Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4)

by James Reasoner

  Cole pushed himself wearily to his feet. "Law business comes first. I'm not hurt that bad, just worn out more than anything. I'll go with you."

  "I can handle whatever it is—"

  "Come on, Billy," Cole said as he limped past the deputy. "Let's go see what's going on, and then Judson can patch up these creases."

  That was all the wounds were, Cole knew. They hurt like blazes, and the one on his left thigh, especially, had bled quite a bit, but he had been able to hang on to Ulysses and remain conscious as he fled from whoever had ambushed him out on Austin Fisk's ranch.

  It had taken him quite a while to make it back to town since he'd been forced to hold Ulysses to a walk once he had ridden out of range of the hidden gunmen's rifles. Every step the big golden sorrel took sent a jolt of agony through Cole's head, and he hadn't been able to stand a gallop or even a trot.

  He explained that to Casebolt as they made their way along Grenville Avenue toward the western edge of town, leaving out what he had theorized concerning the rustling on Latch Hook and the Diamond S.

  That was all too complicated to go into now. On the way, they passed Dr. Kent's office, and the building was dark. The medico wasn't there, obviously, which meant Cole was going to have to wait to have his wounds tended to, anyway. Might as well see what all the commotion was about while he was waiting, he thought.

  As he had halfway expected, the disturbance was coming from the medicine show. Cole heaved a sigh.

  With the rustling that was going on, he didn't need the added distraction of this squabbling. As he and Casebolt moved up to the edge of the crowd, he saw Professor Munroe and Dr. Bramwell Carter confronting each other again. Carter was trying to say something, but the crowd kept shouting him down.

  Judson Kent stood with him, appearing uncomfortable and angry at the same time. The big fellow, Dumont, was behind Munroe, and it looked like the professor was having to almost hold him back to keep him from attacking Carter. Dumont's diminutive wife was perched on the lowered tailgate of the nearest wagon, and off to one side were standing the stoic Chippewa, the professor's pretty blond niece—and Michael Hatfield.

  Cole didn't waste time wondering what Michael was doing with Deborah Munroe. Instead, ignoring the pain in his head, he lifted his voice and shouted, "Hey! Settle down, damn it!" When the noise from the crowd subsided a little, he went on, "What's going on here?"

  Bramwell Carter swung toward Cole and said, "You have to listen to me now, Marshal! I have proof! I analyzed that water sample from Medicine Creek—"

  Cole held up a hand to stop him, then glanced over at Casebolt. "What the hell's he talking about?"

  "It's a long story, Marshal, and I ain't had a chance to tell you about it yet."

  Cole shook his head. "Never mind, I'll figure it out as I go along. Go ahead, Doctor, and the rest of you people, shut up!"

  Carter took a deep breath and said, "I took a sample of water from Medicine Creek this afternoon, Marshal, and with the assistance of Dr. Kent here, I've analyzed it and found out just what's in it. Of course, a complete analysis was difficult, since our facilities here are limited—"

  "What did you find?" Cole broke in.

  "Plain water," Carter said triumphantly. "Nothing but plain water."

  "That's a lie!" Professor Munroe burst out, and more shouts came from the crowd despite Cole's earlier warning. The professor went on, "The mineral content of that water is exceedingly high, just as I always claimed. It makes the perfect basis for my elixir. With certain ingredients provided by my friend the chief added to the mixture, that water forms perhaps the most effective medicinal tonic the world has ever seen!"

  Cole looked at Kent. "What do you think, Doctor?"

  "I'm not certain," Kent said slowly, stroking his short beard. "It's true the water does have a high mineral content, but there's nothing unusual about that. I don't see how it could have any sort of special powers—"

  "Let's put it to the test," Munroe said suddenly. "I'm willing to stand behind everything I've said, and not only that, I'll prove it! I'll prove that this new batch of tonic is the most powerful one of all!" He held up a bottle filled with thick, pink liquid.

  "I don't know how you're going to prove that, Professor," Cole said with a shake of his head.

  "Mr. Hatfield, the editor of your own local paper, told me there was a man here tonight with a crippling, lifelong condition—You, sir! Would you be that man?" Munroe pointed suddenly to an old man in the front row of the audience who was balanced on a pair of crutches. His legs were bent and twisted beneath him, but his lined face lit up like the sunrise as Munroe turned toward him.

  "Can you help me, Professor?" he said desperately. "I ain't never been able to walk right, and I'll do anything, give you all the money I got—"

  "No need for payment, my friend," Munroe told him

  gently. "You'll be helping me as much as I am helping you. What's your name?"

  "Otis Stokes, Professor. I'll drink your tonic. I'll try anything that might help!"

  Munroe cast a scornful glance toward Carter and Kent. "You see? You would deny hope to a poor wretch like this, gentlemen? I think not!" He uncorked the bottle in his hand and extended it toward Otis Stokes.

  "Don't let him do this!" Carter exclaimed. "That stuff might be poisonous!"

  Cole limped forward and said, "Hold on a minute."

  Judson Kent caught hold of his arm. "My God, Marshal, you're wounded!"

  "Nothing that won't wait," Cole said. "Mr. Stokes, are you sure you want to try this stuff?"

  Stokes's head bobbed up and down eagerly. "I sure do, Marshal."

  Cole looked at Munroe. "All right, go ahead."

  Carter tried one more time as Munroe held the bottle to the old man's mouth and tipped it up. The doctor began, "I must protest—" before the roar of the crowd drowned him out as they shouted encouragement to Otis Stokes.

  Stokes swallowed about half the liquid in the bottle, then Munroe took it away from his mouth. "We don't want to give you too much, my friend," the professor said. "How does that feel?"

  "Can't tell no difference so far," Stokes said. "That tonic sure does go down smooth—Oh, Lord!"

  He stiffened, and the spectators gasped. A series of shudders went through Stokes's body, and Munroe had to catch his arm to keep him from falling. "Mr. Stokes! Mr. Stokes!" Munroe said anxiously. "Are you all right?"

  "I told you!" Carter crowed. "I told you it was dangerous to let that quack give him the tonic!"

  Otis Stokes was still shuddering. He dropped his crutches and clung frantically to Munroe, who was the only one holding him up. Several men started forward to help, but Munroe called, "Stay back! I've got him!"

  Suddenly, Stokes stiffened again, and he seemed to be standing taller than before. Casebolt pointed and cried out, "Lordy! Look there!"

  Before the amazed eyes of the crowd, Stokes's right leg seemed to straighten and lengthen. The old man's face was pale as milk, and there were audible popping and crackling sounds. His pants seemed to be shrinking, as more and more of his ankle appeared beneath the end of the trouser leg, but everyone in the crowd realized that his leg was really getting longer. After a moment, he rested his weight on that leg and let out a moan as the same thing began to happen to the other leg.

  "Glory be," Casebolt breathed beside Cole. "I never seen nothin' like it."

  Obviously, neither had anyone else in the crowd. Cole forgot about his own injuries as he watched in amazement and hushed awe, just like everyone else. After a couple of minutes, the formerly bent and withered Otis Stokes was standing upright on legs that had been useless—until now. Stokes looked down at his own legs, an expression of astounded disbelief on his face. "I never . . . I never really dreamed"

  "It's a miracle!" someone in the crowd cried raggedly. Others took up the shout. Stokes shuffled back and forth, trying out his legs, and suddenly broke into a little jig as he let out a whoop of joy.

  Cole looked around at everybody else
. Michael Hatfield was watching with an expression of stunned amazement on his face, while beside him Deborah Munroe was beaming with pride. Calvin Dumont swept his wife, Letitia, up in his arms as both of them grinned broadly, and even the Chippewa, Laughing Fox, looked vaguely pleased. As for Bramwell Carter and Judson Kent, both of them appeared surprised and not a little upset.

  As Otis Stokes continued to caper around, Professor Munroe turned to Carter and said in a voice dripping with scorn, "Well, Doctor? What do you think of my new and improved Chippewa Tonic now?"

  "I . . . I don't know what to make of it," Carter said miserably. "I was so sure it wouldn't work . . ."

  "Well, it did!" Munroe said triumphantly. He turned to the crowd. "You saw it with your own eyes, my friends! You saw what my tonic did for this poor man! It can do the same and more for you!"

  Casebolt tugged at the sleeve of Cole's buckskin shirt and said, "Uh, Marshal, with you bein' hurt and all . . . I figger we better get out of the way."

  Cole knew he was right. They barely moved to the side in time to avoid the rush as the crowd mobbed Professor Munroe, waving greenbacks and coins in their hands. Cole and Casebolt worked their way around the press of frantic people in front of the wagons and soon found themselves at the rear of the crowd. They were joined there by a crestfallen Bramwell Carter and a clearly baffled Judson Kent.

  "What do you think, Doctor?" Cole asked Carter.

  "I . . . I don't know what to think. If I hadn't seen that with my own eyes . . ." He shook his head.

  Cole turned to Kent. "Judson?"

  "It appears that Professor Munroe's tonic may have some medicinal value after all," Kent said. "But I'm going to reserve judgment on that until after I've had a look at those wounds of yours. You've neglected them much too long as it is, Marshal. Come on down to the office with me right now."

  "Won't argue with you," Cole said with a nod. "They do hurt like blazes. Billy, stay here and keep an eye on this . . . this fandango for me."

  The deputy nodded. "Sure will, Marshal. Say, Doc, maybe you ought to get some of the professor's tonic to put on them bullet wounds. Might heal 'em right up."

  "I think I shall trust to established medical procedures instead, Deputy," Kent said stiffly. He looked at Cole. "That is, unless the marshal would prefer—"

  "I'm in your hands, Judson," Cole said. "And right now, I want to get off my feet for a while. I'll see you later, Billy."

  He limped down the street with Kent while Dr. Carter started back toward the Territorial House. Carter was shaking his head and was obviously quite upset by what he had witnessed.

  Cole was a little surprised by it all himself. Now, in addition to a mysterious gang of wideloopers, he had on his hands what would undoubtedly be an even bigger uproar here in town, once word got around of how Professor Munroe's tonic had cured the old man's crippled legs. And that word would spread quickly, Cole knew.

  It all made him wonder—and worry—about what in blazes was going to happen next.

  Chapter 23

  For a couple of days, nothing much happened in Wind River except that Professor Nicodemus Munroe and his medicine show made money hand over fist.

  Once Cole had heard the whole story from Billy Casebolt of the confrontation at Medicine Creek between the Shoshones and the pilgrims who had come in search of the miracle water, Cole feared the trouble would become even worse.

  By the next morning, everyone in town knew how Munroe's new and improved tonic had cured Otis Stokes. That was liable to prompt an even worse rush on Medicine Creek and lead directly to fighting with the Indians.

  Luckily, it didn't work out that way. Professor Munroe announced that he would be able to produce the new tonic without using the actual waters of Medicine Creek, now that he knew which elements the stream contained, and in what concentrations.

  He set to work immediately making up a new batch of the stuff, and no one waited until the show that night to buy the elixir. They lined up at the medicine show wagons all day, forking over their hard-earned cash for bottles of the tonic.

  By that night, Munroe was running low on his supply of bottles and asked the members of the audience to return their empties, promising them a nickel's discount on the next bottle they purchased if they did so.

  The next day was more of the same, and as Cole and Casebolt strolled down to the clearing where the wagons were parked and looked at the line of people waiting to buy the tonic, Cole had to shake his head in wonderment.

  "Doesn't look like this run on the professor's elixir is going to end any time soon," he commented.

  "Folks're feelin' healthier than they have in a long time," Casebolt said. "I, uh, bought another couple o' bottles for myself, and it sure has helped my rheumatism again. Why, I hardly feel these old bones achin' anymore."

  "I'm glad to hear it."

  Casebolt gestured at the bandage on the side of Cole's head. "You ought to give it a try, Marshal, if your skull's still a-poundin' from where that slug kissed you. It'll fix you right up."

  Cole smiled. "No, thanks, Billy. I don't mind Munroe selling the stuff, and I'm not going to argue about whether or not it works, but I think I'll steer clear of it."

  "Suit yourself," Casebolt shrugged. "Me, I'm startin' to swear by it."

  "That Dr. Carter must be swearing at it. Reckon he's pretty much a laughingstock around here now, after what happened the other night. Judson Kent tells me Carter's leaving on the next eastbound."

  "Good riddance," Casebolt snorted. "Fella was too uppity for me."

  The medicine show performers were too busy selling tonic and assisting Munroe in the preparation of it to do any practicing during the day, and as Cole watched Deborah Munroe making change for the customers, he frowned a little. "Billy, have you noticed how much Michael Hatfield has been hanging around that gal?"

  "Which gal? That yellow-haired one?" Casebolt's frown matched the marshal's. "Yeah, I seen him around here a lot. Reckon he's not here right now because the newspaper's comin' out tomorrow and he's got to get ready for that. Come to think of it, I believe I saw a light in the newspaper office late last night, like there was somebody stayin' there." Casebolt rubbed his lean jaw as his frown deepened. "Aw, hell, Marshal, you don't reckon that young feller's been moonin' so much over that medicine show gal that he's gone and left that pretty little redheaded wife of his, do you?"

  "Or gotten booted out of their house by her, maybe," Cole said with a sigh. "I'd hate to think so, Billy, but you can't ever tell what'll happen when a man gets some fool notion in his head about a pretty woman."

  "Want me to have a talk with that younker?"

  Cole shook his head. "Not yet. Likely that medicine show will move on sooner or later, and then Michael will come to his senses. With any luck, it won't be too late for him and Delia by then."

  The two lawmen walked back down Grenville Avenue, Cole limping only slightly. His wounded leg was still quite sore, but he was able to ignore the pain for the most part and the injury was healing well, according to Dr. Judson Kent.

  The doctor had been concerned that the bullet crease on Cole's head might have caused a concussion, but there had been no sign of one and the shallow gash itself was also healing cleanly. Cole's active, outdoor life had given him good recuperative powers, Kent had said.

  The way Cole saw it, a man who had things to do just didn't have the time to be laid up for very long while injuries healed.

  He had things to do, that was certain. There was still the matter of that rustling to deal with. He hadn't been back out to either the Diamond S or Latch Hook, but he thought his leg would be well enough for him to ride again in another day or two.

  Then he would continue his investigation and get to the bottom of this. He had laid out his theory for Casebolt, and the deputy had agreed it was possible a gang of owlhoots had deliberately made it look as if Sawyer and Fisk were responsible for the raids on each other's ranch, while all the time the real cow thieves were hiding the stolen stock som
ewhere in the mountains before driving it on to market.

  "Sure you don't want me to ride out to Sawyer's place and have a talk with him?" Casebolt asked now, as if reading the marshal's mind. "I could tell that fella Fisk what you think about their problem, too."

  Cole shook his head. "I don't completely trust Fisk. He could still be tied up in it somehow. I ought to be able to ride tomorrow. I'll go out there then."

  Cole glanced across the street and saw that they were passing the office of the Wind River Sentinel. Through the big plate-glass windows in the front of the building, Cole could see Michael Hatfield moving around the big press in the back of the room, assisted by his two printer's devils. It was late afternoon, and the press would be turning soon, printing newspapers that would be distributed early the next morning.

  At least Michael wasn't neglecting his job too much, Cole thought. Michael was devoted to newspaper work.

  But Cole had believed that Michael was devoted to his wife, Delia, too, and from what he had seen the past couple of days, that looked like it was no longer true.

  It was a damned shame, Cole thought as he walked on. A pure, damned shame.

  * * *

  He couldn't put it off any longer, Michael thought as he checked the lines of type set in the forms that would go in the printing press. He had to make a decision. It was torturing him to draw things out like this, unable to make up his mind what to do.

  Of course, he'd had a lot of time to think the past two nights, since he had come home to find that Delia had thrown all of his clothes onto the front porch, along with some bedding. Michael had gathered it all up in a hurry and made his way to the newspaper office using back alleys, not wanting anyone to see him and realize that he had been kicked out of his own house. There was a cot in the back room, and he had been sleeping there at night ever since.

  Once before, he and Delia had separated briefly, back before Lincoln was born, but that time she had moved out, taking a room in the hotel with Gretchen. That had led to plenty of trouble, too, and Michael had been utterly relieved when they had reconciled.