Down to a Soundless Sea (17 page)

Poor Dean kept nodding off in a semifeverous haze of half dreams and hallucinatory ramblings that were mostly gibberish. Doc had to keep a close eye on the cowboy for fear he might pitch out of the bed of the cart unexpectedly.

Doc wished for a wider track along the coast. A trip that should normally have taken twenty hours, on saddleback, would now consume the better part of three days, possibly more. Three days without suitable shelter or provisions could prove dangerous for his patient.

For a while it seemed there was no viable way to haul Dean to the hospital in Monterey without killing him in the process. Daisy also stood in sore need of decent fodder and rest if she was to continue as well.

Doc considered the problem and at last remembered the unused bunkhouse on the Stoat’s place. Doc decided to tempt the devil. At the appropriate juncture he would cut west and make straight for Grace Point.

He could see to the old man’s needs easily enough and get Dean bedded down with some decent food and shelter before it became too late for effectual ministrations beyond a shovel, the Good Book, and a headstone.

A tattered sunset had commenced to streak below the clouds when Doc Roberts led Daisy up to the barn at Grace
Point. A faint movement in the barn was revealed by the shafts of light coming through the wide cracks between the boards.

While easing Dean down from the cart, Doc called out to Mary Rose. She stepped from the barn clutching a small tattered basket of eggs. Doc Roberts had no difficulty communicating the urgency of his predicament.

Mary Rose set down her basket and rushed to help the doctor move the partially conscious cowboy to the bunkhouse. This was a slap-dab, lean- to affair nailed up against the side of the barn.

The accommodations, such as they were, had hardly been kept in a hospitable state. Everything in sight was mantled in dust and decay. There were two rickety rope-spring bunks with thin horsehair mattresses, a rusted potbellied stove, an ancient table and a chair with a broken back. All this luxury came with a kerosene lantern and a slop bucket as amenities. Doc and Mary Rose laid Dean out on one of the bunks to rest. Doc gave the girl specific instructions about preparing some hot broth and begged the loan of a few blankets.

Returning to the barn, Doc unhitched and attended to Daisy as best he could. Retrieving his bag and bedroll, Doc did his best to clean out the hovel by the light of the kerosene lamp. He finally decided to surrender the chore until the following day. After making the semidelirious Dean as comfortable as possible, Doc repaired to the ranch house to see the old man and attend to his leg. In his state of footsore and road-weary fatigue, it was not an errand that Doc Roberts looked forward to with any enthusiasm.

Sixty feet from the house, Doc heard the old man shouting. He was cursing up a tornado at his wife and complaining that he was not getting all the attention and respect he was
entitled to. He swore that when he was up and about again, things would go very differently for certain people.

Doc interrupted the old man’s diatribe with all the professional authority at his disposal. It wasn’t good for much leeway, but it stopped up his wicked tongue long enough for Doc Roberts to complete his examinations, redress the wound, and adjust the splint. Doc noticed that in spite of his entreaties to the contrary, the old man’s hygiene was not much improved. His breath also smelled of raw spirits, but how he should come by such goods without the connivance of his wife was a mystery.

While he still had the old man cowed, Doc mentioned the cowboy he had saved on the trail and had only now installed in the old man’s bunkhouse to recuperate. Doc mentioned the rancher’s growing medical bill and suggested that they might strike a deal if the cowboy were allowed to receive room and board until he recuperated.

The rancher wasn’t at all enthusiastic about the arrangement, but since he hadn’t the cash to settle the doctor’s bill, he deemed it best to acquiesce. But only until the saddle-tramp was on his pins again. Then the cowboy would have to be on his way. Doc agreed and retired to the kitchen to see to Dean’s broth and the other requested items.

Mary Rose had all in readiness. Besides a pitcher of rich broth for his patient, she had prepared a brace of mutton chops with onions for Doc Roberts. Gathering up the blankets and assorted little conveniences, she helped the doctor carry the lot down to the bunkhouse. Once they had made up the better of the two bunks, Doc stripped the limp figure of Dean and tucked him down under clean warm blankets.

Mary Rose carefully fed Doc’s patient spoonfuls of the nourishing broth while Doc coaxed the potbellied stove to
harbor a vigorous little fire to chase the ocean chill from the air. When all that could be set to rights was seen to and Mary Rose had returned to the house, Doc sat at the rickety old table to eat his chops. After supper he sat by the light of the smoky lamp and worked on his journal. Dean’s fever required some attention, but he seemed to calm down when Doc bathed his brow and wrists with cold water. This procedure continued until Doc fell asleep about midnight.

In the morning Doc awoke to find his patient sleeping peacefully. The fever had broken in the early hours of the morning, but between the rigors of exposure, exhaustion, malnutrition, and now fever, it would be some time before Jersey Dean would be up on his “pins” again, as the old man had phrased it.

While Dean slept, Doc prepared medications for both his patients. For the old man, he concocted a batch of the usual, but with only ten drops of laudanum to a pint of vanilla-flavored, clove-laced rum. Again he filled the bottles with diminishing amounts of the brew, topped up with water. Doc figured that this demi-placebo would keep the old man quiet if nothing else. Some people refused to believe they were being properly doctored unless they had a bottle of medicine to prove it. People found it difficult to comprehend the body curing itself with a little patience and care. They needed the medical props and potions to nurture their wilting self-confidence.

It was all the same from a medical point of view. What the brain believed, the body would believe as well. To harness the two in a harmonious fashion was sometimes a matter of psychological wizardry, but nothing unethical. Certainly nothing as unethical as what he would have liked to have done
to the old reprobate, but Doc had not practiced that kind of venality since he was a child of six. Now it was too late to remember.

Dean’s medicines were another matter altogether. His instructions for their administration were precise, and some discipline would be required to see that Dean did not forego the prescribed course of treatment in a premature show of youthful bravado. He made sure Dean knew that he had placed Mary Rose in charge. Then Doc worked on his journals, looked after Daisy’s needs, and nursed Dean for the rest of the day.

Early the next morning Doc took Dean’s pulse. The patient still slept, though exhaustion mixed with bad dreams caused him to toss about on occasion. Then Doc Roberts packed his kit for the ride north. On the way to the house, he stopped at the barn to see to Daisy. She seemed content enough with her oats.

Doc delivered the old man’s medicine to the house with an admonition to take it by the spoon, not by the gulp. It would have to last the two weeks until Doc returned with more, if indeed it was still needed.

Doc also cautioned the rancher to treat his ailing guest with kindness for the sake of his medical bill. He calculated that the old man owed him more than all the chickens, goats, and pigs on the place, so he had better keep his end of the bargain.

The old man grunted and fumed, but said he would hold up his end of the deal. The checked anger in the rancher’s voice told Doc that he was scarcely delighted with the arrangement, but he knew the old cripple would comply out of fear, if nothing else.

Doc found Mary Rose in the laundry shed kneading soiled overalls on a homemade washboard. He asked her to join him for a short talk. Mary Rose wiped her hands on her apron and followed Doc to the bunkhouse. He handed her his written instructions and asked if she could understand them. Mary huffed and said she could read quite well, thank you. She even owned some books. Doc praised her literacy and went over the list with her point by point.

When they entered the bunkhouse, Dean was just coming awake with a terrible thirst. Doc gave him all the water he could hold and then explained that he was about to leave. He said that he had made certain arrangements for Dean to recover his strength on the ranch. He was to do as Mary Rose instructed without argument or complaint. Doc said the rancher’s wife didn’t need any further vexation than was already at hand up at the house with his other patient.

Though weak, Dean smiled and thanked Doc Roberts for all his many considerations. He owed Doc Roberts his life and would work hard to show his gratitude. Doc waved off the sentiment and said that he could best show his indebtedness by obeying Mary Rose. He had left specific instructions and expected them to be adhered to religiously. Dean looked at the rancher’s wife, blushed slightly, and agreed to all the doctor’s requirements.

Doc Roberts knew he couldn’t make it all the way back to Monterey in one shot, but he would travel as far as he could before Daisy lost patience. It took some effort, but Doc got as far as the Pfeiffer spread before night fell. He decided to beg a bath and a bed from his old friends.

The stress of the last week on the trail had caught up with the doctor, and he needed a good night’s rest on a decent bed
before continuing. A generous hot meal, of anything but rabbit, would find a hearty welcome as well. He would see that Daisy got all the attention she could stand. Fresh fodder, sweet oats, and the company of her own kind would go a long way toward improving her disposition. Daisy was in favor of the decision to stop over. She shivered with delight the moment she felt her rig go slack. Doc rubbed her down and gave her a couple of apples before he retired to the bathhouse to pass a long-anticipated hour in hot soapy water, smoking his pipe, blowing imperfect rings, and thinking of wife, home, and hearth.

Two weeks later Doc Roberts traveled down the coast again. After making visits to the Grimes outfit and the Dani place, Doc was asked to stop down at Partington Cove to treat a sailor who had broken his arm loading tanbark on a schooner.

Old man Clarke had appeared out of nowhere, as he usually did, and told Doc about the injured sailor. Doc had been friends with Clarke for years. Though he lived in the wilderness as a hermit and few people saw him about, he had a way of knowing everything that went on in the Big Sur.

After treating the sailor’s arm to a custom-made splint, Doc spent the night at Tom Doud’s ranch. In the morning he borrowed one of Tom’s faster saddle horses to make a quick visit to check on the well-being of Jersey Dean and the old rancher. Since Daisy obviously hated the place, Doc saw no reason why she should pull the cart that distance when she could frolic in Doud’s lush pastures and roll in the dust with acquaintances.

The trip brought Doc to Grace Point in midafternoon.
The first person he spied was Jersey Dean. He was sitting in front of the bunkhouse repairing Mary Rose’s butter churn. He looked happy and well when Doc first spotted him, but the moment Dean spied the doctor, he took on a glum and sorrowful expression.

Doc dismounted at the barn, and Dean joined him to help put up the horse. Doc easily sensed that something was wrong. When Doc asked how he was getting on, Dean replied that he was slow coming up to snuff, but with time he hoped to be fully recovered.

Doc made a perfunctory examination of Dean’s vital signs and came to the private conclusion that the cowboy was malingering just a mite. He asked why Dean had not taken the first opportunity to move on to fresher prospects. There were plenty of spreads that claimed a need for good hands this time of the year, and even the Devil knew that Dean’s present host was hardly the most congenial of men.

Dean toed the dust with his newly patched boots and struggled for a spontaneous-sounding answer, but none was forthcoming. Then Dean said sheepishly that he rather liked it where he was, but the old man showed no signs of wanting to take on help. The place sadly needed a qualified hand while the old man was laid up, and Dean said he had done his best to be helpful. He had taken over the heavier chores from Mary Rose, who seemed to have her hands full just taking care of her husband.

Dean had even fabricated a pair of padded crutches so the old coot could move about more easily, but the rancher expressed no gratitude for the gift. In fact, the old man had even showed the temerity to complain that Dean was nothing more than a saddle-tramp looking for a free handout. He had heard
the old man say the same to his wife on several occasions when he was sure that Dean would overhear his comments.

Doc said he would look into the matter and then made his way to the ranch house with his medical bag.

As Doc mounted the front porch, he heard the old man swearing up a storm. This had become so usual that Doc paid little attention, though he found the old man’s constant use of profanity just a little more than he could stomach. It was one thing for men to rage at one another in such a manner, but to use such wicked language to a woman was unforgivable regardless of provocation.

The moment Doc made his presence known the old man ceased his ranting. He might try his will on others, but he was afraid of Doc Roberts and almost became obsequious in his presence.

Mary Rose was happy to see the doctor and managed something like a smile when he entered. Not wishing to pass the time of day with the old man, Doc set to work directly on an examination of his injuries. While this was being accomplished, Doc suggested to the old rancher that, though his leg was steadily improving, it would still be quite a while before he could run the ranch again. If his patient had any sense, he would hire Jersey Dean to work the place until the rancher was able to saddle up for himself again.

While the old man would have treated this suggestion with scorn if it had come from somebody else, he was willing to consider the recommendation since it came from the eminent Dr. Roberts. Mary Rose seemed pleased by the suggestion as well and encouraged her husband to accept for the sake of the ranch, which at present was going to the dogs without a man to oversee the stock and repair the fences.