CHAPTER 33

The fifteen-minute absence of Dr. Asheman had stretched to nearly an hour by the time Billy Connery put down his pen and handed the pad to Alex Gunnison.

His work as an illustrator had given Connery the gift of a nimble pen. Despite his weak condition, he managed with succinctness and celerity to present Gunnison a written account of what had happened to him since his arrival at Culvertown. His account ended with his being stabbed and slashed by the man McCurden, who had initially presented himself to Connery as one Jim Grant.

Gunnison read the account quickly, then again more slowly. “So we really don’t know what has become of Kenton,” he said. “You never actually saw him yourself.”

“No,” Connery whispered.

At that point the outer door opened. Someone strode across the room and entered Connery’s bedroom. It was a tall, tired-looking man, who was startled to see Gunnison there. He approached him with an outstretched hand and a serious look upon his face.

“My name is Asheman. This is my clinic. I gather you’ve talked to my patient.”

“Yes.… I’m Gunnison, Alexander Gunnison. I work with your patient.”

“I hope you haven’t had him talking much. His throat was slashed and it’s too early for him to be using his voice. He’s lucky to have a voice at all.”

“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ve had him writing rather than speaking.”

“How did you know he was here?”

“I didn’t. Finding him was a surprise. I actually came looking for you, Doctor.”

“You’re ill?”

“No. But there is a woman at the hotel, Miss Rachel Frye, who is fevered and in need of your help.”

Asheman sighed. It had been a long day already. “Very well. I’ll go to her. But tell me, is she—”

The outer door of the office literally burst inward with a crash.

“Asheman! Doc, are you here?”

Asheman headed out the door. “I’m here, Preacher. What’s—oh, my goodness.”

Sammons carried in his arms the blood-crusted, weakened form of Stockton Shelley.

“The boy’s been stabbed, Doc. But not just now.… I found him hiding in the church. He says he can’t remember how long he’s been there.”

“Get him on the table there, and help me cut those clothes off him.” Asheman turned to Gunnison, who had also come out into the outer office. “Sir, unless that fevered woman is in the most severe condition, I’m afraid I must make a priority of this case.”

“Indeed, Doctor. Miss Frye can wait. Perhaps, given the situation you face, I should try to bring her here rather than you go there.”

“If you please, sir, I’ll go to her. I’ve got only two beds here, and young Stockton is about to occupy the second one.”

Asheman turned his attention to Stockton; Gunnison turned to go back into the room where Connery was … but Connery had gotten up and had entered the front room, leaning against the wall to keep from falling.

Asheman noticed what was happening. “Connery! What the devil … Get back in that bed before you collapse!”

Connery staggered forward instead. He had heard it all from the back room but had to confirm with his own eyes that it was Stockton Shelley in the room. He went to the table where Stockton had been placed. Asheman continued to protest, but Connery did not even hear him.

Stockton looked up and saw Connery. A spark of life returned to what had been a lusterless gaze.

“It’s you.… I know you.”

“What happened, Stockton?” Connery’s voice sounded horrible, hardly audible at all.

Asheman swore and might have physically pushed Connery away had he not been in such bad shape. “What the devil is going on here? My patients are fraternizing now? Get back in that bed before you tear your wounds open again, Connery!”

Connery turned to Gunnison. His words came out riding the crests of his weak gasps of air. “This boy … is the one … who told me where … to find Kenton.”

“Quit trying to talk!” the doctor barked, only to be ignored yet again.

Gunnison came closer to the table. Connery had described his encounter with Stockton in the written account he’d given to Gunnison. “Do you know where Kenton is?” he asked Stockton.

“I must insist…” Asheworth began, only to be cut off by Stockton.

“He was in the mansion.… Now there are men in town who are chasing him. They hurt me. And they murdered my father.” Some emotional dam broke inside Stockton, and he began to cry. “They murdered my father!”

Now even Asheman was drawn in. “Your father has been killed, Stockton?”

“Yes.… He’s in the mansion.… They tried to murder me, too.”

Stockton’s wailed declarations would have sounded hard to believe except for the evidence of the wounds on his small and pale body.

“Where is Kenton now?” Gunnison asked Stockton.

“Who is Kenton?” the doctor asked, only to be ignored.

“In Caylee,” Stockton replied. “I think he is in Caylee. The men chasing him were going to go there.… They were going to pay me to take them.”

Asheman seized control again. “That’s enough, all of you!” He barked an order to Gunnison: “Help Connery get back to his bed, and for God’s sake don’t let him open his own wounds!” He turned to Sammons. “You’d best go fetch the marshal. This boy is talking about a murder having occurred, and if he’s right, I don’t think it’s even been detected yet.”

Sammons nodded and headed for the door without a word.

The doctor looked at Gunnison. “You may as well make yourself useful. Get that fool back into bed before he kills himself, then come help me with my patient.”