Chapter 13 #2
The gunslinger’s eyes narrowed, and Doc knew the man was about to explode again. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I can’t because, as I told you, the specific surgical tools I need are back in Elkhorn. I can’t because she is in severe pain, and the strain of an operation without chloroform and morphine will kill her.”
He stared at the young man, letting the silence hang for an extra moment.
“Do you want her to die?” Doc finally asked.
Lucas turned abruptly and headed for the door.
Doc watched him stride out into the afternoon sunlight and wondered if the road agent was going out there to tell one of the others to dig two graves.
No, digging graves was too much to hope for.
No doubt they would come back in, guns blazing and shoot them both.
Then Lucas’s partners would drag the dead bodies of an innocent stagecoach passenger and an ornery Elkhorn medical professional out to some ditch or ravine where the scavenging wildlife of the area could have their way with them.
Doc wasn’t about to delude himself. That was what had been done for that miner when he was no longer of any use to them.
The pile of parcels and letters spilling out of the opened Wells Fargo strongboxes drew his attention.
Damn, he chided himself. He should have written to his daughter while he’d been stuck here.
When these outlaws were done with this place, they’d no doubt take anything valuable and ride away.
But Doc guessed those letters would stay where they’d fallen.
And who could say but that in a month, or six months, or a year, some drifter might possibly pass through and find the letters.
Perhaps he would take it on himself to carry them back to civilization.
There was so much he’d like to say to Sheila. He wished he could explain why he’d gone away and why he’d stayed away. He would tell her that, despite the long years they’d been apart, he loved her. To die out here without at least trying to leave some last words for his daughter would be a tragedy.
A cowardly tragedy, he thought. He had spent years hiding behind letters and distance, telling himself she was safer without him. Perhaps that had been true once. But he wondered now if safety had become an excuse for absence.
The woman shivered, moaning low. Her pain had to be horrendous now, but it would be excruciating once the medicine ran out. He’d continue to stretch it as far as he could, but during the day tomorrow, it would be gone.
Doc considered cleaning the wound first before covering it again. He stood up and crossed the room to the stove. The fire was out, but he picked up the pot of water he’d had Lucas fetch earlier. His bandage supply was limited, so he’d been boiling the used cloths each time he changed them.
When he returned to the bed, her eyes were open. Though they were feverish, she was more alert than he’d seen her. Her face was flushed and blotchy. In her condition, he expected that she would drift in and out of sleep, though when she was awake, the pain had to be agonizing.
Doc immediately glanced at the door to make sure Lucas wasn’t coming. There was no sign of the outlaw. He sat down beside her.
“Am I dying?” Her voice was hoarse and weak, as if she were trying to call up from the bottom of a deep well.
“You heard what I told him, didn’t you?”
Her chin moved slightly up and down. “How much time do I have?” she whispered.
“I exaggerated somewhat.” Doc glanced at the door again to make sure they were alone before speaking.
In his experience, it was better if the patient didn’t hear the worst. “It is true that the wound is beginning to look suspicious. What I said about having to operate again is the truth. You’ll not be getting better if I don’t reopen the wound. ”
“Then do it.”
“You are a brave woman. You have already suffered a great deal at the hands of these ruffians.”
Her face was surprisingly calm as she looked steadily into his eyes. “Do what you must, Doctor. I trust you.”
He shook his head. “But I was telling the one who watched us the truth when I said I can’t operate without the correct medical instruments and anesthetics.”
“I heard you ask him for it.”
“But I don’t know if they’re paying any attention to what I say.” He laid his hand on her forehead. She was even hotter. “Can I get you anything?”
“Thirsty. I’m very thirsty.”
Somehow he had to keep her strong enough to stay alive. But his options were limited. He had no broth. Nothing but some dry biscuits and water and coffee.
During the past days, he’d been soaking the hard biscuits in cold coffee to soften them. He gave her a bit at a time whenever she came around. Since she was awake, he wanted to give her something stronger to help stretch the effect of the laudanum.
He crossed the room again and picked up the bottle of brandy Lucas had been drinking from earlier.
“Tell these fellas exactly what you need out of your house.”
The young outlaw’s voice startled him. Doc whirled and found Lucas at the door, flanked by two others.
They were the same gunslingers who’d been waiting for him and the miner outside of town.
The younger man was the one who’d shot and killed Smith with no more feeling than if he’d knocked a bottle off a fence post.
Doc stole a glance at his patient. Her eyes were closed.
Smart woman, he thought. She knew she was safer pretending to be unconscious.
The older road agent spoke up. He was shorter and thinner than the other and had a face like a hawk. “What do you need? And where would we find it?”
Doc calculated how long it would take them to return to Elkhorn.
They’d be mainly traveling in the dark and would more than likely arrive at his house before dawn.
But even if they got there later, it was unlikely they’d find his housekeeper there.
Without having to prepare meals for him, Mrs. Lewis didn’t come around when he was away.
He took a notepad and the stub of a pencil from his coat pocket and wrote down his list.
“Here are the things that I need,” he said, tearing off the page.
Lucas took it and handed it to the older man. “Can you read that, Wendell?”
The hawk-faced gunman looked at it and nodded.
“Take my bag.” Doc picked up his leather valise and put the empty bottles back in. With his back to them, he pushed his surgical instruments farther under the cot with his foot. “Don’t bring the large bottles in my office. I don’t want them broken in transit. Only fill these bottles.”
Wendell took the medical bag from him.
“Where’s your house?”
“You know already.” Doc had no doubt these two had been watching Smith from a distance when he came to Doc’s door. The man’s nervousness spoke of it.
“Tell us again.”
“First lane off Main Street as you go into town. The only house with a porch out front.”
As the two men turned and went out the door, Lucas went after them.
Doc peered out the front door and watched the young outlaw speaking fiercely to each man. When he was finished, they nodded and walked away.
Turning back to his patient, he saw the women’s eyes were once again open.
“Well, that kid Lucas is, no doubt, in charge of this outfit,” he told her. “Let’s get you better. I think, between the two of us, we can handle him.”