Omelettes all round, it looks like, I remarked, turning back to the Major. Did you happen to come through Cross Creek, by chance?
I did indeed, mum. Your husbands aunt sends you her kind regardsand a quantity of books and newspapers, which I have brought with me.
I was wary of newspapers these days, toothough such events as they reported had undoubtedly taken place several weeksor monthspreviously. I made appreciative noises, though, wishing Jamie would hurry up, so I could excuse myself. My hair smelled of burning and my hands still remembered the touch of cold flesh; I wanted a wash, badly.
I beg your pardon? I had missed something MacDonald was saying. He bent politely closer to repeat it, then jerked suddenly, eyes bulging.
Frigging cat!
Adso, who had been doing a splendid imitation of a limp dishcloth, had sprung bolt upright in the Majors lap, eyes glowing and tail like a bottlebrush, hissing like a teakettle as he flexed his claws hard into the Majors legs. I hadnt time to react before he had leapt over MacDonalds shoulder and swarmed through the open surgery window behind him, ripping the Majors ruffle and knocking his wig askew in the process.
MacDonald was cursing freely, but I hadnt attention to spare for him. Rollo was coming up the path toward the house, wolflike and sinister in the gloaming, but acting so oddly that I was standing before conscious thought could bring me to my feet.
The dog would run a few steps toward the house, circle once or twice as though unable to decide what to do next, then run back into the wood, turn, and run again toward the house, all the while whining with agitation, tail low and wavering.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I said. Bloody Timmys in the well! I flew down the steps and ran for the path, barely registering the Majors startled oath behind me.
I found Ian a few hundred yards down the path, conscious, but groggy. He was sitting on the ground, eyes closed and both hands holding his head, as though to keep the bones of his skull from coming apart. He opened his eyes as I dropped to my knees beside him, and gave me an unfocused smile.
Auntie, he said hoarsely. He seemed to want to say something else, but couldnt quite decide what; his mouth opened, but then simply hung that way, tongue moving thoughtfully to and fro.
Look at me, Ian, I said, as calmly as possible. He didthat was good. It was too dark to see whether his pupils were unnaturally dilated, but even in the evening shadow of the pines that edged the trail, I could see the pallor of his face, and the dark trail of bloodstains down his shirt.
Hurried steps were coming after me down the trail; Jamie, followed closely by MacDonald.
How is it, lad?
Jamie gripped him by one arm, and Ian swayed very gently toward him, then dropped his hands, closed his eyes, and relaxed into Jamies arms with a sigh.
Is he bad? Jamie spoke anxiously over Ians shoulder, holding him up as I frisked him for damage. The back of his shirt was saturated with dried bloodbut it was dried. The tail of his hair was stiff with it, too, and I found the head wound quickly.
I dont think so. Somethings hit him hard on the head and taken out a chunk of his scalp, but
A tomahawk, do you think?
MacDonald leaned over us, intent.
No, said Ian drowsily, his face muffled in Jamies shirt. A ball.
Go away, dog, Jamie said briefly to Rollo, who had stuck his nose in Ians ear, eliciting a stifled squawk from the patient and an involuntary lifting of his shoulders.
Ill have a look in the light, but it may not be too bad, I said, observing this. He walked some way, after all. Lets get him up to the house.
The men made shift to get him up the trail, Ians arms over their shoulders, and within minutes, had him laid facedown on the table in my surgery. Here, he told us the story of his adventures, in a disjoint fashion punctuated by small yelps as I cleaned the injury, clipped bits of clotted hair away, and put five or six stitches into his scalp.
I thought I was dead, Ian said, and sucked air through his teeth as I drew the coarse thread through the edges of the ragged wound. Christ, Auntie Claire! I woke in the morning, though,
and I wasna dead after allthough I thought my head was split open, and my brains spilling down my neck.
Very nearly was, I murmured, concentrating on my work. I dont think it was a bullet, though.
That got everyones attention.
Im not shot? Ian sounded mildly indignant. One big hand lifted, straying toward the back of his head, and I slapped it lightly away.
Keep still. No, you arent shot, no credit to you. There was a deal of dirt in the wound, and shreds of wood and tree bark. If I had to guess, one of the shots knocked a dead branch loose from a tree, and it hit you in the head when it fell.
Youre quite sure as it wasnt a tomahawk, are ye? The Major seemed disappointed, too.
I tied the final knot and clipped the thread, shaking my head.
I dont believe Ive ever seen a tomahawk wound, but I dont think so. See how jagged the edges are? And the scalps torn badly, but I dont believe the bone is fractured.