He opened the door and left, and the others began to peel off and follow, one by one.
“Well, Sheriff,” James, the deputy, said from behind him, “it looks like it’s you, me, and the doc.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ed Santee sat on his horse and stared out over Hays City as his two partners, Cody Biffle and Duke Logan, sat on their mounts behind him and talked.
“Are we really goin’ back for that bank?” Biffle wondered.
“That’s what Ed said,” Logan replied. “And he also wants a chance at that doctor.”
“Yeah, but after shootin’ down the sheriff?”
“Come on,” Logan said, “that just means the law won’t be in our way.”
“What if they replaced ’im?” Biffle asked.
“They haven’t had time,” Logan said. “We’re surprisin’ them by ridin’ back in so soon.”
“Well, the bank I get,” Biffle said, “but not that doctor.”
“He killed Jed Butram,” Logan said, “and him and Ed were friends.”
“Come on,” Biffle said, “they wasn’t such great friends.”
“Maybe not,” Logan said, “but Ed still feels he’s gotta stand up for ’im. Men like Butram and Ed Santee can’t just sit back and watch each other get knocked off.”
“Then why didn’t we just kill that doctor after he put your arm in a sling?” Biffle asked.
“Because Ed wants to do it out where people can see,” Logan said. “And he wants a gun in the doc’s hand when he does it.”
Biffle shook his head.
“It’s so much easier to bushwhack people.”
Ed Santee turned in his saddle to look at his men.
“We’re goin’ in,” he said. “You both know what to do?”
“What’s to know?” Biffle asked. “We’re robbin’ a bank. We done it dozens of times.”
“Then let’s move,” Santee said.
* * *
* * *
Kincaid looked at Deputy James, and then at Sheriff Llegg. One man inept, the other injured.
“Can you handle a rifle?” Llegg asked. “You want a shotgun? Or just your own gun.”
“I’ll take the shotgun,” Kincaid said.
“Me, too, Sheriff,” James said. “I’ll take a shotgun.”
“So will I,” Llegg said. “James, I want you to stay across the street from the bank.”
“You betcha. I’ll shoot ’em as soon as they ride in.”
“No,” the sheriff said, “you won’t. The doc and me, we’re gonna be inside the bank. You don’t make a move unless they come out shootin’. Got it?”
“You betcha!”
James was not a young man, but he appeared to be very simpleminded.
“Here,” Llegg said, handing him a shotgun and some shells, “wait outside. Don’t move til we come out.”
“Right.”
As James left the office Kincaid asked, “Is this wise, having him out there with a shotgun?”
“No, it ain’t,” Llegg said, “but you saw what just happened. Nobody else stepped up.”
Kincaid was thinking he hadn’t “stepped up,” either. He’d been drafted. But what could he do about it? He couldn’t just walk away from the sheriff and leave him on his own.
“Let’s do this,” Llegg said.
“Wait,” Kincaid said. “Let me look at your wound.”
“We have to go—”
“We have time,” Kincaid said. “If you collapse on me, I’ll be the only one between those men and the bank. And we don’t want that.”
Llegg sat still while Kincaid checked the wound and adjusted the binding.
“All right,” he said, “we’re ready.”
Before they could get to the door they heard the shot, and then James was yelling, “Sheriff! Sheriff!”
“Damn it!” Llegg snapped. “I told him—”
* * *
* * *
The bank first,” Ed Santee said, as they entered the town limits, “and then the doctor.”
“Why don’t we forget the doctor?” Biffle suggested. “Hit the bank and ride out.”
“Because you’re not in charge,” Santee said. “Got it?”
“I got it.”
“Follow me.”
Santee led them down the street, but as they reached the sheriff’s office he saw a man with a badge and a shotgun out front.
“Shit,” he said, “we gotta get rid of him.”
“How?” Logan asked.
“How do you think?” Santee said, and drew his gun.
* * *
* * *
Kincaid and Sheriff Llegg rushed to the door. They got outside in time to see James’s body jerk back as he was hit by multiple shots.
Kincaid and Llegg turned to the street, saw Santee and his two partners on horseback.
“Down!” Llegg shouted.
As the three outlaws began to fire, both Kincaid and Llegg dove for cover. Purely from an instinct he didn’t know he had, Kincaid pulled the trigger on the double-barreled shotgun in his hands as he fell. The buckshot took Logan right out of the saddle.
Sheriff Llegg hit the ground too hard, and his wound burst open. Kincaid looked over at him, and knew he was on his own.
In the street Santee and Biffle dismounted. People around them were running for cover.
Kincaid had grabbed his gun from his medical bag and stuck it in his belt. Rather than take time to reload his shotgun, he dropped it and drew the short-barreled Colt. He stood and fired twice. Biffle went down in the center of the street.
That left Ed Santee.
It grew quiet. Kincaid looked over at Sheriff Llegg, who was still out of it. Then he looked at James. He was sure he was dead.
“Not bad, Doc,” Ed Santee called out. “I didn’t wanna do it this way. I wanted to hit the bank, first, but we might as well get this over with.”
Kincaid agreed.
“I’m standin’ out here in plain sight,” Santee said, “and I’m puttin’ my gun away.” He tucked it into his belt and spread his arms. Around them some people had gathered to watch. “If you wanna shoot me while my arms are out, be my guest. See what the people of this town think of you then.”
Santee was right. If Kincaid shot him down the people would never accept him.
He stood up, tucked the gun into his belt.
“All right, Santee,” he said, stepping out into the open. “Now what?”
“Now we see how good Dr. Death really is,” Santee said, loudly.
“Don’t call me that,” Kincaid told him.
They both lowered their arms to their sides. Kincaid was surprised by how calm he felt. He watched Ed Santee closely, and when the man went for his gun, so did he.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He pulled the trigger and blood erupted from Santee’s chest. He staggered back a few feet, then fell onto his back in the street. Kincaid walked to the fallen man and saw that he was dead. Then he looked around and found the assembled crowd staring at him in a kind of awe . . .
* * *
* * *
Kincaid got Sheriff Llegg into his office and on top of his desk.
“What happened?” the lawman asked.
“You aggravated your wound,” Kincaid said. “Just lie still so I can stop the bleeding.”
“I wasn’t much help out there,” Llegg said.
“No, you weren’t.”
“Where’s James?”
“He’s dead,” Kincaid told him.
“And Santee?”
“Also dead,” Kincaid said, “along with his two men.”
“You did that?”
“I did.”
“On your own?”
“Pretty much,” Kincaid said
.
“So they never got to the bank.”
“No,” Kincaid said. “They never did. The town’s money is safe.”
“That’s good,” Llegg said. “Where are . . . were any bystanders hurt?”
“No, not a one.”
“That’s good, too.”
“Now, you’re going to need to rest that arm so when the next bank robbers come to town, you’re ready.”
“Jesus,” Llegg said . . .
* * *
* * *
Kincaid helped the sheriff to the boardinghouse where he had a room. The landlady met them at the door.
“I can take him in,” she said, putting her arm around Llegg’s waist. “His room is right down here.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Anythin’ I need to know, Doc?” she asked.
“Just keep him still for a few days, and clean the wound twice a day.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”
“Doc. Hey, Doc,” Sheriff Llegg called out. “Thanks.”
“Make sure you rest, Sheriff.”
* * *
* * *
Kincaid went back to his place above the Sunflower and sat on his sofa. Since finishing his bottle of whiskey the last time, he hadn’t bought another one. Now he wished he had. He looked down at his hands, then took the gun from his belt and set it aside. He’d heard all kinds of stories about men who were naturals with a gun. That seemed to be the case with him, and he had to admit it, now that he’d killed not one man, but five. And when this hit the Gazette there was no way he would ever escape the name “Dr. Death.”
Maybe it was time for him to just accept it. A gun was now going to become as much a part of his life as a stethoscope and scalpel.
Suddenly there was a banging on his door. He grabbed his gun and went to answer it. Opening it, he found a panicked Maggie standing there.
“You have to come quickly,” she told him, grabbing his arm. “Hurry!”
* * *
* * *
He followed her back to Doc Edwin’s house, carrying his medical bag with the gun inside. When they got there he rushed to the old sawbones’s room, then stopped at the door. He turned and caught Maggie as she started in.
“No,” he said. “Go and make some coffee.”
“But you might need—”
“I need you to make coffee,” he said. “I’ll examine him.”
“A-all right.”
She went to the kitchen while he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door.
It took him only a moment to determine that Dr. Samuel Edwin had passed peacefully in his sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kincaid had expected more of the community to show up for the funeral of the doctor who had been caring for them for fifty years. There were even less people at the gravesite than there had been in the church.
Maggie stood next to him, holding a handkerchief to her mouth, even though she hadn’t shed tears since the day before. He thought she was out of them.
In Doc Edwin’s will the old sawbones had left his house and money to Maggie, and the practice to Kincaid, who remained living upstairs from the Sunflower Café. Now it was six months later, and things had changed . . .
He visited Abby and Franny at their home from time to time, and had supper with them a few times in Craddock. He also continued seeing Nora Legend in Hays City. But he had also taken to carrying his gun in his belt on a regular basis, and the “Dr. Death” name was now part of him. During the past three months, two more gunmen had forced him into confrontations. They both ended up dead. He had also started playing poker regularly, so the comparisons between him and Doc Holliday were inevitable.
He saw the difference. Most people did not.
At supper a couple of months back Abby Cottrell told him she couldn’t see him anymore.
“Why not?” he’d asked.
“You’re not the same man I met on the train, Gabriel,” she said. “That man never would have carried a gun, in his bag or his belt. And I can’t have that kind of man around Franny. I hope you understand. If another gunman took it upon himself to try to shoot you, and she got hurt—”
“I understand, Abby,” he told her. “I wouldn’t want that, either.”
“Of course,” she’d gone on, “if you wanted to stop carrying that gun—”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he’d said. “I could end up dead that way.”
She had stood up from the table and said, “Then I guess we’re done here.”
“I guess we are,” he’d replied, and she had walked out.
* * *
* * *
Sheriff Jack Llegg entered the Silver Dollar Saloon and looked around. He saw Dr. Gabriel Kincaid at his regular poker table, playing with three other men. He walked over, stood at Kincaid’s shoulder. He could see the three aces in his hand.
“Gabriel,” Llegg said.
“Hello, Jack. Something on your mind?”
“There is.”
“Let me finish this hand and we’ll have a drink at the bar.”
“Right.”
Sheriff Llegg walked to the bar, ordered two beers.
Kincaid showed his hand, raked in his chips, and said, “Deal me out, boys.” He collected his chips and carried them to the bar. He put them down on the bar and picked up his beer.
“Still not drinkin’ during a game?” Llegg asked.
“Not during a game, or an examination,” Kincaid said. “What’s on your mind?”
“There are two men over at Shipley’s. I need to ask them to leave town.”
“And?”
“I wondered if you’d just come on over there with me,” Llegg said, “just to back me.”
“Still no deputies, Jack?”
“Not since James died.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Kincaid said.
“I keep tryin’ to tell myself that, Gabriel,” Jack Llegg said. “I really do.”
“All right,” Kincaid said, “when do you want to do this?”
“Now.”
Kincaid drained his beer.
“Let me cash my chips.”
* * *
* * *
Shipley’s had two entrances, one from the street and one from the mercantile. The sheriff and Kincaid used the batwing doors from the outside.
Llegg had described the men to him on the way, so Kincaid easily spotted them. They were standing at one end of the bar.
“I’ll stand at the other end,” Kincaid said, and Llegg nodded.
Kincaid waved the bartender away before he could come down.
Llegg walked over to the two men. One of them saw him and alerted the other, who turned.
“Sheriff,” the older of them said. “Somethin’ we can do for you?”
“Yes,” Llegg said. “You can leave town.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because I’m askin’ you to.”
“And if we don’t leave?”
“Well, then I stop askin’ and I start tellin’.”
The two men looked at each other and smiled. Even from where he was standing, Kincaid could see the resemblance between the two.
“What are you doin’ in Hays City, anyway?” Llegg asked.
“We’re just waitin’ to meet up with some fellas,” the older man said.
“I think maybe you can meet ’em someplace else,” Llegg said. “Like outside of town.”
“Sheriff,” the man said, “there’s two of us and one of you. What makes you think you can ask or tell us to do anythin’?”
“First, I’m the law,” Llegg said. “And, second, I ain’t alone.”
The older one looked past Llegg to the other end of the bar.
&n
bsp; “That gambler lookin’ fella?” he asked.
“He’s a gambler,” Llegg said, “and a doctor.”
The young one said, “You mean like Doc Holliday?”
“No,” Llegg said. “Doc Holliday was a dentist, and he’s dead. My friend is a physician, and very much alive.”
“You think you can—” the younger one started, but the older one stopped him by putting his hand on his chest.
“Bob, what’re ya—”
“I heard somethin’ about this fella,” the older one said. “The sheriff may be right. We should probably wait for Grat outside of town, Emmett.”
The one called Bob dropped a coin onto the bar and started for the door. The younger one, Emmett, he stopped and stared at Kincaid, who simply stared back.
Bob reached out, grabbed his brother’s arm, and pulled him outside, where they mounted up and rode out.
Sheriff Llegg turned and walked to Kincaid. When the bartender came over he said, “Two shots.”
“I don’t need any whiskey,” Kincaid said.
“Yeah, you do,” Llegg said. The bartender set two glasses down and Llegg pushed one over to Kincaid. The lawman picked up his own drink and downed it.
“Why do I think all you needed me for was my budding reputation?” Kincaid said.
“It was for a good cause, Gabriel,” Llegg said. “Believe me, we didn’t need for Bob and Emmett Dalton to wait for their brother Grat in our town.”
Kincaid looked surprised.
“The Dalton Gang?”
“One and the same,” Llegg said, then added, “or should I say, two.”
“Why would my presence change their minds?” Kincaid asked.
Llegg laughed and patted Kincaid on the shoulder.
“Clearly, you have no idea just how buddin’ your reputation is becoming,” he said. He looked at the bartender. “Bring me and my friend one more.”
* * *
* * *
Kincaid had supper with the sheriff, but afterward he had a message for the man.
“Don’t ever use me like that without telling me who we’re facing,” he said, once they were outside the restaurant.
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