The Unflinching Collection

Chapter 14

Mason found a cluster of around twenty or so buildings, half a day"s journey from the ranch where he"d left Elisabeth. Most appeared empty, or abandoned, but several showed signs of occupancy, with one or two appearing to be newly painted. No one moved in the street, however, and an eerie silence clung to every part of this strange, dormant township. He tied the wagon up outside an imposing cattle association building and strode in, without pausing to brush off the dust clinging to every fiber of his clothing.

The room was big, square and very dark. There were two rows of desks opposite each other, forming a sort of avenue leading to the far end where a much wider desk stood on top of a stage. This allowed anyone who sat there to have a good view of the entire area, especially those others who might work at the accompanying, smaller desks. For the moment, the only workers were a few men at their desks, stooped over gigantic ledgers, scribbling with ink pens.

Mason stood and stared, a little in awe of the size of the room. Against the left wall, a staircase led up to the top story and he made as if to approach it.

“Can I help you?”

Mason gave a small start and looked across to the nearest clerk behind his desk. He wore a black waistcoat, shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, spectacles perched on the end of his nose. His expression was that of a man whose patience might snap at any moment. Mason stepped closer, leaning across the table with his palms planted squarely on the top.

“I need a doctor.”

“We handle receipts, notices and accounts for the Pilcher Cattle Association. We"re not doctors.”

“Where can I find one?”

“In a hospital, I shouldn"t wonder.”

Mason breathed, teeth gritted. “And where might I find one of those?”

The man spread out his hands. He smiled. “Who knows.”

Mason"s own patience ran out at that point. He struck quick as a rattler, his hand a blur, the pistol materializing in his hand as if he"d performed a magician"s trick. He pressed the barrel into the man"s forehead, right between his eyes. “I"ll ask you again, and this time I want a helpful answer. Where do I find a doctor?”

Where do I find a doctorThe clerk whimpered, blood draining from his face, all bravado gone in a blink. Mason heard the shuffling of chairs, the raising of alarmed voices behind him. Without moving the barrel, he looked over his shoulder to see several of the clerk"s colleagues standing up, their expressions fearful.

“You just stay real still,” said Mason, “or your friend here loses his head.” To give greater emphasis to his words, he eased back the hammer of his Navy Colt, and turned his gaze back to the clerk, whose whimpering was growing louder by the second. “Now, tell me nice and slowly where I can find a doctor.”

When the door opened, a young woman stood there, aghast, as Mason pushed past her without saying a word. Newhart lay like a child in his arms, head lolling, skin the color of chalk. The wound in his leg was suppurating, trails of dried, black blood and pus mingling with the fibers of his trousers where Elisabeth"s bullet had entered. Mason, breathing hard, stopped halfway down the hall and glared at the woman. “They said there is a doctor here.”

“Yes, yes there is,” she said and squeezed past him, calling, “Ned, Ned! Come quickly!”

And Ned did come quickly. A young man, neatly dressed, well-groomed and clean-shaven, emerged from a rear room. He took one look at Mason and his burden, and ushered him into a very bright room with a ceiling of glass panels, and so clean it seemed to shimmer.

There was couch in the corner and Ned motioned for Mason to lay Newhart upon it. The young man immediately went up to Mason"s stricken companion and put his palm flat against his forehead. He then eased away some of the material from the wound. He pulled in a breath. “Dear God. How long has he been like this?”

“Got shot yesterday.”

Ned nodded and shot a glance over to the door, where the woman stood. “I need hot water, towels, and my instruments. Tell Mr. Crossland I will get back to him as soon as I can.” The woman disappeared and Ned returned to examining the wound. “It"s festering. The bullet looks deep. Heavy caliber. Not good, friend.” He stood straight and for the first time, studied Mason. “How did this happen?”

“We got caught in a fire-fight,” began Mason, his voice confident. He would tell no lies, merely play around with the truth. “Some people tried to kill us. My friend here caught this one in the leg.”

“And you?”

“I"m fine.”

Ned paused, searching Mason"s face. Then he nodded. “Very well. I"ll do what I can, but he"s lost a lot of blood, and I can"t guarantee—”

“Save him, Doc. Don"t let him die.” Mason drew back his coat tails and Ned let his gaze settle on the g*n at his hip. “This is not something to be negotiated over.”

Ned, not taking his eyes off the g*n, swallowed hard. “Mister, I"m not a doctor. I"m a vet.”

“A what?”

“A veterinarian. I deal with sick animals. I"m employed by the Pilcher Cattle Company to look after their herd and the cowboys" horses. I"ve never extracted a bullet.”

“Then you better learn fast.” Mason nodded towards Newhart. “If he dies, so will you.”

For the next few hours, Mason sat on a hard-backed chair in the hallway, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring, waiting. Around him, the woman and Ned flittered in and out of his periphery vision, sometimes saying things, sometimes not. More than once, he heard Newhart cry out and when he screamed, Mason almost got to his feet. But he resisted, remained on his chair, put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

He must have drifted off to sleep, for when the hand shook him and he sat up, everything appeared blurry, out of focus. Disorientated, he went to stand and something hard pushed him back down into his seat. He blinked repeatedly, shook his head, and his surroundings slowly grew clearer.

Three men stood before him, big men, large hats, dustcoats that dropped to their boots. Two stood behind the shoulders of the nearest, who had used a muzzle-loading carbine to press Mason up against the wall. His teeth were chipped and black when he opened his mouth to speak.

“You take it easy, friend,” said the man with the g*n.

“You came into my offices,” snapped one of the others, a thin, gangly individual with snow-white hair and the largest broom-handle moustache Mason thought he"d ever seen.

“Your what?”

“You barged into my office and threatened one of my employees. Nobody does that, sir. This is a law-abiding community, and we do not take kindly to your sort.”

Mason narrowed his eyes. “My friend was shot up. I had no choice.”

“Well, your friend"s a lot better now.” It was Ned, hovering in the background, the young woman at his side. She was smiling. “I reckon he"ll be fit to travel in a couple of days. But the next twenty-four hours are going to be critical if he is—”

“Shut the f**k up, Wallis,” snapped the snow-haired man, “we"re not interested in the well-being of that sonofabitch,” he snapped his head around to glare at Mason, “nor you. I"m not going to tolerate bastards like you riding in here thinking you can do whatever you want.”

Mason grinned back at the older man. “Is that right?”

“Yes, it goddamned well is. I"m going to teach you and your friend a lesson you"re never going to forget. Now get to your feet, before I smash your skull in where you sit.”

“Mr. Pilcher,” interjected Ned, somewhat hesitantly, “this gentleman"s friend should not be moved. Not for at least—”

“I told you to shut up. Get him ready. We"re taking them both to the jail and tomorrow, we"re going to have us a public flogging.”

shut upMason groaned. He knew too well the stories of these remote settlements, with their almost Biblical sense of justice. He also knew he would never succumb to such indignity. “Ah s**t,” he growled and attacked. He slapped away the carbine and slammed his boot into the first man"s groin. The other two tried to react, but Mason was moving too fast. A big man, he had the grace of a dancer, dipping and swerving, the Navy Colt in his grip, and he shot the second man in the chest, throwing him back against the wall opposite. Pilcher squealed and Mason struck him across the jaw with the revolver, span around, put a bullet through the first man"s temple and watched him crumple, brains spewing out across the lovely, bright white paintwork of the hallway.

The woman took to screaming, a single, prolonged wail of horror and Mason glowered in her direction, struck out his right arm ramrod straight, easing back the hammer of the Colt. “You stop that now. I ain"t going to harm you, not if I don"t have a need to.” The woman immediately stopped and fell into Ned"s arms, who held her close, his terrified eyes locked on Mason"s g*n.

Mason turned his attention to Pilcher, who was on his knees, breathing hard, blood dripping from his broken mouth, and levelled the g*n against the old man"s head. “You"re one self-righteous bastard,” said Mason. “How many men you got in this town?”

Pilcher muttered something, but his words made little sense through broken teeth and a smashed jaw.

“Most of them are probably out on the range,” put in Ned quickly. “He"ll have a few over at the livery stable, but no more than three or four.”

“Armed?”

“I would think so.”

Mason grunted. “I"m going over there, with this sorry bastard. Get myself a horse. I want you to put Newhart into the wagon, make him as comfortable as you can. And I want clean dressings so I can tend to him.”

“But you can"t. He"ll bleed out.”

“Then you better sew him up with cat gut, Doc, because I ain"t looking for him to die on me. You understand?”

“All right, but listen,” said Ned, holding the woman even closer to him. She was sobbing now, but a little calmer than earlier. “You must take it slow; any sudden movements will burst the stitches. You"re best heading north-west, make to the river. There"s a ferry there, about a day and a half"s ride away. There are engineers there, doing a survey. They"ll have a surgeon, I shouldn"t wonder.”

“North-west?” Mason chewed at his lip, “Engineers? You mean Federal people? That don"t seem like such a good option, Doc.”

“You head west, you"ll run straight into Indians. They won"t parley with you. All of that has long gone. There"s trouble in the west, right across the Territory. You go in there; you won"t come out alive.”

Mason considered his options and soon realized he didn"t have any. “Seems like providence has led me this way, Doc. I thank you for your kindness.”

“It"s no kindness, mister. I just want you gone, out of our lives. Now.”

Mason chuckled and lifted Pilcher up by the collar. “Yeah, well, that is understandable.” He tipped the brim of his hat with the barrel of his g*n. “Sorry for messing up your nice little home.” And he went out, dragging Pilcher with him, the old man a dead weight in his grip, but an easy load nevertheless. The man was nothing but skin and bone.