by R. W. Stone
Emerson knew one thing was for sure. He would not refuse the man’s challenge. He had called him a coward, and nobody could get away with calling any Emerson that.
Come noon, he would be there in the street to teach this fool a lesson.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Donovan galloped into town with the Red draped across his saddle. He practically slid the horse to a stop in front of the first man he came to in town.
“You got a veterinarian here?” he asked frantically.
The man took one look at the dog and nodded. “Sure do. His name’s Robert Ellis.”
“Quick, man, where do I find him? Is it far?”
“Nope, right down the street,” the man replied, gesturing. “Go down there till it curves off to the left. Big two-story white house. Can’t miss it. Doctor Bob lives upstairs and has his office on the first floor.”
“Much obliged,” Donovan said, spurring the exhausted horse onward.
When he arrived at the house, Donovan yelled as he pulled Red from the saddle, hoping someone inside would hear him. An attractive woman stood at the open door as Donovan came up the steps. He turned slightly to make his way through the door. He could feel the warmth of Red’s blood on his hand.
“Is the doctor here?” he yelled, even though the woman was only two feet away. “Please?”
Just then, a tall thin man, perhaps in his early thirties, came out of the room to the left of the entry with some sort of book in his hands. He sported a full-but-closely-trimmed beard. He seemed to be absorbed in thought, but he as soon as he saw Donovan holding Red, he apologized and shifted away from the door, indicating to Donovan that the dog should be taken into the room from which he had just emerged.
“Here, bring your dog inside. I’m Doctor Ellis.”
Shaking from the weight of the dog as well as fear of losing his longtime companion, Donovan hurried through the door.
“Put him on the table to the right, there … easy.” Red whimpered weakly and twitched as the veterinarian proceeded to examine him. Ellis warned Donovan: “Please keep him steady.” He listened to his heart. “What happened?” he asked Donovan, who the vet feared was going into shock.
Lucas poured forth what had happened without taking a breath, as if by talking he could keep Red alive. “The man who did this was gunning for me. My name is Lucas Donovan and I am a corporal with the Canadian North-West Mounted Police. I’ve been trailing that man all the way from Fort Macleod up in Alberta. I was close to cornering him outside of town, but Red passed in front of me just as he fired. Tried a bushwhack.”
“A Mountie, huh? Well, Lucas, was it? … I need you to go and get my nurse. She’s hanging out laundry in the backyard. Her name is Cheri. If we are going to save this big fellow, we need to get that bullet out. Now go.”
Donovan bolted through the door and ran toward the back of the house. When he saw Cheri, he knew it was not the woman who had answered the door. He called out to her.
“I’m here. All right?” Cheri said calmly, as she hurried up onto the porch. “There’s no need to yell. What do you need, sir?”
“I’m sorry for startling you, ma’am, but Doctor Ellis told me to come and get you. My dog’s been shot … gotta get the bullet out … need your help.”
Cheri gave Donovan’s upper arm a light squeeze of assurance. Without saying anything else, she moved around him to get to Dr. Ellis. Donovan followed.
“Shave the hair away from the wound,” the veterinarian said to Cheri as soon as she entered the room. “Start preparing the area. The straight razor’s there.”
Cheri was already clipping away the long hair with scissors before she began shaving. She looked up at the doctor and smiled. “I’ve got it, Doctor.”
Red let out a whine which sent a shiver down Donovan’s body. He leaned over the table to reassure the dog, stroking his head.
As Donovan stood there, he tried to distract himself by studying the room. It was large and clean. He noted that there were mirrors and gas lamps around which seemed to magnify the natural light coming through the front windows.
“Why do all the serious ones always have to have so much hair?” the vet asked impatiently, more to himself than anyone else.
While Cheri began to clean the area around the wound, the doctor mumbled to himself: “I’m going to make an ether cone to fit his head.” He crossed the room, again mumbling to himself—“That’ll work.”—as he picked up a container about the size of a large coffee can. He proceeded to make a small hole in its side. Next, he took a glass funnel out from a drawer and shoved the tip of it into the hole he had made, and then packed the open end of the funnel with cotton strips. He came back to the table.
“You all right, Corporal? Now comes the hard work … getting the bullet out. I’m going to put your dog under … anesthetize him … using this ether. I can get into this fellow’s abdomen by using it.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Lucas asked.
Dr. Ellis nodded. “It can be … and you need to understand that. But we have to get that bullet out, assess the damage … so we don’t have much choice.”
“I guess we don’t,” Donovan agreed, squeezing Red’s chin. “You do much of this sort of thing? I mean in dogs, that is?”
The vet took a deep breath before answering. “Truthfully, there isn’t much call around these parts for dog surgery. Folks don’t spend their hard-earned money on dogs. What we veterinarians do out here in the West is horse, cattle, and swine … ranch and farm animals.”
As the two were talking, Cheri had gathered up the instruments that would be needed for the surgery.
Dr. Ellis looked down at Red, ran his hand through his fur, and then addressed Donovan. “Well, I’ll tell you, Lucas, I had a dog when I was a boy. Loved him dearly. I’m going to work on your dog, here, as if he were mine … that dog I loved.”
Donovan nodded. “I get it, Doc. I will be eternally grateful … regardless of the outcome. And don’t worry about getting paid, I can cover whatever it costs.”
The veterinarian smiled at Cheri, commenting: “A client who can actually pay. How about that? I guess I’ll have to raise my fee.”
Cheri nodded her head. She had been working with Dr. Ellis for two years, mostly keeping things in order and assisting him as well as helping out his wife. Before coming to Bannack, she had worked with her father, who was also a veterinarian.
“Cheri and I are going to need your help, Lucas … a third set of hands,” the vet explained to the corporal. “Think you are up to it? Can you handle some blood without passing out?”
“Sure, anything you need, Doc.”
“Good. Now keep him still while I fit this over his head. He might fidget for a bit,” the veterinarian said, before slipping the contraption he had fashioned over Red’s snout. “Try not to breathe in those fumes, Lucas. Might want to pull your scarf up over your mouth and nose, like Cheri is doing.” She had tied a white kerchief over her lower face before she began letting the ether drip from a small bottle down into the cotton that was stuffed inside the glass funnel.
Dr. Ellis began sprinkling a yellow liquid over the wound.
“What’s that?” Donovan asked.
“Picric acid,” the vet responded. “Some call it trinitrophenol, but the way I make it up it’s called picrimol. It is an astringent that seems to disinfect the body tissues without doing too much damage to them. Seems to help cut down on postoperative infections. I’ve used it before.”
Donovan barely nodded as he watched.
“Now, Corporal, that was your last question till I’m done. I want you to watch the ether drip. Cheri will guide you. She’ll be watching Red’s breathing pattern and his eye and ear reflexes. We don’t want too much ether, nor too little.”
The doctor slipped his spectacles on before he picked up a scalpel. Then he went to work over the big
red malamute. “Making the initial incision,” he said.
Occasionally Donovan glanced at the wall clock, which ticked loudly, making Donovan more aware of the passing of time.
Donovan didn’t relax until he heard the vet say: “I can see the bullet. Get ready, Cheri.”
Dr. Ellis addressed the Mountie some minutes later, without looking up from what he was doing. “Hard to tell how much blood he’s lost, but I don’t think it was that much. The bullet didn’t nick any major organs that I can see, and there doesn’t seem to be contamination. I’ve talked to doctors who have told me that when a bullet is fired, it heats up so much it can cauterize things. And that unless it hits a liver, kidney, or intestine, it doesn’t seem to cause much infection. The danger is leaving the lead in there … it can poison the blood.” He leaned in a little farther, saying: “Keep watching the ether … not too much.”
Once the bullet had been removed, Lucas sensed that both the doctor and Cheri appeared to relax. The dog’s open abdomen was inspected one last time, and towels were used to absorb the blood inside of the opening on the left side of his belly.
Once the doctor started suturing the wound, he smiled, which wasn’t missed by Donovan.
“All right, Corporal, we can stop the drip now and remove that ether cone. Could you please take the cone to that basin over there? I should be finished suturing by the time our patient here awakens. But he’ll be groggy for a while even then.”
A huge wave of relief washed over Donovan, when Dr. Ellis said: “I’ll keep him here for the night, keep him in a cage so he stays immobile, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to pull through. As I said before, I don’t get to work on dogs very often. But it was that dog of mine that made me want to go into veterinary medicine.” Donovan had taken a seat in a chair near the desk. The doctor walked over, wiping his hands on a towel as he stationed himself at the desk chair.
“See that certificate on the wall? I didn’t learn this stuff by merely apprenticing. No, sir! I studied day and night. Still do. We may be out in the sticks up here in Montana and on the edge of nowhere as far as Eastern city folks are concerned, but I am a graduate of the University of Iowa’s College of Veterinary Medicine. There isn’t any better school for this sort of study, except maybe that one you all have up there in Guelph,” he added, with a smile.
“I’ve kept up on the latest procedures and techniques being used in the East on both human and animals. I apply these new methods and ideas whenever I can. I’m as good as it gets around here and I’ve had more practice with small animals than anyone else in the state. We’ve done everything we can for your dog.”
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, Donovan and the doctor were standing over the surgery table, their eyes burrowing into the eyes of Red. The big malamute was breathing more rapidly now and slowly his eyes were beginning to open.
Dr. Ellis patted Donovan’s arm and then walked over to an oak cabinet. He took out several cotton sheets and began tearing them into long strips. “One more favor, please, Corporal. Lift him up by the hindquarters while I lift his front end.” Then he addressed Cheri, instructing her to start wrapping Red’s midsection with the strips of cotton.
She began the wrapping at the back of the dog, working steadily forward until just past the last ribs. Then she applied a sticky substance to the ends of the strips and patted the ends down. “Adhesive,” she explained to the corporal. “Helps keep it bound.”
“But isn’t that a little too tight?” Donovan asked, concerned that the wrapping would interfere with his breathing.
“No,” the veterinarian answered. “Doesn’t go up that high. We need it tight though. I don’t know exactly how it works, but we’ve known for some years now that after an operation like this, wrapping the area this way cuts down on the amount of internal bleeding. Also, there is a theory that the pressure from the bandage sends the blood forward to protect the heart. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I don’t believe it can do any harm.”
The veterinarian bent over Red and lifted his lip slightly. “Nice pink color,” he noted. He pressed down on the exposed gum with his right thumb and then released it quickly. “See how the gum gets white with my thumb’s pressure, but when I release it the pink color quickly returns?”
The corporal nodded.
“Well, if a patient has lost too much blood or if his organs begin shutting down, it takes longer for color to return to the gum. Sometimes, it stays a pale gray or even white.”
“And that’s bad?”
Dr. Ellis nodded. “Very. There are studies about a syndrome they are calling shock. From what I gather from my studies, when the body is severely compromised, the blood goes deep trying to support the heart, the lungs, and the brain. That’s why the skin gets a pale pallor and the body gets cold. You know, cold and clammy?”
“Sure, I’ve seen that,” Donovan replied.
“It’s because in this state of shock, there’s no blood going toward the outside tissues of the body. It all pools inside. But that hasn’t happened here with your dog. We seem to have gotten lucky so far. What’s his name?”
“Red,” Donovan answered.
“Red’s gums are nice and pink and his breathing’s regular.” The doctor took a rag off a hook and washed his hands in the wash basin again.
“So we wait now?” Lucas asked.
“Well, what Cheri and I are going to do is keep him warm and comfortable,” Dr. Ellis assured him. “As for you, Corporal, I suggest that you go back to the hotel, or wherever it is you are staying, clean up, and get some rest. There isn’t anything else you can do right now. We just need to keep an eye on him. He should be kept quiet for a couple of days, should everything proceed as anticipated. If he makes it.”
“If he makes it?” Donovan took a step toward the doctor, his boots making a loud noise on the floor. “I thought everything went well?”
Tossing the dirty wash rag and towel into a laundry basket in the corner, the doctor sighed. “It did, Corporal, as well as could have been expected, but Red isn’t out of the woods quite yet. There’s still the possibility of things like suture breakdown, wound swelling, pain, infection.”
The concern on the Mountie’s now pale face was obvious.
“Look, why don’t you let me worry about Red, and you go get some dinner, some sleep. You can come back early in the morning. I’m up by five.” Dr. Ellis paused before saying what he felt he had to ask: “And there’s the man who did this, isn’t there?”
Donovan nodded, his body tensing up at the mention of Emerson.
“Well, from what you’ve told me, it isn’t going to be easy to catch him. You’ll need to be one hundred percent to meet up with him, I would imagine. Now go. Red’s in good hands.”
Donovan bit his bottom lip as he nodded. “I’m sure of that, Doc. When Red wakes up, give him a pat on the head for me, will you? He doesn’t like to be away from me.”
“You can count on it,” the vet said. “Just one thing more.”
Thinking the vet might be referring to his fee, Donovan reached into his pocket for some of the gold sovereigns. “Oh, sure. I almost forgot. Just how much do I owe you, Doc?”
Dr. Ellis shook his head and put his hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “I’m not referring to that. We’ll settle up later … when Red is ready to go home. What I meant was, after you catch this son of a bitch, let me know. I want to be there when they hang him.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Anyone who’d shoot a good dog like this deserves to swing.”
Donovan took the vet’s hand and thanked him.
“See you tomorrow, bright and early, Corporal,” Dr. Ellis said, stifling a yawn. “Don’t you worry about anything. I’ll stay with Red. Never have left a critical patient alone and I won’t start now.”
Lucas smiled. “Thank you. Anything happens, send word to me at the hotel, would
you please?”
“Certainly, Lucas,” Dr. Ellis told Donovan.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Donovan returned to his hotel room, destined to spend another restless night. To Lucas’ way of thinking, he had once again been bested by this murderous renegade. First, he had lost his twin brother, and now there was a chance he might lose Red. All this loss because of one miserable outlaw named Jack Emerson.
Thinking about it, Lucas was almost physically sick. It wasn’t fear that was twisting up his insides, however. You have to care about things in order to be afraid, but Donovan no longer cared about anything, except to avenge his brother’s death and the shooting of Red. The anger that welled up inside felt like a someone was tearing out his insides.
The small pendulum clock on the wall slowly ticked the hours away, giving the Mountie too much time to think. While there was a possibility that Emerson might choose to run, Donovan somehow knew that wouldn’t be the case. Come noon, they would face each other in the street for one final confrontation.
He had faced danger many times before in his line of work, but he had never faced it feeling so alone, with so many strikes against him. Still, overall, his had been a good life, and outside of the guilt he felt for never having repaid Jamie for saving his life twice, Lucas had no other regrets.
* * * * *
In the morning, Lucas was done wrestling his demons, and resolute in his determination to kill Jack Emerson. He sat up on the bed, missing Red’s enthusiasm for the new day ahead, another adventure. He walked over to the small washstand that was against the wall and poured some water into the basin. He splashed his face and dried it, and then dressed.
The young Mountie then sat down at a small desk and took out a sheet of paper. At the top of the sheet he wrote: “Last Will and Testament of Corporal Lucas Donovan.”
He inventoried his possessions and property. In spite of having seen more than his share of men lose their lives, never before had he even considered his own mortality. He had always felt too young to worry about such things, even since Jamie had been murdered.
