Castor's Tale Chapter 4 Part 2 - A Bloody Mess

Kinnard watched as the young man eyed him quickly. He was no doubt frightened. His eyes were darting back and forth, his breathing was shallow, and his whole demeanor showed fear. He was nearly trembling, probably from both the wound, and the fear.

Kinnard smiled, slowly stepping back a foot. “Hello.”

The man barred his teeth and hoarsely whispered: “Shut up!”

The man advanced on Kinnard, keeping his dagger aimed straight at Kinnard’s heart. Kinnard spread his hands wide as a show of no danger. “Clam down” he said in a quieter voice, not wanting to scare this man. “I’m not here to harm you. You need help though.”

The man shook his head. “No! Hitch up your horses right now. Make a false move and I’m gonna stab you.”

No doubt he’ll follow through with his threat with wounded he looks. “Alright, I will. Just give me a few minutes.”

The man sniffed, wiping his face. “Hurry it up.”

Kinnard nodded, moving in slow, deliberate motions. Keeping this man calm was key to his survival. He began to hitch up Mable and Winifred, trying to think of some way stop this man. He stood just a few feet behind Kinnard, eyeing the tavern every few seconds. Kinnard slowly hitched Mable, trying to buy time.

“Faster!” the man said, anger all to evident in his tone. “I know what yer trying to do.”

Kinnard obeyed, quickly pulling the cinch tight on Mable. When he had finished he turned back to the man. “Listen, you can ride away on this wagon, but your wound needs to be looked at. You won’t survive the ride to the next stop. Even if you do, by then your wonds will be infected.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done. Now move out of the way.”

The man shoved Kinnard aside. He attempted to pull himself into the wagon seat, but the exertion was too much. He fell back with a grunt of frustration and pain. “Help me up! If you try to stop me I’ll run you through.”

Kinnard stepped forward, doing as he was told. He shoved the young man into the seat, and could feel warm blood trickle onto his hands. The man’s wound, if closed before, had re-opened.

“Please,” Kinnard said in a concerned tone, “you are bleeding heavily. You need attention. I know enough advice to help staunch the blood flow.”

The man swung his head back. His face was pale and he was moving like a drunken man. “Shut up!” He grabbed the reins tightly. “Now stand back.”

Kinnard sighed. He’s going to die! As the man slapped the reins with what little effort he could muster, Kinnard climbed the seat in one swift motion. The young man swiped at Kinnard with the dagger, But Kinnard was expecting the attack and caught his weak swing. With one quick punch he had the weapon in his hand.

The man sagged into Kinnard’s arms, unconscious. He tossed the dagger aside and dragged the man off the seat. He staggered under the man’s weight and crashed to his knees. Blood splashed over his face and into his mouth. It tasted sweet and syrupy. Kinnard spat the blood out, and grunted as he pushed himself back up, carrying the man against his shoulder. He headed for the light of the tavern window.

He kicked the door in and yelled for Susie as he sat the unconscious man in a chair. The card palyers, who had since gone to telling tales of olden days, turned to him. The one who had been smoking earlier stood from his chair. “What in tarnation have ya done now?”

Kinnard ignored him, turning to Susie who was coming down from the loft. She gasped when she saw the bloody man. “What’s ‘appened to ‘im?”

Kinnard pulled the man up from the seat. “I don’t know what happened to him. He was at my wagon when I stepped out. Now I need some help. Get bandages, rags, water, anything that can be of use.”

Susie froze for a second, and then kicked into action. “Merida, get some water boiling! And get me some cleans rags. Kinnard, take the man up to the loft!”

Kinnard nodded and hauled the man to the stairs. He looked up them with a frown. I can’t get him up there by myself. He turned to the smoker. “You gonna help me?”

The man looked around for a second, scratching his beard. “Well, I s’pose I should.”

Together they dragged the man up the stairs, leaving behind a trail of fresh blood. Susie sighed when she saw it, but rather then linger on the fact that the floor was covered in blood, turned her attention to the dying fugitive, or whatever you wanted to call him.

The loft was a wide and short affair. The bed barely five feet tall, covered in a checkered blanket. Beside the bed stood a nightstand. Susie placed a bowl of water on it, and tossed some rags to Kinnard. Then she ripped open the man’s shirt. Mable soon came up, carrying a lamp which glowed warmly.

The extra light showed something Kinnard had not seen before; half an arrow shaft protruded from his side. Kinnard winced at the sight of the grotesque wound. Susie looked away for a second, but then turned back. Kinnard guessed that she had seen her fair share of fighting, judging from where she worked.

She threw the bloody shirt from the man and turned to Kinnard. “Clean the wound and see if you can get the arrowhead out. I’m going to get the hot water.”

Kinnard stepped forward as she left, bending over the man. He took the clean rags and soaked them in the bowl, then swabbed the wound. The blood flow had lessened, but that meant that the man had already lost a lot of blood. And Kinnard knew that when he pulled the arrow shaft from the wound even more blood would pump at. It was key to move fast. He instructed Mable to jam the wound with a rag as soon he pulled the shaft out. He then gripped the shaft firmly.

“You got a knife I can use?” he asked, turning to the spectating smoker.

“Yeah sure.”

Kinnard took the man’s large knife. He would have liked to heat it first, but time was of the essence. He slid it into what little room there was in the wound, probing around. The Arrowhead curved back on both sides. It was going to be a very painful experience Kinnard, realized, but it had to be done.

He wedged the knife in right alongside the arrowhead, and with one pull it slid out.”Mable!” he cried.

Within the split second it took for the women to respond, a large amount of blood bubbled out. Mable smashed the rag hard. Kinnard tossed the knife and arrowhead aside, and then quickly switched out a new rag for Mable’s bloodied one.

Susie came up at that moment, carrying a small basin of steaming water. Kinnard replaced the other bowl of water with the new one, and when the blood flow reduced, he took a clean rag, soaked it in the hot water, and wiped the wound completely clean. Susie then wrapped it tightly enough to staunch blood from coming out in large amounts, but not tight enough for it to be extremely painful.

Mable took the bloody rags and cold water downstairs. Kinnard stood back. “Well that’s all we can do for now. Susie, do you have the ingredients to make a simple salve for healing. I don’t think the wound is infected, but it won’t hurt to aid the healing process.”

Susie nodded her head and left the loft. Kinnard realized that the smoking man still remained. “Are you waiting for something?”

The man scratched his beard as Kinnard realized was a habit, and shurgged. “not really. I’d still like to know whatcha did to the man.”

Kinnard sighed. “I did nothing to this young man. I found him at my wagon, already wounded. He collapsed in my arms and I dragged him in here.”

The man shrugged. “What do ya think he’s doing here like this?”

“I have no idea. Now,” he said, looking down at his blood-stained clothes, “you’ll excuse me, I’m sure, while I go change from these dirty clothes.”

The man shrugged and pulled out his pipe. “Fine with me.”

Kinnard quickly changed, returning to the inn with a black shirt and tan breeches on. He helped Susie clean up the loft, and then she got a mop and began cleaning the floor.

“Poor thing,” she said, motioning up to the loft. “What do you think ‘appened to ‘im.”

Kinnar sighed. The question was getting repetitive. “I don’t know. There was no end of the arrow, so I couldn’t see if there would be markings of if it were an arrow from an army or not. From the well-made arrowhead though, I’d guess it is an army arrow.”

“Well-made?” Susie asked?

Kinnard folded his arms. “Yes. It was an iron-head. Most arrows from farmers would be a heat-hardened, sharpened sticks, or bronze-tipped. The army has enough resources to make iron heads though.”

Susie took in the new information. “Why would the army be chasing ‘im?” She saw Kinnard draw a long breath, and blushed. “Sorry, I know you don’t know.”