Several men stood outside the cell, their eyes glued to him like he was a freak show in P. T. Barnum’s “Greatest Show on Earth.”
“He’s a wild man, all right,” someone said.
“What are you going to do with him, Sheriff?”
Everyone started talking at once. A nearby movement. He shifted his gaze. He wasn’t alone in the cell.
Someone leaned over him, blocking his view of the others. “I’m Dr. Myers,” the man said. “I removed a bullet from your leg. You lost a lot of blood, so you’ll probably be weak for a while.”
Wolf gaped at him. The doctor had two different colored eyes, one blue, one brown. He knew that face. The face was older, of course, twenty years older. Broader. Fine lines were etched in the forehead, traces of gray in the sideburns that hugged his jaw. Even if Wolf didn’t recognize the face, he would always know those eyes.
The doctor patted him on the shoulder. Wolf cringed beneath his touch but the doctor either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“I’ll be back in a day or two to change the bandage. Blink if you understand.”
Wolf continued to stare at Myers. He didn’t trust the man. Wasn’t about to take his gaze off him, not for a second. Hatred bubbled up like a hot tide, surprising him with its intensity. He never thought to harm another man. Never wanted revenge. That’s not why he came back to Rocky Creek after all these years.
But lying there helpless in that cell, dependent on the skills of a man who had caused him such pain, Wolf couldn’t help but feel anger. He wanted to make the man suffer for what he did. Make them all suffer.
Dr. Myers asked him again to blink and when he got no response, he picked up his leather bag and turned. “I don’t think he understands.”
“What do you ’spect from a half-breed wild man?” someone said.
The sheriff unlocked the cell and let the doctor out. Soon they were all gone, their voices fading away with their footsteps. Once again Wolf was alone with the ghosts of the past.
He drifted in and out of consciousness. The doctor’s face swam around in his head. One blue eye. One brown. Rough hands. Curses. Darkness.
Later, much later, he awoke. He felt like he was on fire, his mouth dry. His leg burned like someone had poured acid into it. It was pitch-black in his cell. The only source of light was a single star shining through the barred window overhead. He dragged himself across the cell and held on to the bars with both hands.
Doc Myers, they called him. So that was his name. All these years, he never knew his name. Only the eyes. One blue. One brown. Oh yes. You don’t forget eyes like that.
At long last, he’d come face-to-face with his past. It wasn’t the end. It was only a start. There had been four of them that long ago night. He had only to find the other three.
Ten
A man with an excess of self-portraits is deemed successful;
a woman simply vain.
– M ISS G ERTRUDE H ASSLEBRINK, 1878
L ucy arrived back in Rocky Creek late in the afternoon. The trip to and from Garland had been worse than she anticipated. The stagecoach was overcrowded and the roads rutted from the spring rains. The trip was a total waste of time and money.
Mr. Phelps was not one of the stagecoach robbers and, in fact, was insulted at the mere suggestion. He did, however, readily admit to shooting a man during a card game, a man he claimed “deserved to be shot.”
She suspected Barnes would find reason to blame her for the lack of success, though none of it was her fault. In no hurry to face him, she hoped the editor had not noticed the stage’s arrival. She was hot and tired and anxious to change out of her dusty traveling suit. She was in no mood to deal with her employer. Not today.
After supervising the unloading of her camera and equipment, she stooped to pick up her valise.
Her brother Caleb came running out of their father’s store.
“Lucy! You’re back! How was your trip?”
“I’ve had better,” she said.
He
“He’s a wild man, all right,” someone said.
“What are you going to do with him, Sheriff?”
Everyone started talking at once. A nearby movement. He shifted his gaze. He wasn’t alone in the cell.
Someone leaned over him, blocking his view of the others. “I’m Dr. Myers,” the man said. “I removed a bullet from your leg. You lost a lot of blood, so you’ll probably be weak for a while.”
Wolf gaped at him. The doctor had two different colored eyes, one blue, one brown. He knew that face. The face was older, of course, twenty years older. Broader. Fine lines were etched in the forehead, traces of gray in the sideburns that hugged his jaw. Even if Wolf didn’t recognize the face, he would always know those eyes.
The doctor patted him on the shoulder. Wolf cringed beneath his touch but the doctor either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“I’ll be back in a day or two to change the bandage. Blink if you understand.”
Wolf continued to stare at Myers. He didn’t trust the man. Wasn’t about to take his gaze off him, not for a second. Hatred bubbled up like a hot tide, surprising him with its intensity. He never thought to harm another man. Never wanted revenge. That’s not why he came back to Rocky Creek after all these years.
But lying there helpless in that cell, dependent on the skills of a man who had caused him such pain, Wolf couldn’t help but feel anger. He wanted to make the man suffer for what he did. Make them all suffer.
Dr. Myers asked him again to blink and when he got no response, he picked up his leather bag and turned. “I don’t think he understands.”
“What do you ’spect from a half-breed wild man?” someone said.
The sheriff unlocked the cell and let the doctor out. Soon they were all gone, their voices fading away with their footsteps. Once again Wolf was alone with the ghosts of the past.
He drifted in and out of consciousness. The doctor’s face swam around in his head. One blue eye. One brown. Rough hands. Curses. Darkness.
Later, much later, he awoke. He felt like he was on fire, his mouth dry. His leg burned like someone had poured acid into it. It was pitch-black in his cell. The only source of light was a single star shining through the barred window overhead. He dragged himself across the cell and held on to the bars with both hands.
Doc Myers, they called him. So that was his name. All these years, he never knew his name. Only the eyes. One blue. One brown. Oh yes. You don’t forget eyes like that.
At long last, he’d come face-to-face with his past. It wasn’t the end. It was only a start. There had been four of them that long ago night. He had only to find the other three.
Ten
A man with an excess of self-portraits is deemed successful;
a woman simply vain.
– M ISS G ERTRUDE H ASSLEBRINK, 1878
L ucy arrived back in Rocky Creek late in the afternoon. The trip to and from Garland had been worse than she anticipated. The stagecoach was overcrowded and the roads rutted from the spring rains. The trip was a total waste of time and money.
Mr. Phelps was not one of the stagecoach robbers and, in fact, was insulted at the mere suggestion. He did, however, readily admit to shooting a man during a card game, a man he claimed “deserved to be shot.”
She suspected Barnes would find reason to blame her for the lack of success, though none of it was her fault. In no hurry to face him, she hoped the editor had not noticed the stage’s arrival. She was hot and tired and anxious to change out of her dusty traveling suit. She was in no mood to deal with her employer. Not today.
After supervising the unloading of her camera and equipment, she stooped to pick up her valise.
Her brother Caleb came running out of their father’s store.
“Lucy! You’re back! How was your trip?”
“I’ve had better,” she said.
He
Similar Books
