“Do we have enough of that phony money to buy a big ranch and build a couple of big cabins?” Teresa wanted to know.
“Yep,” Rolf said. “But could we talk about something else until we’re out of hearing range of this town?”
“Sure,” Teresa said, sliding back over to his side. “We know that spending loads of counterfeit money is a criminal offense. One that can send you to jail and even prison. That’s not what Carole or I want either.”
“Glad to hear that,” Rolf said, spying a livery and heading in its direction. “After we put up all the horses and find rooms, we need to buy a ranch fast and get out of town before someone starts nosing around.”
“Maybe there’s a better doctor in this town,” Carole said. “One who can really help Nathan instead of just saying he’s hopeless.”
“Maybe,” Rolf said, but inwardly he doubted it.
An hour later, Dr. John Barry emerged from his examination room with his bushy brows knitted together. “Interesting case,” he said, glancing back into the room to see Nathan just sitting zombie-like on the examination table. “Your friend has definitely suffered a severe contusion or concussion.”
“Doctor?” Carole asked, stepping in front of the distracted-looking physician. “Would you mind telling us what you discovered?”
Dr. Barry possessed a very large head covered with silver hair. His eyes were immense behind his thick glasses.
“Not at all,” he said, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. “To begin with, it’s obvious that your friend suffered an extremely severe blow to the anterior of his cranium about where-“
“He was pistol-whipped,” Carole said very deliberately. “The blow caught Nathan just above the hairline. Are his brains scrambled, Dr. Barry?”
“Scrambled?” The doctor replaced his glasses and shook his head. “Oh, heavens, no! I happen to have taken some training in head injuries at the University of Boston and I’ve seen many patients recover from even more severe blows.”
Carole’s eyes lit up. “You mean he’s going to be all right!”
“Not … not entirely.”
Carole’s smile died. “What does that mean?”
“His brain has been severely traumatized. There is cranial swelling which can be fatal.”
“Fatal!” Teresa cried. “Doctor, he was injured several weeks ago.”
“Oh. Then that answers my first question and puts a happier light on the matter,” Barry said. “In that case, he probably won’t die, but I expect that it will be a good while before his brain functions correctly again.”
“What do you mean, a good while?” Rolf asked. “Weeks? Months? What?”
“A month, maybe a little longer. It’s impossible to say. We just don’t know enough about the brain or cranial injuries to predict. However, my experience tells me that a blow of this nature could well result in major behavioral modifications and quite likely permanent amnesia.”
“Amnesia?” Teresa said. “Isn’t that forgetting stuff?”
“Yes,” Barry said, “it is. And in your friend’s case, it would be a permanent loss of memory.”
“All memory?” Rolf asked with rising apprehension as it occurred to him that Nathan might think them strangers instead of his only friends.
“It’s impossible to say,” Barry told them. “But be warned that you might actually have to teach Nathan how to talk, feed himself, everything. On the other hand, he might remember quite a lot but with certain periods of his life missing completely. That is very common. Often, a patient will remember segments of his childhood. Special events that were either very unpleasant or very pleasant. He or she usually remembers their mother, sometimes their father or a favorite sibling.”
Dr. Barry shrugged his shoulders. “To theorize at this point is a waste of time. You will see this man begin to blink and show signs that his brain is starting to function again. Quite possibly this will happen in fits and starts. But the improvement, once it begins, will be quite dramatic.”
“What is the chance of complete recovery of his memory?” Carole asked.
“The chances are slim to none,” Dr. Barry said without hesitation. “I can assure you with a fair degree of certainty that this man will never completely regain his memory.”
“Will his personality be changed?” Teresa asked.
“Most definitely. After such a trauma, most patients become more serene and even … I daresay … happier individuals. They may lack a high degree of concentration ability, but they seem to enjoy life to an extent that most of us could never even hope to achieve.”
“A mixed blessing,” Rolf mused aloud.
“Yes,” Barry agreed, overhearing the remark, “definitely mixed.”
The doctor turned to Carole. “Didn’t you introduce yourself to me as his fiancee when you first came into my office?”
“Yes.”
“Then your patience will be sorely tried at times and you will question if this is even the same man that you chose to marry. But I promise you, miss, that Nathan will eventually make a strong recovery and become an absolute delight. You must simply be loving and patient.”
“I’ve been loving him plenty already, and when I do it, he really gets excited and smiles a lot,” Carole explained, looking quite pleased.
The doctor blushed. “Well,” he said, recovering nicely, “go easy on the ‘loving’ part for a while. This man is recuperating, and it might not be wise to overtax his … his most basic functions.”
“Huh?”
“Just lay off his body for a few weeks,” Teresa said, “isn’t that what you’re trying to say, Doctor?”
“Exactly,” the man replied, turning away and removing a stethoscope from his neck, then pretending to arrange his tray of instruments.
Rolf paid the doctor and they led Nathan outside. He looked around the town, and then he actually nodded his head and a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“Look at him,” Carole said, hugging Nathan’s arm, “my love thinks the doctor’s advice about us not doing it was every bit as ridiculous as I did!”
“Or,” Teresa said, “he recognizes things here in Prescott and they bring back good memories.”
“There’s a land office up the street,” Rolf said, shouldering a pair of saddlebags heavy with counterfeit hundred-dollar bills. “Let’s go buy a ranch.”
The land office was staffed by just one man, a very jolly and heavyset fellow who introduced himself as Albert A. Atherton.
“But you can call me Big Al,” he said, motioning them all to chairs in his tiny office but obviously having a difficult time keeping from staring at Nathan.
Finally, Al said, “His face is very familiar. Isn’t he … isn’t that Nathan Cox?”
“Yes,” Teresa said before Rolf could think of some alias that might help to protect them.
“I knew it!” Al said. “The rest of the family left here a couple years back. I heard they went down to Tucson and started raising sheep in the desert. I don’t know that for a fact though. What’s wrong with Nathan anyway? Why doesn’t he say something instead of just staring at the floor?”
“He’s grown quite shy since leaving Arizona,” Rolf said, not wanting to go into a long explanation that would only lead to further questions that could be detrimental to all their futures. “We have cash and we want to buy a cattle ranch.”
“Cash, huh!” Al actually rubbed his fat hands together. “Well, cash always talks! How much cash and how much of a ranch do you want to buy?”
Before Rolf could tell the man that they had about twenty thousand dollars, Teresa said, “What kinds of good ranches are available?”
“Actually,” Al said, “the old Cox homestead is up for sale. Big ranch with about four thousand acres of excellent land, timber, and grass. Six water-holding ponds that will save your beef in the fall when Granite Creek gets low, and even a couple of silver mines that still haven’t produced but that could someday.”