by Leon Loy
“I told you already, Sallie,” he said, taking her by the hand, “when my eyesight cleared up, I was going to assist in the search. Caleb entrusted his wife to my care, and I failed him and her. I must do everything within my power to find Sparrow.”
“Thomas, it was not your fault. You insisted she not go out alone, but she would not listen to you.”
“She wasn’t alone. I was right there when they took her, but I could do nothing to prevent it.” He massaged his temple, and let out a deep sigh.
“Won’t you wait until Caleb returns?” Sallie pleaded.
“That may take another week. He’s two hundred miles away.”
Sallie sat back in her chair and studied him. Thomas McCarty was a good man. And a stubborn man. She knew there was little she could say, or do, to make him change his mind.
“You won’t go alone?” she asked.
“No, I will not go alone,” he said. He didn’t tell her that he was planning to solicit the help of the Earp brothers, and maybe even John Henry Holliday. She would not approve his associating with such a depraved character as Holliday. It was no secret that he was more gambler than dentist, and it was rumored he had murdered a man in Texas. But Thomas McCarty knew two things about Holliday. Like Wyatt and Morgan Earp, he was fearless, and he disliked Buck Hester as much as did the doctor himself.
A knock on the door interrupted them. “It’s late in the evening for visitors,” Sallie said, looking at her husband, her voice laced with misgiving. Dr. McCarty took the lantern and went to the door and opened it, expecting a neighbor, or concerned citizen of the town. He didn’t recognize the man standing there.
“Can I help you?” the doctor asked.
“Are you Dr. McCarty?”
“I am.”
Harold held out Buck’s ransom note. “Here, read this,” he said.
Dr. McCarty took the paper and held it near the lantern. “This is a receipt for goods, from Zimmerman’s.”
“On the back,” said Harold simply. “Read what’s wrote on it.”
Dr. McCarty could barely make out the penciled message by the light of the lantern. It didn’t help that his vision was still slightly impaired. He stumbled through the misspelled words silently, and then re-read it. “If this is a joke, Sir, it is not in the least bit humorous,” he said.
“It is not meant to be humorous,” said Harold. “Is that Ind’n girl’s life worth two thousand dollars to you?”
The doctor could hardly believe what he had read, and what he was hearing. “You have Sparrow?”
“We do. And if I don’t return with two thousand dollars in a few days, she will be dead, like the note says.”
“Why should I believe you? Maybe she is dead already.”
“She ain’t dead yet. Far from it. I can show you the bruises on my side and arm to prove it. Do you have that much money?”
“Well, no. I mean not here in the house. I’ll have to…it will take some time.”
“You got one day, till sundown tomorrow, to get it. And don’t think about tipping off one of them law dogs. I’ll be back here tomorrow, and if I see sign that you have told anyone about this, I’ll leave, and you’ll never see that Ind’n girl again. And if anything happens to me, Buck will kill her. You understand?”
Dr. McCarty nodded. He could hear Sallie stirring behind him. He was sure she had heard.
“Sundown tomorrow, Doctor. Not a minute longer,” Harold said, and turned to disappear in the dark.
The doctor closed the door, and faced his wife. “You heard?” he said.
“Yes. Thomas, what will you do?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. McCarty replied. “I have to think.”
She took him by the arm, and led him back to the parlor. He showed her the note on the receipt paper.
“Poor Sparrow,” she said. “We must tell the marshal about this.”
He looked at her, realizing that she, too, was agonizing over Sparrow’s abduction. He forced a smile, and stroked her cheek. “No. I will get the money. We have more than a thousand put away, and I can borrow the rest.”
“Do you trust those men, Thomas? What if they do not release her?”
The doctor did not want to think about that possibility. He rose and looked for his hat. “I’m going to the office to see how much I will need to borrow in the morning. Please do not wait up.” He left quickly, before she could argue.
Though it was past ten o’clock at night, both sides of Front Street were alive with activity. Music from inside the dance halls across the tracks floated in the air, as did the aroma of cigar smoke and whiskey. The doctor hurried along the boardwalk on the north side of the street, checking each saloon, looking for Wyatt or Morgan.
He found John Henry Holliday seated at a table in the Long Branch saloon, Kate beside him. Holliday’s on and off relationship with the beautiful and temperamental prostitute, was widely known. She shared his room at the Dodge House, when they weren’t at war with each other. And when they were, she was known to stay at a parlor house on Bridge Street.
The couple had just arrived at the saloon and was on their first round of what would be many drinks throughout the evening, and into the morning hours. A bottle of Hermitage Kentucky Whiskey had just been delivered to their table. Ever the southern gentleman, Holliday stood as Dr. McCarty approached their table.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Holliday said.
“Good evening,” said Dr. McCarty, and taking off his hat, he added with a nod, “Miss Kate.”
“How are you?” Kate said. “We heard of your injury.”
“I have recovered sufficiently; thank you,” he said. “Dr. Holliday, I was looking for Wyatt or Morgan Earp. Maybe you have seen them?”
“They left this afternoon on the train to Wichita. Marshal Deger sent them to retrieve a horse thief. Join us for a drink?” Holliday said, pulling out the chair next to him for the doctor.
Dr. McCarty sat down. “Yes, I believe I could use one.”
“Do you have news on the search for Mrs. Thomason?” Kate asked. “Soldiers were in here yesterday, saying their searches have turned up nothing.”
“No news,” Dr. McCarty said. He did not wish to speak of Sparrow’s captors in front of Kate. Holliday picked up on his reticence.
“Kate, darling, why don’t you run back to our room,” he said. “I seem to have left something there.”
“What?” she asked.
Holliday fixed his blue eyes on her. “You’ll know when you get there. Take your time.” She made a little frown, but knew better than to get into it with Doc while he was sober. As she departed in a flurry of skirts, Doc turned to the doctor and said, “You have something more to say about Mrs. Thomason?”
A glass was set before the doctor, and Holliday reached across the table and poured whiskey into it from the bottle.
“Her abductors contacted me,” Dr. McCarty said. “Just this evening.”
Holliday poured himself a drink and tossed it down. “That ingenerate, Buck Hester?”
“Not him, his brother, I think. He came to my door. They want a ransom in exchange for releasing her.” He glanced around the room to see if the brother might have followed him.
“Is he here?” Doc asked, following the doctor’s eyes. Dr. McCarty shook his head. Holliday stared at him, his blue eyes growing cold. “They will not release her, Doctor.”
Dr. McCarty took a drink from his glass. He felt the alcohol slowly stimulate every membrane in his face. He studied the man seated across from him, as though he were looking at himself in a mirror.
“They will not release her, Doctor,” Holliday repeated. “If she is not found immediately, they will kill her. May have already.”
Dr. McCarty took another drink from his glass. “I fear as much,” he said.
“How much are they asking?” Holli
day said.
“Two thousand dollars.”
“Do you have two thousand dollars?”
“Most of it. I can borrow the rest.”
“When are they asking for it?”
“Tomorrow night. At my house.” Dr. McCarty said. “If he sees anyone else, or suspects I have contacted anyone else, he said he will leave, and they will kill her. And, if he is detained, they will kill her.”
Holliday tossed down another drink. “Dr. McCarty, if you give them the money, they will kill her anyway.”
“Then what should I do?”
Holliday leaned in, and in a low voice said, “Track the sons-of-bitches down, and kill every one of them.” He sat back in his chair, noting the anxious look on the doctor’s face. “Why did you come here, Doctor. To me?”
“You have shown compassion for the Thomasons before,” Dr. McCarty said. He took another gulp of his whiskey. Despite the effects of the alcohol, his sense of desperation had not subsided. “Can you help me?”
Holliday looked away. His eyes followed the ornately carved bar which ran down the length of one wall. Several men were standing with their elbows on the bar top, drinking and laughing with the bartender. The painting on the wall behind the bar of a semi-nude, reclining woman, was by a much more accomplished artist than others he had seen. The Long Branch was a more refined place than the Lady Gay across the tracks, where he had spent his evenings the past couple of months.
He looked out the open doorway, at the flickering lights from across the tracks. It had been eight months since he had set up his dentistry practice in Dodge City, and it had not proved lucrative. Gambling provided most of his income and thus occupied most of his time. Already, he was growing bored. An adventure might be just the thing to take his mind off his declining health too. Besides, he did admire Caleb Thomason. He found the man’s devotion to his wife commendable, inspirational even. The truth was, he had a special fondness for her himself. It was his weakness, caring for outcast women. Like Kate. As for Buck Hester, he would love to get the chance to put another bullet into him; this time in his heart, or brain.
The familiar tickle began to rise in his lungs, and he coughed briefly into his handkerchief. Dr. McCarty took notice. There was no cure for consumption, but there were things that could ease the symptoms.
“When is the last time you took in fresh air, Holliday?”
Holliday smiled. “Too long, Dr. McCarty. It is fine weather, and I do fancy an adventure. Do you have a plan?”
“Not entirely. We could devise the details together. But we must act swiftly.”
“Alright, Doctor,” Holliday said. “I’m in. Let’s get those blood-sucking Texas ticks.”
The next evening, an hour after dark, Harold Hester knocked on the McCartys’ door. He had watched the residence all day, concealed in a small tent rented from Rath’s store, which he pitched near a construction site on the hillside behind Spruce Street. He watched the doctor leave in the morning, to return four hours later, alone, carrying what appeared to be a medical bag. He waited until afternoon traffic in the residential area had lessened, then walked his horses down the hill, tying them to a sapling not far from the doctor’s house.
The doctor opened the door, the bag in his hand.
Harold pushed the muzzle of a Colt revolver into the doctor’s belly, and stepped inside. “Is that the money?” he asked.
Dr. McCarty held it out to him.
“Count it,” Harold said.
The doctor set the bag on the floor, knelt beside it, and brought out a stack of bills. He began counting out loud. Harold knelt beside him and picked up a handful of bills to look them over.
Floor boards upstairs squeaked.
“Who is up there?” he enquired.
“My wife and child.”
“Call them down,” Harold said. When Dr. McCarty hesitated, he said, “Call them down where I can see them.”
“Sallie,” the doctor called. “Bring Claude and come down here, please.”
A moment later, Sallie descended the stairs, holding little Claude’s hand. “Don’t be afraid, Claudie,” she said. “It is only one of Father’s patients.”
She saw the abductor and her husband kneeling just inside the door, a stack of money on the floor. She also noticed the gun in the man’s hand.
“Stay where I can see you,” Harold said to her. To the doctor, he said, “Keep counting.”
Once the money was counted and returned to the bag, Harold took it, and pointed with his gun to the back of the foyer. “Over there, doctor,” he said.
As the doctor moved back, Harold dropped the bag, and reached out and took Sallie by the wrist, and pulled her toward him. Dr. McCarty started forward, but Harold pointed the gun in his face and said, “Stand back. And take the kid.”
Sallie stifled a cry as Dr. McCarty took Claude, who wrapped his arms around his father’s leg.
“You have the money,” he said. “No one knows about it. I did everything just like you said. Let my wife go.”
“Well, I ain’t a trusting soul, Doctor,” Harold said. “She goes with me.”
“That wasn’t part of our deal. Take me instead.”
“New deal. If no one follows me, I’ll let her loose outside of town. Carry the bag,” he said to her.
She picked it up, and looked first at her son, and then her husband. Dr. McCarty noted the terror in her eyes as Harold shoved her through the door into the dark. Pulling her by the arm, he hurried to the horses. “You can ride, can’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Climb up on this one,” he said, “There ain’t no saddle. You can hold onto its reins. I have a lead rope.” He holstered his revolver and helped her onto the back of the horse, taking the bag. “Hang on tight and don’t make any noise. You won’t have to be there long, if no one follows.”
She pressed her thighs into the horse’s side, and held on as they rode away from the town center, west, and then south. They avoided the bridge, reaching the river upstream, and swam the horses across.
Once on the prairie, he quickened the pace until they reached a slight rise of ground. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but felt the rise through the horse’s shoulders.
Harold turned them around, stopped, and took the reins from her hand. The lights of town spread out in front of them.
“We’ll wait here a spell, and see if your husband is a truthful man,” he said.
“Will you be truthful?” she asked him. She was so afraid her words came out haltingly, her voice tiny, and brittle. “Is Sparrow alive?”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” Harold replied. “She was when I left. I don’t expect Buck wants to kill her. Not yet. Hush now, and let me listen.”
After what seemed like an hour, he finally broke the silence. “Lucky for you, your husband appears to be a man of his word. Ain’t nobody coming. Get down.”
She slid off the horse.
“You can go back,” he said. “And tell that good doctor to stay put. I’ll know, if he don’t.”
“When will you let Sparrow free?” she asked.
“When I get back safe.”
“How will we find her?”
“That ain’t for you to know. Go on, and git, before I change my mind and take you too.”
She set out running toward the town’s lights. Behind her, she heard the hooves of the horses thudding on the hard ground, as Harold left. She turned to look. He was going south.
When she reached her house an hour later, breathless and footsore, John Henry Holliday, the dentist gambler, was sitting on his horse outside, holding the reins to her husband’s bay. Without saying a word, she rushed past him and into the house.
Dr. McCarty was in the parlor with Mrs. Ollander, a neighbor, and Claude. She ran to her husband, who embraced her tightly, and then she took C
laude into her arms. The great relief of being home safe after such a frightening couple of hours had overwhelmed her, and she began to cry.
“Are you hurt?” the doctor asked, giving her a good looking-over. She shook her head, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks.
“I was going to leave Claude with Mrs. Ollander and come after you,” he added.
Sallie recovered enough to ask, “Thomas, what is that man, the gambler, doing outside our house?”
“He is going after Buck Hester, to bring Sparrow back. And I am going with him.” She started to say something, but he cut her off. “It is no use to argue with me, Sallie. Dr. Holliday will be an asset in tracking Buck Hester and his gang. Please understand. I have to do this.”
She surprised him when she did not object, or argue. Instead, she said, “Sparrow is alive, Thomas. That is what he said, that man. I believe he was being truthful. If you must go; find her.”
He smiled, and kissed her cheek.
“From where he left me, he was headed south,” she added.
“I must leave now, if we are to find them,” Dr. McCarty said, letting go of her hand.
“Thomas, be careful,” she said. “These are unscrupulous men.”
Outside, Dr. McCarty secured his pack on the bay and climbed into the saddle.
“Sallie says he is heading south,” he told Holliday.
“The Cimarron breaks,” Doc said. “That’s where they will be. Over in No Man’s Land.”
No Man’s Land
1878
14
For two days and nights, Caleb followed the course of the Cimarron upstream, as it snaked its way through the plains from the northwest. On the third morning, weary to the point of numbness, he found a grassy knoll overlooking the river, shaded by a little grove of cottonwoods. He tied the sorrel to a tree and collapsed on the ground.
Scarcely an hour later, he woke up by the persistent neighing of the horse. Still feeling the effects of fatigue, he staggered to his feet to comfort the sorrel. His eyes swept over the prairie, which extended out from the river in all directions. Seeing nothing but a couple of crows circling high in the sky, he focused his gaze on the river itself.
