Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine

by Robert J. Randisi

  Doc Edwin came out of his examining room with a male patient.

  “Take that three times a day. The cough should subside.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  The man looked Kincaid up and down, and left.

  “You’re busy,” Kincaid said to Doc Edwin.

  “It’s been this way for a while,” the old sawbones said. “What about you?”

  “On my days the patients seem to be staying away,” Kincaid said. “Ever since the school opening.”

  “I suspected as much,” Doc Edwin said.

  “You look worn out,” Kincaid said. “I should’ve come sooner.” He removed his jacket. “I’ll help.”

  The old sawbones drew him into the examining room, away from the patients.

  “They may not want you to help,” he said, in a low tone.

  “Too bad,” Kincaid said. “If they want to be treated, they will. We should come here together every day, until I earn their trust, again.”

  “It’s not your fault that idiot Butram challenged you in front of so many witnesses,” Doc Edwin said.

  “Is it that I killed him, Doc?” Kincaid asked. “Or the way I did it?”

  “Probably a little bit of both.”

  Kincaid rolled up his sleeves.

  “Let’s get these people seen to . . .”

  * * *

  * * *

  It took a few hours, but finally the last patient left and Doc Edwin sat down.

  “It’s been like this every day for you for two weeks?” Kincaid asked.

  “Not this bad,” Doc Edwin said, “but busy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Like I said already,” the old sawbones reminded him. “Not your fault.”

  “How have you been feeling?” Kincaid asked.

  “Worn out,” Doc Edwin said, “and needed. For a while there I was feeling useless.”

  “That’s probably my fault,” Kincaid said.

  “Stop takin’ the blame for everythin’,” Doc Edwin said. “Jesus, people change. They wanted me, they wanted you, now they want me again. We’re just gonna have to show ’em you can’t get one without the other.”

  “Right,” Kincaid said. “Stop splitting the days.”

  Doc Edwin took a deep breath and Kincaid heard a sound he hadn’t heard for some time.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said.

  He helped the older man to his feet and getting his jacket on. Then they left, and he helped the old sawbones up onto his buggy.

  “You comin’?” Doc Edwin asked.

  “I better,” Kincaid said. “I don’t like the sound of your breathing.”

  “Like I said,” Doc Edwin replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’m just worn out.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Kincaid climbed aboard, sat next to the old doc, and took the reins.

  * * *

  * * *

  Are you here for supper?” Maggie asked, as the two doctors entered the house.

  “Why not?” Kincaid said, accepting. “But first I want to examine Doc.”

  “I’m fine, damn it,” Doc Edwin said. “I told you, just tired.”

  “Go and lie down, then,” Kincaid said. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  He joined Maggie in the kitchen as Doc Edwin shuffled off to his room. It was the first time Kincaid had noticed how the older man didn’t pick up his feet when he walked.

  “Tell me,” he said to Maggie.

  “Tell you what?”

  “I can tell by the look on your face, you’ve got something on your mind.”

  “He’s been working too hard. I told him to discuss it with you. And his breathing at night . . . it’s not good.”

  “It seems my killing Jed Butram has done more damage than I thought,” Kincaid said.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Maggie said. “He likes being needed again, but there’s got to be a happy medium somewhere.”

  “We’ve already discussed changing our hours,” Kincaid said. “We’ll work together from now on.”

  “Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

  “After supper I’m going to drain his lungs again,” Kincaid said. “It’s been too long. Of all the things I’m to blame for, that’s the worst. I’ve been neglecting him.”

  “Gabriel,” Maggie said, “he should retire and let you take over the practice totally.”

  “I agree,” Kincaid said. “But I don’t think I have the confidence of the people, yet.”

  “Some of them you do,” she said. “You have mine and I’m sure you have the confidence of the parents of the children you rescued when the schoolhouse fell. And you have everyone’s gratitude for the building of the new school.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “It’s something you can build on,” she said. “I’ll bet you have at least half the town council on your side.”

  “Perhaps,” Kincaid said, “but not the mayor.”

  “He may not be the mayor much longer.”

  “And not the editor of the newspaper.”

  “That drunken idiot!” she said. “He’s the cause of most of your problems.”

  “He’s certainly contributed,” Kincaid said. “I’m going to get washed up and then check on Doc.”

  “You’ve got to talk to him, Gabriel,” Maggie said. “He’s got to retire, and soon.”

  Kincaid nodded and went to wash up. He didn’t want to tell Maggie that he considered Doc Edwin one of those men who would only retire when he died.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kincaid ate supper with Maggie and Doc Edwin, then did the drainage on the old sawbones before he went out to sit on the porch. Doc Edwin didn’t speak to him the entire time, so Kincaid decided it was not the night to sit outside and make idle conversation.

  “I’m going to head home,” he told Maggie.

  “Why don’t you talk to him?” Maggie asked.

  “We talked all afternoon while we worked side by side,” Kincaid said. “We decided how to handle everything, but now I think he might be having second thoughts. I’m going to give him some time to himself to come to terms with what he wants to do.”

  “Don’t forget,” Maggie said, “he’s the one who brought you here.”

  “He wanted to bring someone here,” Kincaid said. “He kind of got stuck with me.”

  “Gabriel—”

  “Let it go for now, Maggie,” he said. “I’ll go out the back door, and see him in the office in the morning. By then he will have made up his mind, one way or another.”

  As he walked home he thought that, if they were still sticking to their alternating schedule, the next day would be his. But Doc Edwin still might decide to kick him out when he got there. The older man didn’t like feeling useless, but at his age there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Kincaid got to the office the next day Doc Edwin was there, and greeted him with a gruff “Mornin’.” Beyond that they worked together fine for the next couple of weeks, and when patients came in they didn’t seem to have a preference for which doctor they would see. Of course, that was except for some of the old-timers, who still preferred the older sawbones.

  But one morning Kincaid entered the office and didn’t find Doc Edwin there. Despite the fact he lived closer to the office than Edwin, the older man’s buggy was usually there by the time he arrived. On this morning, Kincaid was the one who had to unlock the office.

  Since they had started working together, they had managed to keep the townspeople fairly healthy, so that they were rarely overly busy. For that reason Kincaid wasn’t with a patient when the door slammed open and Maggie appeared, looking harried.

  “Gabriel,” she gasped. “I—I can’t wa
ke him up!”

  That was all Kincaid had to hear. He ran from the office with her, hopped into the buggy outside, and lit out to Doc Edwin’s house.

  When they arrived he didn’t wait to help Maggie down from the buggy. He simply ran into the house, back to Doc Edwin’s bedroom. The old man was lying on his back in bed, looking very pale and shrunken—more so than usual.

  “Come on, Doc!” Kincaid scolded.

  He opened his bag, took out his stethoscope, and listened to Edwin’s chest. Maggie came rushing in behind him, but stopped short and watched, one hand covering her mouth.

  “Is he—” she asked.

  “He’s breathing,” Kincaid said. “Doc? Can you hear me?”

  The old sawbones did not open his eyes.

  “I’ll try some smelling salts,” Kincaid said.

  He held a capsule beneath the sleeping man’s nose and snapped it. Doc Edwin snorted, shook his head, but his eyes didn’t open.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Kincaid checked the old man’s pulse.

  “His pulse and breathing are very shallow,” he said, standing up. “All I can figure is that he’s in a coma.”

  “A coma?”

  “He’s not asleep,” Kincaid said. “If he was the smelling salts would have brought him around. Did you check him when you got here first thing?”

  “I stopped at his door,” she said. “He just seemed . . . asleep.”

  “That’s what it looks like, all right,” Kincaid said, “but it’s more than that.”

  “I knew it,” she complained. “I knew he should retire and take it easy.”

  Kincaid moved to Maggie and took her shoulders in his hands.

  “Maggie, he’s alive, he’s breathing, and he could just wake up at any moment.”

  “And he could not, right?” she asked. “He could die.”

  “Yes,” Kincaid said. “He’s eighty-one, not in the best of health . . . He could die.”

  He would have taken any other woman into his arms and hugged her, in the hopes of making her feel better, but Maggie was not that kind of woman. So he simply patted her shoulders, and then released her.

  “I’ll stay around today and watch him,” he said. “I could use some coffee.” He didn’t need coffee, but he wanted to give her something to do.

  “I-I’ll get it,” she said. “What about the office?”

  “Let’s leave it closed for now,” he said. “If anybody has an emergency I’m sure they’ll come here.”

  She nodded, and went to the kitchen. Kincaid moved a chair over to Doc Edwin’s bed and sat down.

  * * *

  * * *

  Three days later there was no change.

  Kincaid decided he needed to reopen the office and stop by Doc Edwin’s house every so often to check on him. His condition had neither improved nor worsened. His lungs sounded clear. Kincaid was thinking this might be the way an eighty-one-year-old man simply . . . slipped away. He felt helpless, as there was nothing he could do about it but monitor the man.

  He had just finished with a middle-aged woman who had a deep cough, telling her to go to the apothecary to pick up a bottle of cough elixir.

  “We’ve been hearin’ about Doc’s condition, Doctor,” she said. “Is there any change?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said.

  She finished buttoning her dress and said, “That’s a shame. He delivered me, you know, over forty years ago.”

  Other patients had asked about Doc’s condition and made the same kinds of comments.

  “I’m starting to think he delivered three-quarters of the town’s population,” Kincaid said to her.

  “Well, I hope he wakes up,” she said. “We’re all prayin’ for him.”

  “I talk to him every night,” he said. “I don’t know if he hears me, but I’ll tell him what you just said.”

  She nodded and left, but the door didn’t get a chance to close as a man stopped it and stepped in. It was Mayor Everett.

  “Hello, Dr. Kincaid,” he said.

  “Mr. Mayor,” Kincaid said. “What can I do for you? Got a cough? Sprain an ankle?”

  “I just wanted to stop by and check in with you about Doc Edwin’s situation. We had a town council meeting, and everyone was wondering.”

  “His situation hasn’t changed,” Kincaid said. “He’s still in a coma.”

  “That’s a shame,” Everett said, shaking his head.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I, uh, understand you’ve had supper with Nora Legend on several occasions.”

  That was true. Since that first time, he and Nora had dined together a few more times, when they were both available.

  “Is that something else the town council discussed?” he asked.

  “No, no,” Everett said. “Nora would never . . . No, I, uh, had just heard . . . I was wondering what the relationship is between you and Nora?”

  “Well, if it’s any concern of yours,” Kincaid said, “we’re friends.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Colleagues, of a sort,” Kincaid added. “I utilize her shop quite often.”

  “I see.”

  “Is there a reason for these questions?”

  “Well . . . I’m rather fond of Nora,” Everett said.

  Kincaid remembered Nora using the phrase “sweet on me” when discussing the mayor.

  “I see,” Kincaid said. “So you don’t want me standing in your way.”

  “Well . . . you could put it that way.”

  “I’m sure Nora can make up her own mind when it comes to the men in her life, Mr. Mayor,” Kincaid said. “She doesn’t need me to chime in.”

  Up to that point there had still been nothing between him and Nora beyond supper and a kiss on the cheek when he walked her home. Kincaid was still thinking about Abby Cottrell, but had not had the time to go out and see her. Especially not of late, with Doc Edwin’s condition requiring him to stay close. And he couldn’t remember ever having seen Abby and Franny in Hays City. They probably did most of their dining at home, or in Craddock.

  “Well,” the mayor said, “I better get back to my office. Please keep me informed about Doc’s condition.”

  “I will,” Kincaid said.

  The mayor left. Kincaid sat to await another patient, wondering if he should tell Nora about the mayor’s visit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Once again, the incident with the gunplay seemed to go by without any repercussions. Kincaid continued to carry the short-barreled gun in his medical bag, but he was hoping to leave it behind soon. Then three men rode into town, and things changed.

  Kincaid was having breakfast in the Sunflower, talking to Kate about Maggie and Doc Edwin, when the sheriff entered. Kincaid instinctively knew the man was there for him.

  “Kate, would you bring another pot of coffee I can share with the sheriff, please?”

  “Sure, but how do you know—Oh, yes, here he comes. I’ll be right back.”

  “Fresh coffee’s coming,” Kincaid told Sheriff Llegg. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, I just realized I’ve never seen you as a patient,” Kincaid said.

  “I don’t get sick,” Llegg said. “And I’m careful not to get hurt.”

  “Well, you do a hell of a job of it.”

  “How’s Doc Edwin?” the lawman asked.

  Actually Doc Edwin was worse because, while he was in the coma, they had no way of getting any food into him. The old man was losing weight. Kincaid had started using a little known treatment, where he would introduce fluids into the doctor’s system through intravenous technology. It was first introduced in 1883 by a doctor named Thomas Latta. Kincaid had read about it in a medical journal. With Nora’s help, he w
as able to set up a bedside system by which to administer the treatment. It kept Doc Edwin from becoming dehydrated.

  But the sheriff wouldn’t be interested in all that, so Kincaid just said, “The same.”

  Kate brought out the coffee and poured it for both men before going off to take care of other customers.

  “That’s too bad,” Llegg said, adding sugar to his coffee.

  “What brings you around this time, Sheriff?” Kincaid asked.

  “I wanted to let you know some fellas rode into town today,” the lawman said. “Three of ’em.”

  “Looking for a doctor?” Kincaid asked.

  “Well,” Llegg said, not looking him in the eye, “looking for a particular doctor.”

  “Oh,” Kincaid said. “I get it. Dr. Death, huh?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “I know one,” Llegg said. “His name’s Ed Santee. He’s a gunman. The other two are his . . . lackeys, I guess. They go everywhere with him, do his bidding.”

  “Did you tell him to get out of town?”

  “He hasn’t done anythin’ yet that I can use to run him out,” Llegg said. “When I questioned him and his men they were . . . respectful. Although he did mention you, at one point, just in passin’,” he said. “It was just ‘heard somethin’ about a feller hereabouts called Dr. Death. Supposed to be pretty good with a gun.’ I told him all our doctors are good with a scalpel.”

  “Well,” Kincaid said, “thanks for the warning. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “You won’t be able to miss them. The three always walk with Santee in the middle. He’s the shorter of the three, but he’s supposed to be whip fast. Oh, and he wears a red sash around his waist for his gun, the way Hickok used to.”

  Sheriff Llegg stood up, but had one more comment before leaving.

  “You know, if you get killed it’s gonna leave us in the lurch for a doctor.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Kincaid said.

  “First time they threaten you, let me know, and I’ll try to do somethin’ about it.”