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see a tall man walking
his way. So this was the sheriff, Dexter Dane. John had stopped at
the sheriff’s office today as it was right across the alley from
his back door. He’d met the deputy, Pete Miller, but the sheriff
had been out. John stepped forward. “I’m Dr. John McCutcheon,
sheriff. “ He put out his hand.
Sheriff Dane took it into his own. “I heard
of your arrival but haven’t had a chance to drop in. I went out to
the Wells Fargo swing station today to get a statement from Chester
about the three passengers and two employees who were killed. I’ll
want to get your statement too, in the next day or two.”
The sheriff was an older man, probably his
father’s age. He was tall and thin with a pitted face. He must have
been in a fight sometime in the past because several of his front
teeth were missing.
“Well,” John said. “I need to get back to my
patient. You know where to find me.”
Chapter Fourteen
T he smell of
coffee drew John out of his sleep. He stretched, relieving all the
tensions that had been building in his body for the past week, then
laid back, staring at the ceiling of his new, tiny room. After a
moment, he found a match and lit the lantern by his bed. Checking
his pocket watch, he found it was almost five o’clock.
He pulled on his pants and a shirt and
descended the stairs to find Tucker in the kitchen, reading the
paper with a hot cup of coffee on the table in front of him.
“Morning.” John ran his fingers through his
hair as he looked around the quiet kitchen. “You’re an early
riser.”
“Reckon so.”
John motioned to the examination room with a
nod and asked, “They awake yet?”
“Haven’t heard a peep.”
John glanced around the kitchen.
“Bottom shelf of the cupboard.”
John went to the back of the kitchen and
retrieved a cup. He filled it with dark, fragrant liquid. The first
sip burned all the way down, just the way he liked it. At the table
he pushed some of the clutter to the side and sat down. “You like
doctoring?”
Tucker looked up. He nodded and reached for
his cup. “Yup. I do.”
The row of books in the other room caught
John’s eye. “Read any of Bixby’s medical books?”
The boy straightened, as if surprised John
was interested in him. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
John sipped his coffee then asked, “Really.
Which ones?”
“Robley Dunglison’s Practice of
Medicine.”
“Mmm, that one is good.”
“Elements of Surgery, by Robert Liston and
Samuel Gross. Really liked that. It has a lot of good
illustrations.”
John was impressed. Those two books were hard
reading and took attention and determination to get through. Only
someone who really loved the subject would be able to complete
them. “Any others?”
Tucker’s cheeks deepened in color. Then, as
if he’d decided to trust John, added, “Midwifery Book, by Thomas
Ewell.”
“ I’m very impressed,
Tucker. Good for you.” Should he encourage the boy toward medical
school or would that road only lead to frustration? He didn’t know.
His handicap was somewhat limiting, but sometimes a determined
spirit could find ways of getting around almost anything. “I have
some others I brought with me. Remind me later to show them to
you.”
The morning flew by as the two doctors and
Tucker prepared the patient to go home. A buckboard for transport
was rented and Martha was all smiles with the quick recovery her
daughter was making. Dr. Bixby insisted on going and taking Tucker
along with him, to help get the child settled in.
The moment the buckboard rolled out of sight,
John headed to the telegraph office. It took twenty frustrating
minutes to learn that the lines had been down for a few days and
the only way to communicate was with a letter.
John realized in his present frame of mind he
should probably eat before he went looking for the banker. It might
improve his mood. Although he doubted it. The bank was just across
the street and he’d like
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