A rotund little man with a red face and silver-gray mutton chop sideburns came puffing along the boardwalk and stopped in front of the law office. He nodded to the two Enforcers and removed his flat-crowned hat to mop at his balding head.
“Gentlemen, you may not recall me as it was dark last time we met out on the edge of town after a shooting incident some weeks ago, but I am Doctor Bartholomew—‘Old Doc Bart’ as I am locally known. I recollect you two gentlemen as being the Governor’s Enforcers and also friends of Big John’s.” He gestured unnecessarily to the big man sagging between the Enforcers.
“Hell, Doc, if you’ve got somethin’ to say, get on with it, huh?” said Cato. “He’s gettin’ mighty damn’ heavy an’ we got no place to set him down.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” the medic said. “You can bring him across to my office. I think it would be the best possible place.”
“Anywhere!” Cato breathed. “Come on Yance! Move! My spine’s creakin’!”
Yancey nodded and they followed the fat little doctor around the perimeter of the plaza to a side street a half block away before turning into a gate leading to the small front yard of a log-fronted house.
The doctor showed them into his office and indicated to put Big John down on the bed in a small room attached. The medic wrinkled his nose.
“I’ve smelled sweeter, I reckon,” he said, and stooped over Early, rolling back an eyelid and examining his eyes with a small mirror reflecting sunlight coming through the window. He did the same to the other eye and Early grunted, rolled his head irritably, muttered something unintelligible. “Well, he’s out to it and likely to stay that way for a spell, though, there’s no telling for sure with a man like Big John Early.”
“Will he be all right, doc?” Yancey asked.
“In time, I guess. But it’ll kill him if they keep him in that jail any longer. They’ve been feeding him likker just to keep him quiet. I suppose, really, the cells were the best place for him. But Big John did a lot for the folk of this town and I for one would like to do somethin’ for him in return.”
“I’ll go get the saddle rigs, Yancey,” Cato said and stumbled out of the room.
Yancey looked at the sawbones. “What’ll you do to him, doc?”
“Somethin’ he won’t like,” Bartholomew said, staring down at the big ex-sheriff. “I’ll keep him here and away from the booze.”
Yancey pursed his lips doubtfully. “How the hell you gonna manage that? He’ll tear this house down round your ears.”
The fat little man smiled slowly, opened his black bag on the bench and rummaged around amongst the instruments and bottles. He brought out a large hypodermic needle.
“This needle will be the great equalizer, Mr. Bannerman. A small injection twice a day will keep him doped-up and quiet.”
Yancey looked dubious. “You sure, doc?”
“I’m sure. But perhaps we might move him to an abandoned cabin outside of town, in amongst some trees and off the main trail. Oh, it wouldn’t be difficult for—anyone—to find it if they were searching hard enough, but it might be best if he’s out of the way for a while.”
“Well, how about when he wakes up, doc? I mean, you can’t keep him doped-up forever.”
“No-ooo. But he’ll come out of it slowly. I’ll taper off the dosage. I’m not saying he won’t be craving for a drink of whisky, but I think he’ll be somewhat more—manageable. In fact, his legs probably won’t support him, but he’ll be in a mighty mean mood.” He paused and looked closely at Yancey as Cato came back in with the saddlebags. “I’ll need someone to help me control him at that stage.”
Yancey nodded and turned to Cato. “All quiet out there?”
“Well, there’re a few cracked heads and a lot of moans in the law office, but I reckon they’ll leave things ride. I told Venters he’d have to get past the Manstopper if he wanted Big John again and he said the hell with it, keep him.”
“Yeah, well we aim to do that.” Yancey shifted his gaze to the medic. “Doc, d’you know exactly what happened between Big John and Conchita Morales?”
Bartholomew sat back against the bench, folded his arms across his ample paunch. “Mr. Bannerman, no one knows for sure what happened between ’em, except themselves. I’ve managed to pick up some of it and it appears that Jose Morales came into town and immediately took his daughter aside. Next thing, she went to see Big John and told him the wedding was off.”
“We know that much. It’s the details I’m wondering about. I’d’ve bet my last dollar that that Mexican gal really loved Big John and that nothing would make her change her mind about marryin’ him.”
The medic sighed. “Yeah, sure seemed that way. Near as I can make out, though, she told him that she’d used him, turned on the charm so’s he’d back her father and he could sell his cattle here and Big John would protect him against the locals. I guess that’s what hurt Big John, that he’d been used, played for a sucker, by a gal he’d put on a pedestal. It was a mighty hard blow for John and that’s why he turned to the booze and went berserk.”
Cato shook his head slowly. “Goddam Mexes and their snooty hidalgo ways! They look all high-principled on the surface, but they don’t mind dealin’ from the bottom of the deck when a few extra bucks are at stake.”
Yancey scrubbed a hand around his jaw line. “I dunno, Johnny. I don’t read it that way. It just don’t ring true to me. Conchita must be a mighty fine actress if it is. I’d’ve bet my life she was aiming to marry Big John when we saw ’em together.”
“Well, so would I,” Cato admitted, “but maybe Morales used her, too, without her knowin’ it.”
“Then why did she tell Big John she’d done it deliberately?” Yancey shook his head and paced across the small room. “No. Something’s wrong and I aim to find the truth of it. I’m going down to that rancho and face Morales and Conchita, and have it out.”
“Hell, Yance! Easy, man!”
But Yancey was adamant. “No. Take a look at Big John there, Johnny. You only met him a few weeks back but you can see the difference in him. He’s a wreck of a man, compared to what he was. I’ve known him for years and I don’t aim to see him broken to pieces this way. I want to get to the truth—If it’s as bad as they reckon, then I’ll stand by him and help him face up to it. If there’s another part of the story to Conchita throwin’ him over like this, then I want him to know it.”
“Er—Mr. Bannerman,” spoke up Doctor Bartholomew. “I don’t think it would be such a good idea for you to leave now.”
Yancey frowned puzzledly. “Why not, Doc?”
“I told you I’ll need someone when he starts to come around. You seem to be the only one capable of controlling him. Certainly I couldn’t. I don’t think Mr. Cato could, either. Folk in this town sure couldn’t. He needs someone he knows, someone he’ll listen to. Otherwise, I’m afraid he’ll just burst out of here and smash his way into the nearest saloon and start boozing and wrecking our town again.”
“Hell!” Yancey breathed.
“You stay with him Yance,” Cato said abruptly. “I’ll go down to Morales’ rancho. It would be better if you stayed here.”
Yancey snapped his head up. “Would you, Johnny? I’d sure like to know what really happened. I can’t leave Big John like this.”
“I’ll get the truth, amigo. Or break a few heads in the process,” Cato promised, deadpan.
Doctor Bartholomew was tired even before he started on Big John Early. It was not until well after midnight that the effects of the drugs he had given Big John were wearing off. The sawbones was so tired he didn’t even notice at first but after washing up and setting out his instruments for the morning—a ritual he insisted on going through each night before retiring—he was drying his hands on a towel when he became aware of a growling sound and spun swiftly.
Big John Early, dazed and groggy, was sitting up on the edge of his bed, reddened eyes only partly open, running a coated tongue around his scaled lips. He had been cleaned-up considerably by the doctor but he still looked like hell. He turned his bleary gaze towards the doctor.
“Dr—drink,” he growled, the word thick and almost unintelligible, way back in his throat, one hand going to his neck.
Bartholomew looked around swiftly but figured he couldn’t get to the door before Early lunged for him and cut him off. He badly wanted to call Yancey for he knew he couldn’t handle the big ex-sheriff alone. But he had to try.
“Drink, Big John? Sure—just let me go get you one from the parlor.”
Early’s thick, tree-like arm shot out and blocked the medic’s passage. He looked at the little man with cunning. “Doc, I reckon you got somethin’ in here for me,” he grated and the medic realized he was more aware than he had figured. “Somethin’ that won’t knock me out, huh?”
The doctor licked his lips. “Look, John, it’s for your own good, man. You’re gonna kill yourself unless you taper off an’ you can do that best with some help from me.”
Early shook his head and lurched to his feet, causing the medic to step back hurriedly. He swayed drunkenly, and his legs wobbled and a big hand gripped the edge of the bed. He turned his shaggy head slowly, straining to focus. Then a twisted grin curled his mouth to one side of his face and he lurched forward, shoving Bartholomew aside as he clawed at the glass doors of a wall cabinet.
He couldn’t manage the small knob and toggle-lock. He rattled the doors savagely, his bulk blocking the doctor from the door. “Yancey!” Bartholomew bawled. “Yancey, help!”
But Early only had one thing in mind now and ignored the doctor. He lifted a clubbed fist and smashed it through the glass panel on the cabinet, sweeping bottles to the floor in his shaking, desperate need. He gripped the glass-stoppered bottle of clear liquid labeled ‘Alcohol—75% w/v’ and wrenched the top off.
“For God’s sake, man! You’ll kill yourself!” cried the doctor and launched himself at Early, yelling, “Yancey! Quick!”
Early held him at bay easily with one hand, drank from the bottle with the other. He coughed and spluttered as the near-pure swabbing alcohol burned his lips, mouth and gullet.
He reared up and roared, flinging the medic across the room, looking around wildly. Then, smiling, he took a glass beaker in one massive, shaking hand, half filled it with water and then poured in alcohol from the bottle. It swirled and grew warm as the liquids mixed and Bartholomew shook his head dazedly, started to slowly clamber to his feet as Early drank.
Then the door burst open and Yancey came charging in, wearing only his trousers. He took in the situation at a glance and lunged at Early, striking out at the beaker. The thin glass crushed and cut the big man’s hand and mouth. Alcohol sprayed and Yancey caught its pungent odor and cursed. He saw the glazed, crazy look in Early’s eyes and started to swing a punch, figuring the best thing to do was to knock the man out.
Big John Early easily parried the blow, yelled and picked up Yancey bodily, hurling him aside. Yancey crashed against the wall. The room shook. The Enforcer fell on top of the doctor, crushing him back to the floor. Early stumbled forward to the door and Yancey, dazed, head ringing hurled himself at the man, arms encircling his thighs, trying to stop him.
Early kept on walking, dragging Yancey’s bulk with him. He snarled and stooped a little as he smashed a fist downwards. His knuckles bounced off the Enforcer’s temple and Yancey released his grip, fell to the floor, barely conscious. The doctor was still fighting for breath and by the time he had managed to scramble to his feet, Big John Early was out the front door and heading down the street.
Bartholomew stooped over Yancey as the Enforcer shook his head dazedly.
“He’s loose, Yancey! He’s heading for town and the saloons!”
Yancey jerked upright, coming out of it fast now. He swore as he lurched for the door. “Doc, fill your hypodermic and follow me!”
He ran up the stairs to his room and dragged on his boots, snatching his gun rig from the chair beside the bed and running back down the stairs. Naked to the waist, Yancey went out through the open front door, running along the street as he donned his shirt, looking ahead for signs of Early.
Since Venters and Hunnicutt had taken over the town, Del Rio had been wide-open and the saloons still roared with drunken cowpokes and others who felt like celebrating well into the small hours. There were fights and street parties and Yancey ran past them all, charging across the plaza towards the nearest saloon, figuring that this would be Early’s target.
Before he reached it there was some sort of commotion and then a lot of yelling, the shattering of glass and woodwork, a wild roaring, and a man’s body came hurtling through the big, street front window in a shower of splintered glass. Then two more men smashed back through the batwings, tearing one off its hinges and Big John Early roared out onto the boardwalk, with four men clinging to his back and two more trying to trip his legs and bring him down. The big, crazed ex-sheriff smashed out with his arms, dislodging one man, clubbing another loose. He plucked one from his shoulders and hurled him into the middle of the street. Then he stepped back fast and crushed the remaining man between his massive body and the saloon wall.
The two men clung to his legs and Early dragged them forward, reached down, lifted one man, screaming, by the hair and threw him aside as if he was no more than an old shirt. The other man released his hold and swiftly rolled back under the shattered batwings. He had had enough. The man who had been thrown through the window, slowly got to his knees, bleeding and dazed, but he backed away from Early, wanting no part of him.
Early, dazed himself, brain befogged, stared around and, swaying, turned to go back into the saloon. Yancey leapt up onto the boardwalk.
“Hey, Big John! Whoa, man! This way!”
Early hesitated, frowned, turned slowly, stumbled. He tried to focus glazed eyes on Yancey.
“It’s me, your old pard, Yancey!” the Enforcer said warily keeping his distance. “Come on. Let’s go on back to the sawbones. Got a drink for you there.”
Early blinked, staring at Yancey, and then looked down as the Enforcer’s fingers closed about his arm, urging him to go with him.
“Drink?” he echoed, the single word slurred.
“Sure. Doc’s mixin’ you up something ... ”
“Hell with that,” Early growled, shaking loose from Yancey’s grip. “I wan’ whisky. Redeye!”
Yancey caught a glimpse of the fat little medic puffing his way across the plaza. He forced a smile.
“Come on, Big John! Have a drink with me. I’m your pard, right? I want to ... ”
“Getta hell away fr’m me!” growled Early and he swung a wild punch.
Yancey wasn’t expecting it and he ducked swiftly, but not fast enough. The hard knuckles bounced off his head. He staggered back against the wall. Early started to turn. Yancey jumped for him. The ex-sheriff swept an arm backwards and sent him sprawling then hit the remaining batwing hard enough to jar it loose from its hinges and readied himself to lurch back into the saloon.
Yancey scrambled up, signaled to the medic to hurry up, and then drew his Colt. With a look of regret, he strode after Big John Early and slugged him across the back of the head with the Colt’s butt. The big man stopped dead, freezing for a moment, before, incredibly, turning to glare wildly at Yancey. The Enforcer swore; wouldn’t anything stop this rampaging man-mountain, he thought. Then Early bared his teeth and lifted his arms, hands clawed as they reached for Yancey. He took one step and suddenly his eyes rolled up into his head, showing the whites, and his knees buckled and Yancey stepped back as he toppled forward and smashed to the boardwalk.
Yancey blew out his cheeks in a long sigh of relief.
Doc Bartholomew came hurrying up and, breathing raggedly, knelt and plunged his hypodermic needle into Early’s arm.
“Now that one’ll hold him till morning,” he panted.
“Hope to hell it does,” Yancey said rubbing his head and looking around at the wreckage. Don’t want too many more nights like this.”
“Amen to that!” muttered the little doctor.