by Evans, Tabor
“Go right ahead,” an older woman urged, while the others nodded in agreement. “None of us are in danger of dying right away . . . are we?”
The other patients smiled at the grim humor and shook their heads.
“Thank you for being so understanding. Marshal, you and the young man can bring that big fellow into our surgery room.”
“His name is Homer.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Is that the boy’s name or the name of his dog?”
“The dog,” Bodie said. “He’s part wolf and he’s a real fine animal.”
“I’m sure that he is,” Nurse Winslow agreed. “How did he get shot?”
“It’s complicated,” Longarm said. “Is the Doc tied up or . . .”
“No, he’s in the next room examining a patient. I’ll go get him. We both love animals, so this is not an inconvenience. Lay poor Homer down on that operating room table and we’ll be right back.”
When they were alone for a moment, Bodie wrapped his arms around his dog, and there was a quaver in his voice when he asked, “Do you think the doctor can save Homer?”
“I really don’t know. Your dog was shot in the chest, but he seems to be breathing all right. Maybe the bullet didn’t puncture Homer’s lungs but just snapped a rib or something. The doctor will tell us in a minute or two.”
Dr. Winslow was a short, energetic man in his early forties who wasn’t one to waste time with senseless questions. He burst into the room, took in the scene, and reached for a bottle of something and a patch of gauze. “This your dog?” he asked the boy.
“Yes, he is. His name is Homer.”
“How old is the animal?”
“Almost two,” Bodie replied.
“Then he’s just about your age by our human calendar,” the doctor mused. “Is he going to try and bite me when I put this chloroform patch over his nose and put him to sleep for a while?”
Bodie’s expression was filled with sudden alarm. “You gotta put him to sleep?”
“Yes,” the doctor said firmly. “I insist on it.”
Bodie reluctantly dipped his head in consent. “Is Homer gonna die?”
“We’ll know in a few minutes. Now, hold your dog’s head and talk quietly to him while I put him to sleep.”
“Is he gonna have to sleep a long time?”
“No. If we can save Homer, he’ll regain consciousness in less than an hour.”
Longarm stepped back as Bodie cradled his dog’s head tightly with both arms. The doc put the chloroform patch over the beast’s snout, and Homer jerked back and then relaxed. “Hold the patch over his nose and just let me clip around the wound so I can do a proper examination.”
“Aha,” the doctor said to himself as he used a pair of surgical scissors to clip away some of Homer’s thick brown coat. He gently placed his finger in the bullet hole, wiggled it a little, and then he asked Longarm and Bodie to roll the animal over, which was not an easy job.
“The good news,” Dr. Winslow said, snipping away more hair in quick, professional motions, “is that the bullet missed the dog’s lung or any vital organs and passed out through the hole on the other side. The bad news is that the dog has lost a tremendous amount of blood and could go into shock and die.”
“What can you do for him?” Longarm asked.
“I’ll clean the entry and exit wounds, bandage them, and we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“That’s all you can do?” the boy asked, looking both disappointed and distressed.
“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Winslow found a stethoscope and pressed it against Homer’s big chest. He listened intently for a minute and nodded. “Sounds like the beating of a Comanche war drum. Not that I’ve ever heard a Comanche war drum, but this beast has a strong and steady heartbeat.”
“That’s good, ain’t it?” Bodie asked.
“Yes, very good. We have a little room that we keep supplies in, and that’s where we’ll let him spend the night. If the big fella makes it until tomorrow, then there’s no doubt in my mind that our friend Homer will soon be on the road to recovery.”
Bodie sniffled. “I sure hope so. He’s a fine dog.”
“That he appears to be. At least half wolf, I’d say from the size of him.”
“Yep.” Bodie raised his chin proudly. “My dog comes from near the Sierra Nevada Mountains same as me. From a mining town named Bodie that’s a long way from here.”
“Yes, I know.”
Dr. Winslow set to work cleaning and bandaging the wounds, and when he was finished, he said, “I think this dog will pull through . . . but no promises.”
Longarm managed a smile. “Thanks, Doc.”
“You are welcome. Now, I have an elderly patient that is having breathing problems, and I’d better get back to him right away. Custis, we’ll put Homer on a blanket in that storage room, and I’ll check in on him now and then to make sure he’s all right.”
“I’m staying with Homer,” Bodie said. “He’s my dog and I’m not leaving him.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to tonight,” Longarm said. “But the doctor and his wife will take good care of him.”
“No!”
Longarm looked at the doctor. After a pause, the doctor sighed and said, “Boy, don’t you have someone who . . .”
“No,” Bodie said, “I’m all on my own now.”
“You’re too young to be on your own.”
“I’m old enough. I can take care of myself, and Homer helps take care of me.”
The doctor looked to Longarm for help. “We’ll talk this over and get it straightened out,” Longarm promised. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good,” Dr. Winslow said with relief. “We’ll move the animal into that room and make him comfortable. He’ll wake up in a short time, but he’ll be groggy for a while. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have work yet to do on human patients.”
When they were alone, Longarm leaned back against the operating table and said, “Bodie, you can’t stay here.”
“I have to. When Homer wakes up and finds me gone, he’ll be more trouble than any of you can handle.”
Longarm realized that this was probably true. “Maybe,” he said, “Nurse Winslow can talk her husband into letting you spend the night with Homer.”
“If she can’t, I’ll wait until he can walk and we’ll be on our way.”
“You can’t just leave,” Longarm said patiently. “Your stepfather was shot to death and you killed a man. It isn’t going to be all that easy.”
“Sure it is,” Bodie said. “I didn’t really know John Stock well. We ain’t been together but a few months. The thing is, it would make things a whole lot easier for me and Homer if you can give us a few dollars for eats.”
“Who is alive in your family that you can go and stay with?”
“I ain’t seen my ma since she ran off with a gambler about two years ago. I got a granny somewhere here in Denver. Her name is Ida, and she’s got a house and some money . . . or so I was always told. I don’t know if that’s true because I never met her. Ida lives with an aunt named Rose.”
“Do you even know their last names?”
Bodie cocked his head for a moment in thought. “Granny Ida Clark. Auntie Rose Atkinson. Yeah, that’s what John said their last names were. We were going to go find them and see if we could get some money, when those men kicked my dog and shot John and then I shot that last big son of a bitch.”
“You shouldn’t cuss,” Longarm said sternly.
Bodie folded his arms across his chest. “I been cussin’ since I was in diapers.”
“Well, don’t cuss around me or the doctor and his wife, or it won’t go well for you and Homer.”
“You’d send us off just for cussin’?�
� Bodie asked.
“Maybe.” Longarm was beginning to wish that he’d never become involved. This kid was tough and hard and he didn’t seem very cooperative. The other thing was that he seemed a whole lot more concerned about the fate of his dog than about the death of John Stock.
“The room is ready for Homer,” Nurse Winslow said, pushing into the surgery. “If we can move him now, it will be better than when he wakes up. I’ve got a couple of blankets on the floor and he’ll be comfortable. I’ve put a bowl of water and some meat scraps that I sent for so that he can eat if he feels up to it.”
“Homer will feel up to it all right,” Bodie promised. “He’ll eat most anything he can swallow.”
Longarm scooped up the dog and soon had him resting on a nice blanket in a small room lined with shelves and a single window. “Mrs. Winslow, Bodie wants to stay with his dog tonight.”
“I . . . I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Then we’ll both be on our way when Homer wakes up,” Bodie vowed. “We’ll get along.”
“That doesn’t sound at all like a good idea,” the nurse said, glancing at Longarm for help.
Longarm fidgeted. He had a problem here and no solutions. He lived on the second floor of a rooming house, and he wasn’t about to try to carry that big, half-dead dog up the stairs with a boy in tow.
“Where is the kid!” a loud voice said outside the room.
Longarm turned to see Sheriff Clyde Miller fill the doorway. He and Miller had never liked each other, and Longarm suspected the lawman’s recent bad mood was because he was about to lose an upcoming election, which would put him out of a job.
“Hold up there, Sheriff,” Longarm said, blocking the big man’s path.
“Is that the kid that shot a man down in the street!”
“Sure, but only because the man had just shot his father and then kicked him in the head.”
“I’ll have to take him into custody,” Miller said. “And he’s got some questions to answer.”
“Bodie needs a little time,” Longarm argued. “I’ll bring him by tomorrow to tell you his story.”
“No,” Miller snapped. “Three dead men are lying out in my street, and there’s a crowd of more than a hundred. I need to get to the bottom of this now.”
Longarm scowled. “Sheriff, I saw everything and I killed one of the men.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard. And I’ll need some answers from you too, Marshal.”
“Tomorrow,” Longarm growled.
Sheriff Miller snorted in anger. “Well, I guess I could wait that long. But you’d better both come by my office right after breakfast or I’ll come and drag that boy by his ears.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Longarm said.
“You heard what I said. If the kid don’t show up at my office right after breakfast, I’ll hold you responsible.”
Longarm had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. When the sheriff was gone, he said, “Bodie, I’ll leave you here with your dog. I’m sure that Dr. Winslow and his wife will bring you and Homer some food. I’ll be back around for you in the morning.”
“Sure,” Bodie said, kneeling beside the dog and stroking its fur. “See you then.”
Longarm removed his bloodstained coat and threw it in a corner. Then he left the pair and headed out of the doctor’s office, but not before thanking the doctor and his wife.
“The boy looks pretty rough,” Rebecca Winslow offered. “Both he and the dog are awfully thin and dirty.”
“They’ve already seen too much of the wrong side of life, Rebecca.”
“What’s going to happen to the boy?”
“I’m not sure. He says that he has a wealthy granny named Ida Clark and an auntie named Rose Atkinson.”
“Ida is one of our patients.”
“She is?”
“Yes, she’s a lovely old lady.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“She lives on Center Street. She talks about her rose garden all the time, and the last time she was in she told me that she’d had her house painted a lovely yellow and trimmed with white.”
“Center Street isn’t that long. I’ll be able to find her.”
“I hope that the boy was telling you the truth.”
“Is a Rose Atkinson a patient of yours?”
“No,” Rebecca said. “But Ida has talked about her. I guess she and Rose have lived together for a number of years. I think that Ida said that Rose was a childless widow and that her husband had died of a fever while searching for gold up around Cripple Creek.”
“I’ll find them and see if they even know Bodie exists,” Longarm said. “Maybe they’re able and willing to take Bodie and his dog under their roof and raise him up right.”
“What about his real mother?”
Longarm shrugged. “Bodie just told me that she ran off with a gambler a couple of years ago.”
“And left him?”
“Yeah,” Longarm said. “I haven’t heard any of the details, but that’s what I know so far.”
“I heard Sheriff Miller say that the boy actually shot and killed a man.”
“He did.”
Nurse Rebecca Winslow shook her head. “That boy sure has seen a lot of bad things for being so young.”
“He has at that,” Longarm agreed as he tipped his hat and went out the door.
* * *
He had walked only a short distance when he saw a hearse and two morticians dressed all in black loading bodies into their wagon. Longarm was in a hurry and did not want to be questioned about who was supposed to pay the funeral expenses, so he tugged his flat-brimmed hat low over his face and kept moving. No one recognized him, and he continued down the street and then rounded a block and entered the dress shop where Gloria Harmon was waiting on a lady. When she was finished, he approached her and said, “I’m going out to dinner and it would be nice to have the pleasure of your company.”
Gloria’s dark eyes widened with concern. “Custis, you have blood on your shirt!”
He looked down and saw that it was indeed badly stained. “Sorry.”
“What happened to your coat?”
“It’s a sad story,” Longarm replied. “I need a couple of drinks before telling it. Can you close up a little early this afternoon?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll just wait outside for you.”
“I won’t be but a few minutes.” Gloria took his hands and squeezed them tightly. “There was a terrible shooting this afternoon just a few blocks away. Is that why you have bloodstains on your shirt?”
“Yeah.”
She kissed his cheek. “You need to clean up and get a fresh shirt on before we go out for dinner.”
“You’re right.”
“I have a shirt that will fit, and I think you might like it better if I cooked us something to eat at my place.”
“You have any whiskey at home?”
“Only brandy and wine, I’m afraid.”
“While you’re closing up, I’ll get us some whiskey,” he said, wheeling around and leaving the shop.
Longarm had killed a lot of men in war and in the line of duty, but he’d never really gotten used to it. And there was something about the ragged boy and his dog that had touched him with sadness. Bodie and Homer were in trouble even before the shoot-out, and Longarm felt that he had to do something to help them or he’d never really forgive himself.
He just wasn’t sure how or what he was going to do next, and there was that damned Sheriff Miller to contend with first thing tomorrow morning. But between then and now was Gloria and tonight, and he was hoping that might be enough to take his mind off all his troubles.
Chapter 3
Longarm bought a pin
t of excellent whiskey and met Gloria as she was closing up her shop. She took his hand and said, “I live just a short ways up the street. Did you get a bottle of good whiskey?”
“The best.”
“You sound like you need a few good stiff drinks and someone to talk to.”
He nodded. “I had to kill a man just a while ago.”
For a moment, her face reflected shock, but then she said, “I’m sure that you had no choice.”
“I didn’t.”
They walked along in silence until they reached the house she rented rooms in. Once inside, Gloria unlocked her door and Longarm followed her inside. The place was much larger than his own, had nice furniture, and was clean. It was obvious at a glance that Gloria took a lot of pride in her surroundings. “Nice place.”
“Thank you. I’ve only lived here six months, so it’s not yet the way I like it, but it’s coming along.”
“Looks plenty fine to me.”
Gloria opened the whiskey, poured two glasses, and they sat down next to each other on a comfortable couch. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out, putting her feet on a table. She raised her glass in a silent toast, which he returned. “Make yourself comfortable, Custis.”
Longarm removed his boots, slumped down in the softness of the couch, and took a long swallow. He closed his eyes and felt the heat of the whiskey run right down into his belly. Old Oak Barrel was expensive Kentucky whiskey and well worth the price.
“So,” she said, “do you want to tell me exactly what happened in that shoot-out?”
“Only if you’re curious.”
“I am.”
Longarm described the unfolding of the events and ended the account by saying, “That kid from Bodie isn’t quite normal. He seems as hard as some of the men I’ve known in war but at a very young age. I’m sure that’s because Bodie is used to nothing but betrayal and deprivation given his very grim childhood circumstances.”
“And what about his parents?” Gloria asked.
“Bodie says that his mother ran off with a gambler a few years ago. The stepfather that was shot dead today brought Bodie to Denver, probably to dump him off at his grandmother’s. The way John Stock was dressed and looked, it was clear that the man was penniless, and it’s my guess that he was going to try to squeeze some money out of Bodie’s grandmother, Ida Clark, and also Aunt Rose. Afterward, I expect John Stock was planning to disappear.”
