Chapter Four

MOST excitement this town’s had in years,” said Sheriff Joe Bankhead, pulling at his mustache. He sank down in a chair across from Pellman and signaled for some beer. Then he dragged out a bandanna and mopped at his face. “That shore was a crowd, Doc. Thought we’d never get the way clear for them to get aboard.”

Pellman poured his glass full. But he did not drink. His young face was pensive and he was staring thoughtfully into the great distances.

“How come all this happened?” said Joe. “I can’t git it through my thick skull that you’re you. I seen you yesterday and almost before I thought I almost said, ‘Hello, sonny.’”

Pellman smiled. “Can’t say as I’m used to it either, Joe.”

Joe noisily drank his beer and then wiped his mustache. “Was them real honest-to-God professors and things, Doc?”

“Real honest-to-God professors, Joe.”

“I still can’t figure it out. What would professors want with a tramp?”

“I hope they know,” said Pellman. “I was sorry to … Oh, well. What the devil. After all, I didn’t have a bill of sale on Doughface Jack.”

“I kinda figure he didn’t like leavin’ you, Doc. He kept lookin’ at you after he got on the platform like he was minded to stay.”

“Joe, it isn’t right. I have a feeling it isn’t. Something may happen.”

“What? He ain’t dangerous. He’s just a tramp.”

“Just a tramp,” echoed Pellman thoughtfully.

“Well, ain’t he?”

“Joe,” said Pellman, “that ‘tramp’ could do more for this world than any other living man. With a glance he can cure anything. But …”

“Yeah, I heard somebody say that. But I think it’s the bunk, don’t you, Doc? How could a thing like that happen?”

“You saw what happened to those people that went in to see him all last week,” said Pellman.

“Yeah, but …” Joe shook his head. “How could a thing like that work, huh?”

Pellman smiled wickedly. “Have you ever heard of mito-genetic rays, Joe?”

“Huh?”

“Mito-genetic rays. They were first discovered as coming from onions. ‘Mito’ means ‘a thread’ and ‘genetic’ is the same as ‘generator.’ ‘Thread-generators,’ then. Onions grow better when there are a lot of onions around. But no weeds grow in an onion patch. Onions, throwing out mito-genetic rays, kill weeds and benefit other onions.”

“Huh? How come?”

Pellman shrugged.

“What’s that got to do with Doughface Jack?” said Joe.

“I put his brain together. I had to sew up the two halves because of skull splinters and such. That’s the first time I know of that the two halves of a man’s brain have been connected. And then the entire brain is under silver, which will carry most currents. That’s as close as I can get.”

“Y’mean Doughface Jack has an onion in …”

“No,” said Pellman. “Every man has those mito-genetic rays in his head and nerves. Almost any human can look at yeasts and kill them just by looking. For instance, you could kill the yeasts in that beer just by staring at the beer and concentrating.…”

“Huh?”

“Anyhow,” said Pellman, “by connecting up his brain and short-circuiting the wave action I didn’t hurt his thinking process but I increased his generation of mito-genetic rays. Consequently, when he looks in kindly fashion at another person he can cure that other person of anything.”

“Yeah, but …”

“Look,” said Pellman. “When you come into a room you can tell the man with the most magnetic personality there. Some people make you feel good and others make you feel bad. That is a slight reaction of mito-genetic rays. But onions can cure each other, evidently, by that process and kill out weeds.”

“Huh,” said Joe, slumping down. “Gimme another bottle of beer. Doc, all I can see is Doughface Jack walkin’ around with an onion instead of a head.”

“Another beer here,” said Pellman. He stared thoughtfully at it as he poured it and then sipped at it without much enthusiasm.

“Y’worried?” said Joe.

“A little,” said Doc Pellman. “The world isn’t full of onions, you know.”