Author's Note: For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. – I Corinthians 13:12, Holy Bible, KJV
Disclaimer: I don't own even the smallest part of this and am writing it only to amuse. Please go purchase copies of the DVDs of the show from the people who do own it, so we can increase the Sonnetts' reputation.
The wagon, garishly advertising 'Professor McKey's Medicine Show' in gaudy crimson, gilt, and indigo, slowed to a halt. "Whoa, Nelly," the middle-aged 'professor' called to his mare.
For her part, Nelly was always inclined for a rest, so allowed just this one time that it was in her best interest to obey her master and, relieved for the moment of the necessity of forward movement, began instead an agreeable investigation of the strip of grass growing sweetly down the center of the rutted track.
Meanwhile, Professor McKey heaved his generous girth out of the wagon and down into the 'road' to investigate the obstacle that lay across the thinly traveled track.
It was the body of a man.
Kevin's heart leaped into his throat. Oh, dear God, no! Blood was everywhere. McKey's Miracle Tonic would never cure this poor man.
It was dismaying, to say the least. The professor listened hard, but heard no other sounds; looked, but saw no one around. He and the mare were alone with the dead man.
The motive for the murder must have been robbery. The rutted track showed the passage of several different sizes of horseshoe since the rain a few hours before, one set going south and three going north, but there was no horse wandering nearby, and the man had been stripped to his bloody shirt. His gun belt and even his boots were missing. At least the bandits had left him the dignity of his trousers to be buried it.
Kevin stood at gaze a moment, contemplating his fellow creature's untimely end, for the man was young still, probably not yet thirty, his golden hair (where it wasn't matted with blood) gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. The bloody stain on his shirt seemed to be growing larger. How can he still be bleeding when he's— Heart suddenly pounding, Kevin knelt next to the young man and fumbled for a pulse. God, he's still alive! Kevin swung the young man up into his still-strong arms, carried him into the wagon, and hurried on into Tucson.
"Your son is very lucky," the doctor said. "A little lower, a little higher, and he'd be dead."
Kevin nodded. "Thank you, doctor. He'll be all right, then?"
"He'll have to take it easy for a while, but yes, he should make a full recovery."
Professor McKey heaved a sigh. "Good." He smiled to himself.
"Would you like to see him?"
"What?"
The doctor was giving him a strange look. "Would you like to see your son? He should be awake by now."
What could he say? No? Kevin wondered why he'd claimed to be the man's father. Now he'd look like a fool. He swallowed. "Of course," he lied.
"Jim," the doctor called softly. "Your father's here."
The golden head turned towards the door, and velvet brown eyes seemed to glow with astounded, disbelieving delight while he took in the man in the doorway, then the pale face contracted with pain and turned away.
"How are you, boy?" Kevin asked, breathless himself at the labored sound of the young man's breathing. Kevin was certain the man would reveal his falsehood to the medical practitioner, but in fact the only response to his query was a sound midway between a whimper and a sob.
Assuming his distress to be physical, the doctor asked gently, "Can you answer us, Jim? How do you feel?"
A pale tongue tried to moisten the dry lips, and a whispery tenor rasped, "I hurt."
"That's good," the doctor's soft voice assured him cheerfully. "It means you're not dead." He smiled at his patient, then continued, "Try to rest now. I need to talk to your father, but I'll be back in a few minutes to give you some medicine that should help with the pain."
The high forehead creased at the word father, and the velvet brown eyes flickered towards the big man near the door, but all the patient said was, "Thank you, doctor," as the two older men left the room.
Professor McKey paid the doctor's bill and accepted a packet of bandages and another of medicine. "I assume you'll be staying at the hotel," the doctor said, his tone that of one who makes a statement rather than asks a question.
"Well," the ersatz medicine man began, "I thi—"
"Pa." The young man, impossibly, had risen from bed and was standing in the doorway. "I'm well enough to travel," he declared, his manner undeniably urgent, "if you want to keep going."
Kevin stared at his 'son' in astonishment, what time the doctor was objecting, "Look hear, young man, you can't just—"
"I know how important it is for us to reach Prescott on time." He was staring at the ground, as Kevin had seen Mexican children do as a way of showing respect.
Professor Kevin McKey, who no more had a schedule or appointment in Prescott than he had a son, nodded. "We'll take it in easy stages," he assured the disapproving doctor, then helped his 'son' out to the wagon.