The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [368]
When she exposed the leg, the damage was obvious. The calf of his right leg was bent backward where there was no knee. The huge pointed horn had gored the man in the calf and broken both bones. The muscle was torn open, the jagged end of a bone was showing, and blood was pouring out of the gash and pooling on the ground.
She looked up at Jondalar. “Help me straighten him out while he’s unconscious, it’s going to hurt to move him when he wakes up. Then get me some soft hides, our toweling hides will work. I need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, then I’ll need help to splint the leg.” The tall man hurried off, and she turned to one of the young men who were standing around, gaping.
“He’ll need to be carried back. Do you know how to make a stretcher?” He looked blank, as though he hadn’t heard or understood her. “We need something for him to lie on while he’s carried.”
He nodded. “A stretcher,” he said.
He was really only a boy, she realized. “Jondalar will help you,” she said as the man returned with the hides.
They laid him out on his back. He moaned from the movement, but didn’t wake up. She checked him again; he might have sustained a head injury from the fall, but she didn’t see anything obvious. Then, leaning hard on his leg above the knee, she tried to slow the bleeding. She thought about a tourniquet, but if she could get the bone straightened and wrap the leg, she might not need it. Pressure on the wound itself should be enough. He was still bleeding, but she had seen worse.
She turned to Jondalar. “We need splints, some straight wood about the length of his leg, break some of those spears if you need to.”
Jondalar brought her two splints, broken lengths of spears. She quickly cut strips out of one of the hides, and other pieces to wrap around the splints for padding, to get them ready. Then, grasping the foot of the broken leg by holding the toes with one hand and his heel with her other hand, she gently pulled it straight, feeling where it resisted and easing it through. He spasmed a few times, and noises escaped his mouth; he’d been close to waking. She reached into the bleeding gash and tried to feel if the bones were aligned.
“Jondalar, hold his thigh for me,” she said. “I need to set this leg before he wakes up, and while he’s still bleeding. The blood will help keep the wound clean.” Then she looked up at the young men—boys—who were standing around watching with looks of horror and amazement on their faces. “You, and you,” she said, looking directly at two of them. “I’m going to lift his leg and pull to align the bones so they will heal straight. If I don’t, he’ll never walk on that leg again. I want you to get those splints and put them underneath his leg, so when I lower it, the leg will be right between them. Can you do that?”
They nodded and hurried to get the wrapped spears. When everybody was ready, Ayla grasped the foot by the toes and heel again with both hands and gently but firmly lifted his leg. With Jondalar holding the thigh, she pulled, exerting strong pressure carefully. It was not the first time he had seen her set bones, but now she was trying to set two of them. He could see the concentration on her face as she pulled, trying to sense by the feel of his leg in her hands if the bones were lining up. Even he felt what seemed to be a slight jerk and a settling, as though a bone had found its place. She lowered the leg gently, then examined it critically. It looked straight to Jondalar, but what did he know? At least it wasn’t bent backward at a place it had no right to be.
She signaled that he could let go and turned her attention to the bleeding wound. Pressing it together as best she could, with Jondalar’s help to lift it, she wrapped it up, splints and all, then tied everything together with the strips of leather she had cut. Then she sat back on her heels.
It was then that Jondalar