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A Bad Spring in East Fork


DocWard

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Doc lay on his stomach on the porch in front of Calamity Kris's shop while Doc Waite and Lizzie knelt on either side. Abby made sure to put her hand under Doc's cheek as she knelt at his head, keeping it off the rough plank, while squeezing his hand tight with her other. Kris made sure bandages were at the ready for whenever needed. Doc's head pounded, and he was trying to bring his thoughts into focus. Doc could hear the talking, but the ringing still in his ears made it difficult to understand. He made out that Lizzie was a nurse, and that the Doc thought he would be fine, so long as infection didn't set in. Otherwise, he could hear the soothing tones of his wife's voice close to his ear, but couldn't quite make out what she was saying He was sure he had a brain injury, although whether from the blast, being slammed bodily against the outer wall of the shop, or both, he couldn't tell. He was sure it wasn't bad, but the idea scared him nonetheless.

 

Doc felt his coat and shirt being cut away, baring his back to be seen, and he couldn't help but wonder how bad it looked. Doc could feel the strong hands of Slim, Jack and Lucas as they held him as the doctor began removing shards of metal and slivers of wood. Feeling the pain, Doc stiffened, and his jaw clenched tight and he grimaced in pain, but said nothing, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. As the doctor pulled something from the large muscle below his left shoulder blade, Doc knew it had to be long and deep in the muscle as Abby squeezed his hand tighter as she watched. Letting out a groan despite himself, once the piece was gone, the burning pain he felt seemed to dissipate, leaving him with a dull throbbing.

 

The doctor continued pulling pieces from Doc's back for another few minutes, then looked at Lizzie. "Do you think you can clean him up some and get him bandaged? I need to go check on Linn next. He's on his feet, but looks to have some dandy cuts of his own." Lizzie nodded, "I can, and I will be along shortly." Interrupting, Abby looked at the two of them, "You go check on Linn, I can handle this, my father was an Army doctor and I have assisted him and Ben before. Kris has done her share as well. We'll manage just fine."

Pushing himself to his feet, the doctor looked around for Linn as Cactus Jack stood and offered his hand to Lizzie. Smiling, she thanked him as she gracefully rose to her feet, and the two followed the doctor as Lucas helped with Doc and Michigan Slim began to search for others who might need assistance.

Once Abby and Kris had Doc bandaged, they rolled Doc to his side, and Abby asked, "Can you get up?" Shaking his head with frustration at the damnable ringing in his ears, Doc was sure of what Abby said as much from reading her lis as anything. Nodding, Doc began struggling to push himself up, with the help of Lucas and Abby, Kris watching, ready to jump in if necessary.

Once on his feet, Doc pulled the rest of his shirt and coat from his body, before leaning his forearm against the wall and resting his head on it. Still speaking much louder than necessary, Doc asked, "Can somebody run to the mercantile and get me some decent clothing please? I need to sit down, my head is pounding." Abby and Kris guided Doc into the store as Lucas sprinted for the mercantile to retrieve Doc a shirt.

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Jacob Keller tended to his cousin as family ought.

The Doc said Linn's bell was rung, his exact words, that he should be just fine and to watch where he'd been hit in the back of the head, that nail might have carried dirt in under his scalp that might cause corruption, but otherwise he should be fine: a good meal and a good night's rest, the Doc said reassuringly, and a man like this should be right as rain in a day's time.

Jacob thanked the man and offered him cash money and the doc replied to catch him in a day or two, he was kind of busy, and off he went on the Hot Foot, for there were several that needed his attention yet.

Jacob steadied, coaxed, blannied, snarled and otherwise encouraged his still not entirely steady cousin to the hotel, where he paid good money for a room and a bath, where he stripped the man down and set his boots out to be polished, got him into the tub where hot water and relaxation and the quiet worked their magic: Jacob knew the value of cultivating staff, and he'd done so when first he came to town: a little coin, a wink, a few encouraging words, and willing hands worked their magic on the muddy suit, the dirtied hat:  it might take until noon the next day to get Linn's coat clear dry, but 'twas clean, and Jacob was well pleased with the care put into blacking his cousin's boots.

Jacob propped a chair under the doorknob, after he'd had a meal sent over for the two of them, he'd gotten Linn in the bunk and covered up, and he cupped his hand around the chimney-top and puffed his breath down to snuff the turned-down lamp's flame.

It wasn't dark yet, but his cousin could use the rest, and Jacob wished to consider.

In time he too lay down, and slept without stir, until a thought wandering around his head turned on its lamp and his eyes snapped open.

I could Black Agent the banker.

He's the cause and the source of everything that's happened.

He's a townie and it will be no trick to seize him --

Jacob blinked, frowning.

He was still abed, still having not moved.

This is too easy.

Who might want him to be the front, the face, who would be close enough --

His wife.

She would be privy to his secrets, she would hear the town's gossip, she would hear talk of mineral right being bought up.

Granddad Sullivan Maxwell back in Perry County was a circuit rider for the newly formed coal companies.

He'd ride the township on a fine Morgan horse with a fine carved Myers saddle and matching carved saddlebags.

One had pints of whiskey.

The other held quit claim deeds.

He'd approach a dirt farmer and have a friendly drink with him, give him the pint and tell him he's got coal on his ground, but it's too deep for him to dig: the company would pay him FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS, CASH MONEY, for the mineral rights.

Five hundred dollars was nothing short of an absolute fortune, especially to those hard working hill country dirt farmers.

Another few drinks, more quiet conversation, reasonable conversation, pointing out that the coal would do him no good, he'd never see the first nickel's worth out of it, but he could have Half a Thousand Dollars.

Right now.

Cash in hand.

Sign here.

Word got around, and Sullivan Maxwell was a welcome man when he came ridin' up to a farmhouse on that fine Morgan horse with the fancy carved saddle.

Jacob listened to the night sounds, to his cousin's breathing, to the distant piano, muted and indistinct voices.

The banker's wife.

Jacob's lip twisted in irony.

This is not my jurisdiction.

This is my cousin they've hurt.

This is my cousin's friend they've hurt.

This is my cousin's wife they've come close to torturin'.

Jacob considered further, thinking fast, thinking carefully.

I am no agent of the law here.

The banker is a weak man.

His wife is the strength.

Cut the head off the snake ... kill her in her sleep, a knife in her voicebox will keep her from making a sound, cut down and she will bleed to death in ten seconds or so.

I will never be caught.

Jacob Keller considered this, actually considered it, and finally closed his eyes.

No.

I may not be the Law here, but I am the Law and the Law requires proofs.

I will present my reasoning to the Law, and I will content myself with the Law as it is here.

Jacob Keller closed his eyes, and returned to sleep.

 

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Once inside the shop, both Kris and Abigail insisted Doc lay down and rest on the cot in the back of the store until Lucas got back with something to wear. When Doc began to protest, Abigail crossed her arms, an eyebrow arched, her face stern, and said, "Rest. I am not going to argue with you." Knowing that arguing further wouldn't change the inevitable outcome, Doc held up his hands in defeat, and sat on the cot, waiting for Lucas to bring back something for him to wear. "You'll sleep here tonight. Kris agrees, unless you want to go to the hotel. You aren't up to riding back to our place." Looking up, Doc asked, "Where do you plan on sleeping?" Abigail motioned to a rocker, "I'll sleep there, I'll be comfortable." Knowing his wife would likely sleep but little, Doc said, "Let's go to the hotel. It will be a bit more comfortable, and we can clean up some. It will also mean Kris can get some rest. Once I have something to put on my body, that is." Abby stood, patting Doc gently on the shoulder, "I'll go down and try to get you an outfit. Lucas probably has no idea what he is getting." Kissing Doc on the top of the head, Abby turned to leave the store.

Leaning his forearms on his thighs, Doc let his head hang and tried to will away the throbbing pain in his head. He realized that the high pitched whistle in his ears was fading, and he could hear better. His back ached. Heck, his entire body ached. As he sat there, he tried to think of what to do. He had never been sure Murphy would actually say anything once in custody, but his death left no question. Doc's thinking was that even the word of the men who had heard him would not be enough to convict Cushman. Doc decided that come the morning, he would go speak to Cushman, if he were feeling up to it. Perhaps his warning would be enough, perhaps it wouldn't, but Doc wanted the man to know they were onto him. Then, let the chips fall where they may.

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Kris saw Doc sitting up from the front of the shop.  "Now you lay yourself back down, Doc Ward" Kris half spoke, half yelled from the front of the shop.  "I don't want you hurting anything while waiting for your wife".  Reluctantly, Doc did as he was asked and lied back down on the cot.  "Is there anything I can get for you, some soup or tea"?  Kris asked.  Doc nodded no.  "Abby and I will get some supper when we get to the hotel" Doc said wearily.  "Well, ok then" Kris said.  At that moment, Lucas came back through the shop door, looking quite confused.

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"Sir, do you make coffee?"

I stopped, gripping the corner of the headboard to keep it from swinging away from me.

I'd just rolled out of the bunk and I was kind of surprised at how good my balance was not.

"I ... don't have anything with me," I replied slowly, "... why?"

Jacob grinned.

"Do you reckon you can get dressed your own self, sir?"

I passed the back of my hand over my eyes, felt tentatively at the back of my skull.

"Hell of a square dance," I muttered, and I saw Jacob's eyes harden and go pale, and that ran some cold water down the middle of my back bone.

I'd not seen that often, but when I did, it meant men were about to die, and die they did: his father was a hard man and a man of action, and I knew the utter slaughter one man could cause, for I had seen it in that damned War and may God keep me from seeing anything of the kind again!

"Sir, let me look at the nape of your neck."  Jacob stood with the ease of a panther -- dear Lord he even moves like his father! -- and crossed the room:  I sat back down, bent my head forward so he could inspect where I'd just been feeling.

His fingers were quick, cool, exploring the back of my head, down both sides of the back of my neck, then he came around in front of me and murmured "Lift your chin," and he explored under my jaw the way I've known doctors, or worried mothers, to do.

I raised an eyebrow.  "Well?"
"Your glands are not swollen," Jacob said analytically, "and I was not able to express any corruption from the puncture site. You do not appear to have any infection pocket under your scalp. I'd say the Doc was right."

I blinked.  "What doc?"

Jacob looked at me kind of oddly and his eyes weren't quite as ice pale.

"I don't recall taking a hotel room, either," I pressed, and Jacob turned at the tap at the door.

He drew the chair aside, opened the door left handed, his right gripping the handle of his engraved Colt: I saw him relax a little, heard the murmur of conversation, saw Jacob dip into his vest pocket and he came back in with my duds over his forearm.

"Your suit is clean and dry now," he said, draping it across the bed beside me.  "Do you reckon you can dress yourself?"
I frowned, leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bed.

"Why would they be clean and dry, Jacob?" I asked, and then memory hit me like a man hit by a tall wave on an ocean beach.

I felt the concussion from the blast.

I remembered seeing smoking chunks of -- wood? -- spinning up from what used to be the jail.

Something hit me hard and I went face first into the dirt and I remember how cold the mud was when I landed and I came up on all fours and Bud-mule came over and said "Isn't this a fine day for a county fair," and I made a grab for his dangling tether and then the ground came up to hit me again.

I didn't fall.

The ground rose up and hit me.

I blinked, shook my head -- carefully -- and then I took a long breath.

"How many are dead?" I asked, and my voice was changed when I asked it, for I figured most of the people I'd come to know were now dead, murdered, and that did not make me happy a'tall.

"Murphy is dead, sir. He'll not be testifying."

"Utah? His nice? Anyone else?"

"Safe, sir. Utah and his niece were either in the restaurant or just shy of it. Doc Ward got hit pretty bad by the concussion, I believe he took some shrapnel to the back."

I felt the color run out of my face and there was a roaring in my ears:  Jacob was bringing my boots across the room to me and I recall how lovely they looked, nice and well polished and I remember how they fell, slowly, slowly, and before they hit the floor Jacob had me by the shoulders and I reached up with the weak and palsied hands of an old man in dotage and I heard a faint voice quaver, "Doc?" and I had just this awful feeling of loss and of grief and I remembered men tore apart from shrapnel bursts and Jacob's hands were firm and strong and his voice was very far away and I heard my voice screaming the way it did after that battle when I threw my arms wide and my grief ripped its way free of my throat and pierced the very heavens overhead and then I blinked and realized I was hearing a memory, that my throat was locked shut and I could not have made a sound if I'd had to and I looked into Jacob's pale eyes and I managed to take a breath, and another, and finally I wheezed, "Is Doc alive?" 

Jacob's grin was broad, quick, genuine.

"Yes, sir.  Doc is very much alive."

I threw my head back, my eyes closed:  I forbade my eyes to leak, for I do not make friends that easily, and Doc was well more than a friend, and had been for some long time now.

Jacob pretended not to notice as I wiped the moisture from my closed right eye and then I said "Hand me my smallclothes, Jacob. I need to get dressed."

Jacob brought me my linens and once I got myself presentable and stood in front of the mirror, worrying the necktie into place, I asked, "Why did you ask about coffee, Jacob?"

His laugh was reassuring, the sound a strong young man will make when he is honestly amused, and it was good to hear.

"Sir, my father cannot make coffee to save his sorry backside.  No" -- he stopped, raised a teaching finger, frowning.

"No, sir, he can make coffee, but it is genuinely abominable.  If he makes it, it's worse than two terribles, and I understand one of the ladies in town said his coffee is fine to strip varnish off a rockin' chair but that's about it.  He'll rot the bottom out of a granite pot faster than anyone I've ever known."

I shrugged into my coat, looked down at my burnished boots, nodded.

"My coffee is not as good as Abigail's," I admitted, "but it's not as bad as your father's."

"Good," Jacob said decisively.  "Let's get some breakfast in you, sir, and then we'll see how Doc's pulse is a-beatin'."

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Jacob Keller was pleasant and soft spoken as he'd always been.

The cute little hash slinger took their order and promised to be back immediately if not sooner with coffee and biscuits, and Jacob leaned back, eyes half closed, reminding Linn very much of a cat sunning itself, looking deceptively sleepy and inattentive, looking around for something upon which to pounce and devour.

Linn smiled and thanked the girl when she arrived with coffee and a tray of biscuits, still warm, and a lump of butter: Jacob tilted his head a little, turned it slightly as he caught a snatch of conversation --

That woman is simply dreadful, he heard: that Mrs. Cushman just orders everyone around like her personal servants! Why, she was an absolute harridan when she bought railroad tickets --

Jacob listened but a moment longer:  he murmured a polite "Excuse me a moment" to his cousin, plucked his Stetson from its peg and strode for the door:  he stopped, spoke briefly with the hash slinger, pressing coin into her palm -- "Give the man what he's having and keep the rest," and the pretty young girl blinked, fancying she saw a little tornado of wind spinning where the pale eyed lawman had been just a second before.

Jacob knew Cushman's place was close, and he knew a running man would be noticed, and he did not care.

Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, he thought as he sprinted across the street:  I'm helping Him out today, and he swung down an alley, back to where the decent folks had their houses --

He saw a man on a black mustang, a man with a broad brimmed hat drawn low and his coat collar turned up, a man carrying something the way he will when it's valuable, Jacob had ridden in that selfsame posture when he carried his infant son as he rode --

The rider on the tough little black horse was carrying no infant.

Jacob saw a drifting swirl of smoke, and he saw the man ease the mustang forward a few steps, and he saw the arm come back and a sizzling fuse, its end bright red and smoke drifting from it, and Jacob saw the man drive the sizzling bundle through Cushman's window, and then he leaned over the mustang's neck and put his heels to the horse's ribs, slashing at its hind quarters with the reins, and Jacob's eyes widened and he took a fast step to the side to get the corner of a building between him and what he knew was about to --

BAM --

The concussion was sharp, instantaneous, the sonic equivalent of a lightning-strike: it was not the deep-voiced concussion of powder sticks, no, this was that new fangled dynamite, much more powerful, more destructive.

Jacob waited several seconds, knowing there would be falling debris, before stepping out and taking a look at what used to be a nice house, then looking past it for one last glimpse of someone he thought he recognized.

Horsemen know men from the way they sit a saddle, even if they're not on their usual mount, and Jacob's eyes tightened at the corners a little.

"You beat me to it," he said to no one in particular, then he smiled, just a little.

"Thank you, friend.  You saved me the trouble."

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I brushed out the lathered black mustang in the livery stable.  It was late and I was the only one there. The hostler was at the saloon drinking still.  My horses were saddled to leave town, but I couldn't leave this stalwart ally without seeing to him first.  "Borrowing" a horse is a bad idea, so I left a few dollars on the hostlers desk. I thought to myself, "That'll teach you to try and dynamite me." smiling at the fact that dynamite had been provided to me by my targets. I tossed the borrowed hat on top of the money I had left and draped the overcoat over his chair.

 

I was used to killing men in a stand up fight, this was something else, but then again I had known death most of my life, my conscious would never be clean. This town was worth a little more weight on my conscious. 

 

I swung up on to Lightning's back and headed out at a gentle trot, and as always Thunder followed Lightning.  We headed to the Ward place to say my goodbyes before I headed off on my next adventure.

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Jack stepped into Miss Kris’s shop, “Hello Miss Kris, I stopped by to check on Doc and pass the news. Linn Keller is doing better. Jacob has him resting in the hotel and the Doctor says he should recover quickly.” “Oh, that is good news.” She responded. “Doc is resting in the back, but I saw him sitting up just a minute ago, I believe he’s still awake. Go on back and say Hi.” Removing his hat, Jack said, “Thank you Mam.” As he stepped through the door to the back room there was another conclusive boom. Doc started to rise with a groan of pain and panic in his eyes. “STAY RIGHT THERE.” Hollered Jack. “I’ll check on this and Miss Abby. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” As he rushed past Kris and out the door. Jack spotted a column of smoke and debris rising from the residential back street. Turning quickly he spoke with force. “Miss Kris, tell Doc it looks like one of the houses over behind the bank went up. I’ll check on Miss Abby and be right back.”

 

As he headed towards the center of town he saw Miss Abby hurry from the cafe and run towards Kris’s shop. “Miss Abby, Doc’s alright, he is just worried about you.” Said Jack as he took the wrapped food from her hands. Abby ran ahead to the shop and burst through the door shouting. “Ben, Ben, are you alright?” “I’m okay as long as you are not hurt.” He called from the back room. “Jack said it looked like a house behind the bank. Cushman’s place is back there.” Jack entered in time to hear that information. “Here’s the food Miss Abby. I’ll go check on the explosion and see if I can help the Marshall. I’ll be back later and let y’all know what has happened.” As he left Miss Kris raised an eyebrow and asked Abby “ Y’all, most of the time he talks like a Connecticut Yankee and now Y’all?” Grinning Abby answered, “Sometimes his Texan surfaces, he may have been raised a Yankee but he’s spent a great deal of time in Texas.”

 

Jack saw Jacob returning from the area of the explosion and intercepted him, “Do you know what happened over there?” “It seems the Cushman house blew up. I don’t know for sure, but the concussion felt like dynamite rather than powder. Perhaps this is confirmation that they are responsible for the jail explosion. That new fangled dynamite has a reputation for being temperamental. Improper handling could be disastrous as we may have witnessed.” “Thank you, I’m going to check in with the Marshall and see if he needs any help. Tell Linn, Doc is doing better. He was starting to sit up and move around a little, but Miss Kris put him in his place and made him rest. Miss Abby is there now to watch over him.”

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I know not what instinct prompts a lawman to come to his feet right before something happens.

Jacob was out of his chair and across the floor like a streak, but he did not run -- I don't pretend to understand how he did it, only that he did, and made it look smooth and easy -- that cute little hash slinger looked surprised, like a dust devil just went a-whistlin' by her and left coins in her hand.

I reckon Jacob was out the front door for maybe to the count of five when something blasted the morning and the windows rattled and I felt the concussion, even sitting inside:  the girl dropped the coins she held, her hands coming up, open, palms forward, the way a young woman will when alarmed:  she made a little sound of distress and squatted quickly, gathering her bounty and muttering to herself, likely scolding her reaction.

Doc was an old warrior from way back and I was too, and I knew he'd likely come out of whatever bed he was in like a bull that's been smacked across the backside with a hard swung plank:  I came to my feet, took one long stride, took another, and had to stop and grab a chair to keep from falling.

I stood there for a minute, willing myself to remain upright, and that cute little hash slinger took me by the arm.

"The deputy said I should give you whatever you're having," she said, her voice as serious as her eyes were worried:  "I don't think he would be happy if you had to eat your breakfast lying on the floor!"

I started to nod and shut my eyes hard -- bad idea, trying to move my head -- I opened my eyes and let her steer me back to my chair.

I eased back down into my seat and her hand slid down my arm, her pretty young hand gripping mine for a long moment.

I reached up and patted the back of her hand.

"My dear," I said in a fatherly voice, "this proves once again the value of listening to someone who is younger, smarter and better looking than me!"

She bit her bottom lip and her eyes started to water up, she let go of my hand like it was hot and ran a-scamper for the kitchen, I reckon, and there I sat wondering just how in the world did I manage to bring a young woman to tears.

Jacob found me dunking a buttered biscuit in my coffee, just as the girl came back out.

I saw a little water had splashed on her collar and the shoulder of her dress, like she'd washed her face, but I pretended not to notice:  instead I rose as she approached.

"Forgive me," I said.  "I have offended."

She was a little pale as she shook her head.  "No," she admitted, "you did not offend me, it is I who owe the apology."
She bit her bottom lip and blinked a few times, then her words thrust boldly forward as if she'd come to a sudden decision.

"You sounded so very much like my Papa," she said, "and he died a year ago today."

I could not help myself.

I took a step forward and I took her in my arms, and she wrapped her arms around me, and we held one another for a long moment.

Sometimes a man can say the right thing, and sometimes he can say the wrong, and in that moment what she needed to hear, was said with no words a'tall.

 

 

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Doc Ward felt the concussion in his bones. The feel and image of the guns going off when he was in the artillery flashed through his mind before he struggled to stand up. Cactus Jack's voice was loud and cut through the lessened but still noticeable ringing in Doc's ears as he shouted, "STAY RIGHT THERE!" As Jack turned, he had to push past Calamity Kris who was coming back, pushing Doc back on the cot. Doc groaned but tried to sit up again. Kris was insistent, her hands on his shoulders, "Lie down! The Ranger went to find Abby and find out what happened. There's nothing you need to do!" As Kris was keeping Doc in place, he heard Abby's voice calling out, and he called in response, letting her know he was alright.

 

Sitting back, Doc tried to focus his thoughts past the headache he still felt and the soreness in his back and body. Why the Cushman house? Were they home? Who would stand to gain by killing them? Doc slowly chewed on his food and drank coffee as he pondered the turn of events. It never occurred to him that any of his friends could be responsible. Laying back on his side, as it was too painful to lay on his back, Doc was still thinking as he drifted off to sleep.

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As I arrived at Doc's place it was eerily  quiet.  Doc must still be in town with his wife.  I circled the home at a distance, with an uneasy feeling.  Perhaps I should just ride on, but instead I headed to the house and finding it empty I went to the barn. There were horses in the stalls and I turned them out into the corral and began cleaning the stalls.  Some people eschew manual labor, but I never felt better than working with and caring for horses.  When I finished the barn was spic and span.  I noticed the firewood was low and picked up an axe and began splitting wood.  a few hours passed quickly and a neat large pile of wood was stacked for the Wards.  the sun was getting low and I set my bedroll up in the barn and had a dinner of jerky and whisky before I fell asleep.

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Doc awoke the following morning, his head somewhat cleared, his headache gone for the most part. The whistling in his ears was subsiding, but he knew it would be an annoyance for days to come. He accepted it would never completely go away, as he had lived with high pitched whistling since the war. Moving stiffly, his body and back still sore, Doc turned to sit up on the cot, then began the difficult process of getting dressed. Hearing the noise in the back room, Abigail looked in to see her husband wincing as he put his coat on. Leaning against the doorsill, her arms crossed, she arched an eyebrow, "Going somewhere?" Smiling, Doc nodded, "Down to the restaurant for coffee and breakfast. Care to join me? I thought we might go check on home today, also." Abby looked dubiously at her husband, "Are you up to it?" Moving stiffly, Doc paused for a moment to consider before replying, "I think so.My back is sore, but I think I can manage. Besides, I think I'm as stiff from laying around as anything."

 

Frowning, but not saying anything else, Abby took her husband's hand when he offered it to her, and the two walked to the front of the store. Abby and Doc looked at Calamity Kris, who looked up from her work, a shade of surprise on her face. Abby explained "We're going to have some breakfast, then ride out to our place." Pausing, Doc added, "Let Linn, Cactus Jack and Utah Bob know. Father Kit as well." Kris cocked her head at an angle as she looked at Doc. "You're sure you will be up to the ride?" Doc nodded and replied, "I think so. Right now, I just want to be up and moving. Work some of this stiffness from my bones." With that, the couple walked out the door for the restaurant.

Doc stopped to see where men were clearing the last of the debris from where the jail stood and shook his head. "Looks like quite a mess. When people start using dynamite to fight their battles, they don't care who gets hurt." Abby patted his hand with her free one as they continued walking as she responded, "I'm thankful you weren't hurt worse than you were." Doc grinned, "You'll know I'm bad hurt when I can't drink coffee, and right now, I want a gallon of it." Letting go of his wife's hand, Doc reached for the door of the diner, and held it for Abigail, before following her inside, and put his hat on a hook near the door. Seeing the pair walk in, Slim immediately reached for coffee cups to bring to the table.

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I awoke from a sound sleep and brushed the hay off my clothes before washing my face with a bucket of fresh well water.  The sun was just rising over the horizon and I admired both the majestic view, and the tidy home.

 

  Looking about I noticed that a couple of the corral posts were leaning so I took a shovel and repaired them, then soaked the ground and tamped in more dirt to secure them.

 

I filled the trough and took a bucket of fresh water. leaving it up on the porch before I tore into another cord of fire wood.  The sun was high in the sky when I finished and I saw dust on the road.  Someone approaching.  I  pumped some more fresh water into the trough and washed up quickly before gathering my horse and gear.  I mounted up and headed to intercept the incoming traffic.

 

As I approached I could se Doc and Abagail in a wagon moving slowly.  It was clear Doc was in pain, but he was smiling nonetheless.  I eased along side and tipped my hat, "Ma'am, Doc I'll be moving along shortly, just came by to get my sharps.  Doc nodded and asked Abagail to fetch it from the back of the wagon.  I dismounted and tied the scabbard back in place, checked the gun and found it clean as a whistle. "Well Doc, I hope our paths cross again someday; Until then. Ma'am"  I tipped my hat a final time and swung up into the saddle.

 

"Where are you headed Mark?"  Abagail asked.  I smiled "Somewhere west of here or east of there, can't rightly say, but I'd best get moving.  No point in being late."

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Bud-mule was not in a terrible hurry and neither was I.

Jacob shook my hand and bade me well, he whistled at those ghost-grey horses of his father's, and he set his compass towards the depot, and I set mine for my place.

Doc and Abigail were already headed that-a-way.

I was still a little sore and stove up but Bud's gait was pretty good and we got there in fine shape.

It felt good to get this far out again and it felt good to see that twisting curl of smoke comin' out Doc's chimney pipe.

I figured they were lookin' the place over and satisfyin' themselves as to what-all supplies they had, and I reckoned I might ought do the same thing, so I rode on over the break and the Lord looks out after fools and children, and in my young life I have been both, and I reckon I might yet, for neither barn nor house were piles of blackened trash.

Sailor-dog, he was right happy to see me, he like to scoured the ears off my head, and Chester-cat, why, he was his usual friendly self, he didn't bring too much blood.

 

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Abigail frowned, "You turn right around and unsaddle and put your horse away. We can see from here you've done a bit of work, and I'm not about to let you go without a good meal." When Mark started to object, Abigail set the brake on the wagon and was down quick as a wink, standing, arms folded, in front of Mark's horse. A smile was on her face, but her eyes said she was serious, and would take it personally if he didn't turn back. With a quick look at Doc, who nodded toward the barn, Mark reined his horse around, tipping his hat as he did.

 

Mark walked into the house to be greeted by the fine aromas of food. Abigail was busy putting together a stew, with beef, potatoes and vegetables heating. Doc walked stiffly to the cupboard and reached up, pulling out glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Lifting it for Mark to see, Doc said "I believe you prefer bourbon, but I assume you'd not turn down Irish whiskey?" With a smile, Mark gestured with his open hand, and replied, "I most certainly would not." Setting three glasses down, Doc poured, and offered one to Mark, and another to Abigail as she paused in her cooking. Flint lifted his glass, saying "To your health," and took a sip before nodding appreciatively as Doc and Abigail replied in kind and sipped their own.

As Abigail set her glass aside, Doc and Flint walked over to the table. Doc winced as he sat down, but once seated, let out a breath and relaxed. Taking another drink, Doc looked at Mark. "I'm afraid with my injuries, I've been out of the loop. Any word on the Cushmans?" Mark stared into his drink, then decided to take another sip before replying, "Not that I've heard. Heard tell there wasn't anything left of the home. Not much to find." Doc noticed only a slightest of tics around one eye as Mark continued, "Whoever... Tossed the dynamite inside, used enough for a good start taking down a mountain, so it seems." Doc nodded, his mind lost in contemplation. Finally he responded, "I'd heard something about Mrs. Cushman and train tickets, but no more. I wasn't sure if they had gone out of town or not."

 

As Doc glanced at his friend, he saw the slightest frown as Mark looked into his glass. "I hadn't heard. I'm empty, may I?" Doc reached to pour Mark some more, thinking to himself not to play poker with his friend. Doc never was a hand anyway, but the man could be inscrutable when he chose to be. Doc poured some more for himself, adding, "Well, if they are out of town, they're going to have a rude shock when they return. If not, someone is going to have to break the locks on the bank for the townspeople. I suppose that would be up to Utah Bob though, unless he defers to the judge. I'm glad I don't have any money there."

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Jack reached to  knocked at the Ward’s front door. Abby Ward opened it as his knuckles made an attempt at a tap. “John Calder,” she said. “Why are you so formal as to knock? You know you are always welcome in this home.” “Well Miss Abby, I just dropped by to say goodbye and thank you and Doc for your hospitality. Pardner and I are booked on the evening train south to Denver. I believe my Captain has about forgotten I am a Ranger. I wouldn’t want to have to start over as a green recruit when I get to San Antonio.” Jack replied with a grin. “Come in and have some diner we are about to sit down. There is plenty of food and J. Mark is here saying his goodbyes also.”

 

Doffing his hat Jack entered and followed Abby to the kitchen where Doc and J. Mark sat at the table sipping a little whiskey. “Howdy Doc, J. Mark. I stopped by to let you know I’m off to Texas. I need to report in before they forget about me and give my job to someone else. I wanted to thank you for your help and hospitality, and letting me masquerade as a cowhand while I was here.” “Jack you are always welcome here. You have certainly been a big help in handling the shenanigans that’ve been going on. I expect your life may be quieter in Texas than it has been here.” Said Doc with a smile. At that Abby placed a large bowl of ‘Son of a Gun Stew’ in the center of the table, “You sit right down and dig in.” She said as she returned with a platter of biscuits and a tub of butter. Pouring coffee from the pot J. Mark said, “That stew sure smells good and I’m hungry.” Everyone dug in, began to eat and the conversation faded as mouths were busy with other pursuits.

 

After helping Abby clear the table, Jack and J. Mark prepared to go their separate ways. “Miss Abby, Doc, I surely appreciate the hospitality you have extended to me. I will always remember y’all and if I ever get up this way again I’ll be looking you up. J. Mark, I am happy to have met you and call you friend. If any of you get down Texas way be sure to look me up. I expect the Ranger’s Office will always know where to find me.” Said Jack with a little hitch in his throat. With that Jack turned, mounted Pardner and rode out for town and the train south.

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  • 3 weeks later...

I followed suite, as Jack left.  I said my goodbyes and though there was curiosity about my destination, after I repeated my response from earlier "Somewhere west of here or east of there, can't rightly say, but I'd best get moving.  No point in being late." they backed off, realizing I wasn't going to tell.  It wasn't that I was secretive, but that I, in truth had no destination, just an urge to travel.  When it hit, it was time to move.  I headed north as I considered where to go.  I'd heard of the Northern Lights, I decided it was time to see them and headed Northwest towards Oregon and to catch a ship to Cape Nome.

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