Lord, let Mr. Gilbert heal without infection, she prayed as she lay down on her cot a few minutes later. She’d have to go check on her patient first thing in the morning and hoped she could remember how to get back to the Gilberts’ campsite. She’d been so intent on not losing sight of Gideon running ahead of her that she hadn’t paid much attention to where they were heading.
She’d have to check and redress the wound every day, and make sure the patient and his wife knew the importance of keeping the wound clean and dry. Even sterilized silk suture was an irritant to the skin, compared to absorbable catgut, and she’d had to use coarse cotton darning thread. She’d go to the Gilberts’ at sunrise, she decided, so that Elijah Thornton could return to his tent and prepare for his chapel service. Poor man, after sitting up with his deacon all night, he’d be even wearier than she expected to be come morning.
She’d offer to make some broth for Mr. Gilbert from the beef bone she’d been intending to make stew with tomorrow. With the blood loss, the man would be weak and perhaps feverish. Better take some dried willow bark to make into tea, she thought, in case the man’s wife didn’t have any. With the list of chores running through her head, she feared she wouldn’t sleep.
But the heat and sunlight stirred her, apparently hours later. When she awakened, one glance at the watch she’d unpinned from her bodice and left lying on an upended crate by her bed told her that she’d overslept straight through to midmorning. She dressed quickly, then picked up her valise full of dressing supplies and medicaments, and headed in the direction she thought the Gilberts’ tent lay.
Elijah would be conducting his prayer meeting at this hour, she thought, regretting that she had missed him, then assured herself it only mattered because she’d wanted to hear from him how his deacon had passed the night.
She managed to find her way to the tent with only one wrong turn. She found Mrs. Gilbert stirring a pot over the campfire, and Mr. Gilbert reclining in the shade of the wagon, propped up on pillows.
He was pale, but without the flush of fever Alice had been dreading. Nevertheless, as soon as she had greeted them both, she knelt at his side and felt her patient’s forehead. She was pleased to find it no warmer than her hand.
“He had some fever during the night,” Mrs. Gilbert volunteered, “but I brewed him some willow bark tea. I’m simmering some broth in this pot here, ’cause his appetite’s still a little puny after all the blood he lost last night.”
“Excellent,” Alice said approvingly, silently commending the woman for her common sense.
There were only a few spots of dried blood on Mr. Gilbert’s dressing, she noted, unwrapping it from his leg. She found the wound as she had hoped—a little pink around the edges, as was to be expected, but with no fresh bleeding and without the angry red appearance and purulent drainage she had feared. Thank You, Lord, she breathed.
After first anointing the wound with some salve from her bag, she applied a new dressing and a fresh bandage. “I’ll be back to check on him this evening, Mrs. Gilbert. Keep an eye on his temperature, would you? Meanwhile, if you have need of me, I should be at my campsite most of the time—five tents to the east of the Thorntons’. If I’m not, please just leave me a note, and I’ll come as soon as I find it.”
“Not so fast, Miss Alice. Let me dish you up some breakfast,” Mrs. Gilbert offered, pointing to a covered skillet.
Alice began to demur, not wanting to consume what might be the couple’s limited resources, but the woman waved away her polite refusal. “Nonsense, it’s the least we can do after what you did last night, and I’m guessing you hurried right here soon as you woke up, didn’t you, poor lamb? You still look tuckered yourself, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
The woman’s efficient kindness was a balm. Alice surrendered, and was given a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon and biscuits. Afterward she felt as if she could take on the world or at least whatever challenges Boomer Town had to offer today. With a last admonition to her patient just to rest today and a promise from Mrs. Gilbert that she’d make sure he did so, Alice took her leave.
It might be a good day to look at saddle horses, she thought. There was a corral full of them at the end of one of the rows of tents that passed for streets in Boomer Town, watched over by a wiry man with the shifty, knowing eyes of a born horse trader. She’d strolled past the corral before, spotting a tall, handsome bay that looked as if he could run. But then there was that chestnut mare with the sweetest face...
Alice had taken the train as close as she could to the territory, then purchased a tent and camping supplies, a wagon and two stout horses to pull it the rest of the way to the border of the Unassigned Lands. She’d chosen Boomer Town—one of the many tent cities along the boundaries—more or less at random. The wagon horses were kept with others of their kind in a common corral, and she had paid a fee for their upkeep.
She’d initially planned to make the run in the wagon, but she hadn’t expected there would be such hordes of would-be homesteaders waiting with her. More arrived every day. Now Alice thought the heavily laden wagon would hold her back, and only a fast horse would ensure her a good claim.
Alice figured it was probably best to buy her horse sooner rather than later to be sure of getting a good one. That would mean paying for its feed between now and the big day, but she’d have the advantage of getting to know her mount’s temperament and ways in the meantime.
But if she wasn’t driving her wagon into the Unassigned Lands, she’d have to leave it here in Boomer Town until after she had staked her claim. Already enterprising gents were offering to secure such wagons, stock and belongings for a fee until successful homesteaders could return for them, but could they be trusted? Alice reasoned it would be better to make friends with other settlers who were leaving their possessions in Boomer Town with family members and barter with them to watch over hers, too.
Before heading to the corral, Alice walked back to her tent and changed from her calico dress into a dark-colored blouse and the divided skirt she’d packed for riding, for she’d want to try out a horse’s paces and manners before laying down any of her precious cash.
“Yes, ma’am,” the horse trader said, when she arrived at the corral and told him that she wanted to buy a horse for the run. “I can give you your pick of this corral for four hundred dollars.”
Shock rendered Alice momentarily speechless. “Four hundred dollars? B-But these look like mustangs!” she sputtered. The handsome bay and the sweet chestnut mare no longer paced the pen with the others. Four hundred dollars would be a considerable dent in the cash she had left that had to last until she had a dwelling built and crops in.
She closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to stay calm. “I was told to expect a price more in the range of two hundred, and that was for a saddle-broken horse.” These horses looked as if they’d been captured only yesterday after a lifetime of running loose over the prairie. If only she’d come yesterday, maybe she could have bought the bay or the chestnut...
“Horseflesh’s in great demand, what with the Land Rush approachin’,” he told her, his face smug. “Price is only goin’ up in the future, so you’d be wise t’ buy today.”
“I assume that includes a saddle and bridle?” she asked stiffly, knowing the answer even as she asked.
The trader shook his head. “Bridle an’ saddle are a hundred dollars extra,” the man said with a smirk, nodding toward a pile of used cavalry saddles that looked much the worse for wear, with frayed stirrup leathers and girths, many with cracks and holes in the leather between the
