Chương 150: The Mountain People's Gift

Cletus's right arm was pierced by the agent's submachine gun bullet, and his entire arm was pulled down at a twisted angle.

Jeb was in even worse shape. A piece of steel plate from the train carriage, blown up by the explosion, pierced his left abdomen, and blood seeped out continuously, staining the lower half of his clothes a dark red.

He leaned against the rock wall at the entrance of the canyon, half-sitting and half-lying down, panting painfully.

In addition, four villagers suffered gunshot wounds of varying degrees, including a boy whose right shinbone was broken and exposed, and was still bleeding profusely despite being bandaged with simple cloth strips.

There were no doctors. There was no medical equipment.

The nearest county hospital is thirty miles away at the foot of the mountain, and the doctors there have long been warned by the coal company's lawyers not to treat any of the "illegal vagrants" from Black Coal Valley.

In this isolated Valley of Death, being seriously injured is tantamount to slowly waiting to die in prolonged agony.

Arthur walked back to the pickup truck and took out a sturdy olive-green military medical kit.

This was a complete set of medicines and first-aid equipment that he had specially purchased during his journey. He carried the box back to the crowd, placed it in the center of the open space, and opened it.

The contents of the box caused the surrounding mountain villagers to gasp in astonishment.

Neatly arranged were professional sterile bandages, a bottle of precious pure iodine disinfectant, two surgical hemostats, a set of sterile gauze, and two injections of pain relievers.

In 1930, even private clinics on the East Coast in the United States did not have such a complete set of supplies.

Arthur straightened up and looked at old Seris.

"Are there any elderly people in the valley who have delivered babies or treated external injuries? Anyone is fine, as long as they've seen blood and don't faint."

Old Seris immediately turned to the crowd and shouted hoarsely, "Call Aunt Martha here! Quickly!"

In less than two minutes, an elderly woman with gray hair quickly squeezed out of the crowd.

This is the only person in Black Coal Valley with experience in treating external injuries and delivering babies.

Over the past decade or so, mining accidents have resulted in numerous deaths and injuries. It was with her rough hands, without any proper medical care, that she managed to pull countless people back from the brink of death.

Arthur crouched down, opened the medical kit, and explained to Aunt Martha the purpose and method of using each medicine in simple and clear language.

Iodine tincture is used to disinfect wounds, hemostatic forceps are used to clamp bleeding blood vessels, and bandages should be wrapped tightly but not to affect blood circulation.

Aunt Martha squatted beside the box, her eyes focused, like a veteran receiving a brief pre-war order.

As she listened, she quickly picked up each item with her calloused fingers, carefully examined it, and made notes on each one.

Arthur stood up and pushed the entire medical kit in front of Aunt Martha.

"Leave everything in the box."

Aunt Martha looked up, opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end she just nodded.

She picked up the box, turned around, and quickly walked towards the boy with the broken leg bone to begin treating him.

Several local women immediately followed to help, and the entire rescue operation quickly and smoothly began.

After handling the handover of the supplies, Arthur found a rock to sit on, took out his notebook, and began to calmly record what he had seen and heard that day.

He wrote about the gunfight in the canyon, the scenes of the agents being repelled, and the wounds of Cletus and Jeb.

About an hour later, Aunt Martha returned.

She reported to old Seris that the injuries of the wounded had been treated.

Cletus's right arm was immobilized, Jeb's wound was cleaned and stitched up, and the boy's leg bone was reset and bandaged.

As long as you don't get infected, you can save your life.

Old Seris turned to Arthur, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something to express his gratitude, but in the end he just nodded vigorously.

Cletus leaned against a tree trunk, silent, head down, staring intently at the mud on his boots.

From the near-fatal execution attempt that killed Arthur, to their shared guardianship of the canyon, and now, his complex emotions are laid bare.

Finally, he raised his head.

"Mr. Kennedy."

He paused for a long time, his eyes filled with struggle.

"Today I almost killed the only person in all of Black Coal Valley who was truly on our side. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. But—" His gaze fell on his bandaged right arm, and he paused for a moment.

"But thank you for not leaving."

This sentence was simple, without any unnecessary embellishment. But everyone around understood the weight of its meaning.

Jeb lay on the blanket, his face still pale, but his consciousness was slowly returning. He turned his head and looked with difficulty at Arthur, who was sitting on the rock taking notes.

"Sir—I was born in this valley and have never been outside. I had no idea that there were people outside the mountains who would write about people like us."

He paused, a painful gurgling sound coming from his throat, and continued speaking with difficulty.

"If—if your book can be written one day and seen by those people outside the mountains, then—that would be more valuable than giving us ten doctors."

Old Seris walked up to Arthur and asked, "Are you leaving today?"

"We must continue westward."

Old Seris nodded and turned to gesture to a young mountain boy.

The boy quickly ran into the innermost shed and came out a moment later carrying two heavy, sealed ceramic jars.

That's the purest homemade corn whisky from Black Coal Valley, the first batch produced, with an alcohol content approaching 75%.

Throughout the Appalachian black market, two cans of this grade of liquor could be exchanged for a whole case of bullets and a month's worth of rations.

"This is the only thing Black Coal Valley can offer." Old Seris solemnly placed the two terracotta pots on the hood of Arthur's pickup truck.

He paused for a moment, then pulled out a tattered piece of parchment, folded countless times, from the inside pocket of his worn-out jacket.

Arthur took it and unfolded it. It was a hand-drawn map of the Appalachian Mountains, marking secret mountain paths, safe mines for overnight stays, and coded communication symbols for the major mountain settlements.

"This road is the lifeline that we mountain people have been traveling for decades. If you take it west, any miner who is still alive from the coal mines will recognize it, give you way, give you food, and give you a place to sleep."

Arthur carefully folded the parchment and placed it in the deepest pocket inside his coat, along with the congressional investigation document.

He walked to the pickup truck, opened the door, and got into the driver's seat.

The engine started smoothly upon ignition.

Arthur rolled down the car window, glanced back at the dilapidated camp, and looked at the mountain people standing in front of the huts.

They waved goodbye to him.

The pickup truck slowly drove away along the hidden mountain pass.

In the rearview mirror, the outline of Black Coal Valley slowly shrank until it was completely swallowed up by the thick pine forest.

Arthur drove back onto the main road through the Appalachian Mountains. This time, he received the blessing of the mountains.