“’Tis grateful I am, lad, for your report on the availability of employment, but our quest is to find a doctor.”
“We ain’t got no real doctor here, ’cept for Dr. Tillman, and he’s an animal doctor is what he is. But seein’ as we ain’t got no doctor, well, he sometimes treats folks, too.”
“And where is he domiciled?”
“What?”
“Where may I find this doctor?”
“Oh, he has a house that’s about a mile out of town.” The boy pointed. “Just keep on a’ goin’ that way ’till you run out of buildings and houses, then keep on a’ goin’ some more till you’ll come to a white house on the right side of the road. It’s got a sign out front that has a picture of a horse on it. That’s in case you can’t read the words that say veterinary doctor.”
“Thank you, lad, you have been most helpful,” Malcolm said. He rode back to join the others.
“Did you find a doctor?” McKenna asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Malcolm replied.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I found a doctor,” Malcolm said without going into further detail.
Following the directions the boy gave him, Malcolm led the men to the doctor. His office, which was also his home, was a low, single-story building that sat at least a hundred feet back from the road. A wisp of wood smoke rose from the chimney, carrying with it the aroma of frying pork chops.
“This is it,” Malcolm said.
“Wait a minute, what do you mean this is it?” McKenna asked. “Can’t you read? This here is a veterinarian.”
“There are no physicians available, but according to the lad in town, the veterinarian also treats people,” Malcolm said.
“But an animal doctor?”
“What choice do we have, McKenna?” Moran asked.
“Yeah,” McKenna replied. “I reckon you are right.”
“Before we ride up there, take a good look around,” Malcolm said. “Make sure there is no one in sight.”
The saddles squeaked as the riders twisted to look around. “There is no need for all us to go inside,” Malcolm said. “I’ll go in with Garcia and McKenna. The rest of you move around behind the house. I don’t want anyone riding down the road and getting curious as to why so many horses are here.”
“Wait a minute,” Pogue said. “I thought we was goin’ to get somethin’ to eat here.”
“Yeah,” Pettigrew said. “That’s the only reason I come. I sure don’t care nothin’ about the Mexican. He can die as far as I’m concerned. But I ain’t a’ goin’ to wait around outside iffen there is a chance we can get us somethin’ to eat inside.”
“All right, Johnny, you and your brother take all the horses around back. The rest of you can come in with us.”
“What about us gettin’ somethin’ to eat?” Johnny asked.
“We’ll bring something out to you,” Malcolm said. “Let’s go.” Malcolm clicked to his horse and they rode up to the front of the house, then dismounted.
That is, all but Garcia. Now too weak to dismount on his own, he sat in his saddle until McKenna and Moran helped him down from his horse. The Hill brothers took the horses, then moved them around back as the remaining seven men stepped up onto the doctor’s front porch.
Malcolm didn’t bother to knock, he just pushed it open. McKenna and Moran helped support Garcia as they walked into the house.
“What the . . . ? What is this?” the surprised doctor asked, looking up from a chair where he was reading the newspaper. His wife was standing at the stove frying pork chops, and she looked around in alarm as well.
“Doctor, please forgive us for startling you,” Malcolm said. “We were doing some target shooting a bit earlier, and one of our number was inadvertently shot. ’Tis wondering, I am, if perhaps you could patch him up so that we may complete our journey.”
“And maybe while you’re at it, your woman could fix us somethin’ to eat,” Pettigrew suggested.
“My woman?”
“That one there, standin’ over by the stove,” Pettigrew said.
“She is my wife.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Have her cook us somethin’ to eat. Them pork chops smells pretty good.”
“You do know, do you not, that I am a veterinarian? I’m not a people doctor. What makes you think I could take care of your friend?”
“Animals, people, they are pretty much the same when they get a bullet in ’em,” Pettigrew said. “I’ve seen bullets get took out of a horse and I’ve seen bullets get took out of people. Looked pretty much to me like there wasn’t no difference.”
The doctor looked at the men for a long moment. “You weren’t taking target practice, were you?” he asked. “Are you outlaws on the run?”
“What if we are?” Malcolm asked. “Doesn’t the Hippocratic Oath say that you have to treat him anyway?”
“I told you, I am a veterinarian. I don’t take the Hippocratic Oath. That is for physicians,” the doctor said. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Never mind, take him over to the bed and let me take a look at him.”
Moran and McKenna lay Garcia on his back on the bed.
“Where was he shot?”
“In the back, just inside the shoulder blade, I think,” McKenna said.
The doctor opened Garcia’s shirt. “That’s not good,” he said.
“What?”
“The bullet didn’t go all the way through him. It’s still inside. I need you to turn him over so I can have a look. And do it carefully. It is going to be quite painful for him.”
With help from McKenna and Moran, Garcia was turned over, but the doctor was correct in suggesting that it would be painful, and Garcia grimaced as they moved him.
“Well, he’s lucky in one thing,” the doctor said. “I don’t think there’s any festering. But, I expect he has lost a lot of blood, and like I said, the bullet is going to have to come out.”
“Hell, why bother?” Pogue asked. “He’s goin’ to die anyhow, ain’t he?”
“Probably,” the doctor agreed. “But it’s not an absolute. I can at least try.”
“You want to waste your time on him, go right ahead,” Pettigrew said.
Turning, Pogue saw the doctor’s wife standing close by. “Lady, I ain’t seen you put no more pork chops in that skillet,” he said.
“I don’t have any more pork chops,” the doctor’s wife answered, her voice quivering with fear.
“Well what have you got?”
“Fix them some bacon, Pearl. We’ve got a whole slab of bacon,” the doctor said.
“Is bacon all right?” Pearl asked.
“Hell, bacon is fine. Just get to cookin’ it,” Pogue said.
“I have a basket of fresh eggs, maybe two dozen or more. I can scramble them. And I have a couple of loaves of bread I baked yesterday, if that’s all right. I had no idea there would be so many to feed.”
“Woman, quit talkin’ so much and get to cookin’,” Shaw said.
“And, don’t forget,” Malcolm added, “there are two more outside.”
“Actually, whenever my husband doctors a person, I have to help. I’ll cook you some food as soon as he is through attending to his patient.”
Pogue pulled his pistol and pointed it at Garcia, who, by now, had passed out.
“Well hell, if that’s all that’s stoppin’ you, I can take of that. I’ll just shoot the son of a bitch now and get it over with.”
The doctor stepped between Pogue and Garcia. “If you shoot him, you’re goin’ to have to shoot me, too,” he said.
“Hell, that’s all right by me,” Pogue said easily.
“And me,” Pearl said, stepping in front of her husband.
“I don’t have no problem with that, either,” Pogue said, and he cocked his pistol.
“No, Pogue,” Pettigrew said. “You ain’t goin’ to shoot either one of ’em.”
Malcolm, who had been surprised by the sudden turn of events, was glad that Pettigrew had spoken up. He didn’t want to shoot the doctor and his wife, but it wasn’t because of any sense of compassion. He knew that if they did kill the doctor and his wife, the entire territory would be after them. He wondered for a moment how he had gotten himself into this position. He had come to America to deal with one man, and though he had no real police authority, he did have some cover for what he was doing because Duff MacCallister was wanted back in Scotland. That was before. Now, he was an outlaw pure and simple, a bank robber, a party to murder, and in league with the most disreputable bunch of men he had ever known, or even heard about.