Читать книгу Johnny Nelson - Clarence Edward Mulford - Страница 7

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A LESSON IN MEDICAL ETHICS

Doc Reed, finding his tobacco pouch nearly empty, led his horse around to the door and went in to replenish the pouch. He plunged his hand into the big tobacco jar—and let it remain there, the tobacco slipping from his fingers, for a guttural, muffled voice suddenly said:

"Hands up! Shut up! Come here, backwards!"

An argument in one's own mind can be exhaustive and reach a conclusion in a very short space of time. It took the Doc about a second to weigh matters and abandon the idea of hurling the jar, and with the decision his hand came slowly out and went up, with the other, above his head. While he was doing this his eyes had not been idle and they saw everything there was to be seen, for he was trained in observation. They saw: A man of his own height, dressed in an old, well-worn, yellow slicker; a sombrero so covered with gray dust as to resemble a hat only in shape and function, its brim pulled well down in front; a pair of common black trousers reaching from the slicker down to common boots, so thickly covered with gray dust as to resemble the hat in everything but the above-mentioned characteristics; a common cotton kerchief, of a pattern found on half of the kerchiefs on the range, was tied across the caller's face, hiding it from chin to eyes; a narrow strip of the intruder's face, so indistinct in the shadow of the hat brim as even to hide the color of the eyes; a pair of gloved hands, the right of which was held in front of the intruder and on a level with his eyes; and last, but emphatically not least, a heavy, common-calibered Colt, with ivory grips yellowed by use and age, which weapon was firmly gripped by the upraised hand. The hammer was up, and a crooked, gloved finger lay in the trigger guard. As the Doc moved to obey, as he turned around, he caught a glimpse of a heavy, black line running from the lower edge of the ivory grip uncovered by the curling fingers. It looked as though it was a crack filled with dirt, which was a little thing, but not too small a thing to be forgotten.

"Whoa!" growled the man in the door.

The Doc obeyed. "What do you want?" he asked coolly.

"Nothin' you can lose," came the answer. "Back up a little more!"

The Doc backed, stopped when the gun pressed into his back and stood motionless while a heavy hand felt him over. It took a Colt out of his shoulder holster, and then the victim felt the gun at his back move a little. He smiled slightly, for the fact that his captor had shifted it to the left hand so he could use the right to empty the captured gun and then toss it across the room onto the bed was no due, for the reason that all of the men he knew were right-handed. The pressure changed again as the right hand went back on the offensive, and then the intruder gave him his second surprise.

"Pack yore tools—broken laig—take everythin' you need. Hurry!"

The Doc stepped forward and picked up a satchel, glancing out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Only a hand, a foot, and part of the hat and face were in sight, the rest of the visitor's body being behind the outside wall. Filling the bag with what he would require, he took a bundle of splints from a shelf, for he was a methodical person, usually had plenty of time on his hands, and believed in having things to suit him.

"It was not necessary to go to all of this trouble," he smiled, as he reached out to turn down the lamp.

"Stop! Let it burn!" warned the visitor.

"Very well, although I only intended to turn it down. As I said, it was needless for you to go to all this trouble and risk. I am in the habit of going on professional calls at any hour, in any weather, merely upon a simple request, or a statement of fact. If this is a practical joke I may or may not enjoy it—usually the victim doesn't—but I really don't mind, if you are careful with this bag and its contents. You might be the man to need it first—quién sabe?"

"I shoot at th' first false move," warned the other. "You are goin' to th' SV—now—with me—an' fast. I'll lead yore hoss—mine's out yonder. Go ahead of me, an' don't look back."

The Doc obeyed and his captor, feeling around the saddle for weapons, grasped the bridle and led the animal to where his own was picketed. Mounting, he ordered the Doc to do likewise, and soon they were pounding along at a good pace, too good to suit the Doc, considering how dark it was.

Their coming had been prophesied by the stranger that afternoon, and now it was heralded by the rolling hoofbeats; and as they neared the house two figures, one considerably shorter than the other, appeared in the lighted doorway, while behind them a clock slowly struck ten.

The captor growled a command and, surprised, the Doc pulled up quickly. "There won't be no charge for this call," he said, "an' remember that I'm stayin' outside, near th' window. You make a false move an' I'll shoot you through it. If th' job ain't well done, I'll shoot you when I find it out. You don't know me, so you won't know who to watch for; but I know you well—all h—l can't save you. Don't talk more than you have to, an' then only about yore trade. Get off, an' go in—hurry, before they come out here!"

The Doc dismounted, turning for a look at his captor's horse and saddle, and walked forward, adjusting his hat and pulling at his coat sleeves. Handing the bag to the boy who ran to meet him, and who seemed to be very much surprised, he led the way to the house, bowed to Margaret and went inside. The boy, looking back reluctantly, slowly followed him, and as the man in the saddle tied the Doc's horse to a sapling and swung around to leave, he saw the slender figure of Margaret reappear, softly outlined against the mellow, yellow light of the room and framed by the darkness, for all the world like a jet cameo against an old ivory background. She stood without moving while the horseman in the dark, the glint of whose brass saddle ornaments barely reached her, bent low in the saddle and removed his hat. She could not see this, nor his slow departure, 'though she faintly heard the soft tread of his horse on the sod, steadily growing fainter. A voice from within called her, and turning, she shook her shoulders as if to throw off a restraining force, and hastened to answer the summons.

Reaching the main valley, Johnny rode at a lope, and when he believed himself to be well past the quicksands, he entered the river, following it close to the bank. Leaving the water at the main trail, he dismounted, removed the saddle and bridle and, slapping the horse on its rump, sent it homeward. Picking up the saddle and seeing that the stirrups did not drag, he stepped only on rock as he went up the mountain, where he stopped at the base of a great pine. When he came down again to go to his own horse he had left behind him everything belonging to Squint, the saddle in the brush, and the weapons and gloves well-wrapped in the slicker and buried in a sand drift.

Some time later, in Gunsight, Two-Spot heard a rider and, waiting a few minutes, slipped into the horse shed, where he spoke softly to Pepper before running his hand over her.

"Huh! What made Dave say he went to Juniper?" he muttered. "She's warm, but not much; her back is near dry. Juniper?" he scoffed. "Thirty mile there, an' thirty mile back, since noon? He was some place; but I'll bet my jewels he ain't been to Juniper. There's deviltry afoot—but I ain't talkin', little hoss."