A Frontier Christmas (13 page)

As Smoke, Matt, and Sally rode up to the ranch house, they were met by Duff and Elmer.

“Welcome back,” Duff said. “How was your trip to Fort Russell?”

“It was most successful.” Matt dismounted with a broad smile on his face. “So successful that we have come bearing gifts.”

“Come on. Let's get in out of the cold,” Duff invited.”

“Smoke, you and Matt take in the packages,” Sally said.

“I'll help,” Elmer offered, motioning to a nearby cowboy to take care of the horses.

Once inside, the packages were set on the table, with Smoke pointing out which ones were for Elmer, as well as Jarvis and Angela Sterling.

“And you say this one is mine?” Elmer asked, pointing to one of the gaily wrapped boxes.

“It is indeed,” Sally said.

“Thank, you.” With a big smile, he picked up his package and started to pick at the bow. “Let's just see what's in here.”

“No, you don't! You put that down, now!” Sally cried.

“What?” Elmer replied, shocked by the outburst. “Well, look here. Didn't you just say this 'n was mine?”

Sally put her hands on her hips. “I did. But these are to be put under the Christmas tree, and they can't be opened until Christmas morning.”

“What Christmas tree?” Elmer asked. “We ain't got no Christmas tree.”

“Then I suggest you get one.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Elmer replied with a smile.

“Elmer, you just learned in one minute what it took me ten years to learn,” Smoke said. “When Sally speaks, it's the law.”

Duff and the others laughed.

“Speakin' of law,” Elmer said, “Duff done a little lawin' of his own while you all was gone, what with him chasin' down 'n bringin' in the bastards who murdered the mayor's family.” Then, realizing what he had said in front of Sally, he apologized. “Oh, I beg your pardon, ma'am. Please excuse the language.”

Sally frowned. “Never mind that. What do you mean, murdered the mayor's family?”

“You haven't heard? It's been in all the papers.” Elmer told what had happened to R.W. Guthrie's son, daughter-in-law, and their children.

“Oh, that poor man,” Sally said. “I know how proud he was of his son and grandchildren.

Smoke turned to Duff. “And you brought them in, did you?”

“Aye. It was three men, Sunset Moss, and Jesse and T. Bob Cave. I'm afraid that I had to kill Sunset Moss. He left me no choice.”

“Good for you. You saved the county the price of a rope,” Smoke said.

“That's a little gauche, isn't it, Smoke?” Sally asked.

“Didn't you just agree with Elmer when he called them bastards?” Smoke replied. “Are you saying Moss didn't deserve to die for what he done?”

“For what he
did
, not for what he
done
.” Sally, ever the teacher, corrected Smoke's grammar. She smiled. “And yes, he deserved to die.”

 

In the Rocky Mountain Hotel, Hodge Doolin was examining his registration book. He saw that Ralph Walters was now three days past due on paying his room rent.

“Mike, I know I said I wasn't going to say anything to him, but how about running upstairs to Mr. Walter's room? He's three days late. Ask him to please stop by the desk and settle his account. Also, to let us know if he is going to be with us any longer.”

“All right.” Mike left the check-in desk and started up the wide, foot-worn stairs that led up to the second floor. He heard a loud burst of laughter coming from the bar and shook his head.

Reaching the second floor, he walked down the long, rose-carpeted hallway until he reached the last room on the left. He knocked on the door. “Mr. Walters?”

No answer.

He knocked again. “Mr. Walters, are you in there?” He still didn't get an answer and wondered if Walters had already left, but didn't tell anyone. He tried the door, but it was locked. “Mr. Walters?” he called again.

When he didn't get an answer the third time, he took out his skeleton key, inserted it in the keyhole, then turned it. He pushed the door open about a quarter of the way, then called out again. He didn't want to take a chance on getting shot.

“Mr. Walters?” Still getting no answer, he stepped into the room. Walters was lying on the bed, his neck swollen as large as his head. His mouth and eyes were open . . . and his skin had a bluish tint.

“Lord in heaven!” Mike gasped.

Turning away from the bed, Mike shut the door and locked it, then hurried down the stairs. Doolin was entering numbers in his account ledger.

“He's dead,” Mike said in a quiet voice.

Doolin looked up. “Who's dead?”

“Mr. Walters, the feller you sent me up to see. He's lyin' there in his bed, dead as a doornail.”

“You mean somebody murdered him? Damn. We'd better get the marshal.”

“No, I don't think nobody kilt him. He just died. Only I tell you the truth, Hodge, he's the damndest lookin' corpse I done ever seen.”

“All right, don't say anything about it to anyone else in the hotel. Just go down to the mortuary and get Tom Welch.”

 

 

Dr. Poindexter adjusted the electric lamp in his office as he read the article in the
Boston Medical and Surgical Journal
.

Dr. Poindexter quit reading, then he bowed his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “My God,” he said quietly.

“Doc! Doc! You in here?”

Dr. Poindexter looked up to see Carl and Edith Lester come in. Carl, who owned a saddle and leather shop, was carrying his son in his arms. Danny was gasping for breath.

“Doc! You've got to do something for m' boy!” Lester said in a near panic. “He can't breathe!”

“Put him on the table,” Dr. Poindexter said, pointing to the examining table. “Jenny, I'm going to need a scalpel and a hollow tube.”

Jenny, who was not only his nurse but also his wife, provided the scalpel, then went back for the hollow tube. He began feeling around on the boy's neck until he found the Adam's apple, or larynx, then just below that, the cricoid. That's where he put the point of the scalpel.

“Hold on here, Doc. Are you goin' to cut my boy's throat?” Lester asked angrily.

“That's exactly what I'm going to do, unless you want him to die,” Dr. Poindexter said. “He's got to have air, and his windpipe is closing down.”

He made a horizontal cut about half an inch long and half an inch deep, exposing the cricothyroid membrane, which he also cut. Into the hole, he inserted the hollow tube that Jenny had provided him. “Breathe, Danny, breathe!” Dr. Poindexter said.

“He isn't breathing.” Jenny leaned over and put her lips around the end of the hollow tube.

“What is she doing?” Lester asked, still in a high state of agitation. He started to reach for Jenny, but Dr. Poindexter pulled him back.

“Mrs. Lester, if you want your son to survive, keep your husband away from him.”

“Carl, I'm sure they know what they are doing,” Mrs. Lester said. Her words did seem to have a calming effect on her husband.

Jenny blew softly into the tube, took another breath, then blew again, then again.

“George, I feel his breath,” she said after a moment. “He's breathing!” she added excitedly.

“Thank God,” Dr. Poindexter said. “Good job, Jenny.”

“Will he be all right now?” Lester asked anxiously.

“I can't promise you that,” Dr. Poindexter said. “I can only say that he isn't going to die immediately. What I have to do now is get the mucus membrane from his larynx.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Look, Mr. Lester, I know you are concerned. But please, just let me do what must be done, then I'll explain it all later.”

“All right. I'm sorry. Just do whatever has to be done, Doc. Don't pay me no never mind. The thing is, I'm just awful worried.”

“I understand, and you have every right to be worried, because Danny's condition is quite serious. But I promise you, I'll do everything that I can. Jenny, I'll need a solution of three parts water to one part hydrochloric acid. Would you prepare that for me, please?”

“Do you want it in a bowl, or an aspirator?”

“A bowl.”

As Jenny prepared the solution, Dr. Poindexter opened a drawer and removed a feather. When the solution was mixed, Jenny came over to stand by Danny, and held the glass bowl containing the acid and water solution. Dr. Poindexter dipped the end of the feather into the acid, removed the tube he had inserted into Danny's neck, and sticking the feather into the open hole, began twirling it around. He did that for a few seconds, then picked up a long rubber hose and stuck one end of it into the opening in the boy's throat. He began sucking at the other end. After a moment, he removed the end of the hose from the boy's throat and blew through the hose, expelling a combination of blood and yellowish pus.

After several such applications, he introduced a solution of carbolic acid into the nostrils.

Danny immediately sneezed and coughed.

“What are you doing to him?” Lester asked angrily.

“Mr. Lester, please,” Jenny said calmly, putting her hand gently on Lester's shoulder. “Let the doctor do his job.”

“Carl, if you can't watch this, go outside,” Mrs. Lester ordered.

“You mean you can watch it?” Lester asked.

“Yes, if it helps my child, I can watch it.”

Lester glared at Dr. Poindexter for a moment longer, then pointedly turned on his heel and left the room.

“Close the wound on his neck,” Dr. Poindexter ordered. “Let's see where we are.”

Jenny put a bandage around the boy's neck, closing up the tracheotomy wound. She bent down very close to him. After a moment, she raised up. “He's breathing on his own, now,” she said, a big smile spreading across her face.

“Good.” Dr. Poindexter brushed a fall of hair back from his forehead, leaving a smear of blood.

Quickly, Jenny got a damp cloth and wiped the blood away.

“He's breathing on his own? Does that mean he's cured?” Mrs. Lester asked.

“No, but it means we have a start. Mrs. Lester, I'm going to give you a solution that you should use to swab out his throat once every hour. Also, put him in bed in a room where you can open the window to allow outside air to enter.”

“But, Doctor, it is so cold!” Mrs. Lester complained.

“Yes, it is, so keep him well wrapped up in blankets. But it is very important that he gets fresh air.”

“All right.”

“Call Carl back in. You can take Danny home now.”

Mrs. Lester stepped to the door of the examining room and called out, “Carl, you can come in now.”

“How is he?” Carl asked, hurrying back into the examining room.”

“He has a chance,” Dr. Poindexter said. “I've given Mrs. Lester instructions on what needs to be done. Also, and this is very important. Go straight home from here, and once you get home, don't leave the house again until I tell you that you can. Don't leave and don't let anyone come visit you.”

“What do you mean, don't let anyone visit us? We're planning a Christmas dinner for all our friends,” Mrs. Lester objected.

“You're going to have to cancel it.”

“I can't stay away from work,” Carl said. “I have projects that need to be completed.”

“Your customers will just have to understand. I'm putting you and your entire family on quarantine.”

Carl didn't understand. “Quarantine? What does that mean?”

“It means you can't go see anyone, and nobody can come to see you.”

“What about goin' to the store for groceries?”

“No, you can't do that.”

“Hell, what if we run out of food?”

“How long can you go with what you have now?” The doctor looked at Mrs. Lester.

“Three or four days,” she replied.

“In three days, I'll bring you some more groceries.”

“How come you can come see us if nobody else can?” Lester asked.

“Because I'm a doctor, and it's my job to take such a chance.”

“Doc, maybe you don't know it, but Christmas is comin'. What right you got to treat us like this?”

Dr. Poindexter took a deep breath. “You're right, it is nearly Christmas.” He spoke quietly, using Lester's first name. “Carl, Do you think I would treat you like this if I didn't absolutely have to?”

“All right. Whatever you say, Doc,” Lester said in acquiescence.

“Mr. Lester, Danny has diphtheria.”

“Oh, God in heaven! Diphtheria?” Edith Lester put her hand to her mouth. “That means he's going to die!”

“Not necessarily,” Dr. Poindexter said. “We may have gotten to it in time. If you do what I tell you to do, there's a chance we can save him.”

“All right. I can understand why we need to keep Danny away from ever' body, but why can't I go to work?” Lester kept asking questions.