Bad Medicine Read online

  “I did another one, too.” He pulled the cork and took a long swallow.

  “They’ll be more wary now, Will. One Dog doesn’t much to take his men bein’ killed ’less he does it.”

  “True. That bother you?”

  Austin chuckled. “Hell, no, I—What’s that on—? Damn, boy, did you piss your pants?”

  “It wasn’t One Dog—it was a goddamn rattler longer’n your leg.”

  Austin chuckled again. “Sure,” he said.

  “It went like it was supposed to, snake or no snake,” Will said, sounding a bit insulted.

  Chapter Four

  “Any trouble?” Austin asked, picking up on a slight change in his friend’s standard voice.

  “No.”

  “You sound strange, Will. Like . . . I dunno. Jus’ strange. Ain’t killin’ them sonsabitches what we’re out here for?”

  “It’s not the killing. I’d as soon shoot one of them as a barn rat. Thing is . . . I marked ’em, Austin.”

  “Marked? What’d you mean?”

  “I carved a HW on each of their chests with my knife—cut in real good. It’ll be impossible for the rest of ’em to miss.”

  “HW? What’s that?”

  “Me an’ my brother were goin’ to call our operation the H&W Cattle Ranch an’ our brand was gonna be a HW.”

  Austin thought that over for a while. “Seems to me, you done good, Will. You know as well as I do that the whole buncha them are pure crazy, ’specially the Injuns, what with that superstitious stuff of theirs. You gave ’em somethin’ to think about, some-thin’ to wear on ’em while we hunt them down. Hell, boy, seems like a good idea to me.”

  “Maybe so. I never did anything like that before. I killed men, but it was always face-to-face an’ I never left no extra mark on ’em. I don’t want to be like that loon who rode with the Earps for a bit—he usta hack the ear off a man he gunned.”

  “Not Holliday?”

  “No—no. Doc wouldn’t do nothin’ like that. Some saddle tramp they picked up, name of Kid something or other. He’s dead. He tried to draw on Wyatt, an’ Wyatt shot his ass off.”

  “You didn’t cut nobody’s ear off. What you done is declare war, my frien’. That’s what you did an’ that’s how One Dog and his men will see it. Like I said, you done good. All the cards is on the table now.”

  Both men were silent for several moments.

  “They’ll have more lookouts now, but they won’t try to track you in the dark. They’ll be lookin’ for sign at first light, but not before,” Austin said.

  Will grinned. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

  “You bet I am,” Austin answered, tugging the ten-inch blade from his boot. “What say we take out a couple more of them—an’ leave the HW on them, too.”

  “We gotta split up, though, when we get close,” Will warned. “We do what we can an’ then haul ass back here an’ saddle up an’ light out. Right?”

  “Right. An’ no guns—a single shot’d bring the whole crew on us like a swarm a hornets. If the kill cain’t be done quiet, it won’t get done at all. We’ll git him the next time.”

  “We got maybe two an’ a half, three hours of good dark. We gotta be quick,” Will said.

  “Let’s move then,” Austin said, hauling off a boot. “We’re wastin’ what time we got.”

  Will expected at least a few muffled curses from Austin as they set out on the mission, as bootless feet landed on a particularly sharp rock, and was mildly surprised when he not only heard no profanity, but barely heard his partner at all.

  The walk seemed longer to Will than it had earlier, but the vague scent of smoke let him know he and Austin were getting close. “We split here,” he whispered into Austin’s ear. “There’s at least one man ridin’ around the cattle an’ horses. He probably found the bodies from earlier. Or maybe somebody changin’ guard did, but we gotta assume One Dog knows he had a visitor.”

  Austin nodded but didn’t speak.

  “You swing out to the left there, an’ I’ll go over where I killed the first one,” Will whispered. “See you back at the horses.”

  The lookout at the rock was standing this time and Will could hear him shifting his feet on the gritty stone surface as he paced a short pattern. Will listened for several minutes; the shuffling pattern didn’t change. The man’s final step as he turned to repeat his pacing was perfect. It put his back a mere couple of steps from where Will stood, knife at the ready, blade up, clutched chest high. Will let the guard make another pass. Then he crouched slightly, extended his right hand and the knife a bit from his body, and balanced himself carefully on the balls of his feet, left moccasin slightly behind his right. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, shook his wrist to loosen any tension in it, and when the time was perfect, sprang out from the edge of the rock, left hand finding and covering the guard’s mouth from the back at the same time his right hand arced out and plunged the blade to the hilt into the man’s chest.

  The guard was an Indian. The stench of the grease on his hair was like the pit of a privy.

  He grunted as the knife struck and his mouth opened slightly, even under Will’s powerful grip. Will drew the knife from the guard’s chest, pulling it upward and twisting it as he did so. At the same moment—perhaps as a final act of battle or perhaps in his death throes—the Indian closed his teeth on the lower palm of Will’s left hand. The pain was sharp, hot, and Will could feel his flesh tearing. Then, as quickly as the gnashing pressure began, it stopped and all the strength drained from the man: from his mouth, his arms, his chest. Will pulled his knife free and let the body fall facedown. He quickly turned the corpse over, carved the HW into the warm, blood-slick chest, and then looked at his own hand. It was bleeding freely, the blood dark in the night, spattering at Will’s feet. A flap of skin and muscle three inches long hung from the bottom of the hand like a piece of torn, damp cloth. Will put the rock between himself and the dead Indian and used his knife to cut the left sleeve off his shirt. The blade, razor sharp, eased through the fabric soundlessly. Will slid the knife back into his sheath and, holding one end of the sleeve in his teeth, took a tight wrap around the wound, doing his best to hold the flap of skin to where it’d come from. He listened for a long moment and then started back to his camp.

  He had the horses saddled and bridled before Austin returned. “You OK?” Will asked.

  “Yeah. Killed the outrider and left him with the HW. You?”

  “I got the lookout that replaced the one I killed earlier. Sumbitch bit my hand pretty bad. Other’n that, I’m good.”

  Austin stepped closer to inspect Will’s wound. “Still bleedin’ heavy, even with the wrap,” he said. “I got some latigo in my saddlebag. I’ll rig you a tourniquet. Take your reins in your right hand an’ hold the left higher’n your heart, much as you can.”

  Will looked at his friend more closely. He had a tightly strung bow across his chest and a quiver with ten or so arrows in it draped over his shoulder. “I didn’t know you could handle a bow,” he said.

  “Might could be lotsa things ‘bout me you don’t know, Will. Come on—let’s ride.”

  They rode slowly, barely beyond an extended walk, until there was enough light to see prairie-dog holes, half-buried rocks, rattlers out seeking morning warmth, and the other natural traps that awaited the unwary horseman.

  With the sun came the searing heat; by nine in the morning the men and the horses were sweating copiously. Every so often one of the men would turn in his saddle and gaze at their backtrail. Miles back there was some dust rising into the air, moving at what seemed to be a steady pace toward them.

  About noon they came to a wagon-wheel-sized puddle of brackish water. They loosened their cinches and let their horses drink, and they themselves sucked at their canteens, ate some jerky, and rolled smokes. Austin noticed that Will was scattering tobacco around where he sat and that he couldn’t seem to get a decent crease in a paper. “Lemme see your paw,” Austi
n said.

  “Nothin’ to see. It’s comin’ good.”

  “Hold it out.”

  Reluctantly, Will did so. “Jesus God,” Austin whispered. The tourniquet had stopped most of the bleeding, but Will’s fingers had turned into fat, shiny white-skinned sausages, and he couldn’t have formed a fist if his life depended on it. Worse yet, tiny lines of red had begun traveling from Will’s palm up toward his elbow. “Hurt much?”

  “Some.”

  “Some, my ass. What we gotta do is free up the latigo, let some blood get to the bite. Could be some fresh blood’ll clean her out a bit.”

  “It ain’t nothin’ but a little bite. It’ll clear up. We ain’t got time to screw around with it now.” He nodded toward the dust behind them. “They’re gettin’ closer.”

  “They’ll kill their horses ’fore they catch us,” Austin said. “What they probably done was leave their worst drunks an’ cowards to watch over the cattle an’ horses, an’ One Dog brought his best braves an’ fighters with him. They’ll ride hard ’til their horses drop an’ then come on foot ’til they can steal some more somewhere.” He looked back at Will. “Lemme loosen that latigo.”

  “It’s just a—”

  “Lookit here,” Austin answered, almost in a snarl. “Ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than a human bite, ’specially from scum like them. A dog’s or wolf’s teeth are a lot cleaner’n a man’s, an’ I know that to be a fact. A friend of mine got bit by a Arapahoe on his shoulder an’ it got all swole up—like your hand—an’ he croaked in four days.” As he spoke Austin released the knot of the tourniquet. “Let it hang at your side now.”

  Will did so. After what seemed like an interminably long time, some pus and blood began to drip onto the sand. Its odor was rancid, enough to make a man gag. “We gotta take the wrap off an’ put a fresh one on,” Austin said. “ ’Fore we wrap her again, I’ll pour what booze we got left into the cut—might help some.”

  Before Will could reply, Austin began taking turns of the sleeve around the cut. When he got to the final wrap, he warned, “Now this one’s gonna be a pisser, but we got no choice. See, the cloth is kinda glued in there an’ it’s gotta come out. You ready?”

  “No.”

  “Well hell,” Austin said and tore the final turn of sleeve free. Will fell to his knees, his teeth grinding against one another with the pain. He didn’t yell out or scream, but the deep whimpering sounds that came from his throat showed the degree of his pain. Austin fetched the quarter bottle of booze they had left, drew his knife, cut off his own left sleeve, and hunkered down next to Will. “You wanna take a slug of redeye ’fore I do this? Might help.”

  “Just do it—get it over with.”

  Austin pulled the cork with his teeth. “Turn your hand so the bite’s up,” he said. The flap of skin hadn’t taken at all; it hung free, and its edges were turning a light greenish blue color. “Shit. That’s gotta come off,” Austin said, “or the sumbitch will rot your whole hand.”

  Will nodded. Austin drew his knife, took the gangrenous edge between his left thumb and forefinger, and sliced downward quickly, without warning. The patch of flesh hit the sand and Austin kicked it away, hoping to get some of the stench away from them.

  “I hardly felt that,” Will said.

  “You’ll feel the booze.” He took a good hold on Will’s wrist and poured the whiskey over the exposed tissue. This time Will did scream—and then he passed out. “Jus’ as well,” Austin mumbled, finishing the pouring and tossing the empty bottle off to the side. He sat beside his friend, rolled a cigarette, lit it, and waited for Will to come back to consciousness.

  When his eyes finally fluttered open, Austin asked, “Where’s that map at?”

  Will used his right hand to push himself to a sitting position. “What d’you need the map for? We got One Dog behind us. We don’t need the damned map—we need a spot for an ambush.”

  “Yeah, we do need the map, ’cause we need a town with a doc in it. Otherwise you’re gonna lose your hand—maybe your whole arm.”

  The nearest town was Olympus, which looked to be forty or fifty miles due east, at least according to the inaccurate scale of the penciled map. “You real sure about that?” Will asked.

  “Sure’s the sun comes up in the morning. An’ look.” He pointed back the way they’d come. “One Dog’s still comin’ on strong. We got a pretty fair lead, but I’d like to get to this Olympia or whatever the hell it is before he gets too close.”

  “Olympus. Let’s make tracks, then.”

  The water was a blessing. It would have stretched credibility too far to call it an oasis, but it was a pond of twenty feet long and thirty feet wide, with a scattering of scruffy desert pine standing like slouching sentries. Stunted buffalo grass spread around the water. It wasn’t good grazing, but the horses didn’t seem to care at all.

  “Whoooo-eee!” Austin yelled. “I don’t care if we gotta fight One Dog right here—I’m gonna git wet!” He swung down from his horse, shucked his pistol and gun belt, tossed the bow and quiver aside, and made a running leap into the water. It was only two feet deep, but it was cold—spring fed, obviously—and wet. Will followed more judiciously, walking out a few yards and then sitting in the water, left hand in the air, like a student asking a question.

  They let their horses drink in shifts to avoid founder, filled their canteens, and settled down in the grass for a few moments. “Hell of a nice place for a camp,” Will said. “Too bad we can’t settle in for the night.”

  “No cover, though. But yeah, it’s right nice. I ain’t been at all wet ’cept with sweat in a coon’s age. Feels awful good.”

  Will dunked his face and head a final time. “We’d best head on to Olympus,” he said. Austin sighed and floundered back to shore.

  The sun was almost touching the western horizon as they came into the town of Olympus.

  “That wasn’t no thirty or forty miles,” Austin said. “But that’s fine with me. We get you to a doc an’ then find us a gin mill, no?”

  Will didn’t answer.

  Olympus was slightly larger than most of the cattle-train whistle-stops. The doctor was a real MD, not a veterinarian or self-proclaimed medic such as were found in most towns. There was only one saloon, but it was a big one, with a restaurant and whorehouse all in one building.

  “See?” Austin said. “Right there—next to the mercantile—there’s a doc’s shingle. We’ll get you fixed . . . Hey! You OK, pard?”

  Will was slumped far forward in his saddle, his face a pallid white. His eyes didn’t seem to focus, and his right boot had slipped from its stirrup and was dangling uselessly next to the leather. He’d vomited and the chest of his shirt was damp with stomach bile. Austin jigged his horse up a step and took hold of Slick’s reins. “You hold on, pard,” Austin said. “This doctor, he’ll fix you up. Damn if I didn’t tell you a bite from a human is . . . Steady now, Will. Grab the horn an’ stay on your horse.” He led Slick to the hitching rail in front of the doctor’s office, wrapped their reins, and helped Will down.

  “Jus’ tired is all,” Will mumbled. “I don’t need . . .”

  Austin half led and half carried Will into the doctor’s office. “Doc,” he yelled, “I got a bad case here. You gotta . . .”

  A stubby fellow who’d never see sixty years old again, with pure white hair flowing well over the collar of his formal shirt, came from behind the curtain to his examination room. His pants were pressed and his shoes shined. He looked like a successful drummer. “I’m Dr. McCall,” he said. “Bring that boy in here and stretch him out on my table.”

  Austin did as he was told. The doctor washed his hands in a large basin that smelled of raw alcohol and took Will’s left hand in his own. “Decent wrap,” he said, his voice calm, as if he were commenting on the weather. “This a dog bite?”

  “Injun,” Austin said. “We was—”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what you boys were doing,” the doctor said as he beg
an unwinding the sleeve from Will’s hand. “A bite like this from a man is bad news.” He dropped Austin’s sleeve into a trash can and examined Will’s hand. “You put anything on this—do anything for him?”

  “Yessir. I poured a half bottle of whiskey an’ run a good tourniquet. After a while I took off the tourniquet, thinkin’ maybe fresh blood would clean—”

  “You did it right,” the doctor said. “I’m gonna put your friend out with what we call chloroform. You in the war, boy?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Then you know what chloroform is. I gotta clean the bite and then stitch up the tear and wrap it again. He lost some epidermis—skin—here, and it won’t grow back. I’ll stitch to good skin, but his hand—probably his little finger and the one next to it—won’t be worth a damn for a long time, until he’s healed. Is he right-handed?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Good. Now you get out of here and let me work. Place next door will serve you beer or whiskey or ass—whatever you want. You got money?”

  “Yessir. We can pay you. You got no worry there.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Go on—get.”

  The doc went to work. Austin took the two horses down the main street to the blacksmith’s shop and livery and left explicit directions on how the animals were to be treated.

  The smith was the size of a bull wooly, and he rather looked like one as well. “Yer a stranger,” he said. “This’ll cost you some money an’ I need it ahead, ’fore I do a thing.”

  Austin flipped a golden eagle to the blacksmith. “You jus’ do like I said: tighten all the shoes, feed these boys some crimped oats an’ molasses, an’ give ’em good hay. Make sure they have all the fresh water they want. You might brush ’em out a bit, as well.”

  The blacksmith began to raise the coin to his mouth.

  “It’s real. Take it to the goddamn bank. But I don’t want you callin’ me a liar. You bite that eagle an’ I’ll gun your fat ass.”

  The smith held Austin’s eyes for a moment and then dropped the coin into his pocket. “Don’t need no bank. That bow an’ them arrows bothered me a bit, but I know the eagle’s real. OK?”