"I know I haven't been gone long," the lawman said, "but how's Billy doing?"
"He's resting as comfortably as can be expected," Kent replied. "I'm going back to look in on him in a moment, but I wanted to check some things in my medical books while I had the chance."
"Well? Did you figure out anything?"
Kent shook his head. "I'm afraid Deputy Casebolt's condition is as much of a mystery as ever. He has no other symptoms of the grippe, which sometimes produces a high fever, nor of dropsy or ague or croup. It isn't scarlet fever, either." The doctor sighed and closed the medical book. "I fear this is some sort of new ailment, the likes of which I've never seen before."
"That's not very encouraging."
"No, it's not. But Deputy Casebolt is in good health for his age, and I believe it's quite likely he'll pull through this on his own if we keep him comfortable and try to cool off that fever."
"I thought a fever had to burn itself out," Cole said.
"Many doctors believe that to be so, perhaps even most of them. In a situation like this, they would pile quilts on a feverish patient and try to bring the temperature up even more. But I've never found that to be a particularly effective solution. When a fever gets too high, it does much more harm than good."
"In other words," Cole snapped, "you're treating Billy different than most doctors would."
Kent shrugged. "You could look at it that way, if you wish."
"I don't like it, Doctor. I'm going in to see him."
Kent stood up and squarely met Cole's stare. "Go ahead. But please don't upset him."
Cole nodded curtly and left the office, heading down the hall toward the examination room where he had last seen Casebolt. None of the other rooms were occupied at the moment; it was evidently a slow day for Kent's practice.
Which must have been why he had time to ask Simone McKay to go to that dance with him . . .
Cole shook off that thought. He needed to concentrate on Casebolt's problems now, rather than his own.
The deputy's eyes were closed, but they flickered open when Cole came into the room. "H-howdy, Marshal," he said weakly. "Sorry I'm . . . laid up like this. I know I ought to . . . ought to be doin' my job . . ."
"Don't you worry about that, Billy," Cole said, squeezing the older man's shoulder. "Things are pretty peaceful around here right now." He didn't say anything about Kermit Sawyer's trouble with Austin Fisk. No point in worrying Casebolt about that.
"They don't . . . stay peaceful for long . . . in Wind River," Casebolt said.
"Well, that's usually true," Cole admitted. "But maybe they'll surprise us this time. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"I been thinkin' . . . When I was out at Two Ponies' camp, I met this feller . . . a shaman, he was . . . called Black Otter . . . claimed he could cure most any sickness . . . He took care of me . . . when I had that bullet hole in me."
From behind Cole, Judson Kent said, "Absolutely not. I won't allow some Indian medicine man to treat one of my patients."
Casebolt blinked and frowned. "Oh, hell, I . . . I'm sorry, Doc . . . didn't see you come in . . . and I don't mean no disrespect . . . but sometimes them Injuns, they know . . . they know a heap more'n we give 'em credit for. I thought it wouldn't hurt nothin'—"
Kent came up on the other side of the table and laid a hand on Casebolt's arm. "No, Deputy, I don't think that would be wise. Some savage who's spent his entire life in the wilderness can hardly be expected to know as much about medicine as a man educated at Oxford, wouldn't you say?"
"I . . . I reckon so."
"I don't see anything wrong with letting this fella Black Otter have a look at Billy," Cole said. "Couldn't do any harm, could it?"
"It might," Kent said stubbornly. "It certainly could if Black Otter proposed some course of barbaric treatment that would result in Deputy Casebolt's death. Pardon me for speaking so bluntly, but you'd be risking his life to expose him to such a thing, Marshal."
Casebolt reached up and caught the sleeve of Cole's buckskin shirt. "Jus' never you mind, Marshal," he said. "Doc Kent's the smartest feller I ever seen . . . He'll take good care of me."
Cole leaned over the table and peered down into the gaunt, flushed face of his deputy. "I'll fetch Two Ponies and Black Otter if you want me to, Billy," he offered.
Casebolt shook his head. "Nope. We'll go along . . . like we been doin'."
Reluctantly, Cole said, "Well, all right. If you're sure."
I'm sure," Casebolt said.
Cole looked at the physician. "You keep me posted," he said.
Kent nodded. "Of course."
Cole patted Casebolt's shoulder again. "I'll be back by in a little while, Billy. You just take it easy until then."
"Reckon I will," Casebolt said. "Don't feel up to doin' much of anything else."
Cole left the room. He hoped Kent was right and that Casebolt had made the correct decision not to seek help from the Shoshones. If anything, Casebolt looked worse than he had before.
Casebolt had been to see the elephant a time or two, Cole thought as he left the doctor's office. The leathery old man had faced more than his share of dangers and come through all of them. But now he might be struck down for good by something so mysterious that nobody even knew what it was.
It wasn't fair, Cole told himself bitterly. It just damned well wasn't fair . . .
Judson Kent bathed Casebolt's face and chest with cool water once more, then left one of the damp clothes lying on the deputy's forehead. "I'll be right back," he told Casebolt.
"I'll be here, Doc," Casebolt said weakly.
Deep trenches appeared in Kent's cheeks above the neatly trimmed beard as he left the room and walked slowly back to the office. He sighed heavily as he looked at the skeleton hanging there. "Ah, Reginald, what am I to do now?"
Reginald didn't say anything.
Was he just playing God? Kent thought. Had he so stubbornly refused to even consider seeking help from the Shoshone shaman because of vanity? Or even worse, had he refused because his nose was still out of joint about Simone McKay going to the dance with Marshal Tyler?
If that was the case, he was a disgrace to his profession and to the title of "Doctor."
"That's what's wrong with the world, old boy," Kent said to Reginald as he slumped into the chair behind his desk. "Too many questions . . . and not nearly enough answers."
Chapter 4
It was late that afternoon, and Kent had just finished wrapping up the sprained ankle of a twelve-year-old boy, whose mother hovered anxiously nearby, when he heard a commotion outside. Quite a few people were shouting, and when he glanced out the window of the examination room, he saw several men running past in the alley outside, heading for Grenville Avenue.
"There you are, Tom," Kent said as he stepped back. "You need to stay off that ankle for a few days, but I'm confident it will be all right. Have your father make a crutch for you, so that you can get around if you need to while the sprain is healing."
The boy nodded, and the mother said, "I'll sure tell my husband to do that, Dr. Kent. What do we owe you?"
"Fifty cents will do nicely," Kent told her. His mind was on what was going on outside; he could still hear quite a bit of shouting, and it seemed to be getting closer. The sounds had a touch of fear to them.
The woman dug a fifty-cent piece out of her bag and dropped it in Kent's outstretched hand. "Thank you kindly, Doc," she said. Then she turned to her son and went on, "and if I ever catch you up on top of that chicken house again, Tommy, I'll whale the livin' tar out of you!"
"Aw, Ma, I didn't mean to fall off," the youngster protested.
"Come on," she said as she helped him down from the table and then led him out while he hopped on his good leg. "I got to get home and do your chores as well as mine, now."
Kent followed along behind them, anxious to see what was happening outside. The sight that met his eyes as he stepped out onto the porch of his office was one of the last things he wou
ld have expected to see, and yet he shouldn't have been surprised at all, he thought, as he frowned in disapproval.
Cole Tyler was riding down the street toward the doctor's office with a couple of Indians beside him and four more warriors trailing along behind. Several dozen people were hurrying along the boardwalks on both sides of the street, staying roughly even with Cole and the Indians and shouting questions at the marshal.
Kent strode angrily into the street to meet them. He looked up at Cole as the lawman drew rein. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, Marshal?" Kent asked. "You had to involve these . . . these . . ."
"I'd watch what I said if I was you, Doctor," Cole told him in a cool tone of voice, as if knowing that Kent had been about to use the word savages. He went on, "Two Ponies and Black Otter have been kind enough to come into town to visit their friend, and I reckon we ought to respect that."
Kent took a deep breath and managed to control his emotions. He said, "You're right, of course. Please, tell your companions to come in."
A slight feeling of nervousness went through Kent as the two Indians with Cole swung down from their ponies.
His lack of familiarity with Indians would have made it impossible for him to identify them by tribe had he not already known they were Shoshones. They had never come into town before, although there had been talk during a time of troubles the previous fall about Two Ponies coming to Wind River to talk peace with an army officer. That meeting had not been necessary after all, as it turned out.
Kent wasn't the only one who was anxious. Most of the townspeople who had gathered around to stare at the visitors looked worried, even though the Shoshone had never bothered the settlers. Kent hoped everyone kept a level head and that no one would start any trouble.
"This is Two Ponies," Cole said as he indicated the larger of the two men who had dismounted with him and joined Kent in front of the building.
The Shoshone chief was a large, powerful man of middle age, with streaks of gray in his long, dark hair, which was pulled back and tied behind his head. He wore buckskin leggings, moccasins, and a chest piece made of animal bones. He nodded gravely to Kent.
Cole went on, "And this is Black Otter." The shaman was smaller than Two Ponies and more twisted with age. His hair was completely gray, and he wore a buckskin shirt in addition to leggings. His dark eyes were bright and alert as he said something to Kent in the Shoshone tongue.
Two Ponies translated. "Black Otter says he is honored to meet another healer. He has heard much about you, Doctor Kent."
"And I've heard a great deal about him," Kent replied, trying to be polite. He didn't add that he'd heard more than he ever wanted to know about the Shoshone medicine man. He turned to Cole and went on quietly, "I thought we had agreed—"
"I got to thinking about it," Cole said curtly, "and I didn't see any reason why Black Otter shouldn't at least take a look at Billy."
"I advise against it, as a doctor and as Deputy Casebolt's friend."
"Billy is friend of the Shoshones," Two Ponies said emphatically. "Shoshones want to help him."
"I'm sure you do," Kent told the chief, making an effort to remain calm and patient. "But he's already under medical care—"
Black Otter spoke up again, and Kent couldn't help but glare at the interruption.
"Black Otter says Shoshone medicine can help Billy, can make him well again," Two Ponies translated.
"How can he know that?" Kent demanded. "He hasn't even seen the patient yet!"
"That's right," Cole put in. "So how do you know that he can't help Billy?"
They weren't going to be satisfied until they had gone through with this spectacle, Kent saw. Grudgingly, he nodded. "All right, come in, come in," he said, not bothering any longer to hide the asperity in his voice as he turned to climb the few steps to the porch.
Cole glanced at Two Ponies and said, "Will your men be all right out here?"
"My warriors will cause no trouble," Two Ponies replied. "Can you say the same for the people of your town?"
"I'll make sure of it," Cole said. He lifted his voice and called out, "Listen up, folks! Two Ponies, Black Otter, and I are going into the doctor's office with Doc Kent. The rest of Two Ponies' men are going to stay out here, and I don't want anybody bothering them."
One of the citizens shouted, "What about them, Marshal? How do we know they won't go on some sort of rampage?"
"Yeah!" another man added. "You know you can't trust any of them redskins!"
As a few angry catcalls echoed those concerns, a new voice boomed out even louder. "I'll keep an eye on things out here, Brother Tyler," a huge man in a blacksmith's apron said as he moved easily through the crowd. Jeremiah Newton was not only Wind River's blacksmith, he was also a preacher, and he had no trouble making himself heard above the hubbub.
The protesting voices died away as Jeremiah glared around at the townspeople. Tall and as powerfully built as a buffalo, Jeremiah could generally quell arguments with his sheer presence.
"Thanks, Jeremiah," Cole told the massive blacksmith. "The Shoshone don't mean any harm, and I'd like to think the same of the folks here in town."
Jeremiah folded arms like the trunks of small trees across his broad chest. "There'll be no trouble here, Brother Tyler," he promised. "To make sure of that, I'll witness to our red brethren while you're busy inside the doctor's office."
Kent was growing impatient. "I'll take you to see Deputy Casebolt now," he said crisply to the Shoshone visitors. If he had to do this, he wanted to get it over with.
Cole and the two Shoshones stepped up onto the porch. Kent ushered them inside and took them down the hall to the room where Billy Casebolt was resting.
The deputy was awake. He was too weak to sit up, but he managed to grin as he saw Two Ponies and Black Otter come into the room behind Kent. "Howdy, fellers," he greeted them, his voice shaky but cheerful. "Didn't . . didn't expect to see you here."
"Marshal Tyler came to our village," Two Ponies said. "He told us that our good friend Billy was very sick. We would have come to visit you, even if we did not believe that Black Otter's medicine can help make you well again."
"Please try not to disturb him too much," Kent said. "Deputy Casebolt needs his rest."
Black Otter spoke to Two Ponies in Shoshone, and the chief replied. Black Otter nodded and stepped forward. He reached out with a gnarled hand to press his palm against Casebolt's forehead. He pulled back with an exclamation.
"Y-yeah," Casebolt grunted. "Hot enough to . . . fry an egg on . . . ain't I?"
Black Otter reached underneath his shirt and brought out some sort of gourd with eagle feathers tied to it. He began to shake it over Casebolt's head, causing a loud rattling sound. Kent realized the gourd had been hollowed out and something—probably beans or pebbles— had been placed inside it. Black Otter continued shaking the rattle, moving it slowly from Casebolt's head down over his body to his feet. As the shaman shook the rattle, he also stamped his feet lightly on the floor and chanted something.
"Oh, really!" Kent said, unable to suppress the exclamation.
Cole and Two Ponies both shot glares of disapproval at Kent, but Black Otter seemed to ignore him. The Shoshone medicine man brought the rattle back up Casebolt's body, holding it so close to the deputy as he shook it that several times it touched Casebolt's lanky frame. All the while, Black Otter continued his stamping and chanting. Casebolt watched the proceedings with wide eyes, occasionally swallowing hard.
When Black Otter reached Casebolt's head a second time with the gourd rattle, he put it aside and leaned over the deputy, cupping his hands together and placing them on Casebolt's forehead. Kent stepped forward, saying, "Here now, what's he doing?"
Cole put a hand on the physician's arm to stop him from interfering. "I reckon Black Otter knows what he's doing," Cole said.
"Yes, but I don't," Kent protested. There was nothing he could do, however. Between Cole's hand on his arm and the hard stare Two Poni
es was giving him, he realized it might be dangerous to intrude on the ceremony Black Otter was carrying out.
The shaman had formed a tube of his cupped hands as he pressed them to Casebolt's head. Now he leaned over even more and put his mouth to the end of that makeshift tube. He inhaled loudly.
In a quiet voice, Two Ponies said, "Black Otter is trying to suck out the evil ghost that is causing the sickness in our friend Billy."
"Of all the utter balderdash—" Kent subsided again as both Cole and the Shoshone chieftain glowered at him.
But it was insane, he thought. Not only the theory that some sort of evil ghost was causing Casebolt's illness, but the idea that it could be sucked out of his body like that. It was all a lot of pagan, unscientific mumbo-jumbo as far as Kent was concerned.
Two Ponies and Black Otter evidently had complete faith in the method, however. And as for Cole, well, the marshal was worried enough about his deputy to try anything.
Kent restrained his impatience only with an effort as several minutes went by and Black Otter continued what he was doing. Finally, the old man straightened and stepped back with a shake of his head. A few sentences in Shoshone rapped out from him.
"Well, now that he admits he's not going to be able to help Deputy Casebolt—" Kent began.
Two Ponies interrupted him. "Black Otter says that the ghost inside friend Billy is strong, very strong. The ghost has hold of Billy's spirit and will not let go."
"That's ridiculous," Kent snorted.
"Have you got a better idea of what's causing his fever?" Cole asked angrily. "You haven't had any more luck curing him than Black Otter did."
"He's been under my care less than six hours," Kent shot back. "Thai's hardly a fair test of my skills as a doctor."
Casebolt lifted a trembling hand. "Fellers, fellers, I wish you wouldn't . . . fight over me . . ."
Black Otter spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Two Ponies listened, then turned to Cole. "He says that he can drive the ghost out of friend Billy's body, but to do it we must take him to our village."
"Absolutely not!" Kent burst out. "This man cannot be moved."
Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4) Page 3