Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4)

by James Reasoner

  They were looking for Medicine Creek.

  Cole shook his head and went on to Kent's office.

  Frenchy LeDoux told him essentially the same story as Kermit Sawyer had. It had been pure happenstance that Frenchy had spotted the rustlers as they rode across the Diamond S, and he was indeed lucky to have survived his reckless attack on them. From the grim, angry looks on the faces of Sawyer and the men who had come into town with him, they were ready to settle this feud with Latch Hook once and for all, with guns and blood if necessary.

  The only good news was that Frenchy would recover from his wound with a minimum of difficulty, in Kent's opinion. "The wound is a clean one," the doctor told Cole, "and the bullet did surprisingly little damage. Mr. LeDoux was very fortunate."

  "Didn't feel lucky at the time," Frenchy said. "Figured I was a goner, in fact."

  "Don't you worry, Frenchy," Sawyer assured him. "We'll settle the score."

  "You won't do anything until I've had a talk with Fisk," Cole said. "I'll swing by your place later and let you know what he told me."

  "I can tell you right now what he'll say. He'll deny knowin' anything about it, the lyin' son of a bitch."

  Cole gave the rancher a hard look. "Just let me handle this, Sawyer."

  "For now." Sawyer's face was bleak. "For now, Tyler."

  Chapter 17

  Two Ponies sat his horse atop a ridge and watched the white men as they moved across the broad flat in front of him. They seemed to Two Ponies more numerous than grains of sand or the rocks that littered the plains. He knew that was wrong; in actuality there were probably not more than twenty or thirty of the strangers.

  But they had no business here. This was the land where the Shoshones hunted and made their homes.

  Two Ponies feared that he knew what the white men sought.

  For the most part, the Shoshones had been friends with the whites who had come here to what they now called Wyoming Territory.

  Unlike the Sioux, who had fought savagely against the interlopers, the Shoshone had welcomed them, even when the white men had brought their steel rails and the thunder wagon which moved along them spouting smoke and fire like some sort of evil spirit.

  Like it or not, the white men were changing the face of this land. Two Ponies liked to think that the Shoshones were able to accept this because they were more intelligent and more courageous than the Sioux and the Cheyenne and the Pawnee.

  But there were some things not even the Shoshones could accept. There were some things that were sacred, that must not be disturbed.

  His strong features set in a grim mask, Two Ponies wheeled his horse and rode toward Wind River.

  * * *

  "You're not going to that medicine show again, are you?" Delia Hatfield asked her husband.

  Michael didn't look at her. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you were there last night, so there's no reason for you to go again. You can write about it for the paper from what you already saw."

  Delia sounded like she was just being logical, Michael thought, but there was an edge to her voice, an undertone that told him she was displeased. Faint though it was, it was a sound he had come to know intimately.

  "I don't know yet," he said as he pushed his chair back and stood up from the kitchen table. He felt Delia's eyes on him as he went over to the counter and picked up the bottle of Chippewa Tonic he had purchased the night before. He got a spoon from a drawer and uncorked the bottle, then poured a dose of the tonic into the spoon.

  "Should you be taking so much of that?" Delia asked from the table, where she was feeding some thin gruel to six-month-old Lincoln. Three-year-old Gretchen was at the other end of the table, spooning mush into her own mouth.

  Michael lifted the spoon to his mouth and swallowed the tonic before answering. "Professor Munroe swears this concoction will cure just about anything," he said, and added to himself, Except maybe an unhappy wife.

  "Well, you should be careful with it. You don't want to make yourself sick."

  Michael didn't say anything, didn't point out that the whole idea of the tonic was to keep from being sick. His coat was on a hook beside the door. He picked it up and shrugged into it. "I'd better get down to the paper."

  "Will you be home for lunch?"

  "I don't know. Don't worry about me. Just fix something for yourself and the kids."

  With that he left the kitchen, going through the front room of the house and out to the side street which led to Grenville Avenue. A minute later, when he reached the main street, he started to turn east, toward the office of the Sentinel

  But then, for some reason, his steps took him west instead—toward the clearing under the big trees where the medicine show wagons were parked.

  He wasn't sure if anyone would be out and about this early around the wagons, but he saw Deborah Munroe right away, his heart seeming to skip a beat as he spotted her in a calico dress, carrying some water to their horses.

  If she had looked rather worldly and sophisticated the night before in her daring costume, she appeared undeniably wholesome this morning—but no less beautiful for that. Michael practically sprang forward to help her.

  "Here, let me take that," he said as he grasped the handle of the large wooden bucket.

  "Oh, Mr. Hatfield—I mean Michael. You startled me." She relinquished the bucket.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

  "No, that's quite all right. I'm glad to see you again."

  "I wasn't sure what you do around a medicine show during the day," Michael said as he carried the water over to the hobbled horses and poured it into a wooden trough that had been put out for them. "You only put on performances at night, don't you?"

  "Those performances take a lot of practice and rehearsal," Deborah said. "And Uncle Nicodemus is always looking for ways to improve his tonic, so he does a great deal of research."

  "I'm sure he does. I'm not certain that tonic could be improved, though." Michael grinned.

  "You've been taking it? I wouldn't think you'd need it. You seem to have plenty of manly vigor already."

  Michael felt his face growing warm. "Well, there's something to be said for preventative medicine, don't you think?"

  Deborah smiled at him and linked her arm with his. "I certainly do."

  Once again he felt the warmth of her body as she walked closely beside him, and it was every bit as exciting as it had been the night before. His heart was pounding so loudly in his chest it seemed certain that she could hear it, too.

  He wondered where the other members of the medicine show were, but a moment later that question was answered as Professor Munroe and Chief Laughing Fox came out of the professor's wagon, followed by Calvin and Letitia Dumont. All of them were dressed in a less gaudy fashion today except the Chippewa chieftain; he still wore the same buckskin outfit.

  "Ah, Mr. Hatfield, isn't it?" Munroe greeted Michael. "How nice to see you again. What can we do for you this morning?"

  Michael was acutely aware that Deborah was still holding his arm. She didn't seem embarrassed by their closeness, though, so Michael saw no reason why he should be.

  After all, these people probably didn't know that he was a married man . . .

  But he knew, and so did most of the other citizens of Wind River. So, in the interests of discretion, he gently disengaged his arm from Deborah and tried not to pay any attention to her faint frown of disappointment.

  "I just stopped by to say hello," he told Munroe, "and to let you know that I've been taking your tonic and it's making me feel wonderful."

  "What a generous testimonial! I may call on you to repeat it at tonight's performance, Mr. Hatfield . . . if you're in attendance, that is."

  Michael glanced at Deborah. "I sure intend to be there."

  "Excellent! Would you care to watch my associates practice? Chief Laughing Fox might even be persuaded to let you assist him in his act."

  The Chippewa looked at Michael, grunted, and nodded solemnly.

>   Michael swallowed hard. "You mean stand in front of that target? I . . . I don't think I'm quite up to that, Professor." He added quickly, "No offense, Chief."

  "None taken, I assure you," Munroe said. "Perhaps another time—Blast it, what does he want now?"

  The professor had glanced past Michael as he asked that question, and Michael turned to see Dr. Bramwell Carter striding purposefully toward the wagons. The Philadelphia physician's bearded features looked every bit as unfriendly today as they had the previous night.

  Calvin Dumont moved to intercept Carter. He towered over the doctor and was twice as wide. "You're not wanted around here, mister," Dumont growled, sounding menacing despite his high-pitched voice.

  "I came to speak to your employer," Carter snapped. "And you don't frighten me. Now get out of my way!"

  Dumont bunched his ham-like hands into fists, and Michael tensed, afraid that he was about to witness a brutal beating. But Professor Munroe said quickly, "It's all right, Calvin. I'll speak with Dr. Carter."

  "You sure, Professor?" Dumont asked over his shoulder.

  "Of course. Welcome, Dr. Carter. What can we do for you?"

  Carter stepped around the massive Calvin Dumont, who hadn't budged. Stiffly, Carter said, "Short of closing down this fraudulent business of yours, I don't know what you can do. But I came here this morning to serve notice on you—Professor." His voice dripped scorn as he added the title.

  Michael saw Munroe turn pale, but the professor didn't say anything. Carter went on, "I intend to prove once and for all that your claims about using the water from this so-called Medicine Creek to perfect the formula for your tonic are utterly false. I'm going out to the creek to get a sample of the water for analysis."

  "Go ahead," Munroe said with a casual wave of his hand. "I don't mind."

  For the first time, Michael saw a trace of confusion and uncertainty on Carter's face. "You'll be proven to be a liar and a fake," Carter went on, but he didn't sound quite as sure of himself now.

  "We'll see about that. I was thinking of returning to the creek myself to take further samples of the water. It's possible that I might be able to refine my tonic slightly and make it even more effective."

  Carter snorted in disbelief.

  Michael sensed a story here, and trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, he said, "Why don't the two of you go out there together to take your samples? I'll come along, too. I can help you find it since I know these parts fairly well."

  That was stretching the truth a little. Michael had ridden over quite a bit of the territory to the north and east of Wind River when he accompanied Cole Tyler and a posse that had been chasing a band of outlaws the year before, but he had never traveled very far to the southwest, the area where the Shoshone village was located.

  He knew its approximate location from listening to Billy Casebolt talk about his visits there, however, and Michael was confident he could find the place.

  Besides, from what he had seen as he walked along Grenville Avenue earlier, he and Munroe and Carter wouldn't be the only ones out looking for Medicine Creek. There was a virtual exodus of strangers heading in that direction.

  "A fine idea," Munroe said to Michael. "We'd be glad to have your company, Mr. Hatfield."

  "I'm going, too," Deborah said.

  Michael was surprised—but pleased—by her decision to accompany them. That meant he would get to spend more time with her, yet there still wouldn't be anything improper about it since her uncle would be along for the trip, too. Excitedly, he said, I’ll get my horse and meet you back here in ten minutes."

  "And I've already made arrangements to hire a buggy," Carter said. "I'm glad you're going along as well, Mr. Hatfield. That way an objective observer will be on hand when I expose this charlatan for the fraud that he is."

  Calvin Dumont growled again and started toward Carter, but Munroe gestured to him and stopped him. "We shall see who is exposed as a fraud, Doctor. We'll leave in ten minutes, as Mr. Hatfield suggested."

  "I'll be here," Carter promised, then hurried off toward one of the livery stables.

  Michael said, "I'll be right back," and started toward the stable where he kept his saddle horse. Anticipation coursed through his veins. Not only was he going to witness what promised to be a good story for the Sentinel, but he was going to do it in the company of Deborah Munroe.

  He couldn't have said which of those two things excited him more.

  Chapter 18

  Billy Casebolt was in the general store picking up some spare cartridges for his revolver. The emporium's manager, Harvey Raymond, was standing on the other side of the counter making small talk. The skinny, horse-faced Raymond had a haunted look in his eyes, which seemed to have sunk farther into his skull than they had once been.

  Several months earlier, Raymond had lost his son when the infant had been stillborn. Raymond's wife, Estelle, had not survived the birth, either. Something like that was enough to give any man nightmares, Casebolt knew, so he had taken to keeping an eye on ol' Harvey.

  You never could tell when somebody who had suffered what this man had suffered would lose his mind.

  Raymond seemed fairly cheerful today, though. He was saying, "—never so glad to see spring in my life. This was my first winter out here, you know, and I thought it would never be over."

  "And this was a pretty tame winter for these parts,"

  Casebolt commented. "Why, I recollect one time it was so cold up here you could go outside on a winter's day and yell at the top of your lungs and never hear a blessed thing. The sound froze quicker'n you could hear it, y'see. And then come spring, when things thawed out, you could be outside and you'd hear somebody let out a holler, but when you looked there wouldn't be nobody there. It was just them yells from back in the winter thawin'."

  Raymond looked dubiously at him and began, "I never heard of anything like that—," but then he broke off his comment to stare past Casebolt, his eyes widening in alarm. Casebolt swung around hurriedly.

  Through the open doors of the general store, he could see an Indian riding past on Grenville Avenue. Casebolt recognized him as Two Ponies, chief of the Shoshones.

  "What in blazes is he doin' in town?" Casebolt muttered, more to himself than to Harvey Raymond. He started toward the store's entrance, moving quickly.

  When he reached the porch, he saw that Two Ponies had already attracted a lot of attention. Quite a few kids and dogs were following behind the chief's horse, and several hard-faced townsmen were striding along the boardwalks, staying even with him.

  Two Ponies seemed to be paying no attention to them, but Casebolt was sure the Shoshone chief knew they were there. Two Ponies carried a lance in his left hand and had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung on his back. He was not painted for war, however, so Casebolt knew he hadn't come to town looking for trouble. Two Ponies wasn't the sort of man to do something like that, anyway.

  Figuring that the chief might be looking for him, Casebolt hurried along the boardwalk and called out, "Two Ponies!"

  The Shoshone reined in his horse and turned to face Casebolt. Although his face was grave, his dark eyes shone with pleasure at the sight of the deputy. As Casebolt caught up with him, Two Ponies asked, "How goes it with my friend Billy? The evil spirits that plagued you have not returned?"

  "Reckon I'm fit as a fiddle," Casebolt declared. "My joints are a mite stiffer than when I first got out of that pool, but that's to be expected. I'm glad to see you, Two Ponies. What brings you to Wind River?"

  "We must talk," Two Ponies replied gravely. "There will be trouble unless something is done."

  "Well, come on down to the office, and we'll sure talk about whatever's botherin' you. Marshal Tyler ain't around right now, but I'll do anything I can to help."

  A crowd was gathering around Two Ponies now, and one of the men called out, "Hey, Deputy, what's that damned Injun doin' in town?"

  Casebolt swung angrily toward the man. "You can just shut your mouth right no
w, mister," he said. "Two Ponies is my friend, and he's comin' down to the marshal's office with me. You got any problem with that?"

  The crowd had drawn back a little at the unexpected vehemence of Casebolt's reaction. The man who had spoken shook his head and said quickly, "No, sir, Deputy, I ain't got no problem."

  "Good," Casebolt snapped. He turned back to Two Ponies. "Come on, Chief. These hombres won't bother us."

  Two Ponies slid down from the back of his horse and led the animal as he walked alongside Casebolt. They reached the office after a minute, and Two Ponies tied the horse at the hitch rack. Casebolt called out to one of the boys on the boardwalk and motioned for him to come over.

  "Listen here, Bert," Casebolt said as he dug in his pocket, found a nickel, and flipped it to the youngster. "I want you to keep an eye on the chief's horse. If anybody bothers it, you come and tell me, all right? There'll be another nickel in it for you if you do."

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Sure, Deputy, I understand. You don't have to worry about that Injun's horse. I'll look after it."

  Casebolt clapped him approvingly on the shoulder, then led Two Ponies inside. Bert was bigger and stronger than most of the other boys, and Casebolt knew they wouldn't try to bother the horse with him standing guard.

  "Now," Casebolt said as he settled down behind the desk, "what brings you here, Two Ponies?" He was afraid he had a pretty good idea already, but it would be better to let the chief tell it in his own way.

  "Too many of the white men come to our land," Two Ponies said with a sweeping gesture. "The Shoshone did not fight when the steel rails and the thunder wagon came, because the white men traveled across our land and did not stay to spoil it. Now they come on horses and in wagons, and my people fear that they will stay."

  Casebolt nodded. "They're all lookin' for Medicine Creek, I reckon."

  Two Ponies' expression became even more solemn. "This, too, is our fear. And it is something we cannot allow, Billy. Medicine Creek is a sacred place. It belongs to the Shoshones. If the white men come there uninvited . . . we will have no choice but to fight them."