The river here on the south bank was slow, almost muddy. The side-wheeler they were trailing down river was making some steam and not much headway through the bend, the rudder only barely answering the helm. It was close enough that you could see the nervous captain of the Ranchero stealing glances at the banks of La Bolsa as he struggled to stay in the channel. Every now and then there was more mud than water on the groaning wheel. The mounted rangers on this side of the river easily kept pace with the slow steamer, but they had rather been more spry, since they were in Mexico and Fort Brown was still a long way downstream.

"We gonna wiggle-waggle till jes' when?"

"You be more curious than usual, Phil."

"If'n we turn tight enough, that boat we be doggin' won't be wif' us no more…"

"That's when our compadres over there will start shooting."

Old Philpot worked his pipe and puffed a few, then gestured off to the south, where the fields met the river in a brushy cane break.

"I reckon them natives over thar' got firesticks."

The Mexicans kept tracking them, as they tracked that old run-down steamer negotiating this horseshoe in the river, the Ranchero having a hard time of it. The handful of soldiers on the deck, growing more agitated, shouted their opinions of the situation at the steamer's helmsman.

"Captain Ford said the Second Cavalry might come along to cheer us on. There's a few of them on that boat."

"Sekkin' Cav'ry? Who's that?"

"Heintzelman's Dragoons, Phil. Mounted soldiers."

"The only 'mounted soldiers' I ever seen worth spit is Comanches."

"Yeah, Phil, like Texas Rangers only with spit and polish and broke down horses."

The small putting sidewheeler crashed into the shallows on the south bank of the river.

The Cortinistas rushed forward from the cane break. Maddo cocked his carbine.

Old Philpot raised his Sharps and fired quickly, without orders. A Mexican and the Mexican behind him dropped. The others slowed down mightily. Other Rangers fired.

"Let's keep moving, Phil!"

"I warn't plannin' on stayin' here, Doc!"

Fire was coming from the other side of the river. It was that jackass Tobin and his men.

"What the hell is on that boat?"

Another ball whistled over their heads, very close.

"Hell, I don't know, Phil. Maybe Texans."

A volley broke dust everywhere, throwing ricochets among them. Old Philpot took one and fell from his horse. Maddo uncocked his carbine and jumped down and kneeled there with Old Philpot.

"Idiots!"

Old Philpot's vest and shirt filled with blood, coming from his right side.

"I'll get it stopped, Phil!" Maddo split the vest with his bowie and shoved the old wool blouse out of the way.

"You ain't no doc, Doc. You told me so."

"Shit!"

There was a pretty good longitudinal hole outside the right nipple, nearly below Old Philpot's armpit and the arrow scar that followed the hairy crease. Looking behind the arm, there was no further exit wound, but the muscle was torn and the rib broken. "You been winged, Phil."

"If you can't patch me, Maddo…" Old Philpot gulped to breathe, but no blood was coming up his throat, "…then take my Walker Colt."

Maddo placed the rib pieces together and then taking care to keep them that way pressed hard on Old Philpot's ragged wound to close it. There wasn't enough skin left to bring the lips together.

Another Ranger crouched over them, covering and holding the horses. Maddo had him bring his kit off his saddle. From it, Maddo took his best bone needle and some catgut and, suddenly inspired, opened the boy's medicine bag. He selected one of the cactus talismans about the size of Old Philpot's gape.

Placed in the wound, the talisman began to absorb blood, and Maddo's pressure was helping too. Maddo quickly stitched the wound, running one or two lengths of catgut through the talisman to keep in place over the gape. Maddo used some of Old Philpot's shirt as a bandage and made a sling out of the vest.

"God bless you, Phil, it is almost Spring."

Old Philpot breathed a bit easier, "Like summertime, Maddo."

"Let's git, Phil."

Maddo packed the medicine bag and his kit back into his saddle and with the other Ranger got Old Philpot on his horse.

Maddo and Old Philpot bade the Ranchero and La Bolsa adios.

A few days later Maddo removed the cactus talisman dressing and cleaned up the wound. Old Philpot's winging got better pretty quick. He was sure glad he did not have to give Maddo his Walker Colt.

Old Philpot would say for the rest of his life that Maddo McQueeg put the spirit of life back into his heart that day.

Maddo stepped off the hot dirty Brownsville sidewalk to gather the rein of his horse outside the hotel where Captain Ford made his headquarters. He instantly noticed a striking man in frontier regular blue across the street. A cavalryman, he had just passed his horse to the corporal attending him. The army officer met his eye and stepped into the dusty bright sunlit street to approach Maddo, who relit his cigar. The officer was much older than Maddo, handsomer in his mustachioed countenance and crisper of uniform for the many days' travel across the Nueces Strip than his fine growth of graying beard betrayed, he was not large but carried himself with power and purpose. As the army officer walked toward him, Maddo sensed in his presence a great mesa, or storm. The army officer halted before him and courteously touched his kepi, then began to remove his gloves.

"I observe from your appearance and accoutrements that you are a Texas Ranger, sir."

"That I was--am, Colonel." Maddo tipped his hat in return, grinning to feel so foolish before this stranger, "what can I do for ye?"

"With the compliments of Governor Runnels, I seek the office of Lieutenant Colonel John Salmon Ford."

"You'll find Captain Ford--that is to say, Lieutenant Colonel Ford, right inside the hotel, sir. He makes his headquarters on the second floor."

Five minutes ago, Old Rip had unwillingly and regretfully but gratefully and graciously accepted the resignation of Calvin Magdalena McQueeg.

"Thank you, sir."

Maddo threw his rein about his horse's neck. The officer noticed the bag behind Maddo's saddle.

"Are you a doctor, sir? My corporal has taken a nasty thorn through his boot."

Maddo paused, unable to divert the question, or lie to this man. His medical kit still held some bits of his past, tucked below the cleaning grease, lead balls and caps, blackpowder, and the mysterious medicine pouch of the Comanche boy.

"I no longer generally practice medicine, Colonel." Maddo rested his hand on the kit tied to his saddle, and thought of Daniellie. "I have found I am a poor healer."

The cavalry officer gazed right through Maddo's eyes and into his heart.

"Our fellow men sorely do need healing, son." The Colonel smiled and gently escorted Maddo and his horse back to the lame cavalry corporal and the army horses, "Perhaps each man must be his own physician. As the gospel of our heavenly father says, 'Physician, heal thyself.'"

"We are very far from Capernum, Colonel."

"But never far from God, my boy." The Colonel directed his gaze to his corporal, who was in some discomfort.

Maddo sat the corporal down at the edge of the wooden stoop serving their hitching post. The corporal's boots were heavily worn, and the thorn had entered obliquely forward of his left heel through an open space between the sole and top. That part of thorn exposed outside the boot had broken off. Maddo eased the left boot off, the old undarned sock underneath coming with it. The wound was angry, the thorn driven well into the flesh, but fresh enough that the inflammation was still local. Maddo rinsed the corporal's foot with water from the adjacent horse trough, then took a large needle from his kit and opened his folding knife, blowing smoke on each. Depressing the skin in front of the wound with his knife, Maddo quickly speared the thick thorn with his needle and drew it out. A bit of pus but not much blood followed. Maddo rinsed the wound again and recalling his recent success, used his knife to slice another small circular patch from the already segmented cactus talisman in his medicine bag. This he secured to the cavalryman's foot with the sock.

"Stay off the foot while you can," Maddo prescribed as he stowed his kit behind his saddle, "and see the cobbler down to the other side of the livery."

Having observed Maddo's repair with interest, the cavalry officer tucked his gloves in his belt. "And now, sir, is Lieutenant Colonel Ford in?"

"Yes sir, I expect so, and I believe you will find him upstairs at present."

"Then until we meet again, doctor."

The cavalry officer shook his hand and stepped past Maddo, a breath away.

"Not in Nueces, Colonel!" Maddo mounted his horse and as he wheeled from the hitching post doffed his hat again to the magnificent army officer, "I'll be riding with Carson beyond Santa Fe."

"In Virginia then," the army officer laughed as he turned, his thoughts already elsewhere, and bade Maddo farewell with his cap, "where we shall heal ourselves!"