When Gauge came around again, the doctor looked up at him, pleadingly. “I... I told you I didn’t bury anybody last night. Your man... who says... says he saw me... must have been drunk.”
Gauge’s eyebrows went up and down. “Well, good chance that he was. But that don’t change what he saw. Simple question, Doc. Who did you bury?”
“No... nobody.”
Gauge grabbed him by his suitcoat and shook him like the least obedient child on earth. Over at the table, Maxwell and Colton were smiling at each other, the smaller man giggling to himself.
“It was Old Swenson, wasn’t it?” Gauge demanded. “Don’t bother lying.”
His breathing ragged, the doc managed, “If... if you know... why ask?”
Gauge backed off, nodded slowly, hands on hips, appraising his bloodied interview subject. “Then we agree. It was Old Swenson you buried.”
The doctor’s nod was barely discernible, but it was there. “Can I... can I go now? Why... why don’t we... all agree that... that I’ll forget about this little incident... and you won’t tell anybody... what your man saw me do.”
“Guess that’s against medical ethics or some such, right, Doc? Not to worry — we don’t tell tales out of school here at the sheriff’s office. Though... we are about to move on to my next question.”
Miller’s swollen eyes closed in anticipation of what pain and indignities were yet to come.
But Gauge merely leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms folded, casual, friendly, implying that no more punishment was coming, as long as the doctor continued to cooperate.
“Tell me, Doc — why did you sneak off and bury Old Swenson?”
Miller shook his head, an effort that clearly had a cost.
Gauge lurched forward and slammed a fist into the side of the doctor’s head. The doc’s mouth went slack and pink saliva drooled from pulverized lips barely recognizable as lips at all.
The doctor began to cry.
To sob.
At the little table, Maxwell was grinning like a kid at the circus while Colton started in with a high-pitched laugh, saying, “He’s bawlin’ like a little girl! Like a damn girl!”
Gauge frowned over at his deputies, shaking his head a tad.
Then he resumed his questioning. “Doc, we got us a problem. Good as I am at this, when we get past a certain point? You’re gonna be the next one buried out there in the brush somewheres. You do follow?”
The doc swallowed thickly. Nodded sluggishly.
“Okay, then. Why the fuss over Swenson’s body?”
“I... I think you know why.”
“Let’s say I don’t.”
Again the doc swallowed, and he lifted his chin, as if inviting yet another blow. His speech became less halting as he summoned strength from somewhere.
“All right... I’ll tell you why... though as I say... you likely... likely know already.” He sighed, tremblingly. “Swenson came down with the pox not long before he died.”
The deputies at the table weren’t smiling now.
The doctor nodded his head back, indicating the two spectators. His mouth was trying to form something that might have been a smile.
“Your men handled the body, didn’t they, Sheriff? Was it these two?... I hope all of you know that you can get this unforgiving thing, too. Maybe... maybe it’s not such a good time to be murdering your town doctor.”
Maxwell and Colton were on their feet, wild-eyed, the latter reaching for his pistol.
But Gauge waved at them to sit back down, giving them a few shakes of the head and a skeptical expression that seemed to tell them not to worry about what the doctor had said.
Bending over, hands on his knees, the sheriff stared into the grotesque mask he’d created where the doc’s face used to be.
“Don’t try to rattle us, Doc. We’ve been around cows too long. We’ve seen the pox before.”
“Then... then you must’ve seen people die from it. And maybe... maybe this is your turn. At least, if that is the case? You fools won’t spread the infection any further.”
Gauge scowled and drew back his hand to slap the doc.
But their guest’s chin had dropped to his chest, the man finally unconscious. Not dead, still breathing. But out.
The door half-opened and Rhomer stuck his head in. “Harry... better step outside here a second.”
Gauge told the two deputies to leave the doc be, then stepped out.
On the porch, hands on hips, Gauge asked, “What’s going on?”
The deputy gestured all around. “See for yourself — not a damn thing is goin’ on, and that’s the point.”
Main Street did look strangely deserted.
Rhomer went on: “We got a stage due through here this afternoon, right? Stage comin’, every merchant in town is standin’ outside of his place of business with a big welcomin’ smile plastered on his puss, and the ladies’re all dressed up and lined along the boardwalk rails to see who new’s comin’ into town. Now... what do you see this mornin’, boss?”
“Not a damn thing,” Gauge admitted. “All we lack is tumbleweed rollin’ down Main.”
That stage would be carrying the first round of cattle buyers. Gauge had already decided to do business with them. With the clock ticking on the cowpox infestation, doing that was critical. No time for competitive bids.
“Stores all closed,” Rhomer was saying, shaking his head, gazing down the street.
“Is the café open?”
The proprietor, Lucas Jones, used to ride with Gauge, who was co-owner.
“He is, and Luke says he sold more than a few cups of coffee, first thing. Right around when men started in just sort of driftin’ out of town, not long after sunup. You know what else he says?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
The deputy’s eyes narrowed meaningfully. “Thought he might’ve saw the stranger goin’ into the hardware store, right after it opened... but ain’t sure.”
Gauge looked up and down the empty street.
Rhomer was saying, “Seems like all that’s left in town is women and kids, and they’re mostly keepin’ inside. What the hell’s goin’ on, Harry?”
He shook his head, disgusted. “It’s that stranger’s work. Has to be. Somehow he convinced these lily livers to go out and help Cullen in his time of need.”
The redheaded deputy tugged gently at his bandaged ear, making a sour face. “You should’ve killed that S.O.B. when you had the chance, Harry.”
“Well, Vint,” came a familiar female voice from behind them, “why didn’t you?”
They turned to see Lola — ready for riding — in a blue-and-white shirt and navy split-skirt with matching gloves and boots — smirking at them sassily.
Gauge frowned. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Lola shrugged. Her eyes met Rhomer’s and he glanced away. “Nothing. Just an observation, posed as a question.”
“Well, keep your damn observations to yourself,” Gauge said irritably. “Questions too.”
She tossed her head. Her hair was up as usual, but she wore only light face paint. “All right. If you think Deputy Rhomer here is the kind of... advisor you prefer.”
Rhomer gave her a hard-eyed, nasty look, just before Gauge shoved his face at hers, taking her aback some.
He said, “How about you just keep that pretty mouth shut? I just about had it with you lipping off all the time.”
“Harry, I was only...”
“Lola, I killed men for less than I put up with out of you lately. Bear that in mind.”
Rhomer had a goofy smile going that Gauge picked up on. “What you grinning about, Vint?”