He smiled grimly at the memory. Fresh from Ohio, with its ordered farms and neat towns, he had been appalled at Basin City. He was not certain he still was not a bit appalled by it. But, he had told himself, it was a place to get a start, a new town that would grow, a town that had no doctor. A place where a young man, provided he tended strictly to business and got around a bit so the people knew him, might establish a solid practice.
With the memory of Ohio still in him, he shivered a bit as he looked at the weathered false fronts, the few languid ponies lounging three legged at the hitching rails. Inside the Gilded Lily saloon someone laughed and from down the street came the thumping of hammer on anvil as the blacksmith got in some early morning work.
He climbed the stairs to the office wearily. A shave, fresh clothes, and then that plate of ham and eggs. After that he’d try to get in an hour or two of sleep.
As he opened the door, a man rose from a chair and faced him.
«Good mornin’, doc,» he said.
Carter felt surprised. It wasn’t often that he had a patient so early in the morning.
The man, he saw, was Matt Denby, one of the nesters to the north of the Tumbling K.
«In early, aren’t you, Matt?» asked Carter.
Matt agreed with him. «Middlin’ early. Got up at the crack of dawn. Had some business in town.»
«Been out all night myself,» said Carter. «Just got in. Hope you didn’t have to wait too long.»
«Just an hour or so,» said Matt. «Dozed off for a spell, sittin’ in the chair. Woke up just a while ago.»
«What can I do for you?» asked Carter. «Hope the wife’s all right.»
«She’s fine,» said Matt. «Ain’t nothin’ wrong with none of us. Just come in to see what I owed you.»
«I’ll have to look it up,» said Carter.
He pulled open a desk drawer, brought out a dog-eared ledger, flipped the pages.
«Makes out to twenty dollars, Matt.»
«Ain’t got that much,» said Matt.
«Why, that’s all right. You can pay me any time.»
Matt pulled out his pocketbook, fumbled at it with awkward fingers.
«Pay you somethin’ on account right now,» he said. «You see, we’re pullin’ out.»
«Pulling out? Leaving the country, you mean?»
«Yep, that’s it. But you don’t need to worry, doc. I’ll pay you five dollars now and send the rest to you by mail. Can’t nohow pass up what I owe you, doc. You saved Jenny, and that’s worth more than I ever can pay you.»
He laid three ones and a two down on the desk, restored the pocketbook to his hip pocket.
«I’ll write you a receipt,» said Carter.
As he wrote he asked: «Where you going, Matt? Got a better thing somewhere?»
Matt shuffled awkwardly. «Not exactly a better thing. Just pullin’ stakes, that’s all. Itchy foot, I guess. Going farther west.»
«Any place in particular?»
«Nope. Just west. Lots of land still to be had.»
Carter stopped writing, laid down the pencil.
«You mean you’re running out,» he said. «You’re clearing out because you’re scared of Plimpton.»
Matt wriggled. «Not exactly scared, doc. But I don’t like it, nohow. Didn’t mind it so much, the hellin’ around the regular hands used to do. Could seem to put up with that. But since Plimpton’s took to runnin’ in them gun slingers of his’n I can’t somehow feel comfortable.»
Carter picked up the pencil again, started to write.
«Jake McCord died this morning,» he said. «Somebody gunned him down.»
«I told you,» said Matt. «It ain’t the same as it used to be. Not just a little private feudin’. Plimpton’s plumb declared war on us fellers. Got a gang of gunslicks in to run us out.»
«I hate to see you go, Matt,» said Carter. «You fellows start pulling out and Plimpton wins. Just prolongs the situation. If he does it to one of you, he’ll figure he can do it to all of you.»
«You mean you figure we ought to stand up to him?» asked Denby. «Oil up our own irons and go after him.»
Carter shook his head. «I wouldn’t know,» he said. «It’s something I can’t advise you on. I’m not a fighting man myself. I’m new here. I don’t actually know what I’d do. All I know is I hate to see you leave.»
«Plimpton’s got everythin’ fixed,» said Denby bitterly. «That big valley of his’n. You’ve seen it.»
«Sure I have.»
«That ain’t Plimpton’s, legal-like,» said Matt. «He grabbed holt of it, years back, under that Swamp Land act. You know. All you got to do is swear the land is under water and you can file on as big a hunk as you have a mind to.»
«That law was repealed,» Carter told him. «Too many valleys were turning up as swamp.»
«Sure,» agreed Matt. «Sure, it was repealed. But that don’t mean that Plimpton gave up the valley. He got it fixed so he could hang onto it.»
«I don’t understand,» protested Carter. «How could he do a thing like that?»
«In cahoots with the land office register,» said Matt. «Paid him something, more than likely. Maybe still payin’ him for all I know. Tried to file on a quarter section at the upper end of the valley when I come here but Grant said it wasn’t open to entry. Said all was left was the foothill claims.»
Carter tapped the pencil on the desk top. «I see,» he said. «I see.»
«Stands to reason must be lots of valley land out farther west,» Matt told him. «Land a man can file on. Land that you can drive a plow in.»
Carter rose from the desk, shaking himself mentally, held out the receipt.
Matt took it. «You say they got Jake?»
Carter nodded, not speaking.
«Ain’t worth it,» Matt declared. «Not even land. Ain’t worth dyin’ for.»
He folded the receipt carefully and tucked it in his shirt pocket, clumped out of the door.
CHAPTER FOUR: RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES
One man had died and another man was quitting. All in one day’s time. But they were not the first, nor would they be the last.
Carter found that he had trouble holding his fork. His knuckles were sore and the hand was swollen more than ever now, although he knew that in a few hours time it might start to go down and probably by tomorrow would be as good as new.
He speared a cut of ham and smeared it in some egg yolk, chewed the mouthful hungrily. He tried to feel a bit contrite about hitting Plimpton so hard, but he couldn’t. It was a thing, perhaps, he had wanted to do for many months.
He stared about the restaurant. Small and clean and almost cheerful. As cheerful, anyhow, as a room ever got to be in Basin City. The sunlight spewed through the window, engulfed the yellow cat that lay on the window ledge.
Carter, he told himself, you’re a fool to get so stirred up about this. It’s no concern of yours. No concern of yours how many men get shot or how many up and leave. No skin off your nose that Plimpton stole the valley years ago and either bribed or blackmailed a dishonest land office man into allowing him to keep it. None of your business that men who come to make their homes are hounded by men who ride with skittish trigger fingers.
But, perhaps, he said, contradicting himself, it may be your business after all. For a doctor looks after his people. Almost like a minister looks after his people. Watches over them and guards them against sickness and against death. A friend ready to come at the moment of their call. A friend who pretends he doesn’t need the fee if they are hard pushed.
He grimaced at his thoughts, reached for a slice of bread to sop up the plate.