Fergal paused, with his arms aloft.
“Redemption City,” Jed said, taking advantage of the story’s pause. “It’s a mighty fine place.”
With a finger raised, Fergal shook his head. “No, not Redemption City, he’d washed up somewhere finer.”
“There’s no place finer than Redemption City.”
“But there is one place – and only one place – finer than Redemption City, if you can believe that. The young man had found the ancient native tribe’s home. As the cold had filled his body, he was too weak to move a muscle. Death approached fast, but the tribe took him to their medicine man and he made an offering to their god. The medicine man discovered that the young man was of good heart and that he’d saved another person’s life some years ago. So, the medicine man gave the young man a few drops of a mysterious amber liquid. Within seconds, warmth expanded to fill the young man’s body and his senses returned. Now he’d live and return to his people.”
Fergal faced Jed. Without an opportunity to mention Redemption City again, Jed lowered his head.
Fergal smiled. “Before the grateful young man left the tribe, he asked the medicine man about the mysterious amber liquid that he’d used to cure him. The medicine man told him how to make it, and with that knowledge, the young man left the tribe. Lost, he wandered south, but after many adventures, a friend found him and helped him return to the pioneers’ new town. Afterward, he grew into a fine, well-traveled man. Once, he even visited Redemption City.”
Jed smiled. “He was a lucky man.”
With a short gesture, Fergal picked up a bottle of amber liquid from his table and held it up to the light.
“Now, does anyone know that young man’s name?”
The townsfolk swapped frowns. An old man nudged his way to the front of the crowd.
“Was the young man Davy Crockett?” he asked.
“No, he wasn’t,” Fergal said. He held his arms wide apart and puffed his slight chest beneath the green vest. “Have another guess.”
“George Washington?”
“No,” Fergal snapped.
He picked up another bottle of his amber liquid and waggled both bottles before the old man.
The old man frowned. “What about Marshal Devine?”
Fergal frowned. “Who’s he?”
“He’s the finest lawman in the West,” Jed said. “He was born in Redemption City.”
To stop the guessing game from continuing for the rest of the afternoon, Randolph hobbled across the main drag to stand at the back of the crowd.
“I’m guessing that the young man’s name was Fergal O’Brien,” Randolph said.
“Hallelujah to that man,” Fergal said, waving the bottles over his head. “Step forward. Step forward. You are right. Fergal O’Brien was that young man’s name and now he is an older man, who stands before you today. He is a living testament to an ancient native tribe’s secret knowledge, a secret that only I know.”
Randolph hobbled through the parting crowd to stand in front of Fergal’s table.
“Can I say something, sir?”
“As long as it’s not about how fine Redemption City is,” Fergal said, with his voice lowered.
“Well, it is,” Jed said.
Randolph turned his back on Jed. “I reckon you should offer your services as a rival to New Hope Town’s stable.”
“Why?” Fergal said, shaking his head.
To time his response right, Randolph paused. “The stable is the only place that produces as much horse manure as you do.”
Everyone laughed, with Jed chortling the most. Fergal placed his bottles back on the table and raised his arms. He gestured with his palms facing down.
“What this man says is fair enough. Nobody has any reason to trust me. What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Randolph.”
“That’s a fine name, but I couldn’t help noticing that you hobbled here. Perhaps you have an old injury that didn’t heal?”
Randolph patted his leg. “No, it’s a recent injury. I fell off my horse. The knee is mighty tender.”
“I’ll prove to you that I have told the truth.” Fergal leaned to his table and tapped a long finger against a bottle of his amber liquid. “In this bottle is the same secret recipe that the ancient tribe’s medicine man handed down to me. This amber liquid cures anything and everything. It’s a universal remedy. No injury is so bad, no ailment is so painful, no condition is so embarrassing that this amber liquid cannot cure.”
Randolph rubbed his chin and nodded. “How much will it cost?”
Fergal waggled the bottle. The amber liquid sparkled in the sunlight.
“The universal remedy can be yours for just a dollar.”
Randolph held his arms wide apart and shuffled around in a circle, showing the crowd his tattered clothes.
“Do I look like I’ve got a dollar? I’d be in the Lazy Dog Saloon if I had. It’s the finest saloon in Kansas, I hear.”
“Redemption City’s is better,” Jed said.
With a hand to his chin, Fergal shook the bottle of amber liquid.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said with a short cough. “To prove to you how effective the universal remedy is, you can have this bottle without charge. What do you say to that?”
Randolph scratched his chin. “I suppose I can accept that. How long before it works?”
Grinning, Fergal held out the bottle. “There’s only one way to find out.”
With a sigh, Randolph hobbled to the table and took the offered bottle. He pulled the stopper and when he raised it to his mouth, an acrid odor filled his nostrils, clouding his senses. He wiped a hand over his watering eyes and sipped a small mouthful.
As the liquid oozed down his throat, it lined his mouth with a slimy coating. He swallowed only a small amount, but the taste reminded him of meat that had gone rotten, but which he’d needed to eat or go hungry.
“Thank you,” Randolph said and shuffled back to the crowd. “You’re most kind.”
“That’s no good,” Fergal said. “A big fellow like you needs to swallow more than that sip to receive the full benefit of the universal remedy. Upend the bottle.”
Randolph shook his head. “I’m not doing that. It tastes foul.”
“Nothing that’s good for you can ever taste nice. Upend the bottle.” Fergal clapped his hands. With each clap, he shouted, “Upend!”
The townsfolk joined in, echoing Fergal’s cry.
“Upend! Upend!” everyone shouted, the chorus growing with each chant.
With the encouragement ringing in his ears, Randolph upended the bottle. The slimy liquid hit the back of his throat. He resisted the urge to gag as the liquid slipped and slithered down his gullet.
Through his blurring vision, the amber liquid bubbled in the bottle as it slopped into his mouth. He prayed that the contents would disappear as quickly as possible. With the bottle empty, Randolph coughed and retched, his head buzzing.
When his vision focused again, he was on his knees. The townsfolk surrounded him with their mouths open and their eyebrows raised.
“I’m fine,” Randolph squeaked. He coughed, partly clearing a mouth that felt furry. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
Jed held out a hand. With an appreciative nod, Randolph allowed Jed to pull him to his feet. Randolph rocked back and forth, his guts clenching and unclenching. When he was sure that he wouldn’t be immediately ill, he turned to Fergal.
Fergal grinned at him. “So, Randolph, how do you feel now?”
Randolph strode to the table. With a lunge, he grabbed Fergal by the collar and dragged him across the table, the bottles flying around him.
“In my whole life, that was the single worst-tasting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. I ought to punch you from here to Redemption City for making me drink that evil brew.”
“Do it. Do it!” Jed shouted, clapping his hands.
“Before you do, you should look at your leg,” Fergal said with a gasp as Ra
ndolph gripped his collar tighter. “I don’t notice you hobbling anymore.”
Randolph threw Fergal back behind his table and flexed his knee. He hopped on one leg, and then self-consciously danced a short jig.
“I suppose you’re right. The leg does seem mended.”
While straightening his gaudy jacket, Fergal smiled.
“And that’s all for a dollar.”
“What?” Randolph said. “I thought you said my treatment was free!”
“It is,” Fergal said, backing a pace, his hands held before his face. “But I can’t give this universal remedy to everybody without charge. You get the treatment free as I promised, but to everyone else, one dollar.”
A red-haired woman from the back of the crowd raised a hand.
“What else does the universal remedy cure?” she asked.
“The universal remedy cures everything,” Fergal said with a wide grin. “That’s how it got the name.”
“What about a headache?” the red-haired woman asked, leaning forward.
“Yup. It is a universal remedy.”
The red-haired woman nodded. “And backache?”
Fergal sighed. “The universal remedy cures everything.”
The red-haired woman bit her lip, nodding.
“What about a hangover?” someone else said.
“Like I said, the universal remedy cures everything.” Fergal leaned over his table and lowered his voice while facing Jed. “It can even make you forget Redemption City, as if anybody would want to do that.”
“Huh?” Jed said. “Nothing could make me forget Redemption City.”
Fergal waggled a bottle of the universal remedy toward Jed.
“Are you sure? Why not try it? Although it’ll cost you a dollar.”
“I don’t need to. I don’t want to forget Redemption City.”
The red-haired woman strode through the crowd and slammed a few coins on the table.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to forget Redemption City, but I want to forget my headache and my husband wants to forget his bad back. I’ll have a bottle.”
This declaration produced a small stampede. The townsfolk dashed to the table. They waved hands filled with coins and grabbed bottles.
“Does the universal remedy cure blurred vision?” someone asked.
“Certainly,” Fergal said.
“Can it cure a bunion?”
“Yes.”
“What about baldness?”
Taking his opportunity to leave, Randolph strode across the main drag. He went past the bank and into a short alleyway. There, he held his stomach and took a few deep breaths, waiting for the disgusting taste of the universal remedy to filter from his body.
Footfalls sounded behind him and Randolph turned. Jed stood in the entrance to the alleyway.
“Are you all right?” Jed asked with his head on one side. “You look like you’re going to be ill.”
Randolph patted his stomach. “I’ll probably suffer in one way or another after drinking that.”
“You need a stronger stomach.”
“I only need one thing,” Randolph said. He noted the bushes beyond the end of the alleyway. “When we get to the next town, you can be the injured passerby and I’ll be the heckler.”
Jed nodded, scrunching his face with bad memories of the last time he’d consumed the universal remedy. Redemption City had stamped a mark on Jed that nothing could erase.
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll line my stomach. What shall we do while Fergal sells that filth?”
As Randolph pondered, his stomach lurched. He turned to the bushes at the end of the alleyway.
“We’ll discuss that later,” he said.
Chapter Three
“SO, WHAT DO YOU RECKON?” Quinn asked.
Doc Saunders rubbed a hand through his thinning white hair and shook his head.
“I don’t reckon I can do much for your pa,” he said.
In a hotel room in the Lazy Dog Saloon, Morgan was huddled in bed and unresponsive to the doctor’s examination. Three months ago, the snow had receded, and Quinn and his men had left Idaho.
Quinn hadn’t expected Morgan to last the week, but with tenacious spirit he’d hung on throughout their southward journey, relapsing only when they’d arrived in Kansas. Since they’d arrived in New Hope Town, Morgan’s only action was to snore weakly in this bed.
Quinn stood beside the bed. “I don’t want to hear that. You’ll tell me how you’ll fix my pa.”
Doc Saunders rose up from the bed, his knees cracking as he stood.
“No-one wants to hear that, but I can’t fix him. Just keep him warm and comfortable. If you be a praying man, I’d do that. If you’re not, now might be a good time to start.”
“I thank you for your advice.”
Doc Saunders smiled and turned. Without warning, Quinn hit the doctor in the stomach with a short jab. With his breath blasted from him, Doc Saunders folded over Quinn’s fist and slumped to the floor.
Quinn nodded to Vance. Vance nodded back and dragged the doctor to his unsteady feet.
“Perhaps I should ask my question again and you’ll think about your answer more,” Quinn said.
With a short gesture, Doc Saunders shrugged from Vance’s grip and pulled his jacket straight.
“I could think about my answer all day, but it’d be the same. Your pa is a terminally sick man. I can’t do anything for him, except make him comfortable.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
A gunshot reported around the room and Doc Saunders gripped his arm. With his gun drawn, Vance had a wide smile on his face.
“Who gave you the order to shoot this doctor?” Quinn snapped.
“No one,” Vance said.
“I’m the boss and nobody does any shooting, unless I say so.”
Vance lowered his head and muttered to himself. With a smile, Quinn faced the cowering doctor.
“With that matter sorted—”
Quinn went for his gun and in an instant, he held his Colt in his hand, firing a single bullet a moment later. Doc Saunders collapsed to the floor at Quinn’s feet, clutching his chest.
Vance chuckled. “He won’t be doing any fixing now, so what shall we do? The old-timer’s not getting any better.”
While thinking this through, Quinn tapped the toe of his boot against the now-dead doctor.
“This afternoon, I saw an Irish tonic seller selling bottles of a universal remedy. He said it’d cure all ills.”
“Fergal,” Morgan said from the bed.
“Yeah, Fergal. He might cure Morgan.”
“That sort of huckster couldn’t cure a side of beef,” Vance said.
“That’ll be unfortunate for Fergal then, won’t it?” Quinn nodded to the doctor’s body on the floor. “Clear that away before I return. Too many bodies in this room won’t be healthy for Morgan.”
A FEW HOURS AFTER SUNDOWN and safely camped on the outskirts of New Hope Town, Randolph sat with Fergal in their wagon. With his head leaned on one hand, Fergal pushed his small collection of coins around his cabinet.
“New Hope Town sure isn’t profitable,” Fergal said.
Randolph shrugged. “I thought we’d sold most of the universal remedy.”
“Yeah, but we hardly made enough to make the effort worthwhile. After you left, I dropped the price to sell the latest batch.”
Randolph leaned over Fergal’s shoulder and counted the coins.
“We’ve seen worse.”
“True, except I’d prefer our customers to pay with legal tender.” Fergal pushed a small tin disc from the coins. “It’s getting as you can’t trust anyone these days.”
Randolph rubbed his chin. “Where are we heading to next in search of honest folk? Should we return to Redemption City, or go farther east?”
“Perhaps we should head for Redemption City. I hear they have short memories there.” Fergal smiled as Jed threw open the wagon door. “Ah, Jed, right on cue, first thing tomorrow, we’r
e heading west.”
“All right, but are you free now? Someone wants to see you.”
Fergal shooed Jed away. “Then get rid of him. As I’ve told you before, remember the three nos: no replacements, no refunds, no matter what.”
“I remembered, but this man wants to buy something,” Jed said with a frown.
Fergal leaned back in his chair and laid a kerchief over the coins.
“Why didn’t you say so? Show him in.”
Jed stood back and a new man stepped up to fill the doorway. Clad in dirt-streaked buckskin, the man was as tall as Randolph’s considerable height and had hard eyes set within a face that barely had enough skin to cover the prominent bones.
“Are you the tonic seller?” he asked.
Fergal shrugged his jacket. “I’m at your service. I treat any ill, any problem and any malady. Who have I the pleasure of meeting?”
The man stamped into the wagon. With thumbs tucked into his gunbelt, he spread his legs wide apart.
“The name’s Quinn and I want you to examine someone.”
Fergal frowned, but as Randolph had seen nothing to worry him beyond the usual level of concern whenever a customer was close, he nodded.
“I’ll see anyone,” Fergal said. “Show whoever it is in.”
“He’s not fit for traveling no more, so you’ll come with me.”
“I don’t visit. People come to me.”
Quinn rasped a hand over his bristled cheeks. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Fergal clapped his hands. “In that case, I’ll get my things. Give me a few minutes and my assistant and I will be with you.”
“That would be most kind,” Quinn said, his voice catching as if he didn’t enjoy being polite.
The Legend of Shamus McGinty's Gold Page 2
