narrow trail, he headed back toward town.
When he reached the house that Dr. Kemper had turned into a temporary hospital on Western Avenue, the doctor took immediate charge.
Even after Noah told Dr. Kemper that this Cherokee had sided with the South during the war, the doctor who had been a captain in the Fifth Illinois Cavalry, still did not hesitate to care for Dancing Cloud. He took him immediately into surgery to remove the bullet, and to repair the damage inflicted by it. He had been born to sustain life, not to take it!
While Noah sat in an outer room and waited to hear the results of the surgery, Sheriff Wes Decker came into the room.
“Noah, I hear you found a man on that property you just bought today,” the sheriff said, lifting a wide-brimmed hat from his head, revealing brown hair that was trimmed neatly to his shirt collar. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his ruddy-featured face solemn. “Want to tell me about it, Noah? How you found the man? Who might have shot him?”
Noah rose from the chair. He straightened his back and lifted his chin as he looked square into the pale gray eyes of the sheriff. “Not much to tell ’cept that I found him layin’ in the road all bloodied up and shot,” he said, not taking a chance in telling the total truth. He was afraid that Clint might follow up on his threats and go to his farm and kill his family while Noah was tending business in the fields.
“I did my Christian duty, Wes,” Noah quickly added. “I brought him here for patching up.”
“Gossip spread fast about this man,” Sheriff Decker said, tossing his hat onto a chair. He took a half-smoked cigar from his front shirt pocket. He slipped it between his thick lips and lit it with a match.
“Yes, I heard the same gossip,” Noah said, slipping his hands down the front of his overalls, locking his thumbs over the sides of its bib. “He’s an Indian. He’s a Cherokee, and he’s a Rebel. But that don’t mean that I was to leave him to die on my land.”
“See who did it?” Sheriff Decker asked, puffing on his cigar. He took his hat from the chair and circled it slowly around between his fingers.
“Can’t say that I did,” Noah said, trying to make the lie as white as possible.
“Did you hear the gunfire?” the sheriff continued. “Is that how you came upon the scene of the crime?”
“Yes, I heard the gunfire,” Noah said, nodding.
“But still you can’t tell me who did the shootin’?”
“Are you deaf, Wes? I already answered that question.”
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p; “All right, all right,” Sheriff Decker said, plopping the hat back on his head. “I may never know who did it. Damn that Rebel. Why’d he have to come north, anyhow?”
“I guess Judge Peterson had no idea the turmoil it would make once news spread that an Indian was escorting his niece to Mattoon,” Noah said, sighing deeply. “The judge is usually a quiet man. Keeps to himself. But I guess he was so happy about his niece comin’ to be a part of his life he couldn’t help but talk about it.”
“I only hope that once the news spreads that the Indian is still in town, there won’t be a mob formed to lynch the guy,” Sheriff Decker sighed out as he slowly shook his head back and forth. “One thing for sure, though. Nothin’ else bad will happen to this Indian while he’s in my jurisdiction. I’ll threaten everyone with a jailin’, perhaps even a hangin’, if they try anything.”
Noah looked over at Sheriff Decker and chuckled. “Then I’m certain this young man’s life is in no danger,” he said. “Who’d go against you, Wes?”
Wes laughed boisterously. “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he said, sauntering toward the door. “Leavin’ now, Noah? Or are you going to stick around?”
“I think I’ll wait and see if the Cherokee makes it,” Noah said, walking Wes to the door.
“Tell your pretty June I said hello when you arrive home,” Sheriff Decker said, swinging the door open. “Tell her I’d love a piece of her cherry pie the next time she makes one.”
“Same as done, Wes,” Noah laughed after him. “Same as done.”
He watched Sheriff Decker mount his horse and ride away. The sound of footsteps behind him drew him quickly around.
When he saw Dr. Kemper standing there, bloodstains on his clothes, and his eyes heavy, his insides quavered uneasily.
“Well, Doc?” Noah asked, searching the doctor’s face for answers. “Did he make it, or not?”
