Dixon stepped across the entrance to the doctor’s examination room. Joab’s exclamation slammed against him, and he followed his friend’s gaze to the plant that lay wilted against the boy’s fist.
Sage. A patch of sage grew where the dogs attacked. Why would this child leave his play to pick sage? Abbadon—had he suggested it? He couldn’t have known about the dogs, could he?
Dixon shook his head. What reason would the man have to want Rupert dead?
“Perhaps we should get Mrs. Black onto the buckboard and home before the storm hits.” Dr. Petrie motioned toward Joab’s wife.
Joab’s gray countenance wrenched Dixon’s heart. If God cared, He’d not let this man and wife suffer more, but a glance at that sky suggested otherwise. The last time Dixon saw clouds like that he had to use a shovel to clear the hail from his step. “Mrs. Black”—Dixon faltered—”I’m sorry. We should …” He rubbed his rough chin. “Joab, perhaps you should bring your wife and help her into her seat.”
Joab nodded and placed his hand on his wife’s elbow. “Sarah.”
The woman stared at Dixon. She looked fragile, ready to shatter at any moment.
Dixon rubbed his NWMP insignia. He didn’t have much experience with women, and whenever they fell to pieces he felt more out of control than a wild horse fleeing prey.
Joab guided her to the buckboard. “Love, we need to hurry.” He settled her in the seat and came back for Rupert.
Dixon followed him out the door.
As Joab carried his son across the boardwalk, a gust of wind hit him, and he stumbled. The boy’s body shifted in his arms.
Dixon lunged to steady his friend, and he glanced at the sky. Lightning lit up the lower line of the northern horizon. The storm had crossed the river—only a matter of minutes before it hit.
“Don’t think they’ll make it home.” Dr. Petrie huffed. “That looks like a bad one. Reminds me. …”
“Let’s just get this over with.” Dixon laid his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.
Dr. Petrie grimaced. He wiped his nose with his fist and grunted as he glanced at the boy’s body now lying in the back of the wagon. “Make sure Mrs. Black is warm, or she’ll be coming down with pneumonia.”
Dixon climbed in beside Joab’s son. “Say, Doc …”
Dr. Petrie looked up. His pale face reflected Dixon’s own feelings.
“Could you get this over to the station master?” Dixon handed him a slip of paper. “I’d like this cable sent out right away.”
“Yes sir. No problem.” Thunder clashed, and Dr. Petrie glowered at the sky. “Better run these horses, Joab. Prove their breeding. You should get home in under ten minutes. Lord willing the storm will hold off until then.”
Joab nodded. He snapped the reins on the backs of the horses. “Yah!”
The team jolted forward.
Dixon’s heart lurched when a chunk of hail hit the back of the buckboard. If the size of that hailstone was any indication, there’d not be much left of the crops.
“God, get us home!” Joab shouted to the wind.
Dixon clung to the sides of the buckboard and watched the boy’s body bounce as the horses raced homeward. If only Joab’s prayer would be heard.