Chapter 13: The Rescue

There was little that Graydon could do for Mike beyond what he'd already done. He refilled his water bottle and left that within easy reach, with some dried fruit, nuts, and chocolate snacks. He put a rolled jacket under Mike's head, and carefully lifted his right side to lay a folded wool blanket under him, and another blanket over him to ease the cold and reduce the shock from his injuries.

He'd built a tiny fire, just enough to make a pot of camp coffee and to boil the shirt fabric for a clean dressing on Mike's leg. Mike sipped a cup of sugar-laced coffee. He smiled weakly at Graydon.

"Leave my medicine bag here beside me, with the water. I'll be fine until you get back. I expect to see the two of you back here about this time tomorrow, then."

"Good. If you want, I can leave some small firewood pieces here in easy reach so you can keep this little fire going."

"No. I'd worry the wind might come up in the canyon, and it would get out of hand. I'll be fine. These wool blankets are good. They remind me of good woven blankets I had once, in the desert. You've done all you can for me, so you'd best douse that fire now, and get down to Jim's."

It was five miles down to the forks and another five to the trailhead at the edge of Brightman's ranch. Graydon was there as the sun was sinking behind Mount Gardner. He calmed himself, patted Buster, the friendly old cow dog who came out to run circles around him as he approached their door. Jim and Vi were sitting inside at the table, starting dinner.

"You're here early?" Jim puzzled, as Graydon doffed his felt hat and walked in. Vi eased out of her chair, grabbed a cup and filled it from the coffee pot hot and ready on the stove's back corner.

"There was a rock slide. I found Mike ... I reckon he's your friend, since he asked for you ... he's hurt bad up the North Fork trail."

Vi's eyes grew wide but she said nothing as she motioned for Graydon to sit in the extra chair. She placed the full cup in front of him.

Jim's eyes squinted a bit as he leaned back. He quietly studied Graydon's face. Jim and Vi stayed quiet, considering their next words. The effect was similar to a sudden radio announcement that a city of little gray men had been discovered living on the moon. The secret was out and they didn't know what to say next, except to deal with the obvious: Mike was hurt and needed help.

"Well, I suppose you'd better tell me how badly he's hurt, then," Jim finally said. "I expect he can't move, since he sent you down here. We need to decide what to take, and how to get him out of there. We'll deal with the rest later."

The details were discussed over the table while they ate and sipped coffee and considered their options. Jim was too old to hike that distance up and back, so he'd take his saddle horse. They would need a good pack horse to carry Mike. Once they had him stabilized with proper dressings and thickly padded splints for his crushed leg, they would carry him in a basket stretcher slung from the pack saddle. Bags of feed slung on the other side would balance the load. It was the only way to get him down the narrow canyon-side trail, around the sharp bends and through the timber thickets. A travois would be too wide and a much rougher ride than the gentle pack horse. Mike would ride easy as long as they kept their pace to a slow walk.

Two big concerns lingered: how well would Mike make it alone through the cold night, and how long before his crushed leg became infected? The third concern was medical treatment: no one said anything, but Graydon was guessing that they wouldn't be taking Mike into town or to a hospital. He lay awake for a short time, bedded down in the spare bedroom in the Brightman house. There were too many questions and he was too tired. Sleep came quickly.

The rich smell of coffee and the sounds of a cast iron skillet sliding around on the wood range woke him. Darkness lay unbroken outside his window. Graydon dressed and joined the elderly couple at the table, yawning and reaching for his first cup of coffee, laced with two spoons of sugar and a slug of thick cream. He could drink it black, and usually did, but pre-dawn awakenings called for sweetening in his cup.

Vi set out a platter heaped with home-fried potatoes and sausage patties; she passed around another plate piled high with scrambled eggs.

"I expect we can be up the North Fork, clear a trail down to him through the timber this side of that slide, get him splinted and loaded up, and back down here before dark. Vi will have the parlor open and warmed up and a guest bunk fixed for him by the time we're back.

"In case you're wondering, we've got a good friend who's a retired doctor living down the valley. His wife worked with him as his nurse for most of his practice. Vi will get word to them to be here this evening in time to meet us. And no, there's no point in either of them trying to go up the trail with us. There's precious little they could do. If Mike has hung on for this long, he can hang on a while longer until we can get him down here for some proper care."

Graydon sat quietly. None of the many pieces of this ever-widening mystery were sorting themselves out, but there was no time to get into it now.

"But, damn... !" his mind rebelled. He sure hoped to get some answers, sometime soon, from somebody!

It was an odd sight that morning as the sun's first rays poked into Wolf Creek canyon to light the scene: the tall, white-haired elderly rancher astride his saddle horse, leading an old gray pack horse slung with a war surplus basket stretcher on one side of her pack saddle, a full bag of oats astride the saddle and a second bag slung opposite for counter-balance. The boy walked ahead, leading on foot with Buster, the eager ranch dog who refused to be left behind, bounding out ahead.