Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine

by Robert J. Randisi

  “He’s not happy you’re moving,” Maggie said.

  “Is that what ‘well, it’s about time,’ usually means?” Kincaid asked.

  “That’s just his way,” Maggie said. “I can tell he wants you to stay.”

  “I can’t,” Kincaid said. “I already moved my things, and told Kate to tell Arnie—”

  “I get it,” she said. “Why don’t you take Doc’s whiskey out to him?”

  She handed Kincaid two shot glasses, which he took to the porch.

  “Here you go,” he said, sitting next to Edwin and handing him the half-filled glass.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Listen,” Kincaid said. “I’m still going to be around here. I’m going to have to keep draining those lungs of yours. And I’ll see you at the office.”

  “Yeah, sure, sure,” Doc Edwin said. “Whatever.”

  They both stared out at the darkening, empty street.

  “I think we should split the office time between us,” Doc Edwin said. “Three days each.”

  “You’ll trust me with your patients?” Kincaid asked.

  “They’re your patients, too, now,” Edwin said.

  “You want to alternate days?”

  “Sure. As long as I get Saturday,” Doc Edwin said.

  “Agreed.”

  They sat quietly for a few more moments before Doc Edwin spoke again.

  “Did you talk to the sheriff about that Butram fella?” he asked.

  “I did. He doesn’t think much of it, but he said he’d check in to him.”

  “He ain’t good for much, you know. The sheriff, I mean. He’s been in the job too long. Believe me, I know somethin’ about that.”

  “Why do I think you’re trying to tell me something?” Kincaid asked.

  “I ain’t tryin’ to tell you somethin’,” Edwin snapped. “I’m tryin’ to tell myself somethin’.” He finished his drink and handed Kincaid the glass. “Go inside and get me a cheroot, will ya?”

  “Doc—”

  “I just want a few puffs,” Doc Edwin said. “I ain’t gonna smoke the whole thing.”

  “All right,” Kincaid agreed.

  Kincaid went inside, put down the two empty glasses, grabbed a cheroot and some matches, and went back outside. He handed Doc Edwin the cigar, lit a match and held it for him, then backed away from the odious cloud of smoke.

  “Oh, siddown,” Doc Edwin said, “I’ll blow it the other way.”

  Despite Doc’s promise, Kincaid moved his chair a few feet before seating himself again.

  “You gonna start lookin’ for a woman?” the old sawbones asked.

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “Well, yer lookin’ for yer own place,” Edwin said. “I just thought maybe that was the next step.”

  “I’m not looking to get married, Doc,” Kincaid said. “I’ve got to get settled in my work and my life first.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Doc Edwin said, “because you still got a lot to learn.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kincaid said, “there we agree.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The next day was a workday for him, since they had already started their alternate-days schedule. So Kincaid went down to the café for an early breakfast before going to the office. It was a shorter walk than from Doc Edwin’s house.

  “Ham and eggs, comin’ up,” Kate said, as he walked in. “Coffee’s on the table.”

  “Thank you, Kate.”

  He sat at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot.

  Kate came out with his plate before he finished the cup.

  “Is it going to be like this every morning?” he asked her.

  “Probably not,” she said. “But it’s your first day in your new place. How was your night?”

  “Comfortable,” he said. “It’s a good bed up there.”

  “I’ll tell Arnie you said so,” she promised.

  He ate his first breakfast as a new citizen of Hays City, with his own residence.

  * * *

  * * *

  Most of his patients that day were children, the majority boys, but some girls. There was nothing serious, just scrapes, bruises, swallowed foreign objects. One girl reminded him of Franny Cottrell, from the train. It made him wonder how she and her mother, Abby, were doing.

  He had supper at the Sunflower Café, then spent his first full evening in his new place, moving some of the furniture so that it was to his liking.

  He went down to breakfast the next morning a couple of hours later, but had already let Kate know what his schedule was. There was no food waiting for him at what was now “his” table, but something else was waiting. At a table across the room sat Jed Butram. He was eating his breakfast as Kincaid entered, and greeted the doctor with a nod and a smirk.

  Kincaid walked to his table and sat.

  “How long has he been here?” he asked Kate when she came over.

  “ ’Bout an hour,” she said. “Claimed he was waiting for somebody. Did he mean you?”

  “I guess he did.”

  “He has a pretty gun in his belt,” she said. “Do you have one?”

  “Not a pretty one, but I do.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In my medical bag,” he said, “upstairs.”

  “Should I send someone for the sheriff?”

  “No,” Kincaid said. “I don’t think he’s here to cause trouble. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Do you want me to make your breakfast?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Steak and eggs, please. And I’m in no hurry today.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she walked past a few occupied tables, including Butram’s, the gunman called out, “Can I get some more coffee, please?”

  “Coming up, sir,” she promised.

  When she came back out with a pot she first poured more for Butram, then went to Kincaid’s table, set down the pot and a cup, and went back to the kitchen.

  “That’s pretty special treatment for one customer,” Butram called out loud. “Guess nobody objects because you’re the doctor, huh?”

  “Everybody gets fair treatment, Mr. Butram,” Kincaid said. “Unless you have some complaints.”

  “Who, me? Complain? Not a chance. I just enjoyed a great breakfast.”

  “Make sure you tip the waitress, then,” Kincaid said.

  The other diners’ heads were swiveling back and forth between the two of them, trying to follow the conversation.

  “Tip? Is that something you’ve brought to the West with you from the East, Doc?”

  “It’s just a way of politely thanking someone for their services.”

  “That right? Gee, nobody ever tipped me for my services,” Butram said. “But then, I give my service with this.” He took the pearl-handled gun from his belt and set it on the table. People at several tables tensed, especially those who had children with them.

  “Put that away, Mr. Butram,” Kincaid said. “There are kids here.”

  “And you don’t have a gun with you, do ya, Doc?” Butram asked.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that when you came in,” the gunman said. He picked up his revolver and tucked it back into his belt. Then he stood up and tossed some money down on the table. “That should cover everythin’, I think . . . even the tip.”

  He headed for the door, stopped when he reached it.

  “You gonna start carryin’ your gun around with you after today, Doc?”

  “It’s not part of my job,” Kincaid said.

  Butram smiled.

  “I’m bettin’ you got one in that black bag of yours,” Butram said. “I guess I’ll have to w
ait until I see you out on the street with that bag to find out. Have a good day”—he executed a small bow and added—“all you folks.”

  He tipped his hat and left. A collective breath was released by the other diners. Some tossed annoyed looks Kincaid’s way, as if it was his fault Butram had been there in the first place.

  Kate brought out his plate of steak and eggs, started back to the kitchen, then noticed the looks on people’s faces as they stared at Kincaid.

  “What are ya’ll glarin’ at Dr. Kincaid for?” she demanded. “He didn’t invite that man here.”

  “He may not have invited him,” said a man who was sitting with his wife and two children, “but he was here because of Dr. Death.”

  “And that wasn’t the doctor’s fault, either,” Kate said, before Kincaid could say anything. “For that you can blame our drunken newspaper editor!”

  Some of the people emulated Jed Butram, dropping money on their tables and rushing out, before the gunman could decide to return.

  Kincaid was sure none of them had left a tip.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Doc Edwin took his buggy to his office that morning, along with Maggie. He was annoyed that the woman didn’t think he could get out of the buggy by himself. On the other hand, when they arrived he was pleased she was there to make sure he didn’t fall or twist his goddamned knee again.

  This was Kincaid’s first day off since moving into his own place. He tried to relax on the sofa in his sitting room, but as he looked around he realized that, although the place was furnished, it wasn’t to his taste. He went back downstairs to ask Kate a question.

  “You want to change things?” she repeated.

  “Just a bit,” he said. “I’m guessing I’d have to talk with your boss about it. What’s his name?”

  “Arnold Frank,” Kate said. “He has an office over on Branch Street.”

  “What’s his business?” Kincaid asked.

  “That’s it,” Kate said. “Business. He owns this café and a couple of other stores. And he wants to own more.”

  “Then I better go and ask him if it’s all right,” Kincaid said. “What do you think he’ll say?”

  “I don’t know.” Kate shrugged.

  “Well, I’ll go and find out.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Kincaid found Arnold Frank’s office. On a shingle outside it only said the man’s name. Kincaid entered and a well-dressed, middle-aged woman looked up at him from her desk. Just behind her and to her right was a door.

  “Can I help you?”

  “My name’s Dr. Gabriel Kincaid,” he said. “I’d like to see Mr. Frank.”

  “Dr. Kincaid,” she said, with a smile. “You’re renting the space above the Sunflower Café.”

  “That’s right,” Kincaid said.

  “Are there any complaints?” she asked.

  “No,” Kincaid said. “I just have a request I’d like to run by him.”

  “Well, he’s in,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let me see if he has time to see you.”

  “Thank you, Miss . . .”

  “Mrs. Livingston,” she said. “I’ll be right with you, Doctor.”

  She went through the door and came back seconds later.

  “Mr. Frank says he’ll see you, Doctor,” she told Kincaid. “Go right in.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded and sat at her desk. Kincaid went through the open door. A short, slender man was coming around from behind his desk. He looked to be in his fifties.

  “Dr. Kincaid?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Frank said, extending his hand.

  Kincaid shook it, noticed the man had a firm grasp.

  “Please, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you,” Frank said.

  Kincaid sat.

  “First, I want to thank you for renting that place to me,” Kincaid said.

  “Thank Kate,” Frank said. “She vouched for you in glowing terms.”

  “Kate’s a good friend,” Kincaid said.

  “She’s a good woman,” Frank said.

  “Mr. Frank,” Kincaid said, “I spent the past two nights at the place, and while it’s very clean and the furnishings are very nice—”

  “It doesn’t suit you, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And you want to know if I’d mind if you made some changes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, you go right ahead,” Frank said. “Change whatever you like. If you want to move the furniture out, I can let you have some men to help you, maybe a buckboard.”

  “I don’t think I want to do anything that drastic,” Kincaid said. “But before I changed anything at all, I just wanted to check with you.”

  “You have my blessing,” Frank said, “but tell me, will you be doing business there? Starting your own practice, perhaps?”

  “No,” Kincaid said, “that’s not the plan. I’m still going to be working with Doc Edwin. There’s a lot for me to learn about living and working out here.”

  “You seem to have learned quite a bit in a short time,” Frank said. “I mean, if the Gazette is any indication.”

  “That was all a mistake,” Kincaid said. “I tried to rectify it with that interview, but it didn’t seem to help.”

  “That’s the way things are out West, Doc,” Frank said. “Nicknames tend to stick.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Kincaid said.

  “Anything else I can do for you? I never even offered you a drink.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Kincaid said, “and no, nothing else.” He stood up. “I’m just going back home to sit and see what changes come to mind.”

  “You do that,” Frank said. “Have at it.”

  Frank came around the desk again, shook hands, and walked Kincaid to the door.

  “You know,” he said, “Kate really is a good woman. I know she’s a little older than you, but . . .”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Frank,” Kincaid said. “Right now a woman is not in my future plans. At least, not for a while.”

  “I see,” Frank said. “All right, then. Enjoy the place.”

  “I will,” Kincaid said. “Thank you.”

  Kincaid walked out of the office, tipped his hat to Mrs. Livingston, and then left the building.

  * * *

  * * *

  When he entered Doc Edwin’s office later that evening the old sawbones was ushering a woman out.

  “You just stop worrying, Wanda,” he told her. “You’re not pregnant.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  As she left Edwin looked at Kincaid.

  “Sixty-three and she thinks she’s pregnant,” he said. “Last year at sixty-two she came in for the same reason.”

  “Is she even having relations?” Kincaid asked.

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” Edwin replied, “but I doubt it. What’re you doin’ here? It’s my day.”

  “I figured Maggie probably went home to get supper started,” Kincaid said. “Thought I’d see if you needed a hand.”

  “You mean gettin’ up onto my buggy without fallin’ and breakin’ my fool neck?” Doc Edwin asked. “Is that what you mean?”

  Kincaid shrugged. “With anything,” he said. “And then I thought maybe I’d stay to supper.”

  “One night on your own and yer freeloadin’ already, huh?” Edwin said. “Well, lemme just close up shop.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Kincaid sat while Doc went into his examining room, stowed away whatever equipment was lying out, washed some things—including his hands—then blew out the lamp.

  “You know,” Edwin said, coming out and putting on his jacket, “we could use some of them new electric lights in here.” H
e straightened his collar and looked at Kincaid. “You got any in that new place of yours?”

  “Nope,” Kincaid said, “just lamps.”

  “You should talk to your landlord about that,” Doc Edwin said.

  They left the office, got in the buggy, and drove off, with Doc Edwin at the reins.

  * * *

  * * *

  Get washed, both of you,” Maggie said, as they walked in.

  They both used the pump in the sink and sat down to wait for Maggie to set the food out.

  “How was your first couple of nights?” Doc Edwin asked.

  “Comfortable,” Kincaid said. “But I’m going to make some changes.”

  “That okay with your landlord?”

  Kincaid nodded.

  “I asked,” Kincaid said. “He said I had his blessing. Do you know Arnie Frank?”

  “I do,” Edwin said.

  “He seemed okay.”

  “As long as you’re not dealin’ with him in business, he’s fine,” Edwin said.

  “That’s just what I’m doing, isn’t it?”

  “You’re just rentin’ from him,” Edwin said. “I mean actually doin’ business with him. You’re safe.”

  “How do you know him?” Kincaid asked.

  “He’s my landlord, too,” Edwin said. “At the office.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Kincaid said. “What about this house?”

  “This is mine, free and clear,” Doc Edwin said.

  Maggie came to the table with plates of food and said, “Okay, time to stop talking and start eating, boys.”

  Neither of them resisted.

  * * *

  * * *

  After supper, rather than sit on the porch with Doc Edwin, Kincaid brought him his half a shot glass of whiskey and said, “I’m going to go. I’ll be in the office early tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” Edwin said. “I’ll sleep late.”

  “How are the lungs?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Are you drinking the green tea?”

  “Maggie makes me a cup each afternoon,” Edwin said, “whether we’re here or at the office.”