“The doctor? What does he have to do with it?”
“He's the one that established the quarantine. All I'm doin' is enforcin' it.”
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“Doctor Poindexter, I don't understand why we can't go home,” Meagan said. She and Sally had gone there as soon as they left the marshal's office.
“Diphtheria is a terrible disease, Miss Parker. Surely you understand that we can't take a chance on spreading it to other towns.”
“Diphtheria?”
“Yes, ma'am, diphtheria. We have an outbreak in this town, and I'm trying to keep it from getting any worse.”
“But neither one of us are sick. I would think you would want everyone who isn't sick to get out of danger,” Meagan said, taking in Sally with a wave of her hand.
“You don't know whether you are sick or not. You were in contact with young Laura Hastings, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“That means you have been exposed. Some contract the disease, but present no symptoms at all. But even though they are not affected by the disease, they are still carriers and can infect others. You might already have infected this young woman.”
“But you don't understand. It's Christmas. I have obligations back home. And forget about me. What about your own citizens? Don't you realize that if they aren't able to do business during the Christmas season some of them could go bankrupt?”
Dr. Poindexter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think I wanted to do something like this at Christmas? Everyone has obligations. Including me. And my biggest obligation is to prevent, if at all possible, an epidemic of diphtheria.
“Now, which is worse, Miss Parker? Would you prefer several businesses go broke, or several men, women, and children die of diphtheria?”
“Diphtheria?” Meagan asked in a quiet voice. “Are you saying we have an epidemic of diphtheria?”
“Yes, ma'am, or so it appears.”
“The little Hastings girl? Oh, my God, has she died?”
“No, but a little girl named Helen Sinclair has died. And a man named Ralph Walters. And others are sick.”
“Oh, I . . . I didn't know that. Yes, of course, if that is the case, I can see that you have no choice.”
Meagan recalled the visit of young Laura Hasting to Cora's store, as well as the conversation she'd overheard in the dining room of the hotel. Even then, she'd begun to have a rather disquieting feeling that some sort of illness was going around.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE
“Diphtheria?” Smoke said, when Sally returned to the hotel to tell him what she had found out at the doctor's office.”
“Yes. Evidently two have already died. Smoke, I feel like such a fool going there to complain the way I did.”
“You aren't a fool. On the contrary, it would have been foolish not to follow up on this. You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think Matt and I should go back to see Marshal Worley.”
Sally chuckled. “Didn't you once say never apologize, that it makes you look weak?”
“Oh, I don't plan to apologize.”
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Marshal Worley was standing in front of his office, leaning on the post that supported the overhanging roof, when Smoke and Matt approached.
“Did you speak to the doc?” Worley asked.
“No, but Sally did,” Smoke said. “Marshal, we were wondering . . .”
“I can't do it, Smoke,” Worley said, shaking his head. “I can't let you folks leave, and keep ever'one else here. How would that look?”
Smoke smiled. “It would look like you're playing favorites. but that's not what I was about to say.”
“Oh? What was it?”
“It's going to take some effort to enforce this quarantine. If you think you could use us, Matt and I would be happy to volunteer as deputies.”
“You would do that?” Marshal Worley asked, surprised and obviously pleased by the offer.
“Yes. That is, if you want us.”
“Yes, absolutely I want you! That would take a lot of the worry from me. I don't know how to thank you, Smoke.”
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There was only one church in town, and its pastor, the Reverend Nathaniel Sharkey, was Presbyterian by affiliation. Despite his denomination, he conducted his services in an ecumenical way so as to accommodate every citizen in town, regardless of their religious background.
Sharkey was working on his Christmas Eve service in his office with the door open when he happened to look up and see Dr. Poindexter come in through the front of the church. He found that a little strange, for while Poindexter was a regular attendee of the Sunday services, he had never come to church in the middle of the week.
Sharkey stood, assuming that Poindexter was coming to see him, but the doctor walked down to the front of the church, then kneeled before the altar. The pastor stepped out of his office, but not wanting to interrupt the doctor at his prayer, he stood there quietly as Dr. Poindexter remained on his knees.
Not until Dr. Poindexter stood up, did Reverend Sharkey approach him.
“Good afternoon, Doctor.”
“Reverend.”
“Won't you come into my office and have a cup of coffee? I'm working on my Christmas Eve sermon, but I'm due a break. I would love it if you drink some coffee with me.”
“Thanks, I believe I will,” Dr. Poindexter said, following the preacher back into his office.
A small wood-burning stove sat in the corner, doing a good job of keeping the office warm. Reverend Sharkey used an old purificator cloth as a hot pad and lifted the blue metal coffeepot off the stove, then poured two cups. “You look troubled, George,” he said as he handed one of the cups to the doctor.
“I'm afraid there won't be a service on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day,” Dr. Poindexter said.
“What? Why of course there will be a church service. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”
“Reverend, we are facing an epidemic of diphtheria.”
Reverend Sharkey's eyes widened. “We have a diphtheria epidemic?”
“We are on the verge of one, yes.”
“Oh, my. I hadn't heard. I can see why you came to the Lord in prayer.”
“I'm going to need more than the Lord. I'm also going to need the Lord's house.”
“What do you mean?”
“As you know, Reverend, we don't have a hospital in town. If someone needs extra care, I generally keep them in my office for a few days. I have a room in the back just for that. But I'm afraid we may wind up with fifty, sixty, maybe even a hundred patients. I simply don't have room for that many patients, and I can't be running from house to house to tend to them. I'm going to need a place to keep them.”
“In other words, you want to turn the church into a hospital,” Reverend Sharkey said.
“Yes,” Dr. Poindexter replied. “Reverend, I know this is asking a lot of you, and if you don't want to . . .”
“Of course I will do it,” Reverend Sharkey replied. “I don't know what we will do for beds, or even sheets and blankets. But I'm perfectly willing to let the church be used as a hospital.”
“We can use the pews as beds. I hope we can convince people to bring any extra sheets and blankets they may have to you. They will have to donate them, because after they have been exposed to the diphtheria germ, it will be necessary to burn them.”
“If you give me some instruction on what to do, I'll be glad to help you tend to them.”
“I can't ask you to do that. You'll be exposing yourself to the disease.”
“Aren't you exposing yourself?”
“It's my job to tend to people. I'm a doctor.”
“And it's my job to tend to souls. I'm a pastor. I will be here with you, Doctor.”
Dr. Poindexter smiled, and reached out to put his hand on Sharkey's shoulder. “You're a good man, Reverend.”
Sharkey's smile was grim. “I'll start around town now, gathering up as many sheets and blankets as I can.”
Chugwater
Early in the afternoon, Duff stepped into Fiddlers' Green, where he saw that there was a lively card game in progress at one of the tables. It was crowded with brightly colored poker chips and empty beer mugs.
One of the players threw his cards on the table in disgust, then stood up. “I've had it, boys. This is the unluckiest chair I've ever sat in. I ain't drawed a winnin' hand at all.”
Jason McKnight laid down his cards and glanced over toward the bar. “Duff, come on over and join us. We have an empty chair here, if you're feelin' lucky.”
Duff tossed the rest of his drink down, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I'd be glad to. Who's been the winner so far?”
“That'd be Doc Presnell, here,” Jason said. “You'd better watch out for him. He's got a lucky streak going this afternoon.”
“Lucky my hind clavicle,” Dr. Presnell said. “It's just that I know how to cheat without getting caught.”
Such a comment in a game among strangers might be a dangerous thing to say but where all were friends, it merely brought the laugh it was meant to bring.
Duff bought forty-five dollars' worth of chips and stacked them up in front of him. Cards were dealt, the game was played, and he won the first hand.
“Better watch it, Doc,” Jason said. “Duff's got him a lucky streak coming. I can feel it in my nose.”
“Ha. He can feel it in his nose,” said one of the other players. “Tell me, Doc, you being a doctor 'n all, have you ever he' erd of such a thing?”
“Well, with a nose that big, I wouldn't doubt it,” Dr. Presnell said, and the others around the table laughed.
“What do you hear from Miss Parker?” Stan Hardegree asked. He owned a ranch just north of Chugwater. “The reason I ask is I haven't bought a Christmas present for my wife yet, and Miss Parker is real good at helpin' choose something.”
“She'll be back before Christmas,” Duff said as he picked up the dealt cards for the second hand.
“Good,” Hardegree said as he examined his hand. “Hah! And I might just win enough money with this hand to pay for it, too.”
“Most people wait until a few hands are dealt before they start trying to run a bluff. Stan starts as soon as he picks up the cards,” McKnight said.
The game continued for several hands. Duff was winning a little more than he was losing, but he wasn't the big winner. Neither was Doc. Apparently, Duff's play changed the dynamics to the point that everyone seemed to be winning a bit more.
Duff happened to look up toward the door just as Marshal Craig came into the saloon.
Seeing Duff at the table, Craig went over.
“Hello, Russell,” Duff greeted with a smile.
“I just received a telegram from Rawhide Buttes with some disturbing news,” Craig said.
Duff's smile faded. “Meagan is in Rawhide Buttes.”
“Yes, I know.”
Duff felt a sense of concern. “Marshal, don't tell me something has happened to her.”
“No, not that I know of. At least, not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet? What is this about?”
“Diphtheria, that's what it's about. According to the telegram I just received, the entire town of Rawhide Buttes is under quarantine. No one is allowed into town, and no one can leave.”
“Will the quarantine last through Christmas?” Duff asked.
“I don't know. I just know that the stagecoach won't be running until further notice.”
“Then I'm going to get her,” Duff said, standing.
Marshal Craig put his hand gently on Duff's shoulder. “Duff, didn't you hear what I said? Nobody can enter the town. Nobody can leave the town, either. Not until this is over. Marshal Worley has the entire town shut down.”
“Can he do that, Russell?”
Marshal Craig nodded. “Yes. He can do that.”
“Can we send telegrams?”
“Yes, I don't see why you couldn't do that.”
Duff looked at the other players sitting around the table. They had been following the conversation closely. “Gentlemen, I'll be taking m' leave of ye. I've enjoyed the game.”
He gathered up the poker chips, about sixty dollars' worth, and took them over to Biff. “Hold on to these for me, would you, Biff? I'm going down to the telegraph office.”
“You'll be sending a message to Meagan, will you?”
“Aye, and one to Smoke as well.”
“Tell her the whole town will be thinkin' about her, and we'll be keepin' her in our prayers.”
“I will,” Duff promised.
It took him only a couple minutes to go from the saloon to the Western Union office. He pulled the door open and walked inside.
Titus Gilmore stepped up to the counter. “Hello, Duff. Need to send a telegram?”
“Yes, to Rawhide Buttes.”
Gilmore had just picked up his pencil, but he glanced up at Duff. “Rawhide Buttes? I just got a telegram from there about half an hour ago.”
“About diphtheria,” Duff said.
“Yes. How did you hear so fast?”
“Russell Craig told me about it. That's why I need to send a telegram. Megan Parker is there. So are Smoke Jensen and my other houseguests. As a matter of fact, I'll be wanting to send a telegram to Smoke as well.”
“All right,” Gilmore said. “Who first? Miss Parker?”
“Yes.”
“I'm ready,” Gilmore said, holding the pencil over a tablet. He wrote out what Duff wanted on the telegram.
HEARD ABOUT DIPHTHERIA EPIDEMIC STOP ALL HERE SEND LOVE AND PRAYERS STOP WILL COME SOON AS I CAN LOVE DUFF.
Gilmore counted the words. “That will be four dollars and twenty cents. Ready for the next one?”
Duff nodded and told him what to write to Smoke.
AM AWARE OF YOUR SITUATION STOP LOOK AFTER MEAGAN AND STAY SAFE STOP DUFF
.
“That one will be two dollars and eighty cents,” Gilmore said.
“Please get them sent right away,” Duff said, proffering the payment.
“You can stay right here and watch. Before you leave the door, it'll be there.”
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From the
Chugwater Defender:
Diphtheria Outbreak
Word has reached this newspaper that an outbreak of diphtheria has struck the town of Rawhide Buttes. The entire town has been shut down, with schools and businesses closed. Stagecoach and freight traffic into and out of town has been suspended and Marshal Worley has posted guards on all the roads to enforce that edict.
Dr. Poindexter has sent a request to Cheyenne for the antitoxin serum that has, in recent years, proven to be effective in treating diphtheria. It is believed that if a sufficient supply of serum can be acquired in time, that it can cure the afflicted and prevent many deaths.
It is understood that the serum is available and will be dispatched immediately.
The next day a second article appeared. A follow-up piece, informing the readers on the status of the diphtheria antitoxin serum.
Diphtheria Antitoxin Will Pass Through Chugwater Tomorrow
M
EDICINE ON THE WAY TO
R
AWHIDE
B
UTTES
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The residents of Rawhide Buttes are facing the prospect of a most dismal Yuletide due to the dreadful outbreak of diphtheria. As reported in an earlier edition of the Defender, Dr. Poindexter has declared a quarantine in an attempt to isolate the disease.
But, God willing, a Christmas miracle may be in store for the beleaguered citizens of the stricken city. One hundred lifesaving vials of diphtheria antitoxin are on their way to Rawhide Buttes. Were the messenger to be carrying gold, the shipment would not be more valuable.
Rawhide Buttes
Smoke was standing at the west end of the road that came from Millersburgh. Matt was standing at the other end. Their job was to prevent anyone from entering or leaving town. It wasn't that they had to prevent people from coming into town. All they had to do was explain that the town was dealing with an epidemic of diphtheria, and people were more than willing to turn around.
It was much more difficult to deal with the people who wanted to leave. Often entire families were traveling in wagons loaded with all their possessions.
“You got no right to keep us here,” one man was saying. He and his wife were plainly dressed, wearing overcoats against the cold. Two small children were in the wagon behind their parents, looking at Smoke with confused and frightened expressions on their faces.
“What is your name, sir? Smoke asked.
“My name is Bailey, Ron Bailey. I'm a decent citizen and I've never been in no trouble in m' whole life. Like I say, you can't keep us here. I've got a wife and kids to look after.”
“Where are you planning to go?”
“To Millersburgh,” Bailey said
“Do you have family there?”
“No, but that don't matter.”
“Mr. Bailey, look at it this way,” Smoke said. “Word of the diphtheria epidemic has already gotten out. Like as not, the people of Millersburgh have already set up a roadblock outside of town. Once they learn you are from Rawhide Buttes, they aren't going to let you in.”
“The man's right, Ron,” Bailey's wife said. “If they don't let us in, what will we do then? I've no intention of spending Christmas in a wagon because they won't let us come into town.”
“So you would rather stay here, and take a chance on one of us gettin' the diphtheria, or maybe our young'uns?” Bailey asked.
“Mr. Bailey, if none of you have the disease now and if you just stay in your home until the danger is passed, chances are you'll all be all right. The doctor has sent for some medicine that will cure the disease in those that already have it. That will stop it from spreading any further.”
“Ron, let's go back. How bad can it be if we just stay home?”
“All right,” Bailey said reluctantly. He slapped the reins over the backs of his team, and the horses started to turn the wagon.
“I appreciate it, Mr. Bailey,” Smoke said. “You're doing the right thing.”
He stood in the middle of the road, watching the wagon go back into the town. He hated doing it, but knew he had done the right thing. Not only to prevent any possible spread of the disease, but because he was sure no other town was going to allow anyone from Rawhide Buttes to come into their town.