Waco 6

by J. T. Edson

  Having been a doctor’s wife and lived in the West for many years, Aline Leroy was aware of what such a visit probably portended. So she had already brought a lamp into the office and was lighting a second when her husband arrived.

  ‘I’ve told Molly to start boiling water, Eldridge,’ Aline remarked, looking at the men who were following the doctor into the office. She only employed the family’s nickname when they were alone or with very good friends. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Have some coffee ready and bring in a bottle of whiskey,’ Leroy instructed and turned his attention to the callers.

  As the doctor had deduced, Lindrick was injured. Blood smeared his face and his eyes were squinting with the pain he was trying to hide. However, despite the gory mess on his features, Leroy decided that he was the less serious of the two patients.

  The men with Lindrick were not hired guns. Instead, they were two of the Lazy M’s cowhands. One, in fact, was a good friend of Doc’s; a wide shouldered and generally cheery youngster whose mop of reddish brown hair had earned him the nickname ‘Rusty’. Supported between the pair, having been shot in the right side and now almost unconscious, was Taylor Maudlin’s second son, Arnold.

  ‘We was riding the herd on—’ Rusty Willis began, as Doc followed them in and closed the door.

  ‘I don’t give a damn what you were doing and less about what happened!’ Leroy snapped. ‘Set him down as gently as you can on the couch, then get the hell from under my dainty lil feet.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ assented Rusty obeying with alacrity. He was aware of the doctor’s reputation for irascibility when working.

  ‘You go on over and sit at the table, Mr. Lindrick,’ Leroy suggested. ‘Let my boy take a look at your head.’

  ‘You can let ole Doc there do it safe enough, Mr. Lindrick,’ Rusty supplemented. ‘He’s’s good’s his daddy—near on.’

  ‘Why thank you ’most to death, Mr. Willis, that’s real kind of you to say so and I’m sure you’ve put Mr. Lindrick’s mind at rest,’ Leroy growled, eyeing the young cowhand sardonically. However, he was secretly pleased with the compliment that had been paid, in all sincerity, to his son. ‘Now, unless you want him to show everybody how good he is at pulling my boot out of your butt end, watch what you’re doing.’ His gaze swung to Doc and he went on, ‘And you can stop that grinning, boy. You’ve a patient waiting for you. Go and do some work.’

  Twelve – I Don’t Aim to Have It Spoiled

  Although Doc Leroy did not lose the grin that had been caused by the interplay between his father and the youngster who was to become an even closer friend in the not too distant future, he turned to carry out the order. Watching the two cowhands lowering their burden gently on to the couch, he walked over to his own patient. Hayden Paul Lindrick went and sat at the table. Trying to remove the bandana, he found that the blood had congealed and was causing it to stick to his brow.

  ‘You don’t have to prove to me how tough you are,’ Doc warned, seeing the boss gun wince and then tighten his hold as if meaning to tug the covering free. ‘Especially if the way you’re figuring on doing it’s going to make more work for me.’

  ‘You’re the doctor,’ Lindrick answered, managing a weak smile as he noticed that the youngster had adopted a similar attitude and tone to that of Doctor Eldridge Jason Leroy, M.D.

  ‘Not yet, but I hope to be,’ Doc corrected and raised his voice. ‘Is there any chance of me getting some hot Water in here, please?’

  ‘Hot damn if you’re not starting to sound like your ‘ap’,’ Molly Down-Stream complained, using the Comanche word for ‘father’, as she entered carrying a bowl of hot water and a stack of clean white cloths on a tray. ‘One like him plenty bad enough.’

  ‘See what a pleasure it is when you hire loyal and respectful help?’ Doc inquired, giving his attention to Lindrick. Then he looked to where his mother was coming in with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. ‘We can use that over here, momma. You’re going to need a drink, sir.’

  ‘Am I?’ the boss gun asked.

  ‘Maybe not while I’m working on you,’ Doc drawled cheerfully. ‘But you sure as hell will when you get the bill for me doing it.’

  ‘In that case, I’d better take one,’ Lindrick declared, accepting the glass of whiskey Aline Leroy brought over to him. ‘My thanks, ma’am.’

  ‘Wait until you’ve tasted it before you thank me,’ the woman replied. ‘It’s some Joe Harrigan at the saloon gave my husband instead of a cash fee. Can I do anything for you, son?’

  ‘I reckon daddy’s going to need you a heap more than I do,’ Doc decided, after a quick glance at his father. ‘Molly and I can ’tend to things here.’

  ‘My thanks, ma’am,’ Lindrick said, returning the empty glass. As Aline put it and the bottle on the table, he went on, Tm in your hands—doctor.’

  Asking Molly to fetch him a needle and some of the gut he might need for sutures, Doc took and soaked one of the pieces of cloth. Carefully, so as to cause as little pain as possible, he began to wet the bandana. As the water took effect on the congealed blood, it came loose and he was able to remove it.

  ‘Whooee!’ the youngster breathed, gazing at the vicious looking furrow in the shape of a flattened ‘W’ that had been carved across the man’s brow. ‘Mister, I don’t know what you’ve been hit with, but I’ll tell you that you’ve sure as hell been hit good.’

  ‘I thought I might have been,’ Lindrick admitted. ‘Can you do anything about it?’

  ‘Likely. It’s going to need stitching and, even then, you’ll have a scar that’ll stay with you for the rest of your days,’ Doc answered and watched the boss gun’s eyes flickering to where his mother and father were already starting to work on Arnold Maudlin. ‘You can wait for daddy to get through, only it could be a fair spell before he’s done. Or you can let me do it.’

  ‘I’d say let Doc do it, was I you, Mr. Lindrick,’ Rusty Willis put in. Having been told bluntly by Leroy to go somewhere else he and his companion had returned to the table. ‘He stitched up a cut I got on my leg three years back and it hasn’t’s much as dropped off yet.’

  ‘With such a recommendation, what have I to lose?’ Lindrick said dryly. ‘Go ahead, doctor, but I’d like another drink of that whiskey first.’

  In spite of his comment, the boss gun knew he had cause to respect Rusty’s opinion. Not only did the youngster know something of Doc Leroy’s abilities, but he had behaved with courage and initiative in Lindrick’s company already that evening.

  While accompanying Arnold Maudlin and the two cowhands when they went to relieve the men in charge of a herd of cattle that had been gathered, they had been ambushed. Taking cover behind the trunk of a white oak, Lindrick had told the cowhands to remove Maudlin—who had been wounded in the opening volley—while he held the attackers’ attention. Struck on the forehead with a splinter of wood tom from the tree by the impulsion of a rifle bullet and partially blinded as blood cascaded into his eyes, he had been in serious trouble. However, having heard his cry of pain, Rusty had returned. Firing fast as he could work the lever of a borrowed Henry rifle, the youngster had routed their assailants and forced them to withdraw. As they had been closer to town than the ranch house, considering how badly Maudlin was wounded, Lindrick had ordered that they came in to obtain qualified medical attention.

  ‘You want this?’ Molly Down-Stream inquired, having collected the items requested and, setting down the tray they were on, indicating an open pill box holding a dark powder. ‘You didn’t say, but I fetched it.’

  ‘What is it?’ Lindrick asked, putting down the empty glass.

  ‘Pulvis Hamamelis Virginiana,’ Doc growled and, although he did not say, ‘If you must know’, the words were implied by his tone.

  ‘Which means the powdered leaves of a witch hazel tree,’ Lindrick translated. ‘But I thought—’

  ‘Look, mister,’ Doc interrupted coldly. ‘Either you trust me to ’tend to you, or you don’t. But, happ
en its “yes”, leave me do what I figure needs doing.’

  ‘You want for me to whomp him, maybe, Lil Doc?’ Molly suggested hopefully, folding her right hand into a fist not much smaller than a ham. ‘Make him sleep, ’stead of bothering you with fool talk.’

  ‘What do you reckon, Mr. Lindrick?’ the youngster asked threading a needle.

  ‘She may not be respectful, but she’s loyal,’ the boss gun answered. ‘And I can take a hint. Do whatever you decide is necessary, doctor.’

  Accepting the invitation, Doc set about the task, He worked with care and as quickly as possible knowing that the closing of the wound and securing the ligatures could only be accomplished at the cost of considerable pain to the patient. Through it all, although his hands clenched and he occasionally dragged in an extra deep breath, Lindrick made no protest.

  While Doc was carrying out the suturing, Molly Downstream left the room to have coffee made. She had not returned by the time the youngster had completed the task. Hearing the door open, he assumed it was her returning.

  ‘There’re riders coming!’ Dirk Damon announced, entering the office. ‘Sounds to be a fair bunch of them.’

  ‘They can’t be our men this quickly!’ Lindrick decided, setting down the glass in which Doc had poured a stiff shot of the whiskey. The lack of color and haggard expression of his face was mute testimony to the extent of his ordeal. However, in spite of his hands shaking, he looked at the cowhands and began to push back his chair. ‘We—’

  ‘Stay put!’ Doc ordered and the ivory handled Army Colt, which he had not removed while performing the suturing of the wound, leapt from its holster with its hammer clicking back under his thumb. ‘You’re in no damned shape to do anything lively. On top of which, that’s as good a chore as I’ve ever done and I don’t aim to have it spoiled by you-all jumping around and busting all my dainty little stitches.’

  ‘You Lazy M boys’d best just stand there nice and easy,’ Damon advised, emphasizing that it was not merely a request by making a gesture with the Adams Army revolver which he had drawn outside the room and held behind his back when coming to deliver his tidings.

  ‘If they’re from the Circle W—’ Lindrick began, but he had ceased his movements and was sitting still.

  ‘They’ll not do anything at all in Lampasas,’ Damon stated. ‘I only gave up being county sheriff. So I’m still sworn in as town marshal and I’ll be damned from here to Sunday and back if I’ll have you bringing your troubles into my bailiwick. Which being so, I’ll start by taking you three’s guns.’

  ‘A good leader, which I figure you to be, always shows his men the way, Mr. Lindrick,’ Doc supplemented, knowing wherein lay the greatest danger and keeping his Colt aligned rock-steady at the boss gun’s face. ‘You do it first.’

  Providing that not the slightest mistake was made, the easiest person from whom to extract obedience at the point of a gun was an expert in using firearms. Being all too aware of the weapon’s deadly potential, he was too wise to take foolish or reckless chances. That particularly applied, as in the present case, when the man being threatened knew he was up against somebody who possessed considerable skill.

  Every instinct in Lindrick’s body warned him that—young though the other might be—Doc could not be tricked, or bluffed, so as to allow the tables to be turned. There was quiet determination, with neither arrogance, hostility, nor hesitation, about the pallid-faced youngster. He might not care to do it, but he would take whatever steps necessary to enforce his will.

  Against that knowledge, Lindrick had his own reputation to consider. There was some pride in his reluctance to obey, but mainly it was caused by the realization of how yielding up his weapons would be construed by his contemporaries. He earned top wages by his skill and by the way in which he could command obedience from lesser hired guns. Once such men heard that he had handed over his weapons, his authority would be weakened and re-establishing it would require that he proved he had not lost his prowess.

  ‘Give them to me, Mr. Lindrick,’ Aline Leroy suggested, having watched what was happening and guessing at the man’s dilemma. Crossing the room, she went on, ‘If you need them, I’ll let you have them back immediately.’

  ‘Aren’t you needed to help your husband, ma’am?’ the boss gun asked, throwing a look of gratitude at the woman and willing to accept any offer which would save him a loss of face, but also knowing how seriously his employer’s son was injured.

  ‘I am,’ Aline confirmed.

  ‘Then I’ll not keep you away from your work,’ Lindrick declared, extracting the Colt Pocket Pistols using only the thumb and forefinger. He pushed them along the table to just beyond his reach. ‘They’ll stay there unless they’re needed.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Aline assented and swung her gaze to the two cowhands. ‘Now it’s your turn. Would you like to be first, Regi—Rusty Willis?’

  ‘I reckon I would at that, Mrs. Leroy, ma’am,’ Rusty affirmed, being aware that the narrowly averted mention of his hated Christian name “Reginald” had been anything but accidental. Taking the old Dance Bros. Army revolver from its contoured holster, he walked towards the table, saying, ‘Come on, Daybreak, do like the lady says.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Rusty,’ replied the second cowhand who, although a few years older, had great respect for his companion.

  Although Doc was pleased with the satisfactory way in which the disarming of the trio had been carried out, he wondered how long he could count upon them remaining passive once he had left the office. Yet he believed that the need for him to go might arise. Normally his father could have taken care of the situation, but he was too fully occupied with Maudlin’s wound at that moment to be able to do so.

  The problem was taken out of the youngster’s hands in an unexpected fashion.

  ‘Gambling-man Joe says them fellers get here soon,’ Molly Down-Stream remarked, ambling into the office with a cocked twin barreled ten gauge shotgun that seemed almost tiny in her massive right fist. ‘Wants you and Lil Doc go see what you think about ’em, sheriff.’

  ‘We’ll do just that,’ Damon promised. ‘Where’s my wife?’

  ‘Got another shotgun and’s in the kitchen, watching back,’ Molly answered. ‘Make sure nobody comes fooling around back there.’

  ‘Bueno.’ Damon ejaculated, having shared Doc’s concern over the possibility of having to leave Lindrick without adequate supervision and knowing his wife could be counted upon to guard the rear of the building. ‘Let’s go and keep Joe from getting lonely, Doc.’

  ‘Reckon I come sit here, out of folks’s way,’ Molly announced, crossing to park her more than ample rump on the table between the boss gun and his revolvers, nursing her own weapon with its barrels pointing his way. ‘Hey, you Rusty-feller, go into kitchen, find berry pie and bring it back. Only not forget, I know all the other food’s is in there,’

  ‘I’ll fetch it, Molly-gal,’ the young cowhand agreed delightedly, the maid’s berry pies having acquired a local reputation for their succulence.

  Deciding that there was little further cause for alarm or concern, Doc joined Damon at the door. Giving a quick glance around and nodding in satisfaction, the peace officer went into the entrance hall. Following, Doc found that the gambler was still standing so he could not be seen, from the outside. He had also taken another precaution while they had been otherwise engaged.

  ‘I took the liberty of borrowing this, boy,’ Brambile announced, gesturing with the Henry rifle that had been hanging over the fireplace in the sitting-room. ‘Molly let me have some bullets for it.’

  ‘One’s no good without the other, I’d say,’ Doc replied. ‘How do you want us to play it, Dirk?’

  ‘You and I’ll go out and see what’s doing, then decide which way to head her,’ the marshal answered, returning his Adams to its holster. ‘Might be best at first to have our hands empty.’

  ‘You’re the dealer,’ Doc drawled and twirled away the Colt. ‘Sounds like they’re
here and aren’t waiting to be invited to rest their saddles.’

  ‘Sounds like,’ Damon agreed, drawing similar conclusions from the noises outside. ‘Can you stay out of sight until you’re needed, Joe?’

  ‘Anybody would think you’re ashamed to be seen in my company,’ Brambile answered, although he approved of the suggestion. Glancing cautiously from the window, he became serious. ‘There are only five of them, but they’ve come loaded for bear.’

  Moving across to the gambler’s side, so that they could look out equally surreptitiously, Doc and the peace officer gazed across the garden. Having dismounted, the newcomers were examining the horses belonging to the earlier arrivals. Then they came through the gate and walked along the path. In spite of the darkness, they were soon close enough to be identified.

  ‘It’s Ted and Lonny Wensbury,’ Doc announced, having been friendly with the two young men since their schooldays. ‘And, unless I’m mistaken, that’s One-Card Jones with them. But I don’t know the other two.’

  ‘They’re a couple of guns Boone Wensbury’s hired,’ Damon supplied, taking the town marshal’s badge from his jacket’s pocket and pinning it to his vest. ‘I saw them when they came through town. They’ll be the ones to watch.’

  ‘Why sure,’ Doc agreed, knowing that—as was the case with the two Lazy M hands—the other three were not trained gun fighters, or expert in the use of firearms. ‘And the ones who’ll have the best idea of what chances they can’t take.’

  That last point, as the trio in the hall appreciated, could make the local youngsters more dangerous than the professionals.

  ‘We’d better step out and see what they want,’ Damon decided.

  ‘I know what they want,’ Doc stated. ‘It’ll be stopping them trying to get it that could give us the trouble.’

  ‘It could,’ the peace officer agreed, stepping towards the door. ‘Let’s go on out and be diplomatic.’

  ‘In that case, I’d best go first,’ Doc suggested. ‘I’ve horsed around with Lonny, Ted and One-Card plenty in the past. Could be they’ll be inclined to listen to me.’