A Gideon Johann Boxed Set Book 1 - 4 (A Gideon Johann Western 0)

by Duane Boehm

  “I’m sorry to hear that you became a widow at such a young age,” John said.

  “How old are you children?” Mary asked, not wanting to dwell on the past.

  At the poker table in the back of the saloon, somebody yelled, “You bastard, you’re a card cheat.” The sound of chairs scooting across the wooden floor echoed across the room as two men stood up from the table. Gunshots rang out as the two card players shot at each from the distance of the tabletop. Black powder clouded the room with smoke and bedlam broke out as people ran and dived in every direction. The gunman with his back to Mary’s table fell across the poker table, flipping it over with his weight. The other shooter glanced around the room and then made a run for it across the saloon and out the door.

  Finnie heard the gunshots as he locked the door to the cell of his unconscious prisoner. He ran out into the street just as the gunman mounted his horse and came barreling towards him. Attempting to draw his revolver, Finnie forgot that he had begun attaching the holster loop over the hammer of his new Colt. As he looked down to see his problem, the rider crashed into him, sending him somersaulting backwards and sprawling in the street. The sounds of hoof beats faded into the night as he spit dirt and tried to regain his senses.

  From the floor of the saloon, Mary and Doc peeked up over the top of the table. They saw John slumped back in his chair. His arms hung to his side and blood gushed from a hole in his chest. He made eye contact with Doc.

  “Does this make me a cowboy?” John asked through clenched teeth.

  Doc stood and rushed to John’s side. “Some of you men get over here and carry this man to my office. What about that one over there?”

  “He’s dead, Doc,” a patron called out.

  Four men lifted John and carried him out of the saloon with Doc and Mary following them. Finnie was still crawling around in the street trying to get to his feet. Mary spotted him and ran to his side.

  “Finnie, are you shot?” she cried.

  “No, I got ran over by somebody’s horse. I’m dizzy,” Finnie said.

  Wrapping her arms around Finnie and hugging him, Mary said, “You crazy Irishman. You scared the hell out of me. I thought I lost my chance to shoot you myself. Let me help you to your feet. John got shot.”

  With Mary’s help, Finnie made it into to the doctor’s office and sat down in the doctor’s chair. Holding his head in his hands, he sucked in big breaths to clear his head. He still felt woozy as the men that carried John walked past to leave.

  The doctor retrieved scissors to begin cutting clothing away. “Is Finnie hurt badly?” he asked.

  “He’s just shook up. I’m filling him in on what happened,” Mary answered.

  “Good. Please bring a pen and paper. I need you to do the writing,” Doc said.

  Mary dug around in the desk drawer before coming over with the writing materials.

  Doc leaned down and patted John on the chest. “John, can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “John, I want to be honest with you. You are seriously wounded and may die. I want you to give me your address so that we can notify your family or they may never know what happened to you,” Doc said.

  “My name is John Hamilton. My wife’s name is Kate and I live at 22 Beacon Street. Tell my wife and children that I love them,” John whispered.

  Doc straightened his posture and looked around the room as if gathering his senses before leaning back over John. “Are you Irene’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  Doc took a step back, taking a big breath as if to replenish the air knocked out of him before he exhaled loudly. “Am I your father?” he asked in bewilderment.

  John nodded his head and closed his eyes.

  Looking up at Mary, Doc rubbed his chin as if he were trying to wear off his whiskers. “I never thought that this day would happen and surely not under these circumstances,” he said as much to himself as to Mary.

  “Doc, what’s going on?” she asked.

  “You can help me with the surgery. I’ll tell you all about it as we work,” he said as he sprang into action.

  “I’ll do my best,” Mary replied.

  The doctor walked to his shelf of bottles, pulled the chloroform down, and then retrieved a cloth. “Finnie, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay now. Just a little stiff. A horse hits harder than I do,” Finnie said.

  “I would say so. Do you think that you’re up to helping hold John down while I chloroform him?” the doctor asked.

  “Sure, Doc,” Finnie answered as he arose from the chair and gingerly walked over to the table.

  With Mary on one side and Finnie on the other, Doc stood at the end of the table by John’s head and placed the chloroform soaked cloth over his mouth and nose. John struggled briefly, but he was already barely conscious and weakened to the point that he put up little resistance. Doc held the cloth on John’s face until satisfied that his patient would remain sufficiently sedated.

  “Go back and rest, Finnie. Thank you for your help,” Doc said.

  “I need to go back to the saloon and see what I can find out about our shooter before everybody scatters,” Finnie said before shuffling out the door.

  “What do you want me to do?” Mary asked the doctor as he retrieved his tray of medical instruments.

  “Come over here. We’re going to scrub our hands and then douse them in carbolic acid. It’s a little hard on the skin, but one time shouldn’t irritate you too much,” he said.

  After they sanitized their hands, the doctor wiped the skin around John’s bullet hole with the acid and poured some into the wound. “I want you to spray down each instrument that I use with the carbolic acid,” he said as he stuck his finger into the wound and began probing. “He’s got a fractured rib and I can feel a hole in the lung, but it’s on the outer edge. There’s the bullet. It’s straight back, no ricocheting. Thank goodness it must have missed the subclavian vein or things would really be bad. He would bleed out. Hand me the scalpel and forceps, please.”

  “These things?” Mary asked.

  “Yes,” the doctor answered and waited as she sprayed the instruments. Doc began grasping the frayed skin around the wound with the forceps and trimming it away with the scalpel. “When I was a student at Harvard, I met Irene Hamilton – a most beautiful creature. Her father was one of the richest bankers in Boston. You can imagine his thrill when his daughter started seeing the son of a dry goods storeowner.”

  Finished with the trimming, he handed the instruments back to Mary.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Hand me the larger forceps after you spray them,” Doc answered. He sunk the forceps into John’s chest. “They didn’t forbid her from seeing me, but they sure didn’t like it. I got her pregnant and that’s when the real problems began. They made her stop seeing me and she wouldn’t even speak to me.”

  The doctor removed some bone chips from the shattered rib, dropping them into a cup.

  “You must have thought about him all the time,” Mary said.

  “I did in the early years. Over time, I kind of put the whole business on a shelf in the back of my mind. The situation felt hopeless,” Doc said. “I got the bullet.”

  The doctor held the flattened projectile up for Mary to see before dropping it onto the tray.

  “I had no idea about all of this, Doc,” Mary said.

  “No one here does. I’ve never told a soul in Last Stand. What would be the point? Anyway, after the baby was born, they wouldn’t even let me see my own child. I got a scar behind my ear where an officer clipped me with a club to make sure that I got the message. Money can buy lots of things. When I got the chance to come out here, I gave up and left,” Doc said as he cleaned the wound again.

  “How is John?” Mary asked.

  “He’s gravely wounded, but I’ve seen worse and he has a fighting chance. The lung should heal over. We just have to keep things clean. I’m sure he’ll want to keep the bullet for a souveni
r. It’s not every day that you get shot. Do you think he looks like me?” Doc said as he peered at his son’s face.

  “I was just trying to figure that out. Of course you’ve been older than the hills since I’ve known you so I don’t know what you once looked like, but I think maybe he does around the eyes,” Mary said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “It never even occurred to me that he might be my son. I thought that he was an author that had heard about some of Gideon’s exploits and didn’t want to admit that he was after a story,” he said as he began bandaging the wound.

  “Don’t you need to sew it shut?” she asked.

  “No, gunshot wounds heal better if left on their own,” he answered.

  “Did you ever try writing after you got out here?” Mary inquired.

  “I did. I have a whole stack of returned letters stashed away. I had no idea whether or not he even knew my name let alone know where to find me,” Doc said.

  “He seems like a good man and I don’t think that he must bear any ill feelings towards you. He certainly was friendly enough. I think he must have wanted to see what you are like before he told you,” Mary said.

  “It’s all quite perplexing. I’m having a hard time grasping that this man is my son. After all these years, it doesn’t seem real to look down and see my own flesh and blood,” Doc said and placed his hand on John.

  Mary walked over and patted the doctor’s back. “This is all terrible, Doc. Every boy should know his father.”

  “I just hope that he gets the chance to now,” Doc said.

  Chapter 11

  As Gideon rode through Last Stand towards the jail, he already sensed that something happened the night before. The town didn’t feel right as if it were on edge. A raw nervousness remained palpable. He saw Finnie limp out of the saloon headed to the jail.

  “What happened?” Gideon called out.

  “Oh, Gideon, you are not going to believe it all. The old ladies around here will be singing an opera of gossip when they catch wind of things,” Finnie said.

  Gideon looked at Finnie with mild annoyance, but decided to wait until they were in the jail to get a real explanation.

  “Are you okay?” Gideon asked as he dismounted.

  “I’m just stiff and sore. I’m not as young as I used to be. A horse running me down hurts more these days,” Finnie said.

  “Well, how many times has a horse run you over? I’d think once would be enough to stay out of its way forever,” Gideon said.

  “It’s my first time. That wasn’t my point,” Finnie said in exasperation before entering the jail and leaving Gideon.

  Following him inside, Gideon sat down at his desk. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I had to give a cowboy a taste of the old haymaker,” Finnie said, holding up his right fist. “While I was locking him up, a gunfight occurred at the poker table. We got a dead cowboy and John from Boston caught a stray bullet. He’s hurt bad. I ran into the street and the shooter ran me over with his horse. I guess he’s long gone.”

  “Do you have a name or something?” Gideon asked impatiently.

  “Hold on. I haven’t gotten to the most shocking part of the night yet. Doc was getting ready to do surgery on John and finds out that John is his son,” Finnie said.

  Gideon leaned back in his chair with a look of pure astonishment on his face. “What? Did Doc know that he had a son?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “I think so. I didn’t get all the particulars. Mary did. Our good doctor was pretty shook up,” Finnie said.

  “I can’t believe that old goat never shared with me that he had a son. I’ll be damned. Do we have a name or something to find our shooter?” Gideon said.

  “His name is Willard Ramsey and he works for the Square Circle Ranch out of El Paso, Texas and grew up down there. His compadres say that he’s a good man until he gets to drinking. They also said he’s good with a gun and has a stout horse. The latter to which I can attest. Oh, and Blackie reshod his horse yesterday so he should have a sharp distinct track,” Finnie said.

  “I would guess that John would argue with the claims to his gunmanship. I’ve seen it happen before and I’ll never understand how men standing around a table can miss each other but they can. I’m going to go see Doc,” Gideon said and stood.

  “Okay, I’ll release my cowboy providing he apologizes,” Finnie said.

  Gideon quietly entered the doctor’s office, finding Doc dozing in a chair beside his patient. He gently shook Doc’s leg until the doctor awakened.

  “Gideon, you missed all the excitement for a change,” Doc said.

  “So I hear. How’s your patient?” Gideon asked.

  “He made it through the night just fine. He opens his eyes and mumbles every once in a while, but it’s nonsense. He’s got a fighting chance,” the doctor said.

  “How come you never told me that you had a son?” Gideon asked.

  “I never thought that I would see him, so what was the point. It was a long time ago and best forgotten. His mother’s family wouldn’t let me near him. This certainly changes things and I hope I get to hear the whole story,” Doc said.

  “I’m sure you will, Doc. I’m sure you will. I still can’t believe that you have a son. This is about as shocking as me finding out that I had a daughter. There’s a lot of secrets in this little town,” Gideon said.

  “There’s lots of secrets in every town. There was a time when the ladies had an eye for me. I wasn’t always old you know,” Doc said.

  “I’m sure you were quite the ladies’ man. It looks as if I’ll be hitting the trail to find the shooter. I’ll see you when I get back,” Gideon said.

  “You be careful,” Doc said, even as his attention drifted to his son.

  Gideon walked back to the jail in time to see the cowboy that Finnie had waylaid walk out the door.

  “Finnie, I’m going home to tell Abby goodbye. If this Willard Ramsey rode hard, another couple of hours aren’t going to make much difference. I’ll stop at the Square Circle camp and make sure that he’s not hiding there, but I don’t hold much hope for that. That would be too easy. You keep an eye on the town and stay out of the way of horses. Did Mary take pity on you and let you back into her good graces?” Gideon said as he grabbed three boxes of cartridges from the ammunition cabinet.

  “Pretty much, but not all the way. I sure would’ve been better off telling her about that reward money. I’m sorry I didn’t catch Ramsey and save you from tracking him down. I had the holster loop on my gun’s hammer and I messed up,” Finnie said.

  “It was just bad timing that you were at the jail. You would’ve had to make one hell of shot to hit him anyway with him barreling down on you. I just hope I don’t have to chase him all the way back to Texas. I always swore that I’d never set foot in that place again. I’ll see you when I get back,” Gideon said and grabbed his slicker off the peg as he headed out the door.

  Abby took the news of Gideon’s departure about as he expected. She was not pleased and reminded him that chasing outlaws provided one more reason to give up the sheriff business. He did his best to pacify his wife before leaving her and Chance with one last hug.

  The camp of the Square Circle proved easy enough to find and the trail boss a pleasant man. Gideon learned that Ramsey returned to camp the previous night to retrieve some belongings and hastily departed before the trail boss knew what had happened back in town. Once again, Gideon was warned of Ramsey’s prowess with a gun, especially a rifle, and his unpredictable nature when drinking. The wanted cowboy had been last seen leaving camp headed southeast.

  Gideon picked up the track outside of the camp and followed them. The news shoes and the pace of Ramsey’s horse made it easy to distinguish the tracks from others. The cowboy had put his horse in an easy lope with the obvious attempt to cover a lot of miles without wearing down his horse. After riding a couple of hours, Gideon was surprised that the cowboy’s path headed towards Santa Fe instead of the Goodnight
–Loving Trail. Ramsey had opted for the seclusion of the mountains over the ease of the cattle trail.

  The September day was cool and sunny, making for the kind of trip that Gideon preferred. With no concerns for overheating his horse, Gideon pushed the pace. He was familiar with the trail, having traveled the path a couple of times in the last few years. Every few miles he would check for tracks to make sure that Ramsey had not veered from the trail.

  After a few hours of riding, he came upon grasslands yellowed from lack of rain. Some of the creeks had gone dry from an absence of mountain runoff and the streams looked half the size of their normal flow. The rainfall had been scarce enough that even the trees looked to have suffered from the drought. The pine groves stood carpeted in shed needles deeper than Gideon had ever witnessed.

  Towards nightfall, Gideon came to a stream and found signs that Ramsey had made camp there. The remnants of a fire felt cool to the touch and Gideon realized that he probably had not made up any ground on the cowboy. He was dealing with a good horseman intent on escaping. Tired from riding, and with belly growling, he decided to call it a day. Before starting a fire, he unsaddled Buck and tied him so that he could drink from the stream and graze on grass still green from the moisture provided by the water. Dining on hardtack and jerky, he washed the food down with water and a nightcap of a couple sips of whiskey before turning in for the night.

  In the morning, Gideon awoke cold and stiff. The morning air hung cold and heavy, and he didn’t want to waste time making a fire. He took a sip of whiskey to knock the chill off and decided to skip breakfast rather than face another piece of hardtack. Stretching his limbs, he loosened his muscles to the point where he didn’t feel as if he would break in two while riding. With Buck saddled, he rode out as first light turned the landscape to a dull gray.

  The farther south he rode, the scraggier the landscape became. The grass thinned out to scrub brush broken up by the occasional pine grove at the foot of the bare mountains. As noontime neared, Gideon came to the lake where the year before he found his old scouting partner, Farting Jack Dolan. He was surprised and tickled to see the tepee still standing, having assumed that Jack would have moved on by now.