“Of course.”
“Then don’t let that fraud close to them again. Now, I knocked her out with ether, cleaned her uterus, and put some stitches in the rip that butcher tore in her vagina. She’s coming to, so you, Mace, have to get her a hot meal. I’d say stew thick with meat and vegetables if you can find any. She needs to drink water by the glass, or tea, but not coffee. No spirits. Keep her quiet for a week or so, and only then start with light exercise. Do it right and she’ll be dancing by the end of the month. Do you understand all of that, and why I’m asking it of you?”
Mace’s expression had pinched, his dark eyes curiously surprised. “I’d reckon so.”
“Good. Then I’ll give you the final order: she’s not to have sexual relations until I declare her fit. None. She was torn up, and she needs time to heal. Do you understand?”
“You ask that a lot, Doctor.”
“Mr. Hare, Lottie’s life is still hanging in the balance. It’s a coin toss if she’s gonna make it. The only reason she’s still got a chance is because she’s a dancer and strong as a horse. Someone needs to sit with her. Maybe one of the other girls. If there’s a change, you fetch me, pronto. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”
Hare seemed to consider, his dark eyes probing Doc’s. “Why don’t you stay with her yourself? I didn’t notice the dying and consumptive tearing down your tent for services.”
“I didn’t want to wear out my welcome, but I’m happy to stay.” Doc leveled a finger. “But if Flannagan shows up, you keep that son of a bitch out of my sight. I’m not feeling especially collegial after what he did to that girl.”
Hare turned, raising his voice. “Joseph?”
“Yes, Mr. Hare?” a young man who was laying in bottles behind the bar answered, his expression expectant.
“You know where Doc Hancock’s tent is down on the river? Take Isa and a cart and pack up his camp. When you get it here, fold the canvas and pile it out back. Put the bedding in Josiah’s old room.”
“What are you doing?” Doc asked.
“You keep that girl alive, and the boss will have more than enough work for you, Dr. Hancock.” He pulled a cigar from his pocket, scratched one of the matches on the table, and lit it. Speaking around it, he said, “I think your ship just came in.”
“What about my brother?”
“He says he can do chores, sweep, clean and such. As long as he don’t rile the chuckleheads, he can stay. At least until we see if you’re worth a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
Hare blinked behind the smoke. As the blue cloud rose, he said, “A town lot, Doctor. A place to build your office and surgery. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“And you would back me?”
“Big Ed always backs winners, Doc. Just keep Butler, here, away from our tables. Him and all these imaginary men he talks to.”
“It’s mostly Sergeant Kershaw,” Butler murmured as he watched Hare manipulate the cards.
“Who’s Kershaw?” Hare asked.
“He’s the one no one ever sees,” Doc replied.
“As compared to…?”
“Oh, hell, Mr. Hare, he’s even got me doing it now.”
Of the fifty or so matchsticks on the table, all but five were piled before Butler.
70
March 1, 1866
The little adobe house stood at the side of a draw where it emptied from the western slope of the Sandia Mountains. A small ditch ran from the rocky creekbed to a reservoir that in turn could be diverted to a ceramic cistern buried in the rocky soil.
A low New Mexican sunset burned in the western sky as Billy led the way on Locomotive. Danny Goodman followed, continually turning as he did to stare at their back trail where it led down the ridge to the alluvial flats, and thence to the distant swath of cottonwoods along the bosque where the Rio Grande flowed.
To the south-southwest in the far distance, the naked eye could just make out the blocky outline of Albuquerque and the faint smudge of its evening fires. To the west the mountains had turned from violet to purple, the clouds taking on shades of gold, yellow, orange, and blood-red.
Billy pulled up, cocked his head as he studied the little adobe. The door was painted a bright blue, the window frames white where they were set back in the brown-plastered adobe. The faint glow of a lamp was already visible through the panes.
Out back, in a rickety corral, stood two very fine blood-bay horses, one of which was saddled. They watched Billy’s approach with pricked pin ears and nickered a greeting to Locomotive.
“So this is the place?” Billy asked as Danny eased up beside him.
“Yep. This is where Nichols said the payoff was to be. You kilt Jessup, just as the contract said. Reckon all we gotta do is pick up the money and light a shuck for town.”
He’d like that. Just last night the Sarah demon had paid him a visit and left him shaken and shamed by her nocturnal preoccupation with his manhood.
Maybe it was a warning. He wondered if Sarah wasn’t dead. Be like her to have ended as a suicide. The reason the dreams were getting worse was because her ghost was coming to humiliate him. Some punishment from Hell for having allowed her to be taken by Dewley.
Or some cockeyed warning from the devil to take care. Be just like that tricky son of a bitch to send Sarah to yank on his cock as a way to let him know death was around the corner.
“Why don’t I like this?” Billy asked, reaching down for his Sharps.
“Got yer back up, huh?” In reply Danny eased his Remington from its holster.
At that moment the door opened, a man in a black linen suit with old-style frock coat,
