“Get out of town, Butram,” Llegg had told him. “Find somebody else to test yourself against.”
“I’m not looking to test myself, Sheriff,” he’d replied. “I know what I can do. I’m just wondering what the doctor can do.”
“Not in my town,” Llegg said.
“Fine,” Butram had said, and he had rode out.
Now he was back. And while he dug into his steak, Sheriff Llegg came over with a plate and joined him.
“What are you doin’ back here, Butram?” he asked, while seated directly across from him. “I thought I told you to get out of town.”
“I did,” Butram said. “In fact, I still am, Sheriff. This is not Hays City.”
“No, but it is Ellis County,” Llegg said. “I still have jurisdiction.”
“Look, Sheriff,” Butram said, “I came to see the new school and to have a steak. That’s all.”
“But where do you live, Butram?” Llegg asked. “Why don’t you go back there?”
Butram’s face grew cold.
“Going back home ain’t an option,” he said. “In fact, it’s not home anymore.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” Llegg said. “I don’t want any gunmen living in my town.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Sheriff,” Butram said. “I don’t want to live here.”
“You just want to use Hays City to make a name for yourself,” Llegg said. “Well, we need our doctor, Butram. So finish your steak, and get out of Ellis County. Understand?”
“I understand, Sheriff.”
Llegg nodded, picked up his plate, and walked away.
Butram figured he was going to have to move up his timetable. And there were enough people there to witness it and talk about it later.
* * *
* * *
Sheriff Llegg carried his plate over to where Kincaid was sitting.
“Hello, Sheriff,” Kincaid said. “Having a good time?”
“I just talked with Butram,” Llegg said. “I think you’d better watch your step.”
“You know, I hadn’t seen him in a while,” Kincaid said. “I thought, perhaps, you had run him out of town.”
“I thought I did,” Llegg said. “But as he just told me, this ain’t town.”
“Did he say why he was here?”
“For the school opening and the food,” Llegg said. “But I doubt that’s the case.”
“Do you think he’d come after me here, in front of all these people?”
“Men like him want an audience,” the lawman said. “And I’m afraid I may have pushed him into it.”
“How so?”
“I told him to finish his steak and get out of my county,” Llegg said. “He may feel he has no choice but to come for you now.”
“Can you stop him if he does?”
“Is that what you want? To hide behind me in front of all these people?”
“I’m not a gunman, Sheriff.”
“I see you’re not wearin’ a gun,” Llegg said. “I can loan you mine.”
“No,” Kincaid said, “that’s fine. Thanks for the offer.”
“Well, just remember, whatever you do,” Llegg said, “more men have died tryin’ to fight fair.”
“Are you telling me I should cheat?” Kincaid asked. “In front of all these people? Wouldn’t that be worse than hiding behind the law?”
“However you manage to take him,” the sheriff said, “would be better than hidin’ behind me.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“You mind if I finish my steak here?” Llegg asked.
“I don’t mind at all, Sheriff.”
* * *
* * *
As the afternoon wore on Kincaid noticed two things. First, more parents were arriving and allowing Abby to take them through the new school. And second, all the members of the town council had arrived. The carpenter, Taylor, was accepting pats on the back for the fine job he had done, and the speed with which he had done it.
Kincaid made it a point not to spend too much time with Nora. He did not want any false rumors to spread, so he walked around and made a point of saying hello to patients. He also spent time with Maggie and Doc Edwin, who spent most of his time sitting at one of the tables. Some longtime patients stopped by to say hello to him, but for a man who had been living in the community fifty years he wasn’t getting very much attention. Of course, that could have been because the old man was such a curmudgeon.
Finally, the mayor mounted the steps of the church and began to call for attention. People crowded around to hear what he had to say.
At some point, Kincaid lost sight of Jed Butram. But he was also making sure to carry his medical bag.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor called, “welcome to the dedication of our new Ellis County Schoolhouse. I’d like to ask Bill Taylor to step up here with me.” The carpenter did so, almost shyly. “Bill and his crew did a wonderful job erecting this new schoolhouse, and I think they deserve a round of applause.”
The crowd erupted and obliged.
“And I’d like to ask Mrs. Abigail Cottrell to step up.”
Looking surprised, Abby mounted the steps and stood next to the mayor.
“Mrs. Cottrell is fairly new to our community, and I want to thank her for sticking with us during this difficult and emotional time, and giving us a chance to supply her with a new school.”
The applause was a little less raucous for her, but she acknowledged it with a shy nod.
“The first class in our new school will be tomorrow morning,” the mayor announced. “There’s no reason to keep your children home. They’ll be perfectly safe in this sound new building.”
More applause.
“And, lastly, I want to thank our two doctors for spearheading the efforts to get this built,” the mayor said. “Drs. Edwin and Kincaid made very impassioned pleas for this, and convinced not only myself but the town council that it was necessary.”
People were already tired of applauding, but there was a smattering.
But when the applause stopped completely, one man seemed to continue on by himself.
“Aw, come on, folks,” Jed Butram said, “let’s have another hand for Dr. Death.” He stopped clapping. “Or did you forget that’s what he was called when he first got here?”
“Sir, I don’t know who you are, but—”
“Relax, Mr. Mayor,” Butram said, approaching the steps of the school. “I’m not horning in on your time. This ain’t about the school. This is more personal.” He climbed up onto the first step and faced the crowd. The mayor put his hand on Abby Cottrell’s arm and accompanied her off the steps and to the side.
“What about it, Doc?” Butram asked Kincaid. “You wanna step up so we can get this over with?”
“Get what over with, Mr. Butram?” Kincaid asked. He stepped away from the people near him, so that no one was in the line of fire.
“Oh, you know,” Butram said. “You and me got a date with destiny. Isn’t that what they call it?”
“Butram,” Sheriff Llegg spoke up, “I told you no gunplay in my town—”
“We ain’t in your town, Sheriff,” Butram corrected him. “And this here would be a fair fight that you can’t interfere with. I got witnesses.”
Llegg looked frustrated.
“Come on, Doc,” Butram said. “I know you got your gun in that bag of yours. You ain’t gone anyplace without that bag since I got to town. Take it out and let’s get to it.”
“I’m no gunman, Mr. Butram,” Kincaid said.
“That ain’t what I heard,” Butram said. “You had to impress some people to get that name. Come on, Dr. Death. Let’s see your move. And if you don’t take that gun out of your bag, I’ll just shoot you where you stand.”
“Bu
tram . . .” Kincaid said, sticking his hand into the black bag. He closed his hand around the butt of the gun, found the trigger, and pulled it.
The bullet struck Butram in the chest, surprising him one second, and killing him the next. He tumbled off the steps to the ground. Sheriff Llegg came forward, checked the body, and straightened up.
“He’s dead.”
Kincaid took the gun from the bag, looking bewildered.
“I grabbed it to draw it out, and it went off,” he said.
The sheriff stepped closer to him and muttered, “I’m glad I warned you about a fair fight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
People began to leave the area as the sheriff made arrangements to have the body moved. Some of them were giving Kincaid long looks. Even Abby Cottrell and Nora Legend were eyeing him oddly. It was only Maggie and Doc Edwin who approached him.
“You did what you had to do, son,” Doc Edwin told him.
“The sheriff warned me about how many men have died fighting fair,” Kincaid said.
“He was a professional gunman,” Maggie said. “You had no choice. He would’ve killed you.”
Then another person approached him. He was surprised because he hadn’t seen the editor of the Gazette, Carl Paris, there all day. He looked and smelled as if he had been drinking more than lemonade.
“Tell me, Dr. Kincaid,” Paris asked, “how does it feel to have killed yet another man in a gun battle?”
“There was no gun battle, Mr. Paris,” Kincaid said. “My gun went off as I started to draw it from my bag.”
“Really?” Paris asked. “That’s the story you’re going to go with?”
“That’s what happened.”
“That’s not what I saw,” Paris said.
“Well, it seems to me you’re going to write what you want to no matter what I say.”
“Eyewitness account, Doctor,” Carl Paris said. “That’s what I’m going to write.”
As he moved away Maggie said, “What a horrible man. I could smell the whiskey on him.”
“Come on,” Kincaid said. “I’ve got to get back to the office in case we have some late patients.”
“Do you want to come to supper tonight?” Maggie asked.
“No thanks, Maggie,” Kincaid said, “I’m fine.”
“You sure about that?” Doc Edwin asked.
“I think I just need to spend some time by myself tonight.”
Maggie looked worried, but she and Doc Edwin started walking toward their buggy. Kincaid felt bad as he watched Maggie struggle to help Doc Edwin climb onto the seat. He should have done that, but he was distracted.
He had come to Hays City to treat people and save lives, and now he had taken two.
* * *
* * *
Kincaid had no more patients that afternoon. He couldn’t help but wonder if word had gotten round about the shooting. Maybe nobody wanted to be treated by Dr. Death.
He knew that the editor, Paris, was going to resurrect that name in the next day’s issue of the Gazette. But he didn’t know how to stop him. Sadly, he realized, he’d just have to deal with it.
He closed the office and went home. He wasn’t hungry, not after killing a man. And if he did get hungry, he didn’t want to face Kate down in the Sunflower.
He replayed in his mind what Sheriff Llegg had told him about fighting fair. He had little doubt that if he had drawn out his gun and placed it in his belt, in order to face Butram on equal terms, the man would’ve killed him. He looked over at his medical bag, which now had a hole in the front of it where the bullet had passed through. He was going to have to buy another one, because he didn’t want to be reminded of what he’d done every time he used his bag.
When he did finally get hungry he left his place and walked to a part of town he didn’t normally frequent. There he found a small café and, hopefully, no one knew him. He got a table, ordered a meal, consumed it with little enthusiasm, then went back home. After a few whiskeys he drifted off to sleep on his sofa . . .
* * *
* * *
The next day was Doc Edwin’s day in the office, but Kincaid rose early, went out and found a copy of the Gazette already on sale. The headline read: dr. death is back!
He took the newspaper home and read the “eyewitness account.” Carl Paris described the incident as “a flash of fire bursting from the doctor’s black bag.” He then asked the question, “Whatever happened to the concept of a fair fight?”
Kincaid tossed the paper aside. He knew he was only punishing himself by reading it. Going to the Gazette office to berate the editor would be a waste of time.
He decided not to let the story impact his daily life and went down to the Sunflower to have breakfast. It was fairly obvious that the other diners had either heard the news, or read the newspaper, but he didn’t allow their stares to deter him. He took his regular table and waited for Kate to come and take his order.
“Good morning, Gabriel,” she said.
“Hello, Kate.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m just fine,” he said, “thanks for asking. I think I’ll do bacon and eggs this morning.”
“Comin’ up,” she said. “I’ll bring coffee.”
“Thank you.”
While he was drinking his first cup of coffee and waiting for his breakfast, Sheriff Llegg entered the café, looked around, and then approached his table.
“Mind if I join you, Doc?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Kincaid said. “Breakfast, or just coffee?”
“Just coffee,” Llegg said, sitting, “and a talk.”
There was already a second cup on the table, so Kincaid filled it for the man.
“Thanks,” Llegg said.
“What’s on your mind, Sheriff?” Kincaid asked. “As if I didn’t know.”
“It’s about yesterday, all right,” Llegg said, “but it ain’t bad news. I’m not here to arrest you.”
“That’s good.”
“First, I’ll just need you to come by the office and make out a statement.”
“No problem.”
“I’ve talked with the judge, and there’s no reason to charge you or detain you. There were a lot of witnesses to the fact that Butram pushed you.”
“And?” Kincaid said. “Or is there a ‘but’?”
“I’m sure you saw the Gazette.”
“I did,” Kincaid said, “and there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“The mayor expressed concern that the incident, and that the Gazette bringing back the ‘Dr. Death’ name, might cause more trouble.”
“I’m a little concerned about that myself, I must admit,” Kincaid said.
Kate came with his breakfast and greeted the sheriff with a smile.
“Something to eat, Sheriff?” she asked.
“No thanks, Kate, not today.”
She went off to see to other customers.
“The mayor would like you to come and see him, when you get a chance,” Llegg said.
“Is he going to ask me to leave town?” Kincaid asked.
“He didn’t say,” Llegg answered, “but I doubt that’s it. He’s got an election next year. Maybe he just wants to make sure he has your vote.”
“Um, yeah,” Kincaid said. “I kind of doubt that’s it, either.”
Llegg finished his coffee and stood up.
“Well, I delivered the message,” he said. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“I’ll drop by after breakfast, before I go see the mayor,” Kincaid promised.
“Suits me.”
Llegg said goodbye to Kate on the way out. She came over to Kincaid’s table.
“I hope you’re not in trouble,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The sh
eriff just needs me to make a statement, and then the mayor wants to talk to me.”
“I doubt that what was in the newspaper was very accurate,” she said.
“You’re right about that,” Kincaid said. “Mr. Paris’s eyewitness accounts seem to undergo a lot of . . . embellishment in the telling.”
“Somebody should burn that newspaper to the ground,” she said.
“Easy, Kate,” Kincaid said, “that’s a little drastic. Besides, you couldn’t do it. You can’t even serve burnt bacon.”
“You want burnt bacon next time? I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and they laughed.
* * *
* * *
Kincaid fulfilled his promise to the sheriff and wrote out his statement, then walked over to city hall. The clerk showed him into Mayor Everett’s office.
“Dr. Kincaid,” the mayor said, from behind his desk. He didn’t come around to shake hands. Kincaid felt this set the tone for the meeting. “Have a seat, please.”
“Mr. Mayor.” Kincaid sat.
“Can I get you something?” the mayor asked. “Coffee? Something stronger?”
“I just had breakfast, and it’s a little early for stronger.”
“All right, then,” Everett said. “Thank you for coming.”
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Mayor?”
“What’s on my mind is what happened yesterday,” Everett said. “You killed a man.”
“So he wouldn’t kill me,” Kincaid pointed out.
“I understand that,” Everett said, “but you didn’t actually do it in a fair manner, did you?”
“In a fair fight,” Kincaid pointed out, “he would’ve killed me.”
“Do you know that for a fact?”
“I do.”
“So your ability with a gun—”
“—is negligible.”
“But you’ve killed two men since arriving here.”
“Luck, and you saw what I did yesterday,” Kincaid said. “Believe me, I’m not proud of either one.”
“That may be the case,” Everett said, “but word is going to get around.”
Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine Page 14
