felt a lightning flash of agony. It was a blur of movement, and Colby felt his head go light until Colonel Wilder pulled them up to a stop. The rains came in a torrent, and most of the men welcomed a chance to stop for the night.
Colby shivered against his horse’s neck as he leaned against it. He could feel the fever beginning to take hold of him, and the infection from his leg was a red arrow shooting straight into his head.
The company regulars gathered around Colby and formed a semi-circle with Colonel Wilder nudging his horse closer to the sick man. He had his saber out, and as he spoke, Colby had a vision of the colonel taking a swing and severing his leg in one swift motion.
“Going to have to do something about that leg, son,” Wilder repeated. “Going to slow you down, and my boys like to move fast.”
“Sorry, sir,” Colby whispered.
“We’ll take care of it for you,” Wilder said. “Sergeant Beard!”
A stocky man dismounted in the mud, his boots sinking into the wet ground. He came up to the colonel and saluted.
“Sir!”
“Sergeant Beard here, Private Dalton, is a famous man. He’s renowned for his surgical skills. In fact, he was assigned to the medical corps, but he requested a transfer so he could ride with me. I was flattered of course, but I realized how useful a man of his skills and talents could be with all of our dangerous undertakings.”
“Let me take a look at your leg, Private,” said Beard, stepping up beside Colby’s horse. He pushed the trouser leg up and whistled at the sight beneath. “It’s infected and turning green,” he said. “Gonna have to take that leg off.”
Colby heard the sergeant’s analysis, but was in too much pain to protest. Beard walked over to his horse and removed a small box from behind the saddle.
“Take care of it, Sergeant,” ordered Wilder, swinging himself off his horse. He moved off into the rain where the rest of his men were trying to set up their tents for the night.
John Holcomb came up beside Beard as the doctor walked back over to Colby. Colby was slumped against his horse’s neck, his eyes closed, and water streaming across his face.
“Is this really necessary?” asked Holcomb. “Do you have to take his leg?”
Sergeant Beard barely acknowledged the man beside him. “Colonel’s orders,” he said. “Doesn’t want anyone slowing us down. Have you seen his leg? It’s a mess, no question. Help me get him down.”
Colby felt hands lifting him off the horse, then he was stretched out beneath a tent of some sort. Through a haze, he saw Sergeant Beard cutting away at his trouser leg until he felt the cool night air biting into his wound. He moaned a little, and he noticed Holcomb was there, holding a flask of some kind.
“Rum,” said Holcomb. “Drink some.”
The bittersweet liquid ran down Colby’s throat, sending a strange burn throughout his body.
“Do you have morphine?” Holcomb asked as he watched Beard open his box and pull out a small bottle.
“No,” said Beard. “It’s chloroform.”
The sergeant uncorked his bottle, and Holcomb grew dizzy as the scent filled the tent’s interior. A small amount of the liquid was poured over a cloth rag.
“Rest easy, son,” Beard told Colby. “This will make it better.” He pushed the rag over Colby’s nose and mouth. Colby’s arms flared out in sudden alarm, then he felt himself drifting away into a hazy sleep that was very comforting. From somewhere out there in the darkness, he heard the faint hiss of a metal blade being drawn out of its scabbard and a scream he thought might have been his.
***
When he awoke, he thought the doctor had changed his mind and decided not to chop off his leg. In fact, it still felt as if he had it, and there was a faint itch somewhere down there around his foot. As he reached for it, his hand met empty air, and his eyes flared open.
He saw Holcomb’s concerned
Colby shivered against his horse’s neck as he leaned against it. He could feel the fever beginning to take hold of him, and the infection from his leg was a red arrow shooting straight into his head.
The company regulars gathered around Colby and formed a semi-circle with Colonel Wilder nudging his horse closer to the sick man. He had his saber out, and as he spoke, Colby had a vision of the colonel taking a swing and severing his leg in one swift motion.
“Going to have to do something about that leg, son,” Wilder repeated. “Going to slow you down, and my boys like to move fast.”
“Sorry, sir,” Colby whispered.
“We’ll take care of it for you,” Wilder said. “Sergeant Beard!”
A stocky man dismounted in the mud, his boots sinking into the wet ground. He came up to the colonel and saluted.
“Sir!”
“Sergeant Beard here, Private Dalton, is a famous man. He’s renowned for his surgical skills. In fact, he was assigned to the medical corps, but he requested a transfer so he could ride with me. I was flattered of course, but I realized how useful a man of his skills and talents could be with all of our dangerous undertakings.”
“Let me take a look at your leg, Private,” said Beard, stepping up beside Colby’s horse. He pushed the trouser leg up and whistled at the sight beneath. “It’s infected and turning green,” he said. “Gonna have to take that leg off.”
Colby heard the sergeant’s analysis, but was in too much pain to protest. Beard walked over to his horse and removed a small box from behind the saddle.
“Take care of it, Sergeant,” ordered Wilder, swinging himself off his horse. He moved off into the rain where the rest of his men were trying to set up their tents for the night.
John Holcomb came up beside Beard as the doctor walked back over to Colby. Colby was slumped against his horse’s neck, his eyes closed, and water streaming across his face.
“Is this really necessary?” asked Holcomb. “Do you have to take his leg?”
Sergeant Beard barely acknowledged the man beside him. “Colonel’s orders,” he said. “Doesn’t want anyone slowing us down. Have you seen his leg? It’s a mess, no question. Help me get him down.”
Colby felt hands lifting him off the horse, then he was stretched out beneath a tent of some sort. Through a haze, he saw Sergeant Beard cutting away at his trouser leg until he felt the cool night air biting into his wound. He moaned a little, and he noticed Holcomb was there, holding a flask of some kind.
“Rum,” said Holcomb. “Drink some.”
The bittersweet liquid ran down Colby’s throat, sending a strange burn throughout his body.
“Do you have morphine?” Holcomb asked as he watched Beard open his box and pull out a small bottle.
“No,” said Beard. “It’s chloroform.”
The sergeant uncorked his bottle, and Holcomb grew dizzy as the scent filled the tent’s interior. A small amount of the liquid was poured over a cloth rag.
“Rest easy, son,” Beard told Colby. “This will make it better.” He pushed the rag over Colby’s nose and mouth. Colby’s arms flared out in sudden alarm, then he felt himself drifting away into a hazy sleep that was very comforting. From somewhere out there in the darkness, he heard the faint hiss of a metal blade being drawn out of its scabbard and a scream he thought might have been his.
***
When he awoke, he thought the doctor had changed his mind and decided not to chop off his leg. In fact, it still felt as if he had it, and there was a faint itch somewhere down there around his foot. As he reached for it, his hand met empty air, and his eyes flared open.
He saw Holcomb’s concerned
Similar Books
