Depression by cmsix

Chapter 5

I wished it had of, though I'm not sure what I could have done about anything.

I woke just at sunrise and a look at my watch let me know it was a little after five AM. After a quick piss I went to the kitchen, fried some bacon, some eggs, and warmed up four of the biscuits I had left from my practice session last night. Coffee was ready when the food was and I sat at my table and took care of business. After I'd eaten, I dutifully poured the grease into the can Ethel had brought for it.

I dressed to got out to the barn and walked out the front door, and what a fucking surprise.

Everything was normal, out to where Chuck and Dave had mowed. It looked just like it had the day before, but it now appeared to be the edge of a clearing in a deep forest, and the trees in this forest were massive.

They were yellow pines, which were native to East Texas, but they were bigger than any I'd ever seen, one of them looked like it was over five feet in diameter, and I can't even guess how tall it was because I couldn't crane my neck back far enough to see the top.

I couldn't believe it but I knew what I saw, and I walked around the house then to the barn. I didn't stop, just kept walking all the way around the barn and house. It was the same all the way around.

My house was now sitting in a clearing in a pine forest that had bigger trees than I'd ever heard of, bigger pine trees anyway. Maybe there'd been some this big in the "Big Thicket" a few hundred years ago, but I had no way of knowing and it didn't really matter anyway. I was so shocked that I couldn't even concentrate on what I was thinking from one minute to the next.

I went back to the barn to feed and tend to Joe Bob, Jasper, and Jeffry, hoping things would get better, or at least that I could get a grip.

The stock seemed happy to see me, and they were even happier when I coughed up their oats. Then, being in the barn made me remember the strange little late night delivery last night and the impromptu seeming biscuit cooking lesson, and suddenly I got suspicious, but that couldn't mean anything.

I went back into the house to do my wondering sitting down. It was clear to me that something had happened that couldn't possibly have happened. I needed to decide what I thought it was as a first step.

I pulled out the cell phone to call George and though everything seemed fine, it wouldn't work. All it said was "no signal" and that couldn't be right either. One of those towers wasn't more than half a mile from me; maybe all the new trees were blocking it somehow or had knocked it down.

That made me wonder about my electricity. It was still working fine and the underground line now had at least dozens of trees poking their roots down where George had said it ran. The lights were still on though. There couldn't be much wrong with the phone.

There was nothing else for it, I'd have to saddle up Joe Bob and try to find my way to George's house through all these trees. I wondered what the hell he'd think about all this. You can't raise cows in the woods. Maybe the trees didn't spring up everywhere.

Jasper and Jeffry weren't happy when they realized that Joe Bob was going somewhere and they weren't. I gave them each another couple of handfuls of oats to keep them from pouting and finished saddling Joe Bob. I nearly rode off without retrieving my rifles, but then thought better of it. Hell, the wolves and coyotes might be confused too and I might get a shot at one or maybe more.

That thought changed my plans. I tied the saddle scabbards on and then put the camera/binocular setup in one saddle bag and went back to the barn for Jasper and Jeffry, putting on their packsaddles and harness and mounting Joe Bob to lead my mule team to George's house.

I fished the camera rig out of the saddlebag and took a few pictures of my new forest before we started. After two hours of riding and looking and snapping pictures, I decided that Geroge's house wasn't there anymore. It couldn't be because there wasn't enough room between the damned trees.

My ride had let me know that yellow pines weren't all that were giant now. They were in the majority, for sure, but I'd come across small groups of hardwoods too. I say small, but that was only relatively speaking. The first small group of them I rode through was probably occupying a hundred acres, and there were all kinds of trees. I even saw twelve to fifteen native pecan trees, and that was odd.

Another thing that bothered me was the wildlife. There'd been dozens of squirrels in the hardwoods, working away at gathering acorns, hickory nuts, and pecans - and they were just the start. I saw ten or more javelina pigging out among the squirrels and more birds than I could count, and they weren't bothered by my presence in the least.

Once I even thought I saw some passenger pigeons but that couldn't be right. They'd been extinct for nearly a hundred years. I think I remembered that the last known passenger pigeon died in a zoo in 1914 so the ones I saw this morning must have been some other type of pigeon. Still it was funny.

So were the deer. Of course I knew there were plenty of white tail deer in East Texas, but I must have seen a hundred today and they barely took notice when I knew they could see me. It was true that none of them got within a couple of hundred yards, but they didn't seem to care if I didn't head right toward them. So what in the fuck was going on?

"Sixteen twenty."

What was that? It seemed almost like a voice in my head had said sixteen twenty. The rest of this morning was bad enough but now I was imagining that I heard things. I found my way back to my little rock-house and tried not to think about anything.

When I was back to the barn I unloaded the stock and put them back in their stalls, with some oats to settle their nerves, as if they were nervous. I was the one who was hearing voices and seeing trees, birds, and animals that couldn't possibly be there.

With my two rifles and the saddlebags back in the house, and all the little chores I could think of tended to, I sat at my kitchen table. I couldn't decide if I should shit, or go blind. Nothing outside the boundaries of my lawn made one fucking bit of sense. I decided to try to forget it and just make some cornbread.

I did one hell of a job if you ask me. The cornbread wasn't the best I'd ever tasted but it was good, and when I thought about it, it was cheap. I liked biscuits and cornbread a lot better than the light bread you buy at a store and I knew that the time spent baking the biscuits and cornbread was a hell of a lot cheaper than what bread cost now. Besides, I didn't have but half a loaf and I had one hell of a lot of cornmeal and flour.

After my cornbread and Ranch Style Beans lunch, I decided that I should get some more pictures of my new timberland. Actually, I guess it was really George's new timberland, because not one fucking tree had made a showing in the lawn Chuck and Dave had mowed for me.

I hadn't used the Nikon's regular lens yet so I poked around in the package and found two. One was what I'd call a normal lens and there was a longer one, what I'd call a zoom lens, in there too. I put it on and looked around and by twisting the adjustment it would go back to not much stronger than the normal lens. I read the little sheet of instructions that came with it and it told me it was a one hundred twenty millimeter telephoto lens. Like I said the first time, a zoom lens.

I took it out the front and only door and started looking around for something that would make a good picture. Let me tell you, those giant yellow pines didn't take much zooming. I was twisting on the adjustment ring and pointing around at everything, and then. Wait a minute!

That's a god damned Indian, right inside the tree line. A loincloth wearing, spear carrying Indian. He didn't have a feather in his headband, in fact he didn't even have a headband, but there was no doubt he was an Indian.

Looking closer at the Indian that was looking right back at me, I saw that he didn't look so good, it seemed like he was having trouble standing up, and then there was a smaller one, a female I think, helping steady him.

What could I do? I let the Nikon hang from its strap and started walking toward them slowly. I held my hand out, palm forward, and said, "How," just like in the movies.

The female - were they really called squaws? - started talking to me, but I didn't understand one fucking thing she said. The male, a brave I guess, said a few things too, but that didn't help either. I decided to keep walking with my palm up until he waved the spear at me.

He never did, and when I got closer, I saw he was wounded. His right arm was swollen and slightly discolored around the bicep. We all talked words that none of us understood, except maybe they understood what they were saying. I made motions toward his arm and finally they decided that I could have a closer look after all.

It looked like a bullet entry wound at the back of his upper arm but there was no exit wound and the hole was damned near three quarters of an inch in diameter. Pus was dripping out of it, but I could tell that it had been cleaned off, externally at least. The weird part was a pretty big bulge under the skin on the front side of his arm, right where I'd have expected the exit wound. Something was still in there.

By now we all knew that we couldn't understand anything the other said. I managed to get them to follow me into my house and finally he was sitting at my kitchen table.

They both drank the coffee I offered, even though I could tell it was their first taste of anything that nasty and they probably thought it was medicine or something.

As soon as he'd finished his coffee I knew I'd fucked up. I could already tell he had some fever but now it would be ten or fifteen minutes before I could get a good reading with a thermometer because of the hot coffee. It didn't really make a shit, I knew he had fever and knowing how much wouldn't actually do me any good.

I felt around on his arm a little more and he did his best not to wince much. Finally I pointed to the bulge, which I'd decided couldn't be anything but a musket ball under his skin, and said that it had to come out. Of course he didn't understand the words, but when I took a small sharp knife from the drawer and pantomimed cutting on his arm he got the general idea.

The squaw wasn't for it at all, I didn't know what she was saying, but I knew she wasn't happy about finding a rock house in the woods and having the occupant offer to start cutting parts off her companion.

Apparently the damned thing hurt him more than he was letting on, because he didn't seem one bit disturbed about the prospect of getting it out. He finally made a move I understood; he nodded his head.

Now I'm no doctor, and I've never even played one on TV, in fact my only doctoring experience on people was playing doctor with Mary Jane Willis when we were both six years old. On the other hand, anyone that's owned horses long knows the best way to have a small fortune is to have a large one first and then call the vet every time your horse gets a scratch.

I knew that George, Bob, and I had similar respect for veterinarians. You called them if you had to, but you took care of what you could on your own. The basics on a human were the same as with a cut up horse. Make sure everything is as clean as you can get it, keep the patient calm if you can, and then slather on all the antiseptic cream and inject all the antibiotics they can stand and you can afford.

I warmed them up some cornbread, buttered it, and motioned for them to eat while I went to the barn. George had brought a big patch up kit down here for me when I first started riding Joe Bob. I hadn't even looked inside yet but I knew there must be something I could use.

I opened it up on the cabinet once I had it in the house and I'd hit the jackpot, or Tonto had anyway. Everything I would need for this was in there and plenty more besides. I found several scalpels, curved needles, and sutures in the first minute, and things got better from there.

There were plenty of disposable syringes and five one hundred milliliter bottles of Combiotic, a Penicillin and streptomycin combination that cures anything. It's well known among horsemen and cattlemen that have balls enough to use horse or cattle medicine on themselves that it will even cure the common cold.

George also had assorted painkillers in there. I recognized the Talwin, a common last-ditch painkiller to give horses with a bad case of colic; it was as strong as morphine and not nearly as addictive. There was also a spray on local anesthetic which would work to keep a horse from noticing that you were poking a little needle with a string tied on it through its skin. He also had several kinds of spray on antiseptic and four different types of anthelmintics, but of course the Indian didn't wander by to be wormed.

I decided that a Valium from my own medicine chest would be a good first step and he took the ten-milligram blue one like he thought he ought to. I fucked around for an hour to let it do its thing; meanwhile, I cleaned on his wound with alcohol and hydrogen peroxide.

I even took him outside and we jockeyed around until I could pour the tunnel the musket ball had made full of peroxide. I know it had to hurt while I pressed and squeezed to get it to open up enough for the peroxide to flow down in it, but Tonto didn't complain even though it put a hell of a grimace on his face more than once.

Even the squaw was impressed as it came boiling back out. It also made the brave seem much more confident in my abilities. Of course he was feeling no pain now, figuratively speaking. The Valium had him as loopy as a crocheted tea cozy.

The squaw helped me get him back to the kitchen table and we had him lay on it. With the scalpel boiled and the topical local sprayed around I had the musket ball, and that's just what it was, out in seconds. I closed with four stitches and we managed to get him turned over so I could deal with the entrance wound.

I had to debride it a little since it looked like it was three or four days old, but I had it mostly closed in a few minutes. I gave him five ccs of the Combiotic, enough and a little more, for a twelve hundred pound horse. I figured I could get him over diarrhea easier than I could amputate a gangrenous arm.

Even though I was dealing with an Indian and we all know how they were supposed to go wild over firewater, I had him down three ounces of Jack Daniels green label. The whiskey on top of the Valium had him sawing logs in ten minutes.

I dug out some extra blankets so he and the squaw could sleep on the rocky floor. She seemed to think they were the grandest things she'd ever seen and was happy to build a little nest for the two of them to sleep in. I made some more cornbread and cooked the squaw and I a steak each.

The brave was still dead to the world when the sun went down. I didn't even bother to turn on the lights so the squaw and I went to sleep when the sun went down.

I'd forgotten about the other effect of alcohol the day before, and of course the unconscious brave had pissed all over everything in his sleep. The squaw was already up and dismayed by his accident when I got out of bed, but I showed her the wonders of a shower.

She was scared shitless of it and so I did my duty and got in with her. It didn't take her long to catch onto you wash my back, I'll wash yours, and she even gave my dick a thorough sudsing for me. Gratitude for the medical services no doubt.

When the brave finally came to himself he was naked on a different blanket and his loincloth was drying near what I'm sure the squaw thought of as her dress. She was sitting around flashing me Indian beaver shots from under the hem of one of my T-shirts and I thought she looked particularly fetching in it myself.

I let her deal with rinsing the dried piss off the brave while I fixed him some oatmeal. Then I shot him up with more Combiotic before I let him eat it, but I only gave him enough for about five hundred pounds this time.

By late afternoon his arm already looked a lot better and it was obvious that whatever had been infecting his arm had no idea that it would be hit with such a strong dose of antibiotic. I could tell that he and the young squaw were impressed with my work.

It was near sunset after I got in from feeding Joe Bob and the boys, and after a hand to his forehead, I realized that the brave was well on his way to cured. I let him have a steak this time, like the squaw and I, and then I went to bed while they took to the pallet again.

The next morning, after eating, they wanted to leave. I looked solemn and shook my head at him, but indicated that the squaw could go by looking at her and nodding. She was off in minutes. I gave him another injection and looked over my work on his arm. It all seemed to be a healthy pink by now and it wasn't even draining anymore from the spot I'd left partly open on the entrance wound.

I figured with a shot tonight and another in the morning he'd probably get over it, but it might be better to hold him two more nights. I'd make up my mind tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I'd been taking plenty of pictures and the camera finally indicated that its memory was nearly full. I poked around in the packaging it had come in and found another memory card, switching them out.

I knew I already had enough shots to make Ethel ecstatic, and I wondered if I'd ever be able to show her. I couldn't think of how I could, but then again, I had no idea how I'd come to be here, wherever here was, in the first place.

The brave and I had thick ham steaks, fried eggs, and hot biscuits for breakfast the next morning. He looked cured to me and if things went well I'd probably let him go by noon. I got another thought when I walked out the front door to go tend to Joe Bob, Jasper, and Jeffry.

There were six people sleeping in the front yard. The squaw was back with reinforcements. I just ignored them to go feed. They were all up and had a small fire going when I got back. Surprisingly they seemed to have plenty of food.

The original brave was out among them now and when he got my attention, he led me to three children that needed attention. The youngest was in the worst shape. She was probably around six years old and she obviously had a broken arm.

There were two boys too, one about ten and the other maybe as old as thirteen. They both had long, infected slashes. The youngest had one across his belly and the oldest had one on his side. An older woman with them had a nasty cut across her upper arm.

The last customer was a white man of sorts, and what was left of his clothes looked like they had been finely made. The sixteen twenty that had come into my head on the first day started to make sense now, because finely made or not, his clothes were ancient, from my point of view anyway.

His hands were bound behind him with rawhide thongs and it looked like he also had a broken arm. Perhaps he was a conquering hero fallen on hard times. From looking at him I guessed that he might be French and when he opened his mouth to speak he proved it.

"Shut up Frenchman, or I'll cut your throat before I tend to the others," I said, since I had guessed he was probably at least indirectly responsible for the other wounds on my lawn.

At least it stopped the flow of French from him. Remarkably he switched to English, though it was not very much more understandable.

"Surely you won't take the side of these savages," is what I think he said.

"If you say another word, there will only be one side represented by anyone that is alive," I said.

Once I had things slightly organized I gave the three children a two-milligram Valium each and had them sit down. Next, I cleaned the older woman's wound and since it wasn't very deep, I didn't think it needed stitches. I slathered on antibiotic cream, wrapped it with gauze and tape, and then covered that with a type of elastic wrap that is commonly used on horses. It's tough and it will stick to itself for several days of use. It isn't Elastikon by any stretch, but it would have to do.

Around in the barn I found some left over lumber, cutting a one by four to the approximate length to splint the Frenchman's arm and sanding it smooth, kinda.

I wasn't going to waste a Valium on him or painkillers either. If he didn't want pain he should have stayed in France. The first two Indians, the wounded brave and the squaw that had been with him, helped me hold the Frenchman still, with his cooperation, and I pulled his arm generally back into place and splinted it. Maybe it would grow back fairly straight.

He was moaning and crying a good bit but I could see that he knew I'd helped things, a little at least.

The young girl was feeling very little pain by now, if any at all. I knew I'd have to cause her some in a few minutes but it had to happen. The brave, the squaw, the older woman, and I took her into the house and I had her lay on the table too.

She barely winced when I gave her half a cc of the Talwin and she was delighted when I let her sit up and gave her a canned coke to drink. She adored it. Alas, when it was gone it was time for the bad medicine.

She lay back down and the brave held her arm still at the elbow while I pulled against her wrist. I was certain that it was her ulna that was broken and all I could do now was hope it was a clean break.

The Valium had done a number on her and the Talwin had her feeling no pain. Her muscles were also very relaxed from the drugs. The bone seemed to almost snap into place with only a little tugging. I was relieved to say the least.

I'd found some thinner pieces of lath to use as splints for her and it was simple to wrap her arm with gauze first, put on the lath, and then wrap more tightly with more horse wrap. She was asleep by now and the brave helped me lay her on my bed.

Treatment for the boys was simple for me by now. They were basically in that state of do what you wanna do to me; I don't care that Valium can put you in. I cleaned their cuts, stitched them up, slathered on the cream, and gave them Combiotic. We put them on the pallet on the floor and let them sleep it off.

I guess I was still mad at the Frenchman and I knew what kind of world of shit would be coming for these Indians. I'd already decided that they were Caddos and that the voice in my head had been telling the truth about the date, no matter how impossible it all was.

I asked the brave to help me and we brought the Frenchman inside and had him lay on the table. He tried to give us trouble but the brave produced a flint knife and only a threatened application to the man's throat made him surprisingly accommodating.

I'd already made him strip to the waist and after he was in position on the table I tied his legs and his unbroken arm to the corresponding table legs. He was very nervous.

I washed his bare chest with alcohol and then boiled the scalpel again while I looked for a big black magic marker that I knew I had somewhere in my reloading supplies. The water was boiling by the time I found it so I set to work.

It was some of my best cutting if I do say so myself. Without going very deep, I cut big letters in his chest and then covered the letters with the magic marker, making sure to get the ink into the cuts. I hoped it would be a nice looking tattoo but I'm not really that artistic, and Tonto was no critic.

The French words I had remembered from two years of high school French, and they were a significant percentage of the ones I did remember. But there would be no difficulty reading them for any Frenchman who saw him bare-chested, and it's hard to mistake what ne revenez pas means.

It probably wouldn't do any good, but it's the thought that counts anyway, isn't it. No matter, even if no one else saw it, I was pretty sure this Frenchman wouldn't be back to East Texas if he managed to get out alive. I even had a little demonstration planned for him in the morning.

The brave was obviously exercised over something that afternoon. He kept fooling around outside and I saw him try to cast his spear with his injured arm but he wasn't up to it yet. He then tried to get it going with his left arm and the results were even more pitiful. Finally it came to me.

He was worried about feeding this bunch. I had the cure for that in spades, thanks to Ethel. I managed to get him to follow me out to the barn and Joe Bob, Jasper, and Jeffry were only a minor distraction for a minute or two. When I had him in the office with the deep freeze we were all set.

He was amazed when I opened it and he felt the cold. I dug out three big frozen hams and a brisket that was probably twenty pounds and had him help me carry it into the house. It would have to thaw overnight, of course, but I had enough food that wasn't frozen to feed everyone tonight.

I spent the rest of the afternoon cooking a big stew that was heavy on the Ranch Style Beans, and all the cornbread I could run through the oven. The squaw and the older woman, who I assumed was also someone's squaw, were frankly amazed by my antics and even more amazed that the food I cooked was good.

It was eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits for breakfast for everyone the next morning and I made sure the French explorer, if I may use that term loosely, got plenty. After we were done I even found him a good butcher knife with a blade about ten inches long. The brave eyed my but didn't comment.

Then I led the Frenchman outside with me and used three thumbtacks to put a man sized silhouette target up against a really big pine tree. The heart area of the silhouette was the obvious target. He might not have ever seen anything like it before, but I knew he got the general idea.

I walked us back probably forty yards from the tree, turned, pulled my Glock, and put all seventeen bullets in or very near the target's heart, as fast as I possibly could. The Frenchman was as stupefied as anyone from this time would have been. With current firearms they couldn't hope to put one bullet out of seventeen into the heart at this distance, and it would probably take over an hour to finish trying.

"Leave here, go back to France and never come back. If we catch you again we'll spend three weeks killing you slowly. Tell everyone that will listen," I said.

Then I shoved him in the general direction of a New Orleans, that wasn't even there yet. Not to mention it being three hundred and twenty-five miles from here, as the crow flies, but no crows seemed to be landing to pick him up as he left.

I knew it wouldn't do much good, if any, but after my short pistolero demonstration I didn't think he would be back.

All the Indians that had watched were shocked by my demonstration too, but they felt better when I turned to face them and smiled my widest. I gave all my patients a good looking over and they were doing well, if I do say so myself. After that I put food in the oven and began mixing up cornbread.

I grew quite fond of the six year old during the next four days. The fact that she was always smiling at me and treating me like some mythical god might have had a little to do with it. She slept beside me on my bed every night and the others all seemed to think my floor was the grandest place they'd ever rested.

The brave was now convinced that they were meant to stay here until I bid them go. He'd look off into the woods every morning as if asking if they could leave yet, but after I'd shake my head he didn't protest.

I was mostly worried about the girl. Even in a young child, it takes a long time for bones to knit and there was no way I could explain to her, or any of them, what kind of care she needed.

It was simple really; just leave the arm alone and try not to move it any more than absolutely necessary. Try telling that to someone who hasn't a clue about it and who doesn't understand a word you say.

Finally, on the forth morning after Frenchy beat feet; I was convinced they were all going to heal up just fine. The girl was the only one that worried me, and I hoped she had figured out from the way I'd watched over her that I didn't want her to try using her arm. When the brave gave me that questioning look that morning I nodded my head.

The word spread fast and after one last big breakfast they were all making ready to go. I noticed that the girl didn't seem to be doing anything, but then she didn't bring anything with her and she couldn't very well help carry much, There wasn't much for them to take away anyhow.

I dug around in the knife drawer and found a suitable knife for each of them, one that seemed to go with their individual size. They all seemed thrilled with it, except the girl, but even she smiled up at me when I handed her hers.

I understood better when all of them left except her. I'd heard before that Indians didn't make a production of parting, and it must be true, at least for these. They just walked off without saying anything. I couldn't have understood them if they had.

They were obviously leaving the girl with me on purpose though. Maybe her parents had been killed by the explorers. If she was going to stay I guessed that I'd learn enough of her language to ask her someday.

I knew my next move anyway. I took her inside to the table, sat her down, and popped the top on a Coke for her. I'll probably remember that smile all my life.

There was plenty of food left over for lunch and for supper too. Things seemed fairly dull around here now with just the two of us. I began to wonder how I was going to keep her entertained. She couldn't even play any type of game with her arm still out of commission and I dare not take her for a ride, no matter how well behaved Joe Bob was.

I guess I am a little slow sometimes but I finally realized that I didn't even know her name and she didn't know mine. I thought we could probably get past this part anyway. We were sitting at the table, so I made a big production of pointing to myself and said, "John."

She pantomimed the same way and said, "Meka."

At least that's what it sounded like to me and when I mocked it she smiled. We spent the rest of the afternoon with this game and I'm sad to admit that she did much better than I did.

We had a big meal right after sunset. Meka and been looking at me funny as the sun went down and the food was ready and we still weren't eating. I finally pulled the rabbit out of my hat, went over to the door, and flicked the light switch. She was amazed.

I called her over to me, mostly by waving my hand around and when she came I showed her how to operate the light, even though I couldn't understand how it could still be working myself.

Meka must have considered it magic and she didn't question it, she merely flipped it on and off a few dozen times. When she was satisfied with it, we went to the table and made a dent in the still prodigious leftovers.

She helped me clean up afterwards, as best she could, and then it was off to bed for us. I could hear it thunder a little just as we lay down, and in minutes rain was pouring.