Ralph Compton Frontier Medicine Read online

  Doc Edwin went back into the bedroom.

  * * *

  * * *

  They passed several saloons along the way, but Doc Edwin finally reined in the horse in front of the Silver Dollar Saloon.

  “How about a drink?” he asked Kincaid. “I could use one.”

  “So could I.”

  Kincaid stepped down, then helped Doc Edwin down so he wouldn’t twist that knee again.

  They entered the saloon, which was as busy as the first time Kincaid was there. The girls were swirling around the floor in their brightly colored skirts, carrying trays of drinks. The gaming tables were all full, and he could see Bat Masterson from across the floor.

  “You’re not thinkin’ about poker, are you?” Edwin asked. “I just wanted to get a drink.”

  “That’s all I want, too. Why don’t you sit at that table over there, and I’ll get them.”

  “Suits me.”

  Edwin walked over to the empty table Kincaid had indicated and took a seat.

  Kincaid came walking over with the two beers, but along the way another man walked into him. Beer spilled from both glasses, some onto the other man and some onto Kincaid.

  “Sorry,” Kincaid said, even though it wasn’t his fault.

  “Watch where the hell you’re goin’!” the man snapped.

  “I said I was sorry,” Kincaid repeated, and continued on to the table. He put one beer down in front of Edwin, but before he could sit, the irate man was in his face.

  “Hey, that’s my table!” he said.

  “I didn’t see you sitting at it,” Kincaid said.

  “Well, I was on my way over here.”

  “Doc Edwin was already sitting here.”

  “I don’t care who this old geezer is,” the man said. “You both better move.”

  “Doc, do you know this man?” Kincaid asked.

  “Never saw him before in my life,” Edwin said, and sipped his beer.

  “Mister, you better go and find another table,” Kincaid said.

  The man, older and larger than Kincaid, said, “There ain’t no more tables. I’m takin’ this one. Move, old man!” He started to reach for Doc Edwin, but before he could grab the doc, Kincaid pushed him aside. Edwin watched with interest.

  “I’m not going to tell you again,” Kincaid said.

  “Why you—” The man threw a punch that Kincaid saw coming. He ducked under it, and hit the man once in the belly, hard enough to drive him back and to one knee.

  Kincaid turned to sit, but Doc Edwin yelled, “Look out!”

  As Kincaid turned back he saw the man rising, a gun in his hand. Then someone stepped between them, and Kincaid saw it was Bat Masterson.

  “Now hold on, friend,” he said to the man. “This fella is a doctor, he hasn’t got a gun. You shoot him, and you’ll end up in jail.”

  The man glared at Masterson then past him at Kincaid.

  “Somebody give this dude a gun!” he growled. “I’m gonna kill ’im, one way or another.”

  Masterson turned and looked at Kincaid.

  “You want me to take care of him?” he asked. “Be my pleasure.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t have him gunnin’ down the only good poker player I’ve found in Hays City.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Masterson,” Kincaid said.

  “Gabriel—” Doc Edwin started.

  “I said somebody give ’im a gun!” the man yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

  Masterson drew his gun and held it out to Kincaid.

  “This one all right?”

  Kincaid didn’t take it.

  “If you don’t take it, he’ll gun you,” Masterson said. “My offer still stands.”

  Kincaid looked at Edwin.

  “I told you about egos out here,” the old sawbones said.

  Kincaid looked at Masterson, then reached out and took the gun.

  “Thanks.”

  Masterson turned to the irate man, who still had his gun in his hand.

  “Put it in your belt!” Masterson snapped. “This is gonna be fair.”

  The man hesitated, then stood up straight and tucked the gun into his belt.

  “All right?” Masterson asked Kincaid.

  “Yeah,” Kincaid said, putting Masterson’s short-barreled Colt .45 in his belt.

  Masterson stepped out of the way.

  Doc Edwin held his beer mug up in front of his chin as he watched, wide-eyed.

  “Now yer gonna get it—” the man said, and reached for his gun. But before he could clear his gun, Kincaid drew his and fired it once. The bullet hit the man right in the belly, where Kincaid had just punched him. All the air left his body, his eyes bulged, and he fell face-first onto the floor.

  Masterson leaned over the body to check it, then stepped to Kincaid and said, “He’s dead.”

  Kincaid returned the gun and said, “He didn’t give me much choice.”

  “That was obvious,” Masterson said. He turned to the other patrons, who had gathered to watch. “You all saw it, it was a fair fight. Go back to what you were doin’.”

  Kincaid sat down heavily, picked up his beer and drained it.

  “There’s gonna be law in here soon,” Masterson said, “but you won’t have a problem. I’ll stick around.”

  “Thanks, Mr.—”

  “Just call me Bat,” Masterson said.

  “Thanks, Bat.”

  Kincaid looked across the table at Doc Edwin, who sipped his beer and then said, “Well, I’ll be . . .”

  * * *

  * * *

  Bat Masterson was correct. Sheriff Jack Llegg entered the saloon, looking to find out what happened, and there were any number of people willing to tell him. Finally, he got to Bat Masterson, who took him aside and told him the whole story. Then Llegg walked over to the table the two doctors were sitting at.

  “Doc,” he said to Edwin.

  “Sheriff.”

  “This feller with you?”

  “He is,” Edwin said. “Dr. Kincaid is my new partner.”

  That surprised Kincaid, but he kept silent, since no one had spoken to him, yet.

  Llegg pulled up a chair, while Masterson stood by. Llegg was a small man, but his demeanor said he wasn’t intimidated by anyone. In his forties, he’d been a lawman for a lot of years.

  “Dr. Kincaid, folks in here say you were pretty fast.”

  “I think it was more that the other fella was slow,” Kincaid said.

  “Have you handled a gun before?” the lawman asked.

  “A time or two when I was younger, but not for years.”

  “I ain’t gonna take you in, because everybody backs your play—that is, unless you got another story?”

  “I never met the man before, and he decided to pick a fight for some reason. Supposedly, because we bumped into each other, and then he wanted to fight over this table. Stupid thing to die for.”

  “I agree,” Llegg said. “If you’ll come to my office tomorrow and make a statement, we’ll call it square.”

  “I can do that.”

  Llegg stood up.

  “Bat, can you stop by, make out a witness statement?” he asked.

  “I’ll do it before I leave town.”

  “Leavin’ already?” Llegg asked. “I thought you’d stick around for a while.”

  “I’m done wearin’ a badge in Dodge, just stopped here on my way to Denver. Thought I’d play some cards. But it seems you only have one good poker player in town, so I’ll be on my way.”

  “Well, it was good to see ya,” Llegg said. “See you both in the mornin’.” He looked at Edwin. “Doc.”

  “Sheriff.”

  As Llegg walked away Masterson sat down and a saloon girl a
ppeared with three fresh beers. Bat replaced the spent shell in his gun before he picked up his drink.

  “Thanks for your help, Bat,” Kincaid said, “but what made you think I’d take your gun?”

  “You weren’t afraid.”

  “You got that wrong,” Kincaid said. “I almost wet myself.”

  “Well, you sure didn’t show it,” Masterson said. “I consider myself a good judge of men, and I figured you could handle him.”

  Masterson finished his beer.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a game to finish. I’ll see you in the morning at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Thanks again, Bat.”

  Masterson nodded to them both and went back to his poker table.

  “It looks like you made a friend,” Doc Edwin said.

  “You mean Bat?”

  “Well, I don’t mean the dead fella, and I don’t mean Sheriff Llegg.”

  “I’d say he was a friend well worth making,” Kincaid commented.

  “You know, I was very interested in what was gonna happen,” Edwin said. “I’m not that good a judge of men as Bat Masterson is.”

  “You know what I found very interesting, Doc?” Kincaid asked him.

  “What’s that?”

  “You told the sheriff we were partners.”

  Edwin scowled.

  “Well, you impressed me twice today,” he said, “but don’t let it go to your head.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Kincaid entered the kitchen for supper that evening Maggie glared at him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is Doc all right?”

  “He was napping, but he’ll be here for supper any minute,” she said. “He told me what happened.”

  “Oh, Betty and the baby are fine,” Kincaid said. “But I think Doc was upset that he needed me to help him deliver—”

  “Not that, you fool!” she snapped. “The shooting.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “What the hell were you doing? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Kincaid said. “It was Doc’s idea to go into that saloon for a drink.”

  “He told me that.”

  “So why are you mad at me?”

  “Because I thought you were a smart man,” Maggie said, “and there you are in a . . . a gunfight.”

  “It wasn’t much of a gunfight,” he told her. “The man was very slow.”

  “Oh, don’t be stupid! Anything could’ve happened. Doc Edwin could’ve gotten hurt.”

  “Like I said, going there was his idea.”

  “I told her that already,” Edwin said, appearing in the doorway. “She’s still mad at both of us.”

  “You bet I am!” she said. “Now, sit down and have your supper.”

  Once they were all seated and eating Kincaid said, “It wasn’t smart of you to go out on your own, Doc.”

  “If I hadn’t,” Edwin said, “you wouldn’t have been there to help Betty have her baby.”

  Kincaid looked at Maggie.

  “He has a point,” he said.

  “What about his condition?” she asked. “The one you were going to treat him for? The fluid?”

  “Oh yes,” Kincaid said, looking at Edwin.

  “Tomorrow,” the old sawbones said. “I’m too tired tonight.”

  “All right,” Kincaid said, “but first thing tomorrow, before I go to the office.”

  “There could be patients waitin’,” Edwin said.

  “Then they’ll wait.”

  “I’ll go over and check first thing,” Maggie said. “If there are patients, I’ll let them in.”

  “There you go,” Kincaid said. “We can do the procedure first thing in the morning.”

  “Procedure?” Edwin asked. “What procedure? You said you had some new medication.”

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning, Doc,” Kincaid said. “Truth is, I’m still a little shaky after what happened in the saloon. How about a drink on the porch?”

  “Definitely,” Edwin said.

  “Good,” Kincaid said. “I’ll bring it out.”

  Doc Edwin left the kitchen and Maggie said, “Good luck getting him to sit still for you tomorrow.”

  “He will,” Kincaid said, “if he wants to keep breathing.”

  “What really happened with Betty?”

  Kincaid told Maggie about Betty’s baby, and Edwin’s inability to turn the baby around. She got tears in her eyes as she listened.

  “That’s going to happen more and more, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Kincaid said, “but he was smart enough to know it was time to bring in another doctor.” He headed out of the kitchen. “I’m going to take two whiskeys to the porch.”

  “Make his a small one!” she warned.

  * * *

  * * *

  Kincaid stepped out onto the porch and handed Edwin a glass of whiskey.

  “Thanks.”

  He sat down next to the older man and sipped his.

  “So, tell me,” Edwin said, “when were you a gunman?”

  “I was never a gunman,” Kincaid said. “Early in my life I wanted to be a gambler. In order to be a gambler, you have to know how to defend yourself against cheaters and bad losers.”

  “So you learned how to use a gun.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t carry one.”

  “I’m a doctor, not a gambler.”

  “It doesn’t look like you forgot how to use one,” Edwin said. “You were pretty fast.”

  “Like I told the sheriff,” Kincaid said, “the other man was pretty slow.”

  “Naw, naw,” Edwin said, “I’ve seen ’em all, including Masterson, himself. You skinned that hogleg fast!”

  “He wasn’t giving me much of a choice, was he?”

  “You could’ve let Masterson handle the situation.”

  “A man’s got to handle his own problems,” Kincaid said. “Especially out here, if what you told me about egos is correct.”

  “There’s no doubt about it,” Edwin said. “You saw that tonight. So tell me, do you have a gun somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think what happened tonight should convince you to buy one.”

  “Do you have one?”

  “I do.”

  “What?”

  “I keep it in my bag, with the rest of my instruments,” Edwin said. “And I’ve had enough opportunities to use it over fifty years that make me glad I carry it.”

  Kincaid studied the older man, who sipped his whiskey.

  “I don’t know—”

  “You know, nobody else stepped up to loan you a gun. If Masterson hadn’t been there, I might’ve had to shoot that feller right through my bag.”

  It hadn’t registered with Kincaid before, but Doc Edwin had carried his bag into the saloon.

  “You had your hand on your gun the whole time?” he asked.

  “I did,” Edwin said.

  “Have you ever shot anyone before?”

  “No,” the old sawbones said, “and I’m glad I didn’t have to do it tonight. I just wish you hadn’t had to do it, either.”

  “There we agree,” Kincaid said.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning they had breakfast and then, as Maggie left for the doctor’s office, Kincaid took Edwin into his bedroom. As he laid out his equipment for the procedure, Edwin scowled.

  “You sonofabitch,” he growled.

  “This has to be done, Doc, before your lungs fill with so much fluid that you can’t breathe.” He showed Doc the very thin needle he was going to use. “This has to be inserted into your thorax, between your ribs, so I can draw out the fluid
that’s flooding your pleural space. That’s the membrane between—”

  “I know what it is, damn it!” Edwin said. “This is gonna hurt like hell.”

  “I can knock you out,” Kincaid said, “or I can give you this new local anesthetic—”

  “I wanna be awake to watch what the hell you’re doin’!” Edwin insisted.

  “Okay, then,” Kincaid said. “A local it is.”

  Kincaid probed Edwin’s bare chest for a few moments, found the place he wanted between the eighth and ninth rib. He applied alcohol to the area, then injected the local anesthetic. After they waited for it to take effect, he began the drainage procedure. He took out the cannula—a hollow needle—punctured Doc Edwin’s skin, and slowly pushed it in until he felt it was in the right place. Then he used suction to begin the drainage. Fluid began to drip into the basin he was using. Doc Edwin watched the entire procedure with great interest, as well as a mighty scowl. But suddenly the look on his face changed, relaxing somewhat.

  “Sonofabitch!” he said.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, no,” Edwin said, “I can feel it . . . I can breathe better.”

  “That’s good,” Kincaid said. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  And as he said that, the fluid stopped draining into the basin, followed by the sound of air escaping.

  “What’s that?” Edwin asked.

  “Some excess air,” Kincaid said. “We’re done, Doc.”

  He slowly removed the needle, then applied alcohol to the puncture, and finally a small bandage. Doc Edwin pulled his shirt down and took a few deep breaths.

  “Sonofabitch,” he said, again, “you know what you’re doin’, son.”

  “I hope so,” Kincaid said. “Now, you just lie there for a while and get some rest. Don’t get up, Doc, until I come back in.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Edwin said, sarcastically.

  “I’m serious,” Kincaid said. “We both know doctors are the worst patients, but don’t go proving it.”

  He packed up the paraphernalia and by the time he left the room he could hear Doc Edwin was sleeping, and breathing much better.

  * * *

  * * *

  Kincaid was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee when Maggie walked back in.