Part 40 (2/2)
”Doc!” Tracker shouted. He heard the revelers outside. Across the room, rain pattered on the sill of an open window. But he didn't hear the Doc. Moving into the examination room, he said, ”Doc, where-”
He stopped. Doc Ansen lay face down in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been cut.
Don, Tracker thought.
He stepped over the body and laid Caroline on the examination table. The blade in her shoulder throbbed as blood spilled out of her wound. She was dying. She needed a doctor, but there were no other doctors in town.
Tracker thought quickly. A myriad of townsfolk flashed through his mind, but only one would do under the circ.u.mstances. He just hoped there was a little more to midwifery than delivering a baby.
”Ben!” he shouted.
His deputy lumbered into the examination room, rubbing his shoulder. He saw the Doc and gasped.
”Ben, look at me,” Tracker said.
”Oh, Doc,” Ben said.
”Deputy!”
Ben looked at him.
”Fetch Sylvia Platter and tell her the baby is coming.”
”Yes.” He looked back at the Doc.
”Ben,” Tracker said. ”The Doc is dead, but my wife is still alive. She needs your help.”
”Yes-yes, you're right, Sheriff,” Ben said. ”I'll get her.” He rushed out of the office.
Before turning back, Tracker allowed himself a moment to look at the Doc.
He was a good man. He was a good man who didn't deserve to be slaughtered like a pig.
”I'm sorry, Doc,” Tracker said. ”I'm so very sorry.”
Across the street, Foster banged on his piano.
Tracker stared out the window. He stared hard at The Ram.
Ben must have run faster than he'd ever run before, because he was back in a few minutes with Sylvia. She hurried into the examination room, still in her chemise.
”Sylvia,” Tracker said. ”Don't look at the Doc, he's been-”
”Your deputy already told me,” she said, stepping over the body. ”Benjamin? Please drag the body out of this room.”
Tracker had expected Sylvia to faint or go into hysterics, but she seemed to dismiss the body as if it were an unfortunate clod of dirt. As far as Tracker knew, she held no hatred for the Doc. Perhaps she blamed him for not saving her son. Or maybe (and Tracker thought this likely), everything else pales in comparison to holding a dead son.
”Come on,” she said. ”He won't bite.”
”Yes ma'am,” Ben said, grabbing the Doc's ankles. He dragged the body into the waiting room, leaving a trail of blood behind.
”Now,” Sylvia said. ”Let's see this wound.”
”Don tried to kill me,” Tracker said. ”He threw his knife but missed.”
”I can see that,” she said. She pursed her lips and folded her arms.
Do something, Tracker silently pleaded. Do something!
Across the street, someone shattered a gla.s.s. Foster started on Oh Susanna! and a banjo joined in.
Tracker turned and stared at The Ram again.
”I know what to do,” Sylvia said.
”Thank G.o.d,” he said, turning back to her.
”And I don't need your help to do it. Go get your man.”
The sound of a gunshot rattled the windows.
”Tate told you,” Tracker said.
”Of course he did,” Sylvia said, examining the wound. ”My husband is the only honest man I've ever known. That's why I married him.”
”It was the only way to be sure. We needed proof.”
She looked at him. ”And did you find what you were looking for?”
”Yes,” Tracker said. ”We surely did.”
”Then get.”
After allowing himself a good, long look at his wife, Tracker left the examination and headed for the door.
”Sheriff,” Ben said, jumping up from the bench. ”Where are you-”
Tracker stepped outside. It was raining harder now, a cold rain that stung his face and drizzled down his back. The revelers had moved inside The Ram, but the storm hadn't stopped the celebration. A cheer rose up as someone yelled Hank's name.
”Sheriff,” Ben called, chasing after him.
”Stay there,” Tracker said. ”Sylvia may need your help.”
”What are you doing?”
”Going to have a word with Andy.”
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