Page 107 of Texas Destiny
He knelt beside his brother. Houston was a bloody mess, lying so still, so pale even in the moonlight. Dallas worked the drum away from his brother and threw it with all his strength and pent-up anger into the nearby brush. He slipped his arms beneath Houston’s still form and struggled to his feet. He ignored the cries of men wanting water, wanting help as he wended his way toward the hospital tent.
No light burned inside. Using his shoulder, he nudged the tent flap back. The moonlight spilled inside. He judged the distance to the table, walked inside, and laid his brother on the table in the darkness as the tent flap fell back into place.
Houston made no sound. Dallas went outside and quickly returned carrying a lantern. He hung it on a beam and studied his brother in its golden haze. Houston’s breathing was shallow, his bloodied chest barely rising as he took in air. The anger swelled within Dallas, and he stormed out of the tent.
He raced across the compound, and without ceremony, barged into a physician’s tent. “Dr. Barnes, I got a man that needs tending.” He shook the sleeping man. “I got a man that needs tending!”
The doctor opened his eyes and released a weary sigh. He was still dressed, blood splattered over his clothes. Sitting up, he dropped his feet to the ground. “Where is he?”
“In the hospital tent. We need to hurry.”
Dr. Barnes rubbed his face before rising to his feet. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t walk fast enough to suit Dallas, but at least he was coming. Dallas threw back the tent flap and hurried to his brother’s side. Houston hadn’t moved, but he was still breathing. Dr. Barnes moved around to the other side of the table.
“Dear God.”
“I need you to fix him,” Dallas said.
Dr. Barnes lifted his weary gaze. “Son, he’s better off dead.”
“I gave him my word I wouldn’t let him die.”
Dr. Barnes shook his head, regret filling his eyes. “I’ve spent my time saving men with facial wounds like this, only to have them kill themselves once they’re strong enough. Those that don’t kill themselves end up living alone, not wanting people to see them.” He placed his hand on Houston’s brow. “I won’t be doing him a favor if I tend his other wounds. My time would be better spent sleeping so I’ll have the strength to save those worth saving tomorrow.”
Dallas pulled his revolver from its holster.
“I gave him my word that I wouldn’t let him die. I’ve never gone back on my word.” He leveled his gun at the center of the doctor’s chest. “I’m givin’ you my word now that if he dies, you’ll be keepin’ him company in heaven.”
“Don’t do this, son.”
“I ain’t your son.”
“I know it’s hard to let go of those we love, especially when they’re so young, but I give you my word that death is better for him.”
“I ain’t interested in your word. I’m only interested in mine. Now, fix him.”
In resignation, the doctor sighed, reached behind him, picked up a pair of scissors, and began to cut away what remained of Houston’s gray jacket. Stoically, Dallas stood and watched as the doctor worked. Two hours. Two long torturous hours of staring at his brother’s mutilated flesh.
“I’ve done all I can do,” Dr. Barnes said as he finished wrapping the last bandage around Houston’s’ head. “It’s up to him now whether he lives or dies.”
Dallas lowered his shaking hand. “I appreciate what you did.”
“I guarantee you that he won’t appreciate it at all. In years to come when you look at his face, you remember the night you played God.”
“He was right,” Dallas said with a heavy sigh. “I had to leave, go with my company, but when I came back, you weren’t smiling. You wouldn’t talk to me. When we were traveling home, you kept to yourself, hugging the shadows if we stopped in a town. I figured you wished I’d let you die. When I built the house for Amelia, you didn’t want to live here, built yourself your own place. Figured you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Houston could barely speak for the emotions clogging his throat. “I thought you wouldn’t look at me because you knew I was a coward. I ran. If I hadn’t run, Pa wouldn’t have been killed.”
“Sweet Lord, Houston, you didn’t even have a gun to defend yourself, just a drum. If a soldier couldn’t kill the man giving the orders, he’d do all in his power to silence the messenger. You were the messenger. I told Pa to give you a rifle, but he wanted someone to beat out his orders. You were a boy. Pa had no right to enlist you. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“You weren’t much older.”
“Not in years, but in temperament. I wanted to go. I wanted the glory that came with war. Only I discovered glory doesn’t come with destruction. I thought I’d find it here, taming the land, building an empire, creating a legacy that I could hand down to my son.”
Dallas’s son. The foundation of his dream. Dallas had saved Houston’s life—twice—and now Houston was asking him to sacrifice a portion of his dream so Houston could find happiness. “That brings us back to Amelia,” Houston said quietly.
“Yeah, it does.” Dallas shoved himself away from the desk and walked to the window.
