Medicine Show

by Bill Crider

  The butt met bone with a cracking sound, and as Stump crumpled forward Ben grabbed his arm and dragged him off the buggy seat, letting him fall to the ground on his face.

  Naomi gasped as her husband fell, but she did not panic. She reached for the buggy whip instead.

  Ben flipped the pistol again and pointed it at her.

  "No use in you tryin' anything," he said. "Just lay that whip down and get outta the buggy."

  Naomi fixed him with a hard stare. "No," she said.

  Ben cocked his pistol. "I got plans for you, but I don't much mind killin' you first," he said. "That ain't gonna stop me from doin' anything else I wanta do. I just hope your husband wakes up by then so he can watch me."

  He grinned at Naomi and winked. "And when I'm finished with you, I'm gonna go back and do that little Injun girl."

  "No, you're not." It was Ray Storey. He was walking toward the buggy, his right arm hanging useless at his side. His face was gray in the moonlight, and the sleeve of his buckskin outfit was black with blood. He was holding his revolver in his left hand.

  Ben threw his head back and laughed. "You're a sorry sight," he said. "You think you can stop me?"

  Storey didn't know. He didn't shoot especially well with his right hand, and he didn't really want to risk a shot with his left. He was just as likely to hit the preacher's wife as to hit Ben.

  So he didn't say anything. He just kept walking.

  "You take a lot of killin'," Ben said. "But I'm willin' to keep tryin'."

  He fired at Storey again, and by pure luck his bullet struck Storey's pistol.

  The pistol spun away, and Storey did not look for it. He knew that it would be useless. His arm and hand were numbed from the shock of having the pistol twisted from him by the bullet, but he kept on walking forward.

  Naomi, taking advantage of the distraction, picked up the reins and snapped the whip. The buggy jumped forward.

  "Goddammit!" Ben said, seeing his plans going wrong and feeling terribly confused.

  He tried to think of what he should do. He wished Sam were there to tell him. He didn't know whether to go after Naomi, shoot Stump where he was lying, or shoot Storey. If only those bastards hadn't killed Sam!

  He hesitated just long enough for Storey, breaking into a shambling run, to reach him.

  Storey had almost no feeling in the fingers of his right hand, but he had enough to grab a handful of Ben's Levi's and pull.

  Ben fired a shot uselessly into the air as Storey pulled him from the saddle.

  Ben hit the ground on his back, and Storey fell on him, trying to get a grip on Ben's hairy neck.

  He could not, and Ben clubbed at his head with the pistol barrel. For one of the first times he could remember, Storey was thankful for the beaver hat the Colonel wanted him to wear. It had cushioned most of the blow.

  Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere, Ben pulled the trigger.

  Storey felt the bullet burn by his ear and butted Ben in the chin.

  Ben's beard absorbed most of the force of the blow, but his teeth clicked together and his head snapped back, hitting the ground.

  He didn't stop his struggles. He writhed beneath Storey like a frenzied snake. Storey could smell sour sweat and rancid breath.

  Ben, finally remembering that Storey was wounded, began beating at Storey's shoulder with his fist.

  Lightning bolts of pain flashed down Storey's right arm and into his finger tips. More pain radiated out from the shoulder into Storey's chest and back.

  Storey yelled but did not roll off Ben. He kept himself on top by holding on with his good arm, which really wasn't all that good.

  Ben continued to pound the wound, at the same time trying to work the barrel of his pistol up under Storey's chin. He was going to blow off the top of Storey's head.

  Storey knew what was happening, but he was determined not to let Ben get up. If he did, Ben would kill him for sure, and the others too.

  He tried to keep his head moving, to butt Ben's chin again. He thought that if he could hold Ben down long enough, he might be able to wear him out. It didn't seem likely, however. He didn't know how much more punishment his arm could take.

  Ben was not wearing out. He was like a trapped animal, his rage feeding his strength. He would never give up.

  He got his pistol in position and pulled the trigger.

  20

  The Reverend Stump was seeing double, or maybe triple. He wasn't sure. There were more moons in the sky than there should be, though; he could tell that much. His head felt as if a horse had stepped on it.

  He heard the sounds of a struggle nearby and the memory of what had happened returned in a rush.

  Naomi!

  He sat up suddenly, looking around quickly. His head nearly came apart, and he clutched it with his hands to hold it together.

  There was no sign of either the buggy or Naomi, but he could see the two men wrestling in the dirt not so far away. Or maybe there were four of them. It wasn't easy to be sure.

  One thing he could see, however, was that one of the men--or two of them--was Mr. Storey. The buckskin outfit was hard to forget.

  The other man, then, had to be Ben Hawkins.

  Stump crawled over to them and seized Ben's arm, wrenching it aside just as Ben pulled the trigger to blow off Storey's head.

  This bullet came close to doing its job, tearing its way through Storey's long hair and nipping off the lobe of his left ear. Blood dripped down onto Ben's chest as he thrashed under Storey and tried to tear his arm out of Stump's grip.

  Stump proved to be more tenacious than Ben might have expected. He refused to release his hold.

  Storey was glad for the preacher's help, but he didn't know whether even the two of them were going to be able to subdue the furious Ben.

  Then Storey thought of something else. The skinning knife. He had not unsheathed it for weeks, probably longer, but it was still there. If he could get it in his hand and hold onto it, they might have a chance.

  His fingers touched the handle, and he was surprised that he could feel it so well. The numbness was beginning to wear off.

  He pulled out the knife and brought it up, fighting against Ben's twisting body, pushing it through Ben's beard and into the bottom of his chin.

  Ben stopped struggling almost immediately. The sharp point of the knife in a particularly soft and vulnerable spot altered his strategy. He knew that if he continued to flail around, he might cause his own death.

  "Drop the pistol," Storey said.

  "Sure," Ben said, letting the pistol go. "It's dropped."

  "All right, Preacher," Storey said. "Let's get him up now. But don't let go of that arm."

  They stood Ben up, Storey keeping the point of the knife pressed into the tender skin. Stump slipped once, causing the point to sink in deeper. Storey didn't try to ease it out.

  "You killed a good friend of mine tonight," Storey said. "And the sheriff was supposed to be a friend of yours. I guess we might as well kill you."

  He punched the point of the knife in a just little deeper.

  Ben rose up on his toes. "You killed Sam," he said. His voice was quavery.

  "Sam was armed," Storey said. "The Boo--Dr. Stuartson wasn't. He never hurt anybody." He pushed the knife in a little farther still. It was hard to keep himself from ramming it right on through, through the mouth and into the brain.

  Killing Sam had been hard; killing Ben was going to be easy.

  "Vengeance belongs to the Lord," Stump said, recovering enough to talk now. "There's no need to murder this man."

  "I thought you were shooting a pistol at him not long ago," Storey said, relaxing slightly.

  "That was different." Stump echoed his own earlier thoughts. "There is a season for fighting back and even a time for killing. But there is a time for other things, as well."

  Storey was reminded of what Stuartson had told him, and all at once it began to make more sense. There was indeed a time to fight back, and Storey ha
d finally learned when that time was, unlike the town, which seemed never to have learned. The town had suffered under the Hawkins brothers for so long because no one had recognized when the time to fight back had come.

  But Stuartson had said that Storey was not a natural killer, and that was also true. There was a time to allow the law to do its work, and that work did not involve killing.

  "Do you think we can count on this polecat getting what he deserves if we can get him back to town?" Storey said.

  "I'm sure that we can," Stump said, who was seeing almost normally now. "Look down the trail."

  Storey looked and saw Naomi returning in the buggy. But she wasn't alone. Carl Gary was riding along beside her, and there were several other men coming behind.

  "Looks like they finally figured things out," Storey said. He didn't hold the delay against them. He had been confused for a while himself.

  "I believe they have," Stump said, smiling. He had never been so glad to see his wife before.

  "Looks like the jailhouse for you, Ben," Storey said, relaxing even more but still holding the knife in place.

  "They won't be able to keep me in there," Ben said.

  "I wouldn't bet on it," Storey told him. "I think these folks have learned a lesson."

  * * *

  It was late when Storey got back to the show wagon. The bodies of Dr. Stuartson and Coy Wilson had been covered with blankets, and they would be gone soon. Tal Thurman was on the way to get them.

  Storey dismounted and rapped on the door at the back of the wagon.

  "It's me," he said.

  Louisa threw the door open and looked out.

  "You're hurt," she said. "What happened?"

  Storey told them what had happened as best he could. His left arm still throbbed with pain.

  "I wish that Dr. Stuartson were alive to look at that arm," the Colonel said. "It may be that your shoulder is broken."

  Storey thought that might be the case. "I'm more worried about the bullet wound, though," he said.

  Sophia smiled. "I think we might be able to take care of that."

  "Certainly," the Colonel said. "Louisa, fetch us a bottle of Miracle Oil."

  Louisa handed him a bottle. "Take off your shirt," he said.

  Storey began working on the buttons awkwardly with one hand, and Louisa stepped over to help him.

  "I don't know about taking my shirt off in front of ladies," Storey said.

  "You might as well get used to it," Louisa said.

  "And what do you mean by that, young woman?" Sophia said.

  Louisa looked at her mother and smiled. "Nothing," she said. She moved behind Storey and helped him as he shrugged out of the shirt.

  "A nasty looking wound," the Colonel said. "But never fear. Indian Miracle Oil will do the job. It settles the stomach of man or beast, flushes the kidneys, relieves coughs, soothes catarrh--"

  "I'm sure he's heard the pitch, Father," Louisa said.

  "Of course, of course," the Colonel said, liberally applying his potion to the wound.

  Storey gritted his teeth and tried not to flinch, but he did. He found that Louisa was holding his hand. He also found that he did not mind.

  "Are you going to be with the show for a while, Mr. Storey?" the Colonel said as he inspected the wound. "It would be most difficult for us to function with neither a doctor nor a Kit Carson."

  "I believe I'll stick around for a while," Storey said, smiling at Louisa. His arm was already feeling better. the Miracle Oil really was as good as Mahaffey said. Maybe his shoulder wasn't broken after all.

  "I'm glad you'll be staying with us," Sophia said. "I have a feeling--"

  "Never mind," the Colonel said. "I don't want to hear about it. If the next stop is anything like this one, people will begin to run when they hear we are coming into town."

  He found a strip of cloth and bandaged Storey's wound.

  "You may put on your shirt now," he said. "And then I think that we should all go outside and bid Dr. Stuartson a proper farewell."

  Storey thought that life would be mighty strange without The Boozer around, and he realized that he was going to miss him more than he would have guessed.

  The Colonel opened the door, and after a second Storey followed the others out into the moonlight.