The Book November 2012

Just a quick note to thank Singerme for suggesting this story and LJ for her help by making one particular chapter a little more intense. Jules Verne's book, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea also played a part.

Chapter 1

Dr. Galen Adams was sitting at his old, roll top desk, staring unseeing at a pile of medical records in front of him. He had tried to keep up to date records ever since he had started in practice, but since coming to Dodge City about four years ago, he had realized that was not always an easy proposition. There were so many trail hands, drifters and other people just passing through, these folks he got to see just one time to suture a cut, dig out a bullet or patch up after a fight. After a while he had given way to keeping a big ledger just writing down the date, the name of the patient - or at least the name he was told - and the procedure he performed. He left the last column blank and would only fill it in only if he actually got paid. He tried to enter everything in this ledger and looking to his bookcase he saw that he had already filled five such books and was working on a sixth. There were patients he was likely to see on more than one occasion, people that lived in Dodge and the surrounding countryside. Homesteaders, ranchers and of course people here from the town. Folks whose babies he would deliver, whose children he would see through childhood illnesses and whose bones he would fix when they came off horses or fell off of roofs. He tried to keep more complete up to date records on these. Such were the three deliveries he had left to record and the sick children he had treated, two for chicken pox and one for croup. Then Tillman Winters had fallen off a ladder and broke his leg, and young Jeff Stokes had been thrown by his new horse and sustained a concussion, he would just enter those in the big ledger. He'd had a couple of drifters come by on different days with minor complaints; he didn't even bother to record those. He pulled the last record he needed to complete closer to him, it was the thickest one of all and he had a lot of writing to do.

Since arriving in Dodge those four years ago, he had worked all seven days of each week with very little in the way of a break. Sure he had been fishing the odd time or two, and had accompanied the Marshal to Wichita or Hays on at least three occasions to give evidence in a trial, but never quite got away from his work. He was always available, night or day, to anyone who needed his services and being the only Doctor for at least a hundred miles around that was definitely a full time job.

These last 3 weeks, especially, had taken a great toll on him. He had treated gunshot wounds before, must have dug hundreds of bullets out of men, and a few from women, but this last one took every bit of his ability. He had worried day and night for a whole week about the outcome. His failure would have meant the loss of a good friend, and probably of more importance, Dodge would have suffered the loss of the one man who had been able to bring a semblance of law and order to the town. The responsibility had rested squarely on his shoulders for all that time. For the first five days he had barely slept, just dozed for ten minutes here or there at his patient's bedside, trying to cope with the fevers and delirium, infection and pain. Every time he set foot outside the office he faced a barrage of townspeople wanting to know how the Marshal was doing, was he going to be okay. People were worried, the town had changed since he had been here, the man lying upstairs in his office had brought a relative peace to the place and made it where people could actually live and raise a family without being in constant fear of violence of some sort. They were scared that if he did not recover, their lives would also fall apart. The responsibility for his patient's and hence the town's survival had been his alone and now he needed a break from all that, he needed to feel free from the pressure, feel free from everyone looking to him for support, free to just put up his feet and relax without the likelihood of someone coming knocking on his door.

He took a deep breath and reached for that last record he wanted to finish. The chart was already the thickest he had. Carefully he drew diagrams showing the location of the two bullets he had extracted, described in reasonable detail the procedures he had performed and then the 10 days of recovery. It had been a trying time for all. There was a certain relief to him when the tall lawman had walked - well maybe walked wasn't quite the word to describe the unsteady barely upright gait - out of his office this morning declaring that he had been confined to bed for long enough. Adams had watched from his window hoping the man would not fall down the stairs and break a leg or some other bone. As he made it to the street, the Marshal had somehow managed to pull himself upright and walk with reasonable steadiness towards the Long Branch saloon. At that point the good doctor had left the window and returned to his desk.

Finally he finished writikng, unconsciously he wiped his mustache with the palm of his hand and then sat thinking for a while. Just a few days away from all this - that was what he needed. Somehow he would work it out. He looked at his calendar, no more babies due for another week. Now was a good time to leave, perhaps he would not even tell anyone where he was going. He could almost feel the relief now. There was an old cabin about twenty miles northeast of town. He had heard tell that a family, name of Finney, had lived there once, but left about ten years ago. He had taken refuge in the cabin one night on his way back from seeing a patient just a couple of months ago. A sudden storm had hit the prairie and the cabin had provided a safe haven to ride out the bad weather. If he remembered rightly there was a small stream close by, he bet there would be some good fishing there.

He went to file the thick chart back in its place and as he did so his eye settled on the spine of a book bound in brown leather. He remembered buying it almost a year ago. He had been in Wichita with the Marshal, testifying at a murder trial. They were waiting on the verdict, and would hopefully be able to catch the evening train back to Dodge. He had been browsing through a book store and came across this book. It was a recent novel of much acclaim written by a Frenchman, name of Jules Verne. Here was an English translation published a few years ago. He had taken the book from the shelf and started reading the first few pages telling of an enormous sea creature that was attacking great ships on the oceans of the world and inflicting heavy damage. The problem had become so severe that the United States had had a specially rigged frigate built and appointed a Captain Farragut to go and hunt down this creature. That was as far as he got before Dillon found him and they had returned to the courtroom for the pronouncement. His curiosity was peaked by what he had read, and he managed to purchase the book before leaving the bookstore. When he returned to Dodge he had unpacked his bag and placed the book on the shelf where it had remained until now. He had not had time to open a page since. He decided that the book was coming with him on his trip, he was going to make time to read it.

O0O0O0O0

Kitty had just unlocked the outer doors of the Long Branch, she could hardly believe the sight that was headed towards her.

"Matt, Doc told you that you should stay up there in bed for at least another week."

"I know Kitty but I think he was getting bored with my company."

He grinned at her, and she melted. Smiling she shook her head knowing how forced inactivity irked her cowboy.

"You'd better come on in and I'll find you a cup of coffee."

They sat talking over their steaming cups for about ten minutes, then the Marshal left to make his way slowly to the jail. Kitty followed him with her eyes, watching his careful progress and hoping that he would at least take it easy for a few more days.

It was later that morning that she saw Doc. She hadn't realized how tired the last few weeks had left him. She knew he had been worried about Matt and had worked hard and long hours trying to pull him through this latest injury, but right now the man looked totally exhausted. They were both headed in the direction of Mr. Jonas's store.

She listened as she heard him buying some fishing hooks and tackle from the storekeeper - that made her feel better - at least he was planning an afternoon's relaxation by Silver Creek. She said nothing about it when he turned around and saw her coming towards him.

"You heading for lunch Doc?"

He turned to look at her, almost guiltily.

"Not right now Kitty, I have a couple more errands I need to run - maybe I'll catch up with you later."

He was getting ready to leave the store when he turned back to her.

"Er... Kitty," she looked questioningly at him, "keep an eye on Matt, be sure he gets plenty of rest for the next few days."

She didn't quite understand the remark, surely the physician himself would be doing that. Maybe he thought she would have a better chance of getting his recalcitrant patient to listen to reason, "Sure Doc," she said, and thought no more about it.

He left the store and she went about buying the few provisions she needed.

Meantime Doc made his way along the boardwalk. As he passed the Long Branch he saw that Sam was in there alone, cleaning the bar and washing glasses. He went inside and had a brief conversation with the man, then headed back to his own office to pack a few things. On the way he stopped by the stable and told Moss he would need his buggy in about an hour. Moss did not find that at all unusual. The Physician often headed out in the mid morning if he had several calls to make.

No one paid any attention as the Doctor drove his buggy along Front Street and out of town, which was exactly how he had planned it. As the miles between him and Dodge increased, so did his sense of wellbeing. It was like a weight he had been carrying for weeks now was slowly disappearing from his shoulders.

TBC