Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  The Scotsman laughed heartily. "I dinna know about tha’. 'Twill still be Kansas, not paradise. But 'twill make a good farm, right enough."

  "That's all we ask," Ira said.

  Violet had prepared the meal and eaten with them, but she had said nothing. Now she looked up from her battered tin plate and said wistfully, "I still miss Georgia."

  "I know you do," Ira replied softly. "And I do, too. But this is our home now, and we have to make the best of it."

  "Going to be hard, the way the folks in Abilene feel about us," Tom said. "They don't want nothing to do with us."

  "They don't want anything, Tom, not nothing." Ira nodded toward Angus. "What about Mr. MacQuarrie here? Nobody made him come out here to help us. He did it because he wants us to feel welcome."

  "And so ye'll come into me place from time t'time for a drink," Angus added with a broad grin.

  Ira smiled. "I'm afraid I don't hold much with drinking, but there are plenty of men in our group who like a little nip now and then. I'm sure they'll patronize your tavern, Angus."

  "Best whiskey in Kansas," Angus boasted. "Twill make yer friends forget their Georgia corn liquor."

  That brought a laugh from Ira and smiles from Tom and Violet. "I doubt that, Angus," Ira said. "I seriously doubt that."

  They went straight to work after the meal, and by midafternoon the sod dugout was complete. Now Ira and Tom could finish unloading their belongings from the wagon.

  Angus slapped the solid wall of the soddy. "'Twill be cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and if ye be lucky, 'twon’t rain too much in between. These soddies have a tendency t'leak a mite."

  "I'm sure it'll be fine," Ira said with a warm smile. He extended his hand to Angus. "You have our thanks, Mr. MacQuarrie."

  "And ye be mighty welcome," Angus replied, shaking Ira's hand. "Now, if ye'll show me the way to the next cabin, I'll see if I kin give the folks a hand wi' it."

  "I'll do better than that. I'll take you and introduce you around to our people. I'm sure they'll appreciate a visit from a friendly face."

  Angus and Ira both took drinks of cool creek water from the bucket Violet had filled at a nearby stream. Then they mounted up and rode out, leaving Tom and Violet to complete the unpacking. Angus's back and shoulders ached as he rode, but it was a good feeling.

  He had helped these people, and maybe today would mark the beginning of their acceptance in the community.

  Lucas Flint was surprised that the last three days had passed so uneventfully. No more trouble had erupted between the townspeople and the settlers from Georgia, but upon reflection, Flint realized that the settlers had stayed pretty close to Copeland's ranch, thereby eliminating the possibility of a conflict.

  He had planned to go out to the spread early that morning, because he hadn’t visited the settlers since the day they had arrived, but by the time he had sorted out other matters that distracted him, it was afternoon.

  As he walked his horse down Texas Street toward the western edge of town, he spotted Rose Keller climbing into her buggy, which was parked at the boardwalk in front of her office.

  Flint reined in and lifted a hand to the brim of his hat. "Afternoon, Rose," he said. "Going out on a call?" He noticed that she was carrying her black medical bag.

  "Not exactly," the doctor replied. She settled herself on the buggy's seat and smiled at him. "I thought I'd take a drive out to Mr. Copeland's ranch and check on those folks from Georgia. I know Mr. Powell said that they didn't need any medical attention, but he was in a hurry to get the wagon train through town at the time."

  "You think maybe some of them are sick?"

  Rose shook her head. "Oh, I doubt there's anything serious, but I'd especially like to take a look at the children. So many things can go wrong during a long trip like the one they made, being exposed to the elements so much."

  "Well, I don't know how welcome they'll make you feel. Just remember that those folks can be standoffish. I'm on my way out there now, and I'd be glad to ride with you."

  Rose smiled and said, "Yes, I'd enjoy having your company, Lucas."

  She took up the reins and expertly steered the buggy away from the boardwalk and down Texas Street. Flint walked his mount alongside the buggy, trying not to grin too broadly as Rose chatted brightly with him.

  Flint enjoyed the doctor's company, and he knew she liked being with him, too. She certainly looked lovely in the clear afternoon sunshine. Dressed in a simple, dark blue suit, a hat of the same shade was perched on her deep brown, upswept hair. From the first time he had met her, Flint had been impressed with Rose Keller's beauty. As he had gotten to know her better, he had also come to admire her intelligence, courage, and determination. Rose was special, and Flint had told himself more than once that Abilene was lucky to have her practicing there.

  "Has there been any more trouble between the townspeople and the settlers?" Rose asked as they rode toward Copeland's D Slash C. "I haven't heard anything, but you'd know more about that sort of thing."

  "Everything's been quiet," Flint told her with a shake of his head. "I've been telling myself just to hope that it stays that way, but I'm not convinced it will. The feelings run too deep to go away quickly. As long as those Southerners stay out of town as much as possible, maybe we can keep things under control."

  Flint and Rose went first to Copeland's ranch house. The former cattleman stalked onto his porch and greeted them curtly, clearly annoyed by the intrusion. "Saw that fella MacQuarrie out here earlier today," Copeland went on. "I figured you sent him, Marshal."

  "I'm looking for him myself," Flint said. "Do you know where he went?"

  "He left here with Ira Powell." Copeland jerked a thumb toward the northwest. "You might try the section that Powell is going to farm. It's about a mile and a half that way."

  "Much obliged. Is it all right with you if Dr. Keller pays a visit to some of the settler families?"

  "That's none of my business," Copeland snapped. "Just remember, Flint, I ain't responsible for anything that happens while you're here. If you run into trouble, it's your own business."

  Flint frowned. "Have there been any problems?"

  Copeland shook his head. "Nope, but I reckon Day and the others have all heard about what I'm doing with these sodbusters. I had to let all of my hands go, so I'm not really sure what's happenin' out on the range."

  "We'll find out," Flint said. He turned his horse and rode out of the ranch yard. Rose drove the buggy beside him. He wasn’t worried about encountering any cowboys from the neighboring spreads. As upset as they might be about Copeland's switch to farming, Flint was confident they wouldn’t bother him and Rose.

  When they reached Ira Powell’s soddy, they saw Tom and Violet carrying things into the dugout from the wagons. Flint was a little surprised to see that the earthen cabin was finished.

  He reined in and nodded, saying, "Howdy, Tom. Ma'am." He touched his hat as he greeted Violet, who looked a little bewildered and embarrassed by his politeness. Turning back to Tom, he explained, "I'm looking for my friend Angus MacQuarrie. He's a big Scotsman with a beard—"

  "I saw him," Tom cut in. "Fact is, he and my pa just left here a few minutes ago. MacQuarrie helped us finish the soddy today."

  Flint nodded and smiled. He had wondered if Angus had come out here to lend a hand to the settlers. That was the kind of thing Angus would do.

  While the men spoke, Rose noticed that Violet was lifting a small wooden chest from Ira Powell’s wagon. Climbing down from her buggy, the doctor moved to give the young woman a hand. She grasped one end of the little chest and was surprised that it was heavier than it looked. Carrying her end of the burden, she followed Violet into the soddy.

  After they had crossed the threshold, Violet said, "Let's set it down on that trunk."

  The two women placed the chest on a long, heavy trunk. Rose let her fingertips trail over the wood of the small chest, which had been lovingly polished to a high shine. A brass latch held th
e lid in place. "This is a lovely piece. It looks old."

  "It is," Violet said. "My great-grandpa made it, 'fore he died at the Battle of New Orleans."

  "That was a long time ago."

  "Yes, ma'am." Violet unfastened the latch and lifted the lid. Inside was a massive book with thick leather bindings. "This here is our family Bible," she said softly. "It come down to me from my great-grandpa, just like this box he made for it."

  Rose caught her breath. "Would it be all right if I looked at it?"

  Violet hesitated, then said, "Well...I reckon it'd be all right."

  Rose reached out and lightly ran her fingers over the leather bindings. Then she gently lifted the front cover. The pages were thick vellum, and the legend at the bottom of the title page read "Townsend and Sons, Printers, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." The date beneath the inscription was 1792.

  "It's a beautiful book," Rose said as she carefully turned the pages. The family record section in the center of the Bible was filled with fine, spidery writing. The ink had faded, and many of the names written there were no longer legible.

  "I just wish I could read it," Violet said wistfully. "Ira reads from it sometimes, and that's a pure comfort, but it would be nice to be able to do it myself."

  Rose looked up from the Bible. "You can't read?"

  "Shoot, ma'am, ain't many of us can, around here."

  After a moment's consideration, Rose said slowly, "We may have to see what we can do about that."

  She closed the Bible, and Violet refastened the latch. Then they went outside to unload more of the goods from the wagons. As they worked, Rose chatted brightly, hoping to draw Violet out of her shell. She learned from the young woman that several of the settlers' children were suffering from the grippe.

  Flint was finding Tom Powell to be less friendly. The young man answered almost entirely in monosyllables when the marshal tried to question him about what had been happening since their arrival on Copeland's ranch, and he didn’t volunteer any information. Flint, growing frustrated, realized that it would take a great deal of effort to establish any relationship with this distrustful, angry young man. When Rose announced that she was ready to go on to some of the other cabins, the marshal was more than happy to leave.

  At their next stop, they found Angus MacQuarrie and Ira Powell hard at work helping put up the soddy that would house a man, his tired-looking wife, and their multitude of children. Flint looked at the brood of youngsters and said in a low voice to Angus, "I think they're going to need a bigger soddy."

  "Aye," Angus answered with a grin.

  One of the children was coughing. Rose gave the mother a small bottle of medicine and dosage instructions. The woman took it gratefully and said with downcast eyes, "We can't pay you, Doctor."

  "I don't want any payment now," Rose told her. "Perhaps later, when you've harvested your crop and have something extra, you might bring some vegetables to town."

  "We sure will, ma'am," the father said solemnly. "Sure do appreciate you comin' out here to tend to us like this."

  "It's my pleasure," Rose assured him.

  She and Flint continued on their rounds of the sod cabins. None of the children the doctor examined were seriously ill, but she did ease the symptoms of their minor ailments. She and the marshal were unable to cover the entire area of Copeland's ranch, but now that Rose knew the way—and the settlers knew her, which was just as important—she could return at another time. Late in the afternoon, she and Flint returned to the soddy where Angus had been working. The Scotsman mounted his big bay and joined them for the long ride back to town.

  "What do you think, Angus?" Flint asked him as they rode. "Can these people make a go of it here?"

  "If hard work and determination count for anything, they kin," Angus answered. "They've had so much hard luck, though, they'll not believe it till it happens."

  Flint agreed. At each soddy they had visited throughout the long afternoon, he had sensed the settlers' strong feelings of impending trouble. It was as if they were simply waiting for something terrible to happen.

  Dusk was falling when the three friends crossed the bridge over Mud Creek and walked the horses into Abilene. Angus said, "I hope Percy has had no trouble today. Th’ lad's new at the bartending profession."

  "I'm sure he did fine," Flint commented. Peering through the shadows, he noticed a dark shape halfway down Texas Street. "Isn't that buckboard tied up in front of your office, Rose?"

  "Yes, it is," the doctor answered, a note of worry coloring her voice. She flicked the reins and urged her horse to a trot. "I hope whoever it is hasn't been waiting long."

  Flint and Angus flanked her buggy as she hurried down Texas Street. When she drew the buggy to a stop, the man who was sitting on the seat of the parked buckboard stood up and turned to face her. Rose recognized him as Wilbur Sharp, a man who had a small ranch east of town.

  Sharp's ten-year-old daughter, Luella, was lying in the back of the buckboard, covered with a blanket. The child was moaning softly.

  "You've got to help me, Doc," Sharp pleaded anxiously. "My little girl's sick. You've got to help her."

  "Of course, Mr. Sharp." Picking up her medical bag, Rose quickly got down from the buggy. Flint had already dismounted and was tying up her horse to save her that much time. Rose said, "Bring her on into the office, so that I can take a look at her."

  Sharp stepped over into the bed of the wagon and bent to slide his arms under his daughter's slender form. Luella moaned as he picked her up. Angus stepped directly from the saddle into the wagon bed and said to Sharp, "Let me take her, man. I'll hand her down t'ye."

  The rancher nodded and, after gently transferring the girl to Angus's arms, hopped to the ground and stretched his open arms to take the child. Angus carefully handed Luella to him. The two men had been as cautious and gentle as possible, yet the girl still sobbed with pain.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came," Rose said over her shoulder as she hurried up the walk to the office. She stepped up onto the porch. "I was out tending to some sick children belonging to those new settlers."

  Wilbur Sharp stopped in his tracks at the bottom of the steps leading to the porch. "You've been out to Copeland's place?" he asked harshly.

  Rose turned toward him, puzzled. "Why, yes. Come on, Mr. Sharp. Bring Luella on into the house."

  Sharp shook his head. "No. I'm not lettin' you touch my girl."

  The doctor stared at him, stunned. Flint and Angus had heard his angry statement and were equally surprised. Rose said, "What are you talking about, Mr. Sharp? She's obviously very sick. She needs my attention as soon as possible."

  "Not after you've been out there tendin' to those Southern trash. Who knows what kind of pestilence you might be carryin' back with you?"

  "Here now, there's no call to talk like that, Sharp," Flint admonished him.

  The rancher turned toward him, clearly prepared to reply angrily, when Rose broke in.

  "Mr. Sharp, Luella is sick! How dare you deny her medical treatment just because you have some foolish idea about those settlers?"

  "She's my girl," Sharp began defensively. "I got my rights—"

  "The right to stand there and let her die?"

  Luella whimpered again as Rose's sharp words lashed through the air.

  "Them sodbusters don't belong here—"

  "That has absolutely nothing to do with your daughter's condition," Rose snapped. "At least have the common decency to tell me what seems to be wrong with her."

  "Well, she's been hurting in her belly, hurting something fierce to hear her tell it. Started up all of a sudden. At first, we figured she just had a bellyache from something she ate, but it's not gettin' any better."

  Rose stepped from the porch and reached out to touch the girl. Sharp started to flinch, then forced himself to stand still while Rose gently probed Luella's stomach. Luella screamed.

  "Get her inside! Her appendix has burst!"

  Sharp hesitated for a mome
nt, gaping at Rose. Then Flint said quietly, "I'd do what the doctor says, friend."

  Sharp nodded abruptly. He hurried up the steps and disappeared into the building, following Rose, with the other two men close behind him. Over her shoulder, she flung commands at Flint and Angus. "Get some water boiling on the stove, Angus. Lucas, you come and help me."

  The two men exchanged a glance. They hadn’t expected to be drafted into helping with this crisis, but neither man would think of arguing with Rose Keller at a time like this. Flint had never seen her so angry. Yet once the seriousness of the situation was known and she was free to intervene, she was in complete control—cool and efficient and completely professional.

  Yes, Lucas Flint thought as he and Angus hurried into the office to follow her instructions, Abilene was lucky to have a doctor like Rose Keller.

  And she was really pretty when she was angry.

  5

  Saturday afternoon was the busiest day of the week in Abilene. Most of the townspeople as well as the ranchers and farmers from the surrounding area routinely did their shopping then. Wagons, buckboards, and saddle horses lined the streets, and the stores bustled with customers.

  Cully Markham was in the Alamo Saloon, spending an hour or so away from the marshal's office. The dimly lit, smoke-filled room was a carbon copy of many saloons across the West. A long wooden bar stood along the right wall, the shelves behind it lined with bottles and glasses. Tables and chairs, occupied by cowhands, were scattered around the rest of the room. Painted women mingled with the cowboys, some sitting on laps, others dancing to the tunes played on the tinkling piano.

  On this sunny afternoon, Cully wasn’t drinking.

  He was enjoying a penny-ante poker game with a couple of cowboys and one of the house dealers, a man named Gallagher. The gambler laughed as he raked in a pot.