“Jake!” Randy knelt close to him. “Dear God!”
“Get out of the street!” Jake told her, his voice growing weaker. “You’ll get shot!”
“Jake, it’s over. Little Jake is fine. And I’m fine.” She leaned closer, placing her hands on either side of his face. “Jake, it’s me—Randy. Let Brian help you. You’re bleeding to death!”
Just the sound of her voice seemed to help him relax. “Randy? I told you…not to come out here.”
“I’m fine, Jake. It’s over. Please, please lie still.”
“Little Jake…”
“He’s okay!”
“Jake saved the boy’s life,” Jeff spoke up, not even sure why he felt compelled to say it. “I saw the whole thing. He got shot protecting Little Jake.”
Jake’s eyes closed. “Randy…don’t leave.”
“Jake?” Randy leaned closer. “Brian, he’s passed out! He’s bleeding to death! He’s bleeding to death! Do something!”
“I’m trying!” Brian answered. “Where’s the blacksmith?” he shouted.
“He’s coming!” someone yelled back.
Brian ripped open Jake’s pant leg with a scalpel. “Damn, the blood is flowing like a fountain!” He looked around. “I need something to tie this off!”
Randy leaned down and kissed Jake’s forehead. “Jake? Please wake up!”
A storekeeper ran out with a piece of rope. Brian tied it tightly above the wound. “It’s slowing now.” He looked up “Where’s Pete?” he shouted again.
“Here, Brian.” A sweaty, soot-covered, bearded man barged through the crowd yelling for people to watch out for the hot poker he carried. “What do you need?”
Brian quickly cut open the wound more. “There! Press the hot end of that poker right into the wound! I don’t know how else to stop it but to cauterize it.”
Jake roused again and began struggling.
“Jesus,” Lloyd groaned. “Mom, get away! Somebody lay across him with me. I can’t hold the stubborn bastard down by myself!”
The storekeeper pulled Randy away as quickly but as gently as he could, then bent down to press on Jake’s shoulders while Lloyd continued to lie across his middle, trying to keep Jake from flailing his arms. Jeff moved closer to Randy, just staring.
“Do it!” Brian ordered Pete.
Randy turned away, clinging to Jeff, who stood there not knowing quite what to do. He still held one of Jake’s guns but moved his other arm around Randy to comfort her as best he could, wondering if she even realized she was clinging to a complete stranger.
“I knew this would happen,” Randy wept. “I knew it would. I felt it when he left the house this morning.” She shriveled against him and grasped the front of his jacket at the awful hissing sound. Jake screamed from the pain as Pete burned out the wound. People gasped and some turned and walked away.
“Once more!” Brian ordered the blacksmith.
“Pa, hang on!” Lloyd yelled. “It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.” He stayed on top of him but grabbed one of Jake’s hands and held on tight as the blacksmith again laid the hot iron against the wound.
Jake screamed again.
“Damn it, Pa, why didn’t you come and get me first?” Lloyd growled, voice hitching as if he were fighting an urge to cry. There came no reply. Jake had passed out again.
“Let’s get him to my office,” Brian said then. “I can clean and stitch up the wound there.”
Fenton Wales, the farmer who’d driven by earlier, came clattering back in his wagon. “Put him in here!”
Brian, Lloyd, and the storekeeper loaded Jake into the wagon. Pete backed away, shaking his head. Lloyd walked up to Randy and pulled her off of Jeff. “Come on, Mom. I’ll help you into the wagon.”
Clearly shaken by the pitiful cauterization, Randy stumbled to the wagon and Lloyd lifted her into it, then climbed in with Brian. The wagon driver charged off toward Brian’s office, which was adjacent to his house. They passed Evie walking with Little Jake, who was still sobbing. Evie hurried to catch up with the wagon. Katie had reached the scene by then and stood there in a housecoat looking scared and confused. She turned to follow the others back to Brian’s office.
Jeff just stared after them for a moment, then turned to pick up the gun he’d thrown aside. He made the mistake of grabbing it by the barrel. “Ouch!” He was surprised at how hot it still was from being fired so many times. He carefully picked it up by the handle instead, then just stared down at the guns.