Chapter 5

Back in the bar, I picked up the gun that Horace had dropped. Damned if it wasn't another Starr DA in .44 caliber. This one was not converted to Henry ammunition, but I didn't care: I could afford to pay for the conversion, and I planned to visit the gunsmith the first thing the next morning to get him started on the job. I now had two of the Starr DAs in .44 caliber, and I could hardly wait to start using them.

The next morning right after breakfast, I went by the gun shop to arrange for the work to be done on my new Starr DA. I was promised the refurbished gun in 10 days, and I hoped that I could contain myself that long.

The next thing I did was to head back to Sweet Water to pick up the shotgun shells that Mr. Schmidt was reloading for me. That was normally a two-hour trip, but I didn't want to push it because I was not in that big a hurry and there was no reason to make my horse work hard on a hot day. There was a stream that crossed the road at close to the five-mile mark, so I paused to let my horse drink before we forded the little stream.

I was sitting on my horse when I heard a gunshot and felt a sharp pain in my side. God Dammit, I had been shot! There was a plume of powder smoke off to my left. It looked to me like the amount of smoke that would come from a rifle, but you couldn't be real sure about that sort of thing nowadays. Anyway, though it hurt like hell, I bent over my saddle horn and raced as fast as possible toward the bushes where I had seen the smoke.

I had no other place to go. There was no real cover anywhere near to me except for that one cluster of bushes, so, even though I might draw another bullet, I wanted to take with me the bastard who had shot me. The shot had sounded like it came from a Mississippi rifle, but it might have come from an unconverted Colt. I did not stop to think at that moment that a shot from a Mississippi rifle would probably have blown me out of the saddle because of the large caliber.

Anyway, I reached the bushes in less than three seconds. That was hardly enough time to cock the hammer on a single-action pistol, so that could be why I did not draw another shot. I was not even thinking about the pain of being shot when I reached the bushes. I threw myself from my horse and drew my Starr with my right hand. I put my left hand against my ribs and did not feel any wetness. No blood!? This was as fishy as all get-out! I sure hurt like hell, but there was no blood. Okay, I would worry about that later, right now, I had a bushwhacker to worry about.

It hurt to do it, but I bent over to keep my head below the top of the bushes. There was nothing to gain by letting the bushwhacker see me as I tried to sneak up on him. Ah, I got a very important clue as to his whereabouts when I heard his horse snort. The problem was that he was on one side of the bushes and I was on the other. He would surely spot me by the movement of the bushes if I tried to bull my way through them to reach him. It was too far for me to run with the pain in my side to try to go around the bushes, so I squatted down to see if it would be possible for me to go after the bastard down close to the ground.

Son of a bitch! I wouldn't have to do that. I could see his legs as I put my eye close to the ground. He was less than 20 feet away from me, and I could easily put a bullet into his leg from where I was. Shit, this was almost too good to be true! I lay down on the ground and extended both arms to hold my pistol with both hands. I even used a sturdy trunk of a bush to help steady my aim. I carefully lined up my shot and fired. I used the double-action to keep my opponent from detecting me by the sound of cocking my hammer.

My bullet entered his right ankle just above the part where the bone juts out, and I must have shattered a lot of bone judging by the way he fell. Well, I didn't fool around. The bushwhacker was writhing on the ground from the pain, but not so much so that I could not put three more bullets into his body: one into his side, one into his back, and one into his chest. Thank goodness for the break-action of the Starr: it made reloading a very simple thing.

Fortunately, I was only a few feet from my horse, so I struggled to him and grabbed a stirrup to pull myself to my feet. Yeah, that hurt, too. That was when I decided to see what was causing all of the pain if the bullet had not penetrated my hide. I unbuttoned my shirt and had no trouble finding the place where the bullet had gone through. By God! That explains a lot! I found the bullet wedged against the coins in my moneybelt. I had a monumental bruise on my skin, and I really jumped when I pressed against the flesh under the bullet. I seemed to have three broken ribs!

Somehow, my moneybelt had worked its way up until it was covering the lower edge of my ribcage. The bullet struck me dead-center on one of the silver dollars and had stopped before it had punched itself all the way through. Nevertheless, the force of the impact was enough to break some ribs, but that was the extent of the damage. I should be in good shape once I had the ribs tied up tight. Aw, dammit, I couldn't do the job myself, but I should be able to find somebody in Sweet Water willing to help me. I could be there in about an hour, and I could stand the pain for that long. One thing this incident did: it convinced me to pack some laudanum with me from now on.

I stripped the bushwhacker of his valuables, and that included everything but his pants. There was too much shit for me to want to bother washing out, so I left them. The wild hogs and coyotes would have a banquet with this one.

I was pretty sore when I got to Sweet Water, and I was barely able to make it up the steps to Mr. Schmidt's gun shop. He could tell that I was in pain the moment that I entered his shop. He got the story out of me and insisted that I come home with him. I demurred, but he kept insisting, so the only thing that I could do was to accept his hospitality. He helped me onto my horse and led my little caravan to his home.

Mrs. Schmidt was as kindhearted as her husband, so they quickly had me in bed in the spare room with my clothes removed. That was slightly embarrassing, but I was hurting so much by this time that I did not worry about that for long. Mrs. Schmidt was a very competent rough and ready doctor, and she had my ribs bound and me asleep from laudanum before I could even think of complaining.

An hour or so later, she brought in some broth and fed it to me like an expert. Well, I am embarrassed to say that I imposed on the Schmidts for four days in the bed, but I was finally able to get up and about on my own by then. A couple of days later and I was developing a case of "cabin fever." Don't get me wrong. I understood what the Schmidts had done for me and I appreciated it deeply, but I was too young to be stuck idly away somewhere while the world marched on.

I was finally released from "durance vile" on the seventh day, and I embarrassed Mrs. Schmidt by kissing her on the cheek as I went out the door. Of course, they would not let me pay them anything for their kindness, but I tried. Oh, well, some people are kind to others without the need for an immediate reward. However, I did promise to myself that I would do something for them at the first opportunity.

Now that I was not in such pain, I sold the extra horse and the other stuff that I had taken from the man who shot me and picked up the reloaded shotgun shells that Mr. Schmidt had for me. That afternoon, I headed back to Oak Junction to visit the gun shop there. I might still be running my lucky streak and find that the Starr conversion was ready for me to pick it up. You can bet on one thing: I was a lot more alert during my trip back to Oak Junction. After all, I could not count on my moneybelt being where I needed it.