The man didn’t offer to assist Kirk at all, which only served to bring about more cursing. Kirk undid his gun belt but kept it close at hand. He’d learned over the years it was never wise to be separated from his revolver, and he wasn’t going to start now.
Removing his pants proved more difficult. His fingers fumbled with the buttons but finally managed the job. He worked the canvas pants down the swollen leg to reveal the dirty bandage on his thigh.
“Get up on the table,” the doctor instructed.
Again Davies growled out curses as he fought to keep from passing out from the pain. His pants fell to his ankles and nearly caused him to fall as they bound his legs. With no other choice, however, he gritted his teeth and managed to settle onto the examination table.
The doctor didn’t take any great care with the removal of the bandage, and when he pulled it away, putrid pieces of flesh and blood came with it. The stench was almost unbearable.
“You’re just about to lose this leg,” the doctor declared. “Why’d you wait so long to get in here?”
“Busy,” Kirk said, still clenching his teeth. He wasn’t about to show any sign of weakness.
“What happened? This looks like a bite. Did you tangle with some animal?”
“I fell off my horse and landed on a jagged piece of wood.” The lie came easy. He couldn’t very well tell the doctor that Emily Carver had bit him. Word might get back to the marshal, and Davies had worked too hard on his plan to have it all be for naught.
The doctor’s expression revealed his skepticism. “I’ve seen a lot of wounds in my years, but this one still looks like a bite. It might help me if you tell me the truth.”
“Look, old man, just patch me up.”
The doctor shook his head. “It’s not going to be that easy. You’re going to have to stay here. I’m going to have to treat this around the clock. Even then, I think we’re too late. I may have to amputate.”
“You ain’t takin’ my leg and I ain’t stayin’ here. Just give me some medicine and bandage it.”
The doctor fixed him with the stern look of a father about to discipline his son. “You aren’t listening. We’ll be lucky if losing your leg is all that happens. You may well lose your life. You’ve waited too long to get in here for attention. The infection has spread. You see those streaks of red? If those reach your heart you’ll be dead.”
Davies might have been worried if he believed the old man’s words. Doctors were always trying to scare people into doing what they wanted. After all, that’s what made them money. He was no fool. He thought about pulling his gun in order to force the man to do what he wanted, but Kirk knew he wasn’t well enough to handle it if the old man decided to make a break for it. “Doc, I’ll take my chances. Just patch me up the best you can and give me some medicine.”
“There’s not a whole lot I can give you that will help.” The doctor went to a small cabinet and unlocked the door. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll clean out the wound with carbolic acid. It won’t be pleasant, so I’m going to give you a healthy dose of laudanum to ease the pain. It’ll make you sleepy.” He pulled two bottles, one brown and one clear, from the cabinet.
Next the doctor opened a box on the counter and pulled out rolls of bandages. He brought all of this to the table and set it beside Davies. “I’ll need to get some instruments,” he announced, then disappeared for a moment.
Kirk knew he had a fever, but he felt chilled to the bone, and every part of his body seemed to ache. He looked down at the clear bottle marked laudanum and decided to help himself. He was about to put the bottle to his lips when the doctor returned.
“I don’t suppose you’d use a spoon.”
Kirk stopped and nodded. “Give me one.”
The doctor put down the small tray he carried and handed a spoon to Davies. “Take four teaspoons.”
“That all?”
“It’ll be enough for now.” The doctor placed several instruments in a shallow pan, then poured carbolic acid over them while Kirk dosed himself with laudanum. The doctor took another pan and placed a good amount of bandage material in it and doused that with carbolic acid as well.
Finally he came to Kirk and took the spoon and bottle. “Lie back on the table.”
Kirk did as the man instructed and tucked the gun belt in close to his side. The room spun around him, and even when he closed his eyes, Kirk felt as if it were still moving. He heard the doctor fiddling with his tools, but for the life of him Kirk couldn’t manage enough interest to look.
“You might want to bite down on this.”
Kirk opened his eyes to find the doctor holding a rolled-up towel. For a moment he couldn’t remember what the man wanted him to do with it.
“This isn’t going to be pleasant, even with the laudanum. You may want to chew on this to keep from yelling.” He pushed the towel toward Kirk’s mouth.
A hint of understanding permeated the fog, and Kirk took hold of the cloth and clenched the roll between his teeth. Once this was done, the doctor immediately went to work.
Kirk had never known such torture, and in other circumstances he would have killed any man trying to put him through such an ordeal. He cried out against the muffling of the cloth, fiery pain spreading to every part of his body. Just when he knew he could stand no more, a black haze started to cloud his vision and even the sounds of his own cries seemed muffled. After that, he knew nothing.
When he woke up, the doctor had finished and the leg was bandaged. His pants were still down around his ankles, but at least the surgery was done. He looked around the room and saw that the doctor was busy instructing a young man on how to clean the instruments. Struggling to sit up, Kirk again fought the dizziness. At least the pain was less, no doubt thanks to the laudanum.
The doctor looked back at him, then said something to the boy and sent him on his way. “Your wound is very bad, Mr. Davies. I want again to urge you to remain here with me. I can provide you constant care. We’ll know soon enough if this has done anything to reverse the infection.”
Kirk struggled with his pants. Once he had them up around his knees he slid from the table, careful to put no weight on the left leg. “I’ll be fine.”
“Very well. I’ll send you home with a bottle of laudanum. You’re going to need to remove the bandage every two hours. I want you to heat up some vinegar and take a towel and soak it good. Then apply it to the wound. It’ll hurt like . . . well . . . it’ll hurt. The heat and vinegar, however, will hopefully pull some of the poisoning from the wound.”
“Every two hours?” Kirk shook his head, still fuzzy from the laudanum. “I ain’t got time for that.”
“Then you’ll be dead soon and will have no more time for anything,” the doctor said with a shrug. “It’s your choice.”
Kirk pulled on his gun belt and secured it around his waist. “I ain’t no weakling. I’ll be fine.” He tested the leg. The pain was instantaneous and shot up through his hip and gut, but he told himself it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been.
The doctor went to a closet on the far side of the room. Kirk wasn’t sure what the old man was doing, but when he pulled a single crutch from the enclosure it all made sense.
“Use this. I’ll want it back. You need to keep as much weight off the leg as possible. I’d give you the set of crutches, but I know you wouldn’t use them. Men like you never do.”
“Meanin’ what?” Kirk asked.
“Meaning you like to keep your gun arm unencumbered.”
Kirk nodded. “Yeah, you got that right. Don’t want to give folks the idea I’m weak. But you just keep your crutch. I want both hands free. What do I owe you?”
The doctor looked at him for a moment and shook his head. “I don’t take money from dead men.”
The comment struck a nerve with Kirk. The man was determined to scare him, and Kirk wasn’t about to give in to fear. It hadn’t served him in the past and wouldn’t serve him now. Of course, the man could be right. The wound was
pretty bad—the worst Davies had ever known. He pushed aside his rising doubts and hobbled to the door. “Your loss. You just wait and see. I’m gonna prove you wrong, old man.”
Kirk made his way outside. Utica was fairly busy that morning. There were at least three freight wagons in the street and enough folks milling around to constitute a crowd. His leg burned and throbbed, but Kirk was determined to make his way to the saloon and buy a bottle. The laudanum was tucked safely in his pocket, and that, along with some stout whiskey, would surely ease his pain. For a moment he contemplated whether it was easier to ride his horse or walk. Mounting was a most difficult procedure, and so he decided it would be better to just walk down to the saloon and then back to the doc’s.
The barkeep gave him a nod when Kirk stumbled into the dimly lit room. “We ain’t open for business. I had some trouble here last night and a lot of cleanin’ to do this morning.”
“I just need a bottle of whiskey.” Kirk tossed down some coins. “Got myself hurt, and doc wants me to stay off the leg. I need the whiskey to help with the pain.”
“Doc’s sure been busy this last month what with the Carver shooting. I guess the old man is going to live, though. I heard Doc talking about it when he was in here the other night.” He looked at Kirk as if anticipating a response.
Kirk had heard rumors of the old man making it through surgery. He knew Emily wasn’t dead. He hadn’t hit her hard enough to kill her. Well, he’d get this leg healed up, and then he’d take care of Carver once and for all.
“You gonna get that bottle, or do I need to come back there and get it myself?”
The man either took pity on him or else was afraid Kirk might resort to violence if he refused. He quickly procured a bottle and scooped up the money.
“I could use that bottle back.”
Kirk nodded. “You’ll get it.” He clasped the whiskey to his chest and momentarily closed his eyes. He’d never been this sick in his life, and all he wanted to do was get back to the shack he called home and fall into bed.
He limped out into the sunlight and began the trek back down to the doctor’s to retrieve his horse. He drew one ragged breath after another and forced himself to focus on walking a straight line.
“Davies.”
He turned and found the one man he’d hoped to avoid. “Marshal.”
The other man eyed Davies oddly. “Saw you stumbling there. What seems to be wrong with your leg?”
“Fell off my horse.”
“Where’d this happen?” The marshal continued looking at him as if he didn’t believe Kirk.
“Up in the mountains. Why?”
The marshal shook his head. “Just wondered. Hate to see a man incapacitated.” Kirk started to go, but the marshal spoke again. “I see it’s your left leg.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
With a shrug the marshal shook his head. “Just noticed it. Got to be hard to mount a horse.”
“I’ll get by,” Kirk told him. The man looked more and more suspicious, and Kirk wasn’t about to answer any further questions. Kirk narrowed his eyes and hoped he looked as mean as he felt. “You’d do well enough to get on with your marshaling somewhere else.”
He didn’t wait for a response but headed for his horse with as little of a limp as possible. Perspiration formed on his brow. The effort was almost impossible, and when he reached his horse, Kirk took a moment to put the whiskey in the saddlebag and regain his wind. With the marshal still watching, Kirk clenched his teeth and lifted his left leg to the stirrup. The pain was excruciating, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he used the bulky muscles of his arms to pull himself atop the animal, putting minimal weight on the leg.
The marshal continued to watch him, but Kirk no longer cared. He knew if he didn’t get out of town soon, he just might pass out cold in the middle of the street.
The ride back to the cabin seemed endless, but Kirk tried his best to keep his thoughts on how he’d make Emily Carver pay for what she’d done to him. He’d torment her for a time and eventually kill her. The thought brought him a sort of peace and pleasure. He’d seen to her old man, and now he’d see to her.
As Kirk approached his cabin, a man came out from the wooded area to the right. He had an ax over one shoulder and was dragging a tree trunk behind him.
“You see the doctor?”
Kirk nodded and reined the horse to a stop. “He cleaned it up and gave me laudanum.” With great effort, Kirk kicked his feet from the stirrups and then slid down the side of his mount. The animal was well trained and didn’t move. Kirk freed the whiskey from his saddlebag and stumbled toward the cabin.
The other man let go of the tree and ax and came to where Kirk was. He put his arm around Kirk and all but carried him inside. He took Kirk to the nearest chair and helped him to sit.
“He say how long you’d be laid up?”
Kirk met the eyes of the man who was so nearly the identical image of himself that they could have been twins. “Taber, open this bottle. I need a drink.”
“All right, but aren’t you gonna tell me what the doc said?”
“He tried to scare me into stayin’ there. Said I was about to lose the leg. I told him I wasn’t gonna let him take it, so I might as well go home. He wasn’t happy, but I figure that’s because I denied him the chance to make a lot of money and practice his amputating skills.”
Taber frowned. “Are you sure you shouldn’t have stayed? I’ve already lost one brother, and I don’t like the idea of losing another.”
Kirk shook his head. “You ain’t losin’ me. I’m fine. Just need some rest.”
Taber poured them both a whiskey. “And all this trouble from that little Carver gal. Guess she needs to pay for what she’s done.”
“Yeah.” Kirk tossed back the whiskey. “She does, and I’ve been mullin’ over just how to go about that. But it’s not just that. The bartender told me Carver is definitely still alive. I think we’re gonna have to go to Lewistown and finish the job.”
“Don’t you think they’ll be lookin’ for you?”
Kirk shrugged. “I figure we can work out the details while my leg heals. It’ll be a while—maybe another week or two. By that time they will have forgotten all about me.”
Taber laughed. “Don’t count on it. From what you’ve told me about Emily Carver, I doubt she’ll let this go. Maybe we should just take her with us to Lewistown for safekeeping. Maybe if she’s with us, the others will know we mean business.”
“Like I said, we can make our plans while my leg heals.” Kirk groaned and closed his eyes. “Right now I just need some sleep.”
Kirk tossed and turned. The pain refused to abate, and he was now beginning to wonder if the doctor had been right. Taber attended to him, bringing a wet towel to cool down the fever, but nothing seemed to help.
“Doc said to soak some towels in hot vinegar and put it on the wound.” His voice was barely audible.
“You want me to do that?” Taber asked. The worry in his expression left Kirk afraid of just how bad things were.
“I don’t suppose it could hurt.”
Taber nodded and went to the stove. The tiny shack rattled and allowed in drafts of cold air as the wind blew hard. “It started snowing a little while ago. Maybe we should think about heading south—after you take care of business, of course.”
“Might be I’ll have to have you take care of it,” Kirk murmured. “It worked once. I’m sure it could work again.”
He smiled to himself at the memory of Taber posing as Kirk in Utica. They had come up with the scheme together. Taber would cause a ruckus and get himself thrown into jail as Kirk Davies. Meanwhile, Kirk would go and kill Henry Carver and his daughter. It had nearly worked, and had Kirk not heard someone calling out to Carver, he would have finished the job. But with Taber in the jail, Kirk knew it was best to get out of sight. He’d hoped that the bullet he’d put in Carver would have taken care of the job. It was a great annoyance that it hadn’t, but the ruse
had served its purpose. The marshal hadn’t even bothered to question him about the shooting.
“I’m thinkin’ maybe I could go back to the doc and agree to stay at his place. Then you could go and kill Carver in Lewistown and then come back here and nab the woman. You could bring her here and tie her up. I’ll no doubt hear about her disappearin’ and then I’ll know it’s safe to come back.” He forced a smile. “I’ll have my alibi, Carver will be dead, and we’ll have our fun.”
Taber nodded. “I think you just might have a plan there.”
Albany was much as Caeden had left it well over a year ago, only now it was covered in snow. He had wrestled with his conscience about returning ever since leaving Montana. He had also spent a good deal of time in prayer. His heart toward God had changed little by little. He knew Emily’s influence had helped in that matter, but more so, he’d started truly trying to seek God on his own.
The thing that troubled him most, however, was a deep fear that God couldn’t forgive him for having turned away. Now as he made his way to see his uncle, Caeden hoped to discuss the matter with him. Uncle Jasper had always been a man of God, and if anyone had the answers, Caeden felt certain he would.
He’d been in town for less than twenty-four hours, but already word had reached him from Catherine, as well as her father. The missives had come separately, hand delivered to his hotel by staff members of the Arnold household. It was clear that Bishop Arnold was still in the dark about the engagement. His letter was quite simple—stating that it was imperative Caeden come for dinner so that they could get the wedding date set and start making plans. Arnold also mentioned a business venture on which he wanted Caeden’s opinion.
Catherine’s note had been simpler still with just four words: “I’ve made my arrangements.”
It was her signal to him that he could break the engagement. Caeden figured to kill two birds with one dinner appearance. He would show up, and prior to supper being served, he would announce that he’d given the matter great consideration but felt that he must now break their engagement. Arnold would be furious, but Caeden would soothe the man by assuring him he could keep the dowry. Caeden hadn’t yet decided what excuse he would use for ending his betrothal but felt certain it wouldn’t matter. Arnold would try to change his mind, and Caeden would stand fast and refuse.
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