Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine

by Robert J. Randisi

  “I wasn’t sure you’d go along,” Llegg said.

  “I think we’re friends now, Jack, aren’t we?” Kincaid asked.

  “I think we are, yeah,” the lawman said.

  “So next time just tell me, all right?”

  “Agreed,” the lawman said. “You wanna get another drink?”

  “No,” Kincaid said. “I’m headin’ home.”

  Kincaid watched the lawman walk off, a bit unsteady after the whiskeys and a few beers before and with supper.

  He walked to his place, stepped up onto the boardwalk, and stopped. His memory took him back to the nights he’d sit on the porch of Doc Edwin’s house with the old sawbones, sipping whiskey. He missed him.

  He went upstairs.

  * * *

  * * *

  He woke in the morning and prepared himself to go to the office to see patients. In his early days in Hays City he’d dress quickly, grab his medical bag, and dash out. These days he groomed himself, dressed in a dark suit, tucked his gun into his belt, and only then did he grab his bag and leave.

  He received curious reactions from different people during his walk. Some nodded a silent hello to him, others voiced their greetings, but still others crossed the street when they saw him coming. The only people who didn’t treat him differently these days were Kate, down in the Sunflower, and Nora Legend. They insisted that he was the same man beneath the suit and tie of a gambler, and the gun.

  Patients came to him willingly and reluctantly. Willingly because he was not only a good doctor but the only one, and reluctantly because they never knew when somebody was going to try to shoot him.

  He had a small, quick breakfast in a café this morning, and then went directly to the office. He found a man standing at the door, holding his jaw.

  “Come inside,” he said. When they were in the office he asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “I think it’s a tooth, Doc,” the man said. “Can ya yank it out?”

  “You need a dentist, not a doctor, I’m afraid,” Kincaid said.

  “But folks say you’re kinda like Doc Holliday,” the man explained. “I thought you could take care of it.”

  “You thought wrong,” Kincaid said. “Truth is, I’m nothing like Doc Holliday. There’s a dentist in town. I suggest you go to him.”

  “Is he any good?”

  “Whether he’s good or not is irrelevant,” Kincaid said. “You need a dentist, and he’s the only one we’ve got. Now, I have to ask you to leave.”

  The man left without another word, looking worried and disappointed.

  According to legend, Doc Holliday drank, played poker, and killed men. And he had a deadly disease that killed him a little more each day.

  Gabriel Kincaid considered himself to be nothing like the man. He drank sparingly, played poker occasionally, and he had only killed when forced to.

  And as far as diseases went, he was the picture of good health. But every time somebody mentioned a resemblance, or similarity, he felt anger bubbling up inside of him like it was a disease.

  He hoped when the dentist yanked out the man’s tooth, it hurt like hell!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  With no other patients in the morning, Kincaid decided to spend the afternoon playing some poker. No matter how few customers he found in the Silver Dollar Saloon, he was usually able to get up a game. His typical opponents were townsmen, ranch hands, and riders passing through. In the evenings he was sometimes able to find a game with talented players, or even professional gamblers. He considered himself to be one of the former, while most folks in town thought he was the latter.

  Today he found the owners of the hardware store and the leather goods store seated at a table, playing two-handed.

  “Finally,” Abe Collins said, “another player. Two-handed is kinda like kissin’ your sister.”

  “Jesus,” Dave Parr said, “have you seen my sister?”

  Both men started to laugh. They were each in their forties, about ten years older than Kincaid.

  “I’ll just keep you gents company for a while,” Kincaid said, as he sat. “Until I get called away.” He put his black bag down at his feet.

  “You know,” Parr said, shuffling the cards, “somebody who plays as good as you do, why bother with the doctorin’?”

  “If I don’t do it, who will?” Kincaid asked.

  “He’s got a point, Dave,” Collins said. “He’s got a point.”

  “Draw poker?” Parr asked.

  * * *

  * * *

  Kincaid played small stakes, three-handed poker for about two hours before somebody came into the still-empty saloon and looked around.

  “Doc! Hey, Doc!” he called, running to the table. “We needja.”

  Kincaid looked up at him.

  “Where?”

  “In Craddock,” the man said. “They sent me to fetch you.”

  “Couldn’t you bring whoever’s hurt or sick here?”

  “They can’t move ’em,” the man said. “They claim it ain’t a good idea.”

  Kincaid looked down at the aces he was holding in his hand, then took a deep breath and dropped the cards on the table, facedown.

  “Deal me out, boys,” he said. “Duty calls.”

  He grabbed his money from the table—they weren’t playing with chips—and picked up his black bag and stood.

  “Show me,” he said.

  * * *

  * * *

  They had to go to the livery and saddle Kincaid’s horse, and then he followed the man out of town, heading for Craddock. The man rode ahead of Kincaid, full tilt, so that they could not talk. Whatever was happening in Craddock was serious business.

  When they rode into town there were people on the street, waiting. The man reined in his horse in front of the Craddock Hotel. Kincaid did the same and dismounted.

  “What are they all waiting for?” he asked, indicating the people on the street.

  “You, Doc,” the man said. “In here.”

  He led Kincaid across the small lobby and down a back hallway. The hotel rooms were all on one floor. The desk clerk watched them go by with wide eyes.

  “In there,” the man said, pointing to a door.

  “Are you coming in?” Kincaid asked.

  “I was told not to.”

  “All right.” He knocked on the door, then reached for the doorknob and turned it. Inside he found a woman sitting on a bed. In the bed was a child, a girl of about five or six.

  “Are you the doctor?” the woman asked, standing.

  “Yes, Dr. Kincaid. The man who came to get me—”

  “That was my brother, Eddie.”

  “Yeah, well, Eddie said he wasn’t supposed to come in.”

  “Nobody is,” she said.

  “You’re here.”

  “She’s my daughter,” the woman said. She was in her late thirties, but fading fast. The dress she had on was frayed, and her brown hair was streaked with early gray and pulled back into a bun.

  “She’s sick, Doc,” she said. “She’s real sick.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  She moved away to give him room. The other side of the bed was against the wall.

  “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “Lily.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. The girl was slick with sweat, and as she stared up at him her eyes were glassy.

  “Lily? I’m Dr. Kincaid.”

  She nodded, seemingly unable to speak. There was a glass of water on a table nearby. He held it so she could drink. Then he examined her. She had a temperature of a hundred and three, and her breathing was raspy.

  “Is your brother still in the hall?” he asked the mother.

  “He better be,” she said.

  �
��Tell him to bring some cold water and rags,” Kincaid said. “We have to get this fever down.”

  “I’ll tell ’im.”

  She went to the door, opened it, and spoke to her brother. While they waited for the water he asked the mother how long the girl had been sick.

  “A few days, but this morning she collapsed, so I brought her to town.”

  “Was anyone treating her?” Kincaid asked.

  “We have a woman who acts as a nurse,” the mother said. “But I knew we needed a doctor.”

  There was a knock at the door. The woman took the basin of water and rags from her brother, brought them to the bed. Kincaid immediately began to apply the cold, wet cloths to the girl’s forehead, neck, and chest.

  “What is it, Doctor?” the woman asked. “Will she be all right?”

  “I can’t be sure yet, ma’am,” he said. “I can’t be sure about anything, yet.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Are there others?”

  “You should have my brother take you to the church,” was all she said.

  “The church?”

  She nodded.

  He put his hand to the girl’s forehead. She wasn’t as hot as before. He cleaned the perspiration from her face and neck, then stood up.

  “Keep bathing her with cold water until I get back,” he said.

  “When will that be?”

  “Very shortly,” he said. “I’m going to do what you suggested.”

  He went to the door and stuck his head out into the hall. Eddie turned and looked at him.

  “How is she?” Eddie asked. “How’s my niece?”

  “We’re cooling her down,” Kincaid said. “But your sister says I should have you take me to the church.”

  “I can do that,” Eddie said, “but I ain’t goin’ in.”

  “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  * * *

  It was obvious that Eddie was not the only citizen of Craddock who wasn’t going into the church. There was a crowd of people outside, and some of them had torches, although they weren’t yet lit.

  “Who’s that?” somebody yelled. “Where’s he goin’?”

  “That’s the doctor,” Eddie called out. “He’s goin’ in.”

  Kincaid already knew what he’d find when he went in, but it was still something of a shock. All of the wooden pews had been turned into beds, and they were occupied.

  “Omigod,” a woman said, coming over to him. “Dr. Kincaid?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We’re so glad Eddie got you here.” She had a kerchief over the lower part of her face, and one on her head. Strands of gray hair were sticking out. He assumed she was middle-aged.

  “My name is Grace Manners.”

  “Are you a nurse, Grace?”

  “No, sir,” she said, “but somebody had to step up and do something.”

  Kincaid looked around the church. There were two other women, their faces similarly covered, tending to the sick.

  “How many do we have, Grace?”

  “Yesterday we had eleven,” she said. “Today we have twenty-three.”

  That wasn’t good. Whatever it was, it was spreading fast.

  “I saw some men out front with torches,” he said. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  “Yes,” she said, “they want to burn the church with these people in it.”

  “Grace,” Kincaid said, “has anyone died yet?”

  “No,” she said, “not yet.”

  He saw one of the women carrying a bucket of water.

  “Where are you getting the water?” he asked.

  “There are some good men in town who are leaving the buckets at the back door of the church.”

  “Well, let’s see if there’s some way they can make that water cold. We have to get these fevers down. One of the saloons might be able to supply ice.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell ’em.”

  “Let me talk to those idiots out front, and then I’ll start looking at these people.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  He took his bag with him to the door and stepped out.

  “That’s far enough, Doc!” somebody yelled. “Don’t come no closer.” The man speaking held a torch.

  “What do you idiots mean to do with those torches?” Kincaid asked.

  “We just wanna be ready,” the man said, “in case we gotta burn the church.”

  “With these people inside?” he asked. “Is that the plan?”

  “If we have to.”

  “And what’s the town sheriff think of all this?” Kincaid asked.

  “Why don’t you ask ’im,” another man called. “He’s in the church.”

  “Look,” Kincaid said, “I’m going to examine all these people and treat them. You can help by putting some buckets of cold water by the back door, instead of waving torches around and making threats.”

  “We ain’t goin’ nowheres near that church,” somebody shouted.

  “Then why are you standing this close?” Kincaid asked. “You know, you don’t have to go inside to catch this fever. It could be right here in the air.”

  Suddenly, en masse, the people took several steps back, which made Kincaid smile.

  “I’ve got a medical bag and a gun,” he called out. “I’ll be using my bag inside, to help these people, but at the first sign of a lighted torch, I’ll be using my gun out here. Do you understand?”

  There was some muttering, and nodding.

  Then he heard somebody say, as he turned to go back in, “Ain’t that Dr. Death?”

  “It sure is,” another said.

  “Looks like he’s gonna hear that name today.”

  Kincaid quelled the urge to turn and start firing over the heads of the crowd, just to scare them. But he had more important people to tend to inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The people outside think it’s smallpox,” Grace told him, as they went from patient to patient. All had high fevers, some were vomiting. “Or cholera.”

  “It’s not cholera, but it could be smallpox,” Kincaid said. “It’s too early to tell.”

  “How do we tell?” Grace asked.

  “Who were the earliest cases?” Kincaid asked.

  “In the front, near the altar,” Grace said. “I separated the first six people to complain of the aches, who then got high fevers and began vomiting.”

  “All right,” Kincaid said. “We have to watch them. If no rash forms, then it’s not smallpox.”

  “And if it is?”

  “There’s a vaccine,” Kincaid said. “We’ll have to get it fast, though.”

  “From where?”

  “Hopefully,” he said, “the apothecary in Hays City has it. If not, she can send for it.”

  “That’ll take a while,” Grace said.

  “Grace,” he said, “if it’s smallpox, then some of these people will die. A vaccine needs to be administered three to seven days after the symptoms appear.”

  “It’s been almost that long for the first six,” she said.

  “That’s why we’re going to watch them closely, keep them hydrated, clean, and as cool as possible. Meanwhile . . . Do you know a man named Eddie?”

  “Yes, his niece is over at the hotel with her mother,” Grace said.

  “We’ll send him to Hays City to see Nora Legend in the apothecary. Hopefully, he’ll return with some of the vaccine.”

  “And the vaccine will cure these people?”

  “Some of them,” Kincaid said. “Some will die, anyway.”

  “If someone dies, we can’t let them know about it out there, or they’ll burn the church.”

  “How do we get word to him?”

  “One of the men who brings water to the back door,” Grace
said. “I’ll catch him and send him to Eddie.”

  “Good. Tell him to tell Eddie to go to the apothecary and let Nora know what’s happening.”

  “Apot—apotha—What is it?”

  “A shop,” Kincaid said, “that sells medical supplies and drugs. If he can’t find it tell him to go to the sheriff. In fact, tell him to go to the sheriff anyway, and tell him what’s going on. Tell him we have a mob here and need help.”

  “Right.”

  She started away but he stopped her.

  “Where’s the sheriff in here?”

  “In front of the altar,” she answered. “He was one of the first six.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Sheriff Walt Berryman.”

  Kincaid nodded and walked toward the altar. He examined five of the people there, then moved on to the lawman.

  “Sheriff Berryman?”

  The man opened his glassy eyes and stared up at Kincaid.

  “I’m Dr. Kincaid,” he said.

  “Do I have it?” Berryman asked. “Smallpox?”

  “That’s not a word we want to spread unless we’re sure,” Kincaid said. “I’m going to examine you.”

  He gave the sheriff a going-over, found his temperature to be a 103. Grace brought over a bucket of water and when Kincaid stuck his hand in, he found it cold.

  “This should help,” he said, putting a cold cloth on Berryman’s head, then using another to clean the sweat off his arms.

  “Am I gonna die?”

  Kincaid studied the man. He was in his thirties, seemed a little young for the job he had.

  “Not just yet,” Kincaid said. “Of course, if those men outside with the torches burn the church . . .”

  “Those morons,” Berryman said. “I told them to go home before I ended up in here.”

  “Do you have any deputies?”

  “No,” Berryman said. “We’re a small town. There’s no money for deputies.”

  “No volunteers?”

  “When I need a posse some of the townspeople step up, but they happen to be the ones out there in that mob right now.”