Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4)

by James Reasoner

  "The phenomenon that's being referred to in the newspapers as 'Medicine Creek.'"

  Kent frowned in surprise. "You've heard about that all the way back in Philadelphia?"

  "Such news often spreads quickly," Carter replied. "I read about how a man was cured of a mysterious illness by the waters of this creek. The papers played it up quite a bit. Surely you knew the story had made its way back east?"

  "Not that far," Kent muttered. "I'm a bit surprised you put any credence in it, Doctor."

  "Oh, I don't," Carter said. "But you see, that's a specialty of mine, revealing quackery and false cures for what they are—the refuge of the wicked and the last, often fatal hope of the desperate."

  Kent took a deep breath. "Then you've come to the right place, Doctor, because quackery is in full force here. Wind River is full of people tonight who have come seeking some sort of miracle cure for whatever ails them, and there's even a so-called medicine show in town."

  "I know," Carter said with another nod. "I heard about it over at the hotel. I came in on the train this afternoon, too, and I'm staying over at the Territorial House."

  "The best hotel in town," Kent said.

  "So I gathered. I inquired over there as to whether this community had a real physician, and I was directed here. Do I miss my guess, Doctor Kent, or have I found an ally in my quest?"

  "Indeed you have, sir," Kent replied. "The whole territory seems to have gone mad because of this so-called Medicine Creek."

  "Then it's up to men like us to restore some reason and sanity to the proceedings, eh?"

  "It certainly is," Kent said as he reached for his coat. "Shall we start with that medicine show?"

  "My thought exactly," Carter said.

  The two men left Kent's office and walked west along Grenville Avenue, toward the trees on the edge of town where the medicine show wagons were parked.

  As they passed the marshal's office, Kent noticed that there was no light in the window. Cole Tyler and Billy Caseboll were probably out attending to law business somewhere. That was all right, Kent thought. He didn't need Cole backing him up on this.

  He and the marshal hadn't really talked much since Cole and Casebolt had returned from the Shoshone village. Cole might not even be aware that despite his absence on the night of the dance, Simone McKay had not accompanied Kent to the social. That wouldn't have been fair to Cole, Simone had said.

  Well, let the marshal think whatever he wanted to, Kent told himself. At the moment, there were more important things to be considered than . . . than romance!

  He heard applause and shouts of approval as he and Carter approached the medicine show. "The entertainment portion of the evening must be going on," Kent commented.

  "Just concluding, from the looks of things," Carter said. He gestured toward the man in the top hat who stood on the tailgate of one of the wagons, hands raised for quiet.

  "That's Professor Nicodemus Munroe," Kent told his companion. "He was described to me earlier by someone who saw the wagons when they came into town this afternoon."

  "Professor!" Carter snorted in contempt. "I'd be willing to wager that he conferred the title upon himself. No reputable institution of higher learning would dignify a man like that with such an honorific."

  "I dare say you're correct."

  The two men moved up to the edge of the crowd as Munroe said, "Now that you've been entertained, my friends—and entertained magnificently, I might add—we come to the real reason all of you are here tonight! I know you've come seeking relief from the torments of the mind and body that plague you! You have come seeking solace from your pain! And I will give you that relief! I will give you that solace! Right here!"

  Munroe whipped a bottle of tonic from the pocket of his coat. "Right here is what you need, my friends! The world-famous Chippewa Tonic—made with the same ingredients as are found in your own well-known Medicine Creek, may I remind you—will cure your ills, will settle your stomach, will clear your mind, will restore every bit of your manly vigor! And what will this miracle cost you, you ask? Perhaps as much as . . . one hundred dollars?

  "No, my friends! Not one hundred dollars, not fifty, not even twenty-five dollars! A bottle of this miraculous elixir will cost you only the paltry sum of one dollar American! One thin dollar to restore your health! That price is not too much to pay, is it, my friends?"

  Several men in the crowd shouted out, "No!", and others began waving coins in the air.

  "My lovely niece Deborah will move among you now with a supply of Chippewa Tonic," Munroe went on. "An offer like this may never come along again, my friends. I beg of you, take advantage of it while you can."

  Suddenly, Bramwell Carter bellowed, "The only one taking advantage here tonight is you, you damned faker!"

  Kent stiffened beside the doctor from Philadelphia. He hadn't expected Carter to throw out such a blatant challenge. As a startled silence fell on the crowd and many of the men turned to see who had shouted, the massive Calvin Dumont started forward from his position by the wagon's tailgate, a scowl on his broad face and an angry growl issuing from his throat.

  "Wait a moment, Mr. Dumont!" Professor Munroe said with a sharp motion of his hand. "I know you're upset, but I want to see the man who would make such a claim. Show yourself, sir!"

  Carter strode forward, and Kent felt that he had no choice but to accompany the man. The curious crowd parted to let them through. Kent passed Michael Hatfield, and the young newspaperman asked him quietly, "What's going on, Doctor?"

  "Just watch and learn, Michael," Kent advised him dryly.

  Carter turned around to face the crowd when he reached the rear of the wagon. He lifted his hands and said loudly, "Hold on a minute, folks! Let me speak, if you please! I'm here to tell you that this man is a faker, and that so-called tonic he's trying to peddle to you is nothing but flavored water and whiskey!"

  "A lie, sir, a damnable lie!" Munroe thundered. Shouts of approval for Munroe and catcalls directed at Carter came from the crowd.

  "I know you want to believe him," Carter called out over the racket, "but I'm a medical doctor, and I know he's the one who is lying here! My name is Dr. Bramwell Carter, and I've exposed many frauds just like this man here!"

  One of the men in the crowd yelled, "Why don't you go back where you came from, mister? Professor Munroe s here to help us!"

  "He's here to help himself to your money, that's what you mean!" Carter shot back. "Your own local doctor, Judson Kent, will tell you the same thing!"

  Carter turned to look at Kent, who found himself compelled to go ahead with this, regardless of how uncomfortable the confrontation made him. He said, "I know you men, and you know me. I'm telling you no medicine can do everything that Professor Munroe claims for his tonic."

  That quieted the crowd a little. Kent was well respected in Wind River, and these men might listen to him more easily than they would a stranger like Bramwell Carter. Kent took a deep breath, ready to carry on, when Munroe interrupted him.

  "I'm certain Dr. Kent is telling you what he believes, my friend, but allow me to remind you—Dr. Kent did not believe that the waters of Medicine Creek could cure Deputy Billy Casebolt. And yet there stands Deputy Casebolt now, living proof that miracles do happen!" The professor leveled a finger toward the edge of the crowd.

  Everyone turned to look. Casebolt was indeed standing there, looking embarrassed, and Cole was at his side. The two lawmen must have come up after he and Carter had arrived, Kent thought.

  Cole moved forward through the crowd. "What's all this ruckus?" he asked as he came up to the rear of the wagon.

  "I was just conducting business as usual, Marshal, when these two men tried to interrupt and interfere with the sale of my Chippewa Tonic," Munroe said before Kent and Carter had a chance to explain.

  Cole looked at Kent. "Is that true, Doctor?"

  "We were simply trying to prevent these men from wasting their money on a fraudulent cure," Kent began.

  "Nothi
ng illegal about buying tonic, is there?"

  "No, but—"

  Carter interrupted Kent by pointing at Munroe and saying angrily, "This man is a quack! He's no professor!"

  "I beg your pardon!" Munroe sniffed angrily. "I'm a scientist and researcher, and I've never been so insulted!"

  "I don't care about that," Cole snapped. "Deputy Casebolt told me about this medicine show, so I thought I'd come down here and take a look. I don't see anything illegal going on."

  "But, Cole, surely you won't allow this . . . this sham to proceed?" Kent said.

  "I don't have any choice, Doctor. As long as Professor Munroe doesn't break any laws, he can sell whatever he damn well pleases. If anybody's doing anything illegal here, it appears to be you and this other fella."

  Kent's eyes narrowed. Was Cole doing this only because of Simone? That was possible, he supposed, and yet in the relatively short time Cole Tyler had been the marshal, Kent knew he had tried to be fair and honest in the way he enforced the law.

  "We have a right to be heard, too," Kent said.

  Cole shrugged. "Yep. But do it someplace else. Anybody who wants to listen to what you have to say can go with you."

  "That's the best you'll do, Marshal?" Carter asked.

  "It's the only thing I can do."

  "Very well. Come along, Dr. Kent." Carter addressed the crowd again. "Anyone who wants to hear the truth can come with us."

  No one followed him as he strode off except Kent.

  Behind them, Professor Munroe called out, "Now, don't crowd around, my friends. There's plenty of this miracle elixir for all of you. Step right up there . . . that'll be a dollar . . . step right up . . ."

  Chapter 16

  Michael was already mentally writing the story of what had happened tonight when Deborah Munroe came up to him. The crowd had dispersed, the men all heading home to try the tonic they had bought. Michael had purchased another bottle, since the small sample Munroe had given him that afternoon was already gone.

  The bottles the professor sold were larger, containing enough of the tonic to last quite a while, since Munroe had cautioned the audience not to drink too much of it at one time. It was too potent for that, he had said.

  The weight of the bottle in Michael's right-hand coat pocket pulled the coat down on that side. He was trying to straighten it when he found himself looking at Deborah. She smiled at him in the light of the lanterns that were hung from the wagons.

  "Hello," she said. "You're Mr. Hatfield, aren't you? The editor of the local newspaper?"

  "Ah . . . yes, I am." Michael blinked. This was the closest he had been to Deborah, and she was even more lovely than he had thought. A poet would have described her eyes as blue pools, he thought, and her skin was like cream. His eyes dropped for a second to the proud thrust of her full breasts against the silk of the daring costume.

  He jerked his gaze back up, hoping she hadn't noticed his impropriety.

  She gave no sign that she had. She said, "A gentleman such as yourself must have seen a great many wonderful performers. Tell me, Mr. Hatfield, and please be honest— what did you think of my singing?"

  "Why . . . why . . . I thought it was the best I've ever heard!"

  "Really? I know you're only being kind—"

  "Oh, no! Not at all! I mean it, you were really wonderful, Miss Munroe."

  "You must call me Deborah."

  "All right, and I'm Michael." He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. She was so lovely, and her perfume smelled so sweet . . .

  "Are you going to write about our little show in your newspaper?"

  "I planned to." He looked more solemn as he went on, "I'm sorry about the disturbance. I know Dr. Kent quite well, and I didn't expect him to be quite so . . . so intolerant."

  Deborah sighed and shook her head. "You'd be amazed how many people are so narrow-minded, Michael. They don't want to believe that my uncle's tonic can really help them. I hate to think about the poor souls who have turned away and gone back to their lives of misery, simply because they wouldn't believe!"

  "Well, I certainly intend to be fair to your uncle in whatever I write for the Sentinel, if that's what you're worried about."

  She laid a hand on his arm, and even through the sleeves of his coat and shirt, the warmth of her touch seemed to sear his skin. "I wasn't worried about that," she said softly. "I wasn't worried about that at all."

  Michael swallowed hard, wishing that she could keep her hand on his arm all night.

  "I have to get back to my uncle now," she said, and he tried not to let the disappointment he felt show on his face. "I will see you again, won't I?"

  "You'll be here in town for a few days, won't you?" he asked.

  "Of course."

  "Then you'll see me again," Michael declared. "I'll be here for every performance. I want to hear you sing again."

  "You're so sweet. . Good night, Michael."

  Then she was gone, leaving only a faint, delicious scent on the air and a spot on his arm that seemed to almost glow from the warmth of her touch.

  * * *

  Cole was in the Wind River Cafe the next morning with a plate of scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes, and thick slices of ham in front of him on the counter. Steam rose from the cup of coffee at his elbow. To be honest, the food prepared by Rose Foster wasn't quite as good as the fare that her regular cook, old Monty Riordan, dished up, but Cole was still enjoying his meal.

  Right up until the time the door of the cafe banged open behind him and a familiar voice said angrily, "Tyler! I been lookin' for you."

  Cole's instincts cried out for him to spin around and grab the .44 on his hip, but he controlled the impulse with an effort. Instead he turned slowly on the stool where he sat and said, "Busting in on a man like that is a good way to get yourself shot, Sawyer."

  Kermit Sawyer ignored the comment, just as he ignored the stares of the other diners. He stood with his big, knobby-knuckled hands half-clenched into fists and said, "I've got a man down at Kent's office bein' patched up, and that damned Fisk is to blame. His men made off with a hundred head of my stock last night, and shot my foreman to boot!"

  "LeDoux's been shot?" Cole frowned. "Is he all right?"

  "I reckon he will be. He's got a bullet hole in his shoulder and he lost some blood. Thought the slug just creased him, he said, but it went right through. I don't know what that sawbones'll say about it. I left Frenchy there with some of the boys and came lookin' for you. That old codger of a deputy told me you were down here."

  Rose Foster came out of the cafe's kitchen. "I swear, Mr. Sawyer," she said, "you sound like an old bull bellowing out here. Could you be a little quieter? Folks are trying to eat breakfast."

  Sawyer's face flushed under the scolding, and for a second Cole thought the Texan was going to explode. Rose was braver than most to talk to him like that. But despite his many flaws, Sawyer was a gentleman, and after a moment he reached up to tug at the brim of his black hat. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "Didn't mean to upset you."

  "That's all right," Rose said. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll pour you a cup of coffee?"

  Sawyer looked like the last thing he wanted to do was sit down, but he did it anyway. Rose poured coffee for him, then offered him something to eat. Sawyer shook his head. "Much obliged anyway, ma'am. I ate a bite earlier, before I left the ranch."

  After Rose had moved on down the counter, Cole said, "You'd better tell me what happened, Sawyer. Just try to hold it down."

  The cattleman glowered at Cole and said, "I told you. A bunch of Latch Hook riders raided my spread last night. Frenchy caught 'em at it and got a bullet for his trouble. He's damned lucky they didn't kill him. He passed out from the bullet wound and didn't come to until nearly dawn. He was able to make it back to the ranch house, and we put him in a wagon and brought him right on to town. Like I said, he's down at Doc Kent's now."

  "You said the thieves got a hundred head of your stock?"

  "That's ri
ght."

  "And LeDoux saw them, recognized them as Austin Fisk's men?"

  Sawyer snorted. "Who else could they have been?"

  "The same bunch that hit Latch Hook a few days ago?" Cole suggested.

  "I'm not sure that raid ever happened," Sawyer said. "I think Fisk spread that story just so he'd have an excuse to come a'raidin'."

  Cole shook his head. "Doesn't sound too likely to me. Could be the same gang of wideloopers hit both ranches, or there might have been two bunches. Plenty of hard-cases and owlhoots drifting through these parts, Sawyer, you know that."

  "I don't care who it was. What are you goin' to do about it, Tyler?"

  "I'm going to finish my breakfast," Cole said. "Then I'll go down and talk to LeDoux. After I've done that, maybe I’ll take a ride out to Fisk's place. I've been meaning to do that anyway."

  Sawyer drained his coffee, dropped a coin on the counter, and stood up. "You'd better get to the bottom of this, that's all I've got to say. If you don't, me and my boys'll handle it ourselves."

  "You stay away from Latch Hook," Cole warned.

  Sawyer just gave him a hard stare and turned away. The rancher stalked out of the cafe, banging the door behind him again.

  Rose drifted over and said, "Mr. Sawyers not happy this morning."

  Cole grunted. "Sawyer's never happy."

  "Did he say something about one of his men getting shot?"

  "Don't worry," Cole assured her. "It wasn't young Rogers."

  "I wasn't worried. I was just . . . curious."

  Cole looked down at his plate to hide a grin. Everybody in town knew that Lon Rogers was sweet on Rose.

  It looked like maybe she was starting to return the feeling.

  * * *

  Cole had already noticed the hectic activity in Wind River this morning, and the town had grown even busier while he was eating breakfast, he saw as he headed for Dr. Judson Kent's office a few minutes later. The livery stables and wagon yards were doing a brisk business as the strangers who had begun flocking into the settlement rented saddle horses, buggies, and wagons.

  The scene reminded Cole of stories he had heard about San Francisco during the Gold Rush, only this time the seekers streaming out of Wind River to the southwest were searching for health, not wealth.