Gettysburg

By Anita Sanchez

Friday, July First, 1873

"It's a bad idea, I tell you," Kid repeated for the tenth time. "It's just unlucky, starting out on a Friday, everyone knows that.  Bad luck."

"Oh, come on, said Heyes wearily.  "That joke's getting tired." He swung himself up into the saddle and looked down at Kid who was standing rigidly, arms folded, hat pulled low, next to his horse.  Heyes studied him, recognizing from long experience the stubborn look.  He realized Kid wasn't joking, and raised his brows.  "I can't believe it, you're really serious about this.  Just because it's a Friday?  Look, we're not going to rob the bank on Friday, it'll take us three days to get to Riverton.  We'll rob the bank on Monday, okay, will that make you feel better?"

Kid shook his head, but finally climbed onto his horse.  "Thank you!" said Heyes with relief.  "All right, boys, let's go," he called, and the Devil's Hole gang moved out.

But Kid couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he’d had all day.  It wasn’t anything definite.  Maybe it was the fact of its being Friday, maybe it was just the weather, a cloudy, overcast sky that made the range seem like a shadowless, flat plain.  The wind was steady, as usual, the horizon hazy with wind-blown dust.

He looked over at Heyes, who was whistling tunelessly as he rode along, with apparently not a care in the world.  Kid knew from long experience that the whistling was a sign of nervousness. Heyes always whistled before a bank or train job, the whistling getting faster and quieter the closer they got to the target.  Maybe the Friday start was on his mind, too, Kid thought.

They walked their horses, Heyes setting an easy pace.  No sense getting all hot and tired, it was three days to Riverton, where the bank was.  The range was quiet, the slight creak of saddles and the jingle of canteens and spurs the only sounds aside from the relentless wind.

Behind Heyes the rest of the Devil’s Hole gang spread out, Kyle nodding and almost asleep on his plodding horse, Henry, Lobo, and Jake off to the left arguing over last night’s poker game, and Dock, as always, off by himself.  Kid was in the rear, instead of next to Heyes as he usually was, and after a while Heyes slowed his horse and waited for Kid to catch up.

"Come on, Kid," he said with a grin.  "If you went any slower you'd be walking backward."  Receiving no answering grin, he glanced at Kid's glum face.  "Come on, Kid, what is it?" he said in a quiet voice so the others couldn't hear.  "Is there really any reason we should go back?  Something I don't know about?"

Kid heaved a deep sigh, and shook his head.  "No, nothing like that," he said, pushing his hat back on his head.  "It's just, I don't know, I just got a feeling...Didn't you ever hear about it being unlucky to start something on a Friday?"

"Oh, for heaven’s sake!" said Heyes with exasperation..

"Oh, yes," said a voice behind them.  They both jumped, and turned to see Dock, who had come up behind them in his usual silent fashion. Dock was a tall, thin man, who looked awkward on any horse, his long legs bent at a sharp angle in the stirrups.  He was usually so quiet, Kid was surprised to hear him say anything at all.

"There, see, I'm not crazy," Kid said triumphantly.

"It's not just a Friday," Dock said, shaking his head.  “It's the date.  Know what day it is?"

"No idea," said Kid. 

"July first," said Heyes promptly.  Kid wondered how he knew, since they hadn't seen a newspaper or a calendar in weeks.  It was one of those little annoying details that Heyes always seemed to know.

"July first," Dock repeated.  "That's what it is."  He nodded to himself as if he had proved his point, his white hair fluttering in the wind.

         "So?" asked Kid.  He glanced over at Heyes, who shrugged and shook his head.

        "How old are you?" Dock asked abruptly.

        "Twenty-three," Kid said, humoring the old man.  "Why?"  Kid wondered how old Dock was.  His hair was pure white, which made him look elderly, but Kid had noticed that he got on and off his horse with the ease of a younger man.

       "Twenty-three," Dock repeated.  "You were just a boy.  Too young to remember.  It was ten years ago."

       "Remember what?" asked Kid, with a bewildered glance at Heyes.  But Dock spurred his horse ahead, and went off by himself. Heyes and Kid looked at each other, mystified. 

       "Well, I thought you were crazy," said Heyes. 

       "Now you see I'm not so crazy," said Kid, looking after Dock’s angular figure.

       "No," said Heyes, shaking his head. "Now I see you've got plenty of company."

       "Friday," Kid said.  "You'll be sorry."

       As they rode, they kept a careful lookout for the jagged rock that marked the way down off the Red Wall.  When they reached it, Heyes turned his horse down into the canyon that cut through the sheer face of the Wall, and the horses drifted into single file as they carefully stepped their way from rock to rock.  Kid leaned back so far his back almost touched the horse’s, as they went down the steep slope.

They wound their way single file down the hill, the surefooted horses picking their way through chunks of red sandstone that lay piled on the hillside like giant broken dishes.  The Wall formed an impenetrable barrier, a long straight sandstone cliff forty miles long, and there were only a few of these “holes” or pathways that led through it, trails were known only to the outlaws who used this remote area as a hiding place.

Once they were down on the flat range, Kid felt even jumpier.  The plain looked flat as a pancake, but it wasn’t, there were hills and valleys with hidden streams, box canyons that led only to walled-in dead ends.  The dip and rises were deceiving–they seemed shallow, but some were deep enough to hide a posse from view. 

Heyes seemed oblivious to Kid's tense glances, and rode on at an easy pace, whistling.  Kid muttered under his breath, and followed, the others strung out behind, and they rode on under the morning sun as the shadows shortened and grew black. Kyle rode up behind Kid, slouching in the saddle, and poked Kid in the ribs. 

"What's the matter, Kid?” he asked, grinning. “You're as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.  Look at old Heyes there, goin' along whistling, not a care in the world."

"Kyle, you ever hear that it's unlucky to start a trip on a Friday?" Kid asked.

"Sure," said Kyle.  "Bad luck to do anything on a Friday.  Bad luck to bury a dead man on a Friday."

"Worse luck to be a dead man," observed Lobo, who had come up alongside.  “Don’t matter if it’s Friday!” and he and Kyle guffawed loudly.  Kid felt like shooting them both.  "Yep, Friday's bad luck for sure," agreed Lobo, chuckling.  Kid nodded glumly, and they rode in silence for a while.

"So what day is it today, anyway?" asked Kyle.  Kid rolled his eyes, and spurred his horse to catch up with Heyes.

The terrain grew more hilly, the gentle rolling plain that bordered the Red Wall on the right turning to steeper hills followed by deep valleys.  Heyes picked up the pace a bit, and they went at an easy canter, mile after mile, up one slope and down another.

The rhythmic pace finally began to set Kid's mind at ease, and he relaxed in the saddle, starting to think about a night in town, a soft bed and all the other attractions of civilization after six weeks laying low at Devil's Hole.  He was trying to decide whether to go straight upstairs with the first girl he saw, or have a good steak dinner first, when he topped a rise and saw figures in the little draw below them.  Horses were gathered in a ring around a muddy waterhole, their noses down as they drank the brown water.  Their riders were sitting on the ground or standing in groups near the water. Kid looked down at the men with a feeling of surprise.  He hadn't expected to see anyone here.  For a moment everything seemed to stop, and the Devil’s Hole gang gazed down at the group of men and horses who were gazing up at them.

        Then the group of men began to point, and shout, and run towards their horses.  Kid had a last wild hope that they might be sheepherders, or cowhands, or settlers, or anything but a posse, but as they began to pull their guns from their holsters, he knew that the trouble he had vaguely feared had come on them with the suddenness of a thunderbolt. They were too far away to see if any of them had a silver star on their chests, but he knew that they were a posse, patrolling the outlaw trails near the Wall.

The Devil's Hole gang didn’t wait for a command.  By the time Heyes shouted “Head for home!” they were already wheeling their horses and spurring them to a gallop, except Dock, as usual one step  behind the others, who looked down at he posse with mouth agape.  "You heard him, get going!" Kid yelled, and rode off after Heyes, Dock following.

They pounded back along the way they had come, flashing past the landmarks they had just passed at an easy lope. The Red Wall was on their left now, and now it was a wall indeed, a hundred feet of sheer cliff penning them onto the open flats. Off to the right was the barren range, not so much as a tree to hide behind, nothing that grew taller than knee-high. There was nowhere to run except straight ahead, back to the Hole in the Wall, the steep and hidden trail that led up to the top.

Shots spattered behind them, and Kid ducked involuntarily, even though he knew it wouldn't help him. At this speed,  a hit would be luck.  It was all a matter of who would have the luck.  Would the pursuers get lucky and hit him; or would he be lucky and escape?  He tried not to imagine a bullet smacking him in the back.  The horses were racing, necks outstretched, hoofs drumming, but the Wall continued beside them as though they weren't moving at all. 

Finally Kid spotted the big square rock, taller than a man, that stood by itself away from the Wall.  It marked the entrance.  Heyes, in the lead, drew rein and stopped, and Kid knew that he meant to see that they all got safely up the trail.  Kyle thundered past Heyes, then Lobo, clattering up the steep entrance to the canyon. Kid, with Dock right behind him, passed Heyes, too, and rode a little way up the slope, then Kid reined in his panting horse and turned to look back.

Jake and Henry, riding older, slower horses, had fallen a little behind, but were coming up fast.   But the posse was gaining, and was only a few hundred yards away.  Jake and Henry flew past the big rock, and Kid was just thinking that they'd done it, when a barrage of shots came from the posse.  Kid heard a crack as a bullet hit the rock beside his head, sending red splinters flying.  Jake and Henry both fell to the ground.  Kid saw them bounce and roll on the rocky ground.  When they stopped moving, they lay still and broken, and it was obvious that they would never move again. He heard Heyes shout "Henry!  Jake!" over and over. Kid turned away, tears blinding his eyes, cursing.

"Jesus!" he heard Dock exclaim.  "What the hells'  he doing?"  Kid looked at Dock in surprise, then followed Dock's wide-eyed gaze to see Heyes riding back towards Jake and Henry, back towards the posse.

         "Heyes!" Kid yelled. "Come on, for Christ's sake, you can't do nothing there!"  Behind him he could hear Dock shouting too.  Heyes ignored them and rode up to where the two figures lay sprawled, and looked down at them. And then Kid saw what he had been dreading to see--Heyes reeled in the saddle, almost falling, and clapped a hand to his side.  Even from far away Kid could see the red.

         Their horses scrabbled up the slope frantically, loose rocks sliding under their hooves.  Kid rode behind Heyes, watching him sway in the saddle, sure that any moment he was going to fall off.  But Heyes had both  hands wrapped tight around the pommel and managed to hold on.  Kid kept saying "That's it!  Hang on!  That's it!" but he was sure Heyes didn't hear him.  Kid could see the red stain getting larger on Heyes trouser leg, and starting to drip down his boot.

It seemed like years before they reached the top of the cliff.  Kid gave a hasty glance behind him from the heights, and saw the bare plain below spread out to the horizon.  There was no sight or sound of the posse.  From here  it was only a mile to the cluster of low-roofed cabins that was their hideout.  Kid could see the cabins up ahead, and couldn't believe it was only a few hours since they'd left. 

They rode to the cabins.  Kyle and Lobo were already there, guns drawn, waiting to see if they were pursued.  But Kid didn’t look behind him again.  He dismounted, pulled Heyes off the saddle, caught him as he fell limply, and carried him into the cabin.

         He kicked the door open, and crossed the bare little room.  He dumped Heyes on the bed, and pulled his shirt open. There seemed to be blood everywhere. Kid grabbed a shirt off a hook on the wall and began to mop blood off the wound.  Blood soaked the shirt, but there seemed to always be more.  It was all over his hands, warm and sticky, and bright red.  He tried to beat back a growing sense of dread, a feeling of panic that was fluttering inside.  This was no flesh wound, no nick in the leg that he could fix with a few bandannas and a shot of whiskey.  This was far beyond his skill.  The nearest doctor was about a week away, even if the posse hadn’t been lurking right outside the Hole, watching it like a cat outside a mousehole.

         “Looks pretty bad, huh, Kid?” said Kyle, looking at the blood dripping on the floor, his face slightly green.

         “Shut up, you idiot, what do you know about it?” snapped Kid, throwing the bloodsoaked shirt to the floor.  “Get me some towels, some shirts, anything.” Kyle bustled out.  The other outlaws stood just outside the door, muttering, as though Heyes was suffering from an infectious disease.

         Heyes lay with his eyes closed, his face ashen.  His breath came in uneven gasps.  Kid wadded up a bandanna and pressed it hard against the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding.  Heyes groaned and opened his eyes. 

         “Kid,” he whispered.

         “Yeah,” said Kid gruffly.

         “Pretty bad, huh?” said Heyes in a shaky voice.

         “Shut up,” Kid replied, not meeting his eyes.  “It’ll be fine.”

         “Got to get the bleeding stopped first,” said Kid.  “Hold still.”  The bandanna was soaked, and he threw it on the floor. “Kyle, where’s those towels?” he bellowed through the open door. Kyle hurried in, followed by Lobo and Dock, who trailed slowly into the cabin behind him, holding their hats and shifting from foot to foot like uneasy visitors at a funeral.

         “Here, Kid,” said Kyle, holding out an armful of dirty towels and old shirts. 

        “Took you long enough,” growled Kid, snatching a towel.  Kyle averted his eyes and stepped back.  He and Lobo huddled in a corner, talking in low voices and watching the bed with furtive glances.  Dock stepped forward as though he was going to say something, then turned around abruptly and went to stare out the window at the red cliffs of the Wall that protected them from the posse.  Kid shoved the towel hard down on Heyes’s side.

         “Kid! Christ, stop, you’re makin’ it worse,” Heyes said through clenched teeth.

         “Got to, got to get the bleeding stopped,” said Kid grimly, and pressed down harder.  Finally he lifted the towel.  Heyes gave a shuddering sigh, and closed his eyes.  Kid looked at him, the sense of hopelessness growing.  He looked with bewilderment at the bloody hole in Heyes’s side, the purple wound, the torn skin streaked with blood.  He couldn’t imagine cutting into it to dig the bullet out, but he knew he would have to try.

         He heard footsteps behind him, and turned.  Dock was standing behind him, looking down.  “Lot of blood,” he said.  “Lot of blood.” This was another long speech for Dock, who till today had rarely said anything at all, but Kid didn’t have time to wonder at it.  Kid nodded and went over to the sideboard, and poured water into a bowl.  He washed the worst of the blood off his hands, and then took out his knife.  He looked the blade up and down, took a deep breath, and turned to the bed.  “You guys give me a hand, and hold him down, will ya?  This isn’t going to be easy.”

         Dock fetched a deep sigh and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He walked over and looked down at Heyes.  “I’ll do it,” he said.  “He’s a good officer.”

         “What’s that?” said Kid absently, wondering if he should sharpen the blade first.

         “A good officer,” repeated Dock.  “A good officer never leaves a man on the field.  Give me the scalpel, I’ll do it.”

         “Look, you crazy old coot, this is no time...” Kid began angrily.  He stopped as he saw Dock straighten his tall figure, and begin to examine Heyes with a professional air, feeling his pulse.  Kid stared at him.  “What do you mean, you’ll do it?  You ever do this before?”

         Dock sighed again, a long sigh that seemed to come from a deep sadness.  “About a thousand times, son, I’ve cut out more bullets than you’ve got hairs on your head.  In the old days it was minie balls, they’d shatter and make a real mess.  Rifle slug like this, nice and neat, won’t be much of a problem.  Simple lateral incision.”

         “Dock?” said Kid.  “You...are you a doctor? A real doctor?”

         “Used to be,” said Dock.  “Was a doctor in a nice little town in Wisconsin, fixing broken legs and delivering babies.  The along came the War, and things weren’t quite so simple anymore.  Haven’t done any doctoring since.  Got sick of cutting off arms and legs and throwing them in a pile.  After Gettysburg the pile was as high as your waist.”

         “You’re really a doctor?” repeated Kid, unable to believe the change in Dock.  He’d never heard him utter three sentences together before.  “Thank God!”

         “No such thing, Kid,” said Dock with a smile. “Found that out after Gettsyburg. You know how you stop the bleeding after you cut a man’s leg off?  Dip the stump in hot tar. Did a lot of that at Gettysburg.  July first, 1863.  You’re too young to remember.”  He walked over to the bed and examined the wound in Heyes’s side, touching it lightly with deft hands.  Heyes opened his eyes and looked at him blankly.  Dock nodded and said briskly, “You’re going to be fine, son, you’re lucky.  Nothing vital’s touched, you’ll be back on your feet in a couple of weeks.  Now, I’m afraid this’ll hurt, but the stiller you can hold, the quicker I’ll be.  You hear me, boy?”

         “Okay,” murmured Heyes, looking around for Kid.

         “Kid, you hold his shoulders, Kyle and Lobo, you take his legs,” ordered Dock in a business-like manner.  Kid sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hands on Heyes’s shoulders.  Heyes looked up with an attempt at a smile, but Kid could see the fear in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Heyes, he’s a doctor, an honest-to-God doctor.  I think he knows what he’s doing.”

         “All right, hold on,” said Dock’s calm voice, and Kid could feel Heyes go rigid with pain.

         It seemed to take forever.  Heyes stayed fairly still for a while, but then he suddenly groaned and tried to sit up.  Kid shoved him back and leaned down hard on his shoulders.

         “Hold still!” commanded Dock.

         “Jesus, stop for a minute,” begged Heyes in a choked voice.

         “Can’t, almost done,” replied Dock.  “Keep still!”

         Heyes gasped and Kid could feel him shaking.  He grasped Kid’s sleeve and yanked it tight.  Kid held him down firmly for what seemed an eternity, and finally Dock said in a pleased voice, “Ah, there we are!”

         Heyes went limp, and Kid thought he’d passed out, but he opened his eyes again.  “Is it over?” he muttered, his face even whiter than before.

         “It’s over, son, take a rest,” said Dock pleasantly.  “Bravely done.”  Kid released him, and Heyes sighed and closed his eyes.  Kid watched him anxiously for a few minutes, but he seemed to be all right.  He was breathing, anyway.

         Kid stood up and watched as Dock tore one of the shirts into long strips and deftly bandaged the wound.  Then Dock stood up, straightened his back as if it ached, and looked down at his bloodstained hands as if he’d never seen them before.  He went to the sideboard and lifted the pitcher to fill the bowl with water.  But the bowl was already half full where Kid had rinsed his hands earlier, and the water was deep red.  Dock stared into the bowl as though hypnotized.

         “So you think he’ll be okay, Dock?” Kid broke the silence.  There was no reply.  He had to repeat the question three times before Dock jumped and said “All right? I think so. Lost a lot of blood, but I don’t think any organs were touched.  No, he ought to be all right. Keep him quiet, don’t let him get up, and make sure he has a lot of water.  No booze.”

         Kid looked at him, frowning.  Dock put his hands in his pockets, without washing them, and went on, “Wash the wound out with a shot of whiskey twice a day, and put on a fresh bandage.  I’d say about two weeks he should be walking around, but it might be more.”

         “Why you telling me all this, where are you gonna be?” asked Kid.

         “Well, I think I’ll move on,” said Dock slowly.

         “Okay, fine, we haven’t had a successful day, but you can stay around for a week or two, can’t you?” asked Kid irritably.

         “No, I don’t think I can,” said Dock, still speaking very slowly.  “No, I think I’ll be going,” he said, nodding, and headed for the cabin door.

         “What, now?” demanded Kid. “You mean tonight?”

         “That’s what I mean, boy, tonight.  Right this minute, in fact.”

         “You’re crazy,” said Kid, grabbing his arm.  “That posse’s camped outside the Hole like a coyote watching for jackrabbits, twenty men strong.  You can’t go right now.”

         “Sure I can,” said Dock.  He stood quietly for a minute then suddenly wrenched his arm free from Kid’s grip.  Kid was so surprised he let him go.

         “It’d be crazy,” Kid repeated.  “It’d be suicide.”

         Dock looked over at Heyes, lying quiet on the bloodstained blankets, and at the bloody rags scattered over the floor.  “Got to go, son,” he said, not meeting Kid’s eyes.  “Got to.”  He headed for the cabin door.

         "Come back here!” said Kid, his voice rising. “You want to get killed, you crazy..." He was interrupted by a stifled groan from behind him, and turned to see Heyes struggling to raise himself up on one elbow.  "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" said Kid, hastily moving to the bed and pushing him back down.

         "What's going on?  Are you okay?" asked Heyes, wide-eyed. 

         "Nothing, nothing," said Kid soothingly.   "It's just Dock acting crazy again."  He noticed a red stain on the new bandage.

         "Where's the rest of the guys?" asked Heyes, glancing around the cabin.

         "Oh, just outside," said Kid, looking away.  "Kyle's cooking up some beans and some of that awful coffee."

         "Who else is there?" said Heyes, trying to twist his head around to look out the open door. 

         "Lobo’s there, and Dock, of course," said Kid slowly. 

         "Jake, and Henry?" asked Heyes.

         "Not yet," said Kid.  "They haven't come in yet, but they might be holed up in the rocks someplace.  You never know."

         Heyes looked at him steadily.  "You know better, Kid," he said quietly.  "They're never coming back."

         "No," said Kid.

         "Jake got shot a couple of times, got a bullet in the face.  Henry hit the ground like a ton of bricks, I think his neck was broken, his head was bent underneath him when he landed and the horse ran right over him..."

         Kid watched him, noting the deepening stain on the bandage.  "Let it go, Heyes," he interrupted firmly.  “Let it go."

         Heyes nodded silently, then put his arm over his face and lay still.  Kid sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving, till he could tell by Heyes’s breathing that he had fallen asleep.  He got up and went to the door of the cabin.  Kyle and Lobo were cooking dinner, and the fire gave a pale, warm glow. There was no sign of Dock.  The sunset light colored the Red Wall a deep crimson, and Kid was uncomfortably reminded of all the blood he had seen that day.  He looked out towards the path that led to the Wall, but Dock was nowhere to be seen, and he was glad to look away from the blood-red rocks and accept a cup of gritty coffee from Kyle.

         "Beans, Kid?" asked Lobo, handing him a plate.

         "Thanks," Kid said, and poked at the beans with a fork for a while, but couldn't seem to raise any interest in eating them.  As dusk fell, the cheerful blue sky dimmed to a colorless gray.  The wind blowing through the sandstone pillars had a cold sound that made them draw closer to the fire.  Kid went back into the cabin to see if Heyes was warm enough.  He came in softly so as not to disturb him, but when he approached he saw Heyes's eyes were open, looking up at him feverishly.