Ruth worked beside the stove, where the warmth was strongest.
She cut away the remaining wet cloth, washed the dirt from around the wound as carefully as she could, and tried to judge how much damage the bullet had done.
The bleeding slowed under pressure.
But the torn flesh frightened her.
She had clean linen, boiled water, a needle, and thread. She had no physician, no proper surgical instruments, and no guarantee that anything she did would be enough.
She cleaned what she could, brought the wound’s edges together where necessary, and bound his side.
By the time she finished, her hands were shaking.
His breathing remained shallow.
His skin felt terribly cold.
Ruth covered him with her thickest quilt and two heavy hides, keeping him close enough to the stove for warmth without risking the fire.
