Gideon turned on him. “What the hell kind of doctor are you?” he started, but MacCray waved a hand in his direction.
“Oh, shut up, Gideon. I’m saying, he stays here and folks’ll hear about it. They’ll hold it against him. I could give two hoots about what they want to think of me, and you know it.” Here he smiled, shrewd, and his eyes moved briefly back to Jedediah. “When they’re sick enough, they’ll come running my way. But somebody like Bart Elston’ll want to cause an Indian trouble just because he presumed. So check around, see if we can find him a room down on South B. All right?”
Gideon blinked, looked from him back to Jedediah. Darned if MacCray wasn’t right about that. “I could ask Lila. Lila Dumont,” he explained, as much for Jedediah as for MacCray. “I’ve stayed over there a time or two. They’ve got a room in back for a Mexican boy who took care of three of the whorehouses, ran errands and the like. They lost him two weeks back, haven’t replaced him yet.”
“Even better,” MacCray agreed. “I’ve got reasons to go there, reasons nobody has the balls to question.” Almost to himself he added, “Josephine’s big heart will be her undoing one day. But not today.” Louder he said, “Help me get him inside—through the back. I’ve got to clean that leg up.” When Jedediah started shaking his head, he laughed, low. “It might hurt like I’ve cut it off, but I won’t. I want to see how this works.”
Jed rolled over to sit on his butt, pulling his bad leg up. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do this?”
MacCray frowned at him, bushy eyebrows drawing together. “Son, why the hell wouldn’t I?”
Jedediah blinked at that and looked toward Gideon, and Gideon had to admit, he liked already that this familiar fellow trusted him. But he had to shrug in reply, because Holt MacCray liked being an enigma—fancy dressed and schooled in the east, associates he corresponded with all the way over in Europe, and as like to swear and spit in public as he was to help a whore or an old crone cross a muddy street. “Don’t ask me,” he said with a shrug.
Jedediah frowned. “You are the one who brought me here. Who else should I ask?”
That got MacCray’s thick eyebrows rising and forced a bark of a laugh from the old man. “I think he’s got you there, Gideon,” he chuckled. “You told Elmer to unlock the back?”
“Yessir, I did,” Gideon said, grateful—for the help and for the distraction, because how was he supposed to answer a question like that?
MacCray frowned toward the side of his building. “Elmer’s probably trying to peek out the windows right now and catch a glimpse of something. I’ll send him off to tell my two o’clock that I’ve had to reschedule. You get this man inside.”
MacCray emptied the pan of water on the wildflowers, gathered up the dirty bandages, and headed back to the front of his office.
“Come on, Jedediah.” Gideon moved closer, intending to help the Indian rise, but Jedediah drew more closely in on himself.
“The money I gave you, it is all I have,” he said, looking up at Gideon. “I cannot pay for a room here. I left my pack out of town—I will go there—”
“Hush, now,” Gideon said. “We’ll figure something out. You let me worry on that for now, and you worry on getting better.”
“Why are you helping me?” Jedediah asked. “Your doctor wants money—and I will pay him.” ‘If I live’ hung in the air between them. “What will I have to do to repay you?”
Gideon shrugged. “I got Indian friends, real good people,” he said honestly, “and I don’t have any trouble with them. Most of them are more decent than plenty of white folks I’ve come up against. They’d help a stranger out if he needed helping and didn’t have a kind soul about to lend ’em a hand. No more fussing, now. Let’s get you inside.”
This time, Jedediah didn’t argue when Gideon moved to help him to his feet. It didn’t take as much effort as Gideon had expected to get him standing, now that he was cooperating nicely, and by the time they got to the back door, MacCray was standing there with it open, looking impatient.
“Best get this done,” he said, stepping aside for them to enter his private office. “Through the doors and into the side room,” he said, pointing. He’d already taken his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, and he was carrying an armful of bottles and tools that Gideon didn’t want to think on overmuch. He’d broken his leg when he was a kid, and that had hurt plenty. This… he knew just by looking how much worse this was.
Jedediah sidled into the examining room, using the wall for support, and went where MacCray directed him, finally hopping across the floor and parking his narrow butt up on the end of the metal bed.
“Help him get those pants off, Gideon,” MacCray ordered, and Gideon swallowed before stepping forward.
“I can do it,” Jedediah started, so Gideon shrugged and watched him try, watched him work the leather laces on his buckskin pants, watched him stand on his good leg to ease them over his hips. The skin under the leather was almost as dark as the skin of his hands, all smooth and supple-looking, and his parts were covered by a leather undergarment Gideon had seen on plenty of Indians in Bill Tourney’s show. The garment was spare, a triangle of a pouch that narrowed to a strap between his legs, and Gideon grit his teeth as he knelt down on one knee, trying to keep his hands from interfering with Jedediah’s as he helped the man tug the pants on down. He hadn’t seen this much bare skin since before he’d left the show.
He was as careful as he could be, working the loosened leg over the injury, but Jedediah still hissed in pain and hopped back on the table so Gideon could get the one leather boot and trousers off Jedediah’s good leg.
He stepped back fast, placing the pile of buckskin near the head of the bed, and retreated to the wall by the door, covertly watching the Indian. Jedediah looked wary, he looked brave, and he looked good, slim, and strong… and Gideon turned his eyes away, looking for something else to stare at that might be even half as interesting. He might have unnatural interests, but he wasn’t so low as to ogle a man who was sick and helpless.
“Now here’s what I’m gonna do,” MacCray said, just like he always did. The man was a great doctor for that, in Gideon’s opinion, never trying to hide nothing from his patient or gloss over the rough spots. “I’m gonna clean out that wound, first with carbolic and then with a cloth and brush, maybe with a tool or two if there’s something that can clearly be helped by scraping. Then I’m gonna clean it again, kill all the infection we can see. After, we’ll put a poultice on it to help drain the mess up inside the meat, and I’ll wrap it back up in clean bandages. Then we’ll see.” He paused and looked around, then headed purposely toward the cabinets along one wall. “I’ve got some laudanum for you.”
“I do not—” Jedediah started.
MacCray cut him off with the same annoyed wave he’d used on Gideon—that he used on most people. “Yes, you do.” He administered a tiny draught of the laudanum and sat back for a minute, watching. Gideon folded his arms across his chest and did the same, wondering what they were watching for. Well, he knew why he was watching, and the knowledge made him feel more than a little guilty. The Indian was unquestionably in pain and just as clearly in need of a friend. Gideon would have been that just because of the trouble Bart Elston had made. The fact that Jedediah was strong and fine-boned, with all that pretty hair and sober countenance, just made the doing easier, was all.
“Good,” MacCray said after a couple of minutes. Gideon blinked; nothing had happened, as far as he could see. But MacCray knew more than Gideon did, because he stepped up and poured more laudanum into a spoon, and bade Jedediah take it, too. “All right.” He pulled a tray forward and started organizing bottles and jars, clean cloths, and fresh water. “Gideon, why don’t you go on down and see if you can arrange a room for him? There’s nothing here you’ll want to see.”
Gideon wasn’t squeamish. He’d helped deliver foals and tended sick horses, cattle, dogs, and people for most of his life with the traveling show. But he figu
red Jedediah wouldn’t want a witness, because there was no way this wouldn’t hurt him like hell, laudanum or no laudanum. “All right.”
Jedediah’s eyes tracked him to the door, which gave Gideon pause. “I’ll be back. One way or the other, I’ll be back in under an hour, and let you know what I’ve fixed up for you.”
Jedediah said nothing, but something in his face eased. MacCray pretty much ignored him, already focused on his operation.
Gideon let himself out the door.
Chapter 2
THE walk to Lila’s house wasn’t far, just a few blocks on this sunny day, but Gideon felt himself awash with frustration. That Indian was going to die just to save his leg, and there seemed no point in that. But maybe he wouldn’t. MacCray would have said if there was no hope, and offered a bottle for the pain, maybe sat vigil. He wouldn’t put himself or the Indian out for no reason at all. And not for that half-eagle, either.
His spirits bolstered a bit, he reached Lila’s and let himself in through the front door. The sitting room was empty, but that wasn’t uncommon. With the passenger trains going through today, travelers would be here getting their urges met before they had to leave, so Lila and the others would be occupied. He sat down in a wingback chair and pulled a magazine off the end table, turning the pages absently and looking at photographs of the national park not far south. It was what brought the tourists through Livingston, though Gideon hadn’t made the trip himself. Too expensive, and the tour took three days he hadn’t had whilst he was working.
A noise in the back hall brought his head up, but it wasn’t Lila. Josephine Howard, the house’s madame, strolled up the hall and into the room, welcoming him with a smile.
“Gideon Makepeace, I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again! Lila’s currently entertaining,” she started, “but—”
“Thank you kindly, Miz Howard,” he cut in, “but I ain’t looking for company today.”
Miz Howard dropped her ample frame into a chair across from him. “Then what can we do you for?”
“I….” He paused, realizing just what he was doing. “It looks like I might be staying in town for a few more days,” he said. “I wondered if I might rent that back room for me and a friend, seeing as it’s empty right now?”
She shrugged. “I suppose we could save you a little money over a boarding house room,” she offered.
“It’s not just that, Miz Howard. The friend is hurt bad, and Doc MacCray’s looking at him right now—he got gored by a wild pig, and his leg’s infected.”
Miz Howard frowned at him. “So why isn’t he staying at the doctor’s office? MacCray’s got sick rooms.”
Gideon glanced around to make sure no gentleman callers were within earshot—locals frequented this house, too, after all—and lowered his voice. “He’s an Indian, ma’am. Doc MacCray don’t think it’d be safe for him to be seen reaching above his station like that.”
Miz Howard’s face darkened by degrees. “And he thinks it’d be safe for us, putting an Injun up?”
Gideon leaned forward, earnest now. “I reckon that’s for you to decide. I know you kept a Mexican here, and there weren’t no trouble. Lila said you’d actually kept a Chinese boy here for a time, and nobody gave you problems about him either.”
“No problems we couldn’t manage,” Miz Howard said slowly. “But Gideon, they were employees. And we did have to pay off the cops to leave ’em alone, especially the Chinese boy. But we’ve got no reason,” she said, talking herself out of any offer. “No reason to justify keeping an Injun here. I’m sorry, but even your pretty face isn’t enough.”
Gideon snorted and tilted his head just so. He wasn’t particularly vain about his looks, but he knew he had them. He’d gotten the best parts of both his parents, and he knew it—in dirty blond hair that curled a little when he didn’t tame it, in a long, lean frame honed from hard work, and in his mother’s eyes.
Miz Howard glared at him. “Don’t you go batting those blue eyes at me, mister. I’ve seen ’em all. I won’t put my girls in danger. Couple of ’em won’t appreciate having a redskin on the property, anyway.”
Gideon offered his most charming smile. “You telling me you can’t handle your gals?”
Miz Howard frowned. “I’m telling you it ain’t worth it for no benefit, Gideon. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry, ma’am, I want you to help out a good customer and a hurt stranger—and Doc MacCray—for good pay. I’ve got money. You just need to tell me what I’ll owe you for your trouble.” He sighed and just put the truth all out there. “You know even if a boarding house would keep us, the locals’d get wind of it and try to run him out of town. He can’t walk. He’s that bad off.”
She chewed on her full bottom lip, thinking. “There’s no guarantee folks won’t try and run him off this place, too,” she said slowly.
Gideon waved a hand. “The men won’t cause you trouble for fear you’ll reject ’em when they come calling to satisfy their own needs.” He knew that much about the whoring business, and he’d seen Miz Howard turn away fellas who’d got too rowdy or who’d tried to cause trouble for her girls up on Callendar Street, then slinked back here expecting their treats like nothing was changed. “The cops’ll shut ’em down even if they do try, because you already pay to keep ’em out of your business.”
“My whoring business, Gideon,” she said, but he knew already that she was giving in. So did she. Gideon looked down to hide his grin.
“Doc MacCray thought it was a good idea,” he said, being delicate about the fact that she and the doctor had regular trysts.
“MacCray doesn’t run this house,” she said firmly, but then she sighed. “If I have to pay the cops extra, it won’t be coming out of my pocket.”
“No, ma’am,” Gideon agreed. Transaction settled. All they needed to do now was iron out the details.
“You know it’s no never mind to me what color a man’s skin
is—” she started, airy and sophisticated, and Gideon snorted loud enough to cause her to glare at him. “All right, fine,” she snapped, irritated. “The redskins… too many of ’em like their liquor too much. And they smell funny.”
She was right, about the smell at least. Indians did smell different—not funny, but woodsy and wild, and not at all like a sweaty white man or one who’d washed with lye soap or used the perfumed waters and powders most city folks did.
“This Indian just smells sick, ma’am.”
She frowned at him. “I expect we can keep him hid from the law for a bit, but the minute they start asking for their share, you or your Indian friend will be paying it.”
Gideon nodded. He had forty dollars. Jedediah had four. Surely that would see this through, one way or the other.
“HE’S got grit,” Holt MacCray announced when Gideon eased back into the office. “Barely made a sound while I cleaned that wound out—but he didn’t turn me down on the third dose of laudanum either.” MacCray grinned as he rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and buttoned the cuffs. He’d tossed his apron to one side but not before Gideon saw the splotches of red and yellow. The room smelled of sickness, carbolic and other chemicals that Gideon couldn’t put a name to, and under it, the bitterness of infection and the copper tang of blood.
Jedediah lay stretched out on the room’s long table, one arm over his eyes, the other one at his side. His injured leg was bent at the knee and raised up by a pillow, and Gideon looked at the clean bandage wrapped around it, the white of the cloth stark against the dark of Jedediah’s brown skin.
“He needs to stay off that leg,” MacCray went on. “Which won’t be a problem for a while, as I doubt he can carry any weight on it right now. I cleaned it out as best I could, and soaked the bandage in carbolic too for good measure—read about a boy whose leg healed up fine by keeping it wrapped in carbolic-soaked bandages, but that’s just an article in a medical journal.” He frowned, thoughtful, his bushy eyebrows drawing down. “We’re going to have to keep
a close watch on it.” He pointed to three bottles on the counter near the door. “There’s more carbolic and some rubbing alcohol—I’ll want to check the wound again tonight, probably wash it out again. I’ll come by again in the morning. The third bottle’s laudanum, use it when you clean the wound—it’ll hurt like a son of a bitch, but he knows that already.”
MacCray walked to the counter and picked up a small bottle of white powder, holding it out to Gideon. “There’s something else, too. Got this from a friend back East. It’s called salicylic acid, and if it doesn’t bother his stomach too much, ought to help his pain. I haven’t tried it much, but I reckon your friend here is as good a place to start as any.”
Gideon took the bottle and studied it. “Sally—sali—what?” Gideon asked, eying it warily. It reminded him too much of the coca he’d seen some folks use that made ’em high and twitchy.
“It’s distilled from willow bark,” MacCray said, impatient now.
“White willow bark?” Jedediah asked from his bed, which got MacCray’s attention even faster than Gideon’s.
“Yes.”
“My people use that. We make tea from it, for aches in the joints.”
MacCray cast Gideon a superior look. “See? If it’s good for arthritis pain, it’ll be good for his.”
Gideon palmed the bottle, mollified. “What do I do? Mix it with water? Like a tincture?”
MacCray nodded. “Just like, but not with the alcohol,” he agreed. “Half a teaspoon or so in warm water. If it works as well as I’ve heard, it should ease the pain and help with the fever. Did Josephine give in?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “Back room at her house.”
MacCray smiled. “Good. I visit there regularly enough. It won’t look out of the way for me to drop by.” He looked over Gideon’s shoulder to where Jedediah was trying to sit up on the table. He was weak and wobbly, and his eyes were wide and unfocused. Gideon didn’t know if it was laudanum or fever.
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