A Timeless Romance Anthology: Old West Collection Page 27

  Faith nodded, and Mrs. Perkins murmured, “Of course. Go along, Mr. McHenry.”

  He did.

  “Who’s there? Who’s there?” Mr. Ramsey began to thrash again. “I can’t see. Who is it?”

  Faith caught his hand in hers and patted it. “I’m the school teacher, sir, and this lady keeps the store in town. You’re ill, but the doctor will be here soon.”

  “Damn doctor,” Mr. Ramsey said, pulling his hand free. “He won’t see my angel.”

  “Where is it, sir?”

  Amos turned his face toward Faith’s and squinted. “I don’t know you, do I? Damn eyes. Don’t work proper.” He moved his arm spasmodically, pointing toward the top of the wardrobe. “It’s sittin’ on top, guarding me. You see it?”

  Faith looked. “Of course. Such lovely hair.”

  “I can’t see it clear anymore. What happened to my eyes?”

  “You must rest. Mrs. Perkins and I will remain with you until the doctor arrives.” She turned to her companion. “We must sponge his face and arms to cool his fever, and get him to drink water. I’ve learned that much about sickroom care from a relative.”

  “Good idea. I’ll fetch a basin and cloth. The cook will know where they’re to be found.” She left the room.

  Two hours later, Slim brought the doctor into the room.

  “Ladies,” the man greeted them, removing his hat along with his coat. “Let’s see what we have here.” He opened his black bag and produced an implement that he placed into his ears and the other end upon Mr. Ramsey’s chest. “Ah. Rapid heartbeat. How long has your ticker been racing, Amos?”

  “Damn doctor,” Amos said. He followed that with his view of the man’s parentage.

  “Let me see your tongue.” He wielded a flat stick in Amos’s direction and managed to use it briefly. “Hmm.” He raised Amos’s eyelids one by one. “Hmm,” he repeated.

  “Damn eyes don’t work right,” Amos complained.

  “Hmm,” the doctor said a third time. “You’re feverish.”

  “We’ve been wiping his face and arms, doctor,” Faith said. “He hasn’t cooled much.”

  “Slim, how long has he been in this state?”

  “Couple weeks, doc. He talks about angels in trees and such.”

  “He’s sitting over yonder.” Amos raised a jerky hand and pointed.

  “How bad is he, doc?”

  The doctor took Slim to one side, whispering his opinion, but Faith heard enough.

  “…nursing care, around the clock, if possible.”

  Letting all social propriety go, she intruded herself into the conversation. “I know the very person to care for him, Mr. McHenry. My cousin is a trained nurse. She can be here in three or four days, if you will send her a telegram.”

  “Excellent,” the doctor said. “Make the arrangements, McHenry. I can’t be held accountable for his decline if he’s left alone.”

  Chapter Four

  “Dearest Clarissa, I’m glad you’ve arrived safely.” Faith hugged her cousin fiercely and had her sit in the best chair. A cowboy calling himself Baldy Babbitt had fetched Clarissa from the train station, and she was to rest here at Faith’s house while Mr. Babbitt filled an order for the ranch at the store.

  Clarissa looked around as she removed her hat and gloves. “You have a cozy situation here.”

  “Thank you, cousin. May I bring you a refreshment?” Faith asked.

  “Perhaps a glass of water, if you don’t mind,” Clarissa said. “It’s a relief to sit still. Crossing the country on the train cars was quite an experience.”

  “You have only another hour of wagon travel to the ranch so you won’t feel all of that disconcerting movement.” Faith brought Clarissa a sandwich on a plate in addition to the water. “Please eat a bite. You must be famished.”

  Clarissa smiled. “I suppose I am, dear. If truth be told, I am anxious for Mr. Ramsey. You say he is having visions?” She bit into the sandwich.

  “He is, and he complains of poor sight. Also, his movements are jerky.”

  After she swallowed, Clarissa said, “My first thought was that he’s suffered a brain stroke, but he has use of all his limbs?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the doctor has no diagnosis?”

  “He seems mystified. He’s ruled out insect or snake bite, but he doesn’t have any other ideas to account for Mr. Ramsey’s symptoms.”

  “I suppose I shall be limited to treating those symptoms, then.”

  “You’re an excellent nurse. I’m confident you will be able to restore the man to health.”

  “God willing,” Clarissa said, brushing crumbs off her bodice front.

  Faith smiled. “I’m certain Mrs. Marks will appreciate your arrival. She’s the cook, but I hear she’s been wearing herself to a frazzle tending to the man over the last few days.”

  As it was Saturday, Faith insisted on accompanying Clarissa the rest of the way to the Four Rivers Ranch to see her settled.

  When they arrived, Clarissa said, “I wonder if Mr. Ramsey has had a change of diet. Perhaps he is eating something that disagrees with his constitution.”

  “Mr. McHenry thought not.”

  A convivial woman let them in, and inside, they found the house in an uproar.

  Identifying herself as Mrs. Marks, the woman said, “The old boy is having conniptions. He wants his whiskey. Now.” She winced at the curses coming from the second floor.

  “Strong drink can’t be good for him,” Faith said.

  “Doc says he can have one glass after supper,” Mrs. Marks retorted. She addressed herself to Clarissa, saying, “Come along. We’ll put your things in your room, ma’am, and I’ll introduce you to the old geezer.”

  When the cousins entered the sickroom, Mrs. Marks made the promised introductions.

  “Mr. Ramsey, I’m here to nurse you,” Clarissa said. “I’ll have your health increasing just as soon as Doctor Quincy determines what ails you.”

  “Damn doctor said I could have whiskey. Where is it?” Amos demanded.

  “You must eat your supper first. Mrs. Marks will bring it presently.”

  “I’m not hungry. Who did you say you are? Come closer.”

  “Clarissa Pembroke, sir. I’m the trained nurse Doctor sent for.”

  “Trained nurse?” He peered at her. “You don’t look ugly. Not boney. Not like that one.” He gestured toward Faith and smirked at Clarissa. “Are you giving me a bath tonight, nurse?”

  “I’ll clean you up after you eat your supper,” Clarissa answered.

  Amos smacked his lips. “Bring the food. I want a shave, too.”

  “We’ll see.” Clarissa raised her eyebrows and took Faith into a corner. “I can handle this case. He’s full of ginger, but I believe he craves attention. Will you take notes of his actions for me?”

  “Yes. I’ll sit out of your way.”

  Faith watched as Clarissa assisted Amos with his meal, then washed him up and trimmed his whiskers.

  “You have a nice start to an attractive beard,” Clarissa said. “You won’t require a shave.”

  “Hey! I figured you’d dunk me in a tub. I’m paying for your nursing skills, aren’t I? I want them used right.”

  “Mr. Ramsey, the doctor and I will determine the best use of my skills. You needed only a minor cleansing and a trim. Now, let’s see about your whiskey.”

  “Aye, my whiskey.”

  Mrs. Marks brought a nearly empty bottle and a tumbler. “Good thing Mr. Babbitt bought a new bottle today,” she said. “This one is on its last legs.” She poured the whiskey and started to hand the drink to Clarissa, but stopped and looked into the glass. “That’s odd. Something fell out with the whiskey.” She put a finger into the glass and pulled out an object. She held it on her palm. “Look at that. What do you make of it, ma’am?”

  Faith came over and watched Clarissa examine the gray splinter. “That certainly has no business in the bottle.”

  Clarissa agreed, picki
ng up the object and working her fingers over it. “Organic, but not smooth. It has broken edges. It’s not a tree or plant limb. Is it part of a seed?”

  “It may be, although it’s a bit large for a seed,” Faith said.

  “Indeed. How did it get into the bottle?” Clarissa asked.

  Mrs. Marks shrugged. “I can’t say, ma’am.”

  Clarissa took the tumbler and poured the liquid into the chamber pot, over Amos’s objection. “Where was the bottle kept? Locked up, I trust?” she asked the cook.

  “In the common room, in a cabinet. I don’t think there’s a key anymore.”

  “Hmm,” Clarissa said.

  “I want my whiskey!” Amos roared.

  “There will be a slight delay,” she said to Amos, then turned to Mrs. Marks. “I won’t give him anything from that bottle. Please show me where it was kept.”

  “Sure. I thought it would be used up, so I put the new bottle in its place.”

  “I’ll keep watch,” Faith said, motioning toward Mr. Ramsey.

  Rance slipped into the house from the back door after finding the cook missing. Lucky me, he thought, looking into the room where Amos kept his whiskey supply. Nobody’s here. He crossed to a cabinet, pulled it open, and took down the bottle.

  “New?” he whispered. “Damn!” He’d have to take care pulling the cork or someone would see that the bottle had been opened. He set to work, and when the cork was free, took a square of brown paper from his pocket and opened it.

  He was in the act of pouring powdered seed into the bottle when he heard two women’s voices coming from the staircase. He swore then quickly crumpled the paper and thrust the cork into the bottle. He hit it with the heel of his hand to seat it, put the bottle back on the shelf, and hustled through the door to the kitchen, where he held his breath, not daring to go out the back door yet.

  “I feed him the same as before he went strange,” the cook was saying. “It’s not my food.”

  “Has he taken a fall that would result in an injury to the head?” the second woman asked. Her voice was unknown to him. Who was this in the house?

  Before the cook answered, the stranger asked another question. “Did you leave the door to the cabinet ajar when you brought up the whiskey?”

  “I did not.” The cook sounded put upon. “I always close them doors.”

  “Hmm,” said the stranger. “Mr. Ramsey will be obliged to forego his liquor tonight. I can’t allow him to drink from a suspect bottle.”

  “Right you are,” the cook agreed. “Whoever goes into town next can bring another.”

  Rance mentally cursed the women, whose sudden descent had caused his careless error. He tiptoed across the kitchen and eased open the back door. With a little luck, he would be the chosen errand boy. He’d have to get a new supply of seeds and smash them up tomorrow.

  When Slim saw Hunter and Bray at supper, he felt relieved. The perimeter fence had finally had been repaired; the ranch wouldn’t lose cows in that direction.

  In the morning, though, he didn’t feel as confident, so he asked Curly to ride out with him to inspect the work.

  Coming upon abandoned rolls of barbed wire and loose strands hanging on the fence posts, Slim swore. Had Hunter and Bray even come out here? He surveyed the area but found no recent camp spot.

  “Them buzzards! Where have they been?”

  Curly spit. “When did you send them here?”

  Slim calmed himself enough to consider. “Day before the cattle tally came up short.”

  Curly took out cigarette makings and looked at Slim.

  Slim looked at Curly. He closed his eyes, realization heavy on his lids. “Hunter asked the cook to pack food for them so they could fix the fence,” Slim growled. “They never did the work. He’s stealing cattle from his own old man.”

  The clock hands crept slowly from three thirty toward four o’clock, and Faith almost regretted her choice to become a school teacher. Some of the children had been unruly today, and she could hardly wait to dismiss them so she could retreat to her house and close out the world.

  A sound at the rear of the room drew her attention. Joey, if you’re playing tricks again— But then she raised her eyes to see Rance Hunter at the back of the room, holding onto the doorjamb with a hand clad in a leather riding glove.

  “We’re gonna have supper together tonight,” he said, slurring his words.

  Faith caught her breath. Petticoats rustled as girls turned sideways to see who had come in.

  “Get rid uh these kids,” he demanded, taking a few unsteady steps into the room.

  She drew herself up and started toward him. “School keeps until four o’clock, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Not today, it don’t.”

  “You’re setting these children a poor example!”

  “Brats’ll grow up anyway,” he said, leering at her. He lurched closer and put forward both gloved hands to grasp Faith’s face.

  “Miss!” Charley said, alarmed.

  She winced at the unpleasant mix of the odors of liquor and leather coming from Mr. Hunter’s person, and she put out a stiff arm to repel his advance. His chest came to rest against her palm, and he stopped. She pushed him back down the aisle. “You will leave the premises, Mr. Hunter.”

  The man resisted the pressure on his chest, but he stumbled backward as she pushed harder. He crouched a bit, and his eyes drilled into hers with a withering look. “You’ll regret treating me like this,” he said. “I’ll be the big man hereabouts soon enough.”

  At the venom in his voice, Faith took half a step backward. What did he mean by his claim? A glance at the look of terror on Lovinia’s face made Faith remember her charges.

  “You will leave,” she repeated, resolving to protect the children. She stiffened her voice into brittle shards. “Get out.”

  He turned and he left, and Faith slammed the door and put her back to it as she tried to slow her breathing to normal.

  “Are you all right, miss?” Charley asked, standing in the aisle, brandishing a piece of firewood.

  Faith squared her shoulders. “He is gone, children. Let’s finish the lesson.” She marched on wobbly legs to the front of the classroom and faced the pupils. “Now, whose turn is it?”

  As soon as the children left school, Faith hurried to the livery stable and rented a horse. She had just enough time to ride to the ranch before nightfall. She needed to speak with Clarissa.

  Faith dismounted at the ranch house, opened the door without knocking, shouted, “Clarissa!” and, at her cousin’s answering call, dashed into the kitchen.

  “He said he’d be the ‘big man’ soon enough,” Faith said as she finished her account. “He terrified the children.”

  Clarissa folded her arms and looked pensive. “That fits with the foreign object in Mr. Ramsey’s liquor. I’m beginning to suspect he’s being poisoned.”

  Faith shook her head in disbelief. “A killer in my schoolroom.”

  Clarissa motioned Mrs. Marks to join them. “Does Mr. Hunter bear his stepfather a grudge?” she asked the cook.

  “Oh yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Marks said. “His ma spoiled him terrible. He took her death mighty hard and blames Amos Ramsey for it.”

  “Enough to want him dead?” Faith asked.

  The cook shivered. “Ever looked into them bottomless eyes? I’d say he does.” She dipped into her apron pocket. “When I swept up earlier, I found this in the common room under the liquor cabinet.”

  Clarissa took the crumpled paper and straightened it out. “There’s a residue.” She rubbed her finger over the paper and sniffed.

  “Careful!” Faith said.

  “Granular. Not commercial talcum. Not flour nor powdered sugar. It’s coarse, as though someone used a rock to grind an object down.” Clarissa wet another finger with her tongue.

  “No,” Faith cautioned. “Don’t taste it.”

  “I don’t suppose a tiny bit will hurt me.”

  “It might do,” Mrs. Marks said, le
aning over to inspect the paper. “That piece there could be a spine from a seed husk.” She straightened. “Jimson weed. That’ll drive man or beast mad and kill ’em in the end.”

  “According to our eminent lecturer, Dr. Harley, such a powder, introduced slowly, would make an effective poison,” Clarissa agreed. “I must tell the authorities.”

  “You must tell Slim— I mean, Mr. McHenry.” Faith felt her mouth go dry. When had she begin to think of him as Slim?

  Clarissa said, “I will. Now you must get back to town, dear. I suggest you ask for an escort.”

  Rance pulled Bray out of the bunkhouse, proposing a smoke before bed.

  “Those damn women,” he said, watching as Bray built his cigarette. “They’re on to us.”

  “Us?”

  “They figured out about the poison. We have to get out of here.”

  Bray lit up. “I haven’t drawn any pay yet. Are you going to make up the loss?”

  Rance swore. “I’m out of cash. We have to gather up all the cattle we can grab and high tail it for New Mexico.”

  Bray lifted an eyebrow as smoke curled from his cigarette.

  Rance continued. “We’ll put a rope through the mossy-back steer’s nose ring. The whole herd will follow.”

  Bray shrugged. “It could work.”

  Rance rubbed his fingers together. “Ten o’clock tonight, then. Banjo’s snoring won’t cover bumping around in the dark, so be as quiet as you can. We can’t chance getting caught.”

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Clarissa introduced a new regimen for Mr. Ramsey: He was to drink a gray liquid she’d concocted from powdered charcoal and milk, and he was to drink it every two hours until she said he’d had enough.

  “I’ll be gol-darned if I’m gonna take that stuff,” he said, snorting in disgust.

  “You will drink it down, sir, or I will not be responsible for your care. I believe you have been poisoned, and this remedy will cure that. If you have not been poisoned, it will not harm you. Either way, you will drink it.”