Bloody Trail (2 page)

“
Ach, you don’t say! That has to
be Mrs. Blunkett. She was looking as round as a kürbis.” He
hesitated as he searched for the word in American, then his eyes
widened in delight as it came to him. “As round as a pumpkin, when
I last saw her.” He guffawed and winked lewdly. “Who would think
Willie Blunkett was man enough to sire twins!” He rubbed his hands
together. “I am guessing they will want steak? Or maybe you want
them to ruin some of my good meat and make that heathen British
beef tea you go on about.”

“
Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, sent
vast amounts of concentrated beef tea to Florence Nightingale so
that she could treat the wounded during the Crimean War. It is a
great tonic after illness, and a grand thing for a woman after
childbirth,” Logan explained enthusiastically. “That, and bosh
water from the blacksmith’s quenching trough. It’s full of
iron—just what a woman needs to build new blood. I’ll be going over
to Spike Sweeney’s forge later for a bucket of the stuff so I can
make up a bottle or two for her.”

He walked on, his mind replaying the birth of
the Blunkett twins and the extended episiotomy that he had to cut
in order to use the forceps to deliver the head of the second twin,
a little boy who had been in a breech, or bottom first, position.
The fountain of blood from the spurting vessels severed in his
incision had covered him before he had a chance to deflect the
spray.

But it was all over now, and Betsy Blunkett
and her two babies, one of each sex, were in Martha Pomeroy’s
capable hands. Martha was an attractive war widow who lived
opposite the photographer’s studio at the junction of Lincoln and
Fifth Street. She happened to be the best midwife he had ever
worked with, despite the fact that she had no professional
training, and only did it because she found she had a talent at
helping woman deliver their babies. It was her personal sadness
that her husband had been killed at Baxter Springs, and she had a
stillbirth shortly after.

A fine woman, Logan mused for a moment before
quickly putting further thought of her from his mind. She and he
were both widowed, both vulnerable, but he was not sure whether he
could ever allow himself to get involved with another woman. Not
after his failure to save Helen, his wife, back in
Lucknow.

He crossed Washington Street and tapped on the
window of Ma’s Café. The aroma of freshly baked bread, bacon and
coffee assailed his nostrils and set his gastric juices
flowing.

The said “Ma,” matronly Stephanie
Adams—another of the many war widows of Wolf Creek—was bustling
about serving breakfast to a couple of Joe Nash’s boys on one
table, and to various Dogleg City revelers who were making their
way home or to employment of some sort after a night of debauchery
of one form or another. She smiled at him and raised the coffee pot
in her hand with a quizzical expression.

“
I’ll be back,” he mouthed through
the glass, pointing to the blood stained shirt, then cryptically
jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Ma opened her mouth in mock horror at the
sight of the blood. Then, with a laugh, she waved and returned to
dispensing coffee to her customers.

Logan laughed and quickened his stride.
Although Ma’s food was perhaps not as refined as the fare on offer
at Isabella’s Restaurant on Washington Street, where Antonio
Isabella, his wife, and family served out Italian cuisine to the
more discerning palates in Wolf Creek, the merry widow knew how to
satisfy a man’s hunger. Logan tended to spread his patronage among
the various eateries, but more often than not, he breakfasted at
her establishment. She had an uplifting nature and she never tired
of imitating his strange accent that three countries, three wars
and a whole lot of living had jumbled into a sort of Scottish
patois.

He turned right onto South Street and found
his way barred by Marshal Sam Gardner and Fred Garvey, one of his
deputies. The marshal was a tall, wiry man in his mid-thirties. His
hair hung down to his shoulders, and the goatee he sported was coal
black and well-groomed, just like the rest of him. He wore a
wide-brimmed hat and frock coat, with a fancy vest, ribbon tie and
expensive polished boots. The ivory-handled twin revolvers strapped
to his sides implied his usefulness with guns. He had been a U.S.
Cavalry officer during the war and had fought with distinction. He
was typical of the cavalry types that Logan had seen in the Crimea
and in India; brave without doubt, yet with an arrogance and
self-belief that could stray into recklessness.

Fred Garvey was a complete contrast. He was a
short, stocky man in his middle years with a totally different idea
about dress. His clothes were starched clean, and strictly
functional, almost like a uniform. But, whereas Gardner was
obviously one used to leading and being obeyed, Fred was clearly
one who knew his place, and who would happily carry out his
superior’s orders. His unhurried Georgian drawl was sometimes
misconstrued by folk who didn’t know him. More than one errant
cowpoke had incorrectly assumed that he was slow in the uptake,
only to find himself on the end of a tongue-lashing, for he was
both intelligent and witty. A stickler for the letter of the law,
his short stature belied his ability to deal with anyone who
infringed any of the town’s statutes.

“
Have you been in the wars, Doc?”
Fred asked, looking at Logan’s bloody clothing with a
smile.

“
In a manner of speaking. Betsy
Blunkett had twins this morning. I’m on my way to Li Wong’s
Laundry.”

Sam Gardner smiled sarcastically. “I thought
you didn’t cotton to our Chinese friends, Doctor Munro?”

“
Then you thought wrong, Marshal,”
replied Logan, deliberately using the lawman’s title, just as he
had. “I have no problem with any man, as long as he’s honest and
doesn’t make his living by preying on the weaknesses of others. I
believe that the Li family is an absolute asset to Wolf Creek. They
are honest and industrious, a good example to many of the residents
of the town. I take it you are referring to my views on Tsu Chiao’s
activities?”

The marshal gave a curt nod.

“
Well, there again, I have no
personal feelings one way or the other about him as a human being.
Who, of any of us, have the right to judge a man’s worth? What I
dislike is the fact that he purveys opium and vice down in The Red
Chamber. I often spend my time treating the effects they have on
his customers. Opium fuddles the mind and brain, and venereal
disease rots the nether regions.”

He straightened his hat and added: “And that
goes for both sexes.”

Fred Garvey chuckled. “Sounds funny when you
say it like that, Doc.” He shrugged. “But you know what Dogleg City
is like. Every town has a part of it that caters to the baser
instincts. I don’t know if our Wolf Creek is better or worse than
any other cattle or railroad town.” He sucked air between his
teeth. “All I know is that the law has to keep a close eye on
things. We saw Sheriff Satterlee and Deputy Pennycuff head down
there half an hour ago. The marshal and me are just heading down
there as well. He’s going to call in on Soo Chow
hisself.”

He beamed, then quickly added,
“Professionally, you understand. We have to nip any trouble in the
bud.” He sighed. “And while he does, I have the pleasure of doing
the rounds of Tent City.”

Sam Gardner smoothed his goatee with the edge
of an elegantly manicured forefinger. “Law-keeping is a serious
business, Doctor. Just the same as your own occupation.”

Logan had previously wondered about Sam
Gardner’s ethics as a law officer, and his eyes narrowed a little.
He suspected that his purpose in visiting Tsu Chiao may have more
to do with collecting a percentage of the profits for ensuring that
the opium den was left alone by the law, than to check for any
misdemeanors. However, if the marshal detected any such suspicion
in Logan’s eyes he did not show it. He returned his gaze
unblinkingly.

“
Of course,” Logan said. “I
understand how important the law is, and how seriously you law
enforcers take your jobs. Good morning, gentlemen.”

He tipped his hat to them, then set off across
the street. He made for a plain fronted building with steamed-up
windows. A large sign above the door proclaimed it to be LI’S
LAUNDRY.

Beneath it—in red calligraphic
painting—the same thing was more mysteriously, and more
impressively, written in Chinese:

中国洗衣店

A bell jangled as Logan pushed
open the door and found himself in the steamy atmosphere. Through
the steam, he could see Jing Jing, the Li family’s pretty daughter,
standing behind a counter talking to a young woman with corn yellow
hair wearing a blue bonnet.

“
Why, Doctor Munro, what a
pleasant—” began the young woman before spotting his blood stained
shirt.

“
Miss Haselton, this is an
unexpected pleasure, meeting you again so soon. Did you enjoy your
supper with Bill Torrance at Isabella’s Restaurant last
night?”

Ann Haselton was the local schoolteacher. Her
cheeks suffused with color, and Logan immediately felt he had
spoken out of turn. He could see that she was embarrassed, which
was rather endearing. Most folk had sensed that she had set her
sights on Bill Torrance, the enigmatic owner of the Wolf Creek
Livery Stable. He decided that an immediate change of conversation
was called for.

“
But shouldn’t you be getting to
the schoolhouse for the start of lessons?” he asked as he put his
bag down on the floor and took off his hat.

“
Oh, Mister Sublette the
headmaster is going to look after both classes this morning—at
least until I get back. He will be happy to talk to them for hours
about his fossils and old bones,” the teacher explained with a
smile. “You see, I arranged to walk the four Li boys to school
today. Mrs. Li has made some banners with Chinese writing on them
for our school concert. The children in my class are making
puppets. After we leave here with the banners, the boys and I are
going to Mrs. Miller’s dress shop to pick up some remnants so we
can make costumes, then we’ll drop in to see if Joe Nash has
finished making the puppet theatre for us. Our next stop will be
the Wolf Creek Expositor. David Appleford said he would help us
print some handbills. These strong Li boys will be able to carry
everything between them.”

“
I will get them, Miss Haselton,”
said Jing Jing with a little curtsy. “I apologize for their
lateness. My father would scold them if he saw how they have kept
you waiting.”

Once she had gone, Logan and Ann Haselton
passed some further pleasantries without any further mention of
Bill Torrance. Without going into details about the birth of the
Blunkett twins, Logan explained how his shirt had gotten so covered
in blood.

The door behind the counter opened, and Jing
Jing returned, followed by three progressively smaller boys all
dressed in neatly-pressed blue tunics, just like hers.

“
And here is your laundry order,
Doctor Munro,” she said, handing him a basket with the Li’s Chinese
Laundry sign neatly attached.

“
Thank you, Jing Jing. But what do
you think about this?” Logan asked, taking off his jacket. “Will
your father be able to clean the blood off this shirt?”

Before she could reply, there came the sound
of a youngster singing cheerfully, then a fourth Chinese boy
appeared, a full head shorter than the next smallest. It was Chang,
the Li family’s youngest child. He took one look at Logan’s gory
chest, then screamed in wide-eyed horror.

“
Aiyee! Murder!” he cried.
“Somebody hurt the doctor!”

His face went pale and his eyes rolled upward
as his legs seemed to crumple beneath him. He was only stopped from
falling and bumping his head by Ann Haselton’s quick
movement.

Logan immediately helped her to lay the boy
down, much to his older brothers’ glee.

“
Chang is a baby!” said one of his
brothers, and the others began to giggle.

“
Hush! Hush!” came a sharp voice
from behind the counter, and Mrs. Li appeared. She was dressed in a
tunic with a large apron. In her gloved hand she held a heavy
flatiron. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw her son on the
floor, with the teacher and the blood-splattered town doctor
leaning over him. She lay the flatiron down and quickly knelt
beside them, her face concerned. “So sorry, Doctor Munro and Miss
Haselton. My little Chang very sensitive.”

Logan cursed himself for being the cause of
the child’s faint. He knew Chang well, having delivered the boy
himself not long after he first settled in Wolf Creek. Chang had
always been a frail, nervous child, but his smile was infectious
and everyone liked the little fellow.

Suddenly, a small white mouse popped its head
out of the top pocket of Chang’s tunic. It wrinkled its nose and
looked from side to side, then made a dash for freedom. It was
followed by another from a pocket in his pants.

Ann Haselton saw them and immediately jumped
up and backed into a corner, tugging on her skirts as she did so.
She gasped in horror.

“
We will get them, Miss!” cried
one of the brothers, and together, the boys scuttled about, giving
chase to the mice.

Logan ignored them. Her opened his bag and
pulled out a bottle of smelling salts, then wafted it under the
boy’s nose. Almost immediately, Chang’s eyes flickered and his nose
wrinkled as the salts did their job. Logan prudently pulled on his
coat to cover his shirt.