Michael nodded, not sure what exactly Munroe was talking about.
Nor did the professor take the time for any further explanation. He turned instead to the blonde in the red costume, beaming at her as he said, "And this is my lovely niece Deborah, who brightens all our days with her beauty and charm."
The young woman was still standing on the wagon's tailgate. She nodded and smiled and said, "Hello," in a throaty voice, and Michael felt that peculiar tingle go through him again.
"Wait until you hear her sing!" Munroe enthused. "You'll think you've died and gone to heaven and are listening to a chorus of angels, my friends."
Casebolt nodded to Deborah and tugged on the brim of his hat, saying, "Howdy, ma'am."
She barely glanced at the deputy. Most of her attention seemed to be focused on Michael, and he might have been a little uncomfortable about it . . . if he hadn't been enjoying it so much.
"And back there on our second wagon are Calvin Dumont and his lovely bride, Letitia," Munroe went on.
Michael tried to keep a look of surprise from appearing on his face. He wouldn't have guessed that the huge man and the diminutive woman were husband and wife.
Simone said, "We're pleased to meet all of you, Professor, and we hope you enjoy your stay in our town. Speaking of that, just what brings you here?"
Michael frowned a little. He should have been the one to ask that question, not Simone. After all, he was the editor of the local newspaper.
He had been distracted, though, and she was doing his job for him. In the future he would have to be more careful, or she might decide to hire someone else to run the newspaper for her.
"Why, we're a traveling show, ma'am," Munroe said in answer to Simone's question. "Moving around from town to town is what we do. But I must confess, we do have a special reason for coming here to Wind River." He reached inside his fancy cutaway coat and brought out a folded newspaper. Michael recognized the paper as Munroe unfolded it. Munroe went on, "We came because of this story about a place called . . . Medicine Creek."
Chapter 13
Casebolt gaped in surprise at the professor, and he wasn't the only one. Michael was staring, too, and even Simone McKay seemed taken aback by Professor Munroe's statement.
"'Scuse me for askin', Professor," Casebolt said, "but what's that creek got to do with you?"
“I’ll be glad to explain, Deputy—" Munroe stopped short, lifted the newspaper, and looked at it for a couple of seconds before raising his eyes to Casebolt again. "Deputy Casebolt!" he exclaimed. "You're the one who was cured by the mystical, magical waters of Medicine Creek! I should have recognized your name from this newspaper story. My apologies, sir."
"Shoot, you don't need to 'pologize. Just tell me what you're doin' here, Professor."
"Well, you see, this is not my first visit to this part of the country. No, indeed! I first came here many years ago, when I was still nothing but a penniless wanderer." Munroe's voice had risen as he began his explanation, so that all of the townspeople who had gathered around the wagons could hear what he had to say. He continued, "I shudder to think what might have become of me had I not encountered something that would change my life forever! A miracle, that's what it was, nothing less than a miracle!" He began to pace back and forth on the boardwalk, making broad gestures with his arms as he got caught up in his own story. "I was sick, nigh on to dying, and then I stumbled on a small creek, miles from nowhere in the middle of what I thought was naught but a Godforsaken wilderness. I'd had no water for days, my friends, days! When I found that creek, I praised the Lord and fell on my knees beside it, plunged my head into the water, and drank deeply of it. No drink ever tasted so good or quenched such a thirst!"
"You're talkin' about Medicine Creek?" Casebolt asked with a frown. "I tasted it myself and thought it wasn't very good."
"You weren't dying of thirst at the time, were you, my friend?" Munroe shot back.
Casebolt had to shake his head.
"Well, there you are! Water tastes the sweetest to a dying man. And I was dying, but not just of thirst. My stomach had ceased to function properly, my eyesight and my hearing were going rapidly, and certain other, ah, natural bodily functions were not operating as I would have wished. Even had I not gotten lost in the wilderness, I would have likely been dead within a month from the myriad host of other complaints that had beset me. But the stream you now call Medicine Creek changed all that!"
"You're saying it cured you like it did Billy here?" Michael asked.
"That is exactly what it did, Mr. Hatfield!"
Casebolt frowned and said, "Wait just a minute. I didn't drink the water from that creek. I sat down in a pool where the springs come out of a bluff. It was real hot, and I sat in it for a couple of hours."
"That's what I did once I had quenched my thirst," Munroe said without hesitation. "I was so happy to see the water that I bathed in it for an entire afternoon, and when I came out, I felt better than I had in years!"
Casebolt rubbed a thumbnail over the silvery stubble on his lean jaw. "Well, that sounds sort of like it was with me, all right."
"I knew I had accidentally discovered one of the wonders of the ages," Munroe went on. "I had a couple of empty canteens with me, so I filled them with the water from the creek and went on my way. But I didn't drink that water, no, indeed! I found other creeks to slake my thirst, and I took the water from Medicine Creek with me. Eventually I wound up back east, and with my newly revitalized health, I was able to return to my first love—medical and scientific research! I analyzed the elements present in the water from Medicine Creek, and from that analysis I devised my now world-famous Chippewa Tonic, the most amazing concoction in the history of pharmacology!"
"But there ain't no Chippewa Indians out here in these parts," Casebolt protested with a frown. "The ones who took me to the creek was Shoshones."
"Yes, but it was Chief Laughing Fox who gave me the secret recipe for the Chippewa's own miracle herbal cure, which combined with the elements which are present in the waters of Medicine Creek, becomes doubly effective! So powerful, so potent, so effective that one small bottle of the famous Chippewa tonic—one small bottle that can be purchased for a mere one dollar American, my friends!—one small bottle will cure an entire family of whatever ails them!"
Simone said, "And you have an ample supply of this Chippewa tonic for sale, I trust, Professor?"
Munroe turned toward her and swept the hand holding his top hat in a grandiose gesture. "Of course I do, madam. But I won't allow a single one of the citizens of this lovely community to purchase my tonic . . . not until tonight, after you've all enjoyed the entertainment we intend to present for you." He clapped the hat back on his head. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we'll go find that camping place you so kindly told us about."
Immediately, several men and even more youngsters volunteered to lead them to the spot. Professor Munroe grinned and waved at them as he climbed up onto the wagon seat again.
Once he was there, he opened a small door in the front of the wagon and reached inside to bring out three little bottles made of brown glass. He leaned over to give one apiece to Simone, Casebolt, and Michael.
"Samples for you and your families," Munroe said. "The best advertising is always word of mouth, my friends, so tell your friends about how Professor Nicodemus Munroe's Famous Chippewa Tonic ended all of your aches and pains permanently!"
With that, he took up the reins, slapped them against the backs of the horses pulling the wagon, and headed for the western edge of town. As the wagon moved past, followed closely by the second vehicle, Deborah Munroe waved and smiled again.
Simone said, "Well, what do you think about that?"
Casebolt shook his head. "You could've plumb knocked me over with a feather when I heard how somebody else'd been cured by sittin' in Medicine Creek."
Michael laughed. "You didn't believe him, did you, Billy?" he asked. "Munroe was making all of that up for some reason."
"Yo
u sure about that?" Casebolt asked with a frown.
"Why don't you try the tonic he gave you?" Simone suggested gently, lifting the bottle in her hand.
"Well . . . I reckon I could do that." There was a cork in the neck of the bottle. Casebolt got hold of it with his teeth and pulled it out, then spit it into the palm of his other hand. He held the now-open bottle under his nose and sniffed, making a face as he pulled his head back. "Stuff's got a smell to it."
Michael uncorked his bottle and smelled the contents, too. His grimace mirrored Casebolt's. "What do you think, Billy? I'll try it if you will, but you've got to go first."
"Can't be any worsen some of the home-brewed rotgut I've had," Casebolt mused. He held the bottle to his lips. "Well, here goes."
He took a sip.
Michael and Simone watched curiously. Casebolt frowned, licked his lips, took another sip. Finally he nodded and said, "Not bad. Not bad at all. Goes down sort of warm and smooth."
Michael tilted his bottle up and took a healthy swallow. When he lowered the bottle, there was a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "You're right, Billy," he said. "That doesn't taste like medicine at all."
"Perhaps I should try it," Simone said. "If one of you gentlemen would be so kind as to take out this cork. ."
Michael uncorked the bottle for her, and she sampled the tonic. She smiled as she said, "That's very good. I don't know if it will really cure anything or not, but at least it's enjoyable."
"Well, if Professor Munroe's nothin' but a snake-oil peddler, at least he's got a good brand of the stuff to peddle," Casebolt said.
Michael was looking thoughtful. He said, "And if the professor was telling the truth about using the ingredients he found in the waters of Medicine Creek, there might be a pretty good story here for the paper."
"Aw, now, Michael," Casebolt protested. "I already told you how the Shoshones won't want a bunch of folks messin' around that creek. It's a mighty special place to them. Bad enough that first story of yours attracted the attention of the professor. What if a bunch of other folks saw it, too?"
"I doubt if that happened," Michael said skeptically. "I'm not sure where Professor Munroe got hold of that copy of the Sentinel, but I don't see how the word could have spread very far."
Casebolt sounded dubious as he said, "Well, I sure hope you're right."
A locomotive whistle shrilled as a train pulled into the depot down the street. That would be the westbound, Casebolt knew. Either he or the marshal tried to be on hand every time a train came in, just to keep an eye on who was getting off, and since Cole wasn't in town at the moment, Casebolt figured he had better get down to the station.
He said as much as he put the cork back in his bottle of tonic. Michael had just about finished his, Casebolt noted, and Simone was still taking an occasional discreet, ladylike sip from hers. "See you folks later," Casebolt said as he slipped the bottle into his shirt pocket and ambled toward the Union Pacific depot.
Several passengers had already disembarked by the time he got there, but they were still on the platform, retrieving their valises and carpetbags from the baggage car. Casebolt looked them over and decided that none of them appeared to be the troublemaking sort. Far from it, in fact.
He saw one gent on crutches, another with a twisted, withered arm, a gaunt, pale-faced man who had a wracking cough, and a fellow with such thick spectacles that his features were distorted grotesquely by the lenses. Even with the spectacles, the last man was stumbling around as if he could still barely see.
The man on crutches must have spotted the badge on Casebolt's shirt, because he suddenly said, "Hey, Deputy!"
Casebolt went over to him. "What can I do for you, mister?"
The man had a newspaper in his hand. It was a paper from Cheyenne, Casebolt saw as the man unfolded it. The man thrust the paper toward Casebolt, balancing awkwardly on his crutches as he did so, and poked a finger at a headline.
"Can you tell me where to find this place?" the man asked.
Casebolt looked at the headline and gulped, his eyes widening.
It read:
MIRACLE WATER CURES WIND RIVER MAN OF MYSTERY ILLNESS.
Chapter 14
Cole was tired by the time he rode back into Wind River early that evening, and adding to his weariness was the undeniable feeling that in the long run he hadn't done a damned bit of good.
Kermit Sawyer had reacted predictably to the news that one of his hands had been jumped in town by some of Austin Fisk's Latch Hook riders.
The Texan had been ready to strap on his six-shooter and start slinging lead. Sawyer had become even more incensed when Lon Rogers told him the men from Fisk's spread believed the Diamond S was responsible for the raid that had left four Latch Hook punchers dead and a sizable herd of cattle missing.
"Rustlers?" Sawyer had bellowed. "That son of a bitch Fisk thinks we're rustlers?"
It had taken some fast talking from Cole to persuade Sawyer not to saddle up and lead his men over to Latch Hook with guns blazing. That would only make it look even more like the Diamond S had been responsible for the rustling.
"Fisk doesn't have a lick of proof against you," Cole had pointed out. "He and his men are just spewing out words to see where they land. If you can just keep your wits about you, Sawyer, nobody around here is going to believe Fisk when he makes those wild charges."
Finally, after a lot of arguing, Sawyer had agreed to wait and let things calm down a little. Cole's promise to investigate the situation had mollified him only slightly. But for now, Cole was willing to settle for that.
Sooner or later, though, this powder keg he was sitting on was going to explode . . .
Something struck Cole as unusual as he rode Ulysses down Grenville Avenue toward the marshal's office. He reined the golden sorrel back to a slow walk and looked around.
There was an uncommon number of people on the street, he decided. The boardwalks were busy with pedestrians, and the hitch racks were full. Wagons were parked in front of nearly every building. As Cole passed Hank Parker's Pronghorn Saloon, the noise coming from inside the place was even louder than it usually was.
Cole was accustomed to Wind River being a busy place. Even though the railhead had moved on to Rock Springs, Union Pacific workers were coming through all the time, and more new settlers from back east arrived every day, anxious to make a fresh start with a farm or a ranch. However, Cole's instincts told him that the crowd in town tonight couldn't be explained that easily. Instead of dropping Ulysses off at the stable first, as he had intended, he rode straight to the marshal's office.
Casebolt must have been watching for him, because the deputy stepped out onto the boardwalk before Cole got there. The deputy's lanky figure was silhouetted by the yellow glow of lamplight from the window behind him.
Casebolt came out to the edge of the boardwalk as Cole reined in and swung down from the saddle.
"Mighty glad to see you, Marshal," Casebolt greeted him as Cole looped the sorrel's reins over the hitch rail. "Things've been poppin' around here."
"I can see that," Cole said. He stepped up onto the boardwalk. "What's going on?"
"It started this afternoon when the westbound train pulled in. It was darned near full of people from Cheyenne and Laramie and Rawlins. Hell, some of 'em even come from as far away as Kansas and Nebrasky."
"People come here all the time," Cole said.
"Not like these folks," Casebolt said with a shake of his head. "They're all lookin' for Medicine Creek."
Cole stiffened. "What?"
"They found out about it somehow from that newspaper story Michael Hatfield wrote. Seems that some o' them reporter fellers in Cheyenne and other places wrote stories of their own 'bout what happened to me. It's all over this part of the country."
"Damn it!" Cole said fervently. "This is just what I was afraid would happen when Michael started spreading the news. I had started to hope I was wrong, but . . ." He glanced up and down the crowded street and shook
his head. "It looks like I was right after all. I wish I hadn't been."
"What're you goin' to do?" Casebolt wanted to know.
Cole frowned for a moment, his rugged features bleak, then shrugged. "What can I do? No law against coming to Wind River, and so far that's all these folks have done. And that creek's not on private property, either. There's nothing to stop people from going out and looking for it."
'"Cept maybe the Shoshone," Casebolt said.
"That's what I'm worried about. If a bunch of fools start swarming over land that the Shoshones regard as their hunting ground, Two Ponies and his people won't like it. They'll be even more upset if anything happens to disturb that creek, and I can't say as I'd blame them for it, either. But my hands are pretty much tied as long as all these strangers behave themselves in town."
Casebolt sighed tiredly. "Might've been better if I'd just gone ahead and died when I was so puny. That way there wouldn't have been all this ruckus."
"I wouldn't go that far," Cole told him. "I'd rather have to deal with the ruckus and still have you around, Billy." He stretched weary muscles. "I'm going to go on over to the boardinghouse and see if Mrs. Paine still has supper on the table. I'll be back here at the office in a little while."
"All right, I'll keep on keepin' an eye on things. Oh, yeah, how'd things go with Sawyer?"
"He's mad as a badger after somebody's poked a stick down his hole," Cole said with a tired grin. "Just about what I expected. He says he and his men didn't have anything to do with raiding Fisk's ranch."
"You believe him?"
Cole nodded. "I do. Sawyer's no rustler, no matter what his other faults are. I'll ride out to Fisk's place in a day or two and talk to him, try to keep a lid on this thing. Maybe I can get a line on who really raided his place."
Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4) Page 10
