'I'm sorry,' Longarm said, meaning it. He had liked Dr. Hubbard from the first moment the man had entered his hotel room and jammed a thermometer into his mouth.
'Here,' the doctor said, pulling a couple of bottles of the elixir out of his medical kit and opening one. To Longarm's surprise and amusement, he upended the bottle and took a sample for himself.
'Yep, Marshal, it's the right stuff.'
'Was there any doubt?'
'There isn't now,' Hubbard said with a wink as he snapped his bag shut and eased off the hotel bed. 'Got to go now.'
'Will I see you after supper?'
'Yep.'
Longarm took a long slug of the bottle and smacked his lips. The medicine was good. 'Better give me a couple of extra bottles,' he said.
'Better give me some cash.'
Pants pocket, Doc.'
Hubbard pulled out the last of Longarm's cash and counted it solemnly. Looking up, he said, 'Doesn't the government pay you fellas enough money to do your job?'
'This trip has been a lot more expensive than any of us back in Denver expected. Would it be too much to ask you to wire my boss, Marshal Billy Vail, for some extra cash and to let him know what I'm up to?'
'I'd be happy to do that.'
'I don't suppose you have paper and pencil on you?'
'I do,' the doctor said.
Longarm didn't feel much like writing Billy a telegraph message, but he knew that one was long overdue so he scribbled, 'Billy, Send more money. Pneumonia in Wickenburg but will recover shortly. Mrs. Ortega cleared and safe in Yuma. Will arrive there next week. Send a hundred dollars.'
The doctor read the telegraph message and raised his eyebrows. 'You are definitely too optimistic about getting out of this bed next week. But I like the sound of the hundred dollars. It ought to cover my fees quite nicely.'
'Like hell,' Longarm said, breaking into another fit of coughing that nearly doubled him up in his bed.
Dr. Hubbard patted Longarm's shoulder and quickly left him to his private misery. Longarm upended the bottle of elixir, and sighed as the sweet but fiery medicine trickled down his ravaged throat. He sneezed and blew his nose and groaned.
'Sonofabitch,' he croaked, 'I don't need this kind of grief.'
He must have fallen asleep, because it was dark outside his window when the doctor, whom he'd given a key to his hotel room, knocked and then opened the door.
'Marshal, have you died yet?'
Longarm jerked into wakefulness. He felt a little better, he guessed. 'No such luck, Doc.'
'Then I guess you'll want Willa to bring up some supper after all. Something soft to swallow for that sore throat.'
'She's going to do it?'
'I told her I sent a telegraph to Denver asking for a hundred dollars expense money. I take it that she is going to consider herself a big expense. About like me.'
'I'd be willing to pay her a whole lot more than you,' Longarm said, forcing a smile.
Hubbard sat down beside him on the bed and turned up the wick to his bedside lamp. He produced a thermometer and Longarm dutifully opened his mouth. 'I hope you washed the damn thing this time.'
'Not since I shoved it up Abe Benford's ass,' the doctor said without cracking a smile as he jammed the thermometer between Longarm's teeth.
Longarm started to chuckle, but that caused his throat to ache, so he just lay still and suffered in silence until Hubbard removed the thermometer and eyed it critically. 'Temperature is still about a hundred and two,' he said. 'But that's not going to fry your brains.'
'What brains I have left.'
'I'm glad you said that and not me,' the doctor told him as he pulled out his stethoscope and rechecked Longarm's lungs, saying, 'I'm sure you realize that I'd rather do this with Miss Handover.'
'Goes without saying, Doc.'
'Cough.'
Longarm coughed.
'Sounds awful.'
'Thanks for the encouraging words.'
Hubbard stood up and put away his instruments. He glanced over his shoulder at the door. 'I told the cook over at the Sagebrush Cafe that I wanted you to eat a lot, but nothing that was going to aggravate your sore throat.'
'Good. How long until Willa arrives?'
