Dr. Boyd stood on the boardwalk outside his office, alongside Richard Hunt, mugs of coffee in their hands. They were watching as a tight bunch of riders came along the street and it was obvious they were heading for Boyd’s place.
It was still early morning, few people about. If Boyd had been expecting a slow day he was about to be disappointed.
‘That’s Brand,’ Hunt said.
‘Hallows and Kilpatrick,’ Boyd said, recognizing the lawmen..
The four riders halted in front of them.
‘The man called Butler has a bad shoulder and arm wound,’ Hallows said. ‘And Kilpatrick needs some attention too.’
‘See to the man first,’ Kilpatrick said.
Boyd handed his coffee mug to Hunt, then moved forward, assisting Hallows and Brand in getting Butler off his horse. The man was barely awake, his wounded shoulder and arm a mass of congealed and darkened blood. He dragged his feet as he was maneuvered inside the doctor’s office.
‘Can I give you a hand, Sergeant?’ Hunt said.
‘And disturb your own wound? I’ll be fine, Captain, but thank you for the offer.’
The Irishman slid from his saddle and stood for a moment. When Hunt offered him one of the coffee mugs he took it gratefully, gulping the hot liquid quickly.
‘You should get yourself inside and let the doctor look at you,’ Hunt suggested.
‘Yeah, go on and get yourself checked out Sergeant,’ Brand said as he stepped back outside.
Kilpatrick nodded. ‘I think that might be a good idea, sir. I must admit to feeling a mite weak.’
The Irishman took himself inside.
‘A successful endeavor?’ Hunt asked.
‘We faced off Tung’s hired guns. But Tung and Traeger gave us the slip and by now they should be back in the city.’
Hallows joined them.
‘I should take a walk to my office,’ he said. ‘In case there are matters I need to attend to.’
‘Anything happens I’ll let you know,’ Brand said.
Hunt watched the Inspector leave. ‘I’m sure they will,’ he said. ‘Things happen.’
They do, Richard, old chum.’
They were both right.
~*~
Butler let out a pained moan as Boyd peeled off the bloody bandage. The doctor made a cursory examination of the messy wound. Broken bone showed in the ragged flesh and even with his scant view the doctor could see there was little he would be able to do for the damage.
He glanced across at the patiently waiting Kilpatrick
‘Seamus, how are you doing?’ he asked.
The Irishman shrugged. ‘Next to that poor sod I only have a scratch.’
‘I need to deal with Butler right now.’
‘Then do it. I’m not about to keel over and die on you.’
Boyd soaked a pad in chloroform and placed it over Butler’s face, holding it there until the man lapsed into unconsciousness. With the man asleep Boyd pulled on a long white smock, washed his hands and gathered his instruments. Before he looked to Butler the doctor checked Kilpatrick’s side and cleaned it, wrapping a wide bandage around his body.
‘You’ll need stitches in that. I’ll treat it further after I’ve done with Butler.’
‘What are his chances?’ Hunt asked.
‘Chances? That he’ll likely live but end up with a crippled arm. The bullet has ripped his bone to shreds and probably damaged nerves and muscle. All I can do is patch him up and hope he doesn’t catch an infection.’
~*~
Brand had stepped back inside the doctor’s office, leaving Hunt to stand outside for a minute. As he started to turn around to make his own way back inside himself, Hunt spotted a couple of Chinese on the opposite side of the street. They were making a show of looking in the window of a boot maker, appearing to be interested in the display behind the glass. Something in their manner aroused Hunt’s curiosity. When he turned about glanced into the widow of Boyd’s office where he could see the reflected images of the Chinese pair. Now he had his back to them they were staring at him. Hunt pushed open the door of the doctor’s office and stepped inside. As he closed the door he stepped to the side. Staying in the cover of the inner window frame he watched as the Chinese pair made their slow way across the busy street.
They were moving directly towards the office. And from the staring expression on their faces they weren’t on a house call.
Bloody hell, the Englishman thought, no walking away from this.
He slipped his Colt from its holster, easing back the hammer.
‘Jason,’ he called.
Brand came out of the back room and joined him at the door.
‘Visitors,’ Hunt said. ‘And I don’t see them as very friendly.’
As Brand looked on the Chinese produced weapons from beneath their tunics. He pushed the door shut.
‘Definitely not friendly.’
The two Chinese stepped up on the boardwalk, launching kicks at the door, sending it crashing back open. They came straight through into the office.
Hunt had already backed off, raising his drawn pistol as the black clad Chinese confronted him. The Englishman didn’t hesitate, moving faster than the newcomers might have expected, taking the fight directly to them. The Colt thundered loudly in the confines of the office and the closest intruder, clutching a short-handled hatchet spun away as the .45 caliber lead slug embedded itself in his chest. At the short range the slug lost none of its power. It dug a damaging path through the man’s body, breaking rib bones and expanding as it went on to tear at the man’s heart.
As his companion dropped the other Chinese launched himself in Hunt’s direction, slashing the air with the long-bladed, wide knife he was wielding. Hunt backed up, attempting to bring his Colt on target, but the frantic, close up attack forced him to lose the advantage. The Chinese made an angry howl, striking out again. The blade of his knife struck the barrel of the pistol, jarring it from Hunt’s grasp. He took a hasty step back, heel catching against the edge of the carpet laid across the floor. He stumbled, falling, recognized the wild expression in the Chinese man’s eyes, and realized – without it doing him any good – that the man was under the influence of opium. His drugged condition had pushed him into a state of violent excess…
‘Hey,’ Brand yelled loudly.
The loud exclamation delivered in a commanding tone, distracted the Chinese. He flicked his head around and found himself staring into the barrel of Brand’s .45. Yet in his aroused condition he still went for Brand, who fired from no more than a couple of feet away. The Chinese went down heavily, blood and flesh in his wake as the slug took the top of his skull off.
Hunt picked up his discarded pistol and climbed to his feet.
‘I owe you for that, Jason,’ he said.
‘Can’t abide people barging in like that.’
Hunt nodded. ‘Something tells me we have upset Mr. Teng.’
Brand had bent over the Chinese, sniffing the air. ‘These two smell heavily of opium. Giving themselves a boost.’
‘What in the world has been going on here?’
Dr. Boyd stood framed in the back room doorway.
‘A couple of Tung’s thugs,’ Hunt said.
‘It appears to me that heathen is determined to make life difficult for us all,’ Hunt said.
‘It seems so,’ the doctor agreed. ‘What were they after?’
‘At a guess Henry Lee. Wanting to finish what they started when he broke away from them.’
‘Their information wasn’t so good then. Not even knowing the poor fellow is already dead.’
‘Tung wants to make sure he removes anyone who could stand in his way,’ Hunt said.
‘How will he feel if Bodie succeeds in rescuing Jasmine Soong?’
‘What if he fails?’ Boyd said.
‘Right now that’s something I don’t want to consider,’ Brand said.