Beloved Physician

by Al Lacy

  “But, honey, you need that salve.”

  “No. I’ll be all right without it. Whenever he comes back, just tell him he is not needed.”

  At that moment, there was a knock at the front door downstairs. Mabel stood up and sighed. “That has to be the doctor. I want him to put that salve on you. I’ll bring him right up.”

  As soon as her aunt left the room, Cassandra threw the sheet back and jumped off the bed. Her breath was tight in her lungs, and she was down to the bone in panic. Still having her skirt on, she quickly put on another blouse, slipped into her shoes, and hurried to a window that overlooked the yard at the side of the house.

  She opened the window as quietly as possible, climbed out, and began inching her way along a narrow ledge toward the rear of the house, where she planned to drop onto the back porch, then swing down onto the ground and run away where nobody would find her.

  Downstairs, Mabel opened the front door to discover Dr. Dane Logan there with Marshal Jake Merrell. The doctor had his medical bag in hand.

  When they stepped in at Mabel’s invitation, the marshal said, “Mrs. Downing, I had a long talk with Kirby Holton. He acknowledged that Cassandra had come to his house asking for money, but he swears he did not touch her in any way, and that he absolutely did her no harm.”

  Dr. Dane spoke up. “Mabel, I believe Kirby. I am quite sure Cassandra inflicted those welts on herself.”

  Mabel’s jaw dropped. Her body went rigid, and her eyes widened in shock. “What? Why do you believe him instead of my niece?”

  “Let me explain. When I first laid eyes on those welts, I knew they were not like a belt laid to her back would leave if it had hit her hard enough to shred her blouse. There would definitely be blood flowing from the welts, and there would be blood on the blouse. The more I examined the welts, the more convinced I was that she had done this to herself.”

  Mabel shook her head in disbelief. “Doctor, I—I can’t believe she would do that kind of damage to herself just to try to get even with Kirby Holton for not giving her any money!”

  “Well, I’m quite sure she did. I used the salve I mentioned as a reason to leave the house and be gone for at least three hours. If somehow I’m wrong, I have the salve here in my bag. But I don’t believe there will be any welts on her back at all by now.”

  “What? I looked at those welts and I felt of them! They are real!”

  “I’ll explain why I was gone for three hours in a moment, ma’am. But let me tell you first that during that time, I talked to Kirby in the marshal’s presence. I’m telling you, he is innocent of these charges Cassandra is leveling at him.”

  Mabel was dumbfounded. Hardly able to breathe, she said, “Tell me why you were gone for those three hours.”

  “This is going to surprise you, Mrs. Downing,” interjected the marshal.

  Dr. Dane grinned at him, then said to Mabel, “I think Cassandra has a rare skin condition called in the medical world dermatographia. I explained it to Marshal Merrell on the way over here. A person with this condition can actually draw anything they want on their skin with the blunt end of a pencil or something like it. This will appear to be a reddish purple welt, but whatever is drawn on the skin will completely disappear within three to four hours. I first learned of this skin condition when a circus came to town when I was a boy, and they had a man in a sideshow who could draw on his arms with a small stick while people watched. He would let them examine the welts to see that they were real, then challenge them to come back in three hours and look at them again. When the people came back, the welts had disappeared.”

  Mabel thought of how it had been three hours since the doctor had left and Cassandra didn’t want him to see her again. Her mouth sagged open. “Let’s go up to her room. I want to look at her back right now.”

  The two men mounted the stairs with Mabel, walked down the hall, and followed her as she entered Cassandra’s room.

  All three of them saw at once that Cassandra was not in the bed, but the side window was open, with the breeze flapping the lace curtains. They rushed to the window, and Marshal Merrell gasped as he pointed down at Cassandra, who was lying on the ground below, near the back side of the house.

  “Oh no!” cried Mabel.

  Dr. Dane whirled and ran toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “Help Mabel, Jake. I’ve got to get down there!”

  Moments later, Jake Merrell and Mabel Downing came off the back porch and rushed around the corner of the house to the spot where Dr. Dane was kneeling beside Cassandra, who lay on her back, her neck twisted awkwardly. The doctor’s features were gray as he looked up at Mabel. “I’m sorry. Her neck is broken. She’s dead.”

  Mabel’s knees gave way, and the marshal had to catch her to keep her from falling.

  While Mabel wept loudly, Dr. Dane rolled the body facedown, stood up, then waited for Mabel to gain control of her emotions. This came within a minute or so, and then she said in a shaky voice, “You must be right about her self-infliction, Doctor. She was trying to run away.”

  Dr. Dane nodded. “It appears that she was.”

  Mabel swallowed. “She must have jumped off the bed the instant I started downstairs to answer your knock.”

  “Mm-hmm. When she fell from that second-story ledge up there, she landed on her head. That’s what broke her neck. Let’s see if those welts are gone.”

  Mabel and the marshal looked on intently as Dr. Dane knelt down, pulled the blouse loose from under the waist of Cassandra’s skirt, and exposed her bare back.

  There were no welts.

  Mabel gasped. “Doctor, you were right!”

  “You sure were,” said Marshal Merrell in a low voice.

  Mabel looked at the doctor. “I wonder why we didn’t hear her scream when she fell.”

  Dr. Dane rubbed his chin. “She was probably so frightened when she slipped that it took her breath away. She must have let out a gasp, rather than a scream.”

  Mabel nodded. “I should tell you that Cassandra got nervous when you hadn’t shown up in three hours and said she didn’t want you to see her again. I was to tell you that you were not needed and to send you away. Now I know why.”

  Dr. Dane stood up.

  Mabel said, “Doctor, Marshal, the only thing that girl loved was money. I’m so glad to know that Kirby Holton is innocent.” She frowned and added, “I think I know what she used to draw those welts on her back.”

  “What was it?” asked Dr. Dane.

  “I want to know, too,” said Merrell.

  “I’ll show you. Would you gentlemen carry her body into the house for me?”

  Trying not to do any more damage to the body, the two men carried it carefully into the house and placed it on the sofa in the parlor. Mabel covered it with a blanket. “I’ll have the undertaker come and get the body.”

  Mabel then led them upstairs to Cassandra’s room, opened one of the drawers in the armoire, and took out the Chinese backscratcher. “Here. This is what she used, I’m sure.”

  When Dr. Dane looked closely at it, he noted the small spaces between the prongs. “Mm-hmm. This is indeed what she used to make the crisscrossed welts on her back.”

  The marshal shook his head in wonderment. “I’m sure glad I didn’t arrest Kirby Holton.”

  Dr. Dane grinned. “Me too. Well, I’ve got to get home. Mabel, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Merrell said, “Me too, ma’am. You have my condolences.”

  She thanked both of them. Then the marshal said, “How about I stop by the undertaking parlor and tell Mr. Baldwin you need him to come and pick up the body?”

  Mabel nodded. “I would appreciate that.”

  When Mabel closed the front door as the two men were leaving, she wept silently as she returned to the parlor. She went to the sofa, pulled the blanket back from her niece’s lifeless face, and drew a shuddering breath. Her voice quivered as she said, “Well, Cassandra, now you know there is a God.”

  TWENTY-FOUR


  A few weeks later

  On Thursday, September 15, Dr. Dane Logan walked an elderly couple to the front door of his office after treating the woman for a skin rash. He told her to apply the salve he had given her regularly, and as they went out the door, he turned around and walked back in to the examining room at the rear of the building. Tharyn was doing some cleanup work at one of the examining tables, and Dane noticed that there were tears in her eyes.

  He stepped up to her with concern showing on his face. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

  She looked up at him, brushed at her tears, and nodded. “I’m all right. It’s—it’s—”

  “Melinda?”

  “Uh-huh. I’m just having a tough time over her death. I know she’s in a far better place than we are, but it’s still hard to let her go.”

  “Hello-o-o!” came a familiar voice from the office out front.

  “Charlie Holmes,” said Dane, “Must have a telegram for us. I’ll go see what it is.”

  “All right, honey. I’m almost through here.”

  Dane hurried through the door, and Tharyn hurried to finish her cleaning job. “Help me, Lord,” she said, her voice quivering. “I just miss Melinda so much.”

  A few minutes later she completed the job and went into the office to find her husband holding a telegram in his hand and talking to the Western Union agent.

  Charlie Holmes greeted her with a warm smile. Dane turned to her and said, “Telegrams from Dr. Tim Braden, honey He says that Dr. Carroll has pronounced Nelda Cox able to travel. He will be bringing the Coxes home on Saturday. They will arrive sometime in late afternoon.”

  When Charlie was gone, Dane and Tharyn talked excitedly about Nelda being able to come home and about getting to see Tim again.

  Tharyn looked up at her husband. “I sure hope Tim has adjusted better to Melinda’s death than I have.”

  Suddenly a rider halted out front, slid from the saddle, and headed for the door.

  Tharyn said, “Sherrie must be about to give birth.”

  “I’d say so,” said Dr. Dane, reaching for his medical bag on a nearby shelf.

  Sam Drummond’s wife was due to give birth to their first child. Sam’s parents, Chet and Alice Drummond, owned a cattle ranch in the mountains a few miles southwest of Central City. Sam and Sherrie lived in a small house on the Drummond ranch, which was not far from the Jack Bates ranch.

  When Sam came through the door, he grinned when he saw the medical bag in Dr. Dane’s hand. “Saw me coming, didn’t you?”

  “Sure did. When did her labor pains start?”

  “About three hours ago. Sherrie wouldn’t let me come after you till the pains got closer together.”

  “Let’s go. I’ve got my horse today, instead of the buggy.”

  “Yeah. I noticed him out there at the hitch rail. We can get there faster with you in the saddle.”

  “You go ahead and mount up, Sam. I’ll kiss my wife and be right with you.”

  At the Drummond ranch, Dr. Dane had just delivered Sherries new baby boy when the grandfather looked out the window of the bedroom window in the small house and growled, “Indians! They’re stealing some of our cattle!”

  Dr. Dane looked out and immediately saw that they were Utes.

  Alice gasped and moved close to Sherrie where she lay in the bed, holding the baby.

  Chet and Sam dashed into the kitchen where Sam had a pair of rifles standing in the corner by the back door. They grabbed the rifles, dashed out the door, jumped off the porch, shouldered the weapons, and opened fire on the small band of Utes.

  The Indians turned around on their horses’ backs and fired in return, but when bullets kept coming from the ranchers’ rifles, they put their mounts to a gallop, leaving the stolen cattle behind.

  One of the Indians was hit, and though he tried to stay on his horse’s back while the rest of the band was galloping away, he finally fell to the ground. His horse followed the others at a full gallop.

  At this point, Dr. Dane had joined Chet and Sam, and all three saw the wounded Indian fall from the horse.

  The other Indians suddenly realized their companion was not with them, and when they looked back and saw him on the ground, they began pulling rein to turn around. At the same time, a cavalry patrol from Fort Junction had heard the gunfire and was charging at them speedily from off to their right. They wheeled their mounts and galloped away with the patrol after them.

  Burning with anger, Chet Drummond grumbled, “I hope they kill every one of those thieving savages! I’m gonna kill that one on the ground!”

  Even as he spoke those last words, he charged across the yard, gripping the rifle.

  Dr. Dane bolted after Chet, and Sam was on the doctor’s heels.

  The wounded Ute was lying on the ground in the field some sixty or seventy yards away with a bullet in the upper thigh of his left leg. When he saw Chet running toward him, rifle in hand, he painfully crawled toward his rifle, which lay in the grass a few feet away.

  Chet beat him to it, kicked the Indian’s rifle out of his reach, and took aim at his head.

  The Indian’s eyes bulged.

  Dr. Dane came running up, shouting, “No! Chet, don’t shoot him!”

  Chet held the rifle pointed at the Indian’s head and looked at the doctor. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s wounded and unarmed.”

  Chet’s temper gave his tanned cheeks a wicked, honed-down tautness. “So what?”

  “If you shoot him, it will be murder!”

  Chet’s teeth showed in a grimace of wrath. “Indians ain’t human! They’re nothing but wild beasts that need to be exterminated!”

  Dr. Dane hastily placed himself between the rancher and the fallen Ute. “Listen to me, Chet! This Indian is a human being. He will bleed to death if he isn’t treated immediately.”

  The wounded Indian looked on in thankful amazement at the white man.

  Dr. Dane bent down and picked the warrior up, cradling him in his arms. “Do you speak English?”

  The Indian nodded.

  “Good. I’m Dr. Dane Logan from Central City. I’m going to take the bullet out of your leg and stitch you up quickly so you don’t bleed to death.” He turned to Chet. “I’ll need a table to lay him on while I work on the wound.”

  Chet’s features were like stone. The look in his eyes told the doctor he was going to refuse just as Sam said, “Dad, Dr. Logan’s right. This Indian is a human being. We can’t stand in the way of his life being saved.”

  The older Drummond wiped a hand over his mouth, then looked at the doctor. “All right. There’s a table on the front porch of the big house.”

  “Fine. Sam, would you go get my medical bag for me?”

  Sam nodded and ran toward his house.

  Moments later, Dr. Dane laid the young warrior on the table while Chet and Sam looked on.

  Dr. Dane opened his medical bag, and quickly gave the Indian a dose of laudanum. As he was capping the bottle, the Indian said in a strained voice, “Thank you, Dr. Dane Logan, for keeping the rancher from killing me. I am Latawga, son of Chief Tando.”

  The Drummond men looked at each other, eyes wide.

  Dr. Dane nodded. “I have heard much about your father, Latawga.”

  When the surgery was completed, and the wound had been bandaged, Latawga looked up at the doctor with slightly clouded eyes. “Thank you for saving my life a second time, Dr. Dane Logan. I would have soon bled to death if you had not taken care of me. I—I need to ask you to do something else for me.”

  Dr. Dane smiled down at him. “Yes?”

  “Would you take me home to my village?”

  “Don’t do it, Doctor!” blurted Chet Drummond. “Those savages will kill you!”

  Latawga rolled his head back and forth, setting his gaze on the rancher. “No. When my father and the others in the village see Dr. Dane Logan bringing me into the village, they will not harm him.” He looked up at the doctor. “I will tell my father wha
t you did to save my life. Both times. You will not be harmed, I promise.”

  Dr. Dane said, “I will put you on my horse with me and take you home.”

  Chet shook his head. “Doc, I hope this savage is telling you the truth.”

  “He is. I am sure of it.”

  “Me, too,” said Sam. “And, Doctor, thank you for delivering our new son. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow and pay the bill.”

  At Chief Tando’s village, he and his people were wondering why subchief Nandano and his band—including Latawga—had not returned with stolen cattle.

  Tando and a group of his warriors were discussing the fact that the band should have been back some time ago when one of the Ute sentries at the northeast side of the village called out loudly, “Chief Tando! A white man is riding in with a wounded warrior on his horse!”

  The sentry’s voice carried throughout the village. Melinda Scott Kenyon was standing in front of the chief’s tepee, braiding Leela’s long black hair. Leela was sitting on a wooden chair that had been stolen from some white man’s ranch. Melinda looked up to catch sight of the white man who was bringing in the wounded Ute.

  Leela stood up and ran her gaze in the same direction.

  As Tando and some of his warriors hurried toward the edge of the village, one of them cried, “Chief Tando! The wounded warrior is Latawga!”

  Hearing the name of her son, Leela left Melinda at the tepee and hurried in that direction.

  Melinda stood looking on as many of the villagers began moving that way.

  When Dr. Dane and Latawga were met at the edge of the village, Latawga was lowered into the arms of two warriors by the doctor. As Latawga was being held in the warriors’ arms, his parents moved up to him and he told them that the white man was Dr. Dane Logan from Central City, who had saved his life.

  Chief Tando invited the doctor to dismount.

  Dr. Dane stood at the edge of the group who had gathered as Latawga told the story to his father and mother of how he was shot in the leg while he and the others in the band were stealing cattle from a ranch. He explained how the others in the band were being chased by an army patrol the last time he saw them.