"Hello, Cole. Goodness, I just realized I haven't seen you in several days. What have you been doing with yourself?"
He stepped away from the wall, nodding to the woman who had just emerged from the building. Simone McKay was around thirty, but unlike many frontier women who were worn out by that age and looked twenty years older, she had spent all of her life except for the last year in the east. Her skin was clear and pale, and it contrasted with the lustrous, raven's wing hair that surrounded her features. She wore a light-brown skirt and jacket over a green blouse, and a green scarf was fastened around her throat with a pearl pin.
She was so pretty she just about took Cole's breath away.
"Morning, Mrs. McKay," he greeted her, then replied to her question by continuing, "I haven't been up to anything in particular. Just keeping the peace around here. That's what the town pays me for."
"Yes, I know," she said with a smile. "And you're doing an excellent job of it. I read in the paper this morning that there were only three killings in town last week."
"Yes, ma'am, I read that, too. Of course, I knew about 'em anyway, what with being the marshal and all."
"Yes, I'm sure you did," Simone said gently. "Is something bothering you. Cole?"
"Well, I was just wondering . . ." Damn, he'd rather have faced a gang of outlaws or a bunch of angry Sioux than do this! But something kept prodding him on, and he said, "There's going to be a dance tomorrow night, the first dance we've had here in town, and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me. I know I used to be a buffalo hunter, and I still don't look like much, but I don't clean up too bad."
The words came out of him in a rush, and he felt more foolish with each one that popped out of his mouth, but he couldn't seem to stop them. When he finally reined in his tongue, he halfway expected Simone to laugh at him.
But instead she just smiled some more and said, "Why, I'd be happy to go with you, Cole. I'd planned to go, of course, but I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have an escort. It seems there aren't very many men in town who, ah, desire the pleasure of my company."
"Then they're a bunch of damned fools—" Cole began, then stopped short and grimaced. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. McKay."
"Simone," she reminded him. "You keep forgetting."
"Yes, ma'am . . . Simone."
She took a deep breath. "Well, I feel better now. And I'm looking forward to going with you to the dance. But I have to get over to the land office now. I was going over the books with Harvey here at the store, and I have to do the same thing in the office with my clerks there."
"Sure, I understand," Cole nodded. "I'll walk with you. Got to go that way to get back to my office, too."
That was a foregone conclusion, since the marshal's office and the headquarters of the Wind River Land Development Company shared the same building. Cole was debating whether or not he should take Simone's arm when a voice with a British accent hailed them from the boardwalk down the street.
Dr. Judson Kent, Wind River's only physician, was coming toward them, his long-legged strides covering the distance quickly.
The medico was tall and distinguished in his dark suit and vest and bowler hat. He wore a close-cropped dark beard that was shot through with gray. He was smiling as he came up the steps onto the porch of the general store. He tipped his hat to Simone.
"Good morning, Simone. Hello, Marshal. I'm not keeping you from something, am I?"
"Nothing that can't wait a few minutes," Simone smiled back at him. "What can we do for you, Judson?"
"Well, actually, it was you to whom I wished to speak, my dear." Kent glanced at Cole. "No offense, Marshal."
"None taken," Cole assured him. "I've got to be getting back over to the office anyway." He tried not to show his disappointment at not being able to walk with Simone. Kent obviously wanted to speak to her in private, however.
Cole nodded pleasantly to both of them and stepped down off the porch. He had only gone a few feet when he heard Kent say, "I was hoping that you might do me the honor of accompanying me to the little soiree that's planned for tomorrow evening, Simone."
Cole stopped and swung around.
Simone looked a little flustered, which was unusual. She was normally just about the most self-possessed person Cole knew. She glanced at him, then back at Kent, and managed to smile as she said, "I'm sorry, Judson. But I've already promised someone else that I'd go with him. I certainly didn't expect to have two invitations so close together."
"Oh, I see." Kent made a visible effort not to appear too crestfallen. He went on, "Would you be offended if I asked who the lucky man was?"
Cole said, "Me."
Kent looked at him and arched an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he murmured.
Now what the hell did he mean by that? Cole wondered. It was just like a damned Englishman to pack so much insinuation into one little word. And that eyebrow—!
Maybe Kent thought he wasn't good enough to go to the dance with Simone. Kent probably figured that Simone ought to be with somebody more cultured and sophisticated, somebody more experienced in the ways of the world instead of some rough-handed frontiersman. Somebody like Doctor High-and-Mighty Judson Kent himself . . .
Cole caught himself as those thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant. He had no right to think such things about Kent. The doctor was a good man, a friend as well as a fine physician. And there was no way Cole could blame him for being attracted to Simone.
"Perhaps another time, Judson," Simone was saying to him. "This won't be the only dance we ever hold here in Wind River, you know. I expect there will be a great many of them in the future."
"Certainly," Kent said with a nod. "Well, I hope you have a good time." He glanced at Cole and added, "Both of you." He reached up to tip his hat again. "I'm sure I'll see you there—"
"M-Marshal!"
Cole stiffened and turned quickly at the sound of the voice calling him. The word had been croaked out painfully, but Cole recognized the voice anyway. He saw his deputy, Billy Casebolt, stumbling across the street toward him, coming from the direction of the office.
Cole's first thought was that Casebolt had been hurt somehow. The deputy's shambling, uncertain gait seemed to indicate that.
Casebolt was a tall, gangling, middle-aged man with a lean face and iron-gray hair. At the moment, he wasn't wearing his battered old hat, and his thin hair was askew. Cole hurried to meet him.
"What is it, Billy?" Cole asked as he grasped the deputy's arm. "Are you hurt?" There hadn't been any gunshots in the past few minutes, Cole was sure of that.
Casebolt managed to shake his head. "Not h-hurt," he said. "Reckon I'm just . . . sick."
Now that he was closer, Cole could see how flushed Casebolt's face was. The deputy sagged against him, and Cole suddenly became aware of heat coming through the sleeve of Casebolt's shirt. Cole brought his other hand up and laid the back of it against Casebolt's leathery forehead.
"Damn it, Billy, you're burning with fever!" Cole exclaimed.
"Knew I felt poorly when I got up this mornin'," Casebolt muttered, "but I never figgered it'd get this bad."
Cole turned his head and saw Simone and Kent still standing on the porch of the store, watching with frowns of concern. He called, "Doctor! Can you come over here?"
"Certainly." Kent came quickly down the steps and trotted across the street to join them. Simone trailed him by several feet. Without slowing down, Kent added over his shoulder to her, "You'd better stay back until I find out what's wrong, Mrs. McKay."
She nodded and slowed down, giving the three men some distance.
"He's burning up with fever," Cole said as Kent came up to them.
Kent touched Casebolt's forehead as Cole had done. A couple of seconds later, he nodded. "Indeed he is. We had better get him down to my office."
Cole lifted Casebolt's right arm and draped it across his shoulders. He put his left arm around Casebolt's waist. "Come on, Billy. Well take you to Dr. Kent's office."
<
br /> "'S all right," Casebolt said. "I can walk—"
With the first step he took, however, he fell forward and would have pitched to the ground if Cole had not had hold of him. Kent moved up on the deputy's other side and grasped his left arm. "Let us help you, Mr. Casebolt," he said firmly. "Doctor's orders, you know."
"Is there anything I can do?" Simone called.
Kent shook his head. "Not right now, my dear."
"Let me know how he's doing."
"I will," Cole promised her.
Together, Cole and Kent got the older man down the street to the physician's office. They drew a lot of stares along the way from pedestrians on the boardwalks and passersby on the street. Quite a few of the people looked worried when they saw how ill Casebolt appeared. The deputy was well-liked in the settlement.
Cole and Kent helped Casebolt through the door and down the hall to one of the examination rooms. They assisted him onto the table there, and Casebolt lay back gratefully on the pillow at the head of the table. "Room's spinnin' like I been on a three-day bender," he said.
"I should imagine so, with a fever like that," Kent said. "Just lie still and allow me to examine you."
Cole stepped back to give the doctor some room. All of the resentment he had felt when Kent asked Simone to the dance had vanished. At the moment, all Cole was worried about was his deputy.
Kent used his stethoscope to listen to Casebolt's chest, then examined his eyes, ears, and throat. He followed that with some prodding of the deputy's torso and a few questions about what hurt and what didn't. After several minutes, he patted Casebolt on the shoulder and said, "You just lie there and rest, Deputy. I want to talk to the marshal now, but I'll be back in a moment."
Cole didn't need to be hit over the head. He backed out of the room and stood waiting anxiously while Kent came out and closed the door softly behind him. The doctor was frowning as Cole asked, "What is it? Something pretty bad?"
"I wish I knew," Kent replied quietly.
"You mean you don't know what's causing the fever?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Well . . . well, what are you going to do about it?" Cole demanded.
Kent's voice was grim as he replied, "I'm afraid I don't know that, either."
Chapter 3
Cole stared at the physician for a long moment. Finally, he demanded, "What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I can't treat a condition properly if I don't know what's causing it," Kent said. "I can try to deal with the symptoms, of course, and I intend to do that. I'm going to attempt to bring Deputy Casebolt's temperature down with some cool baths. Perhaps whatever is causing his illness will run its course and allow him to recover quickly. But even if I'm successful in reducing the fever, it could come back immediately."
"Well, that's no damn good at all!" Cole burst out. His earlier anger and resentment returned. "Maybe you just don't know enough about medicine."
Kent stared at him coldly. "I dare say I know more than anyone else in this settlement, including you, Marshal. But if you wish to treat the patient, by all means go ahead."
Cole felt frustration clogging his throat. He swallowed hard and said, "Hell, I didn't mean it like that, and you know it, Doctor. I'm just worried about Billy."
"As am I," Kent assured him. "Why don't you allow me to get started with what I can do? You can stop by later to check on Deputy Casebolt, and if I have need of you, I shall send for you immediately."
"Can't complain about that," Cole admitted. "I'll see you after while."
With that, he left the doctor's office, a worried frown on his face.
Billy Casebolt had saved his life more than once, Cole thought as he walked distractedly up the street toward the marshal's office.
Casebolt had served as town constable here in Wind River during the early days of the settlement, before Cole had arrived and been persuaded to accepted the newly created position of marshal.
He had acquired a reputation as something of a bumbler, a garrulous old man who didn't have any business trying to be a lawman. It was true that Casebolt liked to talk, and he was getting a mite long in the tooth, but Cole had found him to be a dependable ally in the task of bringing law and order to the region. In fact, Casebolt's friendly relations with the Shoshone Indians who lived in the area had even helped avert an Indian war.
Cole's job was going to be a lot harder if Casebolt didn't recover from this sickness. And there would be something even more important missing from his life if anything happened to Casebolt: a good friend.
* * *
Simone must have heard him come in, because she walked down the hall from the offices of the land development company and paused in the doorway of Cole's office. As he dropped his hat on the scarred top of the old desk and sat down, she asked, "Did Judson find out what was wrong with Deputy Casebolt?"
Cole shook his head. "Only that he's got a bad fever, and Kent's not sure what's causing it or what to do about it,"
"Poor Billy," Simone sympathized, "But if anyone can help him, it's Judson. I've never known a finer doctor."
"No, I don't reckon I've ever run across a better sawbones, either." Cole shook his head bleakly. "But there's some things that can't be helped, no matter how good a doctor you have."
Simone nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. But there's no point in giving up so soon, Cole. You need to be hopeful. Billy Casebolt is a tough old bird."
"He is that," Cole agreed with a slight smile. "You're right, Simone. I'll go back over there and check on him in a little while."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."
"Sure thing."
She went back through the foyer to her own offices, leaving Cole to brood in his.
He tried to study some of the reward dodgers that had been sent to him, which was usually a productive way of passing the time, but he found it difficult to concentrate on the descriptions and crude sketches of men who were wanted for various crimes.
After a few minutes he put the wanted posters aside, picked up his hat, and stalked out of the office. He felt like he had to be moving right now, so he decided to take a turn around town.
He had just stepped out onto the boardwalk when he saw Kermit Sawyer reining to a halt in front of the building.
Sawyer grunted as he saw Cole at the same time. The cattleman swung down from his saddle, looped his horse's reins over the hitch rail, and said, "Just the man I was lookin' for. I got a complaint to register."
"Something happen here in town, Sawyer?" Cole asked.
"Nope. Out at my ranch."
Cole shook his head. "I don't have any jurisdiction out there."
"That ain't never stopped you from buttin' in any time there's trouble. You're the only law we got around here, Tyler, and if you're goin' to use that as an excuse for stickin' your nose in where it ain't wanted, you got to remember it when folks bring their troubles to you."
Cole frowned. There was some undeniable logic in what the Texan said, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
And he didn't have to like Kermit Sawyer, either. Cole knew from experience that the feeling was mutual.
Sawyer was a powerful looking man, a little taller than Cole and just about as broad in the shoulders. Age had thickened his middle some, but he still cut an impressive figure in an outfit that was all black from his boots to his hat.
The pearl-handled butt of his Colt and his thick shock of snow-white hair were the only things that relieved the blackness. His rugged features were seamed and weathered and permanently tanned to the color of saddle leather.
To give the devil his due, Sawyer was one of the toughest men Cole knew—and also one of the most arrogant and unpleasant.
"All right, Sawyer," Cole said with a sigh. "What sort of bur's under your saddle now?"
"It's that damn Kaintuck, Fisk. His men have been pushin' his stock over onto my range."
"You know that for a fact?"
"My segundo and some of t
he boys caught 'em with some Latch Hook cows at that waterhole over by Wildcat Ridge. You know damn good and well that's part of the Diamond S—and so did they." Sawyer snorted in disgust. "Fisk's foreman tried to tell Frenchy that they were on open range. You know that ain't true."
Cole nodded slowly. He might not like Sawyer, but the valley where the Texan's ranch was located did belong to him, right enough. "Was there any shooting?"
"Not this time, but only because my boys had Fisk's bunch outgunned by two to one. Next time, if it ain't that way, there'll likely be blood spilled."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"How about arrestin' that land hog Fisk?"
"I can't do that," Cole said. "Like I told you before, I don't have any legal jurisdiction outside of town. And even if I did, I'm not a judge. That's what you need. Sawyer. You need a lawyer and a judge to settle this."
Sawyer grimaced, as if the very thought of dealing with lawyers and judges left a bad taste in his mouth. "That's what I was afraid you'd say, damn it. Where I come from, a man settles his own problems without havin' to go through all that legal foofaraw." He sighed. "But I reckon what I'd best do is talk to Miz McKay and line up whatever I'll need to prove that valley's mine."
"Good idea," Cole told him. He was surprised—but glad—that Sawyer was prepared to be reasonable about this.
"Fisk better watch out, though," the Texan went on. "I'll only be prodded so far." With that, he stalked into the building without looking back.
The encounter with Sawyer had distracted Cole for a few minutes, but as soon as the cattleman was gone, Cole's thoughts returned to Billy Casebolt. He wasn't going to wait any longer. He strode down the street toward the building which housed Judson Kent's office, examination rooms, and living quarters.
When Cole reached the neat, little building, he found Kent in the office, seated at the desk with the human skeleton called Reginald hanging from its stand in its accustomed spot nearby. Kent had a thick book open on the desk in front of him. He looked up when Cole entered the room.
Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4) Page 2