Bodie led them along the hard baked, rutted street at a steady walk. Fine dust, disturbed by their passing, hung in their wake. He was heading for the doctor’s office first. From his previous visit to Wishbone he knew its location. It was halfway along the main street, between a hardware store and a clockmaker’s establishment. As they drew rein Brand stepped out of his saddle and mounted the boardwalk. The surgery door was flanked by blacked out windows. A sign on the timber wall to one side of the door proclaimed—Elliot Kasner, Medical Practitioner. Brand knocked, waited a reasonable time and knocked again.
Brand and Adam helped the semi-conscious Hec Rankin off the horse, with Joanne monitoring every move. They moved Rankin onto the boardwalk as the unlocking of the door told them the doctor was awake.
The man who opened the door was tall, tending to extreme leanness. His thick dark hair tousled. He stared at them, taking in their general disheveled appearance. Then his gaze settled on Rankin and his blood-soaked shoulder. To his credit the doctor wasted no time on questions.
‘Bring him in,’ he said. ‘Go right through to the surgery in back.’
The doctor closed the door and followed them.
‘Bullet wound in his shoulder,’ Joanne said. ‘He’s lost a great deal of blood.’
Between them Bodie and Adam stretched Rankin down on the long leather couch. The doctor immediately worked on removing the stained covering, saying little until he had exposed the wound. He bent over it and examined the raw gash in Rankin’s shoulder.
‘I’ll go find the local law,’ Bodie said.
He turned and left.
‘What happened here?’ Kasner asked, staring at the ragged hole in Rankin’s shoulder.
‘Took the slug out,’ Brand said.
Kasner glanced up at him. ‘What with? A broken bottle?’
‘We weren’t in a position to perform ideal surgery,’ Brand pointed out.
‘All we had was a knife and a jug of liquor to clean it,’ Joanne said sharply. ‘It was something that needed to be done quickly.’
Kasner took another look at the wound. ‘Have to admit it looks as if you’ve prevented infection setting in.’
Joanne said, ‘Praise indeed, doctor.’
The medic managed a smile at her remark. ‘If I caused offence, I apologize. ‘
‘Doc, we’ve had a long ride down off the mountain,’ Brand said. ‘We’re not at our best right now.’
‘Sounds as if you’ve got problems.’
‘Does men with guns following us count as problems?’ Joanne said.
‘You ever heard of the Monks?’ Brand said.
‘Some. They live way up high,’ Kasner said. ‘All I do know is they’re not the most hospitable sort.’
Brand pointed at Rankin. ‘You got that right.’
Kasner was already rolling up his sleeves and moving to wash his hands. ‘Then I need to deal with this man.’
‘His name is Rankin,’ Brand said. ‘Deputy US Marshal.’
‘Hec Rankin,’ Joanne said. ‘You have an assistant, Doctor Kasner?’
‘No. Why?’
Joanne stepped to the sink to wash her own hands.
‘I think you do now,’ Brand said. ‘And don’t waste your time arguing with her over it.’
He turned to leave, Adam close on his heels.
‘Jason,’ Joanne said, ‘be careful out there. All of you.’
Brand made his way back outside. It was getting brighter. The street was still clear—except for the tall figure of Bodie making his way towards them, with a badge-wearing man close at his side.
‘Doc’s seeing to Rankin,’ Brand said.
Bodie nodded. He jerked a finger at the lawman beside him.
‘Dan Conway. Town marshal. I told him what’s been happening.’
Conway was in his early forties. A solid looking man wearing a black suit and a white shirt. He had a wide-brimmed Stetson on his head. His boots looked as if they had been around for some time, thought the leather held a shine. Under his jacket he wore a .44-40 Colts Peacemaker with a long barrel in a high riding holster on his right hip. He held out a steady hand to grip Brand’s.
‘You’d be the Jason Brand used to carry a US Marshal badge?’
‘Yeah. Another life,’ Brand said. He indicated Adam. ‘This my boy. Adam Brand. Right now don’t ask. It’s complicated.’
‘Bodie told me your story,’ Conway said. He offered a tight smile. ‘If you’ve crossed paths with Nathanial Monk and his kin…’
‘Not the kind to back off easy.’
Conway nodded. ‘And Bodie, here, is going after the bounty on Thad Monk. Seems to me you fellers just don’t choose the easy life.’
‘Choose isn’t the word I’d go for,’ Bodie said.
Brand said, ‘You got a telegraph office?’
‘Over to the rail depot. You need to send something?’
‘Couple of messages.’
‘Give me time to rouse Harry Gilman and get the office open. You and Bodie want to wait in my office. I’ll have somebody take your horses over to the livery and look to them.’
‘I can stay with Joanne,’ Adam said. ‘Keep my eyes open.’
‘Not so sure about that.’
‘Pa, I won’t do anything stupid.’
‘Make sure you don’t,’ Brand said. ‘And have the doctor look at your head, boy.’
He watched as Adam stepped back inside the doctor’s office, closing the door behind him.
‘Glad all I got to concern myself with is my horse,’ Bodie remarked as he and Brand made their way up the street in the direction of Conway’s office.
Wishbone’s law office was like a hundred others Brand and Bodie had been in. A room holding a desk and a few chairs. Scuffed and creaking floorboards. Gun rack. Wanted posters pinned to the wall with thumbtacks. A blackened stove already throwing out heat, with an equally blackened coffee pot issuing steam.
‘Now that smells damn good,’ Bodie said.
A barred door opened onto the cells. To one side was a store room and a small room holding a low cot and clothes chest. Conway’s room. The sum total of the lawman’s life. Brand knew it well. He had worn badges in a number of town’s like Wishbone. The post of local lawman was far from romantic. The pay was small, the hours long, and there was little more to it than that. In most instances a thankless task. Often long on boring routine and sometimes downright dangerous.
Brand stood and surveyed the surroundings in silence.
‘Know what you’re thinking,’ Bodie said. ‘Lawman. Manhunter. We both must be missing something in life to put up with it.’
Brand rubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw, wincing when he touched the bruises he’d gained from his set to with Bodie.
‘All the glamour. The excitement. Chances to travel and meet new people. Get shot at. What’s not to like, Bodie?’
Bodie leaned against Conway’s paper strewn desk.
‘You got me there.’
There were tin mugs hanging from hooks on the wall near the stove. Brand took a couple and poured coffee, handing one to Bodie. They were sampling the coffee when the door opened and Conway came in.
Bodie raised his mug. ‘We helped ourselves.’
Conway took a mug and filled it. ‘Telegraph office will be open for business by the time you walk over.’
‘Obliged,’ Brand said.
Conway took his seat behind the desk. He leaned back in the creaking swivel chair. Threw his hat on the desk and studied Brand.
‘I have to ask,’ he said. ‘You say the boy with you is your son?’
Brand sensed Bodie showing interest. He might have known who Adam was but it hadn’t gone further than that yet. Brand told his story. Simply and brought the pair up to date.
‘And you never…’ Conway said.
Brand shook his head. ‘Met him on the train when I was leaving Washington. Didn’t know he existed until then.’
‘Must have been a hell of a surprise.’
Bodie choked off a low chuckle. ‘Not as much as if it had been a girl.’
The thought had never occurred to Brand until that moment.
‘Hell, you’re right about that.’ He drained his mug. ‘I’d better get over and send those telegrams. Bodie, you want to check on the patient.’
Conway said, ‘I’ll take a stroll through town. Folk will be starting to move around any time now.’
He reached for the gun rack and took down a 10 gauge Greener shotgun with cut-down barrels. He hung a small canvas bag holding extra shells around his neck.
They went their separate ways, Brand making his way up to the end of the street and through the business section, passing the cattle pens and corrals. The pens were empty. One of the corrals held a number of horses and a man was forking hay into the feeding troughs for them. He barely acknowledge as Brand walked by. He skirted one of the store huts and saw the telegraph office sited on the rail platform. As he walked closer the side door opened and a skinny, middle-aged man rushed out. When he saw Brand he waved his arms, signaling in alarm.
‘You the feller Marshal Conway said was comin’?’
Something told Brand he wasn’t about to receive good news.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong,’ the man said. His voice was high with agitation. ‘There ain’t no telegrams going out, that’s what’s wrong.’
Brand stepped up close. ‘Why?’
‘Because the line’s dead,’ Harry Gilman said. ‘It was fine when I closed up last night. Now there ain’t a peep out of it. Not a goddamn peep. You know what I think, mister, I think somebody went and cut the wire. Can’t see any other reason. Been no bad weather. Nothing to cause damage.’
Brand stepped back, scanning the area, searching for any movement that shouldn’t have been. He raised the Winchester, feeling a jolt of concern.
If the telegraph wire had been cut, isolating Wishbone, it was more than likely the Monks were behind it. And if that was so it meant they were around.
Here in town.
In Wishbone.
‘I’ll send out a repair crew,’ Gilman said. ‘Could take a while.
And then Brand heard the abrupt whip crack of a rifle firing. More shots followed.
Brand spun on his heel, ignoring Harry Gilman’s questions.
Damnit, he thought. They were here in town.
Close on that he felt a cold fist clutch at his chest.
Adam.
At that moment nothing else mattered.
If they had hurt his son…
He dug in his heels and took off at a dead run. Heading back towards the main street, and hoping he was not too late…