“It’s a mystery to me, honey,” she said. “I just don’t understand it. The valley has been so peaceful for so many months. Not a shot fired in anger. Now this.”
Smoke hushed her, taking the lap tray. He had never even heard of a lap tray until Sally had sent off for one from somewhere back east. “You rest now. Sleep. You want some more laudanum?”
She minutely shook her head. “No. Not now. The pain’s not too bad. That stuff makes my head feel funny.”
She was sleeping even before Smoke had closed the door.
He scraped the dishes and washed them in hot water taken from the stove, then pumped a pot full of fresh water and put that on the stove, checking the wood level that heated the back plate and checking the draft. He peeled potatoes for lunch and dropped them into cold water. Then he swept the floor and tidied up the main room, opening all the windows to let the house cool.
Then the most famous and feared gunfighter in all the west washed clothes, wrung them out, and hung them up to dry on the clothesline out back, the slight breeze and the warm sun freshening them naturally.
He walked around to the front of the cabin and sat beside the bedroom window, open just a crack, so he could hear Sally if she needed anything.
Lapeer, Moore, and Dagget. He rolled those names around in his mind as his fingers skillfully rolled a cigarette. He had never heard of any of them. But he knew one thing for certain.
They were damn sure going to hear from him.
3
Smoke did not leave the Sugarloaf range for weeks. If supplies were needed, one of the hands went into town for them. Smoke did not want to stray very far from Sally’s side.
The days passed slowly, each one bringing another hint of the summer that lay lazily before them. And Sally grew stronger. Two weeks after the shooting, she was able to walk outside, with help, and sit for a time, taking the sun, taking it easy, growing stronger each day.
Smoke had spoken with Sheriff Monte Carson several times since the posse’s return from a frustrating and fruitless pursuit. But Monte was just as baffled as Smoke as to the why of Sally’s attack and the identity of the attackers.
Judge Proctor had been queried, as well as most of the other people around the valley. No one had ever heard of the men.
It was baffling and irritating.
Not even the legended Smoke could fight an enemy he could not name and did not know and could not find.
Yet.
But he was going to find them, and when he did, he was going to make some sense out of this.
Then he would kill them.
It was midsummer before Dr. Colton Spalding finally gave Sally the okay to travel. During that time, he had wired the hospital in Boston several times, setting up Sally’s operation. The doctor would use a rather risky procedure called a caesarean to take the baby—if it came to that. But the Boston doctor wanted to examine Sally himself before he elected to use that drastic a procedure. And according to Dr. Spalding, the Boston doctor was convinced a caesarean was necessary.
“What’s this operation all about?” Smoke asked Dr. Spalding.
“It’s a surgical procedure used to take the baby if the mother can’t delivery normally.”
“I don’t understand, but I’ll take your word for it. Is it dangerous?”
Colton hesitated. With Smoke, it was hard to tell exactly what he knew about any given topic. When they had first met, the doctor thought the young man to be no more than an ignorant brute, a cold-blooded killer. It didn’t take Colton long to realize that while Smoke had little formal education, he was widely read and quite knowledgeable.
And Colton also knew that Smoke was one of those rare individuals one simply could not lie to. Smoke’s un- blinking eyes never left the face of the person who was speaking. Until you grew accustomed to it, it was quite unnerving.
Before Colton could speak, Smoke said, “Caesar’s mother died from this sort of thing, didn’t she?”
The doctor smiled, shaking his head. Many of the men of the West were fascinating with what they knew and how they had learned it. It never ceased to amaze the man to see some down-at-the-heels puncher, standing up in a barroom quoting Shakespeare or dissertating on some subject as outrageous as astrology.
And knowing what he was talking about!
“Yes, it is dangerous, Smoke. But not nearly so dangerous as when Caesar was born.”
“Let’s hope not. What happens if Sally decides not to have this operation?”
“One of two things, Smoke. You will decide whether you want Sally saved, or the baby.”
“I won’t be there, Doc. So I’m telling you now—save my wife. You pass the word along to this doctor friend of yours in Boston town. Save Sally at all costs. You’ll do that, right?”
“You know I will. I’ll wire him first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
Colton watched as Smoke helped Sally back to bed. He had not fully leveled with the young man about the surgical procedure. Colton knew that sometimes the attending physician had very little choice as to who would be saved. And sometimes, mother and child both died.
He sighed. They had come so far in medicine, soaring as high as eagles in such a short time. But doctors still knew so very little…and were expected to perform miracles at all times.
