Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Thanks to the Gazette, you mean,” Kincaid said.

  “It would get around anyway, by word of mouth,” the mayor said. “You had a lot of witnesses. But thanks to the Gazette, that ‘Dr. Death’ name is going to get around, too. And more guns will be coming out of the woodwork.”

  “What can I do about that?” Kincaid asked. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Hell, no,” Everett said. “You’re an asset to this town, Doc. You know, like . . . Doc Holliday in Tombstone.”

  “I’m nothing like Doc Holliday,” Kincaid said.

  “Well, what if you wore a gun when you went out?” Everett asked.

  “Not a chance,” Kincaid said. “That would be asking for trouble.”

  “It was just a suggestion.”

  “Look, Mr. Mayor, if another gunman comes to town looking for ‘Dr. Death,’ I’m going to talk my way out of it. I’m not looking to kill anyone else, fair fight or not.”

  “I was just thinking that wearing a gun might dissuade men from challenging you.”

  “You mean like with Doc Holliday?”

  “From what I know about Holliday, he looked for trouble,” Everett said.

  “Well, I’m not,” Kincaid said. “I’ll avoid it any way I can, but I won’t start wearing a gun. Sorry.”

  “That’s up to you,” Everett said. “I just don’t want our town doctor getting killed.”

  “Doc Edwin is still the town doctor,” Kincaid said. “I’m just here to assist him.”

  “That’s another thing,” Everett said. “Doc Edwin’s . . . what? Eighty?”

  “Eighty-one.”

  “Jesus,” Everett said. “Nobody lives that long. Is he still . . . competent?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Still,” Everett said, “you’re going to be replacing him. I mean . . . after he dies.”

  “He’s not dying any time soon.”

  “Are you sure?” Everett asked. “He didn’t look so good at the council meeting, or yesterday.”

  “He’s fine,” Kincaid said.

  “All right, if you say so,” Everett said. “Thanks for coming in, Doc.” He looked down at his desk, dismissing Kincaid, who bristled.

  “That’s it?”

  The mayor looked up at him.

  “Is there some other business you’d like to discuss?” he asked.

  “I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about the Gazette using the ‘Dr. Death’ name?”

  “Like I said, word’s bound to get out, anyway,” Everett pointed out.

  “That may be so,” Kincaid said, “but I’d like that name to stop showing up in the paper.”

  “I don’t usually try to control the press, Doc,” Everett said. “Mr. Paris has the right to report what he sees fit, especially if he was an eyewitness.”

  “Yeah, well,” Kincaid said, “it seems to me Mr. Paris’s eyes could use some glasses.”

  “Again,” the mayor said, “it’s his business to print what he sees.”

  Kincaid stood up.

  “Thanks, anyway.”

  “Think about what I said about wearing a gun, Doc,” Everett said. “It might make a difference.”

  “It seems to me that would be playing right into Mr. Paris’s hands,” Kincaid said, and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It seemed to Kincaid that the mayor wanted a Doc Holliday in his town as a draw. But history showed the kind of element a man like that could attract. And it was probably his own fault. Since arriving he had played poker with Bat Masterson and killed two men. None of that spoke to his ability as a doctor. He thought that, after a few months, he had established his medical qualifications, but then Jed Butram had to step in and mix things up again. Now he was going to have to live down another “Dr. Death” incident.

  And something he hadn’t considered until now was whether or not Jed Butram had any friends who were going to want to avenge him.

  He stepped out of city hall, stood there a moment surveying the street. He didn’t have his bag with him, as he had decided to buy a new one. That meant going to the mercantile and, failing that, the apothecary.

  He tipped his hat to a couple of ladies who were going by. One had been a patient of his on a couple of occasions, but today they both quickened their steps as they passed and looked away.

  He headed off down the street in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  * * *

  As it turned out, the mercantile did not carry doctor’s bags. If the apothecary didn’t have them he’d have to order one by mail. That meant he would have to keep using the one with the bullet hole in it for some time to come. Wherever he went to see a patient with that bag, the hole would be a reminder of what had happened.

  He entered Nora’s shop, the bell tinkling his arrival above his head.

  She came out of the back room and smiled when she saw him.

  “You disappeared on me yesterday, after all the excitement,” she scolded.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen with Dr. Death,” he said.

  “Oh, nonsense! That idiotic newspaper editor is going to be the death of someone one day. I just hope it’s not you.”

  “It’s not as if he isn’t trying,” Kincaid said.

  “What can I do for you today, Doctor?” she asked.

  “As you can probably guess,” he said. “I need a new medical bag. The mercantile doesn’t carry them, and I’m hoping I won’t have to mail order one.”

  “I think I can help you with that,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She took him to the back wall of the store and showed him a shelf that held three medical bags.

  “Take your pick,” she said.

  “This is great,” he said. “I certainly didn’t expect to have a choice.”

  The bell tinkled again as someone entered.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

  “Take your time.”

  Two of the bags were black leather, the third brown. He set that one aside. He opened the two black ones, inspected the interior. Either one would accommodate his instruments, and his gun. He hated having to consider the gun, but it seemed as if he had no choice.

  While Nora took care of her new customer, Kincaid picked the bag he wanted of the two black ones and then waited for her to return to him.

  “Have you chosen?” she asked, as the bell sounded the other customer’s exit.

  “I have,” he said, handing her the bag. “This one.”

  “Very good,” she said. He followed her to the front desk. “Is there anything else?”

  He stared at her for a few moments, trying to make up his mind, then decided to just go ahead.

  “You know, since I arrived here we’ve said we should have supper together at some point . . . What about tonight?”

  “Well,” she said, “I thought you’d never ask . . .”

  * * *

  * * *

  He left the apothecary with his new bag and an arrangement to return at seven to pick her up for supper. He went home, transferred his instruments to the new bag, then held the gun in his hand and stared at it. He considered not putting it in the bag, but truth be told, if he hadn’t had it with him the day before, he’d be dead.

  He first ejected the spent shell and replaced it with a live one, then put the gun in the bag and closed it. There was no telltale bulge from the outside, but when he lifted the bag the weight of the gun dragged it down.

  Thanks to Jed Butram, he was now going to have to carry the bag with him even more than he had been.

  He had a couple of hours to kill before going to supper with Nora, so he went to his bedroom to decide what to wear. It had been some time since he had been out with a woman, and he was hoping he wouldn’t end up making a fool
of himself. Nora had class, intelligence, and beauty; that was enough to intimidate any man.

  * * *

  * * *

  He wore a shirt and tie to the office every time he went, and a jacket he removed as soon as he got there. But the ties were plain, so he chose one with a chunk of turquoise attached, and put it together with a black suit and white shirt.

  As he entered Nora’s shop she came out of the back wearing a dress with a shawl around her shoulders. Earlier she had been wearing a shirt and skirt.

  “Just in time,” she said. “I’m ready, and I’m starved.” She looked down at the black medical bag in his hand, but didn’t mention it.

  They stepped out of the shop and he waited while she locked the door.

  “Do you have a choice?” he asked her.

  “You’ve been here for months,” she said. “You must have a favorite restaurant by now.”

  “Actually, I’m a creature of habit,” he said. “I take most of my meals downstairs from where I live, the Sunflower Café.”

  “Well, we’re dressed too nice for just a café,” she said, “so I will take you to one of my favorite places.”

  “Is it near? Or will we need a cab?”

  “We can walk,” she said, linking her arm in his. “Stroll, actually.”

  While they walked Nora asked Kincaid personal questions. Where was he born, where did he grow up, where did he go to school. The answer to all those was the same: New York.

  “New York City?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve never been east, let alone to New York,” she said. “I envy you.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I came here from San Francisco.”

  “I’ll bet you were in high society there,” he said. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Nob Hill?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, “but I did come from an influential family.”

  “Politics?”

  “Business,” she said. “But I’ll bet my father has moved on to politics by now.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen your family?” he asked.

  “Not long enough,” she said. “You?”

  “My parents are dead, there are no siblings. I didn’t really leave anything behind.”

  “So you really are starting a new life out here, aren’t you?”

  “In more ways than I imagined.”

  * * *

  * * *

  She took him to a restaurant called Hitchcock’s Grille.

  “Grill with an e?” he asked.

  “It’s European,” she said. “We’re starting to get some very exotic businesses here, as well as in Kansas City. You haven’t been there yet, have you?”

  “No, I’ve had no reason to.”

  “Well, you’ve got that to look forward to,” Nora said. “They have a zoo and a museum . . . but that’s for later.”

  They entered the restaurant and a tuxedoed maître d’ approached. He was middle-aged, portly, and pleasant looking.

  “Miss Legend, welcome. Nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Lawrence. This is my friend, Dr. Kincaid.”

  “Welcome, Doctor. This way, please.”

  The dining room was large, and looked crowded, but the man led them to a table for two that was set with plates and crystal and candles.

  “Madam,” Lawrence said, holding Nora’s chair.

  “Thank you.”

  Kincaid sat across from her.

  “Andre will be your waiter,” Lawrence said. “He will be here momentarily.”

  “We’re in no hurry, Lawrence,” Nora said. “This is Gabriel’s first time here. I want him to enjoy it.”

  “Excellent!”

  The maître d’ walked away and was replaced in moments by an older, white-coated waiter.

  “Hello, folks,” the waiter said, “I’m Andre. I have menus for you.” He handed them large, multipage menus. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Red wine?” Nora asked Kincaid.

  “Sure.”

  “Two glasses of red wine, Andre.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The waiter left and Kincaid looked around. The interior was opulently furnished in green and gold.

  “This is very . . . New York,” Kincaid said.

  “That’s what I always suspected,” Nora said. “It’s nice to hear you confirm it.”

  “How’s the food?” he asked.

  “It stands up to what I’ve had in San Francisco,” she said. “I’ll be interested in how you think it compares to New York cuisine.”

  “Well,” he said, “we’ll see.”

  He turned his attention to the menu.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  So what’s the relationship between you and the teacher?” Nora asked, while they waited for their dinner.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The teacher, what’s her name? Miss Cottrell?”

  “Mrs. Cottrell,” Kincaid said. “She’s a widow.”

  “Ah. So, I thought I detected something going on between the two of you,” Nora commented. “And her daughter seems to adore you.”

  “We were on the same train coming out here,” Kincaid said. “Franny found a bullet on the floor and managed to swallow it. She was choking and I got it out.”

  “My God!” Nora said. “She could’ve died if you hadn’t been there. No wonder they adore you.”

  “They don’t—there’s nothing going on—” Kincaid stammered.

  “And then you saved the school,” Nora went on. “Come on, Gabriel, you’re their hero.”

  “Nora,” he said, “I don’t know what you want me to say—”

  “Oh, relax,” she said. “I’m just teasing. But you’re a handsome, eligible bachelor, Gabriel. Don’t you think she would be interested in you?”

  “Abby has her mind on her job, and those kids,” Kincaid said.

  “And you have your mind on your job,” Nora said.

  “And staying alive,” Kincaid added.

  “Oh, well,” she said, “there is that.”

  Andre, the waiter, came with their meals. Kincaid had ordered a steak, while Nora asked for veal.

  Over dinner Nora was curious about his everyday life since coming to Hays City.

  “I only see you when you need something from my shop,” she said. “What do you do all day?”

  He explained how he and Doc Edwin were splitting the time at the office, seeing patients.

  “So you’re being accepted?” she asked.

  “I was,” he said. “I think yesterday might have changed things.”

  “Why? You did what you had to do,” she said. “Nobody can blame you for that.”

  “I’ve been getting funny looks today,” he said. “Like when we walked in here.”

  “Do you see any of your patients here?”

  He looked around.

  “No,” he said, “but I have the feeling some of these people know who I am.”

  “Maybe you’re becoming famous,” she suggested.

  “I don’t want to be famous,” he said. “Especially not for the wrong reasons.”

  “I can’t blame you for that,” she said.

  “But let’s stop talking about me,” he said, “and start talking about you.”

  “There’s nothing interesting to tell,” she said. “You might say I ran away from home at an older age than is usual. My family was . . . well, not much of a family. I just had to get away.”

  “What about your marriage?”

  “Another mistake,” she said. “That was the first way I tried to get away, and it didn’t work. He was a horrible man, and the first time he hit me, I left him.” She smiled at him. “Now I’m here, with a business and a fe
w good friends.”

  “Is Hays City what you were looking for?” he asked.

  “So far,” she said. “Is it what you were looking for?”

  “I haven’t been here long enough to figure that out,” he said. “There are certainly some things that have happened I never expected.”

  “Like the gunplay?”

  “That’s part of it,” he said. “Like playing poker with Bat Masterson.”

  “Whoa,” she said, “when did that happen?”

  He told her that story . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  After dinner Kincaid walked Nora home. Her neighborhood was made up of small, rather new-looking houses, close to each other, but with picket fences separating them. They all appeared to be one story.

  They stopped in front of her house and she turned to him.

  “I enjoyed getting to know you a little better, Gabriel,” she said.

  “I feel the same way, Nora, Thank you.”

  “Let’s not make this the one and only time we do this.”

  “I agree.”

  She kissed his cheek impulsively, then hurried up the walk to her door, and went inside.

  Walking away from Nora Legend’s house, Kincaid found himself thinking about Abby Cottrell. It was because of what Nora had asked him, and what she said she’d seen. Was there something between him and Abby? How could there be? He’d only seen her three times, once on the train and twice since starting his new life here. Truth be told, he had more of a relationship with Nora than he did with Abby. He liked them both, but he wasn’t in Hays City looking for a relationship, or a bride. And he hadn’t come there to gain a reputation as anything but a physician.

  He still had a lot of work to do on that.

  * * *

  * * *

  Over the following two weeks Kincaid noticed a reduction in the number of patients coming to see him. He hadn’t talked with Doc Edwin about it, but he decided to do so on this day.

  He walked to the office and saw several people waiting outside to get in. He greeted them as he passed and entered. Inside there were also people waiting.