Sawbones

by William W. Johnstone

  Knight would miss such useless argument. During the town meetings, passions had flared and the arguments had meant something. The war changed their importance. Left to a man like Donnelly, Lincoln Boulevard was as likely as Fremont Street.

  Amid his memories came a different idea. If he found the Lunsfords before Hector Alton, he could get them to leave with him. Alton could search till the cows came home and never find them. That took care of what he saw as the worst situation. Something about the dandy made him uneasy. It had to be the way the man watched him, a predatory snake following a bird. His insistence on finding out if Hannigan or any of the others had rewards on their heads warned Knight, too, that he likely dealt with a bounty hunter.

  But if that were so, why hadn’t he just turned the lot of them over to Captain Norwood and let the officer sort through stacks of wanted posters before giving him his reward?

  Other than Nott, the only one with a possible reward on his head was riding into Pine Knob to hunt for the Lunsford brothers. The petty crimes Milo Hannigan and the rest had committed along the way from Elmira had never risen to the level of a judge posting a reward for their arrest. Stealing eggs and a cow now and then had hardly alerted the law to a gang of desperadoes rampaging through the countryside. With the South in as poor a shape as it was, such thieving had to be commonplace for men to simply survive.

  The town came alive around him as he went from one end of the main street to the other, hunting for any sign of Ben and Seth. Their horses weren’t tied at any of the hitch rails, and when he approached the bank, he kept an eye peeled for the two spying on Frederick Fitzsimmons and his customers. The bank hadn’t opened yet and wouldn’t until ten o’clock, another three hours. He pulled his hat down and turned up his collar a mite to hide his face. The dust on the rancher’s black coat and boots gave him the look of a stranger, someone passing through. In Pine Knob that had once been something worth commenting on.

  Now, Northerners drifted through on their way to run small towns throughout Texas. He might be misidentified as a Yankee, but if it kept people who had been his friends and neighbors at bay, that mistaken identity was worth it. He wheeled about at the end of town and headed for the livery stables, hoping to catch sight of the Lunsfords’ horses.

  The few nags in the stalls were all unknown to him. He rode back halfway down the street and stopped in front of the restaurant. The plate-glass window had been broken in places by tiny rocks, giving a star pattern difficult to peer through. Only four customers made it easier to eliminate the Lunsfords as being inside. He passed a small saloon. The barkeep swept the front steps and never looked up as Knight rode past.

  He knew Ben and Seth. They might drink a beer, but it would be to get a free meal along with it. Seth had gone on and on about taking his first drink of whiskey and how he hadn’t liked it. Riding with the Hannigan gang hadn’t given any of them the chance to practice knocking back shots of rotgut. All the whiskey they had went for antiseptic and anesthetic as he repaired the gunshot wounds.

  A complete trip down and back hadn’t flushed his quarry. He wondered where the two might be. They weren’t inclined to slack off from a job, even one they didn’t care for. He tried to imagine their reaction when Hannigan ordered them to town to find out the best time and methods of robbing the bank. Ben might have thought it was thrilling, but Seth would have argued against it.

  Why had they come to Pine Knob? That didn’t make sense.

  Knight was thinking so hard that it almost did him in. The clop of hoofbeats meant nothing with the town alive for another day’s commerce, but five horses together should have alerted him sooner. He jerked around in surprise, then averted his eyes to keep from staring at the sergeant leading a patrol down the main street. Knight always felt it when someone stared at him. He expected others to have the same unnerving feeling of someone walking on his grave.

  The sergeant halted a few yards away and pointed at him. “You. Where’s the city hall?”

  Twisting around, Knight pushed his coat back to expose the handle of his Colt. Shooting it out wasn’t going to end well for him. A dozen schemes flashed through his head. Shoot the sergeant, cause their horses to rear, ride like hell. That was the best he could hope for.

  Instead, he jerked his left thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the whitewashed building.

  “That where Mr. Donnelly has his office?”

  Knight shrugged, still not trusting himself. Seeing the sergeant wasn’t satisfied with that, he nodded. He hadn’t known Gerald Donnelly had staked out a claim to the town hall, but it made sense. The carpetbagger wanted to be the spider in the middle of the web, feeling every twitch along the strands.

  “Talkative cuss, ain’t you?”

  Knight nodded again.

  The sergeant snorted in disgust, lifted his gloved hand, and motioned his squad on. They trotted past Knight, eyes forward. He tried not to stare at any one of them, but he worried a trooper might recognize him. Only Private Reilly had seen him up close, and he wore different clothing, but luck was running out for him. Luck and time. Reilly was already dead, and Knight might join the unfortunate soldier soon.

  That thought caused him to sit upright in the saddle. Alton had cut down Reilly. How far away was the dandy from doing the same to him? Knight shook his head to clear it. When he operated on a patient, he trusted his instincts. Those same instincts hadn’t been too reliable in his life, but Hector Alton . . .

  He tapped his heels against his horse’s flanks and headed for the marshal’s office. Scurrying about, being afraid of his own shadow, had to end. Going around back of the office to the side of the town hall, he dismounted. The soldiers had stopped in front, out of sight. Showing more bravado than he felt, he went to the door leading into the jail. Before he could back out, he opened the battered wood door and looked in. Deserted. Marshal Putnam and his deputies were out and the cells stood empty.

  He angled in and pressed his back against the wall, just to be sure. All he heard were rats rustling around in the back of the office. Using his heel, he kicked shut the door and went to the stack of wanted posters on the marshal’s desk. Flipping through them quickly, he hunted for any with Alton’s likeness on it. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the reward on his own head. He was worth a hundred dollars to the army for horse theft and suspected murder.

  Knight stuffed the poster into his coat pocket and kept looking for anything indicting Alton. He fingered a faded wanted poster with a description that might be Johnny Nott. A man from Baton Rouge was wanted for murder, but the reward was only fifty dollars. The authorities thought more of bringing Dr. Samuel Knight to justice than they did a back shooter. No one else in Hannigan’s gang looked back at him from the wanted posters. With a quick shuffle, he put the notice for the killer who might be Nott back into the pile.

  He had started for the door when he heard voices outside. Knight froze. The marshal and a deputy had returned.

  Ike Putnam knew him and would turn him over to the army in a heartbeat. He slipped his six-gun from the holster, ready to shoot it out. The door opened halfway. He lifted his pistol.

  “What’s that?” The marshal’s gruff voice echoed through the office. “Who’s he to order me around like one of his toadies?”

  Knight didn’t hear the reply.

  “If he wants someone to apple polish, let him pay for it. I got work to do. Hell, I got a desk to put my boots up on so I can take a nap before lunch.”

  The door opened another few inches, then stopped. Knight held his breath.

  “Oh, hell. If I tell Donnelly off now, do you reckon he’ll leave me alone the rest of the day?”

  The door closed. After a moment, Knight gripped the latch and carefully opened the door to peer out. Putnam and his deputy trudged up the steps into the city hall. Without a wasted movement, Knight left the jail and hurried around to the rear where he had left his horse.

  It was time to get out of town. Finding the Lunsfords hadn’t worked f
or him. As much as he hated the idea, meeting up with Hector Alton was all that remained. Maybe the dandy had found the brothers, but Knight doubted it. He mounted and considered leaving Ben and Seth to their own devices. The poster crumpled in his pocket warned him how dangerous staying in Pine Knob had become for him. They were still safe, at least from the law, unless Hannigan tried another ill-advised robbery.

  The bank? Knight couldn’t believe even Milo Hannigan thought that was a good idea. It was just past the first of the month. The army paid once a month. Any money coming in to cover Captain Norwood’s payroll was weeks away.

  He rode around the jail and was headed directly out of town when a familiar voice called to him.

  “Don’t go rushing off on our account, Sam.”

  Knight felt no surprise when he turned and saw Hector Alton on the city hall steps, Gerald Donnelly leaning heavily on a cane next to him.

  “You get on down off that horse, why don’t you, Dr. Knight?” Alton walked down slowly, pulling back his green jacket to show the butts of both pistols hung under his arms.

  “Am I worth it for you, Alton?” Knight pulled the wanted poster from his pocket and held it up. Then he crushed it and tossed it aside. “A hundred dollars?”

  “A hundred? Is that what the army’s paying for you? My employer’s giving me ten times that. Isn’t that right, Mr. Donnelly?”

  “Gun him down. Go on.” Donnelly hobbled forward, eagerness etched on his beefy face. “Do it, Alton. That’s what I’m paying you for.”

  “You’re not letting the marshal or the army do your work for you, Alton?” Knight said.

  “They all got sent off on wild-goose chases. I saw you go into the jail and knew the charade was over. You were going to leave the Lunsford boys behind, weren’t you?” Alton shook his head. “What kind of friend does that make you, abandoning them like that?”

  “They aren’t in town, are they?”

  “Hannigan is a fool, but he’s not stupid enough to think robbing this bank would be worth the effort. I was surprised you believed me when I said Ben and Seth were scouting it for Hannigan.”

  “You’ve got a silver tongue. Your lies sound mighty good.”

  “Get off the horse, Sam. Do it or I’ll shoot you out of the saddle.”

  Knight dismounted. As he did, he looked around. Alton had told the truth about the marshal and the soldiers. They were nowhere to be seen.

  “Finally getting some good sense, Sam? Mr. Donnelly sent the soldiers off on a wild-goose chase, and he ordered the damn fool marshal to the other end of town.”

  “Quit talking. Kill him. I’ll give you two thousand if he suffers before he dies.” Gerald Donnelly balanced on his good leg and lifted his cane, twisting the gold knob.

  Knight had seen canes with rifle mechanisms. It figured that Donnelly carried such a weapon.

  But his attention was fixed on Alton. “You are a bounty hunter. That’s why you stayed with the gang. You wanted more than me. You wanted to turn the lot of them in for a reward, only there wasn’t one.”

  “Amateurs. The whole herd of them aren’t even dangerous enough to be wanted men. Even you aren’t desperate enough for a good reward. A hundred dollars.” Alton spat. “It’s good that Mr. Donnelly thinks you are worth more.”

  Knight saw Donnelly lifting his cane, ready to take the single shot while Hector Alton distracted him.

  Knight caught movement out of the corner of his eye as skirts swirled and quick, light steps passed him. “Hold your fire for a minute, Donnelly. She’s not got a good view yet.”

  Donnelly’s eyes got big with surprise as Victoria stepped up behind him. “Victoria, get out of here. It’s dangerous.”

  “Gerald, what’s going on?” The woman clung to her carpetbagger husband, causing him to wobble. He had to lower his cane-gun and use it to keep from stumbling.

  “Drop the gun belt, Sam. Go on or I’ll be forced to make you.” Alton widened his stance and took a deep breath, expanding his chest to bring the pistol butts out from under his coat.

  Knight experienced a curious stillness settle over him. He had never faced a man in a gunfight before. There wasn’t any doubt this was to the death. He might die in the flash of a six-gun, but that never entered his mind. Cold calculation filled him as he watched Alton suck in the air. A thousand details came together, and his hand moved like lightning.

  As fast as he was, Alton was faster. He grabbed the six-gun under his left armpit and had it out before Knight leveled his pistol. Alton even got off the shot before Knight, but he rushed it. His bullet tore past Knight’s ear. The whine deafened him in that left ear. Then both ears rang as he fired.

  Accurately.

  His bullet caught Hector Alton in the middle of the chest. The man staggered back, tried to lift his six-shooter but dropped it. His left hand reached for the gun in the other shoulder holster. When his arm refused to move, shock washed over his face. Then he crashed onto his back and died.

  Victoria screamed. Donnelly tried to get free of her clinging hands and bring his own weapon up. Knight had plenty of time to aim. His shot ripped the cane from Donnelly’s hand and unbalanced him. He sat heavily, Victoria following him down. She knelt beside him, holding his arm and sobbing. Blood spurted everywhere. Knight’s accurate shot had blown off Donnelly’s index finger as it wrapped around the folding trigger on the side of the cane.

  Gerald Donnelly’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. In his fear, he wet himself, the spot spreading from his crotch down his leg and onto the city hall steps.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Knight said. He didn’t bother mentioning that he had passed up that chance earlier, too. “Consider me letting you live as your wedding gift. From me to you, a future of hobbling about, jumping at shadows wondering if I’m watching.” He took a step forward. Donnelly recoiled. “I hope your children aren’t missing a finger or born with your limp.”

  He made a show of lowering the hammer and returning his six-shooter to his holster. With a smooth motion, he vaulted into the saddle and galloped away from Pine Knob and his past.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Stop him. Get him. He shot my husband!” Victoria’s words floated behind Knight like a swarm of angry bees trying to sting him.

  They missed their target. He no longer cared. What did worry him was the sound of the marshal shouting at the top of his lungs for his deputies to saddle up and get after the killer. From the jumble of voices, a dozen responded.

  It took him a second to realize he was the killer and Marshal Putnam meant to capture him—or have a posse do the deed. He had faced down Hector Alton and put a bullet through the man with no more thought than if he had been plinking at an old bottle. Alton’s speed had been better, but the rushed shot left him dead on the ground, not his intended victim. Knight tried to feel something about that. Pride? Satisfaction? Horror that he had taken a life? Nothing came to fill the void inside.

  He bent low with his head alongside the horse’s neck and rode like the demons of hell nipped at his heels. From the direction of town came tiny pops. It took him a few seconds to realize the marshal was shooting at him. At this range, hitting anything with a handgun amounted to luck. A long gun could have taken him out of the saddle. Then even that possibility disappeared as he took the bend in the road, cutting himself off from direct view of town entirely. The horse began to strain under him. If it died from exhaustion, he was a goner. He reined in slowly and brought the horse to a brisk walk to give it a chance to rest. Its sides were lathered up, its gait uneven.

  Luck had ridden with him when Hector Alton missed with his faster draw. Luck again favored Knight as he caught sight of a blue uniform in the bushes along the road ahead. A soldier stood facing away, relieving himself. Although he couldn’t see it, Knight heard the soldier’s horse thrashing about in the bushes just off the road. Whether the Federal stood guard alone or only represented the final element of a bigger patrol didn’t matter. Knight dared not engag
e the soldier in either case.

  Riding past put him in even more danger if the rest of a patrol waited. He veered away, cutting across a field. More than once he glanced over his shoulder to see if his detour drew unwanted attention. The best he could tell, the soldier had never even noticed him. Knight rode a couple miles farther, then came to a broad new road. He started to wheel around and ride away because the road led to Donnelly’s house.

  Then a slow smile came to his lips. Gunning down Hector Alton had started new ways of thinking. Before, he had been hesitant to do anything out of the ordinary. Doctors lost patients trying innovative techniques.

  Dr. Samuel Knight was coming around to thinking those were patients he would have lost no matter what. Trying something new had to give better results.

  He rode directly for the Donnelly house. The maid bustled about in the parlor, cleaning and tidying up. He averted his eyes from her, not wanting to stare and draw her attention. As quietly as he could, he rode past the house to the barn, jumped down, and led his horse inside.

  He inhaled deeply. Fresh paint. Clean stalls. New hay. This wasn’t a barn used very much, but why should it be? Donnelly stole whatever he wanted. Horses taken from other ranchers went into the pastureland seized from the banker using legal niceties or outright intimidation. The only horses likely to be put in this immaculate barn were those pulling Donnelly’s buggy.

  “You deserve a rest,” he told his horse, giving it a pat on the neck. His hand came away lathered. He stripped off the tack, then brushed and curried the horse as he let it work on a nosebag of oats. The horse’s hunger sated, he removed the bag and let the horse graze on the hay in front of it while he soaped and waxed the saddle and cleaned the bridle.